CHAPTER IX.

THE DINNER PARTY.

At noon Toby was thoroughly tired out, for whenever any one spoke kindly to him, Mr. Lord seemed to take a malicious pleasure in giving him extra tasks to do, until Toby began to hope that no one else would pay any attention to him. On this day he was permitted to go to dinner first, and after he returned he was left in charge of the booth. Trade being dull, as it usually was during the dinner hour, he had very little work to do after he had cleaned the glasses and set things to rights generally.

Therefore when he saw the very thin form of the skeleton emerge from his tent and come toward him, he was particularly pleased, for he had begun to think very kindly of the thin man and his fleshy wife.

"Well, Toby," said the skeleton, as he came up to the booth, carefully dusted Mr. Lord's private chair, and sat down very cautiously in it, as if he had expected that it would break down under his weight, "I hear you've been making quite a hero of yourself by capturing the monkeys last night."

Toby's freckled face reddened with pleasure as he heard these words, and he stammered out, with considerable difficulty, "I didn't do anything; it was Mr. Stubbs that brought 'em back."

"Mr. Stubbs!" and here the skeleton laughed so heartily that Toby was afraid he would dislocate some of his thinly covered joints. "When you was tellin' about Mr. Stubbs yesterday, I thought you meant some one belonging to the company. You ought to have seen my wife Lilly shake with laughing when I told her who Mr. Stubbs was."

"Yes," said Toby, at a loss to know just what to say, "I should think she would shake when she laughs."

"She does," replied the skeleton. "If you should see her when something funny strikes her, you'd think she was one of those big plates of jelly that they have in the bake-shop windows;" and Mr. Treat looked proudly at the gaudy picture which represented his wife in all her monstrosity of flesh. "She's a great woman, Toby, an' she's got a great head."

Toby nodded his head in assent. He would have liked to have said something nice regarding Mrs. Treat, but he really did not know what to say, and thus he simply contented himself and the fond husband by nodding.

"She thinks a good deal of you, Toby," continued the skeleton, as he moved his chair to a position more favorable for him to elevate his feet on the edge of the counter, and placed his handkerchief under him as a cushion; "she's talking of you all the time, and if you wasn't such a little fellow, I should begin to be jealous of you--I should, upon my word."

"You're both very good," stammered Toby, so weighted down by a sense of the honor heaped upon him as to be at a loss for words.

"An' she wants to see more of you. She made me come out here now, when she knew Mr. Lord would be away, to tell you that we're goin' to have a little kind of a friendly dinner in our tent to-morrow--she's cooked it all herself, or she's going to--and we want you to come in an' have some with us."

Toby's eyes glistened at the thought of the unexpected pleasure, and then his face grew sad as he replied, "I'd like to come first-rate, Mr. Treat, but I don't s'pose Mr. Lord would let me stay away from the shop long enough."

"Why, you won't have any work to do to-morrow, Toby--it's Sunday."

"So it is," said the boy, with a pleased smile, as he thought of the day of rest which was so near. And then he added, quickly: "An' this is Saturday afternoon; what fun the boys at home are havin'! You see, there hain't any school Saturday afternoon, an' all the fellers go out in the woods."

"And you wish you were there to go with them, don't you?" asked the skeleton, sympathetically.

"Indeed I do!" exclaimed Toby, quickly; "it's twice as good as any circus that ever was."

"But you didn't think so before you came with us, did you?"

"I didn't know so much about circuses then as I do now," replied the boy, sadly.

Mr. Treat saw that he was touching on a sore subject, and one which was arousing sad thoughts in his little companion's mind, and he hastened to change it at once.

"Then I can tell Lilly that you'll come, can I?"

"Oh yes, I'll be sure to be there; an' I want you to know just how good I think you both are to me."

"That's all right, Toby," said Mr. Treat, with a pleased expression on his face; "an' you may bring Mr. Stubbs with you, if you want to."

"Thank you," said Toby, "I'm sure Mr. Stubbs will be just as glad to come as I shall. But where will we be to-morrow?"

"Right here. We always stay over Sunday at the place where we show Saturday. But I must be going, or Lilly will worry her life out of her for fear I'm somewhere getting cold; she's awful careful of me, that woman is. You'll be on hand to-morrow at one o'clock, won't you?"

"Indeed I will," said Toby, emphatically, "an' I'll bring Mr. Stubbs with me too."

With a friendly nod of the head, the skeleton hurried away to re-assure his wife that he was safe and well, and before he had hardly disappeared within the tent, Toby had another caller, who was none other than his friend old Ben, the driver.

"Well, my boy," shouted Ben, in his cheery, hearty tones, "I haven't seen you since you left the wagon so sudden last night. Did you get shook up much?"

"Oh no," replied Toby; "you see, I hain't very big, an' then I struck in the mud, so I got off pretty easy."

"That's a fact, an' you can thank your lucky stars for it, too, for I've seen grown-up men get pitched off a wagon in that way, an' break their necks doin' it. But has Job told you where you was going to sleep to-night? You know we stay over here till to-morrow."

"I didn't think anything about that; but I s'pose I'll sleep in the wagon, won't I?"

"You can sleep at the hotel, if you want to; but the beds will likely be dirty, an' if you take my advice, you'll crawl into some of the wagons in the tent."

Ben then explained to him that after his work was done that night, he would not be expected to report for duty until the time for starting Sunday night, and he concluded his remarks by saying:

"Now you know what your rights are, an' don't you let Job impose on you in any way. I'll be round here after you get through work, an' we'll bunk in somewhere together."

The arrival of Messrs. Lord and Jacobs put a stop to the conversation, and was the signal of Toby's time of trial. It seemed to him, and with good reason, that the chief delight which these men had in life was to torment him, for neither ever spoke a pleasant word to him; and when one was not giving him some difficult work to do, or finding fault in some way, the other would be sure to be at it, and Toby had very little comfort from the time he began work in the morning until he stopped at night.

It was not until after the evening performance was over that Toby had a chance to speak with Mr. Stubbs, and then he was so tired that he simply took the old monkey from the cage, nestled him under his jacket, and lay down with him to sleep in the place which old Ben had selected.

When the morning came, Mr. Stubbs aroused his young master at a much earlier hour than he would have awakened had he been left to himself, and the two went out for a short walk before breakfast. They went instinctively toward the woods, and when the shade of the trees was once reached, how the two revelled in their freedom! Mr. Stubbs climbed into the trees, swung himself from one to the other by means of his tail, gathered half-ripe nuts, which he threw at his master, tried to catch the birds, and had a good time generally.

Toby, stretched at full length on the mossy bank, watched the antics of his pet, laughing boisterously at times as Mr. Stubbs would do some one thing more comical than usual, and forgot there was in this world such a thing as a circus, or such a man as Job Lord. It was to Toby a morning without a flaw, and he took no heed of the time, until the sound of the church bells warned him of the lateness of the hour, reminding him at the same time of where he should be--where he would be if he was at home with Uncle Daniel.

In the mean time the old monkey had been trying to attract his young master's attention, and, failing in his efforts, he came down from out the tree, crept softly up to Toby, and nestled his head under the boy's arm.

This little act of devotion seemed to cause Toby's grief to burst forth afresh, and clasping the monkey around the neck, hugging him close to his bosom, he sobbed:

"Oh, Mr. Stubbs, Mr. Stubbs, how lonesome we are! If we was only at Uncle Daniel's, we'd be the two happiest people in all this world. We could play on the hay, or go up to the pasture, or go down to the village, an' I'd work my fingers off if I could only be there just once more. It was wicked for me to run away, an' now I'm gettin' paid for it."

He hugged the monkey closely, swayed his body to and fro, presenting a perfect picture of grief. The monkey, not knowing what to make of this changed mood, cowered whimperingly in his arms, looking up into his face, and licking the boy's hands with his tongue whenever he had the opportunity.

It was some time before Toby's grief exhausted itself, and then, still clasping the monkey, he hurried out of the woods to the town and the now thoroughly hated circus tents.

The clocks were just striking one as Toby entered the inclosure used by the show as a place of performance, and, remembering his engagement with the skeleton and his wife, he went directly to their tent. From the odors which assailed him as he entered, it was quite evident that a feast of no mean proportions was in course of preparation, and Toby's very great appetite came to him in full vigor. Even the monkey seemed affected by the odor, for he danced about on his master's shoulder, and chattered so that Toby was obliged to choke him a little in order to make him present a respectable appearance.

When Toby reached the interior of the tent, he was astonished at the extent of the preparations that were being made, and gazed around him in surprise. The platform on which the lean man and fat woman were in the habit of exhibiting themselves now bore a long table, loaded with eatables; and from the fact that eight or ten chairs were ranged around it, Toby understood that he was not the only guest at the feast. Some little attempt had also been made at decoration by festooning that end of the tent at which the platform was placed with two or three flags and some streamers, and the tent poles were fringed with tissue-paper of the brightest colors.

Toby had had only time enough to notice this, when the skeleton advanced toward him, and with the liveliest appearance of pleasure, said, as he took him by the hands with a grip that made him wince,

"It gives me great joy, Mr. Tyler, to welcome you at one of our little home reunions, if one can call a tent, that is moved every day in the week, home."

Toby hardly knew whom Mr. Treat referred to when he said "Mr. Tyler," but by the time his hands were released from the bony grasp, he understood that it was himself who was spoken to.

The skeleton then formally introduced him to the other guests present, who were sitting in one end of the tent, and evidently anxiously awaiting the coming feast.

"These," said Mr. Treat, as he waved his hand toward two white-haired, pink-eyed young ladies, who sat with their arms twined around each other's waists, and had been eying the monkey with some appearance of fear, "are the Miss Cushings, known to the world as the Albino Children; they command a large salary, and form a very attractive feature of our exhibition."

The young ladies arose at the same time, as if they had been the Siamese Twins, and could not act independently of each other, and bowed.

Toby made the best bow he was capable of, and the monkey made frantic efforts to escape, as if he would enjoy twisting his paws in their perpendicular hair.

"And this," continued Mr. Treat, pointing to a sickly, sour-looking individual, who was sitting apart from the others, with his arms folded, and looking as if he was counting the very seconds before the dinner should begin, "is the wonderful Signor Castro, whose sword-swallowing feats you have doubtless heard of."

Toby stepped back just one step, as if overwhelmed by awe at beholding the signor in the guise of a humble individual, and the gentleman who gained his livelihood by swallowing swords unbent his dignity so far as to unfold his arms, and present a very dirty-looking hand for Toby to shake. The boy took hold of the outstretched hand, wondering why the signor never used soap and water, and Mr. Stubbs, apparently afraid of the sour-looking man, retreated to Toby's shoulder, where he sat chattering and scolding about the introduction.

Again the skeleton waved his hand, and this time he introduced "Mademoiselle Spelletti, the wonderful snake-charmer, whose exploits in this country, and before the crowned heads of Europe, had caused the whole world to stand aghast at her daring."

Mademoiselle Spelletti was a very ordinary-looking young lady of about twenty-five years of age, who looked very much as if her name might originally have been Murphy, and she too extended a hand for Toby to grasp, only her hand was clean, and she appeared to be a very much more pleasant acquaintance than the gentleman who swallowed swords.

This ended the introductions, and Toby was just looking around for a seat, when Mrs. Treat, the fat lady, and the giver of the feast which was about to come, and which already smelled so invitingly, entered from behind a curtain of canvas, where the cooking-stove was supposed to be located.

She had every appearance of being the cook for the occasion. Her sleeves were rolled up, her hair tumbled and frowzy, and there were several unmistakable marks of grease on the front of her calico dress.

She waited for no ceremony, but rushed up to Toby, and taking him in her arms, gave him such a squeeze that there seemed to be every possibility that she would break all the bones in his body; and she kept him so long in this bear-like embrace that Mr. Stubbs reached his little brown paws over, and got such a hold of her hair that all present, save Signor Castro, rushed forward to release her from the monkey's grasp.

"You dear little thing," said Mrs. Treat, paying but very little attention to the hair-pulling she had just undergone, and holding Toby at arm's-length, where she could look into his face, "you were so late that I was afraid you wasn't coming, and my dinner wouldn't have tasted half so good if you hadn't been here to eat some."

Toby hardly knew what to say at this hearty welcome, but he managed to tell the large and kind-hearted lady that he had no idea of missing the dinner, and that he was very glad she wanted him to come.

"Want you to come, you dear little thing!" she exclaimed, as she gave him another hug, but was careful not to get her head where Mr. Stubbs could get hold of the hair again--"of course I wanted you to come, for this very dinner has been got up so that you could meet these people here, and so that they could see you."

Toby was entirely at a loss to know what to say to this overwhelming compliment, and for that reason he did not say anything, only submitting patiently to the third hug, which was all Mrs. Treat had time to give him, as she was obliged to rush behind the canvas screen again, as there were unmistakable sounds of something boiling over on the stove.

"You'll excuse me," said the skeleton, with an air of dignity, waving his hand once more toward the assembled company, "but while introducing you to Mr. Tyler, I had almost forgotten to introduce him to you. This, ladies and gentlemen," and here he touched Toby on the shoulder, as if he were some living curiosity whose habits and mode of capture he was about to explain to a party of spectators, "is Mr. Toby Tyler, of whom you heard on the night when the monkey cage was smashed, and who now carries with him the identical monkey which was presented to him by the manager of this great show as a token of esteem for his skill and bravery in capturing the entire lot of monkeys without a single blow."

By the time Mr. Treat got through with this long speech, Toby felt very much as if he was some wonderful creation whom the skeleton was exhibiting; but he managed to rise to his feet, and duck his little red head in his best imitation of a bow. Then he sat down and hugged Mr. Stubbs to cover his confusion.

One of the Albino Children now came forward, and while stroking Mr. Stubbs's hair, looked so intently at Toby that for the life of him he couldn't say which she regarded as the curiosity, himself or the monkey; therefore he hastened to say, modestly,

"I didn't do much toward catchin' the monkeys; Mr. Stubbs here did almost all of it, an' I only led 'em in."

"There, there, my boy," said the skeleton, in a fatherly tone, "I've heard the whole story from old Ben, an' I sha'n't let you get out of it like that. We all know what you did, an' it's no use for you to deny any part of it."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

A SNOW BLOCKADE.

BY JAMES B. MARSHALL.

Some boys, you know, think it is capital to be at boarding-school, and other boys don't like it. But there is no doubt that all think it is splendid to come home for a holiday. But what if your home has been burned down, as was Will and Harry Baker's, and your parents are living at a hotel until the house can be rebuilt?

The Baker boys wrote home to Rawley: "We expect living in a hotel is pretty nice, but of course we can't do many of the things we had planned for this holiday."

"The new house can not be made ready before spring," wrote Mrs. Baker, "but I do not think you have planned much you will not be able to carry out. I have one fine piece of news to tell you. Your uncle Ben and aunt Sue, whom you have not seen since you were very little fellows, and those six cousins, whom you have never seen, have sold their old home in Maine. Uncle Ben is going to build a house here, not far from our old home. Until it is finished, he has rented a house, and you and your cousins should have fine times together."

The idea of meeting these cousins took away much of Will's and Harry's disappointment. School broke up early on Thursday morning, and the next day, Friday, was to be Mrs. Baker's birthday--a great day with the Bakers.

Several of the boys who had to pass through New York city in going home went with the Baker boys, when they all arrived there, to help them select Mrs. Baker's present. Then Will and Harry started for the ferry, having full time to make their train. But while riding there the street car was delayed at a cross street where a fire had broken out. Watching the exciting scene, not more than five minutes seemed to have been lost, but to the boys' amazement the last boat to make connection with their train had left when they reached the ferry. And what was worse, it was the last train before next morning to make connection at the Junction for Rawley. After a council, it was decided to go and stay overnight at the hotel used by Mr. Baker when in New York, and to telegraph to Rawley what had happened.

In the morning, when the boys awoke, they were dismayed to find that a heavy snow-storm had set in. At the dépôt, long trains covered with snow were arriving, much delayed, and every one was talking of the storm, and what probably would happen if the snow continued. It was a great relief to Will and Harry when at last their express train started, though the snow fell steadily and fast. An extra engine, pushing a snow-plough, ran ahead to clear the track, and the boys anxiously watched the storm and the progress of the train.

"An hour and a quarter late," said Will, noting the time as the train drew up at the Junction station. The Rawley train, with a snow-plough ahead of the locomotive, stood on the other side of the platform, and a few passengers were in the dépôt, who had been waiting for the New York express. There was a stout farmer talking with the conductor of the Rawley train; and as Will approached the latter to ask a question, he overheard him say,

"Yes; it does look a little doubtful if we will get through to Rawley before the snow is drifted too deep for us."

"How far along do you think you will get? To Sanmere?"

Sanmere was ten miles from Rawley.

"To Rawley, I hope," answered the conductor, moving away. "All aboard!"

Toward Sanmere the track was built in a narrow defile cut through a hill, and beyond were a number of these cuts. When the train neared Sanmere, the engine and plough were uncoupled from the cars to clear the track in this narrow defile, and running swiftly ahead, were soon lost to sight in the falling snow. In half an hour the engine was backed to where the train stood. It was decided to leave the cars, and try to carry the passengers to Sanmere on the engine. The six passengers, the train-men, and the mail agent with his mail-bags, crowded into the cab, and the engine was slowly and carefully steamed through the snow-choked defile, and down to the station.

Will and Harry hurried into the waiting-room to warm themselves, and looking out at a window they saw a gentleman muffled in a great-coat directing the other four passengers--probably to a hotel. He then entered the waiting-room, shaking his coat free of snow.

"Snowed in, eh, Masters Baker?" said he, in a pleasant tone. "But you are a good deal better off than you think. What you want now is a good warm dinner, and merry people to eat it with."

Will and Harry looked at the gentleman narrowly as he shook hands with them, but they could not remember having ever seen him before.

"I know your father and mother well," continued the gentleman. "My name is Benjamin, and I keep Benjamin's House here in Sanmere. I'm a good landlord, if I say so myself, and promise you that directly there is a dinner coming on my table well worth your eating."

"I'd rather get to Rawley to-day than eat a dozen good dinners," thought Will.

"Have you a sleigh, Mr. Benjamin, and a pair of good horses to hire, to take us to Rawley?" asked Harry.

"Yes," answered Mr. Benjamin; "but the first thing you want is your dinner. After dinner, if you wish to go to Rawley, I have just the sleigh and pair of horses that can take you there. Now come along. Each of you catch hold of one of my arms; I'm nearly as good as a snow-plough."

Before the boys had walked far along the snow-covered streets of Sanmere, it seemed as if they had known Mr. Benjamin for a long time.

"Here we are," said he, stopping before a large house.

There was no "Benjamin's House" sign to be seen, but the snow was falling fast enough to hide a dozen signs.

"My house is full of people to-day," said Mr. Benjamin, "so come right up stairs to a warm room, where you can change your clothes and shoes, and make ready for dinner. Now make yourselves at home, and when dinner is ready I will come for you."

Merry peals of laughter could be heard down stairs, and there were evidently plenty of young people in the house.

"If we only had mother and father here," said Will, "it would be nearly as good as being at home."

"That's so," agreed Harry. "This is the kind of hotel I would like to live in. I wonder if Pop knows about it?"

Directly a dinner-bell rang, and there was a noise of feet sounding as if the people were going in to dinner. In a moment in came Mr. Benjamin, his eyes twinkling with fun, and invited them down to dinner.

"I didn't tell you," said he, as he led the way, "that it is a celebration dinner for my guests. I shouldn't be surprised if you should know some of the people."

Before the dining-room door was reached, a side door swung open, and in a moment the boys found themselves in a pair of warm arms.

"Mother!" "Father!"

They were indeed Mr. and Mrs. Baker. Wide open swung the dining-room door, and there, waiting, were Aunt Sue, the six new cousins, and a dozen more people.

"Welcome to Benjamin's House!" called Uncle Ben--Mr. Benjamin, as Harry had first called him, being Uncle Ben Starr his own merry self. "And, boys, if you want to go to Rawley through all this snow, my horses and sleigh shall take you."

What a dinner that was! And what a time there was, too, explaining how Uncle Ben had invited all the Bakers to his house to spend the holidays, and to surprise Will and Harry!

EMBROIDERY FOR GIRLS.

BY SUSAN HAYES WARD.

NO. IV.

A gentleman who has done more beautiful art work than any other I have ever known once told me that his principle was first to know the rules of art, and then to do as he saw fit. The one rule of the embroiderer's art that I would specially emphasize for you is that whatever is worth doing at all is worth doing as well as you know how. You do not wish to fill your homes with worthless work. It is vastly better to do but little, and to make that as choice and dainty as possible, for the first charm of embroidery is its nicety.

Having thus put you on your guard, let me tell you how the New England stitch may be modified and rendered more simple. This modified stitch is only for those who are so painstaking that they can be trusted never to slight their work except judiciously, for no lazy needle-woman could resist the fascination of this easiest of embroidery stitches. She would never use another. If you can not trust yourself, skip this article.

Take your first stitch as in Fig. 10, then, instead of reversing the stitch and pushing the needle from you, point the needle toward you as shown in Fig. 14.

Of course when each stitch is taken naturally with the needle pointing toward you, the work reels off wonderfully fast, but the stitch loses in effect, for instead of the pretty double twist, you now have the needle cross the thread but once, making a single twist not nearly so pretty when examined closely. (For work that is only to have its little day, like a tidy or a bureau-cover, I should surely use this modified form of the stitch. Life is too short to spend time in pushing your needle backward, when pushing it forward will do as well. For nice work, for hangings before choice little cabinets, or for a bed-spread that may last a century, take the stitch the old way; but for work that is not meant to last a lifetime, use the easiest stitch possible.)

Fig. 15 is meant to be repeated for the ends of a table-scarf or bureau-cover, with the border in two shades; another line can be added a half-inch below 2 to give weight to the border.

The lines 1 and 2 are to be worked in stem stitch, the space _a_ filled with a darker and _b_ with a lighter shade; _c_ is not filled in. The design (Fig. 16) can be colored to suit your room or the shade of the stuff on which it is worked, though old gold, soft yellows, pinks, and blues would be pretty for the flowers, the border being in old golds or blues.

This design would do well scattered, or, to use the technical word, _powdered_, over a small curtain, alternating it with small sprays from the design like _x_ or _y_, or for the corners of a small table-cover.

THE CRANES OF IBYCUS.

Ibycus was travelling one day on the road between Athens and Sparta, when he was set upon by some brigands, who robbed and murdered him. He cried for help--none was at hand; but just at the last he raised his dying eyes toward the sky and saw a flock of cranes flying high in the air above his head, and with his last breath he called upon _them_ to avenge him. The assassins laughed at such a prayer; but it was strangely answered. The men hurried off to Athens to enjoy their booty, and a few days afterward went to the theatre, which in those days was in the open air. As the performance was going on, some birds were noticed flying low above the assembled crowd. "Ha! ha! those are the cranes of Ibycus!" one of the robbers unthinkingly said to his neighbor. Sorely he repented it the next moment, for others had caught the words. "Ibycus? Ibycus? What had become of him?" He was a well-known man, and had been missed. The men were seized, and believing that the gods had revealed their crime, they confessed all, and were executed. This story is beautifully told in one of the poems of Schiller, the great German poet.

[Begun in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 66, February 1.]

PHIL'S FAIRIES.

BY MRS. W. J. HAYS,

AUTHOR OF "PRINCESS IDLEWAYS," ETC.