Part 1

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VOL. III.--NO. 111. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR CENTS.

Tuesday, December 13, 1881. Copyright, 1881, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per Year, in Advance.

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LADY RAGS.

HOW THE WAR OF THE WOODS AND THE TINS--INCLUDING THE SHORTS--CAME TO AN END.

BY MARGARET EYTINGE.

The fight, begun a little after three o'clock in the afternoon that 24th of December, was still raging furiously when the hands of the big clock on the market tower pointed to half past four, and the pale sun was preparing to bid the world good-by until Christmas morning.

Snow-balls, some of them as hard as stones, were flying in every direction.

The Tins, yelling like wild Indians, were rushing up on and scrambling over the snow-covered piles of wood, brick, and mortar that lay in front of the half-dug-out cellar of the new building that was to be in Short Street.

The Woods, yelling like some more wild Indians, were sallying out from the cellar--named "Fort Hurrah" for the occasion--and driving the enemy back, every now and then capturing two or three of them, and dragging them triumphantly into the fort.

There had been war between the Wood Street boys and the Tin Street boys for more than a year. It originated in Tim Ashburner's taking Jack Lubs's parrot--which Jack had lent to him for a week only--into the country with him, and keeping it there all vacation.

Jack Lubs's father, who was a sea-captain, had brought this parrot from some far-distant land, together with a monkey, which Mrs. Lubs said, the moment she saw it, she would _not_ have in the house. "Parrots were bad enough, but monkeys--no indeed!"

So Jack was obliged to sell Boomerang, and he sold it so many times--the little creature being always returned on account of its mischievousness and destructiveness--that he became the richest boy in marbles, balls, knives, and nickels for blocks around. And when no other acquaintance could be found anxious to secure Boom for a household companion, Jack gave him to a showman, who had pitched his tent in an adjoining square, for an order admitting "bearer and friends" to the show. But when "bearer" presented that order shortly after, accompanied by "friends" to the number of two-and-twenty, the showman opened his eyes very wide indeed, and exclaimed, "Great elephants! I'll never be caught that way again."

But it wasn't only the stealing--I mean the taking--of the parrot that caused the trouble, for Ashburner brought it back in good condition, it was the adding of insult to injury by teaching it to say, in a hoarse voice, "Hi! Squint-eye, ho! Squint-eye, shiver your timbers, _please_."

This remark the lawful owner justly considered somewhat personal, he being the son of a sailor, and having an eye that did not look as straight ahead as its companion eye did. And after he had been sainted with "Hi! Squint-eye, ho! Squint-eye, shiver your timbers, _please_" at short intervals for an entire Saturday morning, he became very angry, and the result of his anger was that he and four of his chummiest chums decided to go round to Tin Street and demand satisfaction.

They went, and were met by Ashburner, who was on his way home from the baker's with a pumpkin pie. As soon as he learned their errand, however, he, in the most obliging manner, placed the pie on the nearest stoop, and quickly mustering four of _his_ chummiest chums, gave them "satisfaction"; that is, if a black eye for Jack, and sundry swollen lips and noses for his comrades, can be called by that name. As for the Ashburner party, with the exception of the pumpkin pie being squashed, that received no injuries whatever.

This doesn't seem exactly right, for Lubs certainly had cause for complaint in the first place. But Justice, they say, is blind, and I suppose that is the reason why she makes mistakes once in a while.

Jack went home breathing vengeance, and his chums, feeling called upon by the sacred voice of Friendship to breathe vengeance too, from that day forth there was war between the Woods, under Captain Lubs, and the Tins, under Captain Ashburner, first one side and then the other being victorious.

The two companies took their names from the streets in which they lived. These streets were on the outskirts of the city and only a block long, and ran in such a way that they, with a very short block named Short Street as a base, formed an isosceles triangle. At the point of this triangle was a drug-store having two front doors, one on each street.

The Shorts were part of them "Woods" and part of them "Tins," and their street faced the open square on the nearest side of which the new building already mentioned had been begun.

"Such a splendid place for a fight we'll never get again," said Lieutenant Rube Howell, to his captain. "The workmen have gone home, and nobody passes that way 'count of the heaps of stuff. I say, Lubs, let's have a last grand battle to end the old year with."

"You're right, Rube," said Lubs, and forthwith sent a challenge to the Tins' commander, and soon a lively skirmish for the possession of the fort--the half-dug-out cellar with a rough board fence around it--was going on.

The Woods won it, and then the fight began in earnest.

Captain Lubs, waving his sword--a long lath--above his head, and his lieutenant, backed by their men, mounted the fence, and derisively requested the besiegers to "come on!" The besiegers, led by Captain Ashburner, waving his sword--a broad strip of tin--above his head, and his lieutenant, Jimmy Mullally, did come on.

Over the snowy hills they rushed, slipping, falling, and scrambling to their feet again; swarming up the fence, to be knocked off by well-directed blows; crawling under the fence in hopes of catching an enemy by the legs, and being caught by the heads themselves, or making narrow escapes, leaving behind them locks of hair, and taking away scratches and bruises.

Lieutenant Mullally twisted his ankle, and sank down groaning behind an embankment. Little Willie Bond's cheek was badly cut with a pebbled snow-ball. A dozen other boys were more or less hurt.

The fight grew fast and furious. Neither side stopped to look after its wounded, when small Bond, who had climbed a ladder leaning against a pile of brick, and who was sitting on the topmost round nursing his wounded face, called out, in his shrillest voice,

"Halloo! a flag of truce! H-a-l-l-o-o! a flag of truce is comin'."

"Don't belong to us," shouted the Woods.

"Don't belong to us," shouted the Tins.

"It's only a girl," said Mullally, getting up on one leg; whereupon his captain, spying him, asked in an indignant tone,

"What are you shirkin' for, Lally? They've got ten of our men. Tins to the rescue! Tins to the rescue!" And in his excitement he let his flashing sword fall so suddenly on the head of the warrior next to him that that warrior immediately bit the dust--snow, I should say. At the same moment a scout flying in with the cry, "It's Lady Rags," fell over him at the captain's feet.

"It's Lady Rags," ran through the ranks.

"It's Lady Rags," Lubs informed his soldiers from the ramparts, and deserting the fort, they all joined him on the sidewalk, their prisoners promptly seizing the chance to escape.

A young girl bearing a white flag made of a piece of muslin neatly tacked to an old broom-handle came slowly toward them. She wore a skirt of blue and red flannel, a black jacket, half silk and half cloth, and a cap of three or four kinds of fur, bordered with soft swan's-down. Her cheeks were glowing with the cold, her great brown eyes beamed with frankness and innocence, and her hair, in two long golden braids, caught the last ray of the setting sun.

"Boys," she said, in a clear, ringing voice, as she reached them, "I want to speak to you."

"Great time to want to speak to fellers," growled Sandy Grip, "when they're finishin' up the old year, and only got a few minutes to do it in."

"You keep still, Grip," said Ashburner. "Guess you forget who prayed for you when you had the diphtheria."

"And the Woods have got to be quiet, or get another captain," said Jack Lubs, remembering the dear little sister who with her dying breath begged him to always be good to "darling Lady."

"I couldn't wait till to-night to say what I have to say," said Lady, "for my mothers need me at home, and so, as I knew I'd find you all here fighting, I thought I'd bring a flag of truce, and you'd stop long enough--oh, how I wish you'd stop forever!--to hear what I have to ask of you."

"Go ahead, Lady," said the boys, with one accord.

And planting the flag-staff in the snow heap behind her, Lady Rags folded her little red hands, and began.

But before I tell you what she said I must tell you something about herself.

Just thirteen years before the day of the Tins' and Woods' battle, three poor tired old women, who had been wandering about the city in search of rags and what other things they could gather, met at the corner of the street in which they lived.

As they plodded on together--it was fast growing dark--they stumbled over something lying upon the sidewalk. Stooping to look at this something, they found a woman with a baby in her arms.

"I am dying," she whispered, "of cold and starvation."

The three poor old women carried her to their own miserable home, where she died in a short time.

"And what shall we do with the baby?" they asked each other. Then in one voice they answered themselves,

"It is a Christmas gift to us. We'll keep it, with God's help." They named the baby Adelaide, but that being too long a name for a tiny baby, it was soon shortened to Lady, and so the child came to be known as "Lady Rags."

After the coming of Lady Rags the shabby home grew brighter than any one seeing it before could have believed possible. The windows, once scarcely to be seen through for dust and cobwebs, were now washed often, so that the sunshine could come in and dance on the white wall for Lady. The floor was scrubbed almost every day, and a piece of red and green carpet was spread in one corner for her to play on. Here she played from morning until night with all the bright-colored rags and queer odds and ends the old women found or had given them, as happy as many a child in a splendid home with the costliest of toys. The three old crones gave up quarrelling as they used to, for that would have frightened Lady, and they learned to pray again--though they had forgotten how for long years--to pray for Lady.

"My mothers" she called them when she began to talk, and ever after, and they were so proud of the title that they tried their best to be worthy of it. Their scant gray locks began to be always carefully combed and half hidden beneath the whitest of caps; their well-worn garments were neatly patched with patches of many colors, and bits of black, brown, and other sober-hued ribbons were pinned at the wrinkled throats, and all to do honor to Lady.

As the child grew she became so beautiful that, had she been a princess instead of Lady Rags, her beauty would have been a wonder. And she was as good and clever as she was beautiful, and because of her many kindnesses to them, the boys of the triangle were her sworn subjects. Many the cut fingers she had dressed, many the bruises she had bathed, many the words of comfort and encouragement she had spoken, and many the prayers she had offered for the sick and suffering.

"Her prayers go straight to Heaven," said Jack Lubs. "Some people's don't."

But in one thing very near to her heart she had failed thus far. She could not bring peace to the neighborhood. Much as the Woods and the Tins and the Shorts loved her, the war still went on. And as we have seen, when she appeared among them on this day before Christmas, in her quaint costume, looking as though she had stepped from some lovely old picture, they were in the midst of one of their hardest fights.

"Boys," said Lady Rags, "I have come to ask you all to be a surprise party early to-morrow morning. You remember, the most of you, the poor man who fell from the scaffolding while he was painting our house--"

"And bad enough it wanted painting," said Abe Wilson; "hadn't been painted before, I guess, in a hundred years."

"--And was so badly hurt," Lady Rags went on, "that they took him to the hospital. Well, he has been there ever since, and that's nearly two months; but he's coming home to-morrow. And, oh! boys, do you know where that home is?"

"In Mulkins's basement, 'way down in the ground, and dark as Egypt," said Sandy Grip.

"And yet five children without any mother live there," said Lady.

"Give 'em one of yours," suggested Sandy; "three's two too many for one girl."

"Couldn't spare one, for all that," said Lady, smiling. "And as my mothers and I have just found out, these children have had dreadful times since their father went away. They have sold every bit of their furniture, and they have been nearly starved and nearly frozen. And Christmas is almost here--Christmas, when everybody ought to be merry; and I can't bear to think of that poor father coming home to that wretched place. And he must not, boys; you must not let him, _brothers_."

"How can we help it?" asked both the captains, both the lieutenants, and half the privates.

"By each doing something toward making that basement look a little like merry Christmas. My mothers and I and the other girls have done all we can. We have bought an old stove from Mr. Rust, and a new table from Mr. Ashburner, and Mrs. Lubs has given us a bed, and Mrs. Bond some blankets, and my Sunday-school teacher some clothes, and to-morrow morning we hope a certain surprise party will do the rest."

"But, Lady Rags," said Jack Lubs, "my fellers haven't much cash, I know, and what little they have left, after getting Christmas presents for their own folks, they want to spend on you."

"Here too, Johnny," said Ashburner.

Jack glared at him. "Johnny!" he repeated.

"Well, Squint-eye, if you like it better. Shiver your timbers, _please_."

Lubs raised his fist, but Lady sprang forward and seized his arm.

"Oh, boys! boys!" she cried, "you promised to listen." And as they turned away from each other with shamed faces, she began again, "It's very, very kind of you to think of buying me a Christmas present, for I have no right to expect anything--"

"Guess you have, then," interrupted Jimmy Mullally.

"Got us out of lots of scrapes since last Christmas," said Abe Wilson.

"Mended my trousers when I tore 'em goin' down Hysen's coal-hole after my cat, and granny never found it out," said Willie Bond.

"Best girl in America, 'land of the free and home of the brave!'" said Jack Lubs.

"You bet!" chorused all the other boys.

"It's real good of you to think so," said Lady, "for I'm no better than most girls, I am sure."

"There's where you make a mistake," said Rube Howell.

"Well, have your own way about that," said Lady, with a bright smile; "but do let me have my way about the Christmas present. And, oh! boys, the best present you could give me would be to spend all you can spare yourselves, and beg all you can from others, for these poor Janvrins. They haven't anything to eat, and if they had, they have no dishes nor plates to eat from, no knives nor forks to eat with. And there's twin babies only a year old, and they are all so pale and thin! Oh, boys, what a blessed, blessed thing it would be to stop this wicked fight, that has been going on so long, this very Christmas-eve, and begin Christmas-day by doing an act of kindness together! Christmas-day should be a day of love and kindness, for on that day the Saviour was born. What a darling baby He must have been, lying on His mother's lap, with the cows and horses (He was born in a stable, you know) looking at Him with wondering eyes! And He was the best boy that ever lived. And when He became a man He went about everywhere teaching Love, Mercy, and Charity. How He must grieve when He looks down from heaven and sees you fight so terribly! What pain His gentle heart must have felt when Ned Prime, a few weeks ago, was taken home to his mother--and she a widow--nearly blind from a blow got in one of your battles! You say you care for me; you say I have been a help to you. Perhaps you would never have known me if it had not been Christmas-time when my mothers found me. They thought, as they took me in their arms--I know they did--of that other Baby, sent to bless the world. And, oh, boys, I beg of you to be friends. Jack Lubs and Tim Ashburner," she continued, clasping her hands in entreaty, while the tears trembled on her long lashes, "you began this war, and for such a silly cause--oh, do, _do_, DO end it!"

Lubs stepped toward Ashburner; Ashburner advanced to meet him. They shook hands, and a cheer went up from the lookers-on, with the exception of Sandy Grip, who growled, "That's the end of our fun--a lot of fellers givin' in to a preachin' gal!" and was instantly rolled in the snow by the boys nearest him.

"We'll meet in Ashburner's father's shop to-night," said Captain Lubs, "and draw up a--a agreement."

"A treaty," corrected Abe Wilson.

"Yes, that's what I mean--a treaty of peace."

"To last forever?" asked Lady Bags, her face glowing with delight.

"Well, I s'pose so, between the Tins and Woods as Tins and Woods," said Jack. "But if any one feller sasses another feller more than he can stand, why, don't you see, Lady, we _can't_ promise peace forever between the fellers as fellers, but we'll do the best we can. And we'll be at Mulkins's basement to-morrow morning about nine o'clock."

And carrying the flag of truce between them, the two captains followed Lady Rags--it was now dark, and the shop-keepers were beginning to light their windows--their comrades following them, until they reached the drug-store which united Wood and Tin streets, and which had two front doors, one on either side.

Through one of these doors, and out of the other, Lady, in a spirit of fun, led them all, much to the surprise of the druggist, who was pounding something in a mortar. Indeed, so surprised was he that he didn't recover presence of mind enough to ask, "What does this mean?" until the last boy passed out on Tin Street; and so, of course, he got no answer to his question.

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"Merry Christmas!" rang the bells--"merry, merry Christmas!" "Merry Christmas!" shouted the little children, as out tumbled the toys and goodies Santa Claus had put in their stockings; "Merry Christmas!" echoed the big ones, as they found tokens of remembrance from fathers, mothers, grandfathers, grandmothers, uncles, aunts, cousins, sisters, brothers, and friends; "Merry Christmas!" cried the butcher, the baker, the grocer, and the milkman; "Merry Christmas!" called the people on the streets to each other; and "Merry Christmas!" mingled with the jingling of the sleigh-bells as the sleighs sped quickly by.

In Mulkins's basement the old stove was glowing in the most cheerful manner. A long wooden table stood in the middle of the floor, and a few Christmas wreaths were tacked on the newly whitewashed walls. The Janvrin children were gathered around the fire--poor things, they hadn't been as comfortable in a long while--and Lady Rags, her cheeks as red as roses, and a heavenly light in her beautiful brown eyes, stood at one of the windows, looking up into the street.

"Oh, what serious faces you all have!" she turned to say to the group by the fire. "Think of your dear father coming home, and smile right away."

And the children, smiling as she spoke, started to their feet as they heard the beating of a drum directly in front of the house, and rushed to the windows.

"You must not look out," said Lady Rags, gently driving them into the corner behind the stove, and placing herself beside them.

A procession of boys, each with a sprig of cedar in his hat, led by Hodge Wood with his drum and Willie Bond bearing an American flag, filed down the area way and into the basement.

First came Captains Lubs and Ashburner, each having hold of one end of a large dripping-pan, in which reposed a fine roasted turkey. Behind them, Aris Black carried a new tin saucepan filled with gravy, and his brother Ted another filled with cranberry sauce. Then followed Sandy Grip and Rube Howell with bunches of celery worn as shields. Next in order were Jimmy Mullally and Abe Wilson, tugging a great basket overflowing with potatoes, onions, and turnips. Next, two boys with a shining dish-pan heaped high with dishes, plates, and cups and saucers. Next, four boys nursing four huge loaves of bread as though they were babies. Next, six tall boys with chairs on their heads, and two short ones with high chairs for the twins on _their_ heads. Next, eight small boys with knives, forks, and spoons, worn as weapons at their sides. Next, two boys with school satchels almost bursting with toys. And last, Ned Prime with a tin basin for a helmet and a broom for a gun, and Jake Smith with a brightly painted wooden pail in one hand and a coal-hod in the other, one full of apples and oranges and the other with coal.

"Rub-a-dub-dub, rub-a-dub-dub," went the drum, "Hurrah!" shouted the boys as they marched in. The turkey, the celery, the loaves of bread, the pail of fruit, and the knives, forks, and spoons, were placed on the table, and the coal-hod, broom, dish-pan, and satchels of toys under it. The chairs were set down, and the boys ranged themselves around the room, and at a signal from Jack Lubs they all shouted at the top of their voices, "Merry Christmas!" And then what do you think Lady Bags did--she who had told the Janvrin children they must smile? Burst out crying as though her heart would break!

"Good gracious! what _is_ the matter now?" asked Tim.

"Girls is never satisfied," growled Sandy Grip.

"You hush!" said Abe Wilson, with more emphasis than politeness.

"The matter?" repeated Lady. "You dear, good, splendid boys, I cried for joy! You can't think how happy I am. But I'm going to laugh all the rest of the day."

"That's right," said Ashburner; "and now, if your Majesty will listen, we have something to read to you."

And in the twinkling of an eye the huge basket was on the floor, and Lady, blushing like a sweet wild rose, seated as on a throne in its place.

"Attention, company!" called Jack Lubs, and mounting a chair, he unfolded a paper, and read as follows:

"'We, the Woods and Tins'--which means the Shorts too--'do promise from this Christmas-day, 25th of December, 1878, to fight no more battles, but bury the tomahawk, and smoke the calumet of peace together _forever_. And three cheers for Lady Rags!'"

Just at this moment Mr. Janvrin, the crippled painter, limped in. Then, finding everything so jolly where he had expected nothing but gloom, he joined in with all his might. And Lady's three mothers and some girl friends, who had been looking on from the entry, joined in too.

Once more the drum beat, the flag was unfurled, and away went the boys, as happy a throng of boys as ever got together on Christmas-day.

This is how the war of the Woods and the Tins--including the Shorts--came to an end.

THE FAIRY FUNGI.

BY SOPHIE B. HERRICK.