Chapter 7

When to-morrow dawns, Elsie can hardly wait to be dressed, so anxious is she to go to Alfy and present the soldier doll and the rest of the things.

Nurse is so slow this morning, Elsie really cannot wait; and whilst Nurse turns to the drawer to pull out her clean frock, Elsie toddles quickly out of the nursery, and runs to Alfy's room. She can hardly reach the door, but manages somehow to stand on tip-toe and turn the handle.

"There, Alfy! See!" she cries gayly, as she runs up to his cot. "All these are for you!"

Alfy is better, and quite able to enjoy his presents, which are spread out on his white quilt, and Elsie stands by, quite satisfied with his pleasure.

"What have _you_ got?" he asks at last, as, somewhat tired, he leans back on his pillows.

"Nothing," says Elsie promptly, "'cause I have the fun of giving, you know."

A simple answer, but one in which a great truth is hidden.

Are there not, in these hard times, some children who might learn the "fun," or rather the blessing, of giving?

EASTERN TRAVEL.

On we file in a winding Caravan, Caravan made of children and chairs. Bold Arabs are we, Adventurers free, The chairs are our Camels: dried figs are our wares.

Over the hot desert sands we are travelling, Travelling on to Cairo gates. Rugs gathered in lumps Give our Camels their humps, And our supper is made of a few dried dates.

Sparingly must we drink of the waterskin, Waterskin made of a nursery jug. For the water must last Till the desert is past We must measure it out in the doll's little mug.

Here's the Simoom, with the blast of a hurricane, Hurricane whirling the sand in drifts. We must lie down beside Our Camels, and hide Till the storm blows past, and the darkness lifts.

Look! Yonder afar are Cairo's Minarets, Minarets glittering gold in the sun. A few leagues more And our travels are o'er, And the journey of Camel and rider is done.

F. W. Home.

TEDDIE, THE HELPER.

"I'll give you two sovereigns for the five. It's a good price, but I mean it."

"I've told you I can't part with them," was Teddie Braham's reply to this offer of his schoolfellow, Gerald Keith, to buy his pet rabbits. "What, sell little Stripe, and Pickles, and old Brownie, and Spot, and Longears! I should be very badly off before I should do such a thing."

"Perhaps you think I haven't got the money. See for yourself," and Gerald displayed three glittering sovereigns.

"Are they all yours?" Teddie asked in amazement.

"Yes. It was my birthday yesterday; mother and father each gave me one, and Uncle Dick the other. You've only to say the word and two of them are yours. You have such a lot of pets, you won't miss your rabbits."

But Teddie was not to be tempted. He shook his head, smiling a little scornfully. Almost instantly, however, the smile changed into a look of alarm. One of the coins slipped from its owner's hand, rolled along the pathway, and before either of the boys could stop it, fell down the grating of a drain. For a moment Gerald, too, looked pale; then he broke into a laugh.

"It can't be helped," he said, "and there's plenty more where that came from. The worst of it is, mother told me not to carry the money about with me; but she'll give me another sovereign quick enough if I ask her. My father, you know, is one of the richest men about here."

He said it boastingly, and Teddy, having left his schoolfellow where the road branched off to their respective homes, went on his way, on that sunshiny June afternoon, thinking, rather seriously, how pleasant it must be to be as rich as Gerald. True, he had a great deal to make him happy; but, though comfortably off, his parents were not rich, and Teddie's mind dwelt longingly on the pony, the beautiful little tricycle, and handsome gold watch, of which Gerald was the proud possessor.

On reaching home, Teddie went straight to the drawing-room to find his mother. But a visitor was with her, and he had to wait before he could ask her to put on her hat and go out in the garden with him. He took up a book and sat down quietly. In a few minutes, however, his attention was caught by the conversation between the two ladies.

Mrs. Taylor, the visitor, told a sad story of a working-man, who, in consequence of an accident, had been unable to earn a penny for several weeks. His wife was also in bad health, and she and her seven young children were in great distress. Mrs. Taylor was trying to collect some money to relieve the poor woman till her husband was again able to work, and she asked Mrs. Braham for a subscription. To Teddy's surprise, she answered,--

"I am sorry that I cannot help you in the matter."

"But the smallest sum will be acceptable," said Mrs. Taylor; "five shillings, or even half-a-crown."

"I cannot even give you half-a-crown," and Teddy's quick ears heard his mother's voice falter as she said the words.

"Then," said Mrs. Taylor coldly, "I suppose it is no good to ask you to give your usual yearly donation towards the summer treat for the Sunday-school children?"

"It pains me to refuse you, but I must."

An uncomfortable silence followed. Mrs. Taylor rose to go, but Mrs. Braham motioned her to resume her seat.

"This must seem so strange to you," she said, "that I feel I must explain. My husband has had a sudden and very serious loss. He is now a comparatively poor man, and it would not be right for me to give, as I have hitherto been pleased and thankful to do."

Teddy could not bear to see tears in his mother's eyes. He went and stood by her side while Mrs. Taylor expressed her sympathy, and also her sorrow at having wounded Mrs. Braham's feelings. But Mrs. Braham said, with a smile, that no apology was needed; and then, having seen her visitor to the hall-door, she returned to the drawing-room, and took Teddie on her knee. He was eleven years old, but that was still his favorite seat. Very gently she put back the hair from his forehead and kissed him, and then suddenly she bent her head and burst into a fit of weeping. Wise Teddie only pressed his arms more closely round her neck, and said nothing till the tears began to stop. Then he whispered,--

"Won't you tell me all about it, mother?"

"Dear, this is the first real trouble you have known," she answered, "and I am so sorry that your young, happy life should be clouded. If we could keep the knowledge from you we would, but that is impossible."

Then she told him how his father had become surety for a friend, and explained that this meant a promise to pay a certain sum of money in place of the friend, if that friend should find himself unable to pay it. Mr. Braham had made a promise to pay a large amount on this condition, and it had fallen on him to fulfil his word.

"Is father _quite_ poor now?" Teddie asked; "as poor as the people who live in the cottages in the lane?"

"No, dear; but we shall have to be very careful. I shall send Mary away and keep only one servant. In order to remain in the house we must let some of our rooms, and this year, at any rate, there will be no holiday for us at the seaside."

"I don't mind it for myself, mother," said Teddie lovingly, "I only mind it for you."

"But, darling, do you think you know what it means?" she asked. "No presents, no treats, very few pleasures of any kind. Can you meet all this patiently and bravely? If you do you will carry out Christ's command: 'Bear ye one another's burdens,' for you will be helping your father and me to bear _our_ burden."

"I will try;" and though when Teddie raised his head from its resting-place his eyes were wet, his face still wore a look of brave resolve.

It was a promise which he at once began to carry out in deed. It would be hard to part with his rabbits, hard to go to Gerald and say he would accept his offer after the somewhat scornful way in which he had before refused it. But he did not know _how_ much the sacrifice would cost until he opened the hutch, and out came the little animals for their evening meal. He took Stripe in his arms, and Brownie put her front paws on his knee, as if jealous of the caresses Stripe was getting. He felt he could not let them go. But the feeling only lasted a few minutes, and he hadn't a single regret when next day he placed two sovereigns in his mother's hand.

She could only kiss him and thank him. Not on any account would she have told him that had she known his intention she should not have allowed him to carry it out.

I am glad to say that in a few years Mr. Braham fully regained the money he had lost. But in better circumstances Teddie did not cease those loving acts of kindness and unselfishness which he tried so hard to practise for his mother and father's sake in their time of difficulty, and he still finds ways and means in which to obey that "law" of Christ: "Bear ye one another's burdens."

OUR BOAT.

Ferdy and I quarrel sometimes, but not always. We don't like quarrelling, and yet somehow we can't help it; and Ferdy _will_ want everything his own way because he is the elder, and that isn't fair. I ought to have my way sometimes, I think.

Mother gave us a boat not long ago--a beautiful boat, with a sail and a dingy and everything complete, and it was to be between us. So we took off our shoes and stockings and went down by the quay to sail our boat. It sailed as nicely as any boat could, and we were so pleased with it, but in spite of that we began to quarrel. You see, Ferdy wanted to call the boat the "Amy," after Amy Stevens, a little girl we have met on the beach this summer. Ferdy thinks her as pretty as a fairy, but I don't, though she's very jolly sometimes, and can play at anything. Well, Ferdy _would_ have the boat called "Amy," and I wanted it to be "Isabel," after mother, because she gave us the boat, and we love her better than any one else in the world. And then we quarrelled. I suppose we made a noise--quarrelling people generally do--for suddenly we found that Amy was watching and listening, and then Ferdy turned very red and did not say anything for some minutes.

"Look here, Alf," he said at last; "I'll give you my share of the boat, and then you shall call it what you like."

"Oh, no!" I said, "you must have half--and so you shall, for if you give me your share I'll give you mine."

So we settled it very nicely in that way, and called the boat "Isabel Amy;" and all the afternoon Amy Stevens played that she was the captain and we were the sailors.

"BLIND TOMMY."

What a funny name for a dog! But I will tell you how he happened to get it. Blind Charlie was his master, and he was the happiest old man I ever knew.

Charlie used to sit reading the blind people's Bible, beside a sheltering wall, at the Royal Academy in Edinburgh, Blind Tommy, with his little pitcher in his mouth, begging for pennies. I got to know them so well that, every time I passed, Charlie allowed the dog to put his pitcher down, while I fed him with a biscuit or bun. I made him a nice warm coat, too, for the cold days.

One day I missed them both, and I went at once to Charlie's lodgings. Here I found that on his way home one dark night, Charlie had been knocked down by a carriage, and had his leg broken. He had been carried home, and the neighbors had been very kind and had got him a doctor. "But, oh, ma'am," he said, "there's no nurse like Tommy! He sits close beside me, and seems to know everything I want. If I am thirsty, I say, 'Tommy, some water,' and off he goes with his little pitcher to the bucket, fills it, and carries it so carefully back to me."

THE GHOST IN THE GARDEN.

Harry Peters had to cross the common one evening in the dark, and, though his father had sent him to post a letter, he could not get on, for he saw a ghost, as he fancied, in the garden near the lane, and his hair stood almost on end. There it was, rising white and spectral before him with outstretched, slowly moving arms. Harry uttered a piercing shriek, for the boys at school had told him some dreadful ghost stories, and he quite expected to be carried off by those ghostly beckoning arms. His father was very vexed that he had lost the post, and would not believe he had seen a ghost.

"There are no such things," he said; "light the lantern and we'll drive your ghost away. Some silly boy has been frightening you."

Harry's big brother declared he would pay the boy out for shamming ghosthood, and so the three went together, followed by the dog, barking loudly.

And what do you think Harry's ghost turned out to be? The white shirt belonging to the cobbler, which his wife had hung up to dry in their back garden.

Harry has left off believing in ghosts now; and if ever he sees one again, he intends to go right up to it, and find out all about it, instead of running away.

THE ARTLESS ANGLERS.

I

Three little trots made up their minds That they would fishing go, For there were fish within the brook, Their brothers told them so. Some pins and thread and withes they took, Likewise a lump of dough.

II

The eldest of these little trots Was seven if a day, And deem'd herself a trusty guide Because she knew the way That led down to the waterside, Where fish for catching lay!

III

Each quickly into proper shape Bent up the fatal pin, And tied it carefully with thread Upon a withy thin. Then little Bell the eldest said: "We're ready to begin!"

IV

They cast their lines into the brook, And watch'd with careful eyes In case some finny feeder might Be taken by surprise, And tempted be to have a bite, Not being overwise!

V

For hours they sat, but sport had none, Yet ceas'd not watch to keep; Then little Bell remark'd I think They must be all asleep! Their hopes at last began to sink, The eldest wish'd to weep!

VI

Still on they sat most patiently, Scarce murm'ring at their fate, When all at once cried little Bell, "Stupidity I hate! I see the reason very well, We quite forgot the bait!"

VII

Too true! the dough lay there untouch'd Among the grass and mould; And now 'twas time they home should go, As chimes distinctly told; Moreover rain came on, and so They only caught a cold!

E. Oxenford.

A WALK IN COLOMBO.

Colombo, as most of my readers will remember, is in Ceylon, that beautiful island lying to the south of India.

You would think the people very funny, seeing them for the first time. The man in the picture, who is walking with the little English girl, is a Hindu, and probably you have often seen pictures like him. Nearly all the servants and laborers in Colombo are Hindus from Madras, but the natives of the island are called Cingalese, and are very different in every way.

The men wear their hair in a big knob at the back like a woman, and on the top of that is fastened a comb, shaped like a half-circle, with the ends pointed to the face. The whole costume is a mixture of native and English fashions. The usual hat is a little round felt one, such as you may see any day on boys at home, and which you have perhaps yourself. The next garment is also what you might expect to see on a man; that is, a cloth coat, or rather shooting-jacket; but after that comes a long flowing skirt, which you certainly would not see on any man or boy at home. The Cingalese men bestow a good deal of attention on this skirt. Poorer people have it made in white or blue calico, but others use very handsome India stuffs, which must have cost a lot of money.

The heat in Colombo is very great, and the roads are very dusty. No wonder the people often feel hot and tired, and are very glad to lie down and take a little sleep when they can. They also cool themselves by standing in some pools near the town. The cattle do the same, and you can just see the heads of the buffaloes and of the men above the level of the water. They stand that way for an hour or two, perfectly still; but the little children who go in keep jumping about and splashing each other.

You may see in this picture the fruit shops in the native quarter of the town, and bunches of bananas or plantains hanging up. Other shops sell grain, which the people chiefly live upon. It is nothing unusual to see the grain merchant lying fast asleep on the top of his store of rice or other grain. Outside many houses stands a wooden bedstead, and the old people lie there asleep a great part of the day. The Cingalese are said to be very kind to old people, which is a very good trait in their character. I wish they were a little kinder to their animals, but they never seem to think that poor bullocks have any feeling at all. The carts in Colombo are drawn by bullocks, and they have a very hard time of it. The rope used as reins is passed through a hole bored through their nostrils, and a heavy beam of wood rests on their backs. Worse still, they are branded all over, not only with the owner's initials, but with all sorts of fanciful ornamental figures; the cruel people who do this never caring what the unfortunate animals suffer while it is being done. The houses are often painted outside with animals and birds in the brightest colors; and some of these wall pictures are so absurd that strangers always stop to look and laugh at them.

"Ho! 'Hamed! _dear_ 'Hamed, you _will_ let me ride Prince Albert Victor, won't you?"

The speaker was a little, brown, black-eyed boy, with dark tangled locks under his old red fez, and clad in a dirty white cotton garment, who was coaxing a tall Egyptian lad in a very irresistible way. Children coax much the same all the world over, to get their way, be they white or black or brown. In this case little Hassan got his. And what was it he wanted?

'Hamed, an Egyptian donkey-boy, was leaving home early in the morning as usual, leaving his dim, dirty quarters in the native part of Cairo for the European part of the city. And with him, as usual, was going Prince Albert Victor.

Prince Albert Victor was only a donkey, a very nice, strong, well-fed Egyptian donkey, but nothing more, in spite of his grand name. But all the Cairo donkeys which stand about the streets for hire have very grand names given to them by their owners to attract the European tourists. For instance, some boy will call his donkey by an American name--such as Washington, or Yankee-doodle--that the American travellers may fancy him. Another, with a view to a Frenchman or an Englishman, will christen his animal President Carnot or Lord Salisbury. 'Hamed had called his Prince Albert Victor; for he found a royal name very popular, not only with English travellers, but with the red-coated British soldiers who pervade the streets of Cairo.

Now, little Hassan wanted, as usual, to ride Albert Victor down from his home to his habitual waiting-place in front of one of the big hotels. It was such a delight to him to thrust his bare brown feet into the stirrup-leathers (his legs were too short to reach the stirrups), and, clutching Albert Victor's bridle, and sitting very erect, to fancy himself very grand indeed as they slowly passed down the dim alleys of their native town.

It was a glorious day, such a blue sky, such a bright sun, so different from winter in our dull, foggy England, that little Elfreda felt very happy as she looked out of the hotel window on such new and strange sights.

"It seems like stories out of the Bible, mother," she cried, gazing at the Eastern dresses, the queer-looking figures, the donkeys, and the camels. For Elfreda and her mother had only lately come to Cairo for the winter, for the mother's health, and everything was still wonderful to her.

"Where shall we go to-day?" she added. "To the mosques, or through the bazaars, or out a long way into the country by the river? Quick, mother; let me call some donkey-boys, and let's be off."

"There's that little tiny boy just ridden up, he who comes every morning with the big one! I _must_ have his donkey again!"

And Elfreda clapped her hands, and cried, "'Hamed!"

There were fifty 'Hameds, donkey-boys (it is a very common name). But though several came up, they all knew that it was our friend who was called.

"See," said little Hassan (he had jumped off Albert Victor and stood behind him), "there is the same 'zit'" (English lady) "clapping again, she who hired you yesterday and the day before; and with her the little 'zit' with the long hair. Hurry, 'Hamed! I'm sure she means you!"

Hassan was right. In a few minutes Elfreda was mounted on Albert Victor, and was patting his gray neck and long ears.

"He's _such_ a nice donkey, mother; heaps nicer than the dull, tired donkeys I ride when we go to the seaside! He's got some go about him! Why, he can canter almost as nicely as my pony at home, and 'Hamed has to run to keep up with him! I should just like to take him back to England for a pet!"

"I wonder what little Hassan would say," remarked her mother. "He would miss his daily ride on Albert Victor, and I don't think he would be very happy in England in that costume. The village boys would jeer at him!"

"Well, perhaps the pony _is_ the best to ride at home, and Albert Victor here," considered Elfreda; "for certainly it _is_ very crowded and noisy for any one not used to it," she added.

For they were now in the native town, on their way to the shops, there to bargain for Oriental curiosities. It was a ceaseless delight to Elfreda. She bought slippers for her uncle, a fan for her little sister at home, and queer pots to decorate the schoolroom. Elfreda would have lingered longer, but it was now time to return to lunch at the hotel.

THE ECHO BOY.

A little girl once went home to her mother and said, "Mother, while sister and I were out in the garden, there was some boy mocking us. I was calling out 'Ho!' and the boy said, 'Ho!' So I said to him, 'Who are you?' and he answered, 'Who are you?' I said, 'Why don't you show yourself?' He said, 'Show yourself!' And I ran into the woods, but I could not find him; and I came back and said, 'If you don't come out I will throw a stone at you!' And he said, 'I will throw a stone at you!'"

So her mother said, "Ah! Nellie, if you had said, 'I love you,' he would have said, 'I love you.' If you had said, 'Your voice is sweet,' he would have said, 'Your voice is sweet.' Whatever you said to him, he would have said back to you. When you grow and get to be a woman, whatever you say to others, they will, by and by, say back to you." And her mother took her to that old text in the Scripture, "With what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again."

BE JUST BEFORE YOU ARE GENEROUS.

"Come, Kathie! It is time to go home!"

It was Mother who called: she had been sitting for the last hour under the shade of the old pier, whilst little Kathie ran hither and thither on the beach, sometimes paddling a little, sometimes building sand castles.

"Come, Kathie!" Mother called again; "it is late; come here and I will put on your shoes and socks."

Still Kathie did not move, but sat staring at the sea, but with a look in her eyes which told plainly enough that her thoughts were far away. She was as a rule a good, obedient child, but to-day she seemed almost as if she was afraid to come. Mother got up from her seat, and went towards the little one.