Stories 
 with 
 
 London 
 
 nc^t Mister 
 
 Dulton^CS 
 
and 
 
 ITTY and her kits are we 
 Such a happy little three, 
 Full of mischief and of glee. 
 
 Yesterday an artist took 
 Portraits of us for a book, 
 You will see them if you look. 
 
 Then they wrote about us all, 
 Stories big and stories small, 
 Everything they could recall. 
 
 Next they put some pictures in : 
 If you'd see them, look within; 
 That is all, so now begin. 
 
 C. B. 
 
by 
 
 Volume of v5tories 
 
 cV 
 
 Illustrated by 
 
 "Harriett A. Bennett: 
 tlddie cJ. Andrews, 
 
 \Valter Page*-, 
 
 
 
 El.Crompton, 
 en M.lrrxan, F. ELWcatKeHy, 
 OliVc AA 
 
 Iprxdorx : 
 
 cAeW York.; 
 G.P.Duttorx drC9 
 
 6-7 
 
and fier 
 
 ( 
 
 H! kittens, do sit still," cried Kitty. "I'm sure you ought to be very 
 grateful to me for bringing you out for a nice ride. Oh, dear! oh, 
 dear ! now it is beginning to rain too ! " Kitty opened her umbrella 
 and held it carefully over the "p'ram." As the shower seemed 
 inclined to be a long one, she thought perhaps they had better seek 
 shelter, so taking the kits one under each arm, she crept into the 
 hollow of an old oak-tree. There it was beautifully warm and dry, and 
 Kitty could not help thinking what a dear little house it would make 
 for her and her kits. "I could knock nails into the walls to hang the 
 kettles and things on," she said aloud. 
 
 " What ? " cried a sharp little voice. " Knock nails into my beautiful 
 tree ! I never heard of such a thing." Kitty was startled, and even Pete and Pip 
 seemed astonished. Looking up, Kitty was surprised to see a tiny little man, with a 
 long white beard, standing on the threshold of a little door. He wore the prettiest, 
 quaintiest costume imaginable, for it was made entirely of oak-leaves, and on his head, 
 in place of a hat, he had an acorn cup. " Well, Kitty," he said, when the child had 
 gazed at him for a full minute without speaking, " what are you thinking about ? " 
 
 Kitty, who was always a very truthful little girl, replied without hesitation, " I 
 was thinking what a queer little man you were, and wondering what was behind that 
 door. I never noticed it before, and I often come here to play." 
 "Would you like to come and see?" 
 
 The little lady's sparkling eyes said " Yes " so plainly that the elf did not wait 
 for an answer, but offered her his hand. She took it, gave a little jump, and found 
 herself inside the doorway. Both Kitty and her kits seemed to have grown smaller, 
 for they were able to walk down the narrow passage along which the old man led 
 them, without even stooping. Presently they came to the end, and found themselves 
 in the most beautiful place they had ever seen. "It is just like Fairyland," cried Kitty. 
 "You are not far wrong, Miss Kitty," answered the elf. "This is Storyland, and 
 I am the Story-maker." Kitty bowed politely, and the kits mewed. 
 " What do you call your kits," enquired the Story -maker kindly. 
 " Pete and Pip. Their real names are Peter and Piper, named after the man who 
 picked the pickled peppercorns. Do you know that piece ? " 
 " Know it ? Why, I made it," replied the Story-maker. 
 " How clever you must be !" said Kitty. 
 
 EDOC.- 
 
 PSYCH. 
 LIBRARY 
 
r 
 
 1*17 
 
 EDUC.- 
 PSYCH. 
 LIBRARY 
 
 "Oh ! it's very easy when you're used to it," he said. "You see, I've done nothing 
 else all my life but make stories. I have a large box full of them would "you like 
 to see some ? " 
 
 "Yes, please," cried Kitty. So he opened the lid and let Kitty peep in. What 
 fun it was to read stories brand-new from 
 Storyland ! They were so easy to read 
 too, for there passed before Kitty's eyes 
 rows and rows of pretty moving pictures, 
 which told their own stories. 
 
 At length the Story-maker shut the lid 
 of the box. " I think that is enough for 
 one day, don't you?" he said. "And 
 besides, it is time you went home to 
 your dinner." 
 
 He took the little girl's hand and 
 led her back through the passage until 
 they came to the door. Then he bade 
 her good-bye, and the next moment 
 she found herself back in the hollow of 
 the old tree, and heard the door shut 
 with a click. So she fastened Pete 
 and Pip into the "p'ram" and drove 
 
 them home. The next morning Kitty 
 came back to the oak, to pay another 
 visit to the Story-maker, but some- 
 how she could not find the little door. 
 She searched and searched, but it was 
 no use. She came again the day after, 
 and the day after that, but never again 
 did she see either the door in 
 the hollow oak-tree or the little 
 green elf. And now, little 
 people, if you will turn the 
 pages, you may read for your- 
 selves some of the stories which 
 the Story-maker showed Kitty 
 and her kits, that day they went 
 to Storyland. L. L. Weedon. 
 
TTURRAH! it's snowing 
 ** * like fun," cried Jack, as 
 he looked -out of his bedroom 
 window, one cold January morning. 
 " Why, the snow must be a foot 
 deep already. If it keeps on like 
 this we can have a fine sham 
 fight this afternoon." 
 
 The other children were as 
 
 pleased as Jack to find the whole country covered with beautiful white snow. They 
 begged hard for a holiday, but Mother said, " No, first comes work and then play ;" 
 so they were obliged to wait. However, the morning's lessons were soon over, and 
 after dinner the whole of the schoolroom party were well wrapped up, and allowed 
 to run out into the garden. 
 
 "Let me go too, Mother," pleaded Baby. "Oh, yes, Mother; do please let Babs 
 come," cried all the children ; " we'll take such care of him." So Babs was dressed in 
 his little white coat and gaiters, and sent out with the rest. What fun they had, to 
 bs sure ! First there was a grand fight. Frieda and Jack, being the two eldest, took 
 different sides and chose their "men" in turns, and really both sides fought so well 
 that it was difficult to tell which won. Baby enjoyed himself as much as anyone, and 
 shouted and danced, got knocked down and picked himself up again, and altogether 
 proved himself to be a first-rate soldier. When they were tired of fighting they built 
 a snow man, and after that they thought they would play at bears. 
 
 " We'll build a den of snow," said Jack, " and some of us can be shipwrecked 
 sailors, and the bears must come out and chase us." They soon made a splendid den, 
 and Frieda, Dot, and Baby crept into it and pretended to be an old mother bear and 
 
two little ones. They growled so fiercely and seemed so savage that some of the 
 children were quite frightened. "Suppose there really were some bears hidden away 
 under the snow," said Edith, "they might come out and eat us." 
 
 "Rubbish," Jack answered scornfully, "there are no bears in England. How silly 
 you are, Ede ! But come along now, it's time we went in to tea. Mother said we 
 were not to stay out after dark." He and Frieda went in arm-and-arm, but Edith 
 and Dot stayed behind for a little while to give a finishing touch to the snow man. 
 Suddenly Edith clutched Dot's arm in terror. " Oh ! look, look," she whispered, 
 "there is something white moving at the end of the garden where we built the 
 bears' den. Oh ! Dot, Dot, suppose it is a little bear come to eat us ? " 
 
 Dot didn't wait to suppose, but began to run towards the house, as fast as her 
 legs could carry her, and Edith came helter-skelter after her. " Open the door, Mother, 
 open the door. Quick, quick ! " they cried ; " there's a bear in the garden." 
 
 Mother came running to the door to see what they could possibly mean. "A 
 bear, you foolish children ? What nonsense ! " she said. Then as they ran to hide 
 behind her, she added, " Where's Baby ? " The two children looked at each other 
 in dismay. They had actually left dear little Baby all alone in the garden with the bear. 
 
 "Didn't he come in with Jack and Frieda?" faltered Dot. 
 
 "No," said Mother, "and you shouldn't have left him behind, dear little fellow, 
 just because you were frightened at nothing at all, for you can't really be so silly as 
 to think you saw a bear. He may have been frightened too." 
 
Edith and Dot felt very much ashamed of themselves, and volunteered to go with 
 Mother and look for Baby. Half way down the garden path they came upon a little 
 white bear, trotting along as fast as his fat little legs would go. " Why, my pet/' said 
 Mother, " where have you been ? Why didn't you come in with the others ? " 
 
 " I only went back to the den to fetch my spade," said Babs. " I left it there 
 when we were playing bears. I was crawling out again when Dot and Edith began 
 to run away from me. I tried to catch them, but I couldn't run fast enough." 
 
 "Oh! children, children," laughed Mother, "so this is the fierce bear you were 
 so much afraid of. Oh ! what foolish little girls." 
 
 What fun everyone made of Edith and Dot, and how ashamed they felt of them- 
 selves ! You may be sure they made up their minds never to be so silly again. But 
 to this day, if anyone wants to tease them they have only to growl like a bear and 
 
 say : " Who saw a little white bear in the garden, eh ? " 
 
 L. L. Wecdon. 
 
 is ;6irfl)dav. 
 
 I w 
 
 
 O-DAY is our Gyp's birthday; 
 
 He is only four years old, 
 But he's clever, 
 
 good, and handsome, 
 And he's worth 
 
 his weight in gold. 
 
 We want to show we love him, 
 But we're puzzled quite to say 
 
 What to give him on his birthday, 
 As a present for the day. 
 
 So he's going to have a party, 
 
 And we'll brush and comb his coat, 
 
 And we'll tie a pretty ribbon 
 
 Round his dear old shaggy throat. 
 
 He has got a lovely kennel, 
 
 That has just been painted blue, 
 
 And a collar with his name on, 
 And a sack of biscuits too. 
 
 Then we'll all have tea together, 
 And a merry game of play, 
 
 So he'll know that it's his birthday 
 That he's four years old to-day ! 
 
 C. D. 
 
T> 
 
7" 7" was only a little crossing-sweeper 
 -* -* who stood, with his broom, at the 
 corner of a big London square ; yet every- 
 body noticed him, in his brown coat and 
 red vest, and gave him a smile or a nod 
 as they passed over his crossing. 
 
 They could not help it, they said, 
 because Ragged Robin was always so kind 
 and so good-natured not only to the rich 
 who gave him money for his services, but 
 to the poor who had nothing to spare. 
 
 And a great many poor people passed 
 by on their way to the hospital opposite. 
 Most of them were tired-looking women, 
 with sick children huddled up in their 
 shawls, and all had sorrowful faces. 
 
 Sometimes Ragged Robin would take 
 a little sick baby from its mother's arms, 
 and carry it gently over his crossing, right 
 up to the hospital doors. 
 Everybody in that great red-brick hospital knew Ragged Robin, for his mother had 
 been an in-patient all last summer. 
 
 When she died, a kind neighbour bought him a broom, and let him lodge with her 
 at night-time in Greenacre-court. 
 
 It was a strange name for a street where nothing green was to be seen, from end 
 to end of it, and not the ghost of a flower. Yet the children did not notice this much, 
 for they knew very little of the country. 
 
 Ragged Robin had been to Epping Forest once, a long time ago. He had a faint 
 recollection of the big trees and the soft green carpet underneath, and of ferns growing 
 higher than himself. 
 
 On Sundays he used to tell the children all about it when he wanted to keep 
 them quiet, or on other days if a neighbour happened to be ill. 
 
No one could manage the children as well as Robin, and they, on their side, loved 
 him dearly. There was always a little crowd of them at the top of the court when 
 he came home at night, and some would not go to bed until they had seen their dear 
 Robin. 
 
 One evening a larger crowd than usual stood waiting to meet him, for something 
 very wonderful indeed had happened, and everybody tried to speak at once. 
 
 "Oh! oh! oh!" they shouted, dancing and twirling about for joy. " Sister's been 
 up our court Sister from the Mission House an' we're all going to the sea-side." 
 "Oh, crikey!" said Robin. "But it ain't true? It ain't never true!" 
 "Yes, it is," said Polly, his landlady's little daughter. "An' Sister's give us all 
 tickets, an' she's left one with mother for you, Robin you're to go too." 
 
 "Not to-morrer!" screamed a dozen little eager voices, "but the next day. Now, 
 ain't that a jolly surprise!" 
 It was indeed a surprise ! 
 
 If it had not been for 'the pink ticket that Polly's mother gave him when he 
 went indoors, Ragged Robin would have thought it a dream. He had had those kind 
 of dreams sometimes. 
 
 "Well, if it is true," he said to himself as he lay down that night on his poor 
 truckle-bed, "if it is true, an' I has a good day to-morrer, 
 I'll treat the little 'uns to swings an' roundabouts, an' no 
 end of fine things at the sea-side." 
 
 And somehow he did have a good day, for the morn- 
 ing was showery and the crossing needed a good deal of 
 sweeping. 
 
 The old lady at twenty-three was so pleased with his 
 industry that she sent him a plate of soup and a lucky 
 sixpence ; the young lady from the corner-house asked him 
 tc fetch her a cab and gave him a threepenny-bit ; then 
 he had another threepenny-bit for minding a horse, and 
 some odd pence besides, so that by twelve o'clock he had 
 nearly two shillings. 
 
 "Won't us have a rare treat to-morrer!" he said. 
 "Sister says the sea's bigger than our park, an' there's real 
 fish in it, an' maybe some on us'll go riding in a boat, jest 
 like Robinson Crusux." 
 
 At that moment a poor widow, with a little pale-faced 
 boy at her side, came out of the hospital. 
 
 Robin threw down his broom, and ran to help her over 
 
s 
 
 his crossing, fcr he knew her quite 
 well. 
 
 "Wh} T , it's Mrs. Jarvis!" he 
 said; "an* you've been to fetch 
 Jimmy out. Are yer better, Jimmy, 
 old chap?" 
 
 "Yes, he's better," replied the 
 poor woman sorrowfully, "but he 
 doesn't want to go home." 
 
 " He looks white, don't he ? " 
 said Robin, looking down pitifully 
 at Jimmy; "an 1 oh, my! ain't he 
 light to carry ! " 
 
 "Too light by half," sighed his 
 mother. "Oh, dear, if he could 
 only get a blow of the sea ! Nurse 
 said just now 'twould be the making 
 of him." 
 
 "Poor little chap!" said Robin. 
 "Come, cheer up, Jimmy: here's a 
 penny for sweeties." 
 
 "Oh, thank'ee, my dear," said 
 the widow. "You see, it's lone- 
 some at home after the hospital, 
 
 an' to-morrow I shall have to be out all day, but I must not stay. So, good- 
 bye, Robin." 
 
 "That's just what they told mother when she came out," said Robin, as the widow 
 passed round the corner of the square, "an' she couldn't get no blow of the sea. I 
 wonder whether that's what made mother go an' die." 
 
 At this sad thought Robin brushed his tattered sleeve over his eyes. For the 
 tears would come when he thought of his sweet, gentle mother. 
 
 Something in Jimmy's wistful face reminded him strangely of hers it was so pale 
 and patient. 
 
 "What a pity he couldn't go with them to-morrow!" he said. "But Sister 
 told little Polly she had had to refuse lots of children, because there wasn't room 
 enough left for a mouse." 
 
 Then Ragged Robin drew something from his pocket : it was the precious pink 
 ticket, and as he looked at it he saw, in imagination, the blue sea and white-sailed 
 
boats bobbing up and down upon it, and could almost feel the salt breezes blowing or* 
 his face. 
 
 "Get along!" he said angrily, talking to himself. "You're not a-going. Jimmy 
 Jarvis '11 have to go so I tell yer." 
 
 Then he shouldered his broom, and ran off round the corner as fast as ever he could 
 after the poor woman. 
 
 "If I don't ketch Mrs. Jarvis up quick, I shall change my mind 1 know I shall." 
 
 But he had not gone so very far before he saw her. 
 
 She was carrying little Jimmy in an uncomfortable fashion, for he was almost 
 too big for her to manage, and the black widow's veil was streaming sadly behind 
 her as she went along. 
 
 In a moment Ragged Robin was at her side, speaking very fast, and pushing 
 something pink-coloured into her hand. 
 
 "There! that'll give Jimmy a blow of the sea! Lots of our folks are going; 
 they'll take care on him!" And almost before Mrs. Jarvis knew what had happened 
 Ragged Robin was out of sight. 
 
 "I'm glad I did it! I'm glad I'm glad!" he kept repeating, as he tore along 
 the street. "Sister won't mind. I shall tell her as I goes home this evening. Sister 
 will understand." 
 
 All the rest of the day he worked hard at his crossing. The old lady at twenty* 
 three wondered why he kept sweeping it over and over again when there was scarcely 
 a speck of dust to be seen. 
 
 She did not know of Robin's sacrifice, and how he was trying to sweep away 
 all thought of the sea, so that he might call at the Mission House with a bright, 
 contented face. 
 
 So when his day's work was finished he flew round, and found the Sister packing 
 hampers for the wonderful treat. 
 
 He drew his own particular Sister into a corner, and told what he had done, 
 He was glad she did not make a fuss or say she was sorry. All she did was to 
 bend down and kiss his eager little face. Nobody had kissed him like that but his, 
 mother. 
 
 Ragged Robin was right. Sister did understand, for, as she kissed him, she 
 whispered, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these, ye have 
 done it unto Me." 
 
 And there was no happier boy in Greenacre^court that night than Ragged 
 Robin. 
 
Tfi 
 
 T T was very difficult, much more difficult than Ella anticipated. She had gone forth 
 -*- with the nursery salt-cellar, in full expectation of catching quite a cageful of 
 dicky-birds in a few minutes, and she had been a full hour by the Hall clock with- 
 out capturing one. 
 
 At last she sat down on the steps quite exhausted, and Nicholas, the black cat, 
 came and sat beside her. 
 
 It was a lovely morning, the sky so blue, the flowers so bright, the grass so green, 
 and the birds hopping about everywhere. 
 
 It was vexatious she could not catch them ! 
 
 She took up a pinch of salt again, and then, scarcely thinking of what she did, she 
 put it just on the tip of Nicholas's tail, which lay stretched out behind him on the 
 sun-warmed stone. 
 
 "Hallo!" he said, turning his head round, "what's the matter?" 
 
 "Oh!" cried Ella : "then it is some use. It makes you talk, if I can't catch the 
 birds with it !" 
 
" I beg your pardon, " said Nicholas loftily ; " I can always talk. It is you who 
 seem deaf often, and don't understand me!" 
 
 "But the salt" 
 
 " Oh, bother ! " said Nicholas, yawning. 
 
 "That's rude !" replied Ella. " Mother says you oughtn't to say bother, and when 
 you yawn you should put up your hand paw I mean, and you've got such a big 
 mouth ! " 
 
 " The better to eat with, my dear ! " squeaked Nicholas, smiling out of the corner 
 of his eye. 
 
 "Why, that's what the Wolf says !" exclaimed Ella. "Do you know that story?" 
 
 "I've heard it often enough," said Nicholas. "Ah! we don't tell old things like 
 that at our meetings and parties ! " 
 
 "Do you have parties?" cried Ella excitedly. "Do tell me what you do." 
 
 " Well, we sing, for one thing. Should think you must have heard us ! But those, 
 of course, are at the entertainments. At the business meetings" the fairies come, and we 
 settle things about the plants and flowers and birds. Oh ! there's a lot to be done in 
 the spring, especially. There was a grand fuss this year with the strike ! " 
 
 "What strike?" asked Ella. 
 
 "The Oak Leaf Uairies it was began it. Don't you remember it was what you 
 folks call a late spring, and you wiseacres said it was the East Winds, and the Gulf 
 Stream, and all sorts of things ? Gracious, how I used to laugh as I sat on the hearth- 
 rug and heard you all talking ! The weather ! phew ! It wasn't the weather at all. 
 It was the great strike!" 
 
 "Oh! do tell me!" said Ella. "Did they hit somebody very hard, and were 
 they hurt ? " 
 
 "You goose!" replied Nicholas. "It wasn't hitting it was they wouldn't work. 
 You know how oak leaves are all cut in and out well, the Oak Leaf Fairies said 
 they didn't see why they should do so much more than the Lime-tree Leaf Fairies, 
 for the lime-trees have just plain round sort of leaves, and then they said too, the 
 acorns were such a bother to make them all fit exactly into their cups. Well, then 
 the Lime-tree Leaf Fairies said the edges of their leaves were just as difficult to 
 finish nicely as the big in-and-outs of the oak leaves besides, they had to get them 
 done much earlier. 
 
 "They said the Oak Leaf Fairies were lazy, and often didn't have their leaves 
 ready till the end of May; and as to the acorns they had to provide the scent 
 for the Lime-tree blossom, not to speak of the little pink nightcaps the baby buds 
 wear at first, while it is cold ! 
 
 " Oh ! there was a grand old fuss, and at last the Fairy Stewards called a Great 
 
Council together, and sent for the King and Queen, who had just gone for a trip round 
 the Universe on a First-class Comet." 
 
 "And did you see them?" said Ella. "The King and Queen, I mean?" 
 
 " Oh ! I've often seen them. Why, I'm Court Usher to the Queen. Of course, I 
 attended her, and we had a grand assemblage under the pine-trees there, and the 
 matter was soon settled. 
 
 " The King said everything was arranged quite fairly, and he wasn't going to have 
 any nonsense, and if the Oak Leaf Fairies didn't behave themselves he would send 
 the Wasp Fairies to see about it. 
 
 "But it made things late. Why" and here Nicholas pricked up his ears " there's 
 the dinner-bell, I declare ! " 
 
 Nicholas trotted off up the steps, and Ella started after him. 
 
 "Miss Ella, Miss Ella," called Nurse. "Come in, my dear, and have your hands 
 washed. And you can bring any sparrows you have caught," she added, smiling 
 down at her little charge. 
 
 M. A. Hoyer. 
 
and 
 
 O begin with, it was a wet day. And if there can be any- 
 thing more really aggravating than the last day of the holi- 
 days being wet, I can only say that I am very glad 1 have 
 never found it out yet. 
 
 And then, to go on with, and to make matters worse, it 
 was not the last day of the boys' holidays, and so they did 
 not look at it in the same way that we did. It was very 
 aggravating, and we couldn't help feeling that it would have 
 made no difference at all to the rain if it had come on the 
 first day of lessons instead of on the last day of the holidays, while it did make all 
 the difference to us. 
 
 Mother was called away for the day, and Mademoiselle was not coming until the 
 evening, so we were left to ourselves in the schoolroom, and Sarah was to look after 
 us. That was another thing; we objected to being "looked after" in the way that 
 Sarah understood it. 
 
 Even Effie, who is lazy and easy-going, said she did not care to have Sarah 
 open the door without any warning about once in every hour, crane her neck round 
 it without troubling to walk in, look at us, and shut the door again. 
 
 "As if we were cows or geese, and she were herding us !" said Nora indignantly. 
 We were setting the schoolroom to rights. We had decided to make the best of 
 the wet day by this time, and had begun to rather enjoy the idea of giving the 
 schoolroom a thorough tidying, as Mother had advised us to do, before Mademoiselle 
 should be obliged to fine us. It certainly had got into rather a mess, especially in 
 that last week of the holidays, when we always have a way of getting reckless, and 
 enjoying the present as hard as ever we can, as Effie said, in one of her moralising 
 moods, without looking at the future. 
 
 So, what with Nora's seaweed-mounting, and Effie's doll's trousseau, and my 
 scrapbook-making, to say nothing of all the boys' things (because if you once begin 
 to mention their messes, you do not know where to stop), there really did not seem 
 to be a corner to put anything down on, and there certainly was no chair left to 
 sit on. 
 
 So Nora sat on the only few inches of the table where there was nothing else ; 
 
it gave her a free, independent kind of feeling that she knew she could not expect to 
 have any more of before next holidays. 
 
 That end of the table was littered over with her sheets of seaweed, which she 
 was fondly examining for the last time. 
 
 Effie was packing away her doll's bridal clothes in an old hat-box ; they were 
 spread out all over the floor, which did not seem a suitable sort of place for them, 
 but it was owing to there being no room anywhere else, and she sat on her heels 
 in the middle of them. 
 
 I was kneeling with half my body in one of the cupboards, with things piled 
 before me, and behind me, and all round me, as if I were barricaded. 
 
 " And I wish you two would put your things away, and come to help with these 
 cupboards," I said. 
 
 " I don't know how we ever are going to do the boys'," remarked Nora. " When 
 the door is opened, everything comes pouring out." 
 
 " Well, if we don't begin, we shall not do any of them," I said. " And the fines 
 will be dreadful." 
 
 "I'm coming in a minute," said Nora, "but my seaweed and Tom's stamps have 
 got all mixed up together. We are such a collecting family, somehow, and collections 
 
 do take up so much room. Effie might begin to 
 help you; she has finished that box." 
 
 "We shan't have to do the lesson bookcase, 
 anyway," said Effie comfortably, without moving. 
 "Nobody has touched that since Mademoiselle went 
 away, I do believe ; but everything else well ! " 
 
 It was a "well!" that said volumes, and it 
 was all that anybody would have felt able to say 
 who had just glanced round our schoolroom then. 
 " When I am grown-up," she went on, " I shall 
 have a maid only to keep things tidy for me." 
 
 " I shan't," I said ; "I rather enjoy tidying up, 
 secretty, but the boys say it is faddish. That is, 
 I enjoy tidying up my own things. I don't quite 
 enjoy doing such a place as this has grown into 
 lately. I don't care for cobbler's wax left amongst 
 my drawing-pencils when I let the boys use them, for 
 instance. Nor for bottles of Spanish juice-water for- 
 gotten at the backs of shelves until they have gone mouldy. Nor 
 for Tom's rushlight manufacture being a failure, and getting upset 
 
all over everything else. Nor for my paints being left in a saucer of water when I 
 lend them to Harry. And I think that when there is only one penknife in the school- 
 room, and it belongs to everybody, that people ought to be prevented from cutting 
 up toffee with it." 
 
 "The question is, " said Nora, "should we lend our things to the boys or not?" 
 
 "I don't mind lending," I said, "but I wish they would return them in order." 
 
 "But they don't," said Effie. "Boys never do. And so it's safer not to let them 
 have one's things." 
 
 "Well, now perhaps you two will come and help me," I said. "I keep 
 getting more and more things out, and piling them on the floor, but they will have 
 to be put back again, so we may as well begin." 
 
 For by this time, the barricade had got so high all round me that I could not 
 move, and it seemed to be time for someone to come to my help, 
 
 And just at the very moment when Nora threw open the other cupboard door, 
 and Effie swept a whole pile of rubbish into her pinafore from one of the book- 
 shelves, there came a clattering and a stamping of strong boots up the stairs and down 
 the passage. 
 
 "It's the boys!" said Nora, in a most horrified voice. "Now we never shall get 
 the place tidy ! " 
 
 "They must go away again," cried Effie; "we must drive them out." 
 
 "We can't, by force," I said. 
 
 "No; we can by disagreeableness. " 
 
 "But stop!" cried Nora suddenly. 
 
 "Go away," said Effie, as the door opened; "you can just go away again, for 
 we don't want you." 
 
 " Don't ! " said Nora, in a quick whisper, with a bright colour coming up into 
 her cheeks. 
 
 It had not made any difference, to be sure, and nothing that Effie could say was 
 likely to do, as she was not a person whom the boys would have ever thought of 
 minding in the least. 
 
 They came in with a rush and a bound, all on each other's backs, as it 
 seemed to us. 
 
 " What's that ? " cried Harry. " Smelling seaweed ! Stick the mouldy old rubbish 
 away !" 
 
 Nora's face grew T redder still, and with vexation now, for she is very proud of 
 her seaweed collection, and she has a quick temper too. 
 
 But to our great astonishment, she closed her lips together, and then she began 
 to laugh, quite good-humouredly. 
 
"I wish you would put your thing's away." 
 
"Well, Harry," she said, "you need not say anything about the smell of my sea- 
 weed. Only wait till Mademoiselle smells that box at the back of your cupboard." 
 
 "Oh, that goldfish that died," said Harry. "To be sure but I mean to stuff him 
 soon ; not to-day, I haven't time. But put all that rubbish away now. We want you 
 to play " 
 
 "Then we can't possibly," interrupted Effie. "We can't do anything to-day but 
 tidy up the schoolroom." 
 
 "Well, that doesn't really matter," said Nora, in the quietest and most unexpected 
 way. " What is it that you want ? " 
 
 "Oh, Nora!" cried Effie. 
 
 " Why, you know " I began. 
 
 "We want to have a good game of something," said Tom. "It's so horridly 
 wet outside, and we can't read all day. It's the end of your holidays too, and you 
 will be no good after to-day." 
 
 "Well, wait till we have put these things away, and then we'll see," said Nora. 
 
 " Nora!" cried both Effie and I desperately. 
 
 But Nora only frowned at us behind Tom's back, and began to huddle her sea- 
 weed away into the cupboard. 
 
 It was inside there that we argued it out, right inside, to whisper without being 
 heard. 
 
 "It does seem as if we might, you know," she said. "It is our last day, and it 
 is very wet for them, and boys cant read and amuse themselves all day as girls can." 
 
 " But, Nora, the fines ! " 
 
 "I don't care," said Nora courageously; "I shouldn't care if I were fined 
 pounds to-morrow. The very last time that we quarrelled with the boys, Mother 
 said she wished we would try not to make them feel that they were not wanted in 
 the house." 
 
 Neither Effie nor I could answer her any longer. Partly I was ashamed that it 
 should have been hot-tempered Nora who should have remembered what Mother had 
 said, and partly I was struggling to do as she was doing. 
 
 But it was not easy, not for any of us, for I like tidying-up, and Effie hates 
 paying her pocket-money away in fines, and Nora is not fond of "knuckling under" 
 to the boys, as they call it. 
 
 Effie piled the ragged books on the shelf very slowly, and as if she were going 
 to cry. Nora rolled up Tom's big net (which he has been netting ever since he was 
 a little boy, and which he has never finished, and I do not think ever will) and put 
 it back in the cupboard, with the colour very bright in her cheeks, and her lips 
 together, and a little defiant sort of smile on them as if she could make herself do it 
 
and not care a bit. But I am sometimes so horrid, that I feel as if I could not make 
 myself obey myself, and I should be ashamed to tell how long I stayed with my head 
 in the dark behind the cupboard-door, before I could do it. 
 
 I hope it seemed as if I were only very slow over collecting some shells together, 
 while I was struggling to do it nicely if I did it at all. I think it did, because 
 Val took up a whole armful of my favourite things at last, and crammed them 
 into the cupboard in a way that was agony to see, and called me a "pottering 
 tortoise." 
 
That was the worst of it, that the boys took it so coolly and so matter-of-coursely, 
 as Nora said afterwards. 
 
 "Grin and bear it," is Tom's favourite motto, for he admires that way of doing 
 nasty things extremely, but he did not know that we were "grinning and bearing" 
 all that morning.. 
 
 We began by playing at "Happy Families," but that was much too quiet, and 
 we got on through bagatelle to "Dumb-band." Sarah looked in at the door in the 
 middle of that, and asked us not to make so much noise, but Harry hooted her out 
 of the room with such a fearful blast on his trombone that her voice could not be 
 heard at all. 
 
 And from that we went to " Arctic explorations, " and rushed about the room in 
 sledges, which made a frightful noise, and did not improve the schoolroom chairs (only 
 that I think they will endure anything), nor the table legs when it was necessary 
 to imagine that they were icebergs. And then we went to a quiet game of drawing 
 pigs with eyes closed until the dust had settled down. 
 
 It seemed to us as if we played at every game that had ever been invented, to 
 say nothing at all of watching all Val's old conjuring tricks, that we knew as well as 
 possible, and being members while Tom made a Parliamentary speech. And the sub- 
 ject of the speech was "The Faddishness of Girls," which we felt to be a little hard, 
 considering. 
 
 I am not sure that we cOuld have gone on bearing it, and, indeed, Effie was giving 
 signs of being about to stand up and reply, when fortunately Sarah looked in again, 
 and the dinner-bell rang. 
 
 We did hope and I hope now that it is not unkind to say so but we did hope 
 that it would be fine after dinner, so that the boys would go out and leave us. But 
 of course it was not to be ; it rained more steadily than ever, if possible, and they 
 stayed with us in the most faithful manner. 
 
 And they were so cheerful over it too ! the only comfort we had was the pleasure 
 of thinking that we had made their cheerfulness. Tom actually offered in the most 
 condescending way to act a play for us with his toy-theatre, a thing that we generally 
 have to coax out of him. 
 
 So we helped to arrange tablecloths over clothes-horses (with the coverlet off 
 Tom's bed, which he sent Effie to fetch, and me to put away), to hide all the man- 
 agement of the theatre, and we sat and applauded all the afternoon, and even helped 
 to swell the shouts of the mobs and the armies in the exciting scenes, which audiences 
 are not expected to do in real theatres, but Tom said that Val and Harry, behind the 
 tablecloths, did not make noise enough. 
 
 But it came to a quicker ending than the play intended, because Sarah looked in 
 
and screamed as Tom was lighting 
 up the red fire for the storm 
 scene, and she insisted on putting 
 a stop to it, and would not listen 
 to our declarations that he was 
 allowed to do it. 
 
 And of course we had to 
 clear most of the things away, 
 and as it was dusk by that time, 
 the boys took a sudden fancy for 
 playing at French blindman's buff, 
 with shadows on the wall. 
 
 And to end up with, when 
 Mother and Mademoiselle came 
 into the schoolroom together, at 
 last, if we weren't playing "Robin's 
 Alive " still with those boys. 
 
 And it was only what anyone 
 would expect that they should rush 
 away to wash for tea, and leave 
 us to put everything to rights. 
 Mademoiselle gave a low shriek when she saw the room. We do not wonder at 
 it. Nora could only make the best of it, which she did very well, I think, consider- 
 ing that she had been the victim to be holding the lighted chip and saying, "If he 
 dies in my hand, my back shall be saddled, " c. when he did die in her hand, and 
 so she was at that moment lying on her face in the middle of the floor, "saddled" 
 with two chairs over her back, the wastepaper basket, a drawing-board, the fire-irons, 
 an atlas, and an antimacassar. 
 
 She crawled out from under the chairs, and took the antimacassar off her head 
 with one hand, while she took Mademoiselle's hand with the other. 
 
 "We are sorry that you will find the schoolroom cupboards in a great mess," 
 she said, thinking that, since we had to be punished, we might as well have the first 
 word. "We were intending to tidy them up to-day, but it rained, so the boys stayed 
 in, and we could not do them. This is not excusing, Mademoiselle, please; it is 
 explaining." 
 
 And in our family we do like to be loyal to each other, and so EfHe and I did 
 not say a word of excusing either, and no more explaining was necessary when Made- 
 moiselle glanced round. 
 
Only Effie could not really help saying 
 
 " But being the end of the holidays, Mademoiselle, we are wondering if the 
 fines might be half-price?" 
 
 Mademoiselle said, "By no means!" in the briskest manner, and I thought it was 
 allowable to give one little bit more explanation. So I said 
 
 " But it isn't anything of ours that smells so disagreeably at the back of the long 
 cupboard ; it is Harry's goldfish that died, and that he thinks of stuffing for his 
 museum soon, and he will be glad if you will kindly not mind it, Mademoiselle." 
 
 But afterwards, when we got Mother all to ourselves for a few minutes, we 
 explained a little more. 
 
 "It's hard about the fines," Effie lowered herself to say. "It isn't any use tidying 
 up till the last day, Mother, because the boys will go untidying again." 
 
 "But 1 do not see that I can interfere with Mademoiselle's proper rules, " Mother 
 was beginning, but Nora broke in, frowning very snubbingly at Effie 
 
 "We don't want to be excused, Mother. We ought to have done the tidying 
 sooner or somehow, so we expect to be fined, but yet we can't feel very sorry. I 
 think the girls always have to pay in some way for the boys. But the girls don't 
 mind, after all. And we only told you, Mother, because we wanted you to understand 
 when Mademoiselle says that we have been fined." 
 
 " I shall understand," said Mother, 
 and smiled at us. 
 
 But I think she must have told 
 the boys after tea, for when we went 
 up to bed, Nora said to us girls, 
 half laughing and half crying- 
 
 "Tom says he is going 
 to pay those fines, and 
 oh ! I am so very glad 
 we did it, for he called 
 us bricks ! " 
 
 And we could not help 
 thinking that Mother was 
 somehow pleased with us, 
 in spite of the fines, from 
 the way in which she kissed 
 us good-night. 
 
 Frances E. Crompton. 
 
 
HAT is Polly's real name, Mr. Smith?" 
 "Arethusa, Missy." 
 
 "It's rather a funny name for a little girl, 
 isn't it ? How did you and Mrs. Smith come to 
 think of such a name?" 
 
 "Well, you see, it was like this " began 
 the old man, when he was interrupted by a shout 
 from one of the boys 
 
 "There's the steamer just coming round the point, and 
 if we're not quick we shall be too late to meet Father." 
 There was a general stampede and the children began to climb down the steep 
 wooden steps which led to the pier. They made quite a formidable party, for Winnie 
 and Ella May were staying with their cousins for the summer holidays, and besides, 
 they had all taken a wonderful fancy to little Polly Smith, and took her about with 
 them wherever they went. They reached the steamer just in time, and Father was 
 nearly upset by the crowd of little people who rushed at him. "Dear, dear!" he 
 said, "what a party you are to be sure, and who is this little woman?" 
 
 "That's Arry Arry Polly Smith," said Rose, giving up the long name in despair. 
 "I can't remember the whole of it, but it's 
 a very queer name, and Polly's father was t, 
 
 going to tell us how they came to give it to 
 her when we saw the steamer coming, and 
 had to rush to meet you." 
 
 The Fairhursts were spending the 
 holidays at Beechcroft and every Satur- : ... 
 day Father came down from town 
 to stay until Monday morning. 
 
 The children generally had 
 some piece of news with which to 
 greet him. Last week it had been 
 about Johnnie's wonderful donkey 
 ride, when the long-suffering Neddy 
 had actually run away with him, and 
 pitched him into a pool ; the week 
 
before they had been interested in the aquarium they were making; and this week 
 Polly, or, to give her her proper title, Arethusa Smith, was the topic of conversation. 
 
 Father listened to all they had to say, and when at length they paused for breath, 
 he suggested that they should go back to their friend the old boatman, and hear the 
 history of Polly's queer name, whilst he went home to Mother. So away they scam- 
 pered, and found Joe Smith still mending his nets, and quite ready to tell them a story. 
 
 "Well, as you said, missy," he began, "Arethusa is a queer name for a little girl. 
 But we called her after a ship of that name. Until a year or two back, I was a 
 sailor, and the very last voyage I ever sailed .was on board the good ship Arethusa. 
 We were to be gone a long time pretty near two years, in fact and I expected to 
 come home with a pocket full of money and settle down ashore for the rest of my 
 life, just the same as I have done, you see, though the voyage turned out very 
 differently to what I had expected. 
 
 "From the very first the weather was against us, and we were so beaten and 
 battered about that we were constantly obliged to put into ports we had never intended 
 to touch at, for the vessel to be repaired. However, at length, in spite of the weather, 
 we reached our destination, and a week or two later were homeward bound. But we 
 were as unlucky on the home voyage as we were going out, more so in fact, for in 
 rounding the Horn a squall struck us and drove us on to a rock. 
 
 "It was all up with the poor old Arethusa. The Captain ordered the boats out, 
 but several were swamped, and amongst them the one into which I had been ordered. 
 Ah, it was a terrible time ! I couldn't rightly tell you what did happen, but I 
 remember making a clutch at one of the bairns in the boat, and then followed a wild 
 struggle with the boiling waves, and at length, more dead than alive, I was flung ashore, 
 with the little one still in my arms. The babe and I were the only two of that boat's 
 crew who ever came ashore alive, and, though our Captain afterwards made every 
 possible inquiry, no one ever appeared to claim the little maid I had saved. 
 
 "And so I begged that I might have her, for somehow she seemed to belong to 
 me. When we reached home I brought the little creature down here to my missus, 
 well knowing what a tender heart she had for the little ones, and that she wouldn't 
 refuse to take the little waif in. And she's been like a mother to her since, and as 
 for me, I couldn't love her more if she was my own little girl. 
 
 "Now, we couldn't think what to call her, for she was but six months old at the 
 time of the shipwreck, and her poor mother had always called her Baby ; so my wife 
 and I, we gave her the name of Arethusa, in memory of the old ship, but, being as 
 how it's a longish name for such a wee toddler, we just call her 'Polly' for short." 
 
 L. L. Wecdon. 
 
Down by the Sea. 
 
Disconfenfed :8ufferflv. 
 
 HE Yellow Butterfly watched the handsome stranger as he 
 flew up and down the garden, and the Yellow Butterfly 
 sighed. 
 
 "Now then, what is the matter?" said the Pink Rose. 
 "You must not sigh like that near me I don't like it. Look at 
 that Dragon-fly he doesn't sigh!" 
 
 "I was looking at the Dragon-fly," said the Yellow Butterfly, 
 and she sighed again. 
 
 "Well, he's a handsome Dragon-fly," said the Pink Rose. 
 "Very handsome," said a Tiger-lily. 
 'v "I wish he would settle near me," whispered a Daisy. "I 
 
 \\ should like to speak to him." 
 
 " I should like to speak to him, too," said the Yellow Butterfly. 
 "I should like to ask him " 
 
 "There he goes," said the Pink Rose. "He's off to the river, I expect." 
 "And now I shall never be able to ask him," sighed the Yellow Butterfly. 
 "Look here," said the Pink Rose, "I can't stand this. You can do one of two 
 things. Either tell me what is the matter, or take yourself off." 
 "Quite right," said the Tiger-lily. 
 "It is a beautiful day," said the Rose. 
 "There's a shower coming," said the Yellow Butterfly. 
 "And this is a beautiful garden," said the Rose. "You ought to be a very happy 
 
 butterfly, and there you are, sighing away like a " 
 
 "Young breeze," said the Tiger-lily. 
 
 "I was happy," said the Butterfly, "until I saw the stranger's beautiful wings. 
 If only I had wings as bright as his ! " 
 
 " Well," said the Rose, in a tone of great disgust. 
 
 "Such nonsense," said the Tiger-lily. "Now, if you wanted white wings." 
 "I wouldn't mind if my wings were blue, or red, or white," said the Butterfly. 
 But the Pink Rose had turned away, and the Tiger-lily was staring at the clouds, 
 which were gathering up overhead. 
 
"There will be a shower," said the Rose. 
 
 "Perhaps a rainbow," said the Ladybird. "I like rainbows." 
 
 "So do I," said the Pink Rose, shaking herself, "but I hate grumblers." 
 
 The Yellow Butterfly fell to the ground, still sighing. She dropped on to one of 
 the Daisy's leaves. 
 
 "Butterfly," said the Daisy, "I can tell you something which might help you." 
 
 "You," said the Butterfly scornfully; "you are even uglier than I am; for you 
 have no colours." 
 
 But the Daisy was not offended. 
 
 "My great-grandmother," she said, "once knew a very old and very wise fair}-." 
 
 "I don't see what that has to do with me," said the Butterfly rudely. 
 
 "And the fairy told her," said the Daisy, "that all the beautiful colours were in 
 the rainbow." 
 
 "Really?" said the Butterfly, very much interested. "May I come a little closer 
 to you ? the rain has come." 
 
 "Get under the Sunflower leaf," said the Daisy. "I like the rain." 
 
 "Go on about the fairy," said the Butterfly, as the rain pattered down in 
 big drops. 
 
 "And the old fairy said, at the end of the rainbow, where it touches the ground, 
 every flower and every insect and every plant has as many and as beautiful colours 
 as the rainbow itself." 
 
 "Then I must find the end of the rainbow," said the Butterfly. 
 
 "The shower is over," said the Rose, "a most refreshing shower." 
 
 "And a beautiful rainbow," said the Ladybird. 
 
 The Butterfly was up and away in a moment. 
 
 "Silly thing," said the Rose; "why can't she be content?" 
 
 But the Butterfly was out of the garden, flying towards the rainbow as fast as her 
 wings could carry her. 
 
 " The end of the rainbow," she said as she flew, " the end of the rainbow ! How 
 beautiful I shall look when I have dipped my wings in the end of the rainbow. Then 
 the handsome stranger will speak to me." 
 
 But somehow the farther she flew, she never seemed to get any nearer to the 
 rainbow, which gradually grew fainter and at last faded away. 
 
 "Can you tell me the way to the end of the rainbow?" she enquired of the 
 gardener's little girl, who came tripping along with a basket on her arm. But the 
 little maid only smiled. It was clear she did not understand, so the Butterfly flitted 
 away without even waiting to say "good-bye." 
 
 At last, quite tired out, it dropped on to a flower to rest. The flower grew near 
 
a stream, and on the bank of the stream sat a big boy and a little boy talking 
 together. 
 
 The Butterfly could hear them chatter, but she did not listen until she heard the 
 little boy say 
 
 "At the end of the rainbow, you know." 
 
 The big boy smiled, but the Butterfly flew nearer to them, and listened. 
 
 "Yes," said the little boy, "it would be grand if we could find the pot of gold 
 buried in the ground, at the end of the rainbow." 
 
 The big boy laughed. 
 
 "Well, it is time we made a move," he said; "there is another shower coming. 
 Let us go to look for the end of the rainbow." 
 
 The boys jumped up, and began to walk quickly, and the Butterfly followed them 
 eagerly. 
 
 "If they find it, I will find it too," she said. 
 
 "Look at that butterfly!" said the little boy. 
 
 The Butterfly flew higher into the air. 
 
 "It's a common Cabbage," said the big boy, "and it's so dirty, it's not worth 
 catching." 
 
 The rain began to patter, and the boys to run. 
 
 Presently, at the corner of a road, they parted. 
 
 "If I find the gold I'll let you know," said the little boy. 
 
 "All right," said the big one, "at the end of the rainbow." 
 
 But there was no rainbow. 
 
 The Butterfly waited until the shower had passed, then she began to look 
 about her. 
 
 She had travelled a long way, yet she seemed to be in a place she knew. 
 
 There was the green gate, and on the other side of the wall was the big garden. 
 The boys had led her back to the spot from which she had started. 
 
 Should she go back into the garden ? She hesitated for some time, then she flew 
 over the wall and across the garden to the Daisy. 
 
 "Back again!" laughed the Pink Rose scornfully. 
 
 "Back again!" shouted the Tiger-lily. 
 
 The Butterfly was glad to hide under a big leaf beside the Daisy. 
 
 " I'm sorry," said the Daisy, when she heard the Butterfly's story, " I'm sorry you 
 did not get to the end of the rainbow. If the wise fairy is still alive but do you 
 still want to change your wings?" 
 
 "No," said the Butterfly; "but if ever I find the end of the rainbow 
 
 "There's another rainbow!" said the Ladvbird. 
 
Where 
 
 Did YOU 
 
 rom? 
 
"Good-bye," said the Butterfly, and away she flew again. 
 
 She had not left the garden more than a minute when the handsome Dragon-fty 
 flew up to the Daisy. 
 
 "Good afternoon," he said. 
 
 The Daisy's leaves grew quite pink at the tips with pleasure. 
 
 "Have you seen a Yellow Butterfly?" said the stranger. "I noticed one this 
 morning in this garden." 
 
 The Rose and the Tiger-lily began to laugh. 
 
 "The Butterfly wished to have white wings," said the Rose; "the discontented 
 thing ! " 
 
 "And she's gone to find the end of the rainbow," said the Tiger-lily. 
 
 "She's spoilt her pretty yellow wings," said the Ladybird; "they are dirty and 
 draggled." 
 
 "What a pity !" said the Dragon-fly; "and I was thinking how beautiful they were ! 
 What a pity ! " 
 
 "If she only knew," said the Daisy, as the stranger flew away; "but perhaps she 
 will never know." 
 
 Maggie Browne. 
 
 \ 
 
jSKoe. 
 
 vx 
 
 , 
 
 ^ T'^M going to-morrow morning to Witley Copse," said Kitty, "to get some violets 
 * for Grannie. It's her birthday, and when I was reading to her the other day, 
 there was something about violets, and she told me how, when she was a little girl, 
 she always had some from Witley Copse on her birthday, and they were the sweetest 
 and finest she ever saw. So I'm going to get up early, and go before breakfast to 
 get them." 
 
 "Nurse won't let you," answered Tom, who was sitting on the low wall watching 
 Kitty sow mustard and cress. The children were next-door neighbours, and, neither 
 of them having any brothers or sisters, were much together. Tom was especially fond 
 of sitting on the wall and conversing, while Kitty attended to her garden. He didn't 
 care about gardening himself: he said it made his back ache. 
 
 "Nurse is away. Her mother is ill, but I can 
 dress myself," said Kitty proudly. "I'm not a baby." 
 "Well, I don't think I'd go to Witley Copse," 
 replied Tom, whose bright dark eyes began to 
 glitter with some amusing idea which 
 just then occurred to .him, "for I 
 believe that something dreadful lives 
 there a dragon or a bogey." 
 
 "There aren't such things," 
 cried Kitty, though she grew a 
 little pale at the thought. 
 "They are all dead." 
 
 " Oh, are they ? " Tom 
 shook his head solemnly. "It 
 might be an old, old 
 one, or those things 
 Father calls survivals. 
 Father says old Mr. Jones 
 down in the village is a 
 survival, so perhaps a 
 dragon might be, too. 
 And I heard a dreadful 
 
 , 
 
growling in a hole behind the willows the other day 
 where we get the palm, and I looked in and there 
 were two fiery eyes, like Antonio's in the dark." 
 Antonio was the black cat. " But good-bye ; there's 
 the luncheon-bell," and Tom jumped off the wall. 
 "Only take care, because dragons eat people," he 
 cried, as he ran indoors. 
 
 Kitty was rather disturbed by Tom's words, 
 for she was a nervous, fanciful child, with a sort 
 of odd half-belief in fairies and goblins and dragons 
 and enchanters, but still she was so anxious for 
 those violets that she held to her plan. She 
 managed to dress herself next morning, with a little 
 finishing help from Mary, the housemaid, whom 
 she found sweeping the stairs, and requested to 
 fasten her frock. 
 
 "Going into the garden to play, Miss Kitty?" 
 said Mary. "Well, don't go on the grass, dearie, 
 for the dew is very heavy." 
 
 Kitty got her basket, and ran down the 
 garden to a little gate which admitted into the 
 lane leading to Witley Copse. It was not very 
 far to the entrance of the Copse, into which 
 you turned just after passing the cottage where 
 the pretty Miss Amorys lived. Kitty was soon 
 running along the little path winding between the 
 great hazel-bushes and low oak-trees which formed 
 the wood. It was a lovely April morning, and 
 the undergrowth was all bursting into tiny leaf, 
 and the birds singing as if they were mad with joy. 
 
 And then came a waft of perfume, which made Kitty lift up her delicate little nose and 
 sniff delightedly, and there on a bank just before her was a perfect bed of violets. 
 
 Kitty rushed at them. She had quite forgotten Tom's words about dragons till, as, 
 she was picking away at the violets, all at once she heard a mysterious noise, a sort 
 of growling, which recalled what he had said. She listened a moment, but then it was 
 quiet, so she went on gathering her flowers, though her little heart beat rather faster 
 than usual, when suddenly it came again really quite close to her an awful deep 
 growl, something like the animals at the Zoo, where she had been once. She started 
 
up and looked round her in terror, while the noise grew louder, coming from behind 
 the willows, where Tom had said the dragon, or the other awful creature with the 
 long name she didn't understand, had its den. Yes, and there was something rustling, 
 and oh, oh! a dreadful dark thing wriggling towards her through the underwood. 
 
 With a shriek of terror, Kitty turned and fled along the wood, tripping over low 
 branches, stumbling over stumps, tearing and scratching herself among brambles, but 
 regardless of everything in her panic, save to get out of the wood, and escape the 
 awful creature which she was sure was following her blind and deaf in her terror 
 even to a voice that was shouting 
 
 "Kitty stop, Kitty! It's only me. Stop! you've dropped your shoe." 
 But Kitty neither heard nor saw anything till she got to Miss Amory's cottage, 
 and began drumming on the door with her little trembling hands, too bewildered even 
 
 to find the bell. May Amory was passing across 
 the passage and hearing the sound, opened the 
 door, when Kitty rushed in and caught her 
 skirt, gasping out some incoherent words. 
 
 "Why, Kitty," exclaimed May, kneeling 
 down and catching the child in her arms, 
 "whatever is the matter, darling? what has 
 frightened you?" 
 
 "The dragon," panted 
 Kitty. " Oh, shut the door 
 or he'll come in ! Oh, I 
 went to get some vio- 
 lets for Grannie and he 
 began to growl." 
 
 "Whatever does she 
 mean ? " cried Lily and 
 Fan, who had come to see 
 w r hat was happening. "And 
 see, she has lost her shoe." 
 It had come off in her 
 flight, and her sock was all 
 wet with dew and stained 
 with dust, and her pooi 
 little foot pricked and 
 bruised with thorns and 
 stones. 
 
"Tom says he lives there and he's a sur sur something," went on Kitty, 
 whom May had got now on her knee in the pretty parlour, where they were just 
 going to breakfast. 
 
 "Tom talks nonsense, dear," said May. "He was just teasing you." 
 
 "Oh, but but I saw him," cried Kitty, "and oh oh he's coming," she screamed 
 as the garden gate clicked. "Oh, can't you hear?" and she flung her 
 arms round May and clung trembling to her. 
 
 There was certainly somebody coming up the garden path, but 
 it was not a dragon nor a survival. It was only a small boy who, 
 under a demure air, was trying to hide the fact that he 
 was shaking with laughter. He looked in at the open 
 window of the parlour, and then took off his hat politely, 
 and held out a small shoe. 
 
 "Please," he said, "is Kitty Trevor here? because she has 
 dropped her shoe." 
 
 Lily was outside in a moment, and had seized him by the collar 
 of his smock. 
 
 "Tom," she said, "you monkey ! What do } r ou mean by 
 frightening poor little Kitty with all that nonsense 
 about dragons?" ' , 
 
 Tom hung his head contritely, though he still 
 could hardly repress his giggles. "I didn't think 
 she'd be so silly as to believe it," he mumbled. 
 
 "But you went and hid in the woods, and 
 growled on purpose to frighten her. You know you did. You deserve to be whipped," 
 went on Lily indignantly, giving him an involuntary shake in her anger. " And her poor 
 little foot is quite bruised with running without her shoe, and she's lost all her violets, 
 and is crying now because there are none left to give to her Grannie. Oh, Tom, 
 I didn't think you would be such a coward." 
 
 Tom grew very red, and didn't laugh any more. 
 
 "I'm not a coward," he said, angrily twisting himself out of Lily's grasp. 
 
 "Yes, you are," she retorted. "Every boy is a coward who teases and torments 
 anybody smaller and weaker than himself. Kitty is a year younger than you, and a 
 girl too. If you had been a gentleman you would have helped to get the violets, 
 and not frightened her into fits when she went by herself alone, poor little soul." 
 
 Tom stared at Lily angrily for a minute, and then dashed away, flinging the shoe 
 at her feet. Lily picked it up and went in. Kitty was much comforted now, and was 
 sitting on May's knee, drinking some milk, though still mourning over her lost violets. 
 
"I'll put on my hat and take her home," said Lily. "They will be wondering 
 what has become of her." 
 
 So Kitty's shoe was put on, and she and Lily went up the lane together, but just 
 as they reached the garden gate, something came rushing up behind them, in a manner 
 which made Kitty start and tremble. But it was only Tom, with a great bunch of 
 violets which he stuffed into Kitty's hands. 
 
 "I'm very sorry I frightened you," he muttered. "I only did it for fun, and I 
 thought you'd guess it was me. And please take these violets for those you lost." 
 
 Then he turned to Lily. 
 
 "Am I a gentleman now, Miss Lily?" he said, looking half defiantly at her. 
 
 "I hope you are beginning to be one," she answered, nodding at him with a smile. 
 
 Tfie Idffle 
 
 Over if>e 
 
 OTHER, I do believe the little girl over the way is ill.". 
 "Why, dearie?" 
 
 "Well, I haven't seen her going out with her nurse for a 
 long time, and Sarah says Dr. Haslemere's carriage stops there 
 every day, and it isn't old Mrs. Courtenay who is ill, because 
 she has just gone out." 
 
 "Dear me, what a gossip my- little girl is," said Mother, smiling. She 
 crossed the room, and, putting her arm round Gertie's shoulders, stood looking out 
 of the window at the house on the opposite side of the way. 
 
 "Oh! Mother," cried Gertie suddenly, "here she is. Oh! poor little girl!" 
 Mother looked up, and saw, at an upper window, the most woebegone little figure 
 imaginable. A tiny little child, with cheeks as white as the nightgown she wore, stood 
 pressing her face close to the window panes, and gazing at Gertie and her Mother 
 with wistful eyes. Poor little lonely girl ! the sight of the kind face opposite made 
 her long for her own dear Mother, and the tears welled up into the big blue eyes 
 and ran trickling down the thin cheeks. 
 
 "Miss Madge, you naughty child," cried an angry voice, "go back to bed at once. 
 Why, you'll catch your death of cold. Whatever will your Aunt say when I tell her 
 you've been standing at that window for goodness knows how long, in nothing but 
 your nightgown too?" 
 
"I was so dull," sobbed Madge, as old Martha covered her up in bed. "I just got 
 out to see if the little girl opposite might be looking out, and she was at the window 
 and nodded and smiled at me. I wish she would come over and play with me she 
 looks such a nice little girl." 
 
 "Well, it's no good wishing, Miss Madge, for your Aunt don't know her Ma, so 
 she can't ask her over. But come, don't cry, there's a good child, and you shall have 
 some sponge biscuits for your tea." 
 
 Madge was very fond of sponge biscuits, but she was feeling so miserable that 
 even the promise of the unaccustomed luxury failed to comfort her, and she was still 
 crying when the door opened and Dr. Haslemere came in to pay his daily visit. 
 
 "How's my little patient to-day?" he began, and then, "Why, Madgie, in 
 tears what's the matter?" 
 
 "I'm so lonely," said poor little Madge. "I want Mother dreadfully. In India 
 
there were lots of little children to play with, but there isn't anyone here. There's a 
 nice little girl lives opposite, and I got out of bed to watch for her ; but Martha says 
 it's naughty, and that I shall catch my death of cold." 
 
 "Poor little woman." said the doctor kindly. "And so you haven't anyone to 
 play with, eh? Why can't the nice little girl come over?" 
 
 "Martha says that Aunt Dorcas doesn't know her Mamma." 
 
 Dr. Haslemere paid quite a long visit that day, for he had taken a great fancy to 
 little Madge Cunliffe. He told her such funny stories that soon the tears were dried 
 and she- was laughing merrily. At last he produced a box of chocolates from his 
 pocket, and at the same time rose to go. "Not too many sweeties at a time, remember," 
 he said, "and above all things, no more tears." 
 
 Madge's face had already begun to lengthen, but she tried hard to smile, just to 
 please the kind doctor. 
 
 "Good-bye," he said, waving his hand. "And don't be surprised if something won- 
 derful happens. I'm a magician, you know, and now I am going to weave my spells." 
 
 For a long time Madge lay wondering what could be going to happen, and thinking 
 made her drowsy and she fell asleep. She dreamt a very strange dream. It seemed 
 to her that Aunt Dorcas was bending over her and kissing her. "Dr. Haslemere says 
 she's fretting her heart out, and has persuaded me to go over the way and ask Mrs. 
 Hardy to let her little girl come and play with her," the old lady said to Martha. 
 
 When Madge began to wake up again, she remembered her dream. 
 
 "Oh! dear, I wish it were true," she said sleepily. When her eyes were quite 
 wide open, how surprised she was, for the dream had come true, and there sat the 
 little girl from over the way. 
 
 "I've come to tea with you," she said a little shyly. "Your Aunt came and told 
 my Mother you were dull all by yourself, and that the doctor had said you would 
 never get well till you were roused; so I've come and I hope you will like me." 
 
 "Oh! I shall I'm sure I shall," said Madge, her blue eyes dancing with pleasure. 
 " How kind of Dr. Haslemere, and how kind of you to come ! I am glad now that 
 Martha promised me sponge biscuits for tea; I hope you like them." 
 
 Gertie did, and very much the two children enjoyed their tea-party. Aunt Dorcas 
 told Gertie when she went home, that she must be a little fairy, for Madge looked 
 better already, and at the end of a week Dr. Haslemere said he might as well hand 
 over his patient to Dr. Gertie, for it was evident he wasn't wanted any longer. 
 
 " Yes, you are," said Madge, giving him a good hug. " I like you as much as ever 
 more even, for if it hadn't been for you I should never have got to know the little 
 girl over the way and she is a nice little girl, much nicer than the children in India; 
 and I'm never going to be lonely any more." L. L. Weedon. 
 
r 
 
 r 
 
 'ILL you get out of my way, lumbering 
 elf; this is the third night I have tumbled 
 over you." 
 
 " Softly, good Father Sandman, softly ! If you 
 were not so blind you would have seen me. 
 Have you put all your children to bed, old Father 
 Sandman ? " 
 
 "Go along for a teasing, impertinent imp!" 
 Pipistrello laughed shrilly as he swung himself 
 to and fro on the branch of a low shrub, chanting, 
 "Close, little eyelids, close up tight, for the Sand- 
 man's come to town ! " 
 
 The old fellow had gone into his cave; it was 
 nearly dark now. 
 
 Bourn ! An old brown shoe came flying out, 
 and, catching the elf as he swung, toppled him 
 neatly on to the grass beneath. He was not 
 hurt, for the Sandman goes very softly shod, 
 that the children may not hear him. 
 
 But he was extremely angry ! "Very good!" he cried, shaking his 
 morsel of a fist, " to-day you, Father Sandman, and to-morrow me ! 
 Mark my words, you will be sorry for it before the moon is many nights older." 
 
 A chuckle was heard coming from the cave, and that was all. Pip went off, 
 meditating revenge. In the middle of supper he snapped his fingers gleefully. "The 
 very thing," he cried, helping himself to another fried beetle's wing; and he began to 
 hum: "Close, little eyelids, close up tight, for the Sandman's come to town!" 
 Old Father Sandman was hunting about his cave in a fine state of mind. 
 "Ach, where is my bag of sand? Where can it have gone? It is the children's 
 bedtime; the Nurses and the Mammas will be wondering where I am! My sand-bag, 
 my precious sand-bag oh, if I could but find it!" 
 
 The poor old gentleman trotted to and fro, and seemed nearly distracted. 
 "I wish I could help you," said a bat, who generally shared his cave; "I have 
 been asleep all day, you know, and have seen no one." 
 
"If you will let me ride on your back," cried the old fellow eagerly, "I might 
 catch my brother Sandman, who lives the other side of the wood, before he goes out. 
 He would lend me some sand, perhaps/' 
 
 "Come along then," said the bat. 
 
 But the second Sandman declined to help. 
 
 "Very sorry," he remarked, "but I have only just enough dust for my own 
 children. There is one wakeful little boy who takes half a peck all to himself. The 
 trouble I have with that urchin ! Then there is a little girl who " but his visitor did 
 not stay to listen. 
 
 Poor Father Sandman got back to his cave, and there was Pip swinging on the 
 same branch as before, and looking very malicious. 
 
 "I believe," gasped the old gentleman, "that it is you that stole my sack!" 
 
 Pip laughed, and skipped out of reach, crying 
 
 " My turn to-day, Father Sandman." 
 
 But although mischievous, he was not a bad-hearted sprite, - and presently he went 
 and fetched the sand-bag. Then he made a bargain. " Father Sandman, will you say 
 you are sorry?" 
 
 "Pipistrello, I will say I am sorry," was the reply. 
 
 "And you won't bear malice?" 
 
 "I will not bear malice give me my bag." 
 
 "One thing more. Will you let all the children "Y.'ki 
 sit up half an hour longer in winter, and an hour in 
 summer ? " 
 
 "It can't be done well, perhaps 
 if I must yes, then ; but the babies 
 must go to bed a quarter of an hour 
 earlier all the year round." 
 
 "Please yourself about the 
 babies," said Pip. "Catch, Father 
 Sandman ! " 
 
 The next minute the 
 old fellow, with his 
 sack on his back, and 
 a smile on his face, was 
 trotting off to the town. 
 Sheila. 
 
^Voyage of fH 
 
 GRACE and Lena lived in a town, and they had only a small 
 , garden to play in, a straight strip of grass with a gravel walk 
 
 all round it and flower-beds round the gravel walk, and a red 
 
 brick wall on each side shutting off the next-door gardens. 
 
 There was only room for trap and ball in the summer and for 
 . ' hoops and skipping-ropes in the winter. But one day Mr. Hall, 
 
 their Father, told them he had bought a new home quite in the 
 
 country, and when it was ready he sent for the children to come with their Nurse. 
 First they went in a train nearly all day, till it was long after tea-time, and when 
 they got out of the train they had to drive ten miles on the top of a coach drawn by 
 four horses. They had to climb up a step-ladder to get to their seats, and Horace and 
 Lena sat just behind the coachman, who wore a red coat and a shiny white hat, and 
 cracked a long, long whip. The horses trotted up and down hill, and the coachman 
 threw newspapers and parcels into the gardens of houses as he passed, and when they 
 stopped in a little town on the side of a very steep hill to take up some more 
 passengers, he just got down and threw the reins down, and no one stood by the horses 
 or held their heads; and Lena was afraid they would run away, but Horace tried to 
 look very brave, though he held Nurse's hand tight till the coachman came back. 
 
 At last when Lena was nearly asleep the coach stopped, and the ladder was put 
 for them to get down, and their boxes were taken down also. In front of them was 
 a great shining river, or was it the sea ? There were high hills beyond the water, and 
 the sun was setting behind them, and there were purple and gold clouds in the sky, 
 and the clouds looked as if they had tumbled into the water, for that was also purple 
 and gold. There was a river near the town Horace and Lena had been living in, and 
 sometimes Mr. Hall took them for a row, and once they had been to the sea-side but 
 this was different. 
 
 Then they saw a boat quite near them and their Father coming to meet them; 
 all the boxes were put into the boat, and Nurse was helped in and she was so heavy 
 that the boat went all down on one side, and then Mr. Hall lifted Lena in and 
 Horace stepped in after her, and they all packed in somehow among bags and rugs 
 and umbrellas, and Mr. Hall and another man began to row, and the boat went 
 quickly across the water to the hills. 
 
Both Horace and Lena were so sleepy that 
 
 they did not remember much about their row or 
 
 the arrival at their new home, which was on the 
 
 side of a hill among some trees ; but when they 
 
 woke up next morning and were up and dressed, 
 
 the sun was shining in their faces and sparkling 
 
 on the water just below them. It was not a 
 
 river, nor yet the sea it was just a great sheet 
 
 of water among the hills called a lake. 
 
 Very soon after breakfast Horace and Lena 
 
 started on a voyage of discovery. They soon ran 
 
 all over the garden, which was on the side of 
 
 a hill, with flights of steps leading from one terrace 
 
 to another, and then at the very top of the garden they came to a wall, and at the 
 
 farthest end of the wall was a small door nearly hidden by ivy. It was not locked, 
 
 and they pushed it open with great difficulty as the ivy hung down from the top in 
 
 long trails and got in the way. When they stepped through the door they found 
 
 themselves among trees and brooks, and at first they could find no way out. 
 
 At last Horace pushed the bushes on one side, and found some steps, covered 
 
 with moss and rather broken, but he climbed up them, and Lena followed obediently. 
 
 It was dark under the trees, and she was a little bit frightened, but she always followed 
 
 Horace, and he climbed up all the steps. 
 
 Presently they heard the sound of water 
 rushing quite near them and they came to 
 a stream, tumbling down the hill among black 
 rocks. There was no bridge, but Horace said 
 the flat rocks were "stepping-stones," and began 
 to cross from one to another. 
 
 They were slippery, and he gave Lena a 
 hand, but she nearly tumbled in, for, as she 
 stepped carefully on a flat stone, it moved 
 under her foot and slipped on one side with 
 a splash, and if Horace had not held her up 
 she would have fallen into the water. 
 
 Now they were both safely on the other 
 side, and they were sure they would find 
 something! First they had to find a path, so 
 they climbed the hill by the stream that seemed 
 
to sing to them; and though the rocks and the stones were grown over with moss 
 and ferns, and it was still dark under the trees, Horace was sure there had once been 
 a path. 
 
 So they climbed up and up, till they 
 came to a sort of stile made of upright 
 stones, and when they had climbed over 
 that what do you think they found? 
 There was a little terrace walk in front 
 of them, and far down below them 
 was the lake sparkling in the sunshine, 
 and at the end of the walk was a 
 s-ummer-house. The children ran along 
 
~ 
 
 the path, and by the summer-house was a wishing-gate, and when they pushed open 
 the gate they found themselves in a small garden with high banks and great rocks on 
 three sides of it. 
 
 The paths were all green, the little lawn was quite overgrown with big yellow 
 buttercups, and the flower-beds were a tangle of weeds and plants, but there was an 
 apple-tree and a rose-bush with pink roses on it, and in the middle of the garden 
 there was a pond, and swimming about in it under the green duckweed were 
 two gold-fish. 
 
 As the children came through the gate four fat rabbits scampered off, kicking 
 up their white tails as they disappeared into a hole in the bank at the opposite 
 side. "This is the garden of the Sleeping Beauty," said Lena very softly, "and the 
 
rabbits are her gardeners." But Horace thought it was Robin- 
 son Crusoe's garden, and that he kept a flock of rabbits instead 
 of a flock of sheep. 
 
 "Let us go into the summer-house and see what we can 
 find there/' he said. 
 
 So the two explorers opened the door, which creaked as 
 if it had not been opened for a long time, and 
 entered. There in the middle of the summer-house 
 was a table, and on it stood a little Tin Soldier 
 keeping guard, with his sword over his shoulder. 
 
 "I expect this belongs to him and he won't 
 like us to touch anything," whispered Lena, but 
 Horace looked all round the place and on a bench 
 in a corner he found a rusty watering-pot and a 
 little iron spade. 
 
 "Let us run home and tell Father what we 
 have found," he said at last. The children ran down the hill by the stream and the 
 splashing waterfall, and crossed the slippery stepping-stones and crept under the shrubs 
 down the broken steps and through the door in the wall, and never stopped till they 
 found themselves in their Father's room. 
 
 "Well, children, what have you found?" he said. "A desert island or an 
 enchanted palace?" 
 
 But Mr. Hall was only joking, and he was very much surprised when he heard 
 of the garden and the summer-house and the little Tin Soldier. 
 
 Even he had no idea of the wonderful things to be found round the new home, 
 though he had been there a whole month, and he said the gardener should clear the 
 steps and the path, and Horace and Lena should have the summer-house and the 
 garden for their very own, if they would promise to weed the flower-beds and 
 keep everything tidy. 
 
 As for the rabbits, they helped to weed the 
 
 flower-beds too, only they always nibbled off the ji^^f _!*&: "*" Vfc 
 
 flowers by mistake, and they ran away with their 
 little white tails up, in a great hurry, when they 
 saw Horace or Lena. 
 
 The buttercups were left just as they were, 
 for as Lena expressed it, she could not bear 
 to have them "tidied up" just like ordinary 
 
 1 djIB'B* 1 ' 1 **-' 
 
 weeds. 
 
And whenever they went to the garden Lena never failed to bring home a posy 
 for Father. 
 
 The Tin Soldier kept guard in the summer-house, with one eye over the lake 
 and one on the terrace path, and Horace said he was the sentry and must not let 
 any one pass without saying, "Who goes there?" 
 
 Constance Milman. 
 
 Cured ir[ a JUinufe. 
 
 
 ABY BUNTING tumbled down, 
 Didn't break her curly crown, 
 Only scratched her round pink arm- 
 That was really all the harm. 
 
 Sis was sitting down close by, 
 Just as she began to cry; 
 Picked up Baby where she fell, 
 Kissed the place and made it well ! 
 
 Baby Bunting laughed instead, 
 Kisses tickle, so she said; 
 Sis, to quite complete the cure, 
 Gave three more to make it sure ! 
 
 " Well, I never ! " said the bird, 
 " That's a fine cure, on my word ! " 
 But most things that seem amiss 
 Can be mended with a kiss ! 
 
T0[e 
 
 Jor ifie Gow- 
 
 E will have a cricket match this morning, and ask Uncle Roger 
 to make a kite this afternoon/' said Christopher. 
 
 "Oh, no," said Leslie, "make the kite this morning, and " 
 "Rubbish," said Christopher. 
 "It isn't rubbish," said Leslie. "Uncle" 
 And then, just as the two brothers were beginning to feel cross, 
 Phyllis came into the room. 
 
 "Well?" said both the boys. 
 
 "He's gone out to Mr. Wilson's," said Phyllis, in the very dismallest of dismal 
 voices, "and I believe he has gone." 
 "No?" said Christopher. 
 
 "Well, the fishing-rods are not there," said Phyllis. 
 "And it is his last day," said Leslie. 
 The three children sighed. 
 
 He was the jolliest Uncle that any children ever had. He could spin tops, and 
 make kites and boats, and play cricket. He could do everything. Indeed, in the 
 
children's eyes he would have been absolutely perfect, if he had not had one serious 
 fault he would go fishing. 
 
 "Of course, Mr. Wilson asked him," said Christopher. 
 
 "Bother Mr. Wilson," said Leslie. 
 
 Then they all walked to the window. 
 
 It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining brightly, saying as plainly as he could, 
 "Come out, children, come out." 
 
 "Shall we go fishing?" said Phyllis. 
 
 "But our fishing is only pretending," said Leslie scornfully, "and we never catch 
 anything." 
 
 "Uncle Roger says that doesn't matter," said Phyllis. 
 
 Christopher was staring out of the window. Suddenly he took both hands out of 
 his pockets, and clapped them together. 
 
 "The new brown cow," he shouted; "the new brown cowl" 
 
 Leslie looked at him, puzzled, but Phyllis's eyes began to laugh, and Phyllis said, 
 "Of course, that would be lovely. How shall we do it?" 
 
 "A clothes-line, and a walking-stick, and some greenstuff," said Christopher. 
 "Come along." 
 
 "I wish I- knew what you were talking about," said Leslie. 
 
 "We are going to fish for the brown cow," said Phyllis, as they all hurried out 
 of the nursery. 
 
 "Oh," said Leslie, "what fun!" 
 
 "Now," said Christopher, who always took the lead, "I will get the rope, Phyllis 
 must get a walking-stick, and Leslie some greenstuff, and we will meet on the 
 terrace in two minutes." 
 
 Away they ran in different directions, and in less than two minutes Phyllis met 
 Leslie on the terrace at the end of the garden. 
 
 The terrace overlooked Mr. Wilson's big field, and the children always pretended 
 that the field was a big pond full of strange fish. 
 
 "Where's Christopher?" asked Leslie. "I hope the gardener won't miss this big 
 cabbage." 
 
 "There he is," said Phyllis, as Christopher came running down the path, dragging 
 the family clothes-line behind him. 
 
 "I had such a bother to get it," he said breathlessly. "Cook, you know. And 
 we must be quick." 
 
 The line was fastened to the stick, and the cabbage to the line, and then the line 
 was thrown over the low wall into the field below. 
 
 For some time the brown cow took no notice ; she was busy munching the grass. 
 
"I wish I could get down into the field," said Leslie; "then I could drive her up 
 to the wall." 
 
 "You couldn't get back again," said Christopher. "That horrid man of Mr. Wilson's 
 has made the ditch so deep that our rope-ladder wouldn't be long enough to reach to 
 the bottom now." 
 
 "Hush," said Phyllis, "don't talk; and hide behind the wall. She is coming 
 nearer." 
 
 The brown cow had at last caught sight of the cabbage. 
 
 "Wait until she gets firm hold," said Christopher, "and then pull hard." 
 
 ya/ifj'. "* 
 
 They waited a moment, then pulled, and then all three tumbled over. 
 "I never saw a cow look so astonished," said Phyllis, laughing. "Try again." 
 The brown cow was tossing her head, and lashing her tail. 
 "Now, Chris, you hold the line this time, and we will watch," said Leslie. 
 So Leslie and Phyllis hid, and Christopher, mounting on the wall, threw the 
 cabbage far into the field. 
 
 This time the brown cow ran quickly to the cabbage, and seized it in her mouth. 
 "She's got it pull, Christopher," said Phyllis. 
 Leslie was laughing too much to speak. 
 
Christopher pulled, but the cow pulled too, and the cow had seized a piece of 
 the rope in its mouth as well as the cabbage. 
 
 "Come and help," said Christopher. 
 
 But Leslie and Phyllis were still laughing. There was a cry from Christopher as 
 he lost his balance, and tumbled into the ditch. The brown cow munched away at 
 the cabbage. 
 
 "Are you hurt?" said Phyllis. 
 
 "Chris, are you hurt?" shouted Leslie. 
 
 Christopher picked himself up out of the ditch, and began to brush his clothes. 
 
 "How shall we get him out again?" said Phyllis, who quite understood that 
 Christopher did not want to speak for a few minutes. 
 
 "If only we had the ladder," said Leslie, "it might be of some use." 
 
 "Go and look in the tool-house," said Phyllis; "I think I saw it there." 
 
 Leslie ran off up the path. 
 
 "Are you all right, Chris?" said Phyllis. 
 
 "I can't get back," said Christopher dolefully. 
 
 "You'll have to walk to the gate," said Phyllis. 
 
 "And meet Mr. Wilson's man," said Christopher. "If only Uncle Roger had 
 not gone." 
 
 "If only Leslie would bring the ladder," said Phyllis. "Perhaps he can't find it. 
 I'll see if it is in the back kitchen." 
 
 Christopher waited for a few minutes, then he commenced to walk slowly to- 
 wards the gate. 
 
 If he could reach it without being seen, he would be all right, but if he met 
 Mr. Wilson's man 
 
 He was nearly at the gate when he saw that it was open, and that three men 
 were standing beside it. 
 
 They were talking busily, and Christopher lay down flat in the ditch, hoping 
 they had not seen him. 
 
 He could hear their voices, and as they began walking towards him, he heard 
 Mr. Wilson say 
 
 "Very well then; just for once, you know." 
 
 Then he heard a voice he knew very well 
 
 "Thank you very much, Wilson. I'll fetch the youngsters at once, so that we 
 can get a good game. We won't hurt the brown cow." 
 
 It was Uncle Roger's voice. 
 
 Then he had not gone fishing. 
 
 Christopher wished he could sink into the ditch. He waited a minute, then he 
 
jumped up quickly. Uncle Roger was fast disappearing down the road, but Mr. Wilson 
 and the man were close beside the gate. 
 
 Christopher buttoned up his jacket, and brushed himself, then he stepped forward, 
 and spoke. 
 
 "Good morning) Mr. Wilson," he said; "we were fishing for your brown cow, and 
 I tumbled off the wall into the field. Please, I'm very sorry, but I don't believe the 
 cow minded, because she had a whole cabbage." 
 
 "You young vagabond!" began the man, but Mr. Wilson was smiling. 
 
 "You must not tease my cows," he said; "and you know you have no business 
 in the field." 
 
 " Shall I tell the gentlemen they must not play cricket here to-day," said the man 
 to Mr. Wilson. 
 
 "Play cricket! In the field!" said Christopher. 
 
 "Yes; be off with you," said Mr. Wilson. "Go and ask your Uncle about it. It 
 is his doing." 
 
 "And it is his last day," said Christopher; and with a "Thank you," he was off 
 down the road. 
 
 He found Uncle Roger, having rescued Phyllis from Cook, to whom he had 
 restored the clothes-line, endeavouring to soothe the gardener for the loss of his 
 cabbage. 
 
 "Well, you are three pickles," said Uncle Roger, when Phyllis and Leslie were 
 at last free to set out for the field. "You all deserve I don't know what you 
 deserve." 
 
 "We thought you had gone fishing," said Phyllis, "and it is your last day." 
 
 "So I was the cause of all the mischief," said Uncle Roger, laughing. "Well, you 
 must promise never to tease the cow." 
 
 "Or take a cabbage or a clothes-line," said Phyllis. "We won't." 
 
 "And we'll have a grand game," said Christopher. 
 
 And they did. 
 
 Maggie Browne. 
 
Iiifile DIC^ rBircfe. V 
 
 il CT~\JC^J^ dear, do you know that there was another small Dicky in church this 
 -*--^ morning ? " 
 
 "Was there?" said little Richard Aylmer, shutting his picture-book and looking 
 up eagerly at his sister. "Had he a sailor suit too?" 
 
 Dicky was only four years old, and had been lately promoted from petticoats, so 
 he was very proud of his new clothes. 
 
 "No," said Grade, laughing; "let me see he had a brown suit and a speckled 
 waistcoat." 
 
 "Where did he sit?" asked Dick. 
 
 "Well, he went about most of the time; and when he did sit down, it was 
 generally at the top of the pillars." 
 
 "Oh, Grade!" said the little boy, in a tone of shocked amazement. Then he put 
 up his hand. "Stop a little let me think. Brown coat and speckly waistcoat; oh, I 
 know it was bird Dick!" 
 
 "So it was, you little dear," returned Gracie. She was nine, and therefore quite 
 elderly compared to her small brother. 
 
 "Did he sing? Did he like to be there? Did he keep still while Father was 
 preaching?" asked Dick all in one breath. 
 
 "He sang quite loud sometimes," said Gracie, "but he never kept still for long 
 together. And I don't think he liked being there, poor little fellow! He seemed to 
 want to get out, but did not know how." 
 
 "But doors was open!" 
 
 "Yes, but he never came so low he flew at the windows. Mother asked Palmer, 
 and he said he didn't see what could be done, birdie was so frightened. He saw him 
 there last night." 
 
 "Poor birdie!" said Dicky. "But shouldn't be frightened in God's House, should 
 he, Gracie? No one will hurt him there. But p'raps he doesn't know that." 
 
 "And perhaps," said Gracie, "he wants to get home to Mrs. Bird and the little 
 birds. I hope he will get out in the afternoon; he won't be so afraid when there 
 is no one about, I daresay; and you know the doors are left open, and only the 
 gratings shut." 
 
 "I hope he will get out," said Dick, rather slowly. "But*if he doesn't very much 
 
mind, I wish he would stay till the evening, just for me to see him." And he walked 
 away thoughtfully, his hands in the pockets of his new trousers. 
 
 The church at Thornhurst was at some distance from the Rectory, and little Richard 
 only went once on Sundays. 
 
 This day, for a great treat, he was to go to the rather early evening service. It 
 could only be held in the summer-time, as many of the people had a long way to 
 come through lonely lanes. He trotted by his Mother's side along the field-path; 
 
 his two elder sisters had 
 gone on in front. 
 
 "I must stay for 
 the choir practice this 
 evening," said Mother. 
 "Would you like to stay 
 too, Dicky, or will you 
 go home with the girls ? 
 You can do just as you 
 choose." 
 
 Dicky reflected. This 
 was a very important 
 point, and required con- 
 sideration. 
 
 "Think I would like 
 to stay for you, Mother/' 
 he said at last. 
 
 " Well, you need 
 not decide now. Go 
 with Mabel and Gracie 
 if you please." 
 
 The little dicky bird 
 was not to be seen, 
 and Richard was obliged 
 to conclude that it had 
 got away. 
 
 He said to himself that he was glad, but he said it with a sigh. 
 But no sooner did the singing begin than he heard the bird's clear note so close 
 to him that he started and looked up. 
 
 There it was, perched above his head out of reach, but so near that the two 
 pairs of bright eyes could look into each other. And there it remained through the 
 
whole of the service. 
 It was tired out, poor 
 thing, with continually 
 flying backwards and 
 forwards, in the vain 
 hope of finding its way 
 home once more. 
 
 But Dicky Aylmer 
 was quite sure that 
 it was on his account 
 that the bird remained 
 there. Whether it 
 guessed that he was 
 Dicky too, or whether 
 it was attracted by the 
 red collar and cuffs on 
 his white suit, he could 
 not tell. 
 
 So when the service 
 
 came to an end at last, Dicky Aylmer got up and went out of church after his 
 sisters, quite convinced that the bird would follow him out, and thus would get over 
 its difficulties. 
 
 "Wait a minute," he said, as they left the porch; "Birdie's coming." 
 
 So they waited, but in vain. 
 
 "I s'pose it losed me in the crowd," said Dicky at last, "'cause it kept quite near 
 to me before." 
 
 "It is not coming now," said Mabel, who was very much inclined to laugh, only 
 that she saw it was a serious matter with her brother. 
 
 "You go home, girls," he said, in his most patronising tone. "I'll go back and 
 wait for Mother. It'll come then, when there's not so many people." 
 
 So he went into church again very quietly, and up to his usual place. The bird 
 was there no longer, but, after looking for a little, he spied it above the stalls. As 
 gently as possible he crept into one of them, and seated himself on a hassock. The 
 choir were all standing outside. 
 
 There he sat and watched the bird and listened to the singing. Then he grew a 
 little tired and laid his head on the seat. And there he went to sleep, and slept so 
 soundly that he did not notice when the organist ceased playing and everyone 
 went away. 
 
Mrs. Aylmer was rather tired, too, so instead of taking her usual stroll around 
 the garden, she went into the drawing-room and sat down. 
 
 Twilight begins early when August is drawing to a close, and it was getting dusk 
 when a knock came at the door and Nurse put her head in. 
 
 "Master Dicky, ma'am. Hadn't he better go to bed?" 
 
 "Certainly, Nurse; I was wondering why he had not come to say good-night." 
 
 "I thought he was with you, ma'am," said Nurse, in a puzzled tone. 
 
 "Oh, no, I stayed for the practice, and he went home with his sisters." 
 
 Nurse withdrew her head rather abruptly, and disappeared. Very shortly after- 
 wards she returned, preceded, however, 
 by Mabel and Gracie very excited, 
 running at the top of their speed. 
 
 "Oh, Mother!" they exclaimed 
 both together, "Dicky did not come 
 home with us." 
 
 " Not with you ! why, I saw 
 him go out," said Mrs. Aylmer, start- 
 ing up. 
 
 "Yes, but he went back, because 
 he thought the bird would follow him 
 when there were fewer people," said 
 Mabel. 
 
 "He must have been locked in," 
 sobbed Gracie. 
 
 Mrs. Aylmer was out of the door 
 before they had finished speaking, the 
 girls by her side, and Nurse following 
 with uncovered head. 
 
 Never had they gone so quickly 
 down the church path before ; yet it 
 seemed hours to Mrs. Aylmer until 
 they reached the door and turned the 
 great key in the lock. 
 
 It was almost dark inside, and 
 before her eyes could distinguish any- 
 thing, her ears heard the welcome 
 pattering of little feet, and Dicky was 
 in her arms. 
 
She carried him into the porch, and hugged and kissed him. 
 
 "Oh, my darling! my darling!" she said, "where were you?" 
 
 And Dicky replied, in his simple way 
 
 "I only waked up a little time, Mother; and I tried not to be frightened, 'cause 
 I knowed God would take care of me in His own House. And Birdie singed to 
 me. I don't know if it was a hymn, but I don't think God would mind. Oh, look, 
 Mother!" 
 
 And Dicky pointed to the porch. 
 
 The light outside was still vivid compared with the darkness within, so that the 
 open door left a clear white space, through which the bird had just darted. 
 
 "I'm glad he'll get home tool" said Dicky. "No, Nurss; I don't want to be 
 carried I'm a big boy." 
 
 They went a good deal more slowly back than they had gone down, and not one 
 of the party is likely to forget that summer Sunday when the two Dicks were shut 
 up in church together. 
 
 Mrs. Ida Sitwell. 
 
 HAT is the matter, Dolly dear? 
 Oh, don't be frightened Sister's here. 
 It isn't dark now any more 
 There's sunlight on the nursery floor. 
 Don't cry! Oh, Dolly dear, don't cry, 
 Or if you must cry tell me why ? " 
 
 Oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear! 
 I am so glad the morning's here; 
 For I've been dreaming all night long 
 That all my lessons had gone wrong : 
 I dreamed I'd seventy sums to do 
 And I'd forgotten two times two. 
 
 E. N. 
 
"Don'lr. Cr/" 
 
 **/ 
 
OSY as an apple, 
 ""i Round and red is she; 
 
 IA Such a darling never 
 
 Grew upon a tree! 
 
 Put her in the basket, 
 
 Take her to the town 
 
 She will sell in market 
 For a silver crown ! 
 
 "No, no, no!" said Rosy- 
 Little three-year-old : 
 
 "Mother wouldn't sell me, 
 Not for crowns of gold ! " 
 
 IBiaf 
 
 7C^JN^J and Baby Reginald had been as usual on the Parade ground, and very 
 pleasant it was to feel the fresh wind blowing over the open downs, and very 
 amusing to see the country recruits put through their exercises. Much nicer, even 
 now in winter, than London, where they had been quartered some time ; and in spring 
 when the flowers came, it would be glorious. 
 
 But Baby must go in for his sleep, so Jennie bundled him into the "pram" and 
 trundled it off, but when nearly home someone called her. It was Mrs. Brown, who 
 stood at her door with her head wrapped in a shawl. 
 
 "I'm nigh silly with the toothache," she said. "I haven't slept all night. Will 
 you go to the chemist's and fetch me some stuff, Jennie, for Joe's away and I have 
 no one to send?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Jennie. "I'll just take Baby in and be back directly." 
 
 "The shop is by the Town Hall," said Mrs. Brown when Jennie returned. "Name 
 of Tucker, and the stuff is called toothache cure. It's sixpence. I've only got half a 
 sovereign and that's really Mrs. Gladwish's, for she lent me nine shillings when Johnnie 
 was ill, so you'll bring me the change safe, dear. They are nasty flittersome things 
 is half-sovereigns. You'll keep it safe, dear, won't you ; and it'll be nine and sixpence 
 change." - 
 
"I'll take care," said Jennie earnestly, and ran off with the "flittersome" coin 
 tightly grasped in her hand. 
 
 The Barracks were outside the town, but it wasn't far down the street to the 
 Town Hall, and there close by, Jennie's quick eyes soon saw the chemist's shop, with 
 "Tucker" in big golden letters over it. 
 
 There were no customers there when she entered, nor was Mr. Tucker himself 
 present, but a thin, pale, red-haired boy looked over the counter at her. 
 
 "What do you want?" he said grumpily. 
 
 "Please I want a bottle of toothache cure," answered Jennie. 
 
 The youth picked up a small packet from the counter and gave it her. 
 
 "It's sixpence," he said. 
 
 "Yes, I know," replied Jennie, handing him the half-sovereign. 
 
 He took it and apparently put it into the till. Jennie heard the little ting and 
 waited for her change, but the boy sat down and began labelling some bottles. 
 
 Jennie grew impatient. 
 
 "Please will you give me the change?" she said at last-. 
 
 "Change!" said the boy, looking up. "What change? I told you the stuff was 
 sixpence. There ain't any change." 
 
 " Oh ! but please there is," cried Jennie, consternated. " I gave you half a 
 sovereign ! " 
 
 "Haifa sovereign!" exclaimed the boy, glaring at her. "It was a sixpence thert, 
 isn't any change out of that ! " 
 
 "But it wasn't a sixpence," cried Jenny, trembling. "It wasn't indeed! It was 
 half a sovereign, and Mrs. Brown said I must have nine and sixpence change," and 
 Jennie burst into tears. 
 
 "What's the matter, Burgess?" said another voice, and Mr. Tucker himself stepped 
 from the back parlour. "What is wrong?" 
 
 "Please, sir," said the lad, "this little girl has just bought some toothache cure, 
 and gave me sixpence, and now she says it was a half-sovereign and wants nine and 
 sixpence change. Will you please look in the till, sir, and see if I made a mistake ? " 
 
 Mr. Tucker unlocked the till. There was no half-sovereign among the coins, but 
 there was a sixpence. "You must have made a mistake, my dear," he said. "You 
 had better run home, and you'll see Mother will say it was a sixpence." 
 
 "But it wasn't Mother!" sobbed Jennie. "It was Mrs. Brown, and she said it 
 was a half-sovereign and she wanted to pay 
 
 "Oh! come, come, come," interrupted Mr. Tucker, who had experience in state- 
 ments of this kind. "There, there run away home! I can't have this row in the 
 shop, or or I shall have to send for the police." 
 
Mr. Tucker had no intention of carrying out his threat, but the words were enough. 
 Jennie stared at him aghast, and then turned and fled, never stopping till she flung 
 herself into her Mother's arms, and sobbed out the whole dreadful story. 
 
 Of course they had to go and tell poor Mrs. Brown, who went paler than even 
 the toothache had made her, when she heard of the disaster. 
 
 "The boy must have took it himself," she said. "But of course they won't believe 
 you against him. Don't cry so, dearie/' she went on. "I must try and get Mrs. Glad- 
 wish to wait a bit. It ain't your fault, you poor little soul." 
 
 But Jennie couldn't let Mrs. Brown lose her money. As she went home with her 
 Mother a great resolve filled her soul. She would go and ask Mrs. Houldsworth, the 
 Captain's wife, to lend her the money, and let her pay by degrees. 
 
 "For I often earn sixpence or ninepence a week going errands and minding 
 babies," said Jennie to the lady, who had kindly come out to speak to her, "and I 
 will pay you back honest, ma'am, that I will!" 
 
 "Mother," said Mabel Houldsworth, who was with her mother, and had listened 
 to Jennie's recital with deep interest, "I've ten shillings Uncle Jack gave me. Please, 
 may I give it to Jennie?" 
 
 "You shall lend it her, dear," said Mrs. Houldsworth, "for I think Jennie will like 
 that best." 
 
 And Jennie looked up with such bright eyes of pleasure at being understood, that 
 the Captain's wife stooped and kissed her. 
 
So it was settled, and every week Jennie brought her sixpence to Mabel to pay 
 off her debt. 
 
 
 It was summer-time the world was full of flowers. One evening Jennie wheeled 
 Baby Reginald out to the fields, and there let him toddle about, while she sat down 
 to make a daisy chain. She was singing in her high, sweet, childish voice 
 
 " Butter-cups and dai sies, 
 Oh! the pret-ty flow-ers " 
 
 when suddenly a shadow fell on the grass beside her, and there stood the red-haired 
 
 chemist's boy, looking very sheepish, hold- 
 ing out his hand. She sprang to her feet, 
 the daisies falling out of her lap, and 
 stared at him in amazement. 
 
 " I've brought it back, please," he mum- 
 bled. "I'm very sorry I took it, but I 
 w r as nearly drove wild. Please, here it 
 is ! " and he pushed half a sovereign into 
 Jennie's palm. 
 
 "The half-sovereign !" she gasped. 
 "Mrs. Brown's half-sovereign." 
 
 "Yes," went on the lad, looking 
 down. "I'm very sorry, but mother was 
 ill and if we hadn't paid the rent they 
 would have turned her into the street. 
 And when you gave me the money, the 
 thought took me, and I put sixpence into 
 the till and kept the half-sovereign. I'm 
 very sorry. I'll never do it again, no not 
 if I starve first. I didn't mind starving 
 then but there was mother but she's 
 dead, and it don't matter nothing matters 
 now ! I beg your pardon, and I'm very 
 sorry, and I hope you'll forgive me some 
 day." The lad turned to go, but Jennie caught his sleeve. 
 
 "Please stop," she said. "I I don't understand this money." 
 
 "It is honest money," said the lad eagerly. "I have saved it from my wages. 
 
I was going to send it by post, 
 but Parson said for I told him, 
 'twould be more manlike to 
 bring it and ask your pardon. 
 So when I see you alone with 
 the kid, I thought I'd speak. 
 But if you could see your way 
 not to tell Mr. Tucker" 
 
 "I won't tell nobody but 
 Mother!" interrupted Jennie, 
 "and I'm so sorry your mother 
 is dead ! " 
 
 "I'm not I'm glad!" ans- 
 wered the lad. 
 
 "Glad!" echoed Jennie, 
 horrified. 
 
 "Yes," he answered. "Par- 
 son says there ain't no pain or 
 sorrow up there" he jerked his 
 head towards the sky "but she 
 had lots here. It doesn't matter 
 about me if she is all right ! 
 But I'm very much obliged to 
 you for being so kind about it, 
 and and I'll never do it again. Good-bye." And the 
 lad again turned to go. But Jennie was not going to let him go away like that. 
 
 "Please come and see Mother," she said. "I'm sure she will want to see you 
 and she's so nice you'll like her!" 
 
 The boy gave a queer kind of laugh as he looked at Jennie. 
 
 "I b'lieve it's true what Parson says about the angels!" he said, in a choky voice. 
 " Yes, dear, I'll come some day ! " 
 
 And so he did one evening after dark, with a great bunch of cowslips he had 
 walked a long way to gather for Jennie, and after that Willy Burgess spent more 
 evenings up at the Barracks than anywhere else. 
 
 M. A. Hoyer. 
 
;fiepfune, f^e lOog of ft>e 
 
 c\ rSTTUS^JZ lived on the beach, and he had 
 <^\ no home in particular, though there were 
 at least fifty houses where he was always wel- 
 come. He was a very independent fellow, but 
 he had many friends ; for everybody at Beach- 
 over liked him, and had a pleasant word for 
 
 the big, shaggy, brown dog, who was so interested in everything, and so very busy, 
 though so far as anybody could see he had really nothing whatever to do. 
 
 He had no master, and nobody knew where he came from, but, as he was 
 himself quite as ignorant as the rest of the world, this did not trouble him at all. 
 There he was, and that was all about it; and no dog in England was happier, or 
 in his own opinion more full of business. He was busy from morning to night 
 attending to everybody's affairs but his own. Not a boat could be launched without 
 his assistance; not a child have its first lesson in paddling unless he were there to 
 run into the sea beside it, and bark encouragement. Now, there were many boats 
 drawn up on the shingle at Beachover, and crowds of children always arriving from 
 hot, dusty inland homes, where there was no sea to paddle in ; so that Neptune often 
 knew he was wanted in half a dozen places at once, and did his best to be in all of 
 them, too; for he was a conscientious dog, and hated to disappoint anybody. 
 
 And then there were the people who were always throwing things into the sea, 
 in order that other four-footed people might fetch them out again. Neptune privately 
 thought this rather silly on their part; but he was quite ready to humour them; and 
 he loved the rapid plunge into the water, and the excitement of seizing the stick or 
 whatever it might be and carrying it back in triumph. Perhaps, after all, they threw 
 it in so often out of pure good nature, just to amuse him ! People were odd some- 
 times, and it was quite impossible for a busy dog, who had plenty of other things to 
 think about, to understand all their whims and fancies. 
 
 Children generally loved Neptune, for he was very gentle with them, and let 
 them roll him over and pull him about just as they pleased. It was, therefore, the 
 more remarkable that Mary and Maggie and Johnny should be afraid of him, and 
 scream and shrink back if he so much as looked in their direction. He couldn't 
 understand it at all ; he had always done his best for these disagreeable children, and 
 
A Dav 
 
 _/ 
 
 at t K e ^Seaside 
 
the very first day he observed them on the beach just pinned up, ready to paddle 
 he had hurried up to say how glad he was to see them, and could he be of any use ? 
 " Go away, naughty dog," Mary cried. " Oh ! oh ! he'll bite ! " wailed Johnny. 
 Maggie said nothing; but she ran a little way off, and then turned and threw a 
 pebble at him. It was a large pebble, and she threw it as hard as ever she could. 
 
 It did not hit him, but Neptune was very much hurt for all that : he slunk 
 away, looking so sad and crestfallen that to see him you would have thought he 
 was the person in fault, and not Maggie. 
 
 But he bore no malice, and would gladly have gone into the sea with 
 Johnny, who, being a very little fellow, was afraid of the waves, and wanted a 
 great deal of encouragement. But when he barked, the boy screamed; and when 
 he ran up to see what all the noise was about, Nurse ordered him back so 
 sternly that he thought he had better go at once, though he knew perfectly 
 well he had done nothing to deserve such treatment. Neptune had never been so 
 unhappy in his life before, and for a day or two he hardly made a new acquaintance 
 on the beach, so afraid was he of again finding himself repulsed. 
 
 Now, little Johnny was still rather afraid of the water; but Nurse had dropped 
 asleep, and as his sisters were too intent on their own affairs to attend to him, 
 he crept out along the breakwater to fill his pail. The wood was so slimy that 
 it was with difficulty he kept his footing; still he managed to get some distance 
 
 deep on either side of him, when suddenly he slipped, 
 The children's shrieks woke Nurse with a start, but 
 there were few people near the spot, and the 
 tide was running strong. What was to be done ? 
 
 Oh, for a boat! for someone 
 
 Then, all at once, a shaggy, brown dog 
 tore down the shingle, and plunged into the 
 water. Neptune had rushed to the rescue, 
 and after a few breathless moments, little 
 Johnny was safe on the shore. Oh, what 
 a fuss they made about Neptune 
 then ! and how pleased the good 
 t-jy^a dog was to find himself no longer 
 
 repulsed! They gave him a 
 
 splendid collar, with his name on it, and the date on which he saved Johnny ; and 
 when next you are at Beachover, and see it, you will think of this story of Neptune, 
 the dog of the beach, and know how true it all is. Evelyn Fletcher. 
 
 out, and the water was 
 
 and fell headlong into the sea. 
 
 
Doing ;Goff?in<j. 
 
 OSVlfMY would not learn his 
 lessons. He wouldn't do 
 his sums, he upset the ink over 
 his geography book, and smashed 
 his slate. He tore a leaf out of 
 his grammar and made a paper 
 boat of it. He ought to have been punished, but 
 he wasn't, because his Mamma thought that dear 
 Tommy must be ill or he wouldn't behave so badly; 
 so, thinking the fresh air would be good for him, she asked him to pick her a bunch 
 of buttercups out of the meadow, but Tommy said he would- rather not he didn't 
 want to do anything ever again. 
 
 Tommy was not a bad little boy generally, but sometimes 
 the idle fairy, who is no bigger than a grain of mustard-seed, 
 though very strong, sat in his ear and whispered naughty things 
 to him. He threw all his lesson-books in a heap on the school- 
 room floor, and went out in 
 the orchard, where he ate 
 seven big apples one after the 
 other, and lay on his back 
 looking up at the apple-trees, 
 and trying to feel glad that 
 he had had his own way. 
 Presently he sighed. / -^^L ^ 4 ^"^f^ 
 
 "What do you /r// \ ~ ^ /rXSs, ^i///////Vi, 
 
 / nill/lli! A \J /////// \ . w 
 
 want?" said a voice, 
 and Tommy saw a little 
 red-cheeked man in 
 a green cap, swinging 
 on one of the apple 
 boughs and looking at 
 him. 
 
"I only want to do nothing," whined Tommy; "it's very hard they 
 won't let me.'' 
 
 "Oh, if that's all," said the little man, "come with me," and taking 
 Tommy's hand, he led him through a convenient little door which opened 
 in the trunk of the apple-tree. It led straight into the most beautiful 
 garden in the world. 
 
 "Now then," said the little man, "do nothing as hard 
 as you like." And he plumped Tommy down on a grassy 
 bank. 
 
 Presently a troop of merry children came by, with balls 
 and hoops. Tommy jumped up to catch a golden ball that 
 rolled his way. 
 
 "Lie down, sir/' said the little man, for all the world 
 as though he had been a dog, Tommy 
 thought; "you wanted to do nothing, remember!" 
 "I meant no lessons," said Tommy. 
 "You didn't say so," said the little man. 
 "Besides, all those children have done their 
 
 lessons, or else they would not be allowed to stay here." 
 Some more children came by riding on white ponies. 
 One pony had no rider. Tommy started up. It would 
 be lovely to ride that long-tailed pretty little pony. 
 
 "Lie down, sir," said the Apple-Man 
 crossly; "you came here to do nothing and 
 I'm going to see that you do it." 
 
 "I am doing something anyhow," said 
 Tommy suddenly. "I'm sitting down." 
 
 "All right," said the Apple-man; "we'll 
 soon settle that"; and a strong hook sud- 
 denly caught Tommy by the back of his clothes and hung 
 him up in the air. 
 
 "Now you are not doing anything, anyway," said the little man; "the hook is 
 doing the work." 
 
 Imagine being hung up by a hook just out of reach of everything, while long 
 processions of little green men came and offered you all the things you wanted most 
 in the world cricket-bats and ferrets, paint-boxes and hard-bake, guinea-pigs, catapults, 
 and white mice, marbles, buns, and sheaves of letters with valuable foreign stamps on 
 them. Tommy cried with rage, but the little Apple-Man only laughed and kept saying 
 
"How do you like doing nothing, eh! jolly, isn't it?" 
 
 Then he saw his Mother coming along the path, and to his horror he saw that a 
 leopard was slinking after her. He called aloud, but she did not hear. 
 
 "Oh, let me go and drive the leopard away," he cried to the little green man; 
 "it will eat my Mammy I know it will. Oh, Mammy, Mammy!" but she did not 
 hear, and the little man said, "Oh, nonsense! if you haven't got the pluck to master 
 a simple addition sum, you can't master a leopard, you know"; but Tommy struggled 
 so hard that the hook gave way and he fell with a bounce on the orchard grass. He 
 rushed off to find his Mother. To his delight she was safe, and there was no leopard 
 about in the house or garden. He threw his arms round her neck. "Mammy," he 
 said, "I do love you so. I'll learn everything and do everything you tell me." 
 
 "Ah!" thought his Mother, "the fresh air has done him good." 
 
 But it was not the fresh air; it was the little Apple-Man. 
 
 E. N. 
 
 EEP bo, peep bo !" 
 Calls out laughing little Flo, 
 First on left and then on right, 
 In a twinkling out of sight. 
 
 Like a flash of lightning, she 
 Flits from place to place, you see 
 And her voice you only hear 
 Calling "Peep bo !" far and near. 
 
 Oh, it is "such jolly fun" 
 Getting darling Dad "to run" 
 Here and there and all around 
 While she's nowhere to be found. 
 
 "Peep bo, peep bo!" 
 
 With a little fairy Flo. 
 
 How are you to guess, oh dear! 
 
 Whether she's far off or near? 
 
 M. Hedderwick Browne. 
 
and ffie 
 
 "Marjory Daw, Marjory Daw, 
 Cried when the mouse in the bucket she saw." 
 
 cr-HUS sang teasing Tommy, as he swayed himself backwards and forwards on the 
 J~ arm of the old arm-chair in the nursery. Poor little Marjory! It was quite 
 true : she had cried because Nurse would drown the mouse who had been so foolish 
 as to venture into the trap set for him. Marjory loved the dear little mice, with their 
 bright black eyes, and often fed them when Nurse was not near to scold. One night 
 she hid a piece of cake at tea-time, and after she had been put to bed and left alone, 
 scattered the crumbs upon the floor, and whispered softly, " Come, dear micey mousies, 
 
 I've a treat for you to-night." 
 
 In a short time the mice came out, but Marjory 
 noticed that her favourite was missing. This parti- 
 cular mouse was a very big fat fellow, and 
 because he was so much bigger and fatter 
 than the other mice, Marjory had named 
 him "Uncle Adam" after her great-uncle 
 Adam, who was very big and stout. 
 
 She was sorry he should miss the treat 
 of the cake, but it couldn't be helped, and 
 so she turned over in bed, and went to sleep. 
 When she awoke in the morning she 
 heard Nurse in the next room telling Tommy 
 she had caught a mouse. Marjory was 
 very excited, and wondered whether she 
 would be allowed to have the mouse 
 to play with. So she tumbled out of 
 bed, and ran just as she was into the 
 nursery. "Oh, Nursie," she said, "have 
 you really caught a dear little mouse? 
 May I see him?" 
 
 "Yes, Miss Marjory, I have, and 
 he'll soon be wishing he wasn't caught. 
 When I've given you your breakfast I'll 
 put him in the bucket and drown him ! " 
 
"Oh, no, Nursie, dear Nursie, please don't." 
 
 Just at that moment enterprising Tommy discovered the mousetrap and set it 
 on the table. 
 
 "Oh," shrieked Marjory, "it's Uncle Adam it's dear Uncle Adam! Oh, don't 
 drown him please don't!" 
 
 "Why," said Nurse, "what on earth do you mean by Uncle Adam in the 
 mouse-trap ? " 
 
 Marjory was too much distressed to explain, and could only sob, and beg to have 
 Uncle Adam released. But Nurse was deaf to all her entreaties and, to end the matter 
 there and then, popped the mouse, trap and all, into the bucket and carried it 
 away downstairs. 
 
 Marjory wept all the time she was being dressed, and would eat no breakfast, so 
 grieved was she at the fate of poor Uncle Adam. And now just as she was beginning 
 to recover a little, that naughty Tommy must needs begin to tease her. 
 
 "You wicked, cruel boy," she said. "I don't love you at all, and I wish you were 
 put in the bucket instead of my poor Uncle Adam." As Tommy only laughed and 
 teased all the more, she flew into a violent temper and stamped her foot with rage. 
 
 "Oh! oh! oh! you you horrid boy! I'll runaway and never speak to you again 
 I will," and off she tore out of the nursery as hard as she could run. 
 
 Now Tommy did feel a little uncomfortable, for he was very fond of his little 
 sister, and he knew he must have teased her most unmercifully for gentle little 
 Marjory to grow so angry. Still, he wasn't going to make friends, so he whistled 
 "Tommy Dodd" very much out of tune, and began to play with his soldiers. 
 
 Nurse was busy that morning, and after a time the nursery bell rang. Tommy 
 knew that meant Mother was ready to hear him his lessons, so he gathered up his 
 books and went down with rather a doleful air. He was thinking so much about 
 Marjory that he really could not attend to his lessons, and so Mother was angry and 
 made him stay in the room with her all the morning, re-writing his exercises. When 
 he had finished it was nearly dinner-time, and so Mother said, "Marjory must bring 
 her book after dinner, Tommy I have no time to teach her now. How was it she 
 did not come down to see me this morning?" 
 
 "She was crying all about a dead mouse," said Tommy, "and then I think she 
 went to Nurse when I came to you." 
 
 Tommy said this in all good faith, for he never dreamt that Marjory would really 
 run away. When he went up to Nurse to be tidied for dinner he quite expected 
 to see Marjory waiting to kiss and be friends, but there was no one in the nursery 
 except Nurse. "Where's Marjory ?" she said at once. 
 
 "Why, I thought she was with you, Nurse," replied the boy. 
 
Nurse and Tommy looked at each other in 
 alarm. "Do you mean to say, Master Tommy, 
 that she hasn't been with you all the morning ? " 
 
 "Well," said Tom reluctantly, "she was here with me until just before Mother 
 rang, and then she ran out of the room, and I thought she was with you. Perhaps 
 she went to Cook," he added, brightening, for Marjory was a great favourite of Cook's. 
 
 Tommy tore down to the kitchen, nearly upsetting Mary, who was carrying the 
 vegetables into the dining-room. "Cook," he shouted, "have you got Marjory?" 
 
 "Lor" bless me, no, Master Tommy why?" 
 
 "Because," gasped Tommy, "she's lost." 
 
 "Lost!" shrieked Cook, and back came Mary to see what was the matter. 
 
 It was quite true Marjory was lost, and soon poor, wretched Tommy had con- 
 fessed all he knew, not sparing himself in the least, and having finished, he leaned his 
 head against his Mother's knee and cried aloud in his misery. 
 
 But what had become of Marjory all this time? When she rushed out of the 
 nursery she fully meant to run away and never speak to bad, wicked Tommy any more. 
 She had no idea where she should go to, but she ran downstairs and out through the 
 garden, away to the fields beyond. She ran and ran without stopping, until her little 
 legs were so tired that she could go no farther. "Now," said she to herself, "I have 
 run quite a hundred miles, so I will sit down and think for awhile." 
 
 Accordingly she sat down at the foot of a haycock and the first thing she thought 
 
of was her breakfast, which she had not eaten. She wished she had that breakfast 
 now, but it was no use wishing, and so, as her head ached with the sun, she thought 
 she would lie down a little while, to rest her head and be the better able to think. 
 
 After a while she forgot how tired and hungry she was, for she saw, to her great 
 delight, a dear tiny mouse push its little head up through the hay and look at her 
 inquiringly. It was very much smaller than any of Marjory's other mice-friends, but 
 otherwise it did not differ much in appearance. 
 
 Marjory watched it for a time and then said softly, "Don't be afraid, Mrs. Mousey, 
 I'm Marjory." ; 
 
 "Oh, indeed;" replied the mouse, "then I've heard of you frequently from some 
 friends of mine who live in a house near here. They have told me what lovely feasts 
 you give them, and I am delighted to make your acquaintance." 
 
 Then Marjory told Mrs. Field (this was the name of the mouse) all about the 
 sad death of poor Uncle Adam, and how she ran away. Mrs. Field listened attentively 
 and was much affected, but when Marjory wound up her narrative by saying, "And 
 now, Mrs. Field, I do want my dinner," she was rather perplexed. 
 
 "You see, you are such a big person to provide for," she said, "and I don't 
 suppose you would care to become a mouse, eh ? " 
 
 "Oh, I should love to be a mouse," said Marjory, "but it isn't possible, is it?" 
 
 "Nothing in the world easier," replied Mrs. Field. "You have only to say 
 
 "Jimmery, jammer}', jockery, jock, 
 Fly away boots and fly away frock. 
 Smishery, smashery, smoshery, schmouse, 
 Turn me into a little brown mouse 
 
 and you will find the thing is done." 
 
 Marjory repeated the words of the spell, and had hardly finished before her body 
 began to shrink up, her clothes fell away, and she began to run about on all fours. 
 "Now," said the mouse, "I will take you to my nest and give you some food." 
 
 The nest was close by, and Marjory was at once introduced to Mrs. Field's three 
 babies such funny wee pink things, that might have slept comfortably in Mother's 
 thimble. When she had admired them sufficiently, Mrs. Field brought her her dinner, 
 which consisted of three grains of corn and a piece of crust. 
 
 After dinner her new friend suggested that they should go and pay a visit of con- 
 dolence to the bereaved relations of poor Uncle Adam. Marjory eagerly consented, 
 and the two started off together. They soon reached the house. Mrs. Field led 
 her to a hole in the pantry and disappeared, Marjory followed, and soon found herself 
 in the home of the mice. The spectacle which presented itself was a melancholy one. 
 Eight or nine mice were sitting in a ring on the floor, each with his pocket-hand- 
 
kerchief to his eyes and his tail tied up with crape. Mrs. Field explained the object 
 of their visit, and the mice all bowed solemnly. 
 
 "And how does poor Mrs. Adam bear her loss?" said Marjory. 
 
 "Alas! she lies curled up in her nest and will neither eat nor drink." 
 
 Marjory glanced in the direction of a ball of rags and paper from which she could 
 see the tip of Mrs. Adam's tail protruding. 
 
 Now, the mention of food and drink had suggested to the afflicted family -the 
 necessity of offering their visitors some refreshment, so they laid the cloth and spread 
 upon it a sumptuous repast, consisting of scraps of bread and cheese and a candle-end. 
 Considering all things, the hosts managed to make a fairly good meal; in fact, they 
 gobbled so fast that Marjory could not keep up with them, and merely got a wee 
 
 scrap as her share. When everything was eaten the mice all licked their paws quite 
 clean, and then sat down again to weep. Marjory was very sorry for them, but after 
 a time she became rather tired of listening to sniffs and sobs, so she thought she would 
 go and see what Tommy was doing and if he were sorry for having teased her; so, 
 whispering to Mrs. Field that she would soon be back, she scampered off, crept through 
 a hole, and was soon in the nursery. But the nursery was empty, and Marjory was 
 scampering off again when a lovely odour assailed her nose. She stopped, and, peeping 
 into the cupboard, saw the mouse-trap in which the unfortunate Uncle Adam had 
 been caught. A beautiful piece of cheese was hanging temptingly inside, and Marjory 
 looked at it and longed. "I think Uncle Adam must have been a little clumsy," said 
 she, "to be caught so easily. I'm quite sure / could take that piece of cheese with- 
 out being caught; I'll just try." So she crept cautiously into the trap, but no sooner 
 
had her little nose touched the cheese than down went the trap with a bang, and she 
 was caught. Here was a fine plight to be in! Presently Nurse would come and take 
 her away and drown her, and she would never be able to make her understand that 
 it was Marjory who was being dropped into the bucket. At the thought of her 
 terrible fate if she could not succeed in freeing herself from the trap, Marjory made 
 one violent effort, and behold! the sides of the trap gave way, and Marjory sat up, 
 rubbing her eyes, and pushing away the hay that had tumbled all over her. 
 
 Just then she heard Tommy's voice cry out, "There she is! there she is !" and the 
 next moment he was kneeling by her side, hugging and kissing her. Up came Mother, 
 and then came Nurse, and Cook also appeared in sight. How pleased everyone was that 
 she was found ! Marjory began to feel a little ashamed of herself for having run away 
 from all these kind people, but after awhile she said, "Oh, Mother, I'm so hungry, 
 I dopant my dinner; for you know the mouse only gave me three grains of corn 
 and a piece of crust, and I didn't have much to eat at Mrs. Uncle Adam's." 
 
 Everyone tried hard not to laugh, and on the way home Marjory told them all 
 about her adventures in Mouseland. "Wasn't it a good thing I broke the trap, 
 Nurse," she said. 
 
 "And what a very good thing you happened to be caught in the trap," said 
 Mother, "or you might have chosen to remain a mouse; and what should I have done 
 without my little girl ? " 
 
 After Marjory was in bed that night, Tommy went to his Mother and asked how 
 much money he had in his money-box. Mother looked in the box, and then announced 
 "Twopence-halfpenny, Tommy." 
 
 "Do you think if I saved up until Christmas I should have enough to buy- 
 Here he whispered something in Mother's ear. " Yes," she said, " I think you would." 
 
 Of course I don't know what Tommy whispered in his Mother's ear, but I do 
 know that when Christmas Day came at last, Marjory was awakened by Tommy very 
 early in the morning to receive his present, and you can imagine her delight when it 
 proved to be a pretty wooden cage containing two dear little white mice. Marjory 
 could not speak for pleasure, but she put her arms round Tommy's neck and gave him 
 a good hug, and I believe Tommy was almost as pleased as Marjory herself. 
 
 When the postman came that morning he brought a large square parcel for 
 Marjory. It was a beautiful book, and on the first page was written : 
 
 " To the little girl who cried because Uncle Adam was drowned. From her friends, 
 
 THE HOUSE MICE." 
 
 "How kind of Uncle Adam!" said Mother. 
 
 "But it isn't from Uncle Adam," said Marjory; "it's from my mice. How nice of 
 them to remember me !" L. L. Weedon. 
 

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