Chapter 20

Did the painter, dreaming In a morning hour, Catch the fairy seeming Of this fairy flower? Winning it with eager eyes From the old enchanted stories, Lingering with a long delight On the unforgotten glories Of the infant sight? Giving us a sweet surprise In Red Riding-Hood, the darling, The flower of fairy lore?

Too long in the meadow staying, Where the cowslip bends, With the buttercups delaying As with early friends, Did the little maiden stay. Sorrowful the tale for us; We, too, loiter 'mid life's flowers, A little while so glorious, So soon lost in darker hours, All love lingering on their way, Like Red Riding-Hood, the darling, The flower of fairy lore.

LÆTITIA ELIZABETH LANDON.

HOW MAGGIE PAID THE RENT.

Presence of mind is one of the rarest, as it is one of the most enviable of endowments. It is the power of instantaneously forming a judgment, and acting upon it, and includes not only moral courage, but self-possession. No matter how brave a man may be in the face of expected peril,--if he lacks presence of mind, he is helpless in a sudden emergency. But, as this quality is an ingredient of the highest courage, the bravest men invariably possess it. The presence of mind of one man has often saved thousands of lives in sudden peril, on sea or land. This is naturally enough regarded as a distinctively masculine virtue; but it is one that both sexes may profitably cultivate, as is shown by the following story. Girls as well as boys should be taught self-reliance--to depend on themselves, to think quickly and act promptly. Perhaps no emergency will arise in their lives in which the importance of such mental training shall be illustrated; but it is well to be prepared "for any fate," and the discipline which produces this virtue gives strength and symmetry to the whole intellectual organism.

* * * * *

"Is supper nearly ready, Maggie? It is time for Jack to return from his work."

The speaker was an elderly woman in a widow's garb, and the person she addressed was her granddaughter, a pleasant-looking girl, who might perhaps have been fourteen years of age.

"Yes, grandmother, it is just ready, such as it is," replied Maggie; "but I could wish poor Jack had a better meal after his hard work than what we are able to give him."

"Ay, ay, child, I wish it as much as you can; but what is to be done? Wishing will never make us rich folk, and we may be thankful if worse troubles than a poor supper do not come upon us soon."

So spoke the grandmother, and taking the spectacles from her nose, she wiped their dim glasses with her apron.

"Why, grandmother, what do you mean?" cried Maggie, looking up in alarm. "What worse troubles can be coming, think you?" And eagerly and anxiously she fixed her bright blue eyes upon her grandmother's face.

"Well," replied the old woman, "the truth is just this, Maggie: I hear that the new landlord is going to make some changes among his tenants; the cottages are all to be repaired, and the folks who can pay higher rents will stay, while those who cannot must find lodging elsewhere. And how can we ever pay a higher rent, Maggie? Even now, every penny of poor Jack's earnings is spent at the end of the week, and yet we live as cheaply as ever we can."

For a moment or two the girl's face was as perturbed and downcast as that of her grandmother's, and she bent over her knitting in silence; but by an evident effort she quickly assumed a more cheerful aspect. And advancing to the old lady's side, and placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, she said,--

"Don't fret, dear grandmother; God has cared for us so far, and he will never suffer us to want, if we put our trust in him. That's what father used to say, and what he said up to the very day of his death."

So saying, Maggie stooped and kissed the withered cheek of that father's mother, thereby enforcing, as it were, her encouraging words.

"God bless you, my child!" sobbed the old woman, returning the kiss. "You remind me of what I am too apt to forget. Yes, Maggie, your father's God is our God, and he will never forsake his people. I will wipe away these tears, and put faith in him for the future." And the grandmother dried her eyes, and rising from her low seat, said cheerfully, "Maggie, dear, go to the gate, and watch for your brother Jack. When you see him coming across the field, let me know, and I will dish up the supper, so as to have it ready."

Maggie put down her work, and passing through the low doorway of the cottage, stood presently at the little gate that separated the tiny garden from the meadow of a neighboring farmer, who turned his cattle out there to graze.

Opening the gate, Maggie leaned against it, while with one hand she shaded her eyes from the yet dazzling beams of the sinking sun, which bathed with its parting radiance the western horizon, and crimsoned the landscape around.

A moment or two she thus stood, but Jack did not appear; and wondering why he should be so late, Maggie was about to retrace her steps in order to fetch her knitting, when, from that corner of the field which by a stile communicated with the landlord's grounds, she saw a little child emerge, dressed in a bright red frock and jacket, and running heedlessly along, nearer and nearer to the cattle, which hitherto had been grazing quietly in the centre of the field.

Now, however, as the little one approached, directing her steps so as to pass them closely, they raised their heads, and a huge bull, the king and guardian of the herd, attracted doubtless and enraged by the color of the scarlet dress, bounded away from his companions, and with his savage head bent, and his tail raised, gave chase to the child, who, frightened at the bellowing of the angry beast, quickened her pace, and fled screaming towards the cottage gate, at which Maggie was standing. But the utmost speed of which the little one was capable was nothing to the long gallop of the bull, and in the first moment that Maggie witnessed the child's danger, her quick presence of mind and tender heart resolved to do what many strong men, less self-forgetful, would not have dared to attempt.

Tearing from her head a colored kerchief, which she had thrown over it before she came out, she sprang through the gateway into the meadow, and bounding lightly over the turf, in another minute she had placed herself between the fierce animal and the child. On in his headlong fury came the gigantic brute, and was about to pass Maggie, seeing only the scarlet frock just beyond, when the intrepid girl, springing forward, dashed the kerchief across his eyes, and before he had time to recover himself and recommence his pursuit, she had turned, snatched up the little one, and was running towards the cottage gate. Close behind the fugitives followed the bull, now recovered from his momentary astonishment; but Maggie's feet were winged, for she felt that through God's help she should save the child.

A few more rapid steps, and the gate was reached and barred, while Maggie tottered into the house, still carrying the child, and in the reaction of the fearful excitement, fell fainting on the floor.

Maggie's fainting fit, however, did not last long; and she was fully restored, and had told her grandmother the whole story, before Jack arrived, half an hour later.

He, too, had something to recount. On his way home from the landlord's grounds, where he had been working, he was overtaken by a young woman, who seemed in a great state of alarm. She told Jack that she was the nursery maid, and that while that afternoon she was sitting at work beneath one of the trees, with the children playing around her, one of them--little Gertrude, a child about six years old--must have slipped away from her brother and sisters unobserved; and when tea time came, and the nurse rose to bring the children home, she was nowhere to be found. The nurse had taken the other three little ones home, and had now come in search of Gertrude, fearful lest she should fall into danger of any kind.

Jack would not stop to eat his supper, after telling his own story and hearing Maggie's, but announced his intention of at once carrying the little truant lady back to her home.

So the kind-hearted youth took Gertrude in his arms, and soon conveyed her safely to the landlord's house, where she astonished every one by the childish recital of her own danger and Maggie's courage.

The next morning Gertrude's mother came down to the cottage to thank Maggie for the preservation of her darling's life, and to bring a message from her husband.

This message consisted of his grateful acknowledgments, and of the promise that Jack should be promoted to the office of assistant gardener as soon as that post was vacant (which would be in the course of a few weeks). But, best of all, the promise included also this, namely, that the widow and her grandchildren should hold the cottage rent free for the remainder of their lives.

Thus was averted, by means wholly unforeseen, the trial of poverty and want so dreaded by the old widow in her thoughts of the future; and never again was she heard to repine, or even to express a fear for herself or for those whom she loved.

DECLAMATION--FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH;

OR, THE SENTRY OF HERCULANEUM.[B]

"Dark's the night, dun's the sky with smoke; Never more my guard they'll change; Three hours ago I could crack my joke, And now e'en the thought seems strange.

"Hark! the thunder bellows loud, And the night's come down apace, And the lava flame, through its sulphurous cloud, Is ruddy on my face.

"With a crash did yon temple fall; But ever, through all the din, Shrill rose a death-wail o'er all, The vestals' screams within.

"Men are running, away, away, With tight zones up yonder street; But a soldier of Rome must stay At his post, as seems him meet.

"I remember my levying morn-- I remember my sacred vow; And I'd hold it matter of scorn In death's teeth to break it now.

"Jove! lava is all around-- It nears me with scorching breath; It hisses along the ground To my feet, and the hiss means--death.

"I've fought as a soldier should 'Neath many an alien sky, And at home at my post I've stood Amidst cowards, and now, to die.

"Great Mars, give me heart of grace _Triarii_,[C] over the bowl Say, 'He died with a smile on his face, And glory in his soul'!"

W. B. B. STEVENS.

FOOTNOTES:

[B] Overwhelmed, together with Pompeii, by a lava eruption, A. D. 79.

[C] The Roman _Triarii_ were old soldiers, of approved valor, who formed the third line in a legion--hence their name.

VACATION.

O, master, no more of your lessons! For a season we bid them good by, And turn to the manifold teachings Of ocean, and forest, and sky. We must plunge into billow and breaker; The fields we must ransack anew; And again must the sombre woods echo The glee of our merry-voiced crew.

From teacher's and preacher's dictation-- From all the dreaded lore of the books-- Escaped from the thraldom of study, We turn to the babble of brooks; We hark to the field-minstrels' music, The lowing of herds on the lea, The surge of the winds in the forest, The roar of the storm-angered sea.

To the tree-tops we'll climb with the squirrels; We will race with the brooks in the glens; The rabbits we'll chase to their burrows; The foxes we'll hunt to their dens; The woodchucks, askulk in their caverns, We'll visit again and again; And we'll peep into every bird's nest The copses and meadows contain.

For us are the blackberries ripening By many a moss-covered wall; There are bluehats enough in the thickets To furnish a treat for us all; In the swamps there are ground-nuts in plenty; The sea-sands their titbits afford; And, O, most delectable banquet, We will feast at the honey-bee's board!

O, comrades, the graybeards assure us That life is a burden of cares; That the highways and byways of manhood Are fretted with pitfalls and snares. Well, school-days have _their_ tribulations; Their troubles, as well as their joys. Then give us vacation forever, If we must forever be boys!

BEVERLY MOORE.

UNCLE JOHN'S SCHOOL-DAYS.

This picture reminds me, children, of some funny stories that I have heard your uncle John tell, when he and I were boy and girl together, of his exploits as a schoolboy. According to his account, not only he, but most of his schoolfellows, used to lead merry lives enough at school. They had what they called the "Academy Band," and grand music it made, with a hat-box for a drum, cricket-bat for violoncello, and paper flute and trumpets. You would not recognize Uncle John, whom you know only as a man six feet high, in that little lad on the left side of the picture with a battledore for a fiddle. They had a great deal of what he called excellent fun, though I am afraid it sometimes bordered upon mischief or naughtiness. I used to consider that he and his schoolfellows were regular heroes as I listened to his stories when he came home for the holidays; and even now I must confess I cannot help laughing when I think of some of his naughty pranks.

Uncle John first went to a large school when he was eleven years old, and I remember now the tremendous hamper of good things he took with him. The boys who slept in his bedroom were so pleased with the contents of his hamper that they determined to make a great feast. To add to their enjoyment, they imagined themselves to be settlers in the backwoods of America or Australia. They built a log hut with bolsters, and had a sort of picnic. One of them mounted on the top of the log hut to look out with his telescope for any approaching savages, while the others enjoyed their suppers in and about the hut. When their fun was at its height, the door softly opened, and in walked Dr. Birchall, spectacles on nose and cane in hand. What followed may be imagined.

You know that Uncle John is an engineer now, and even as a little boy he had a great turn for mechanical inventions. Well, he pondered over some means by which such a sudden interruption to the enjoyment of his schoolfellows might be prevented in future; and I will tell you what he did.

It happened that the large room in which he slept formed the upper floor of a wing of the house which had been added to it when it became a school; and there was no access to this room from the principal staircase of the house. You had to pass through the room below and go up a little separate staircase to reach to the floor above. The lower room was also a bedroom for the boys, and Uncle John's little scheme was this:

He made a hole with a gimlet in the frame of one of the windows of his bedroom, passed a piece of string through the hole, and carried it outside the wall of the house down to a similar hole in a window-frame of the room below. To the end of the string in the upper room was fastened a small rattle, while the other end of the string--that in the room below--was taken into the bed of a boy who slept near the window.

This admirable little invention once in order, there was more rioting in the upper room than ever; and the master, disturbed by the noise, soon went, cane in hand, to stop it. The instant he set foot in the lower room the boy there who held the string in bed gave it a little pull: the rattle sounded--ting! ting!--in the room above, and in an instant every boy was in bed and snoring. Perhaps they had been playing at leap-frog the moment before, but as Dr. Birchall entered the room--and he crept up the staircase very quietly, that he might catch them unawares--he found some twenty boys lying in bed, seemingly sound asleep, though snoring unnaturally loud.

The doctor was so disconcerted by this unexpected state of things that he retired at once, fancying perhaps that his ears had deceived him when he thought he had heard a noise in the room. The same thing happened two or three times; the doctor was puzzled, and the invention appeared a complete success; but at last all was discovered.

The boys one evening began imprudently to play at "tossing in the blanket" before they were undressed. The rattle sounded, and they had just time to hide away the blanket. But the doctor coming in, and finding they were only then beginning to undress, knew they must have been at some mischief, and began questioning one after another. Unluckily, while he was in the room the rattle sounded again by accident; perhaps the boy in the room below had pulled the string by moving in bed. The doctor looked about, found the rattle hanging just below the window, saw the string, opened the window and traced its course outside, went down into the room below, and understood the whole arrangement. Then he put the rattle in his pocket and went away without saying a word. The boys declared he had such difficulty in keeping himself from laughing that he was afraid to speak lest he should burst out.

However, next day every boy in that room had a slight punishment, and so the matter ended.

Now I will tell you another of Uncle John's pranks at school. There was a large tree in the playground, the upper branches of which spread out very near to the windows of the bedroom I have been describing. One evening Uncle John got hold of a large hand-bell which was used for ringing the boys up in the morning; and climbing up the tree, he fastened it by a piece of string to a branch near the top. Then another boy threw him the end of a long string from a window of the bedroom into the tree, and he fastened it to the bell in such a way that when it was pulled in the bedroom it made the bell ring in the tree. Having accomplished this arrangement, he came down from the tree and went to bed.

At ten o'clock at night the household was disturbed by the loud ringing of this bell. The master, in his dressing-gown, came out into the playground, and soon discovered where the sound came from, but of course supposed that some boy had climbed up into the tree, and was ringing the bell there. It was the middle of summer, and a beautiful moonlight night, so the boys could see from the windows all that took place. Dr. Birchall stood at the foot of the tree, looking up, and exclaimed, angrily,

"Come down, you naughty boy! Come down, I say, directly! Oh, I'll give you such a flogging! Stop that horrible noise, I tell you, and come down!"

The bell still went on ringing. At last the string--being pulled too hard, I suppose, in the excitement of the fun--broke, and the bell tumbled down from the top of the tree, falling very near the old schoolmaster. This was worse than all.

"What!" he exclaimed; "you throw the bell at me? Why, if it had hit me on the head, it might have killed me. Oh, you wicked boy! I'll expel you, sir. I'll find out who you are if I stop here till morning."

At last, however, his patience was exhausted, and he went away, but left an old butler to watch the tree all night. The boys from the windows could see this man settle himself comfortably on a seat which was at the foot of the tree. He lighted his pipe, and prepared to carry out his master's orders and watch till daylight. By three o'clock in the morning the dawn broke; then the man began to look up occasionally into the tree. Now and then he walked a little distance away, first in one direction, and then in another, to look into parts of the tree that he could not see from underneath. He kept this up till the sun had risen and it was broad daylight; then at last he became convinced that it was impossible there could be a boy in the tree. He walked slowly into the house, still smoking his pipe, with a puzzled expression on his face.

And I suspect he was not the only person who felt puzzled. The next day the boys were going home for the holidays, so that no further inquiry could be made. I wonder if Dr. Birchall ever found out how it had been managed?

FAITHFUL FRIENDS.

The dog has sometimes been called the "friend of man." This is because, of all animals, it is the one whose attachment to mankind is purely personal. It is found in almost every part of the world, sharing every variation of climate and outward lot with the human race. There are only a few groups of islands in the Southern Pacific Ocean where this valuable creature is wanting. Without its aid, how could men have procured sustenance among tribes to whom the art of tilling the land was not known? or how could they have resisted the attacks of the beasts of prey that roamed in the forests around them?

Anecdotes of dogs, when they are well attested, are always welcome; and I will therefore relate a few.

There were some time ago two families, one living in London, the other at Guildford, seventeen miles distant. These families were very friendly with each other, and for several years it was the custom of the one residing in London to pass the Christmas with the one at Guildford. It was the visitors' uniform practice to arrive to dinner the day before Christmas day; and they were accompanied by a large spaniel, which was a great favorite with both families.

These visits were thus regularly paid for seven years. At the end of that time an unfortunate misunderstanding between the friends caused the usual Christmas invitation from the country to be omitted. About an hour before dinner, on the day before Christmas day, the Guildford gentleman, who was standing at his window, exclaimed to his wife,--

"Well, my dear, the ----s have thought better of it. I declare they are coming as usual, though we did not invite them; here comes Cæsar to announce them."

Sure enough, the dog came trotting up to the door, and was admitted, as he had often been before, to the parlor. The lady of the house gave orders to prepare beds; dinner waited an hour; but no guests arrived.

Cæsar, after staying the exact number of days to which he had been accustomed, one morning set off for home, and reached it in safety. The correspondence which this visit of the favorite spaniel occasioned, had the happy effect of renewing the intercourse of the estranged friends. As long as Cæsar lived, he paid the annual visit, in company with his master and mistress, to Guildford.

"A Frenchman named Chabert, who, from his wonderful performances with fire, was known as the 'Fire King,' was the owner of a very beautiful Siberian dog, which, when yoked to a light carriage, used to draw him twenty miles a day. Chabert sold him for nearly two hundred pounds; for the creature was as docile as he was beautiful. Between the sale and the delivery, the dog happened to get his leg broken. Chabert, to whom the money was of great importance, was almost in despair, expecting that the lamed animal would be returned, and the price demanded back. He took the dog by night to a veterinary surgeon, and formally introduced them to each other.

"'Doctor, my dog; my dog, your doctor.'