Hcc< 
 
 BANCROFT 
 
 LIBRARY 
 > 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
The Doctor's Frog. p. 42. 
 
NO BABY IN THE HOUSE, 
 
 AND OTHER STOEIES, 
 
 FOB CHILDREN 
 II 
 
 A 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 A. ROMAN & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS. 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO: 
 417 & 419 MONTGOMERY STREET. 
 
 1868. + 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by 
 A. EOMAN & CO., 
 
 la the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 
 Southern District of New York. 
 
. 
 
 
 TJ:?I7BI 
 
 0* 
 
 TO S E W -A- L IL. , 
 
 THR BABY IN THE HOL'SK, 
 
 THIS BUNDLE OF TWIGS IS DEDICATED. 
 
 A.WD THAT ALL B0JTDLES OF TWIGS DEDICATED TO HHC, 
 MAY BE AS HARMLESS, 
 
 THE PLEASANTEST WISH WHICH HIS SISTER CAN GIVE. 
 
 CLARA G. DOLLtVER- 
 

CONTENTS. 
 
 1. No Baby in the House 7 
 
 2. The Bundle of Twigs 9 
 
 3. Over my Tea-cup 22 
 
 4. The Doctor's Frog 31 
 
 5. Talking to Himself 46 
 
 6. Johnny Checkup 49 
 
 7. Ghee 69 
 
 8. The Toy Balloon 84 
 
 9. The Brown Noses 86 
 
 10. "ICanWait" 100 
 
 11. The First Boots ". . 118 
 
 12. Two Carlos 120 
 
 13. Tho Princess Ethel 134 
 
 14. The Dead Bird 161 
 
 15. Cross Christie '162 
 
 16. The White Roses 188 
 
 17. The Old Man in the Ground 199 
 
 18. Jennie.. . 217 
 
NO BABY IN THE HOUSE, 
 
 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 No BABY in the house, I know, 
 
 'Tis far too nice and clean; 
 No toys by careless fingers strewn, 
 
 Upon the floors are seen. 
 No finger-marks are on the panes, 
 
 No scratches on the chairs, 
 No wooden men set up in rows, 
 
 Or marshaled off in pairs; 
 No little stockings to be darned, 
 
 All ragged at the toes, 
 No pile of mending to be done, 
 
 Made up of baby clothes; 
 
NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 No little troubles to be soothed, 
 
 No little Lands to fold, 
 No grimy fingers to be washed, 
 -No stories to be told; 
 
 No tender kisses to be given, 
 
 No nicknames, " Dove," and " Mouse ;" 
 
 No merry frolic after tea, 
 No baby in the house. 
 
THE BUNDLE OF TWIGS. 
 
 THESE was once a poor old woman 
 who lived upon the border of a great 
 forest called the King's Wood ; this forest 
 was full of deer and all kinds of wild game, 
 and it was to this wood that the king 
 came a hunting; with his gay clothes, his 
 bright sword and spear, and. his troop of 
 gallant cavaliers and merry ladies. 
 
 Often and often had the old woman 
 stood at the door of the hut, and seen them 
 ride by ; for she had lived in that place all 
 of her life. When she was a child the gay 
 party had thought her very fair, and had 
 thrown silver to her from out their well- 
 filled pockets; and she remembered well, 
 how, when she was a lovely young maiden, 
 
 the whole train had stood still before the 
 1* 
 
10 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 door, and she had given to the king a 
 drink of water. 
 
 But she was an old woman now, and 
 when they rode by on their fine horses, 
 they did not deign to notice her, standing 
 wistfully by the cottage-door. 
 
 True, they seldom came hunting now, 
 and it was many a year since the old trees 
 had echoed back the chime of horns and 
 the ring of laughter; and many a year 
 since the gentle deer had been chased 
 down to the death, and stained the soft, 
 green grass with their blood. 
 
 One winter morning, the old woman 
 found that she had no wood to build her 
 fire, and she was so cold, that she went 
 out into the fair, snow-wreathed forest to 
 gather bits of wood, so that she could 
 build herself a fire and make herself warm. 
 
 Now, it was against the king's laws for 
 any peasant to break the boughs, or in 
 
THE BUNDLE OF TWIGS. H 
 
 x- 
 
 any way to touch the trees, but they were 
 allowed to pick up what wood was blown 
 to the ground by the wind. 
 
 The snow was on the ground that winter 
 morning, and, as the old woman bent and 
 scraped it away with her feeble fingers, 
 her hands and feet became chilled by the 
 cold, and she gloomily thought of her hard 
 life, and grumbled because the king com- 
 pelled her to pick her wood from the 
 ground, instead of the trees ; then she 
 grumbled because God had given to the 
 king a fine palace, and warm food and 
 clothes, and broad lands, while she, after 
 a long life of labor, had to go out into the 
 frosty air, and pick her chips to keep her 
 from freezing, in her old age. 
 
 And the more she muttered of her hard 
 fate, the more she felt like muttering ; and 
 at last she said, that, since God had found 
 her to be of no use, and had never meant 
 
12 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 her to be any thing but a toiling earth- 
 worm, why did He give her life at all ? 
 and why had He not cut her down, and 
 made room for the useful of the race? 
 
 Then, with an angry heart, she reached 
 up her hand, and broke off a tiny twig 
 from a brown bough. 
 
 She knew well that it was against the 
 law, but it was very easy to break off a 
 little twig ; so she walked along, breaking 
 off only the crooked ones, until she had 
 quite a large bundle of them. Then she 
 sat down under a tall tree to rest; and 
 muttered all the time of her weary, un- 
 lovely life. 
 
 Suddenly there appeared before her a 
 young, fair-faced man. When she saw him, 
 she tried to hide the twigs under her 
 apron, but he pulled it aside with a smile, 
 and then asked her gravely : 
 
 " Why hast thou broken the twigs from 
 
THE BUNDLE OF TWIGS. 13 
 
 the king's trees, when he has forbidden 
 
 itr 
 
 " I broke not many !" replied the old 
 woman. 
 
 " Ay !" said he, " but the law does not 
 say, ' Thou shalt break not many.' ' : 
 
 ^The snow was bitter cold," mumbled 
 she, " and my fingers are old and feeble !" 
 
 " Ay !" said the young man, " but the 
 law does not say, < The young shall not 
 break branches from the king's trees !' ' : 
 
 Then the old woman hung her head 
 low; for, in all the time she had lived in 
 the forest, she had never offended before, 
 and she felt deeply abashed. 
 
 " I pray the king may forgive me !" she 
 cried, " but my heart was bitter, and the 
 cold struck deep ; I thought that I was but 
 a dead branch upon the tree of life, and 
 why did not the Father lop me off ? Then 
 I saw a dead, crooked twig upon the fair 
 
14: NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 tree, and I plucked it with anger, and then, 
 as I walked along, I saw many twigs which 
 were crooked and dead like me, and I broke 
 them all off; but I repent, and I pray the 
 king may forgive me !" 
 
 " I will see that thou art forgiven," said 
 he ; " but what dost thou say of being a 
 dead and useless branch, even as a dead, 
 crooked twig ? Thou art wrong there ! 
 thou art wrong there ! 
 
 " Wilt thou give to me two of the 
 twigs?" 
 
 The old woman looked at him, surprised, 
 but gave him the twigs as he wished ; 
 two very brown and crooked twigs. 
 
 He stooped, and scraped away the snow 
 with his hand, and dug two little holes, 
 put a twig in each one of them, and cov- 
 ered them up again with the snow. 
 
 " Next autumn," he said, " the new king 
 comes hunting to this forest ; I belong to 
 
THE BUNDLE OP TWIGS. 15 
 
 his court, and shall come too. Dost thou 
 know what tree this is?" 
 
 " Ay ! I have played, walked, and rested 
 under its shade for many a year ; it is the 
 King's Oak!" 
 
 " Yes," said he, " the King's Oak ! Next 
 autumn, on the day before the grand hunt- 
 ing, wilt thou come, at sunset, to this 
 spot ?" 
 
 " Yes ! yes !" said the old woman, " I 
 will come." 
 
 " Make thyself warm with the twigs," 
 said he, " and do not forget ! Farewell !" 
 
 The old woman hobbled home to her 
 hut; and, when she had built a blazing 
 fire of the twigs, and had warmed her 
 shivering skin, her heart warmed too, and 
 melted away that crust of ice around it, 
 which is called discontent. 
 
 She remembered how many troubles 
 and vexations and dangers surrounded 
 
16 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 the king, from which she was exempt ; 
 and she repented her ingratitude to the 
 dear Father, who had given her so many 
 fair gifts, with so few burdens and crosses. 
 
 The snow melted from the ground, the 
 flowers bloomed and died, the grain was 
 sown, and ripened, and being gathered, 
 when the merry young king came to hunt 
 in the forest. 
 
 One afternoon, the old woman stood in 
 the door of her hut, breathing the incense- 
 laden air that was wafted to her door from 
 the grain-fields, when a wood-cutter passing 
 by saluted her, and cried out : 
 
 " "Watch well to-morrow, old dame, for 
 the gay young king will pass thy door." 
 
 "Is to-morrow the day of the grand 
 hunting?" she cried. 
 
 " Ay ! that it is," he returned, as he 
 strode away into the rustles and shadows 
 of the great wood. 
 
THE BUNDLE OF TWIGS. 17 
 
 " I had forgotten !" muttered the old 
 woman, as she seized her crutch ; " but there 
 is yet time ! a good hour yet before sun- 
 set." 
 
 She hurried as well as she could, for it 
 was a long walk, to the King's Oak, and 
 her limbs were getting stiffer and feebler 
 every day; and it was well she did hasten, 
 for when she reached the spot the sun had 
 lit his naming torch in the West, as though 
 for light to go to bed by, and the fair-haired 
 young stranger was already there, waiting. 
 
 He came toward her, and greeted her 
 kindly, saying : 
 
 " I feared thou wouldst forget, good dame, 
 or else would fear to come." 
 
 "Ay!" she answered, "I come near for- 
 getting ; but afraid I was not." 
 
 "Dost thou remember the two poor, 
 dead, crooked twigs which I buried in the 
 ground and covered up with snow ?" 
 
18 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 " I remember them well," she replied. 
 
 " Good dame," said he, " thou didst not 
 know that those two twigs, dead as they 
 looked, and crooked as they were, had each 
 within them a germ of life, true, bounding, 
 earnest life, and that, left upon the tree, 
 each of them, as well as every one thou hadst 
 broken off, would have put forth vigorously 
 the broad green leaves which make the 
 King's Wood beautiful. 
 
 " And those two poor bits that I buried; 
 come here !" 
 
 And he showed her two little oak trees, 
 tiny yet, but strong and vigorous. 
 
 "These," he added, "have put forth that 
 germ of life which was within them, and 
 may, sometime, be as stately and venerable 
 as this oak under which we stand. 
 
 " Good dame, I remember that you lik- 
 ened yourself to a crooked and dead twig 
 upon the tree of life ; and I would fain 
 
THE BUNDLE OF TWIGS. 19 
 
 have you understand that as those had, un- 
 derneath a poor exterior, a germ of life, so 
 you have within you a germ of life ; with 
 this difference, the life within those crooked 
 twigs was a poor and perishable one ; 
 whilst that within you is glorious and 
 undying." 
 
 "Master," said the old dame, in a low 
 voice, " whoever thou art, thou speakest 
 the words of truth, and humbly from my 
 old heart do I thank you." 
 
 " Say no more !" said the young man, 
 " but pardon my preaching ! 
 
 " And now I must hasten away. Fare- 
 well !" 
 
 The next day, as the old woman saw the 
 gay company go by her but, she espied the 
 young man with fair hair who had talked 
 with her, riding upon a dashing white 
 steed, in a gay hunting jacket, and with 
 long snow-white plumes waving over his 
 
" 20 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 cap ; and when he saw her he smiled kindly 
 upon her. 
 
 The next day a serving-man from the 
 castle brought to the old woman a hand- 
 some knit-purse full of silver pieces ; and 
 the serving man said that his master bade 
 him say, " that the preacher sent it to her." 
 
 " And what is thy master's name ?" said 
 the old dame. 
 
 " Dost not thou know ?" said the serving- 
 man, laughing loudly at her. " His name is 
 Henry, and he is called by some, the 
 King." 
 
 " What !" cried the old woman, " did he 
 ride yester-morn on a fair, white horse, at 
 the head of all the train ? 7) 
 
 "That he did, of a certainty!" answered 
 the man. 
 
 " Heaven help me !" she muttered, " and 
 I a-talking to him so free." 
 
 When the next winter came she looked 
 
THE BUNDLE OF TWIGS. 21 
 
 almost lovingly upon the brown bare 
 boughs, and the wood-cutters laughed to 
 themselves when they heard her mutter, 
 
 " There 's a germ of life in every one ! in 
 every one !" 
 
 They did not understand it, at alL 
 
 But she did. 
 
 T317 
 
 c > 
 
OVER MY TEA-CUP. 
 
 I WAS alone ; so I made for myself a cup 
 of tea, and, after creaming and sugaring it 
 to my taste, sat down to enjoy it. 
 
 In fact, I had finished the first cup, and 
 commenced the second, when I leaned back 
 in my cosy rocking-chair, took a little com- 
 fort quietly for a little while, and straight- 
 ened up again for another sip, when I be- 
 held, seated upon the edge of the cup, a 
 small, dark creature, whose almond-eyes, 
 long queue, and general celestial appear- 
 ance, proclaimed him to be a native of the 
 Flowery Land, otherwise known as China. 
 
 As I gazed in utter astonishment upon 
 this remarkable individual, with my eyes 
 and mouth gaping open, he made a polite 
 
OVER MY TEA-CUP. 23 
 
 bow, smiled graciously, and made the 
 original remark, 
 
 " Pleasant evening, Miss." 
 
 Now, had I possessed the usual com- 
 mand over my tongue, I should certainly 
 have informed my most charming, but un- 
 expected visitor, that it was raining then, 
 and it would probably continue to rain all 
 night ; but, as I could not collect my ideas 
 very rapidly, I simply continued staring at 
 him, without uttering a syllable. 
 
 Probably thinking that I was waiting 
 for ceremony, my little friend introduced 
 himself: 
 
 " I am the King of Tea." 
 
 " The King," I ejaculated, in broken ac- 
 cents, " the King of of Tea ?" 
 
 He bowed, smilingly. "Yes," he said, 
 " you are quite right of Tea." 
 
 " King !" said I, under my breath. 
 
 " Tea is very nice," he said, with the air 
 
24 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 of one communicating valuable informa- 
 tion, " and, all ! ahein ! it comes from Chi- 
 na Celestial China." 
 
 " Perhaps" faltered I. 
 
 " Oh ! certainly, certainly, with unmiti- 
 gated pleasure I will tell you all about it 
 all that you can wish, Miss all that you 
 can wish." 
 
 I was going to beg of him to keep his 
 
 feet out of my tea, where lie kept splashing 
 
 - them all the time, but he was in such a 
 
 hurry to answer, that he would not give 
 
 me time to correct him. 
 
 " The Tea plant," he began, pompously, 
 " is of the same family of plants as the 
 Camellia, and came, originally, from China 
 Celestial China !" 
 
 But " I interrupted for I did want 
 to save my cup of tea, which was really 
 excellent 
 , " Oh, nonsense !" said he, quickly, " that 
 
OVER MY TEA-CUP. 25 
 
 story of the Japanese, about our getting it 
 originally from them, that is a base false- 
 hood. It was first found in the central 
 provinces of China Celestial China." 
 " I beg your pardon," said I, " but you 
 
 are" 
 
 " Digressing ? I know it," he said. 
 
 I had hoped that here was a chance for 
 me to get in my entreaty, but no, he would 
 not listen. 
 
 " The plant is bushy," he continued, 
 " and grows to be about four feet high, 
 bearing white flowers." 
 
 " Ugh !" I ejaculated, for just then he 
 rubbed his feet together, and splashed 
 them, as though he was bathing. 
 
 " Oh, no, indeed ! not at all not at all," 
 he said, politely ; " I am never tired. Let 
 me see ; I was telling you how those Ara- 
 bian travelers, who ran through our land 
 
 some ten or eleven hundred years ago, 
 2 
 
26 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 praised up TEA. But what they said is 
 counted as nothing, when we read the 
 works of the great and illustrious Lo Yu, 
 one of our writers, who flourished a few 
 hundred years before them, and who paid 
 a tribute to the virtue of tea, which will 
 render his name immortal as long as the 
 Chinese language is spoken." 
 
 " Was it introduced into Europe for 
 washing ?" I asked, intending to be ironi- 
 cal. 
 
 " What !" said the king " introduced 
 into Europe by Washington ? No, no, 
 Miss ! it was introduced by the Portuguese, 
 in 1520. They declared it would cure all 
 diseases, and so it will almost." 
 
 " May I ask," said I, giving up that cup 
 of tea as hopeless, and quite ashamed to 
 make any further fuss about it, " may I 
 ask whose method we use in preparing 
 our tea ?" 
 
OVER MY TEA-CUP. 27 
 
 " Preparing our tea ? Our neighbors, the 
 Japanese, pound their tea into a powder," 
 was the not very satisfactory reply of my 
 little friend, " while the Persians boil it 
 until it is very black." 
 
 " And we ?" I inquired. 
 
 "You?" he answered "why! you use 
 a great deal of tea really, quite a fine 
 amount. England, too, does very well. 
 I remember the time, only two or three 
 hundred years ago, when fifteen hundred 
 pounds was enough to glut the market. 
 But they're improving they're improv- 
 ing!" 
 
 " So the Persians boil it until it is 
 black 2" said I, trying to lead him back to 
 his remark about methods of preparing 
 the drink. 
 
 " Black 2" said the King of Tea" black, 
 really, has a better effect upon the -nervous 
 system than green. To tell you the honest 
 
28 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 truth, green tea is very much adulterated ; 
 besides, it is dried on copper platters, so it 
 may have a good color, and so its effect on 
 the nerves is bad very bad. Tea is very 
 much fixed up before it gets to you, any- 
 how. There is one kind, which we, our- 
 selves, call Lie Tea, because it is made of 
 tea-dust, stuck together with starch." 
 
 Here my little friend grinned broadly at 
 the way they cheated the innocent and 
 honest tea-drinkers. 
 
 "We have another way, too," he con- 
 tinued, " of making our valuable export pay 
 us well. We pick up leaves which have 
 been boiled once, dry them carefully, mix a 
 little fresh tea with them, and, lo ! our big 
 pockets fill with gold." 
 
 " I should think," said I, " that the tast- 
 ers would detect the cheat." 
 
 " So they do, so they do !" returned the 
 King, " but the tasters die off rapidly luck- 
 
OYER MY TEA-CUP. 39 
 
 ily for us. Paralysis and head-ache attack 
 them, and we fear them but little, very 
 little." 
 
 Here he kicked up his heels so, that the 
 tea splashed right over the edge of the 
 cup. 
 
 " Pshaw !" said I, out of patience, " how 
 long will this last?" 
 
 " Last !" said he, very graciously, " oh ! 
 the tea-plant usually lasts from ten to twelve 
 years ; we get four crops a year, too, so that 
 is very well. There are two kinds of 
 plants hill and garden plants." 
 
 " Which are the best ?" I edged in. 
 
 "The very best tea in the world we keep 
 for ourselves," he answered, " but the best 
 kind you ever get is the Pearl or Gun- 
 powder tea. Oolong and Souchong are 
 good, though ! yes, excellent, in fact. The 
 very meanest kind is Tioanikay? 
 
 "This," said he, smelling of my nice cup, 
 
30 NO BABY IX THE HOUSE. 
 
 which he had spoiled by his ugly little 
 feet, " This is mere T.wankay /" 
 
 With that he wisely slipped off from the 
 cup, and disappeared. 
 
 "TwankayF said I, indignantly, " I know 
 that this is the very best Bohea." 
 
 But then, I was only dreaming. 
 
THE DOCTOR'S FROG. 
 
 NEVER mind his name ; everybody called 
 him " The Doctor," and nobody knew if he 
 had any other name or not, and, moreover, 
 nobody cared; at least little Bo-peep didn't, 
 and she was the most important member 
 of his family, next to the Frog. 
 
 Frogs, as a general thing, are uninterest- 
 ing creatures ; they croak in the evenings, 
 and we let them ; but apart from their 
 croaking, we, ourselves, care nothing about 
 them ; to be sure Monsieur says that they 
 are excellent eating, and taste for all the 
 world like chicken, but that, compliment 
 though it may be, can not make them 
 interesting as individuals. 
 
 But the Doctor's Frog was an exception ; 
 
32 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 the Doctor's Frog was an honor and an 
 ornament to his class, and the Doctor was 
 proud of him. 
 
 My Frog, sir !" he used to say, with a 
 magnificent little nourish; and then the 
 gentleman or lady would edge up, and 
 look, and edge off again ; for people, as a 
 general thing, do not like to see frogs 
 disporting themselves in the parlors of 
 their friends. 
 
 The Doctor was old, but he was the 
 youngest kind of a baby compared with the 
 Frog ; then, the dear old Doctor had wrin- 
 kles on his forehead, and many more white 
 hairs in his dear old head than black ; he 
 stooped now, too, and his voice had a 
 crack in it somewhere; but his Frog, 
 though he was as old as the Flood, was as 
 gay and lively as the youngest croaker 
 about. 
 
 Don't laugh now, because I say as old 
 
THE DOCTOR'S FROG. 33 
 
 as the Flood, for I mean it; you have 
 heard, perhaps, about frogs being found in 
 great blocks of marble in which there was 
 no crack nor fissure by means of which 
 they might have got in ; when the stone is 
 broken, and the fresh air revives the 
 prisoner inside, he stretches just one leg, 
 and then the other, and, with one gushing 
 croak of joy, hops off after a drink of 
 water. 
 
 This is the history of the Doctor's Frog 
 up to the time my part of the story 
 commences. 
 
 So, it can be said with truth, you see, 
 that the Frog was as old as the Flood ; for 
 he must have jumped into the stone when 
 it was soft, in order to be there at all ; and 
 it was soft, probably, on or about the time 
 of the Flood. 
 
 Any way, the stone which had held him 
 
 so closely for so long a time, was broken 
 2* 
 
34 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 at last, and the Frog rolled out ; the Doctor 
 chanced to be there, so picking it up with 
 his thumb and finger by one leg, for he 
 hated them as a class, he vowed that this 
 Frog should be his; and as nobody else 
 wanted it, it became his. 
 
 The Doctor, therefore, had two pets now ; 
 for he had one before, Little Bo-peep. 
 
 The way this little lady came to be the 
 Doctor's pet, was this; it was a February 
 morning, a morning just dropped out of 
 Heaven, it seemed, so beautiful was it ! for 
 the Doctor, you must know, lived in San 
 Francisco, and in San Francisco there is no 
 snow, no slush, no cold in February; 
 nothing but sweet air, sunny skies, and 
 green, springing life, with occasional showers 
 to keep us from being too happy ; and this 
 particular February morning was the very 
 balmiest and most lovely morning imagin- 
 able. 
 
THE DOCTOR'S FROG. 35 
 
 The Doctor, I am sorry to record this 
 of him, but the truth must come out, sooner 
 or later, the Doctor was not a lark in any 
 respect whatever; larks, as I understand 
 them, are distinguished by two things, a 
 great talent for singing, and an uncomforta- 
 ble habit of getting up very early in the 
 morning. Now the dear Doctor could whistle 
 " Yankee Doodle," but he could not get up 
 in the morning ; at least, he always said he 
 could not, but I have my doubts, whether 
 he ever tried. Well, on this February 
 morning, he was slumbering the balmy 
 hours away, and was dreaming, perhaps, 
 of his many patients who could not sleep at 
 all, when something woke him up; this 
 something was a little baby-voice singing 
 the sweetest kind of a little baby song. 
 
 At first, it mingled with the Doctor's 
 dreams; then he became conscious that 
 there was a sweet reality about it somehow, 
 
36 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 and, by a violent effort, lie opened his eyes ; 
 he looked all around the room, but he 
 could see no baby ; he listened, and still he 
 heard the singing, so he looked around 
 again, and pinched himself to see if he was 
 dreaming ; he pinched a little harder than 
 was necessary, and that convinced him that 
 he was not dreaming, but still he could not 
 see the baby, although he still could hear 
 the singing. * 
 
 " Well," exclaimed he, too lazy to get up, 
 " I guess I'll wait, and see if the mystery 
 won't explain itself." 
 
 So it did pretty soon ; one of the long 
 French windows in the Doctor's room was 
 open; and pretty soon the singing grew 
 nearer and nearer, until the little singer 
 herself came up and "peeked in" at the 
 window ; the Doctor saw her, and he was 
 excited instantly. 
 
 " Halloo ! little Bo-peep,!" he cried out. 
 
THE DOCTOR'S FROG. 37 
 
 His voice was rough and deep, but child- 
 ren could always hear the heart which was 
 ringing and sounding through its gruffness ; 
 and the little singer heard it too, for she 
 trotted in, and stood there in the middle of 
 the room, just as pretty as a picture. 
 
 She was two years old, perhaps, and 
 babies of two years are always pretty and 
 sweet; except when they are sick, and 
 Bo-peep wasn't sick. She didn't have any 
 thing on but her nightgown and one little 
 sock ; her hair was in the delightfulest curly 
 tangle possible, and her blue eyes were 
 wide open ; her two plump arms were as 
 pink as a sea-shell, and the dimples in 
 them, and in her cheeks, were as deep as 
 could be. Talk about pictures the Doc- 
 tor never had seen a picture in his life 
 half so lovely as this living one which 
 stood before him on that balmy February 
 morning. 
 
38 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE 
 
 " Where did she come from ?" he thought 
 to himself; " somebody will put it in the 
 papers to-morrow ' Lost, a little singing 
 angel in a nightgown and one sock. 7 r 
 
 They made friends right away. The 
 Doctor called her " little Bo-peep," and she 
 liked the name ; he wrapped her up, and 
 put her on the bed; then he hunted for 
 something to give her to play with, and 
 could find nothing but a candy cat, which 
 had been given to him by one of his ad- 
 miring little patients, and a great medicine 
 book, full of ugly pictures of skeletons, 
 and of eyes without any faces, and faces 
 without any eyes. 
 
 But Bo-peep liked it ; she liked it so 
 much in fact, that she tore out one leaf 
 which had a very large skeleton on it ; and 
 the Doctor, for all he couldn't buy another 
 one in all California, kissed her, and said, 
 "Bless her heart!" 
 
THE DOCTOR'S FROG. 39 
 
 She ate up the candy-cat, and insisted so 
 upon the Doctor's swallowing one leg, that 
 he was obliged to do so, although he de- 
 tested candy, and knew it would make his 
 teeth ache. 
 
 By and by a ring came at the door-bell, 
 and a lady, looking very much frightened 
 and distressed, wanted to know if he had 
 seen any thing of a little child; a lady across 
 the street had told her that a child had 
 gone into the Doctor's garden that morning, 
 and she wanted to know if it was her child. 
 " Yes, ma'am, I suppose it is," said he, re- 
 gretfully, and then he showed her Bo-peep, 
 with her little unsocked foot sticking out 
 from the Doctor's wrappings, and her dear 
 deep dimples filled up to the brim with 
 candy. 
 
 And then her mother, between laughing 
 and crying, told the Doctor how she had 
 left her sound asleep, and gone to the mar- 
 
40 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 ket ; and how she came back and found 
 her dearie gone ; and then the dear old 
 fellow questioned her, and found out that 
 she was very, very poor ; that her husband 
 was dead, and that Bo-peep was the last 
 one of a flock of little ones who had sur- 
 rounded her hearth ; the more he talked 
 with her, the more be liked her, and the 
 upshot of it was, that she brought her 
 scanty possessions to his house the next day, 
 and entered upon her duties as his house- 
 keeper. 
 
 " What is this little midget's name ?" he 
 inquired that first evening, as Mrs. Burnett 
 rocked the baby to sleep, by the kitchen fire. 
 
 "Well," she replied, "she hasn't any 
 name, really ; 1 have always called her 
 baby, but I did think of having her bap- 
 tized Hannah, after my sister, but I never 
 have attended to it." 
 
 "I will give you any amount you may 
 
THE DOCTOR'S FROG. 41 
 
 name, that is, any amount in reason to let 
 me name her, and have her baptized," said 
 the Doctor, beating one fore-finger upon the 
 other. 
 
 Of course, Mrs. Burnett said, " name her 
 by all means," and laughed at the idea of 
 his paying her for it. So she was bap- 
 tized a day or two afterward, and her legal 
 name, then, was Bo-peep Burnett. 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Straightback, " if that 
 ain't the most barbarous and on-Christian- 
 like name I ever heered !" But the Doctor, 
 the mother, and the baby were satisfied. 
 So I don't know that Mrs. Straightback's 
 protest affected anybody. 
 
 Bo-peep loved the Doctor, and every thing 
 which belonged to the Doctor, up to the time 
 that the Frog came on the stage, but the 
 Frog she did not like a bit. 
 
 The Doctor kept the Frog in the back 
 yard, except when he wanted to display 
 
42 NO BABY 1ST THE HOUSE. 
 
 it to visitors, when he took him into the 
 parlor. Well, early in the morning, Bo-peep 
 would roll out of her crib, grab both of her 
 shoes, and standing on the very tip of her 
 rosy little toes, she would lean out of her 
 window, which was usually open, and throw 
 both shoes out at poor Mr. Frog with all 
 her baby might. 
 
 In vain the Doctor tried to frown, in 
 vain Mrs. Burnett scolded ; still, she perse- 
 vered, to the great damage of her shoes, if 
 not of the Frog. At last, Mrs. Burnett 
 declared that she would whip her whip 
 little Bo-peep, who had hardly ever been 
 scolded in her life, much less whipped ; so 
 little did she know of it, in fact, that she 
 thought her mother was playing with her, 
 and so laughed and chuckled, until her 
 mother could no longer make believe whip, 
 but had to hug her, and chuckle too. 
 
 Then she did, what she might as well 
 
THE DOCTOR'S FROG 43 
 
 have done in the first place ; she put the 
 window down, and locked it. 
 
 But the angry feelings which existed on 
 Bo-peep's part toward the Frog did not 
 cease, by any means ; the Frog bore no 
 malice, I am sure, but it would have taken 
 a nature really angelic to have forgiven 
 wholly the treatment which he received 
 from her. 
 
 One night it rained hard, and the next 
 morning the Frog was gone. Bo-peep 
 made no secret of her delight, and had 
 not the least sympathy for the regret of 
 the Doctor. There was a vacant lot next 
 door to the Doctor's house, and, it being a 
 little lower than the land about, whenever 
 it rained, there would be a little pond in 
 it ; down to this pond little Bo-peep wan- 
 dered the day after the Frog disappeared. 
 
 As she played and sung by herself, she 
 saw suddenly her old enemy placidly sun- 
 
44 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 ning himself among the grass and weeds ; 
 she had no pity on him, or on the Doctor, 
 but, seizing a thick stick, she began pelting 
 him so industriously and vigorously, that 
 he was glad to get away without broken 
 bones. 
 
 The next night the Doctor heard him 
 croak; and such croaks! they could be 
 heard, I am sure, at least two blocks away. 
 The day after, the Doctor hunted for his 
 Frog, but in vain he never saw him nor 
 heard him again ; that loud, sonorous croak- 
 ing was his parting serenade. 
 
 No one ever knew whither he had gone, 
 nor why ; but one of the Doctor's scientific 
 friends suggested that he had become dis- 
 gusted with this age of the world, aod had 
 jumped into another soft stone, for another 
 thousand years' sleep. 
 
 Perhaps it was so; but little Bo-peep 
 knew why he had become disgusted so 
 
THE DOCTOR'S FROG. 45 
 
 soon, for she knew all about how his 
 peaceful mid-day nap was disturbed with 
 a big stick; but the dear old Doctor 
 never knew. 
 
TALKING TO HIMSELF. 
 
 HE was a child of dreams, their boy; 
 
 His soft hair, shaded brown, 
 The summer suns had never scorched, 
 
 Nor round cheeks' baby down. 
 His play-room was his little world, 
 
 His toys his worldly pelf; % 
 And as for playmates, why, the child 
 
 Talked all day to himself. 
 
 No stranger would have dreamed there 
 was 
 
 A child in all the house ; 
 For not a sound was heard from him. 
 
 He was a very mouse, 
 So small, so slender, lithe, and still ; 
 
 A sober little elf, 
 They said; a precious, darling child, 
 
 Who played all by himself. 
 
TALKING TO HIMSELF. 4.7 
 
 Quiet now is the great grim house ; 
 
 Twas always quiet before; 
 His little toys are piled with care 
 
 Upon the play -room floor; 
 But he never strewed them all about, 
 
 As most of children do ; 
 For, oh ! 't was not alone he played, 
 
 Angels were playing too. 
 
 Now do we listen for the voice, 
 
 That we can hear no more; 
 For murmurs low, and whispers sweet, 
 
 In passing his play-room door, 
 Oh when they told me all they did, 
 
 They said what" was not true; 
 He was not talking to himself, 
 
 'Twas angels he was talking to. 
 
 Tears, most sad and tender tears, 
 Blind now our brimming eyes ; 
 
 Such as are wrung from fond, fond hearts, 
 When the household baby dies. 
 
48 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 And angels, ye who talked with him, 
 
 And pleaded him to go, 
 Ye did not, ah! ye could not know 
 
 That we did love him so. 
 
 A white sweet face, a cold, cold form ; 
 
 Hands folded on the breast, 
 As though the tender dove of Peace 
 
 Had nestled there to rest; 
 And this is all now left to us, 
 
 This tiny thing like snow ! 
 Oh, had we thought, if we had known 
 
 But, ah ! we did not know. 
 
JOHNNY CHECKUP. 
 
 THE rain fell on the roof outside with a 
 gentle dipple, dipple, and Johnny Check- 
 up fell on the floor inside with a great 
 "bohoo, bohoo." 
 
 He did not hurt himself in the least, but 
 when a little fellow is in the habit of 
 getting lumps of white sugar for a little, 
 tiny cut, and five cents for black- and-blue 
 spots, and a big piece of pound-cake is his 
 price for extracting splinters, he is apt to 
 cry out " bohoo, bohoo !" when he tumbles 
 down on his mother's soft Brussels carpets. 
 
 " Poor, poor little Johnny !" said sympa- 
 thizing Miss Bella, putting down her 
 worsted work, " come here ! dear love, come 
 to sister Bella, come I" Johnny put his 
 hand up over his eyes, pretending to rub 
 
 3 
 
 UT 
 
 IVE: 
 
50 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 away tears which were never there, and 
 still whimpering, came up and put his 
 chubby cheek on sister Bella's shoulder. 
 He tried hard to squeeze two tears into his 
 eyes, but somehow, although, when he did 
 not want to cry, he had tears enough and to 
 spare, now, just when he wanted to cry, 
 those tears just stayed behind the lids, and 
 laughed at him, may be. 
 
 If Bella noticed it, she did not seem to 
 mind it, but just put her arm around his 
 shoulder, kissed the other cheek, and said, 
 " Poor Johnny !" 
 
 " Bella," said he, " tell me a story." 
 
 Bella looked at her worsted work; it 
 was coining Christinas, and those slippers 
 must be finished for Papa Checkup, for 
 Santa Glaus does not bring grown-up folks 
 presents, as we poor grown-up folks know 
 to our cost. 
 
 She took them up. 
 
JOHNNY CHECKUP. 51 
 
 "Johnny, I must work on papa's slip- 
 pers this evening, for in let me see yes, 
 in two weeks from to-morrow, Christmas 
 comes. You would not like to have poor 
 papa lose his present, just for your story ; 
 would you, now ?" 
 
 Johnny looked thoughtfully at the bright 
 worsted ; he did not want to be " mean 
 and stingy," but he did want a story, and 
 sister Bella could tell such nice stories. 
 A bright thought struck him. 
 
 " Why, Bella ! why can't you work and 
 talk too ? You might tell me a story, and 
 be working on papa's present all the 
 time." 
 
 " No," said Bella, shaking her head, " I 
 could not do that." 
 
 " Why ?" said he ; "I think you might. 
 You don't push your needle through with 
 your tongue, do you?" 
 
 " No," she answered, smiling, " I don't 
 
52 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 do that, but, if I talk to you, I shall forget 
 to count the stitches; and then, may be, 
 poor sister would have to take out a lot 
 of her work it would be all wrong." 
 
 " No, you wouldn't neither ;" and he be- 
 gan to whimper again as he said this. 
 
 " I just think you 're real mean, Bella 
 Checkup. I don't like you a bit, any 
 more not a single bit." And he whim- 
 pered louder. 
 
 " How can you be so naughty, Johnny ? 
 Sister tells you so many nice 'stories, and 
 takes you out to walk, and does so many 
 things for you, and now you don't love 
 her. Very well, Master Johnny, very 
 well" 
 
 Johnny kept up his whimpering. 
 
 " I shall tell Santa Glaus about you," 
 continued Bella, " when he comes whisk- 
 ing down the chimney, with his big fur 
 cloak, and his funny red hat, and his great 
 
JOHNNY CHECKUP. 53 
 
 big bag of lovely toys. He'll poke his 
 funny red hat out first, and peer all around, 
 to see if there are any little boys or girls 
 in the room; and if he doesn't see any, he 
 will say, in a loud whisper, * Miss Bella, 
 Miss Bella, has Johnny been a good boy 
 this year?'" 
 
 "And what '11 you tell him?" asked 
 Johnny, with big eyes. 
 
 " Perhaps," said his sister, "perhaps 
 I shall tell him you have been a bad boy." 
 
 " All right for you. Miss !" howled he, 
 " all right for you, if you do ! I shall just 
 sit up, and tell him it 's no such thing." 
 
 " But he will not come down, if you sit 
 up," she answered. 
 
 "I'll get behind the sofa, then, so he 
 can't see me," was the reply. 
 
 " Oh ! but he will peer around, and see 
 you there, and then he will whisk up the 
 chimney again, and skip down Eddy 
 
54: NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 Harper's, without leaving any thing for 
 you." 
 
 " Why ?" said Johnny, " why will he ?" 
 
 " I don't know why," said Bella, " only 
 I know he won't come down if he sees any 
 children in the room at all. He hugs his 
 bags of presents tight to keep from drop- 
 ping any, and up he runs." 
 
 " May be he's bashful," suggested Johnny. 
 
 " May be," answered Bella. 
 
 Pretty soon the little rascal nestled up 
 to busy Miss Bella, and pressed a pair of 
 soft cherry lips to her neck, saying, " I do 
 love you a million dollars. I won't never 
 be bad no more; let's be good friends, 
 Bella." 
 
 The kiss was so sweet, the repentance 
 so sincere, that Bella's heart smote her. 
 And so she put down her work, put both 
 arms around the dear sinner, and hugged 
 him until he fairly squealed. 
 
JOHNNY CHECKUP. 55 
 
 "Now, let's have a little chat about 
 Santa Glaus," he coaxed. 
 
 She looked at the slipper with a sigh. 
 A thought struck her. 
 
 " When I have worked this row out to 
 the end, I will. Now, go and play very 
 quietly, and I'll call you when I am 
 ready." 
 
 You could have heard a pin drop in that 
 room for about a minute ; then a subdued 
 inquiry came from the corner : 
 
 " Is it most done now T Then a shake 
 of the head followed, and another minute 
 of silence; then, 
 
 " Say, Bella, how many stitches more T 
 
 " About a dozen, I guess," was the cheery 
 answer. 
 
 In another minute, down went the 
 slipper, and up came Johnny Checkup, on 
 Miss Bella's knee. 
 
 " What will Santa Glaus say, when he 
 
56 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 sticks his head out?" said the young 
 gentleman, eagerly. 
 
 "He '11 say : < Miss Bella, Miss Bella ! has 
 Johnny been a good. boy this year?' Then 
 I '11 say,- 
 
 " ' Oh, yes ! Santa Glaus, he 's been such a 
 good boy ! ' Then Santa Glaus will say 
 
 " ' Well ! here 's a good many toys for a 
 little boy by that name, who has been very 
 good.' 
 
 "Then he'll pull out his beautiful can- 
 dies, and nuts, and lovely toys, and he and 
 I will stuff your stocking full. Then he '11 
 say, 
 
 " < Well, Miss Bella, good-bye ! Got a lot 
 of chimneys to go down yet, else I'd stop 
 longer. 
 
 " ' Quite a relief it is to come down your 
 chimney, 'cause it 's so nice and broad, and 
 got an open grate. 
 
 ' l Some are narrow horribly narrow 
 
JOHNNY CHECKUP. 57 
 
 oloak's nearly ruined squeezing 'em; then 
 they have a stove, and forget to put the 
 damper down for me. Very bad thing 
 Miss Bella, very bad thing. 
 
 " ' Good-bye, now, good-bye !' 
 
 "And with that," continued Bella, "he 
 will pull off his funny red cap, clap it on 
 again with a jerk, and go flying up the 
 chimney so fast that the soot will not have 
 time to stir." 
 
 Johnny laughed ! 
 
 " What will he bring for bad boys, this 
 Christmas ?" he asked, anxiously. 
 
 " Oh !" answered Bella, " I guess he 
 brings old cracked cups, and burnt candy, 
 and bitter nuts." 
 
 " Oh, yes !" said Johnny, " and busted 
 whistles, may be, and wormy raisins and 
 broken kites." 
 
 Then, after a pause, 
 
 "What do you think he will have for 
 
58 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 me, Bella? I haven't been bad, you 
 know. 
 
 " Well, I don't know," replied the sister, 
 " what would you like ?" 
 
 "I think I would just like a steam-en- 
 gine, and. a cat, and a fiddle " 
 
 " And the cow jumping over the moon ?" 
 added Bella. 
 
 " ~No I pooh ! no ! and , a truly pop- 
 gun, and lots of nuts and candy. Mixed 
 candy 's very nice," he suggested. 
 
 " Is it possible that this is all ?" inquired 
 Bella, merrily. 
 
 " Yes and something for Lizzie Sawyer," 
 answered Johnny, gravely. 
 
 " Oh, no ! no, indeed 1" said the young 
 lady. 
 
 " Lizzie will get something in her own 
 stocking, but not in yours." 
 
 " Say, Bella !" he said, " won't you tell 
 me a story now ? I know you will, be- 
 
JOHNNY CHECKUP. 59 
 
 cause you're the bestest girl, in this whole 
 city. Ah, yes! please do! Now, won't 
 you ?" 
 
 "Well, I don't know, sir; what will 
 you give me for a nice story ?" 
 
 " Five kisses !" was the prompt reply. 
 
 "Well! very well! it is a bargain," said 
 she ; one counted she, two, three, 
 four, make this a good big one, five 
 and one to grow on." 
 
 Johnny Checkup was used to this put- 
 ting on an extra, and bore it very calmly. 
 
 " What is the story about?" he asked, all 
 attention. 
 
 " Let me see," she replied, " let me see, 
 I'll tell you about 
 
 THE LITTLE BOY WHO CRIED FOE THE MOON. 
 
 " Once there was a little boy, whose name 
 was Teddy. 
 
 " He was a boy who had his own way, 
 
(JO NO BABT IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 usually, much more than was good for him ; 
 he liked it though, all the same. 
 
 " When he wanted any thing, he cried for 
 it, and he knew from experience, that to 
 cry for it, was the way to get it. 
 
 " Once he went on a visit to his grand- 
 mother. She was delighted to have him 
 come, and was so kind to him, that he 
 could not help but be happy. 
 
 " One evening, as he was standing by the 
 window, he caught sight of the moon, mov- 
 ing slowly along among the stars. 
 
 " And what do you think he did ? 
 
 " He asked his grandmother to get it for 
 him, and when she told him she would if 
 she could, but that she could not, it was 
 so very, very far away, then Master 
 Teddy began to scream and bawl, spicing 
 his screams with < I want it ! I will have 
 it ! ! You just give it to me now ! ! !' " 
 
 "He must have been a little noodle, 
 
JOHNNY CHECKUP. 61 
 
 any-how," interrupted Johnny contemptu- 
 ously. 
 
 " Perhaps," continued Bella. " But his 
 grandmother did not like to see him cry- 
 ing, so she said kindly, * Don't cry, Teddy, 
 and I will give you a nice piece of ginger- 
 bread/ 
 
 " But Teddy, who thought it was quite 
 smart of him to cry for the moon, kept on 
 crying; thinking perhaps, that by that 
 means, he would get two pieces of ginger- 
 bread. 
 
 " After awhile, however, his grand-moth- 
 er lost all patience, and became very angry. 
 
 " Then she took him by the hand, gave 
 him a good scolding, and sent him off to 
 bed without any supper, or any kind kisses." 
 
 " And it was just good for him," said 
 Johnny. 
 
 "So," continued Miss Bella, "he got 
 neither the moon, nor the gingerbread ; and, 
 
62 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 besides, was sent to bed an hour before bed- 
 time. 
 
 " After he got to sleep, he dreamed of a 
 great sea made of moons, and filled with 
 islands made of great hunks of gingerbread." 
 
 "That's a bully story!" said Master 
 Checkup, whose language was not always 
 suited to the drawing-room. " Tell it again, 
 Bella." 
 
 " Oh ! dear me !" she said, " I can not, you 
 scamp ; oh ! truly, I can't tell it over 
 
 again." 
 
 " Aw !" said Johnny, " do. Do please, 
 nice, sweet, beautiful Bella ! I'll give you 
 five more kisses, if you will ; won't you ? 
 Now, Bella, say you will ; yes now." 
 
 Bella shook her head, saying, " No, sir," 
 very firmly. " But," she added, " for eight 
 and one over, I will tell you another story." 
 
 " All right, madam !" was the reply. 
 " Here's one, four, two, five, eight !" 
 
JOHNNY CHECKUP. 63 
 
 Ob ! what counting," said Bella, squeez- 
 ing him. 
 
 " Now begin," said he, eagerly. 
 
 " Well," said she, " this is a story about 
 let me see well about 
 
 SCAMPER. 
 
 " Once there was a boy, a dear, sweet 
 duck of a boy, whose name was Ernie. 
 
 " His name in reality was Ernest, but 
 everybody loved him so well, that they 
 thought Ernest was too cold for their warm 
 hearts, and so called him Ernie, for love. 
 
 " His father was a rich man, and so he 
 bought his dear boy a pony, and after con- 
 sulting with papa, mamma, all the aunts and 
 uncles, and all his friends, big and little, Er- 
 nie decided to name Mr. Pony Scamper. 
 
 " Scamper was a very good name for him, 
 too, for he used to scamper, as often as he 
 got a chance. 
 
64: NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 " Master Ernie learned to ride this Scam- 
 per, after awhile, and many merry times 
 
 he had with him. 
 \ 
 
 "But the boy's mother was always a 
 little anxious when she saw them cantering 
 out of the gate, and always her last words 
 were : 
 
 " ' Now, love, do be careful !' 
 
 " He would always reply : 
 
 " t Oh ! yes, indeed mamma, I will be very 
 careful,' and I suppose he did mean to be 
 careful, but it is pretty hard sometimes for 
 boys to remember; and once or twice, 
 Master Ernie found himself riding very 
 much faster than was prudent." 
 
 The door opened, and Mamma Checkup's 
 face appeared; Mamma Checkup's voice 
 was heard, saying : 
 * " Johnny, love, it is seven o'clock." 
 
 Johnny knew well enough that seven 
 o'clock meant bedtime, and he was reluct- 
 
JOHNNY CHECKUP 65 
 
 antly sliding himself off Bella's lap, when 
 that dear sister interceded. 
 
 " He wants to hear the rest of this little 
 story, mamma ; it's very short " 
 
 " Well !" said she, " five minutes more, 
 then;" and the round face of dear Mamma 
 Checkup disappeared from the doorway. 
 
 " One day," continued Bella, " Ernie was 
 racing down William Street as fast as 
 Scamper could make his feet fly, without 
 thinking at all of his dear mamma's en- 
 treaties to be careful. 
 
 " A boy who saw them coming, ran out 
 into the middle of the street, throwing up 
 his cap in the air, and crying out, i Whoa !' 
 
 " And Scamper did 'Whoa !' but he did it 
 altogether too quickly, for off went his 
 poor little master, on to the hard paving- 
 stones. 
 
 " He did not move or stir, and the boy 
 who had unintentionally caused the mis- 
 
66 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 chief, and all the people who came running 
 up, thought he never would move or stir 
 any more. 
 
 " Scamper thought so too, perhaps, for he 
 went up, and looked at the little boy with 
 such a piteous look, and put his nose 
 against his cheek, as much as to say, 
 
 " l Nay, nay, little master, don't give up so/ 
 
 " I think the pony would have cried if 
 he could. 
 
 " But Ernie was only stunned and injured, 
 not dead. 
 
 " He was taken home very tenderly, and 
 for many weeks he was very ill ; which is 
 not at all nice, you know, for then you 
 have to take such bitter, bitter, medicine." 
 
 " Yes," said Johnny Checkup, " I know." 
 
 "When Ernie's papa came home, and 
 was told how dreadfully his dear little boy 
 was hurt, he declared that Scamper must 
 be sold. 
 
JOHNNY CHECKUP. 67 
 
 " Sold lie certainly would have been, had 
 not all the aunts and uncles interceded 
 for him, for they knew how disappointed 
 their little darling would be, when he was 
 well, to find his Scamper gone. 
 
 " The very first day that he was carried 
 down stairs in papa's strong arms, he put 
 his mouth to his ear, and whispered : 
 
 " i Take me to the stable, please/ 
 
 " Papa said never a word, but he walked 
 straight to the stable, straight to Scamper's 
 stall, where Scamper was eating his break- 
 fast. 
 
 " The pony looked up from his breakfast 
 when he heard footsteps, and as he saw 
 Ernie, he neighed, in a short, quick way, 
 his joy at seeing him. 
 
 " Then Ernie put his thin, weak arms 
 around Scamper's neck, and hugged him, 
 saying, very tenderly, 
 
 " ' It was n't your fault, dear, dear Scam- 
 
68 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 % 
 
 per, not your fault at all. Myself was to 
 blame, and nobody else.' 
 
 " Then Scamper neighed again cheerily, as 
 much as to say, 
 
 " ' All right, dear little master, all right.' 
 
 " I do believe," said Bella, " that you have 
 got a tear way down in your eye ; but 
 never mind, Ernie's papa had two in his, 
 and after his boy got well, he gave Mr. 
 Scamper a splendid silver-mounted bridle." 
 
 Just then the door opened, and Mamma 
 Checkup's round face declared that the 
 five minutes had expired ; so Bella kissed 
 Johnny a loving good night, and off he 
 went to dream of Santa Glaus, truly 
 pop-guns, gingerbread, slippers, and ponies, 
 in a wonderful and delightful confusion. 
 
. 
 
 CHEE. 
 
 "MA," said little Miranda Gager, one 
 morning, " may I stay at home to-day ?" 
 
 " No, Miranda," said Mrs. Gager. 
 
 Then Miranda cried, and thought that 
 her mother wasn't nice. 
 
 Very few little girls, perhaps, would 
 have thought Mrs. Gager a very nice 
 mother; for she was not a bit indulgent. 
 She would not allow Miranda to chew 
 gum nor eat candy ; she would not allow 
 her to stay at home, or be dismissed from 
 school ; she would not let her wear the 
 gold watch Uncle Joe gave her, nor did 
 she ever give her a birthday party. 
 
 On the other hand, very few mothers, 
 indeed, would have thought that Miranda 
 
70 . NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 was a nice little girl; for she would not 
 study her lessons, and she would whisper ; 
 she boasted that her father was rich ; and 
 she could not keep her temper. Worse than 
 all, she was always trying to plague Gussie 
 and Chee. 
 
 " Miranda," said Mrs. Gager, sternly, 
 "are you not ashamed of yourself? You 
 are lucky in being able to go to school at 
 all; think of Gussie, how glad he would 
 be if he could go to school as you do." 
 
 "Oh, dear!" sobbed Miranda, "I wish 
 I had been and broke both my legs, like 
 Gussie, and get everybody to pity me, and 
 be so good to me, as everybody is to him. 
 I wish" 
 
 " Miranda," said her mother, " you will 
 go now to your own room, and remain 
 there until school-time." 
 
 " I hain't had no breakfast !" howled 
 Miranda. 
 
GHEE. Yl 
 
 " Your breakfast will be sent to you," 
 answered her mother. 
 
 Then Miranda cried louder than ever, 
 for she knew that she would have nothing 
 but a bowl of bread and milk sent to her 
 room, and she, like many other little girls, 
 liked coffee and cakes much better. 
 
 As she went crying up stairs, she met 
 Chee, bringing Gussie down in his arms. 
 
 Chee was the Chinese servant, whose 
 sole duty was to take care of Gussie. He 
 was a tall, brown-cheeked, almond-eyed, 
 pig-tailed, blue-robed young fellow, strong 
 as a giant, and as gentle as a child. He 
 loved little Gussie, and Gnssie loved him ; 
 but Miranda and Chee were sworn ene- 
 mies. 
 
 "What's the matter, Kanny?" said 
 sweet-voiced, patient Gussie. 
 
 Miranda told her story, and Gussie said, 
 " Too bad, Kanny 1" But he knew that her 
 
72 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 story was not all the story, so he did not 
 attempt to intercede for her. So Miranda 
 breakfasted on bread and milk, and went 
 to school at half-past eight. 
 
 Chee rolled Gussie in his carriage until 
 the sun got up high in the heavens, and 
 the winds began to rise ; for, in San Fran- 
 cisco, it is delightful in the forenoon, and 
 exceedingly windy, dusty, and unpleasant 
 in the afternoon. 
 
 After he came home, Gussie took a 
 nap, and while he was asleep, Mrs. Gager 
 sent Chee on an errand ; Chinese servants 
 are well known to be exceedingly dis- 
 honest, but Chee had lived in the family 
 a year, and Mrs. Gager fully trusted 
 him. 
 
 " Here, Chee," she said, giving him twen- 
 ty dollars in gold, " I want you to go, 
 while Gussie is asleep, and get my cloak 
 and dress for me from Mrs. Cumming's. 
 
CHEE. 73 
 
 Just give her the money, and tell her I 
 sent it ; that 's all, and hurry back." 
 
 Chee went, but he did not hurry back ; 
 Gussie woke up, and inquired for him, 
 waited patiently, and inquired again, wait- 
 ed and watched ; but Chee, faithless Chee, 
 did not return. 
 
 Mrs. Gager sent to the dressmaker's to 
 see if he had been there at all, and found 
 that he had, and that he had taken away 
 the dresses, but said nothing about any 
 money ; the conclusion was inevitable, that 
 Chee was a thief. 
 
 Everybody thought so but Gussie; in 
 face of all the facts, he declared his faith in 
 his old friend, and would not believe that 
 Chee was any thing but a good, faithful, and 
 honest, but unfortunate, Chinaman. 
 
 He persisted in this belief, after weeks 
 had passed. Another servant was procured 
 to take care of him, yet still he clung to the 
 
74 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 memory of Chee, and declared that he 
 would yet come back, and clear his clouded 
 character. 
 
 Poor little patient, sweet-faced Gussie 
 Gager was getting nearer every day to that 
 city where all things are made clear, and 
 he knew it ; he knew long ago that he 
 could not live to be a man ; he knew that 
 his tiny thin arms never could grow any 
 stronger and that his poor useless little legs, 
 never could do him any service, until he 
 stood upon the other shore. 
 
 " Chee," he said one day to his attendant, 
 " should you cry if you thought you must 
 die now ?" 
 
 " Yes, Chee ki," answered the Chinaman, 
 whose English was defective. 
 
 " Do you know, Chee," said Gussie, " that 
 I am going to die, and I do not feel sorry 
 at all ; I feel so glad, because I can not 
 live." 
 
CHEE. 75 
 
 " No, no," answered Chee, earnestly, " you 
 no die, Gussie, you too pretty, too good. 
 Missy Ranny die ; she all bad ; good die." 
 
 What Gussie said was true ; he was glad 
 that he could not live ; for he was of so 
 sweet and angelic a nature, that he felt no 
 more fear of going to meet the angels across 
 the river, than he did of crossing the street 
 to meet his sister ; his pure, heavenly, un- 
 tainted spirit looked out from his large 
 soft eyes, until you fancied the little crippled 
 figure was but a shell, holding him down. 
 
 If he had been well-formed, healthy, and 
 strong, he would have been like Miranda, 
 perhaps, self-willed and pettish ; but a boy 
 who has no companionship but himself, 
 and the angelic spirits which hover over 
 good children, can not but become akin 
 to them ; and all who knew him, thought 
 that little Gussie was an earth-angel. 
 
 One day, as his new attendant his name 
 
76 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 was All Foy was wheeling him along the 
 broad sidewalk, on Mission Street, he was 
 startled by hearing Gussie call out, excited- 
 
 iy- 
 
 "Stop a minute, Foy; there is Ah 
 Chee ! Chee, Chee, have you forgotten 
 Gussie Gager ?" 
 
 But the Chinaman to whom he spoke, 
 hurried away as though he did not hear 
 him, and Ah Foy said, " Him no Ah Chee." 
 
 " No," said Gussie, sadly, " I thought it 
 was, but it was not." 
 
 He told Miranda about it when he got 
 home, but she only laughed, and said, 
 
 " I'll bet it was Chee, and he was afraid 
 you would have him taken up for steal- 
 ing." 
 
 But Gussie shook his head, and said, 
 
 " No, Ranny, I don't think it was Chee, 
 because he knows that I would not let him 
 be taken up for any thing; and he loves 
 
CHEE. 77 
 
 me too much not to stop and speak to me, 
 even if he was afraid." 
 
 A week afterward, Chee came, and 
 asked to see " Missy Gager." He told 
 Mrs. Gager a story, which might, or might 
 not, have been true. He said that he went 
 for the dress and cloak, but forgot to pay 
 the lady ; that he then went to call upon a 
 countryman, " a belly bad man," he said, 
 who advised him not to go back, but to 
 keep the money and the clothes, and buy 
 a fan for Josh (their great idol), so that he 
 would not be angry with him. 
 
 At first he struggled against evil, so 
 Chee said, but, after a while, he yielded, 
 and went to work for his friend, the bad 
 man ; but he did not spend the money, nor 
 sell the dress, for his torpid Chinese con- 
 science would stir occasionally, and trouble 
 him. 
 
 At last, he saw Gussie on the street 
 
78 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 (he was right then, when he thought he 
 saw him). 
 
 He saw Gussie, and heard him call, 
 
 " Ghee ! Ghee ! have you forgotten Gus- 
 sie Gager ?" And his heart was so touched, 
 by the sad, sweet voice of his little charge, 
 that he had come back with the money 
 and the clothes, to ask Missy Gager to 
 forgive him, and let him come back again 
 to take care of Gussie; and, after a little 
 consideration, Missy Gager said, " yes." 
 
 To say that Gussie was glad when he 
 was told all this long story of Ghee's, 
 would be falling very much short of the 
 truth; his little, pale face fairly beamed 
 with joy ; and he told Ghee, that he was 
 so glad and. sorry both at once, that he 
 didn't know which he was most 
 
 He tried hard, dear little Gussie ! to 
 convince Ghee that he had done something 
 very wrong; but Ghee, assuring him that 
 
CHEE. 79 
 
 he had bought a fan for Josh out of his 
 own pocket, would not be convinced that 
 the theft was wrong in itself. 
 
 When the warm autumnal sun had given 
 place to the clouds and rains of the Cali- 
 fornia winter, Mrs. Gager told Ghee, that 
 at the end of the month he must find 
 another place ; and when Ghee, with much 
 surprise and distress, inquired why, she 
 told him that the doctors said, that when 
 little Gussie left his bed, it would be to 
 seek a cold and dark one; and that the 
 sunshine would never again fall upon and 
 illuminate his face, for Gussie's God wanted 
 him to come and live with Him, where the 
 sunshine never faded. 
 
 Then Ghee's heart ached, for all it was 
 but the heart of a barbarian and an idola- 
 ter. He asked Gussie that day, what he 
 could do to please him ; and Gussie put 
 his little hand, so thin and so white, upon 
 
80 NO BABY IS THE HOUSE. 
 
 the brown and hard one of his friend ; and 
 it fell upon Ghee's so lightly, that it seemed 
 more like the hand of an angel than a 
 child. 
 
 " Chee," said Gussie, " you can do some- 
 thing, that will please me so much. It will 
 please me while I live ; and after I die, I 
 will look down and love you from the 
 heaven where I am going to live, if you 
 will do it for me." 
 
 " Yes," said Chee, with a big tear in his 
 almond eyes, " yes, Gussie, Chee will." 
 
 " Love Jesus," said Gussie, " love Jesus." 
 But before he could explain who Jesus 
 was, the Doctor came in, and said that he 
 must not talk any more, so all Chee knew 
 was that he must love Jesus ; " but where 
 can I find him," thought Chee, sadly ; " I 
 can't love him unless I can find him." 
 
 The next day (Gussie's last day on the 
 earth, which had been like a prison to him) 
 
CHEE. 81 
 
 was a dark, cloudy, and drizzly day ; but 
 toward sunset, the clouds broke away in 
 the west, and let a flood of glorious sun- 
 shine into the sick chamber. 
 
 " Papa," said Gussie feebly, as the first 
 breaking of the clouds lightened the room ; 
 " I'm getting nearer, papa ; I can almost 
 see the walls of God's city now ; it is get- 
 ting so light." 
 
 They bent over him more closely then ; 
 and a great scalding tear dropped from 
 Mrs. Gager's cheek, upon the thin, cold 
 hand of her crippled boy, her only son. 
 
 Gussie thought it was Miranda. " Ran- 
 ny," he said, " don't cry." 
 
 The room grew lighter and lighter. 
 " I'm getting nearer," he murmured, " near- 
 er and nearer." 
 
 The clouds broke away then, and the 
 whole glorious burst of sunshine beamed 
 into the room ; but more especially did it 
 
82 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 fall upon the bed ; upon the tiny figure, 
 whose little crippled feet had never been 
 stained with the stains of earth ; upon the 
 white face, always pure, now angelic. 
 
 "Mamma!" he cried joyfully, "the gates 
 have opened, the gates have opened." His 
 heart fluttered for a moment, and then, the 
 gates did, indeed, open to him. 
 
 And poor Chee, who loved him, won- 
 dered where he could go to find the Jesus 
 whom he was to love, in order to please 
 Gussie ; he asked, but nobody could touch 
 the chord in his heart which had vibrated 
 to the little cripple's touch, and so nobody 
 could tell him to his satisfaction, who 
 Jesus was, nor where he could find him. 
 
 At last, Chee bethought himself of the 
 bed where his little friend was sleeping, 
 and he thought that if this Jesus was a 
 spirit, not a man, that he would hear him 
 there, by the side of Gussie's grave. So 
 
CHEE. 83 
 
 once a month Chee carries flowers white 
 flowers, for white is the mourning color to 
 the Chinese, as black is to us he carries 
 these frail white blossoms, as many as he 
 can get, and strews them over the mound ; 
 murmuring, as he does so, " I love Jesus, 
 I love Jesus !" 
 
 Perhaps this simple and strange act of 
 worship is acceptable to Him who holds 
 worlds in the hollow of his hand, yet listens 
 to the prayers of the meanest of his crea- 
 tures ; and, perhaps, when our final ac- 
 counts are cast, Gussie will know, with a 
 glad heart, that his short and crippled life 
 did not fail to bear fruit. 
 
 Chee believes that his friend looks down 
 from his home and smiles upon him, and 
 the day that he pays this homage at his 
 grave, is the happiest day of his miserable 
 life, because he does believe so ; and I be- 
 lieve it too. 
 
THE TOY BALLOON. 
 
 I CBIED, " Hold fast, thou little hand ! 
 
 'Twill slip away from you, 
 And be a toy for birdies gay 
 
 In the skies so bright and blue. 
 
 Against the clouds 'twill bumping go, 
 And sail from out your sight, 
 
 So now be cautious, little hand, 
 And hold that ribbon tight." 
 
 " Oh, I don't care !" those roguish eyes, 
 
 They fairly laughed at me, 
 " If it goes above the pearly clouds, 
 
 To where the angels be ; 
 
 For you may bet," he did not heed, 
 My sternly warning frown, 
 
THE TOY BALLOON. 85 
 
 'Twould not be lost, of course 'twould 
 
 not, 
 For they would throw it down." 
 
 All ye who walk the way of life, 
 
 By bitter care denied, 
 Ye know the word of Jesus saith, 
 That ye must have the simplest faith, 
 
 The faith of a little child. 
 
THE BROWN NOSES. 
 
 THE Brown Noses were house-hunting. 
 Poor Mrs. Brown Nose, who was rather 
 delicate, went into a fit of tears every night 
 after supper, and once sobbed out to the 
 head of the family, 
 
 " Oh, Brown Nose, Brown Nose ! I shall 
 die of starvation if I stay here much longer, 
 for I can not, I can not bear Mrs. Puggins 7 
 cooking." 
 
 Mr. Brown Nose looked disconsolate, 
 and said: 
 
 " My dear, it is well and easy to say 
 move ; but just tell me, if you can, of some 
 place to which we can move. I grant you 
 that Mrs. Puggins' cooking is bad enough. 
 I declare to you that her cheese is abomin- 
 
THE BROWN NOSES. 87 
 
 able, and her bread miserable; but, Mrs. 
 Brown Nose, is it not better to swallow 
 this bread and this cheese of Mrs. Pug- 
 gins' and live, than it is to wander out 
 into the wide world, risking the chance 
 of finding another home, and, perchance, 
 die?" 
 
 Here he made a majestic sweep of his 
 paw, making the flour fly in every direc- 
 tion, for, you must know, the Brown Noses 
 lived in Mrs. Puggins' flour barrel. 
 
 " Ah, Greyback !" sobbed the poor lady, 
 " 'tis not alone the cookery of Mrs. Pug- 
 gins that renders me miserable, but she 
 comes poking around here, and, although 
 I do my best to keep the children still 
 while she is present, sometimes they will 
 whisper or cry, and then that odious 
 woman, who is so disagreeable, you know, 
 screams out, 
 
 " i Those nasty mice ! Jehoshaphat Pug- 
 
88 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 gins shall go this very day and get me a 
 trap ! The nasty things I' 
 
 " And then, dear Greyback, she dives 
 her hateful great paw down into the house, 
 and, of course, the poor children are dread- 
 fully terrified, and naturally scream out a 
 little, and then she goes and yells out, 
 
 " ' Those nasty mice !' and growls some- 
 thing more about the trap, until I am 
 fairly wound up to the screaming point. 
 
 " Greyback Brown Nose, I tell you we 
 must move, and, moreover, we will move, 
 for our children's lives are in danger, as 
 well as our own." 
 
 " Mrs. Brown Nose, you and I will go 
 out this very evening, and try to find a 
 new home; then, if we do, ' Farewell to 
 Puggins !' as you yourself once said." 
 
 " Well said, Greyback !" was the reply. 
 " There is no harm in trying, at least." 
 
 So, that evening, this charming couple 
 
THE BROWN NOSES. 89 
 
 dressed themselves out in their best, wash- 
 ed their faces, and curled their whiskers, 
 and started off. 
 
 Mr. Brown Nose thought there was no 
 need of fixing up so much, but the lady 
 said she would not go out of the house 
 looking like a ragamuffin, and neither 
 should he, " for," she said, " who knows 
 but we might meet the Short-paws or the 
 Big Eyes, and how mortified we should 
 feel if we did not look respectable ! You 
 never catch the Short-paws out with un- 
 curled whiskers and dirty faces, and they 
 never shall catch me out so, for all they 
 stick themselves up for big-bugs, and we 
 don't." 
 
 " Very well," said he, " very well ;" and 
 he impatiently jerked a refractory whisker. 
 
 " Do you know, Greyback," said Mrs. 
 Brown Nose, confidentially, " do you know 
 that Mrs. Soft Ears, old Short-paws' mar- 
 
90 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 ried daughter, you know, told me that 
 those Big Eyes have got a mean place 
 there at Madame Harkey's ?" 
 
 " No, I don't," rejoined Mr. Greyback. 
 " I'd like to know if you're ready !" 
 
 " My conscience, how cross you are !" 
 she said, catching up her fly-wing fan. 
 " I'm all ready ; come along." 
 
 So, after admonishing the children to 
 keep quiet, Greyback took Mrs. Brown 
 Nose's ear in his mouth, which is the way 
 mice are gallant, for you may imagine that 
 it would be very inconvenient for the gen- 
 tlemen mice to offer the ladies their arms. 
 
 The Brown Noses had a dreadful time 
 house-hunting. 
 
 The places they were obliged to squeeze 
 through, fairly made Mrs. B. quite sick ; 
 and besides that she lost her fly-wing fan ; 
 and besides that, in squeezing through a 
 particularly tiny hole, Greyback jerked her 
 
THE BROWN NOSES. 91 
 
 ear so, that it bled very badly, and quite 
 spoiled her beautiful spiderVweb collar, 
 which she prized so much, because a former 
 admirer had presented it to her. 
 
 Greyback, though, did not seem to care 
 a bit when she told him of the damage he 
 had done. 
 
 Then, crowning sorrow of all, after her fine 
 things were spoiled, they met Mr. Big Eyes, 
 who invited them in for a rest and refresh- 
 ments. 
 
 For these mice, you must know, are the 
 most hospitable race in the world, and never 
 have a caller but they invite him to make 
 free with Mrs. Puggins', or Madame Har- 
 key's, or Mrs. Somebody else's provisions, 
 apologizing all the time for the cooking, in 
 the politest manner imaginable. 
 
 The Big Eyes seemed to have a very 
 comfortable place, in spite of what Mrs. 
 Soft Ears had said, and were so very sym- 
 
92 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 pathizing, when poor Mrs. Brown Nose, 
 with tears in her eyes, told them of her 
 multitude of troubles, that Greyback 
 opened his heart and his mouth at the same 
 time, and told them what he was hunt- 
 ing for. 
 
 Then up spoke Bluey Big Eyes, the eld- 
 est daughter of that charming family. 
 
 " Oh ma ! oh pa ! oh Mrs. Brown Nose ! 
 I know something !" 
 
 " Yes, my dear, yes," replied her pa, look- 
 ing a little dubious, for he did not consider 
 Bluey very bright. " Yes, my dear, well ?" 
 
 "Yes," returned Bluey, "I met Mrs. Soft 
 Ears' son, Greeny, to-day, and he told me 
 that the family had moved from their 
 house to another. So, perhaps the Brown 
 Noses may like their house." 
 
 " May be," said Mr. Big Eyes, with a nod. 
 
 " May be," said Mrs. Big Eyes, with a 
 smile. 
 
THE BROWN NOSES. 93 
 
 "May be," said Mr. and Mrs. Brown 
 Nose in concert, Mr. B. twisting a long 
 whisker round his claw, and Mrs. B. wiping 
 away her tears on a paper handkerchief. 
 
 Mrs. B. knew where the Soft Ears had 
 been residing, so, after mutual good wishes, 
 they wended their way onward, inspected 
 the premises, found them satisfactory, and 
 returned to their innocent family, who had 
 slumbered on peacefully in the warm re- 
 cesses of Mrs. Jehoshaphat Puggins' flour- 
 barrel, all the time their parents had been 
 gone. 
 
 How great was Mrs. J. Puggins 7 joy 
 when she discovered that " them pesky 
 mice " had left her. 
 
 How great was Mrs. Ludovick's annoy- 
 ance when she discovered that " those dis- 
 gusting creatures" were not gone, although 
 she had hoped they were, as she had neither 
 seen nor heard them for several days. 
 
94: NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 66 Dear, dear ! What shall I do ?" said 
 Mrs. Ludovick one day as she heard a loud 
 squealing in the provision-closet (a little 
 family difference among the Brown Noses, 
 by the by) ; " I must get a trap. Charles, 
 when you come home to-night, bring me a 
 trap !" 
 
 "Very well," said Charles, and came 
 home, sure enough, with a cunning little 
 trap in his pocket, attractive enough to be- 
 guile any but the most wary and experienced 
 mice into its treacherous door. And when 
 that same door was thrown invitingly open, 
 and a most savory and inviting mouthful of 
 cheese was suspended in front of it ; well, 
 it would have overruled the scruples of 
 very cautious mice, as, alas! it overruled 
 the prudence of the Brown Noses. 
 
 Grey back Brown Nose, the father of the 
 family, was the first to fall. 
 
 It was one night when there was no 
 
THE BROWN NOSES. 95 
 
 dainty on the shelves, and as Grey back was 
 peering disconsolately here and there, he 
 saw the door of the little wire-house flung 
 \vide open, he scented the bit of cheese 
 hanging in front of it ; but alas ! he never 
 noticed that the wicked little wire held the 
 door wide open. 
 
 So he walked in, and with gaping jaws, 
 took the cheese into his mouth ; bang ! 
 came the door, right down upon poor Grey- 
 back's tail, while at the same time, the 
 sharp wire upon which the cheese was hung 
 cut and lacerated his tender little mouth. 
 
 Oh ! how he cried ! 
 
 Oh ! how he squealed ! 
 
 Poor Mrs. Brown Nose rolled out of 
 bed, and taking two of the dear children 
 by the ear, she told the rest to follow, 
 and scampered off to the scene of sorrow. 
 
 " Yew-ew !" squealed Greyback ; " my 
 tail is being pinched off!" 
 
96 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 " Oh, Greyback ! what has happened ?" 
 sobbed Mrs. B. 
 
 "There was cheese here," groaned he, 
 " and a sharp wire, and " 
 
 " Poor pa !" squealed all the children. 
 
 "My children!" said Greyback, "I am 
 convinced that my last hours are approach- 
 ing ! Be warned by me, my children, and 
 never yield to advice which your heart tells 
 you is bad advice. 
 
 "And you, Mrs. Brown Nose, be 
 warned by this sad occurrence, and try 
 to be contented! 
 
 "I now feel that Mrs. Jehoshaphat Pug- 
 gins was a fine woman; that her cheese 
 was not abominable, neither was her bread 
 miserable. 
 
 " Oh !" he groaned, " my mouth ! my 
 Hail!" 
 
 Just then was heard the heavy thump ! 
 thump ! which announced the coming of 
 
THE BROWN NOSES. 97 
 
 Charles Ludovick; and Greyback had 
 time only to gasp out. 
 
 " My loved ones, I bid you farewell !" 
 when the door opened, the loved ones scam- 
 pered out of sight, and Mr. Charles Ludo- 
 vick seized the trap and departed. 
 
 The last scion of the Brown Noses 
 prowled about in the provision closet one 
 Autumn night, sadly thinking of the 
 promising family of brothers and sisters 
 who had, one after another, been beguiled 
 into the wire house, from which they had 
 never escaped. 
 
 " I shall never be caught," he said to 
 himself, as he wandered listlessly along, 
 u for I am warned by the unhappy fate of 
 every member of my family. I dread, I 
 shun the very scent of cheese ! Mrs. Ludo- 
 vick has but very little upon these shelves, 
 too, that is palatable. What ! what is this I 
 smell \ I truly believe that it is bacon. 
 
98 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 I can not see here, it is so dark ! I wonder 
 where this bacon can be ?" 
 
 Here he brushed against something, 
 bang! went the little door, and the last 
 member of the Brown Nose family was 
 alone with the piece of bacon ; but he did 
 not want it now. 
 
 How sad he was, and how soon it was 
 morning ! how cruel sounded Mr. Ludo- 
 vick's voice when he called out, 
 
 " Jane, I've got another mouse !" 
 
 How fast the poor little heart beat when 
 that gentleman took the trap in his hand 
 and looked in ! 
 
 " I'll drown the scamp pretty soon," said 
 Charles, putting the trap down on the 
 wash-house bench. 
 
 By and by, up came a rosy, chubby 
 face, and a pair of big brown eyes peered 
 into the wire house ; a pair of cherry lips 
 saying, 
 
THE BROWN NOSES. 99 
 
 '/Poor Mr, Mousey! poor, little Mr. 
 Mousey! you don't like to be in there do 
 you? I'm soiTy you got caught, Mr. 
 Mousey, real sorry, and I'd like to let 
 you go." 
 
 The little chubby hand fumbled at the 
 door. 
 
 " I wonder if it's hard to move," said he. 
 
 No, it was easily moved, the kind heart 
 was easily moved too, and, well ! up went 
 the wire door, and out darted Mr. Brown 
 Nose, glad indeed to get away. 
 
 " Oh ! mamma, the little mouse has gone," 
 called out the cherry lips, " I let him out !" 
 
 " Dickey !" was the grave answer, " that 
 was not right, you know." 
 
 And this was all that was said. 
 
 Young Mr. Brown Nose lives with the 
 Big Eyes' family now, but he never eats 
 cheese or bacon. 
 
"I CAN WAIT." 
 
 There was once a very beautiful lady, 
 who lived in a very "beautiful country, 
 which was ruled by a glorious and benefi- 
 cent King. 
 
 Now this King so loved his fair country, 
 and so loved his dear subjects, that he 
 showered -upon it and them, all the gifts 
 and blessings he could; he took such a 
 warm interest and felt such tender love for 
 each and all, of them, that he wished and 
 endeavored to make all equally happy. 
 
 He could not do this, however, for some 
 were so greedy that they wanted all of his 
 kind gifts and blessings; others were so 
 perverse that they chose to be unhappy 
 when there was not the slightest reason ; 
 
I CAN WAIT. 101 
 
 while others were so wasteful and improvi- 
 dent, that they were always in need, des- 
 pite his kind bounty. 
 
 But so dearly did he love them all, that 
 he not only forgave them all of their faults, 
 but every once in a while, sent to them a 
 lot of beautiful presents by his messengers. 
 
 In the part of the country where this 
 beautiful lady lived, there lived many other 
 beautiful ladies, who thought themselves 
 quite as fair as Lady Cecilia, and maybe 
 they were too, only it does not seem so to me. 
 
 One day, the King's messenger came, 
 bearing with him all the beautiful gifts 
 which his master had sent to his dear 
 people. 
 
 The old men and women, the fathers and 
 mothers, the young men, the maidens, and 
 even the little children, flocked around him 
 and hung on to his garments, as he gave 
 his presents to first one and then another. 
 
102 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 All but the Lady Cecilia. 
 
 She was busy binding up the wounds of 
 a pale and weary stranger, for she remem- 
 bered that the King had bidden his sub- 
 jects to be kind and charitable, one unto 
 another ; and she loved him so well, in re- 
 turn for his love of her, that she was 
 anxious to do what he required of her. 
 
 The stranger had very many wounds, 
 and the King's messenger had distributed 
 his gifts and was on his way to the next 
 village, when seeing her, he stopped and 
 touched her arm, saying : 
 
 " Fair maiden, choose quickly, for I must 
 
 go." 
 
 But just then, Cecilia was pressing the 
 lint on to a sore, deep, wound, and she re- 
 plied gravely, but not sadly : 
 
 " Go thy way, messenger, for I can waifc 
 until the next time." 
 
 The messenger cast upon her a loving 
 
I CAN WAIT. 103 
 
 and admiring look, and, as she desired, 
 went on his way. 
 
 The next time he came, Cecilia chanced 
 to be clothing and feeding a hungry and 
 homeless little orphan child, who had 
 wandered to her door, for she knew that 
 the King dearly loved little children, and 
 that, in his glorious palace and noble 
 court, were crowds of dear young children, 
 who had gone to live with him forever, 
 because he loved them so very, very ten- 
 derly. 
 
 So she gave good, wholesome food to 
 the half-starved little one, and replaced its 
 poor rags with clean, whole, garments; 
 but it took her a long time to do all this, 
 and so the King's messenger paused before 
 her door, and said : 
 
 " Cecilia, come and take the fair gift our 
 King has sent thee." 
 
 She would have gone, but the child's 
 
104: NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 tender, weary arms were clasped tightly 
 around her neck, so she turned her head 
 toward the door, and said with a smile : 
 
 " I can wait, fair messenger ;" 
 
 The King's messenger looked upon her 
 with a deep, deep joy in his heart, which 
 shone out through his eyes; but he said 
 nothing, and went on his way. 
 
 For the third time the King's messenger 
 came to the village where Cecilia lived. 
 The people all crowded about him, as was 
 their custom ; and, waiting upon the edge 
 of the road, with a smile upon her sweet 
 lips, was the fair maiden Cecilia; not so 
 young as once she was, nor so fair in the 
 eyes of those about her, but wonderfully 
 young and lovely in the eyes of that mes- 
 senger from the King's court. 
 
 He gave to all, the presents sent to 
 them, but, as he passed Cecilia, he said, 
 very gravely: 
 
I CAN WAIT. 105 
 
 " Maiden, I have no gift here for thee"." 
 
 The smile quivered for an instant on 
 those red lips, and the kind, blue eyes 
 were blinded with tears, but the smile 
 came back bravely, and she answered : 
 
 " I can wait, fair messenger." 
 
 Love and pity shone so in the look he 
 gave her, that she minded not the ques- 
 tions, the wonderment, and the scorn of 
 those about her, but comforted herself, as 
 she went along, by saying over the words, 
 
 " I can wait ! I can wait !" 
 
 Many, many times he came, but never did 
 he bring gifts for Cecilia ; and yet, through 
 all disappointments, did she answer : 
 
 " Fair messenger, I can wait." 
 
 She did wait, patiently, for a long time, 
 until the people of the village thought her 
 old and ugly; yet the King's messenger 
 thought her more beautiful every time he 
 came. 
 
 5* 
 
106 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 Perhaps the village people judged her 
 beauty by their standard alone, and, be- 
 cause her lips were no longer red as they 
 were in youth, and her cheeks were no 
 longer round ; because her hair was gray 
 and thin, and her forehead was beginning 
 to show the wrinkles, they called Cecilia 
 ugly. But the King's messenger did not 
 notice these changes, for he looked at the 
 "heart, and he saw how that was beautiful 
 with the gratitude and blessings of the 
 unfortunate, and lovely with its own sweet- 
 ness and purity, and how it grew more 
 and more beautiful every year; so always, 
 when he came, he said to her : 
 
 " Fair maiden," or, "fair Cecilia, I bring 
 thee no gift." 
 
 And he marveled much, how those 
 around could help seeing the loveliness 
 shine out of her eyes when she answered, 
 " I can wait !" 
 
I CAN WAIT. 107 
 
 But, far from seeing any virtue in 
 Cecilia's submission to the will of the King, 
 they only wondered why it was that he 
 sent to her no presents and most of them 
 believed that she had committed some sin, 
 for which she was now being punished. 
 
 So, from the scorn of one, came the scorn 
 of others, until the poor maiden was, in 
 spite of her goodness and charity, made the 
 abhorrence of all in the village. 
 
 Yet she never murmured against the 
 King, that he had put this burden upon 
 her; sometimes, indeed, she grew weary 
 and heavy hearted, but then she remem- 
 bered how dearly he loved her, and she 
 knew that he was trying her, to see if she 
 was worthy of his great love and bounty ; 
 and she knew also, that, although he had 
 sent her no gifts for so long a time, that in 
 the end, she would have one so beautiful 
 that all others would pale, and be as 
 
108 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 nothing beside it ; and when she thought 
 of this she clasped her hands together, and 
 murmured, " Ay, dear King and Master, I 
 can wait ! I can wait ! " 
 
 Her patience was sorely tried, for the 
 people grew to disliking her so much, that 
 at last they drove her from the village, 
 taking from her all that she had in the 
 world, and forbidding her with harsh 
 threats and cruel words, ever to return. 
 
 So, poor, old, sa-eyed Cecilia wrapped 
 her thin mantle about her, and went out 
 into the bitter storms, and wranglings and 
 uncharity of the world. 
 
 But she was not so very much cast down 
 about it, for she remembered that the 
 King had bidden and entreated all the un- 
 fortunate, the weary, and the wretched, to 
 seek him, that he might comfort them, and 
 take them into his beautiful palace to live 
 with him. 
 
I CAN WAIT. 109 
 
 She knew not which way to turn to 
 find him, but she determine! to walk along 
 on the road, and to ask every person she 
 met if they could tell her the way to the 
 King's house, until she found him. 
 
 The first person she saw was a shepherd 
 lad, herding his master's sheep by the 
 roadside, she hastened when she saw him, 
 and said to him : 
 
 " Good child, canst thou tell me the way 
 to the King's house ?" 
 
 The boy lifted up his brown face to 
 answer her, when she discovered that he 
 was the very same little orphan to whom 
 she had been so kind years ago, and who 
 was now almost a man; he knew her too, 
 and kissed her hand, reverently, saying, 
 
 u Art not thou Cecilia, who did give me 
 food and clothes years ago, when I was 
 ragged, and hungry ? " 
 
 She smiled and answered : 
 
HO NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 "Ay ! good child I am Cecilia; and now 
 I am seeking the beautiful home of our 
 dear King, for all others have turned 
 against me." 
 
 And he answered her, very reverently : 
 
 " Fair Cecilia, I have thought but little 
 of the King, and I have never sought the 
 way to his home, but this I know, if you are 
 not nearly there now, you are surely upon 
 the right road." 
 
 And the shepherd lad without another 
 word, turned to herd his sheep again, and 
 Cecilia feebly plodded on her way . 
 
 The way was long and rugged, and her 
 steps were so slow that night was begin- 
 ning to fall when she neared a roadside 
 cottage; she knocked at the door doubt- 
 fully and timidly two or three times without 
 meeting with any response. 
 
 She knocked again, and waited, but no- 
 body came, and she was about to give up 
 
I CAN WAIT. HI 
 
 in despair, when a rough hand appeared 
 upon the window-sill, and a hard, ill-favored 
 face appeared in the window. 
 
 " Wilt thou tell me the way to the King's 
 house f' said Cecilia, trembling, she knew 
 not why. 
 
 " The King's house !" returned the ill- 
 favored woman, with an air of suspicion, 
 "I know not, truely ! Travellers have 
 stopped here to ask their way to all kinds 
 of places, but thou art the very first who has 
 ever asked the way to the King's house. 
 They are well content to take his gifts, with- 
 out troubling themselves further. And who 
 are you, that you must ask the way to the 
 King's house 2" 
 
 " I am the poor old maiden, Cecilia !" an- 
 swered she ; " and I seek him, because he 
 has bidden us to do so, when we are for- 
 saken by all others, as I am." 
 
 " Begone !" cried the woman, harshly, 
 
112 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 " begone ! if thou art indeed that miserable, 
 wicked woman, begone from rny door !" 
 
 With a heart beating fast, Cecilia obeyed 
 the command ; and, wrapping her worn 
 mantle more closely about her thin frame, 
 she hurried away down the dark and rug- 
 ged road. 
 
 The wind whistled mercilessly, as it 
 went by, and seemed to hiss, " begone, be- 
 gone !" Her heart became very heavy with 
 sorrow, for the world was very hard to 
 her, and the dear King was so hard to 
 find. 
 
 " I can wait," she murmured in her bro- 
 ken voice, " but it is a weary thing to do, 
 and I have waited so long, dear King, I 
 have waited so long." 
 
 She slept upon the hard earth that 
 night, and the next day she trudged along 
 again, dn that rugged way ; and for many 
 nights and days she slept upon the hard 
 
I CAN WAIT. 
 
 earth, and plodded along the hard earth 
 patiently and trustingly. 
 
 But one night, there was a fearful storm. 
 The wind hissed and howled, and muttered 
 along the weary road ; and the broad fields 
 stretched away in their cold verdure, and 
 the brown mountain sides glowered pitiless- 
 ly down, upon the poor, worn, bent, wander- 
 er, who, swayed to and fro by the blast, was 
 trampling sadly onward ; searching for the 
 home of that dear friend, who, of all others, 
 never would desert her. 
 
 She bent her head low, so that the rain 
 could not beat in her face, and held out be- 
 fore her, her two hands, as if she would 
 feel her way through the dense darkness ; 
 but she was chilled to the bone with the 
 cold and rain, and faint with fasting ; she 
 tottered from the one side of the road to 
 the other, as the wind hurled her; she 
 knew not how far the house of the King 
 
NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 might be, nor knew if she was even on the 
 right road; no marvel that her courage 
 failed her. 
 
 Vainly did she endeavor to keep up her 
 spirits and courage, by saying to herself, 
 "I can wait, dear King and Lord, I can 
 wait !" 
 
 She remembered the many cruel and 
 bitter trials which she had borne, without a 
 sigh for his sake; she remembered the 
 many times that she had obeyed his wish- 
 es, where all about her disregarded them ; 
 and how they had received favors and gifts 
 from his hand year after year, while for her 
 there came no gift. 
 
 The big tears rolled down her withered 
 cheeks, and stung them sharper than the 
 driving rain. Her feet slipped upon the 
 wet earth , and her thin mantle was fast be- 
 ing blown into tatters ; but her heart ached 
 so bitterly, that she hardly noticed this. 
 
I CAN WAIT. 
 
 "My King, my brethren, all have de- 
 serted me !" she cried aloud, " they have all, 
 all forsaken me !" And the blast of wind 
 as it swept by, seemed to echo, "all ! all ! 
 all !" 
 
 Her weary feet slipped upon the ground, 
 and she fell, cutting her hands so that they 
 bled, but she scrambled up again and 
 tramped on ; the air grew heavy about her, 
 and she tottered as she went, like an un- 
 steady wall. 
 
 Her salt tears mingled with the rain, 
 and her hands were covered with blood ; 
 the heavy air became thicker and heavier, 
 her feet slipped, and again she fell upon 
 the earth. 
 
 But she did not rise again this time, 
 but cried out, " dear King, thou lovest me, 
 I know, and I can wait no longer, I can 
 wait no longer !" 
 
 For a moment the rain poured on, the 
 
116 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 wind howled by, the bleeding hands quiv- 
 ered and ached ; then Cecilia found herself 
 in front of a great pearl gate, which stood 
 half-way open ; and down a golden path 
 came a beautiful being, whom she knew as 
 the King's messenger. 
 
 " I knew thou wo.uldst come," cried he ; 
 " I knew, long since, that thou wouldst 
 come, fair maiden !" 
 
 He took her by the hand, and led her 
 up the golden path ; and she saw, in the 
 bright gold, how her face had lost its 
 wrinkles and its time-stains ; how her thin 
 gray hair was long and golden again ; and 
 how her weary body was changed into a 
 beautiful one, like that of her companion 
 
 The messenger led her into a lofty and 
 beautiful room, and she saw coming toward 
 her a smiling and tender face, which, glori- 
 ous as it was, she did not fear in the least. 
 
 "Thy gracious King, and mine!" said 
 
I CAN WAIT. 
 
 the messenger ; and Cecilia sank upon her 
 knees. 
 
 " Fair maiden, dear maiden," said the 
 King, " I have sent thee no gift from my 
 hand for years and years, that I might my- 
 self put it upon thy white brow." 
 
 Cecilia felt the soft pressure of the gold- 
 en crown, and a wonderful happiness and 
 joy arose in her heart, for she knew that 
 she had won, by waiting and by faithful- 
 ness, " The crown of eternal life !" 
 
THE FIRST BOOTS. 
 
 WHERE ankle-ties were wont to trip, 
 
 And little gaiters used to patter, 
 Comes a pair of sturdy boots, 
 
 Making such a dreadful clatter; 
 Half so bright, or half so scarlet, 
 
 Never yet was Turkey leather, 
 And prettier tips were never made, 
 
 To pinch ten little toes together. 
 
 Marching lip, and marching down, 
 
 Much too dignified for dancing, 
 Pretending to be quite at ease, 
 
 Yet ever downward slily glancing; 
 "Where his feet will show the fullest, 
 
 There he ever takes his station; 
 And wonders every passer-by 
 
 Doesn't stop in admiration. 
 
THE FIRST BOOTS. 119 
 
 Wiping off a speck of dust, 
 
 That might mar their shining glory; 
 Never thinking of how quickly, 
 
 Boots will be a worn-out story. 
 Standing with his handkerchief, 
 
 Anxiously to guard his treasure; 
 With all the cares of ownership, 
 
 Mingled with his proudest pleasure. . 
 
TWO CARLOS. 
 
 THEKE was an Italian once, whose name 
 was Carlo, and a dog whose name was 
 Carlo, and both Carlos were as poor as 
 ever they could be. 
 
 Carlo means Charles in the Italian lan- 
 guage, and so, to distinguish the man Carlo 
 from the dog Carlo, we will call the former 
 Charles ; or Mr. Charles, would, perhaps, be 
 still better. 
 
 Well! Mr. Charles was poor, as I said, 
 but he had once been rich very rich ! I 
 do not know how he lost his riches, but I 
 suspect the reason was, that he was too 
 rich to be careful, and so was poor before 
 he knew it could be possible. 
 
 At any rate, he lost every thing but his 
 little dog Carlo. But Carlo was a jewel ! 
 
TWO CARLOS. 121 
 
 He was servant, support, companion, 
 brother to Mr. Charles. 
 
 So, many thoughtless people laughed at 
 them, when the man pressed his red lips to 
 the spaniel's silky forehead, but they knew 
 nothing of the bond between them; how 
 Carlo bought the loaf of bread for his 
 tired master; how Carlo's dancing to Mr. 
 Charles' guitar, and his comical tricks to 
 the lifting of Mr. Charles' finger, brought 
 in all the pennies they ever had ; how it 
 was little Carlo's sympathy that drove the 
 dark shadow from his master's heart and 
 face, when that master thought of the care- 
 less, golden past ; and how Carlo followed 
 at his heels, and shared his poverty with 
 faithful love all through their wanderings. 
 
 For they wandered here, there, and every 
 where, Mr. Charles and Carlo, and the old 
 guitar. 
 
 Sometimes they fared well, and some- 
 
122 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 times they fared very ill ; sometimes a 
 kindly "heart warmed towards them, and 
 they got a bowl of milk and generous slice 
 of bread, but much oftener they were told 
 to go off, and the Italian's thin hand stop- 
 ped the thrumming of the old guitar, and 
 the feet of Carlo and his master had to 
 be weary, and dusty, and sore, for a 
 while longer. 
 
 Ah me ! those plump, ruddy farmers 
 had no pity for the pale sad-eyed foreign- 
 er; they were industrious and thrifty, 
 and would not bestow their hard earned 
 bread on a vagrant who did nothing but 
 tramp through the country, with a guitar 
 in his hand, and a dog at his heels. " Let 
 him work !" they said. 
 
 May be they were quite right, but we 
 know that " Charity covereth a multitude 
 of sins," and both the master and the dog 
 needed much charity. 
 
TWO CARLOS. 123 
 
 One evening they arrived at a village, 
 where every one seemed to be merry and 
 gay; now Mr. Charles and Carlo were 
 tired and sad, but they knew from ex- 
 perience that when the heart is gay the 
 hand is open, so instead of resting, they 
 wandered through the streets of the vil- 
 lage, and many a rich farmer and trades- 
 man paused to see the dancing and trickery 
 of the silky spaniel, and many a one 
 dropped a coin into the little pocket of 
 Carlo's gay jacket, for the dog had a com- 
 plete suit of scarlet clothes to dance and 
 perform his tricks in, and he had the cun- 
 ningest way of pulling the pocket open 
 with his paw, you can imagine. 
 
 Carlo, and Mr. Charles had a supper 
 that night, such as they had not indulged 
 in for a long time, and slept together in 
 the barn upon the clean fresh hay. 
 
 Perhaps Mr. Charles dreamed that night 
 
124: NO BABY IN" THE HOUSE. 
 
 of the long ago times, when he had fine sup- 
 pers every night, and feasted his friends ; 
 they never called him weak in his head 
 then, as they did now ; or he might have 
 dreamed of his lovely dark-eyed mother, 
 and have been again the pretty boy who 
 never refused the hungry looking vagrants 
 when they begged of him. He was glad 
 now, that he had never refused them, be- 
 cause he was often hungry now himself 
 and knew what it was to be refused. 
 
 But whatever he dreamed of that night, 
 he slept as soundly as possible, and when 
 he opened his eyes in the morning, he felt 
 so rested and happy that he smiled to 
 himself, and without moving from his com- 
 fortable place, he whistled to his little 
 Carlo. 
 
 But as no answering bark came, he 
 turned over and looked ; there was the 
 little round place in the straw where his 
 
TWO CARLOS. 125 
 
 pet Lad slept close beside him, but no 
 Carlo was to be seen. 
 
 " The scamp !" he thought, " he has run 
 out to the stable-yard, because I did not 
 wake up early enough for him !" 
 
 And out he went to the door, and 
 whistled again and again, but no Carlo ap- 
 peared. The stable boy came up and 
 looked at him with an astonished face, 
 saying in his mumbling, clumsy way, that 
 he thought he had gone for good. 
 
 But Mr. Charles did not notice the stable 
 boy's remarks; he was too frightened for 
 that; for though he whistled and called 
 tenderly, angrily, anxiously, the poor man's 
 little companion gave no answer. 
 
 He went around hither, and thither, ask- 
 ing this one, and that one, if they had seen 
 a little dog, and no one had seen him. 
 
 Only when he asked the stupid stable- 
 boy, he replied, " Yes !" 
 
126 NO BABY IN" THE HOUSE. 
 
 " Where is he ?" gasped poor Mr. Charles. 
 
 " You took him away yourself, and gave 
 me a penny," said the boy, with big eyes 
 wide open. 
 
 " No, no, no !" sobbed Mr. Charles, with 
 big tears chasing each other over his thin, 
 dark cheeks, " no, no ! he is stolen, my 
 little Carlo is stolen away." 
 
 The stable-boy gaped at him with aston- 
 ishment ; partly from seeing him cry for a 
 little dog, and partly because he < had not 
 yet got the idea quite through his head, 
 that it was not Mr. Charles who carried the 
 spaniel away in his arms and gave him a 
 penny. 
 
 Mr. Charles searched vainly through the 
 village for his little pet, and when he left 
 it, with the old guitar under his arm, to- 
 gether with Carlo's gay clothes, he said 
 that he would search for him without ceas- 
 ing, until his weary, dusty, feet, were not 
 
TWO CARLOa 127 
 
 able to tramp, and his weary heart could 
 no longer beat. 
 
 And so from being a vagrant with a dog 
 at his heels, Mr. Charles became a beggar. 
 
 For a long time he carried the guitar un- 
 der his arm, waiting until he saw Carlo ; 
 never touching the strings, never allowing 
 any one to touch the strings, until those 
 dear feet could dance to his music; but 
 poverty makes many a change in the plans 
 of men, and when the pale, foreign, beggar 
 took the guitar to a money-lender in an old 
 German city, the money-lender twanged 
 the strings loudly, before he would lend him 
 the pittance he wanted, to buy his bread. 
 
 But Carlo's clothes he never parted with ; 
 he bound them around him, and said he 
 would starve rather than part with them ; 
 but somehow, though often hungry, cold, 
 wretched, and houseless, without money or 
 hope of getting money, he never quite 
 
128 NO BABY IN THE HFUSE. 
 
 starved. He believed that God was sav- 
 ing him so that he might find his pet at 
 last, and be happy again. 
 
 One day, as the beggar wandered through 
 one of the dirtiest and poorest streets of 
 Paris, he saw in the window of a poor 
 second-hand shop, a brown and dusty 
 guitar Jiis guitar. 
 
 It had been bought and sold many times 
 perhaps, and had found its way to Paris ; 
 it seemed as though it had come there, to 
 find its way into its old master's hands. 
 
 He entered the shop and asked to look 
 at it ; the man looked surprised, for the 
 beggar was the last person who might be 
 buying a guitar; but he brought it out, 
 blew the dust off of it, and handed it to 
 him. 
 
 A He took it up very tenderly did Mr. 
 Charles ; and, as he recognized the marks 
 upon it, as the marks of his old friend, his 
 
TWO CARLOS. 129 
 
 tears fell dully and drearily upon the thick 
 dust. 
 
 He took from his pocket five little coins, 
 they were all he had in the world, and put 
 them before the man. 
 
 The Jew looked keenly at the beggar ; 
 but he saw the empty pocket, the thin, thin, 
 face, the haggard lines about the mouth, 
 and then glanced down at the worthless 
 old guitar. 
 
 " Yes !" he nodded. So Mr. Charles took 
 it up and carried it home with him to his 
 den, cleaned it carefully, and hid it away. 
 
 But then, he thought he might carry it 
 about with him, and maybe Carlo might 
 hear the old familiar sound, and then he 
 could find him, so he took it out again from 
 its hiding place, and never went on the 
 busy streets, without his old friend under 
 his aim. 
 
 It never occured to the Italian that Carlo 
 
130 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 might be dead, lie only thought that if he 
 searched long enough and wide enough, 
 and earnest enough, that his darling must 
 "be found. 
 
 It was very pitiful to see him peering 
 into every carriage where a pet dog sat 
 on the seat, and searching anxiously 
 about when he heard the whine of a 
 dog. 
 
 He stood one day upon the corner of 
 two great Parisian streets, thrumming, with 
 his long, slender, weary, fingers, the strings 
 of the guitar. The streets were crowded 
 with carriages and foot-passengers, and 
 more than once he was nearly thrown to 
 the pavement by the rude jostling of the 
 passers-by. 
 
 A fine carriage came dashing swiftly 
 down the street, and a pet spaniel sat 
 upon the seat by the driver. The carriage 
 was too far off for him to see distinctly, 
 
TWO CARLOS. 131 
 
 and he waited eagerly for it to come nearer, 
 still thrumming upon the guitar. 
 
 The carriage came nearer, nearer, nearer ! 
 
 The vagrant's great dark eyes began to 
 light with hope, and happiness, and love, 
 as they had not lighted for a long, long 
 time. 
 
 The carriage dashed by, the little spaniel 
 turned its head, and, with a quick, sharp 
 bark of joy, sprang from the high seat 
 down among the cruel, heavy wheels, the 
 horses' iron feet, and all the dash and 
 whirl of the busy crossing, and all because 
 of the dark beggar on the corner. 
 
 The fine carnage stopped, and a fair 
 lady held out her white hands for her pet ; 
 but her pet was lying in a pair of dark 
 hands, and he was licking those hands 
 with all his poor, dying strength. 
 
 They mingled their tears together over 
 him fair lady and dark beggar. 
 
132 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 Mr. Charles took to her Carlo's gay fine 
 clothes, and together they put them on to 
 him, and he was buried in the great Mont- 
 martre, with a little white stone over the 
 grave, which said : 
 
 " CAKLO." 
 " THE LOST IS FOUND." 
 
 In Germany, in France, in England, in 
 Italy, and in many other countries, a pale, 
 dark man begs and wanders, with an old 
 guitar in his hand, and a strange light in 
 his eyes. He says he is searching for his 
 little dog Carlo, who was stolen from him, 
 many years ago, in a little German village. 
 
 No one knows who he is, or where he 
 comes from, only they say that his head is 
 turned as by some great sorrow, and that 
 he does not remember many things which 
 have happened. 
 
 But how can we say, but that some time 
 the poor mad beggar will stand in the 
 
TWO CARLOS. 133 
 
 streets of the Eternal City, and that the 
 Father, who looks down upon him now 
 with a pitying heart, will say, with a wel- 
 coming sraile, 
 
 " Carlo, the lost is found." 
 
THE PRINCESS ETHEL- 
 
 EVEE and ever so many years ago, Eng- 
 land was divided into seven little King- 
 doms, whose names are so long and hard, 
 that I never have been able to learn them, 
 and so I could not teach them to you even 
 if I would. 
 
 Over one of these Kingdoms, which we 
 will call Wessex, there reigned for very 
 many years, a good, great and gracious 
 King, named Derrick. 
 
 Now Derrick had no sons, but he was 
 blessed with three daughters, whose names 
 were Ulrica, Geneura, and Ethelinda, who 
 was called Ethel, for short; Ulrica was 
 renowned throughout the Kingdoms for 
 her exceeding beauty ; Geneura was cele- 
 
THE PRINCESS ETHEL. 135 
 
 brated for her learning, for she actually 
 could write her whole name ; I don't mean 
 to say that she could do it easily, and 
 \\ itliout the slightest trouble, but that she 
 could write it, if she had plenty of time ; 
 and 1 must add that no other human being 
 in all Wessex was half so learned as the 
 Princess Geneura. 
 
 As for Ethel, the youngest, she was 
 neither beautiful nor learned, and was 
 celebrated for nothing, unless it might be 
 for her large mouth. 
 
 The religion of the worthy King Derrick 
 and his subjects, so far as they had any 
 religion, was that of the Druids; it was a 
 very cruel and bloody religion, but I sup- 
 pose the Wessexians must have been well 
 satisfied, for they looked very coldly upon 
 some good Christian monks who appeared 
 in Wessex, and who tried to teach them 
 how to be merciful, and meek and lowly of 
 
136 NO BABY IN" THE HOUSE. 
 
 heart ; and finally threatened to till them 
 if they did not leave the Kingdom. 
 
 Derrick's good Queen and his three 
 daughters listened to the teaching of the 
 monks; but Ulrica was thinking all the 
 time how very becoming her new sheep- 
 skin dress must be ; Geneura declared, in 
 her very best grammar, that their story 
 was quite impossible; poor young Ethel 
 listened meekly enough, but being very 
 slow-witted, the monks despaired of her 
 comprehending them ; so the good Queen 
 alone profited by their teachings. 
 
 After a while the poor Queen fell sick ; 
 so very sick that she knew she could not 
 live; then she sent for one of the monks 
 and when he had come and was kneeling 
 down by her bedside, she said to him 
 
 " Good monk, I have three daughters ; 
 one is so beautiful, that many would be 
 glad to protect her, one is so very learned 
 
THE PRINCESS ETHEL. 137 
 
 that she can protect herself; but the other 
 is plain and simple, so I beg of you, to 
 give up to her a talisman which will pro- 
 tect her from evil." 
 
 The monk murmured his assent, saying, 
 " to-morrow gracious Queen," and went his 
 way; sighing to think how little his 
 teachings and her piety had availed against 
 her heathen education ; for the good man 
 well knew the value of charms and knew 
 also how the only charm against trouble 
 was a pure and trusting heart. 
 
 He did not tell this to the Queen, for he 
 knew that she would not understand him. 
 
 That very night the Queen died ; and 
 the next morning as the monk was passing 
 through the palace-garden, he saw the 
 poor little maiden, for 'whom the amulet 
 was intended, lying upon the wet ground, 
 with her face to the earth, sobbing as 
 though her heart were broken. 
 
138 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 " Poor little maiden !" said the monk, 
 kindly, " thou hast lost thine only friend. 
 But weep not so bitterly, my poor, poor 
 child, weep not so hard." 
 
 But still the Princess wept, and for a 
 long time he tried vainly to comfort her; 
 but, at length, being obliged to return to 
 his brethren, he pressed the talisman into 
 her hand, saying tenderly, as he did so : 
 
 " Wear it next thy heart, remember the 
 lesson it bears, and, truly, neither storms, 
 nor sin, nor wickedness, shall prevail 
 against it." 
 
 Ethel hid the talisman in her robe, and, 
 when she went into the house, she tied it 
 to a stout string, and hung it about her 
 neck, so that it hung just over her heart. 
 
 King Derrick mourned his good Queen 
 very sincerely, and gave her remains as 
 grand and pompous a funeral as even 
 Queens could have in those times ; a funer- 
 
THE PRINCESS ETHEL. 139 
 
 al which was attended by all the court, 
 and by all of the nobility of Wessex, as 
 well as by crowds of the common people. 
 
 Even Ulrica forgot her world liness, and 
 Geneura her learning, to mourn and weep 
 beside the grave of their dear mother ; and 
 Ethel was the quietest and the saddest 
 little Princess in all the Seven Kingdoms, 
 although she spoke no word. 
 
 Indeed she wept so much that her father, 
 the King, said one day to her : 
 
 " My child, thou must be ill, for around 
 thy blue eyes the skin is swollen and red, 
 and thy face is as white as pearl." 
 
 " Thou must run out into the \\^oods, 
 daughter, and breathe the sweet air." 
 
 The King looked very wise, and thought 
 himself very acute, but little Princess 
 Ethel smiled sadly, and said nothing. 
 
 But she went, in accordance with his 
 wishes, out into the open vales, and the 
 
140 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 green ancient woods ; at first the King or- 
 dered a guard of soldiers to protect her in 
 her rambles; for Wessex, though a com- 
 fortable little kingdom, was anything but 
 free from robbers and outlaws, and quite 
 infested with wolves and other dangerous 
 wild animals. 
 
 But Ethel not being accustomed to much 
 royal pomp and display, was not only em- 
 barrassed but actually terrified by her un- 
 couth escort, and she begged her father to 
 send them with her no more. 
 
 "I'd rather go alone, dear father," she 
 cried. 
 
 " But," said he, " there is very great 
 danger, my little one, and you could ill pro- 
 tect yourself." 
 
 " Ah !" she replied, " I am protected by 
 a potent charm, which I wear next to my 
 heart." 
 
 So the King, who devoutly believed in 
 
THE PRINCESS ETHEL. 
 
 charms and spells, said not another word of 
 danger; neither did he ask her who had 
 given her the charm, for which omission on 
 his part, she was very glad, and when the 
 soldiers were told that their services would 
 no longer be required, they were very 
 glad, too. 
 
 Those who watched Ethel closely, no- 
 ticed that she soon stopped her excursions 
 into the grand old forest, and went often to 
 the little village near the castle ; that she 
 went in and out of the miserable peasants' 
 huts, and often stopped to speak with 
 them at their labor. 
 
 Then those who remarked it, laughed 
 merrily between themselves, and guessed 
 that the young Princess found her talisman 
 powerless against even a field-mouse, so 
 that she dared not trust it in an encounter 
 with bears or wolves. 
 
 This was a very ill-natured speech to 
 
142 NO BABY IS THE HOUSE. 
 
 make, but it was made because the true 
 reason could not be guessed at ; how cou)d 
 they know why it was that Ethel went 
 into the wretched huts, and helped and 
 comforted the peasants and their wives ; or 
 why she sold the great gold ring which 
 her father had given her, in order to buy 
 grain for the starving laborers to eat ? 
 
 One day, as she was strolling about in 
 the forest, gathering the fair wild flowers, 
 whose beauty was unseen by any other's 
 eyes beside hers, she put her hand to her 
 heart, as if to still the cruel pain which 
 had been gnawing there ever since the 
 the day her mother left her, and she 
 pressed her hand against the charm which 
 the monk had given her, and which she 
 wore over her heart; and suddenly there 
 flashed through her mind the words of 
 the good man, " Eemember the lesson it 
 bears." 
 \ 
 
THE PRINCESS ETHEL. 143 
 
 " The lesson !" she murmured ; " what 
 lesson, I know not truly ! only I would 
 serve him who loved me so well, and whom 
 I know my mother loved so well." 
 
 And then she remembered suddenly, 
 other words which had been spoken by 
 that same good monk, and which he had 
 told her, had been uttered by the lips of 
 our dear Lord himself " The poor ye have 
 always with you." 
 
 The pain at her heart ceased then, and 
 a blessed warmth and peace came suddenly 
 over the poor young Princess, and she nev- 
 er doubted for an instant but that she had 
 remembered the lesson it bore. 
 
 This was why she went among the slaves 
 and peasants of the village, and bore with- 
 out a murmur the wonder of Ulrica, the 
 disgust of Geneura, and the anger of her 
 father ; for King Derrick was exceedingly 
 angry with Ethel, when he heard of her 
 
144 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 charity, and lie sternly forbade her going ; 
 but, although she prized the love of her 
 father, and feared the displeasure of her 
 King, yet she loved and feared her Heaven- 
 ly Father yet more, so she went, still in her 
 plain, old, dress, with her quiet, g rave ways, 
 into the huts and hovels of the poor, whom 
 she had "always with her." 
 
 Thrice the King reproved her, and for- 
 bade her; but, though she hung her head, 
 and said only, " dear father I do so love the 
 poor," yet again and again she disobeyed 
 his injunctions, until his patience was ex- 
 hausted. 
 
 One day as the three Princesses were 
 working with their needles, an usher en- 
 tered and informed them that their com- 
 pany was required in the presence-cham- 
 4 ber, as soon as might be. 
 
 So the three maidens hastened and ar- 
 rayed themselves in their finest state-robes, 
 
THE PRINCESS ETHEL. 145 
 
 and entered the presence-chamber one after 
 another. 
 
 The room was crowded with lords and 
 barons, while Derrick sat upon his throne 
 draped with crimson drapery, with his 
 grandest state-robes, and his jewelled 
 crown, looking, in truth, quite a different 
 being from the Derrick who lounged about 
 the palace in the mornings, in the dressing- 
 gown and slippers of those days. 
 
 The three maidens came forward and 
 stood in front of the throne; then the King 
 said : 
 
 "Four and twenty years ago to-day, I 
 became king of Wessex, and upon this day 
 for four and twenty years, I have given 
 gifts to three of my subjects. Last year it 
 was to the three lords of Gwinned, Kupert, 
 and Welwyk I gave gifts, and this year I 
 desire to give them to my three daught 
 
 ers." 
 
 [Hit! 7 1 
 
146 ^0 BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 The barons and lords cheered and shout- 
 ed, then king Derrick said : 
 
 " Ulrica, stand forth !" Ulrica stepped 
 forward a little, when Derrick said, 
 " Ulrica, what upon earth dost thou love 
 the best?" 
 
 And Ulrica replied, I love best beauty 
 and beautiful things, for they give joy to 
 old and to young, to rich and to poor." 
 
 Then Derrick took from a table beside 
 him a beautiful necklace set with large 
 pearls, and he fastened it around her white 
 neck, saying, " In all my kingdom, I ween 
 there is no fairer thing than this." 
 
 Ulrica was quite overwhelmed with de- 
 light, so stooping to her knees, she kissed 
 the King's hand saying, "thanks, dear 
 father and King !" 
 
 Then Derrick said to his second daughter, 
 " Geneura, stand forth 1" 
 
 As Geneura with burning cheeks stepped 
 
THE PRINCESS ETHEL. 147 
 
 forward, the King said to her, " Geneura, 
 what upon earth dost thou love the 
 best ?" 
 
 Geneura answered, "I have searched dil- 
 igently for knowledge in many places, and 
 I find that the thing most to be loved by 
 men, is gold." 
 
 King Derrick said, " my treasurer shall 
 give to thee, Geneura, five large bags of the 
 gold thou dost love." 
 
 Geneura knelt, pressed her lips to his 
 hand, and said : 
 
 " Thanks, dear father and king !" 
 
 King Derrick then said to his youngest 
 daughter : 
 
 " Ethel, stand forth !" 
 
 Ethel did as she was bid, her father say- 
 ing to her, as to the others : 
 
 " Ethelinda, what upon earth dost thou 
 love the best ?" 
 
 Ethel answered : 
 
148 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 " I love best the poor, and, next to them, 
 you, dear father !" 
 
 The timid little heart beat quickly and 
 hopefully, but the king replied, wrathfully : 
 
 " To thee I will give a coarse black robe, 
 and a knotted rope for a girdle, and thou 
 shalt leave the gates of this palace at sun- 
 down, and go amongst thy poor." 
 
 Poor Ethel felt that this was hard to 
 bear, but she was proud, if she was neither 
 fair nor wise ; so proud, that she forced 
 back the ready tears from her eyes, and 
 forced her voice to be calm, as she an- 
 swered, kneeling at the foot of the throne, 
 and kissing the king's hand : 
 
 " Thanks, dear father and king !" 
 
 The great room was silent ; the lords and 
 barons looked at one another, astonished ; 
 Ulrica and Geneura exchanged glances; 
 when the king arose, and said : 
 
 " Make way there for the princesses." 
 
THE PRINCESS ETHEL. 149 
 
 So they passed out ; and when sad Ethel 
 saw how glad and triumphant her sisters 
 were, she tried to look the same, so that no 
 one need think it needful to pity her. 
 
 The lords and barons were all more or 
 less dismayed and disgusted at the idea of 
 a princess of the blood royal being turned 
 out of the palace in a slave's dress, to herd 
 with slaves ; but none of them had courage 
 enough to tell him so, for he never revoked 
 his words, and might make them suffer for 
 their interference besides. 
 
 So, at sundown, Ethel went gravely and 
 proudly out of the palace gates, arrayed in 
 the coarse black gown, and with the girdle 
 of knotted cord around her waist. 
 
 No one sighed for her, no one helped 
 her, no one bade her God-speed ; but there 
 was a voice within which upheld her, and 
 upon her heart rested the monk's talisman. 
 
 The sun sank very fast, and it was quite 
 
150 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 dark before she was half-way to the vil- 
 lage, where she meant to stay that night. 
 In vain did she try to comfort herself with 
 the monk's words : 
 
 " Wear it near thy heart, remember the 
 lesson it bears, and, truly, neither storms, 
 nor sin, nor wickedness, shall prevail 
 against it." 
 
 In vain she pressed the precious charm 
 closer and closer to her heart. Despite her 
 efforts, pride and courage gave way, and 
 she crouched upon the ground with her 
 face to the wet grass, and wept, very, very 
 bitterly. 
 
 After a while, she staggered up and on, 
 but had proceeded but a little way when 
 two robbers sprang out from the darkness, 
 and* each seizing an arm, they dragged her 
 to where their chief was carousing. 
 
 But, so appealing is charity, so self- 
 speaking are good deeds, that the half- 
 
THE PRINCESS ETHEL. 151 
 
 barbarian outlaw knew her to be the good 
 princess Ethel, when his eyes first rested 
 upon her. 
 
 To make sure, however, he asked her : 
 
 " Who art thou 3" 
 
 To which Ethel, half-dead with terror, 
 answered : 
 
 " I am Ethelinda, daughter of Derrick, 
 king of this kingdom of Wessex." 
 
 " Where goest thou ?" said the outlaw. 
 
 " Unto the village, to seek for shelter," 
 she replied. 
 
 "Ay," said the robber, " and so thou 
 shalt, for well I know how you saved my 
 mother from starving; therefore, two of 
 my men shall see you there safely, and may 
 harm never befall you!" With that he 
 called the two men who had captured her, 
 told them what he wished, and bade them 
 go. They little liked the task, but they 
 performed the duty faithfully. 
 
152 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 The poor, always help the poor. 
 
 Though Princess Ethel wandered and 
 suffered much, yet she never suffered the 
 pangs of hunger, nor knew the time when 
 her head lacked shelter. She often found 
 the least gratitude where she gave the 
 greatest kindness; and, where the favors 
 were but small, she often received the 
 warmest and truest thankfulness. 
 
 Sometimes her heart would be quite 
 sick, and she would sigh for the fine palace 
 of her father, but she always found that 
 the talisman had a wonderful power of up- 
 holding and comforting; and, though she 
 wandered to and fro for many years, until 
 her young face was old and sober, and her 
 brown cheeks brown and wrinkled; al- 
 though the poor were, indeed, always with 
 her; though storms, and sin, and wicked- 
 ness surrounded her, the words of the 
 good monk were never found false, and 
 
THE PRINCESS ETHEL. 153 
 
 none of these harms could ever prevail 
 against that charm which she wore next 
 her heart, and whose lesson she had re- 
 membered at such cost. 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 DERRICK, king of Wessex, weary of court 
 life, and lonely without his three children 
 (for both Ulrica and Geneura were married 
 and gone), announced to the lords and 
 barons of his court, that he was about to 
 retire to private life for a little while. 
 His two well-beloved sons-in-law, Lords 
 Rupert and Welwyk, would manage the 
 business, he said, while he was gone. 
 
 Many were the wonders, the cogitations, 
 the suggestions, and the doubts expressed, 
 when this resolution was made known. 
 Everybody had an opinion to offer, ex- 
 cepting the two sons-in-law, who alone 
 knew the true reason. 
 
 7* 
 
154 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 The truth was, Derrick had been told 
 that the holy and sacred religion of the 
 Druids was fast losing ground in Wessex, 
 and that all the common people, as well as 
 very many nobles, had openly, or secretly, 
 declared their belief in Jesus Christ. 
 
 This religion had been spread abroad, it 
 was said, chiefly through a certain woman 
 called Ethel, the Christian, and now the 
 Druid priests demanded the life of this 
 woman from the worthy Derrick. But 
 Derrick, though not very soft-hearted usu- 
 ally, refused to have this woman executed; 
 for he believed in his heart that Ethel, the 
 Christian, was no other than Ethelinda, 
 youngest daughter of the king of Wessex. 
 
 So, without saying a word to any one 
 but his sons-in-law, he determined to seek 
 out his child himself, and went out of the 
 palace-gate at sundown, without saying a 
 word to any one, but swearing, by the 
 
THE PRINCESS ETHEL. 155 
 
 sacred number seven, never to return, save 
 
 
 
 at sunrise, with Ethel by his side. 
 
 He wandered to and fro, hither and 
 thither ; learning very many new things, en- 
 during many hardships, seeing many abuses 
 of power, beholding much misery; but, 
 though he heard blessings showered down 
 upon the head of Ethel though he found 
 scarcely a hut, however wretched, that 
 knew her not, yet never once did his 
 wearied eyes rest upon her face, never 
 once did his tired hand grasp hers, and, 
 truly, his old heart was sick with wait- 
 ing. 
 
 One night Derrick slept upon the ground 
 by the roadside, near to a tall castle whose 
 name he did not know. He dreamed that 
 he was beset by robbers, and beaten cruel- 
 ly ; that, as he lay upon the ground moan- 
 ing, he heard the clatter of horses' feet, and 
 called out : 
 
156 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 " Hold, brother, and give me help, for I 
 have been robbed and beaten !" 
 
 " Robbed and beaten !" answered the 
 horseman, whose voice sounded strangely 
 like the Princess Ulrica's, a then thou art 
 not beautiful to see ! Farewell !" 
 
 Poor Derrick groaned dismally, as he 
 heard the clatter of the horses' feet die 
 away in the distance. 
 
 The dews fell heavily, his battered frame 
 ached dreadfully, and there appeared to be 
 no hope for him, when he heard the sound 
 of another approaching horseman. Gather- 
 ing all his strength, he cried out : 
 
 " Help, for I have been robbed and 
 beaten !" 
 
 But the horseman would not stop, and 
 called out, as he went by, in a voice pre- 
 cisely like the Princess Geneura's : 
 
 " Time is money ! Time is money !" 
 
 He paid no attention to the howl of pain 
 
THE PRINCESS ETHEL. 157 
 
 and indignation which burst from the lips 
 of the unfortunate Derrick, but disappeared 
 in the darkness. 
 
 The king knew no more until he opened 
 his eyes in the dull dawn, to find his 
 wounds quite imaginary ; but a sweet face 
 was bending over him, sadly changed, yet 
 well known, and a sweet voice, not changed 
 at all, said : 
 
 " First, the poor, and then, thee, dear 
 father ; but thou first, when thou art poor." 
 
 King Derrick sprang to his feet, and 
 caught his child to his heart, telling her, 
 in a very confused and foolish, but happy 
 way, how sorry and glad, how miserable 
 and delighted, he was. 
 
 " Ho !" he cried, " is not that the castle 
 of Ouse ? Strange it is, I knew it not last 
 night ! Come, child, the sun is rising ; 
 thou art by my side, and so, now, let us 
 be going. 
 
158 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 So they went straight in to the great 
 dining-hall, where all the court was break- 
 fasting ; and, when they saw King Derrick 
 and his daughter, they gave a great shout, 
 that made the hall ring; then the king 
 said, gravely : 
 
 " We have all returned safely ;" then, 
 to Ethel : " My child, thou hast passed 
 through many dangers, unscathed. Tell 
 me now, I beg, who and what has pro- 
 tected thee?" 
 
 Ethel replied, modestly: 
 
 " The poor have protected me, and this, 
 my charm." 
 
 She put into his hand that talisman 
 which had protected her, and which she 
 had found powerful wherever, she went. 
 It was but a cross of silver, rudely and 
 roughly wrought, but neither storms, nor 
 sin, nor wickedness, had prevailed against 
 it. 
 
THE PRINCESS ETHEL. 159 
 
 King Derrick looked at it curiously, 
 then pressed it to bis lips, and said : 
 
 " So truly do I love thee, dear daughter, 
 that, for the poor having protected thee, I 
 will henceforth protect them; and, since 
 this cross has protected thee, I will here- 
 after protect it, and those who wear it. 
 
 " Since thou art a Christian, I will also 
 be a Christian ; and the faith I accept, the 
 badge I follow, my subjects will accept 
 and follow." 
 
 Then the hall shook with another tre- 
 mendous shout and cheer; and all the 
 lords and barons of "Wessex abandoned 
 the faith of their fathers, and became as 
 good Christians as they could. 
 
 For very many years, Derrick, and his 
 maiden daughter, Ethel, lived in the castle 
 and , palace of Ouse; and when at last 
 Ethel died, as we all must die, sooner or 
 later, Rupert, who was then king of Wes- 
 
160 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 sex, and Ulrica, his queen, had graven on 
 the stone slab over her grave : 
 " The poor ye have always with you." 
 
 And upon the stone cross, at the head 
 of the grave, was graven : 
 
 /'Kemember the lesson it bears; and, 
 truly, neither storms, nor sin, nor wicked- 
 ness, shall prevail against it." 
 
THE DEAD BIRD. 
 
 POOR little hands, dropped downward, 
 
 Dear little face, so sad ; 
 Red lips, with a pitiful quiver; 
 
 Too bad, little Dickey, to.) bad^ 
 Two round chubby clu-cks, all dripping ; 
 
 A chest that is heaving with sobs ; 
 And the mocking splendor of tear-drops, 
 
 On the gilded wires and knobs. 
 
 Tender-hearted one, be not so woeful; 
 
 Wreathe not in sorrow thy lace ; 
 For a new birdie., saver and brighter, 
 
 To-morrow shall sing in its place. 
 Let me wipe off the pitying tear-drops; 
 
 Tears, precious, can nothing avail, 
 And it never yet drove away trouble, 
 
 To clasp her cold hand, and bewail. 
 
 The butterflies ont in the sunshine, 
 
 The baby-cloud shadows that pass, 
 The crocuses down in the meadow, 
 
 The daisies that shine in the grass, 
 Are all very weary of waiting 
 
 For their dear little playmate to come ; 
 And if you don't hasten, my darling, 
 
 They'll all fall asleep in the sun. 
 
 Alas! can I bring yon no comfort? 
 
 Must affection and tenderness fail ? 
 Have silver and gold lost their magic, 
 
 Can the powerful nothing avail? 
 Are the tears 1 wipe away, leaving 
 
 But furrows where others will start? 
 Must the little pet's house remain empty, 
 
 And empty its place in thy heart? 
 
 Ah 1 Heaven will listen and pity, 
 
 And the grief will vanish away I 
 What! never can cease to be sorry, 
 
 For scolding him but yesterday? 
 But, how healing a balm is repentance! 
 
 God's messengers, smiling, we trust, 
 Now gather these angelic jewels, 
 
 As treasures that never will rust. 
 
CROSS CHRISTIE. 
 
 SHE lived away up in the attic with her 
 poor, feeble, old grandmother; in the attic 
 of her Uncle John's fine house, whose 
 floors were covered with soft carpets, whose 
 windows were hung with lace, and whose 
 parlors were brilliant with mirrors; that 
 fine house, which everybody admired, and 
 neither knew, nor cared if they did know, 
 that Mr. John Hartley's mother and niece 
 lived together away up in the attic. 
 
 His two children were very much ad- 
 mired; although, to tell the truth, the 
 boys and girls at school called them unsa- 
 vory names, said they were mean, and 
 stingy, and "stuck-up." 
 
 But those friends, who sat by his fireside, 
 
CROSS CHRISTIE. 163 
 
 and dined at his table, called them pretty 
 children, and bright children, and dear,.good, 
 sweet children, but nobody ever said such 
 kind things of Christie. 
 
 So she grew up shy, and pale, and very 
 sober, in the high ill-furnished attic ; thought 
 of by no one ; cared for by no one ; wearing 
 her little dresses until they almost dropped to 
 pieces, and never dreaming of asking for new. 
 
 And the poor old grandmother ! what 
 would she have done, half-blind, and so 
 very feeble as she was, had it not been for 
 that pair of small brown hands ; those 
 willing, busy, loving hands, which swept 
 the hearth, arranged the scanty furniture, 
 and served their solitary meals ; the gentle 
 little hands, whose touch never failed to 
 ease the pain in the wrinkled forehead, and 
 which were never careless or awkward. 
 
 The blinded eyes could not see how- quiet 
 and pale the little handmaiden was, nor 
 
164 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 how she grew paler and plainer day by 
 day ; never saw the little lips repress the 
 sigh of weariness, when the oft-repeated 
 prattle of merry childhood, joyous youth, 
 and happy prime, was repeated for the 
 hundredth time ; and never saw, poor, old 
 eyes, how Christie's eyes grew moist, and 
 Christie's cheeks flushed, when the aged one 
 was over-fretful or over-querulous. 
 
 Her two cousins, George Hartley and 
 his proud sister Annie, called her cross, 
 because she was shy and sober; and from 
 Annie's " Oh you cross thing ! " they got to 
 calling her " Crosspatch !" and at last never 
 thought of calling her any thing else. 
 
 Old Mrs. Hartley was feeble and ner- 
 vous, so Christie never would allow her 
 noisy cousins to come up-stairs where she 
 was, and even once took courage to appeal 
 to her Uncle John against them ; which 
 earned them a scolding, so they called her 
 
CROSS CHRISTIE. 165 
 
 " Crosspatch," oftener and louder than 
 ever. 
 
 "Grandmother," said Christie, one morn- 
 ing, as she sat by the window, in a flood of 
 sunshine, sewing on some little bit of sew- 
 ing, " I had a pretty dream last night." 
 
 "Well, dear?" said the old lady, all 
 attention. 
 
 "I dreamed," said Christie, waving her 
 foot to and fro in a little shadow on the 
 floor, " that I came in here to find you, and 
 you were gone. I called you and hunted 
 for you, but I couldn't find you, so I went 
 down stairs to tell Uncle John ; when I 
 told him I dreamed that, he turned away 
 from me and went out the door. 
 
 " Then I was more sad and frightened 
 than ever, but I came up-stairs again ; and 
 when I opened the door you were stand- 
 ing right in the middle of the room. 
 
 I was going to run to you, but I couldn't , 
 
166 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 then I saw how you was beautiful in your 
 face, without any wrinkles ; and you stood 
 up straight, and your hair wasn't gray any 
 more. 
 
 " I thought I held out my hands to you, 
 and cried out, ' Grandmother !' but my feet 
 seemed to have grown to the floor ; then I 
 thought you began to cry and wring your 
 hands; and I felt so badly to see you cry, 
 that I cried too. 
 
 " Then I thought I felt something heavy 
 on my shoulders, that bent me all down, 
 but, though I turned my head as far around 
 as I could, to see it, and take it off, yet I 
 could neither see nor touch it. 
 
 "Then I cried harder and harder, but 1 
 thought you came up and wiped my eyes, 
 and told me if I was patient and didn't cry, 
 it would not be heavy any more. 
 
 " Then Uncle John came in, and put his 
 hand on it, and made it heavy again ; and 
 
CROSS CHRISTIE. 167 
 
 I dreamed that you cried when you saw 
 him, but you said, ' Bear it patiently, dear 
 Christie. 7 
 
 " Then I looked around again, and I saw 
 that it was a cross, like there is on your 
 Bible ; and you said again 
 
 " ' Bear it patiently, dear Christie ;' and 
 then I looked at you, and saw there was 
 sunshine all round your head. 
 
 " And I was so happy, for I thought it 
 was round my head, too, and the cross was 
 lighter than nothing on my back. 
 
 " Then I woke up. 
 
 " Wasn't that a pretty dream ? I thought 
 it was too bad for me to wake up, when 
 the dream was so pleasant and pretty." 
 
 "Bless the child! She has seen the 
 shadow of Death !" exclaimed Mrs. Hart- 
 ley. 
 
 "What?" said Christie, but her grand- 
 mother did not answer; so the little girl 
 
168 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 sang softly her "blithe little song, and saw 
 only the shadow which was on the floor. 
 
 But the shadow had fallen on the inva- 
 lid, for it was only a few weeks before she 
 was carried down stairs, white and cold, 
 into the grand parlor, into which she never 
 had gone during her lifetime ; and her son 
 John, and his wife and children, gave her a 
 few tears in her death, though they had 
 given her no smiles in her life. 
 
 Mrs. Hartley wiped away the tears from 
 her children's eyes with her soft cambric 
 handkerchief, and wondered why Christie 
 did not cry; the little girl had lost her 
 only friend, yet she sat there with her 
 brown hands folded on her black dress, and 
 her eyes cast down, dry and tearless. 
 
 It seemed to her that the tears fell into 
 her heart, and were frozen there; and all 
 she could think of, was that dear face, so 
 cold, that was to be buried out of sight 
 
CROSS CHRISTIE. 169 
 
 that never could be loved, or tended, or 
 cared for, by that loving heart again. 
 
 As they stood by the grave, as the spade- 
 fuls of earth rattled on the coffin, the fair- 
 haired young preacher read the words 
 
 " Dust to dust, and ashes to ashes." And 
 his voice trembled, for he saw Christie's 
 stony eyes and pallid cheeks, and his eyes 
 grew wet with tears, the only tears shed 
 by that open grave, and those were for the 
 living not the dead ; for the poor little 
 girl whose grief was beyond tears. 
 
 " What will we do with her ?" was the 
 question which her Aunt Emma asked, a 
 few days after the funeral. 
 
 Mr. Hartley thought of sending her to a 
 cheap boarding-school, but his wife shook 
 her head, and said he had much better get 
 her a place as a nurse-girl. 
 
 Ho hesitated at first, for she was his only 
 sister's only child, but at last he took his 
 
170 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 wife's advice, and called at the office the 
 next morning, as he went down town. 
 
 " I ah ! I want " he hesitated, " to put 
 a little girl out as a nurse-girl." 
 
 The man pulled out his " "big book ; 
 " Nurse-girl, nurse-girl," he said, as though 
 he was afraid of forgetting it ; " nurse-girl, 
 nurse-girl," and he ran his finger quickly 
 down the edge of the pages ; " nurse-girl, 
 nurse oh yes, here's one." 
 
 "'Mrs. Millet,'" he read from the book, 
 "< House No. 138 Taylor Street, private 
 boarding-house. 
 
 " l One child, two and a half years old ; 
 terms board, and ten dollars a month. 7 
 But she'll pick up lots of things by the way 
 of presents, if she's anyways bright and 
 pretty," added the man. 
 
 Mr. Hartley shook Iris head. "Any 
 other ?" he asked. 
 
CROSS CHRISTIE. 
 
 The man resumed his searching, but 
 stopped after a few moments. 
 
 " Yes, here's another," he said, " but I 
 don't know as you'll " then he read 
 
 "'Mrs. Bunker, house No. 5 Ellen Street, 
 two children ; terms board and clothes.' " 
 
 He looked up at Mr. Hartley. 
 
 "If you just want a home for the child, 
 and don't care for her to make money, this 
 is a good place. The woman is of the nicer 
 sort, and won't be hard on her, I guess." 
 
 " Well," said the inquirer, " I think that 
 will do. Just give me the address, please, 
 and I'll go and see her." 
 
 The man did so, and eyed his customer 
 sharply at the same time ; but he made no 
 remark. 
 
 Mrs. Bunker was thin and sharp in her 
 person as well as her manner, and poor, 
 quiet Christie, used only to her grand- 
 
172 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 mother's feeble and tender voice, was sadly 
 afraid of her. 
 
 She had a very hard time at No. 5 Ellen 
 Street, for those two children were equal 
 to five ordinary ones, and Mrs. Bunker 
 had such a passion for having things 
 tidy, and such an objection to work, that 
 it made a heavy load for those little 
 shoulders. 
 
 She thought often and often of her 
 dream ; " Bear it patiently, Christie !" 
 often rang in her ears in those weary days 
 when Johnnie was so heavy, and Katie so 
 self-willed and saucy ; when from the time 
 the sun rose until long after it set, the feet 
 were on the treadmill, and were so often 
 pierced with thorns; and the hands and 
 arms were tired so much that the short 
 night's sleep was not enough to rest them ; 
 when punishment never failed, and rewards 
 never came. 
 
CROSS CHRISTIE. 
 
 Yes, she had a hard time, aud she was not 
 strong ; yet she bore it very patiently. 
 
 After she was once off his hands, Uncle 
 John Hartley never troubled himself con- 
 cerning her, although once or twice, in 
 
 O 7 O / 
 
 speaking of her to his wife, he said : " Sup 
 pose George should come back." 
 
 "Well," Mrs. Hartley would answer, 
 "suppose he does? He can do just as he 
 likes ; we are not to answer to him for the 
 child, are we ?" 
 
 "No, I suppose not," would be the 
 reply. But neither Mrs. Hartley nor her 
 husband seemed to remember whom they 
 would have to answer to ; neither thought 
 of that Father whose loving eye was over 
 his child, and who sent his blessing 
 upon her, because she bore His burdens 
 patiently. 
 
 Every night, after the heavy baby and 
 the restless, troublesome girl had been tuck- 
 
NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 ed into their beds and gone to sleep, when 
 the dishes were all washed, and the table 
 set for morning, Christie would slip out 
 from the back door, run two or three 
 squares in the lamp-light, a little piece in 
 the dusk, and stop before the church-yard, 
 where her grandmother was buried. 
 
 It was very, very dark there, but the little 
 girl was not afraid, for she knew no reason 
 why she should be ; the tall trees bent their 
 long slender branches down over her head, 
 and whispered as the air swept through 
 them ; and the little girl would stop to 
 listen, for their voices were sweet and soft, 
 and Mrs. Bunker's was harsh and loud ; 
 then, besides, she fancied they whispered 
 of Heaven, and that they called her " dear 
 Christie," and she loved them. 
 
 Her grandmother's grave was covered 
 with soft, short grass, and when Christie 
 knelt beside it, and laid her thin cheek on 
 
CROSS CHRISTIE. 175 
 
 the cool grass, it seemed to her like that 
 aged hand, cool and tender, which had 
 smoothed that little cheek lovingly so 
 often ; and the thought she was a simple 
 child, but she thought that, when she 
 whispered, " Grandmother, grandmother," 
 she was heard and answered through the 
 sweet voices of the long-armed trees. Oh, 
 no ! it was not in that lonely, quiet, holy 
 place that she was afraid ; the little birds 
 peered at her, with their bright, round eyes, 
 over the edges of their nests, as she told 
 her little trials great for her to bear, and 
 shed those few tears that eased her heart so 
 much, but she fancied they were sorry for 
 her, and she was not afraid of them ; it was 
 when she was going home, and curious men 
 and women stared at her in the crowded 
 streets, that she was afraid. In the long 
 summer twilight, when she went to the 
 church-yard, she used to notice a boy there, 
 
176 NO BABY IN" THE HOUSE. 
 
 who, like herself, seemed forlorn and friend- 
 less; but he tended and cried over two 
 graves, instead of one. 
 
 He was a very tall boy, with a sad and 
 subdued face, and large brown hands, 
 which were crossed in front of him when 
 they were not busy; this would have 
 made him odd and comical in the eyes of 
 most children, but Christie felt less like 
 laughing than crying when she saw him, 
 for he bore the evident marks of sorrow 
 in his face. 
 
 She was too shy to speak to him, and he 
 was too shy to speak to her, but each was 
 sorry for the other, and looked it, although 
 they neither of them spoke it. 
 
 One day, as she came down stairs with 
 the heavy baby in her arms, she saw some- 
 body standing in the hall, talking with Mrs. 
 Bunker; something in his attitude struck 
 her as familiar, and she looked the second 
 
CROSS CHRISTIE. 177 
 
 time ; yes, she had seen many times those 
 large, meekly-crossed hands, and the grave, 
 shy face. 
 
 " How are your two brothers, James, 
 that you thought so much of?" asked Mrs. 
 Bunker. 
 
 The big tears started into his eyes, as he 
 answered : 
 
 " I have no brothers now, Mrs. Bunker ; 
 my brothers are dead." 
 
 The tears were thick in Christie's eyes, 
 too, as she heard the words, and he must 
 have seen them, for he smiled at her faint- 
 ly through his tears. 
 
 u Well, Miss," said her mistress, turning 
 around at her sharply ; " what do you 
 want here ? Just you march along, and 
 mind your own business. 
 
 " No, James," she said, turning to the boy, 
 " tell your mother that I keep a nurse-girl 
 
 8* 
 
178 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 now, such as she is, and do my sewing 
 myself." 
 
 " Isn't she a good girl ?" said the boy, 
 wonderingly. 
 
 " Oh ! good enough, I suppose," was the 
 answer ; " but she's a cross, peevish piece. 
 I knew she was that before she came, 
 but I took her out of charity." 
 
 The red blood flushed up hotly in that 
 pale little cheek, when Christie heard these 
 words; she hurried down the hall with 
 Johnnie, who was as fat as she was thin, 
 and tried to forget them, but they would 
 ring in her ears. 
 
 She thought of her Uncle John then, too, 
 and of her cousins, proud and rich, while 
 she was buffeted, and scolded, and made to 
 work until she was very tired; and she 
 wondered why it should be so. 
 
 She remembered her grandmother's teach- 
 
CROSS CHRISTIE. 179 
 
 ings, and she tried to be meek and patient, 
 but she found it very hard to do. 
 
 "I took her out of charity !" She 
 thought of her uncle's fine house, of her 
 cousins' fine clothes, and she knew that her 
 heart was bitter against them. 
 
 " Cross and peevish!' 7 that was their 
 work, too ; and she almost hated them 
 then. 
 
 Her dream was coming true, perhaps, 
 and her Uncle John's hand did make the 
 burden heavier; and perhaps, she thought, 
 her dear grandmother was crying to see 
 her little girl so bent and weary. 
 
 Still, she knew she was wrong, and when 
 she crept through the church yard that even- 
 ing, she thought the trees sighed only, but 
 did not whisper " dear Christie," to-night. 
 
 The more she murmured at her hard lot, 
 the more unhappy she became; she shed 
 more tears, by far, and found less comfort 
 
180 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 in them ; the voices in the trees grew fainter 
 and sadder in their sighs, and the world 
 seemed to grow dark about her. 
 
 One night, as she stole home from her 
 grandmother's grave, earlier than usual, 
 she heard a voice singing sweetly and 
 softly. She stopped and listened, for she 
 loved sweet music, and somehow those 
 gentle tones touched her, and soothed her 
 troubled and angry heart. 
 
 It was a tall, old house before which she 
 stopped ; and even Christie could see that 
 many families lived in it, and that they 
 were all poor; here and there, a piece of 
 board filled the place of a broken pane of 
 glass, and in some windows, were old hats 
 or bundles of rags. 
 
 Yet that voice floated down, that 
 sweet, yet strange voice ; and after a little, 
 she could tell the words of what the singer 
 sang, or rather chanted. 
 
CROSS CHRISTIE. 181 
 
 "Come unto me, all ye that labor and 
 are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. 
 I will give you rest." 
 
 Christie put her hands before her face, 
 and turned her face to the wall ; " I will 
 give you rest." 
 
 " Kest." It was such a lovely word, and 
 it was just what she longed for. 
 
 She had heard that line many a time, and 
 read it many a time ; she knew well that 
 JESUS spoke it, and that it was to such as 
 she that he spoke : " All ye that labor, and 
 are heavy laden." And she was both. 
 
 Softly the voice floated down upon her ; 
 little knew the singer of the unseen listen- 
 er to his song. 
 
 " Take my yoke upon you, and learn of 
 Me. for I am meek and lowly of heart ; and 
 ye shall find rest." 
 
 Christie stayed and listened as long 
 as she dared, and then ran home; but 
 
182 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 all the next day, as she went about her 
 work, she repeated those kind, pitiful words 
 over and over to herself; and, somehow, 
 the baby seemed not near so heavy, the 
 dishes not near so many, the mistress not 
 near so harsh. 
 
 She began to see now that, if she had 
 borne her cross patiently and unmurmur- 
 ingly, it would not have been near so 
 heavy upon her. Her grandmother had 
 said, 
 
 "Bear it patiently, dear Christie," and 
 she had not borne it patiently. 
 
 The next night, James, as Mrs. Bunker 
 called the tall boy whom she had met in 
 the churchyard, was tending the two little 
 graves, when Christie knelt by her grand- 
 mother's; and pretty soon he came over 
 and spoke to her. 
 
 "Little girl," he said, with his hands 
 crossed before him, in his odd, old-fashioned 
 
CROSS CHRISTIE. 183 
 
 way, " are you cross ? Why are you 
 cross 3" 
 
 "I tiy not to be," answered Christie, 
 humbly ; " but I have very much to make 
 
 me." 
 
 "Yes," answered he, "you do. What 
 is your name, and whose grave is this ?" 
 
 " My name is Christie, and this is my 
 grandmother's grave." 
 
 " My name is James Dean," said he, " and 
 those two little graves are where my two 
 dear little brothers are buried. 
 
 " I loved them so dearly, and worked for 
 them so hard, but they died a month apart ; 
 and now," he added, with a quivering voice, 
 " my dear mother is dying. But yet I am 
 not cross, little girl." 
 
 " I know," said she, " I know your roice 
 now ; it is the one which sang, ' Come un- 
 to Me/ last night." 
 
 "Yes," said James, "I sang that last 
 
184: NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 night to mother, and that is the reason, you 
 know, why I am not cross, because I take 
 His yoke upon me." 
 
 It was odd to hear him talk so gravely 
 and sadly, yet earnestly ; earnestly indeed, 
 for his words comforted Christie then, and 
 long afterward. She went with him that 
 night to see his pale, gentle mother, whose 
 sweet voice sounded like her grandmother's, 
 and who took the friendless little girl quite 
 to her heart. 
 
 She loved to see the tall and apparently 
 awkward boy, lift his mother tenderly in 
 his arms, and care for her as handily as 
 Christie could do ; and somehow, in help- 
 ing, assisting, and loving them, in her spare 
 time, she forgot how hard a time she had, 
 and the burden grew to be as light as noth- 
 ing on her little shoulders. 
 
 One day, as she was busily washing 
 dishes, Mrs. Bunker came in, and, telling 
 
CROSS CHRISTIE. 185 
 
 her that her uncle was in the parlor, bade 
 her go u and tidy herself," which she did 
 rather reluctantly; for Uncle John never 
 had visited her before, and she could not 
 tell why he should come now; without 
 knowing why, she feared him. 
 
 But when she came shyly into the parlor, 
 she saw, not her Uncle John, but another 
 gentleman ; a kind-faced, gray-bearded man, 
 who said 
 
 " So, your name is Christie Collins, is it, 
 my dear ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," said she, looking at him earn- 
 estly. 
 
 " And my name is George Hartley, your 
 Uncle George, little Christie, come to love 
 you and take care of you, all the way from 
 China." 
 
 Mrs. Bunker heard something like crying, 
 as she listened at the parlor door; and she 
 scolded vigorously a little while afterward, 
 
186 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 when Uncle George insisted upon Christie's 
 going away right then ; but her scolding 
 did no good, for in a few moments Christie 
 and Uncle George, from China, ran down the 
 front steps at No. 5 Ellen Street, never to 
 ascend them again. 
 
 Oh, the talks they had in the cosy par- 
 lor of the old-fashioned hotel ; of the two 
 proud cousins who had called her " Cross 
 Christie ;" of the dear, gentle grandmother, 
 whose very grave had been such a comfort 
 to her ; of Mrs. Bunker, and Katie, and 
 Johnnie, and the piles of greasy dishes ; 
 of James Dean, with his sweet voice, his 
 odd, grave ways, and his womanly gentle- 
 ness with his mother ; and of that mother 
 who was descending into the shadow of 
 death, over so rough and thorny a road ; of 
 the green grave which she loved, and the 
 two little graves which lie loved ; and Un- 
 cle George's eyes glistened as she told him. 
 
CROSS CHRISTIE. 187 
 
 Then she told him her dream, and how 
 it had seemed to come true ; and of her 
 hard thoughts toward her Uncle John; 
 of her unhappiness, her repentance, their 
 kindness, and her joy; and both resolved 
 that the light over her path should drive 
 away the darkness of theirs. 
 
 She is Happy Christie now Cross Chris- 
 tie no longer ; and the dream has come 
 true, for the cross on her shoulders has 
 fallen off, and a halo of the glory of many 
 good deeds shines around her head. 
 
THE WHITE ROSES. 
 
 IT was such a little garden, and it had 
 such a hard time ! What with the soil 
 being so bad, and the landlord so cross, 
 and the slips so contrary, I had hard time 
 to get any garden at all ; then the watering- 
 pot leaked, and the trowel was lost ; we 
 asked the landlord to get us a nice rose- 
 bush to put in the center bed, and he 
 brought us, instead, a wizened, unshapely 
 arbor-vitge. I ought to have protested and 
 refused to receive it then, and I knew it, 
 but, to tell the truth, I was a little afraid 
 of our cross landlord ; so I foolishly let him 
 plant it right in the center of my center- 
 bed. And it is there yet, ugly and un- 
 gainly, as ever, only larger. 
 
THE WHITE ROSES. 189 
 
 Nothing will grow, under or around it, 
 and it is a constant eyesore to me, spoiling, 
 I think, the whole appearance of a very 
 pretty little garden; but our cross land- 
 lord still retains his frowns, and every 
 week fixes my ugly tree more securely in its 
 position. Then the rats got into the garden. 
 
 The most industrious and energetic lot 
 of "rats I ever saw; they burrowed and 
 burrowed all through my little garden, 
 until it was nothing but a honey-comb; 
 and they were so hungry ! 
 
 They ate all my dahlia and lily bulbs, 
 lunched daintily on my tender young ver- 
 benas, and lugged daisy-roots and delicate 
 young slips off bodily into their holes. 
 
 With a plentiful supply of ashes and 
 broken glass, however, I finally got rid of 
 these pests, and a fresh application to in- 
 dulgent friends for fresh slips, soon re- 
 placed my collection. 
 
190 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 One day, as I was walking along Harri- 
 son Street, I saw on the edge of the side- 
 walk, a poor, abandoned little rose-tree. 
 Upon picking it up and looking at it care- 
 fully, I thought I detected some faint signs 
 of life, so I took it home and planted it in 
 a shady corner. The next day promised to 
 be so warm that I erected a little awning 
 over my tree to shield it from the sun ; this 
 amused the children in the vicinity so much 
 that I was quite fearful of their pulling it 
 away ; so I sat down and watched my new 
 charge all day long. 
 
 The rest of the family laughed at me, 
 and I had not much faith in the success of 
 my nursing, myself, for the poor thing did 
 not give the slightest sign of reviving. 
 
 But I had a deal of patience, if not much 
 faith; so I watered it well that night, 
 erected my awning again the next day, and 
 continued my watching, and repeated this 
 
THE WHITE ROSES. 
 
 devotion the next day, and the next ; yet 
 still that one green leaf hung obstinately 
 down, and so I pulled away the awning, 
 and left it to its fate. 
 
 But, either to spite or reward me, that 
 one drooping, green leaf looked up in the 
 evening, and, though it drooped again in 
 the sun's rays, it looked up again the next 
 evening ; at last a little green bunch ap- 
 peared on the stem, which grew larger 
 and larger, until it finally burst out into 
 delicate, but healthy green leaves ; and I 
 felt that my labors and patience were well 
 rewarded. 
 
 How I watched for the blossoms, and 
 eagerly held the pretty foliage aside in 
 order, if possible, to see the buds; and 
 when the buds did appear, and the poor 
 little stick, as it had seemed to be when I 
 picked it up from the sidewalk, held out 
 the two wee little things in its arms of 
 
192 ' NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 leaves, like a young mother, proud and 
 happy, how I loved it ! 
 
 And when the buds blossomed ! of all 
 the beautiful, pure white roses that ever 
 opened their sweet faces on the sunny 
 world, those two were the most beautiful. 
 
 Little Charlie loved them, too, as well as 
 I did. 
 
 He was a little lame boy, was Charlie, 
 with a sweet, pure, white face, sweeter and 
 purer even than my roses, and with a some- 
 thing underneath it, that no rose could 
 ever have; for that something was the 
 light of an earnest and holy little heart. 
 
 His sister Jessie used to wheel him about 
 in a little carriage ; for Charlie had never 
 walked in his life; when he was a baby, 
 long before he thought of standing alone, 
 he fell down a long flight of stairs, and the 
 doctors told his mother then, that if he 
 ever did get well, that he never would 
 
THE WHITE ROSES. 193 
 
 stand on his feet, and never move along of 
 his own will. 
 
 Jessie used to wheel him along the side- 
 walk, in front of my little garden, every 
 morning ; and as I was always at work 
 there in the morning, I soon got acquainted 
 with him ; for he was not at all shy, al- 
 though very quiet and gentle-spoken. 
 
 He sympathized deeply with my numer- 
 ous misfortunes, and admired my stately 
 lilies and scarlet verbenas, and detested my 
 ugly tree fully as much as I did ; he watch- 
 ed the growth of my pretty rose-tree with 
 intense interest, and fully admired its 
 beautiful blossoms. 
 
 When the tree began to blossom more plen- 
 tifully, I used to put one white rose or bud 
 in his little blue-veined hand, every morn- 
 ing. 
 
 But I thought, when I gave him the del- 
 icate buds, so like himself, that, as they 
 
 9 
 
194: ^ T BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 bloomed, he faded ; and yet that they grew 
 more and more like each other, for his 
 cheek was now almost the color of the rose- 
 leaf, and like it, he was nearer and nearer per- 
 fect every day ; like it, too, he was a snow 
 white beautiful bud that would never blos- 
 som. 
 
 But Charlie loved those buds ; he would 
 clasp them in his tiny hand, and peer with 
 his deep blue eyes, down, down into their 
 secret hearts ; he would put them to his lips, 
 too, sometimes, and press the soft petals to 
 his cheek, lovingly. 
 
 I asked Jessie one day, if she put them 
 in water after they got home, and she 
 answered " no." 
 
 I asked her why, and after awhile she 
 told me ; an old woman, who was sick and 
 poor, had admired the bud once in Charlie's 
 hand, as his sister wheeled him by her 
 door; and he was quite too unselfish a 
 
THE WHITE ROSES. 195 
 
 child to keep it after that, so every day 
 after his sister had given him all his ride, 
 she wheeled him past the old woman's 
 door, and he handed her his gift with a 
 sweet angelic smile which made it all the 
 more lovely. 
 
 " She puts them in a cup, and they bloom 
 out on the window sill by her chair," said 
 Jessie. 
 
 " Ah !" I thought to myself, when she 
 told me of this good act, "those buds 
 which bloom by her side on earth, will 
 bloom by his in heaven," for I knew well 
 what a sacrifice it was for him to give them 
 away so cheerfully. 
 
 Day by day my white roses budded and 
 bloomed, each more beautiful than those that 
 bloomed before ; and day by day Charlie 
 sank deeper on his pillows and faded from 
 our earthly sight ; he was budding too, and 
 would soon bloom, more beautiful than ever. 
 
196 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 Yet the pangs were in my heart when I 
 looked at his little fingers, so white and 
 slender, and I could not help the tears, 
 when I thought how soon it would be, 
 when they would clasp niy snowy buds 
 no more. 
 
 One morning as he took them, I fancied 
 he looked rather better than usual, and 
 said so ; but, strangely enough, I thought, 
 he bent over his treasure, and when he 
 looked up, I saw the tears were thick in 
 his eyes, and one great drop had rolled 
 down, and lay upon the petals like a dew- 
 drop. 
 
 Dear Charlie ! 
 
 Every morning I had expected to see 
 Jessie come alone, and the next morning 
 she did. 
 
 " Is Charlie worse ?" asked I, anxiously. 
 
 " No, ma'am," she answered, with a great 
 sob, " he is better now. He is dead." 
 
THE WHITE ROSES. 197 
 
 " Dead !" the word fell on rny heart 
 like lead, for I had not thought he would 
 die so soon. 
 
 We gathered them all, bud and blossom, 
 and put them with him in his narrow bed ; 
 he had not changed, only I fancied that the 
 angel look had appeared on his counte- 
 nance, now. 
 
 We buried him with his white roses 
 about him, and planted the bush over his 
 grave, so that the beautiful flowers bud and 
 bloom, fade and fall, all the year round, 
 over his little form. 
 
 We gathered a few one day, Jessie and 
 I, and carried them to the old woman who 
 had been made happy by Charlie's hand so 
 many times ; but when we came to the 
 little cottage, she was gone from the door, 
 gone from the window, gone from Earth. 
 
 We well knew that both she and the 
 little boy we loved, gather and love far 
 
198 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 lovelier and more lasting blossoms than we 
 will ever know on earth, yet we think 
 that sometimes when the warm California 
 sun falls on the little grave and brightens 
 it, and the lovely white roses turn their 
 pure faces upward to the sky, that the 
 spirits of both will leave the gardens of 
 glory and hover for a little while over the 
 flowers they loved on earth. 
 
THE OLD MAN IN THE GROUND. 
 
 A CALIFORNIA LEGEND. 
 
 HE was a white-haired, white-bearded 
 man, was old Senor Gomez; and, as he 
 sailed over the broad seas in his good ship 
 Gracia, he always took his pretty daughter 
 Gracia with hirri, because the gleam of her 
 dark hair and the glance of her black eyes 
 seemed to put a thrill of younger life into 
 his aged veins. 
 
 She looked as he did when he was 
 young; so people said who knew him 
 then ; but now, no two could be more op- 
 posite ; Senor Gomez had a dark skin, and 
 so had Gracia ; but his cheek was wrinkled, 
 and looked like leather, while hers had 
 
200 N0 BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 under it, the mantling blush of youth, 
 which made it look like a dark cloud 
 tinged with the crimson of sunset. ^ ju 
 
 His eyes were black and bright, and so 
 were hers; but his had a way of looking 
 off when you looked at him, while Gracia's 
 looked you in the face freely and frankly, 
 like the windows of an open and noble 
 heart, as they were. 
 
 They lived many a hundred years ago, the 
 old Spaniard and his pretty daughter; 
 many a hundred years ago ; when the world 
 was younger and more ignorant that it is 
 now ; when the broad 'Pacific seldom tossed 
 a ship amongst its friendly waves, and Cali- 
 fornia was an undiscovered country. JJ* 
 
 But Senor Ruy Gromez was a <JaHng, 
 dauntless captain, an'd he feared neither 
 the storms of the ocean nor the savages of 
 the land; moreover, he had a mate as 
 daring and dauntless as himself, and what- 
 
THE OLD MAN IX TITK GROUND. 201 
 
 ever the captain said he would do, the 
 mate always cried " yes," because he loved 
 Gracia Gomez, the captain's daughter, and 
 wished to make himself pleasant to the 
 captain, so that when he asked him for 
 her, he would not refuse. 
 
 One night, they were close by the shore 
 of a strange, unknown land ; and Senor 
 Gomez dreamed a strange dream that night, 
 bidding him to land, and dig for gold ; the 
 dream implied that no one was to set foot 
 on the strange land, save himself and his 
 daughter ; and by the time his ship should 
 sail ten degrees to the north, and ten 
 degrees to the south, that he, with his own 
 hand, would have dug gold enough to load 
 the ship, and make him richer than a 
 prince. 
 
 This dream so impressed him, that he 
 determined to land, and to dig for the 
 
 gold, as he had been directed; so he told 
 9* 
 
202 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 his mate, whose name was Bernardo, what 
 he intended to do, without saying anything, 
 however, about his dream. 
 
 " While I am on shore, Bernardo," he said, 
 " I wish you to sail the ship first, ten de- 
 grees to the north and back again, then, 
 ten degrees to the south and back again ; 
 and then I, with my daughter Grracia, will 
 come on board, and we will set sail for 
 Spain. 
 
 "More, good Bernardo, I will give to 
 you for your perilous duty in sailing the 
 Grracia, a large share in the gold that I will 
 
 dig." 
 
 " Master Captain," said Bernardo, " I know 
 that gold is a noble reward for courage; 
 but, in encountering these dangers, I would 
 fain have the promise of another gift, more 
 precious than all the gold of the New 
 World, good Senor, I mean your daugh- 
 ter." 
 
THE OLD MAN IN THE GROUND. 203 
 
 But Senor Gomez answered coldly, 
 
 " Gold I will give you, but my daugh- 
 ter, never." 
 
 Bernardo said nothing, but he turned 
 away from the captain with a heart full of 
 anger, sorrow, and hatred. 
 
 That evening, when the moon was high 
 up in the sky, and the captain was sleep- 
 ing, the mate went to Gracia, as she was 
 walking on the deck, and told her, in a half- 
 tender, half-fierce way, of his love for her 
 and his hatred of her father ; then he pro- 
 posed to her that she should return to the 
 ship, and leave her father to find his gold 
 and to keep it. 
 
 " We will be happy, my beautiful," he 
 cried, "and a solitary death will be a just 
 punishment for his tyranny." 
 
 But the little Spanish girl was not only a 
 good and faithful daughter, but she had 
 also a heart so pure and holy, that what 
 
20 I- NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 Bernardo had said filled her with horror 
 and sorrow. 
 
 " You a"re crazy now," she said, " but 
 by and by it will go away. I will not 
 tell my father, and we will both forget what 
 you have said." 
 
 They landed, the bearded, grasping cap- 
 tain, and the sweet-faced, dark-eyed girl, 
 upon the desolate shores of the gold-haunt 
 ed land ; and Bernardo promised to sail the 
 ship as the captain had bidden. 
 
 They hunted and hunted for the precious 
 treasures, until Ruy Gomez was well nigh 
 discouraged ; for the ship had sailed away, 
 and he greatly feared that the journey to 
 and fro would be accomplished before he 
 had a single nugget to show for Bernardo's 
 reward. One night as they rested under- 
 neath a great oak, the captain bemoaned 
 his ill-luck and his many misfortunes, and 
 finally said to his daughter : 
 
THE OLD MAN IN THE GROUND. 205 
 
 " I was a fool to bring you with me ; I 
 should have found the gold long ago if I 
 had not been obliged to drag you about 
 with me." 
 
 He said these words very fretfully and 
 very unkindly ; for it was much harder for 
 little Gracia to bear all these hardships and 
 discomforts than it was for him ; while she 
 had never complained once, nor failed to 
 do all that he required of her. 
 
 " Father, father," she cried, in astonish- 
 ment, " you could not have left me." 
 
 "Hush!" he answered, crushing in his 
 hand some little oblong smooth stones 
 which he had picked up, " say not another 
 word, or I will fling the stones at you." 
 And so angiy was he that the red blood 
 glowed underneath his dark cheeks, like a 
 scarlet flame shrouded in smoke. 
 
 " Alas !" cried Gracia, " you must be ill, 
 
 father." 
 
 ^V or a 
 
 __ fair 17 E 
 
206 N0 BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 " I told you to hush," he shouted, as he 
 fulfilled his threat, and flung the hard 
 stones full in her innocent young face. 
 
 Ah ! it was cruel, cruel, cruel ! 
 
 She put her two hands up before her face, 
 her pretty face, all bruised and scratched, 
 and wept very bitter tears ; yet the tears 
 were not for the pain in her round cheeks, 
 but for the sharper pangs in her heart. 
 
 All the time, although they did not see 
 him, old Karlin, the king of the mines, was 
 hiding behind the tree and watching them ; 
 he was an ugly old elf, and so hated man- 
 kind, that far from helping them to find 
 the gold and silver under his care, he 
 always tried his best to have every grain 
 of shining metal which they did find carry 
 with it sorrow and trouble. 
 
 Here, upon the shores of this New World, 
 he had been allowed to carry his head high 
 for so long, that he had begun to hope that 
 
THE OLD MAN IN THE GROUND. 207 
 
 man would never disturb him, and so when 
 lie saw Ruy Gomez and his daughter wan- 
 dering through the forests, he looked upon 
 them with any thing but kindly eyes. 
 
 Yet, even Karlin's little black eyes snap- 
 ped, and he clinched his withered, brown 
 hand angrily, when he saw Senor Gomez 
 fling those cruel, hard stones in that inno- 
 cent little face. 
 
 "You shall rue it, old Leatherskin," he 
 thought, " for you it was, and not she, who 
 came here to hunt for my shining gold." 
 
 So Karlin set himself to work to do ill 
 unto the old Spaniard, if he did no good to 
 Gracia. 
 
 Now, near the place where they then 
 were, was one of Karlin's richest mines, 
 and into that mine he determined to entrap 
 the greedy old Spaniard. So that night, 
 while they both slept on their bed of dry 
 leaves, he scattered rich nuggets of gold 
 
208 N0 BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 about on the ground, and great pieces of 
 quartz, all veined in thick veins of gold ; 
 and so placed them that he felt sure they 
 would lead Senor Gomez to the entrance 
 of the mine. 
 
 " Once inside my domain," chuckled the 
 withered old Karlin, " once inside, and I'm 
 all right." 
 
 Then he gathered up the little smooth 
 stones, whose sharp edges had so cruelly 
 cut the delicate skin of pretty Gracia, and 
 after looking at them curiously for awhile, 
 he carried them into the mine and laid 
 them carelessly down upon a little shelf of 
 quartz. 
 
 The sun arose gloriously in that far 
 western land, and the sweet breath of the 
 California morning fanned the cheeks and 
 *brows of the wanderers, and awakened 
 them to another day, as they supposed, of 
 toil and disappointment. 
 
THE OLD MAN IN THE GROUND. 209 
 
 As they munclied their breakfast of dry 
 cracker and fresh fruit, Gracia prattled to 
 her father ; for she soon forgave and forgot 
 the wounds which he had inflicted. 
 
 " Papa," she said, " the sun comes up in 
 the red sky like a ball of gold floating in 
 blood, and I think it bodes good for us." 
 
 " Why do you say in blood ?" said her 
 father, sharply, " what has blood to do with 
 the gold I want ?" 
 
 " May be one of us will cut our fingers, 
 papa, and find that the stone is oh, papa, 
 see here," and she picked up from the 
 ground one of the nuggets of gold which 
 the cunning Karlin had left. 
 
 " At last !" said Senor Gomez. " You have 
 brought me good luck, after all, daughter." 
 
 Gracia smiled, but she hung her head 
 and looked the other way, for somehow the 
 words seemed to hurt her, and, without 
 wishing it, she thought of the hand with 
 
210 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 which the stones were thrown, was the 
 same hand held out to her now, to smooth 
 her soft hair; so she knew not why, but 
 she shrank from it, and looked the other 
 way. 
 
 Senor Gomez was too much excited to 
 notice it, however, but went on searching 
 and searching for more of his shining idol ; 
 and he found more, almost at every step ; 
 for he fell directly into the cunning trap 
 which Karlin had prepared, and every step 
 found him. nearer to the entrance of the 
 mine. 
 
 " Search for the gold, Gracia," he cried, 
 " for truly, yon golden sun has brought us 
 wondrous good luck. Search hard, Gracia, 
 for my dream has come true, and I pick it 
 up in great lumps." 
 
 Gracia did as she was bid ; bending her 
 head down under the tall, rank bushes, and 
 parting the thick grass faithfully ; but all 
 
THE OLD MAN IN THE GROUND. 211 
 
 she found, was here and there the nest of 
 the little brown groundbird, with its little 
 brood of featherless babies ; they were not 
 afraid of her, for they knew no harm of her, 
 but looked up with their bright round 
 eyes, and opened their greedy little throats, 
 piping loudly, and thinking, perhaps, that 
 she had brought them a worm or so. 
 
 Then here and there she found a bunch 
 of ripe, red strawberries, sparkling with 
 the diamonds of the morning but she 
 found no gold. 
 
 Meanwhile her father had discovered 
 the entrance to the cave, and went in ; once 
 in, he was dazzled, bewildered, lost. 
 
 " Papa, papa," called the voice of his 
 daughter, in the wood. 
 
 He heard her, yet heard her not ; for up, 
 up, on both sides of him were walls of yel- 
 low gold, and here and there were walls of 
 sparkling white quartz, so heavy with the 
 
212 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 bright metal that the quartz seemed much 
 the smaller part. 
 
 Papa, papa," said the sweet voice in the 
 outer air. 
 
 "She must see it," he thought, "she is 
 but weakly, but she can help to carry it 
 away." Yet he never seemed to think of 
 turning back, for he was so dazed and be- 
 wildered that her voice sounded as though 
 in the mine, only far, far ahead. 
 
 He picked up great nuggets, and broke 
 off large pieces of gold, until his pockets 
 were full to overflowing ; yet still he kept 
 on, for that sweet, ringing voice, saying, 
 " Papa, where are you, papa I" echoed and 
 re-echoed through the cave. 
 
 He found upon a shelf the stones which 
 he had flung at his child, and he took them 
 eagerly, though he thought not what he was 
 doing, and carried them along in his hand. 
 
 "Papa," said the voice, faintly now, for 
 
THE OLD MAN IN THE GROUND. 213 
 
 the mine was deep in the center of a hill, 
 and the voice could hardly be heard. 
 
 The way grew crooked, and the mine 
 grew dark ; the gold in his pockets weighed 
 heavily, and his feet stumbled. 
 
 " Papa." So faint so far away. 
 
 " Gracia," he cried, " my child, my little 
 one, Gracia !" 
 
 As he spoke the word, a stone dropped 
 from his hand, and rung sharply on the 
 floor of the mine. 
 
 Slowly he stumbled on, and felt his way 
 on the clammy walls of the mine ; but he 
 never seemed to think of turning back, 
 although his daughter's voice had ceased 
 now, and he heard only the echo of his 
 stumbling footsteps, and of .his vain though 
 frantic calls for his child ; and as he spoke 
 her name, he noticed one stone always 
 dropped from his hand, yet he never seemed 
 to have less. He tried to pull the nuggets 
 
214: NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 of gold from his pockets, but they would 
 not come ; and at last he tried to turn 
 back. Too late ! 
 
 The stones which he had dropped, had 
 turned to seeds, and the seeds had sprouted 
 and grown with a wonderful growth, so 
 that he was completely entangled in the 
 long roots and the thick stems. 
 
 When these stems reached the ground, 
 they pushed through and through, until 
 they reached the air and sun. It is a 
 hideous plant, bearing hideous blossoms, 
 and the seeds of it are hard and smooth, 
 like stones, like, for all the world, the 
 very stones which Don Gomez threw in 
 
 
 
 Gracia's face, so many hundred years ago. 
 
 First the Indians, then the Spaniards, 
 who succeeded them, and then the country- 
 folks who succeeded them, called the plant 
 " The old man in the ground." And the old 
 Spaniard, so they say, is still wandering on 
 
THE OLD MAN IN THE GROUND. 215 
 
 in the dim and dreary mine, bearing in his 
 pockets the gold which he can not get rid 
 of, sowing the stones in his hand, whose 
 number is never less, and searching hope- 
 lessly and frantically for his daughter. 
 
 When Bernardo sailed from the shores 
 of the unknown land, he had it in his heart 
 never to return ; but somehow the face of 
 pretty Gracia drew him back after he had 
 sailed ten degrees to the north ; and when 
 the good ship was anchored in the quiet 
 bay, the mate determined to land and seek 
 out the wanderers. But on the very day 
 he reached the shore, a ragged and pitiful 
 little figure broke through the brushwood, 
 and ran down upon the beach. 
 
 " Gracia !" cried Bernardo. " where is thy 
 father?" 
 
 " Lost ! lost !" cried the little maiden ; 
 and for a long time she would say nothing 
 else but that one word. At last, however, 
 
216 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 she told Bernardo all that had happened, 
 and tried to guide him to the place where 
 her father had been last seen. They bota 
 searched for him long and patiently, but 
 they found no trace of him; and a hideous 
 weed spread itself over the ground, and 
 impeded their footsteps. So at last they 
 went back to the ship, and set sail for 
 Spain ; and when they reached the shores 
 of their dear native land, a good priest 
 married Bernardo to Gracia, and they lived 
 together happily all the rest of their lives. 
 
JENNIE. 
 
 SHE was a pretty little girl, with black 
 eyes full of saucy light, and black hair full 
 of curls and kinks; a smart little girl, 
 with her head stuffed full of Grammar and 
 Geography, and Arithmetic at her fingers' 
 ends ; better than both, she was a good little 
 girl, with a heart full of truth, earnestness, 
 and generosity. 
 
 Of course everybody loved her; for 
 little girls who are good and smart and 
 pretty, and come to school in the morning, 
 with red lips parted over their white teeth, 
 smiling continuous "Good mornings" to 
 eveiybody, are very apt to win hearts. 
 
 Even sulky Susie used to writhe her lips 
 
 in a ghostly attempt at a smile when she 
 10 
 
218 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 saw Jennie ; and Katie Washbourne, who 
 put on a great many airs with other 
 girls, felt them melt away in her grasp 
 before the fire of those true, -honest black 
 eyes. 
 
 And Dick Hollis ! Dick had said that 
 he would die for Jennie ; and perhaps he 
 might have, if he had been really brought 
 to the test, but he never was ; poor fellow, 
 he died for something that was as miser- 
 ably base and wicked as his black-eyed 
 goddess was pure and good ; he was killed 
 in a quarrel for money. 
 
 He was a dreadfully bad boy when he 
 first came to school, and he kept getting 
 worse and worse, until the teacher was 
 going to put him out altogether, when Jen- 
 nie's hand stayed him from at least present 
 disgrace and ruin. 
 
 But, alas ! even she could not prevent 
 a neglected and vicious childhood from 
 
JENNIE. 219 
 
 bearing the fruit of a wicked manhood ; he 
 became a horse-thief and a gambler, and it 
 was a mercy to mankind that he was cut 
 off in his career of crime before he grew 
 old in its precepts and practice. , ~J 
 
 But sometimes, I think, he must have 
 paused and remembered the one beautiful 
 incident of his life; the one redeeming 
 gleam of hope and goodness, which lighted 
 up his otherwise dark and miserable boy- 
 hood ; the one time when he aimed, at least, 
 toward virtue, even if he did so only for 
 the love of a pretty black-eyed schoolmate ; 
 and he may even have left some wicked 
 deed undone for her sake, and thought bet- 
 ter of his fellow-creatures because she was 
 one of them. 
 
 How often does a good deed blossom 
 and bring forth fruit, long after the doer 
 has looked upon it as dead, and forgotten 
 it. 
 
220 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 Poor Dick ! Under happier circumstances 
 he might have been a good man, for he 
 must have had a good place in his heart, 
 else he had not loved Jennie so well ; he 
 must have had a touch of chivalry in his 
 nature to have given up his evil ways and 
 avoided his evil companions, so that she 
 might think better of him; and those 
 flowers ! 
 
 But I must commence farther back, and 
 tell all of the story. 
 
 Dick's mother died when he was a baby, 
 and Dick's father might as well have been 
 dead as far as his son was concerned ; it 
 would even have been better for Dick if 
 he had been an orphan, for good men and 
 women have built pleasant homes for those 
 who have neither father nor mother, where 
 care and kindness guard the gates, and if 
 the inmates rarely have tenderness for a 
 guest, they at least never have vice. 
 
JENNIE. 221 
 
 But woe, woe for those who have a care- 
 less and cruel father, and no mother ; no 
 wonder Dick Hollis grew up to be a bad 
 boy; no wonder he played truant, and 
 smoked cigar stumps and stole peaches 
 from the fruit-stands; for who had ever 
 tried to point out to him the better path, 
 and encourage him to persevere in it de- 
 spite the thorns which pierced his feet and 
 the brambles which barred his way ? 
 
 No one. 
 
 Stop, yes, one ; but it was a little hand 
 which pointed out the way, and the little 
 feet themselves, often quivered from the 
 thorns ; yet she tried hard, and she perse- 
 vered, until the tiny hand grew weak and 
 the feet wavered and tottered. 
 
 Dear, dear little Jennie ! 
 
 I think she first noticed him from seeing 
 him punished at school; and Pity being 
 the twin -sister of Action in some hearts, 
 
222 N0 BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 she made up her mind to " do something" 
 when the tears brightened her eyes. 
 
 It was not much that she could do, but she 
 did that little, when occasion offered, with 
 such a free-hearted earnestness that from 
 that moment the heart of the incipient ruffian 
 was at her feet, and the little was enough. 
 
 The occasion was this, a silver dollar 
 which the teacher had brought to the class 
 for some purpose, and which had been lying 
 on the table, was missing. 
 
 Jennie, being the girl of the class, had 
 been appointed by Miss Leslie as the moni- 
 tor, to dust the table and put the books in 
 order at recess ; it was to her therefore that 
 the teacher turned when she discovered 
 her loss. 
 
 " Jennie," she said, carelessly, " what did 
 you do with that silver dollar ?" 
 
 " I left it there, on the table," was the 
 innocent reply. 
 
JENNIE. 223 
 
 Miss Leslie searched for it ; indifferently 
 at first, and earnestly afterward, but in vain. 
 
 Jennie searched for it, carefully and 
 strictly, but also in vain ; Miss Leslie look- 
 ed sharply at Dick Hollis, and made one 
 more effort to find the missing article ; in 
 vain ! 
 
 " Dick Ilollis," she said, sharply, " what 
 were you doing here at the table a little 
 while ago ?" 
 
 Dick was twisting some string at that 
 moment so busily that he did not hear the 
 teacher ; but Tommy Brand, who sat next 
 to him, punched him with a beaming face, to 
 bring him back to a recollection of the 
 troubles of this world. 
 
 " Ma'am ?" he said, starting awkwardly 
 to his feet. 
 
 " What did you come up here for a little 
 while ago ?" 
 
 Miss Leslie spoke the words so sharply, 
 
224: NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 as though she had already judged him, as 
 indeed she had. 
 
 "I I was a gitting a slate-pencil," 
 responded the frightened boy, frightened at 
 he knew not what. 
 
 Tommy Brand looked up from his seat, 
 and grinned broadly in his face ; he was a 
 tall, overgrown boy, this Tommy Brand, 
 and not at all pleasant to look at. 
 
 His clothes were too small for him, yet 
 were put on in so slovenly and shuffling 
 a way, that they looked ready to drop off 
 him ; his arms and legs were exceedingly 
 long and thin, and his hands and feet 
 exceedingly large ; his joints appeared to 
 be loose, and his head wagged on his short 
 neck in a very unpleasant way. 
 
 Jennie did not like Tommy Brand at all, 
 and when he leered up at poor Dick, he 
 did not dream what a handsome pair of 
 black eyes snapped at him. 
 
JENNIE. 225 
 
 " What ?" said Miss Leslie, sharply. 
 
 Dick repeated his answer. 
 
 " No, you were not," responded the 
 teacher, " you went up to steal that silver 
 dollar which Jennie carelessly left on the 
 desk, and now I want it, sir !" 
 
 " No, ma'am," said the boy, earnestly, 
 looking tremblingly from her to Jennie, 
 from Jennie to her, " I never touched noth- 
 ing on your table. " Truly, truly I didn't ; 
 don't say I did, Miss Leslie, for truly I 
 didn't." 
 
 He spoke very earnestly, very piteously, 
 and the small, dull gray eyes were full of 
 tears ; yet Miss Leslie looked coldly and 
 sternly at him, and the boys around, grin- 
 ned broadly, for it was very, very seldom 
 that Dick shed tears. 
 
 Tommy Brand, especially, seemed delight- 
 ed, and could hardly forbear from laughing 
 10* 
 
226 N0 BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 aloud at the boy's distress ; only Jennie 
 pitied and believed him. 
 
 Miss Leslie investigated the matter a little 
 more ; called up one or two boys who de- 
 clared they saw Dick stop and " nip some- 
 thing" from the table ; Tommy Brand said 
 that he saw the dollar when he went up 
 after his speller, and Dick was the next 
 boy who visited the table; George Rice, 
 who visited it next, said he looked at the 
 table, and he did not see- it there. 
 
 Miss Leslie thought it was very good evi- 
 dence, and said so. 
 
 "I didn't take it,^I never seed it at all," 
 said the culprit, with a choking voice. "I 
 never took it, ina'am ; truly, truly, I never 
 did." 
 
 But the poor boy was prejudged, and 
 there was no hope for him, earnest and piti- 
 ful though his words might be; yet' Miss 
 Leslie did feel, perhaps, a qualm of con- 
 
JENNIE. 227 
 
 science, as she took out the heavy ruler 
 which poor Dick Hollis knew oh ! so well. 
 
 " Jennie," she said, " are you sure you 
 left it on the table?" 
 
 "I I think I did," said the little girl, 
 "but" 
 
 " I seed it there, I did," chuckled Tommy 
 Brand. 
 
 " Hush, sir !" said the teacher. 
 
 " Miss Leslie," said Jennie, earnestly, " I 
 don't believe Dick Hollis took it. Please 
 don't whip him, please don't, he didn't 
 take it, I know he didn't." 
 
 " Why do you know ?" demanded the 
 mistress. 
 
 "He doesn't look as though he did, 
 and I don't believe he did," said Jennie, 
 boldly. 
 
 " Come forward, Dick Hollis," said the 
 teacher, turning contemptuously away from 
 the little pleader, " and see if you can give 
 
228 N0 BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 me the dollar after I have given you a 
 whipping." 
 
 He came forward ; such a miserable- 
 looking boy ! ragged and dirty, pale and 
 freckled, blear-eyed and large-featured. 
 
 The tears were all dry in his eyes now, 
 and on his face was a calm look ; not of 
 defiance, such as he was used to display 
 when he received a merited whipping, but 
 of endurance; and he looked at Jennie, 
 who still stood by the table, with her 
 bright eyes, the brighter for tears, and he 
 cast upon her a look of such perfect grati- 
 tude and devotion, that he looked for the 
 moment almost beautiful. 
 
 He said not another word to the teacher, 
 but held out his hand, scarred and hard by 
 many a cruel whipping, and held back the 
 tears as he had often held them back be- 
 fore, right bravely. 
 
 Once, twice, thrice, left hand and right ; 
 
JENNIE. 229 
 
 so many, many times. At last she 
 stopped. 
 
 " Will you give it up now ?" she asked. 
 
 " I never took it, ma'am," was the reply. 
 
 " Tommy Brand !" cried Jennie, sharply 
 and suddenly, " you took that dollar, you 
 know you did, and you would sit there and 
 laugh at Dick Hollis. Give it up," she 
 cried, imperiously, " give it up, directly, 
 
 sir." 
 
 Tommy Brand shrunk and cowered into 
 his seat ; the boys and girls turned around 
 and looked at him in utter astonishment ; 
 Miss Leslie stood with ruler uplifted, Dick 
 Hollis with hand outstretched, and the 
 room was as still as a church. Tommy 
 Brand fumbled at his pockets and cowered 
 into his seat, seeing nothing but those 
 piercing eyes, hearing but the ringing of 
 that childish voice, upraised in the cause 
 of justice. 
 
230 N0 BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 " Stand up," said Jennie, " and give it 
 up." 
 
 Slowly, slowly, he arose, shuffling to his 
 great feet like a mean, contemptible thief, 
 as he was, and felt himself to be; while 
 slowly, slowly, he drew from his pocket 
 the identical dollar which had been miss- 
 ing. 
 
 Miss Leslie put down her ruler. " Take 
 your seat, Dick Hollis," she said ; " and you, 
 Thomas Brand, I will see after school. 
 Jennie, be seated." 
 
 Not a word- of regret that the scapegrace 
 had been unjustly punished, not a word of 
 scorn for the miserable culprit ! No, not 
 one. " We will now go on with the lesson," 
 she said, and that was all. 
 
 From that moment no task was too hard 
 for Dick to learn, if Jennie could hear him 
 recite it in the class ; no sacrifice of his 
 wicked propensities was a trial, did Jennie 
 
JENNIE. 231 
 
 hut know of it; and a sudden, beautiful 
 light dawned over him, the light of a 
 smile from the heart of a good little girl. 
 She was never absent from school, unless 
 she was seriously sick ; so Dick Hollis felt 
 very miserable and anxious one day when 
 he saw Jennie's seat vacant; when he went 
 about his work after school, he could think 
 of nothing but that vacant seat, of nothing 
 but the red cheeks, which .now might be 
 dreadfully pale, of the bright eyes which 
 now perhaps were dim. 
 
 u Come, come, Dick," said Mr. Mack, who 
 furnished Dick with his scanty ward- 
 robe in consideration of his doing chores 
 after school, " wake up and be a little 
 quicker, or I'll give you something to 
 help you, that you won't like. If you 
 want to earn a dime, get in that load of 
 wood after you get through with the other 
 jobs." 
 
232 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 Dimes were not so plentiful in Dick's 
 pocket that he should neglect this chance, so 
 he went to work manfully, and soon had 
 his numerous tasks performed to the satis- 
 faction of his not over-amiable employer ; 
 and with his hard-earned dime, he bought a 
 
 ' O 
 
 bouquet of sweet spring violets for his dear 
 idol. 
 
 He knew where she lived ; yes, indeed ! 
 He had looked at the house many and many 
 a time, until every line of its old weather- 
 beaten front was known to him ; yet he 
 stood on the corner, and hesitated and 
 twirled the violets around in his fingers 
 awkwardly, and looked and hesitated 
 crossed over to the other corner, and shuffled 
 his feet to and fro over the pavement many 
 times before he could finally decide to go 
 up and ring the bell. A pale, pretty young 
 lady came to the door, who said, as Dick 
 held out the flowers without a word, 
 
JENNIE. .233 
 
 " Who are these for, little boy ? Jennie ?" 
 
 Dick nodded emphatically, and started 
 off, then turned his head, and said to the 
 young lady, 
 
 " Is she sick " 
 
 "Very sick, indeed," was the answer. 
 " Who will I tell her sent her these 3" 
 
 " Dick ; and he's sorry," said that young 
 man, fairly terrified at his own audacity. 
 
 But that answer, " Very sick indeed !" 
 rang in his ears all the rest of the day, and 
 moaned through his dreams all night, and 
 haunted him all the next day. 
 
 Every night, after that, he found some 
 task to do for somebody, which brought 
 him his coveted dime, and every night he 
 rang the bell at Jennie's house, and hand- 
 ed the pale young lady his bunch of 
 violets. 
 
 " How is she ?" he always asked ; and the 
 answer always was, 
 
234 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 "Worse to night." 
 
 One night the young lady said sadly, as 
 she took the flowers, 
 
 " She is very low now, and the doctor 
 thinks she may never be better ; wouldn't 
 you like to see her ?" 
 
 Dick hesitated ; the very thought of 
 walking through Jennie's house, and look- 
 ing at her face, made him thrill all over 
 with joy, yet he hesitated. 
 
 "You may never see her again alive," 
 said the young lady, sadly. 
 
 Dick took off his hat with instinctive 
 reverence, and followed her into the house 
 without another word. 
 
 The young lady led him into the room, 
 and crossed over to look at the little 
 invalid, motioning him to stand by the 
 door. 
 
 Jennie was talking then, muttering soft- 
 ly to herself; and a lady bending over 
 
JENNIE. 235 
 
 the other side of the bed was crying 
 bitterly. 
 
 " She will not know you," whispered 
 the young lady, " she has not known any- 
 body for the last four days. But you 
 can look at her, she is not very much 
 changed." 
 
 No, she was not much changed, it was 
 true ; her face was much thinner, but the 
 eyes were still sparkling, the cheeks still 
 red ; yet even poor Dick, all unused to sick- 
 ness as he was, felt that the eyes were all 
 too bright, the cheeks too red, and that her 
 present beauty was but the forerunner of a 
 dreadful decay. 
 
 He looked only for a moment, and then 
 stood back again by the door. 
 
 The old gray-bearded doctor, who held 
 one fevered little hand in his broad palm, 
 shook his head sadly as she prattled on in 
 her disconnected talk. 
 
236 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 " I Issnow he didn't," she said, and the 
 hot tears started into Dick's eyes, for he 
 remembered when she spoke those words 
 before. 
 
 " The lessons were so long, and the sun 
 is rising," she said. " Mother, oh ! mother, 
 do you hear ?" Then she began to sing in 
 her soft, sweet, melancholy voice, 
 
 "I want to b*e an angel, 
 
 And with the angels stand, 
 A crown upon my forehead, 
 
 A harp within my hand. 
 There right before ray Saviour, 
 
 So glorious and so bright, 
 I'd wake the sweetest music, 
 
 And praise him day and night." 
 
 "I hear them answer, mother; oh, 
 mother ! Nellie ! do you hear them, now ?" 
 
 Dick's eyes were blinded with tears, but 
 he brushed them away with his coat-sleeve 
 and glanced over the room. 
 
 The young lady, Nellie, was sobbing 
 
JENNIE. 237 
 
 aloud, but the mother's face was buried in 
 the bed-clothes. 
 
 " Poor little thing," said the gruff-looking 
 old doctor, and Dick saw how the tears 
 were chasing each other down his rough 
 cheeks ; and a heart-rending moan broke 
 from the lips which were smothered in the 
 bed-clothes. 
 
 " Oh, come and be an angel, 
 For Heaven is so bright," 
 
 warbled the little weak voice. 
 
 "Poor thing," said the gruff old doctor 
 again, and Dick heard another sob from 
 the mother. 
 
 The tears welled up in his eyes again, 
 
 until he could not see ; something swelled 
 in his throat, choking him ; he could bear 
 it no longer, but turned and crept down 
 stairs, softly through the hall to the door, 
 and out into the street. 
 
 Many wondered that night to see that 
 
238 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 ragged boy crying bitterly as he tramped 
 toward home, and wondered what he had 
 done. 
 
 The next night, when the young lady 
 came to the door, there was a smile on her 
 lip though there were tears in her eyes, as 
 she said, 
 
 u Jennie is better, Dick, she will get well 
 
 now." 
 
 And then, how strange it was, Dick 
 cried again, harder than ever, on his way 
 home. 
 
 One night, when he took his flowers, 
 Nellie said to him, 
 
 " Come in, Dick, and bid Jennie < Good- 
 bye,' for she is going down in the country 
 to-morrow to get strong and well again." 
 
 So Dick saw Jennie once more ; she was 
 lying on a heap of pillows, and changed 
 very much, she was so pale and thin. 
 
 u Good-bye, Dick," she said, in little more 
 
.JKNNIE. 239 
 
 tli an a whisper, for Jennie's voice was 
 very weak now, " thank you for those 
 pretty flowers. I will love violets now 
 more than ever :" and she smiled and held 
 out her hand. 
 
 Poor Dick took it awkwardly, that 
 little white hand, and said " Grood-bye." 
 
 He never saw Jennie again ; she stayed 
 in the country so long, and his father was 
 so hard ; so many evil ways were open to 
 him, and there was no one to say to him 
 " Nay," so he went back to his evil ways, 
 and was killed at last, over a gambling 
 table. 
 
 But we know that dear merciful Father 
 will judge him tenderly ; He will remem- 
 ber the hard paths that he walked, and the 
 many temptations which beset him. 
 
 And may be Jennie's voice will be heard 
 before the great Throne, pleading for 
 mercy and forgiveness for the poor sinner ; 
 
240 N0 BABY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 we know that her dear earnest voice will 
 be heard, for we know that truly God 
 loveth her. 
 
 THE END.