Part 3

ADAPTED FROM CHARLES DICKENS.

BY MRS. ZADEL B. GUSTAFSON.

"How's my Jenny?" the man stammered, looking down at the tiny creature in her chair. Jenny never looked so little as when she was alone with her father. "How's my Jenny Wren, best of children?"

"Go away," said the little voice, sharp and harsh with pain and shame. "Go away to your corner." She held her hands up between them.

This father, who did nothing for his child, except to make her feel ashamed and grieved, shook from head to foot as he stood before her. His cheeks were blotched with patches of dull yellow and patches of dark red. His clothes were so torn and worn they hardly held together on him, and when he tried to put up his hand to his scanty gray hair, he made all sorts of motions with it before he could get it to his head.

How do you think it would seem to you, my happy children of good and loving parents, to look on such a man as this, miserable and shameful from head to foot, and brought to such ruin by himself, and then have to say to yourself, "It is my father"?

The children on the street laughed and hooted at him as he came staggering home to his little lame daughter. But, oh! it wasn't funny to little Jenny Wren.

She pointed to the chair that stood against the wall, farthest away from her own, and he went past it two or three times before he could reach it and sit down.

"Oh, you bad child!" cried Jenny, in a broken voice. "Come, come, you know what I'm waiting for. If there's any money left, let me take care of it. Put it here," striking the arm of her chair; "all you have left; every cent."

If Jenny had not spoken sharply, even crossly, she could not have made her "child" mind at all.

He fumbled with his pockets, which looked so much like the other holes in his clothes, and at last he stumbled toward her and laid down a few coins.

"Is this all?" Jenny asked. It was very little.

"All; got no more; gentleman's word for it."

Lizzie heard most of this sad scene in her little room overhead, and when she heard the father go groping up the stairs, and fall heavily on his bed in the room next to hers, she hurried down to Jenny with her heart full of pity and love.

"What are you thinking of, Jenny darling?" she said, laying her hand on the bright hair which was now shaken down over the small misshapen shoulders, and covered the whole tiny figure with its soft yellow waves.

"I was thinking," said Jenny, with her small chin in her hands, "what I would do to _him_ if he should turn out to be a drunkard."

"Him" always meant the husband little Jenny firmly believed was some time going to come for her and take her out of all her trouble.

"Oh, but he won't," said Lizzie, cheerfully. "You'll take care of that beforehand."

"Yes, I shall try to take care of it beforehand; but, Lizzie, you know, he might deceive me. Oh, my dear, I _couldn't_ bear it in _him_. I would do some dreadful thing to him--I know I should."

"No, you wouldn't, dear."

"Well," said the little creature, after a pause, and speaking in her softer voice again, "you generally know best, Lizzie; but, oh! you haven't got a bad child to make you sick and tired!" And then the poor little dolls' dressmaker cried with her head on Lizzie's shoulder.

* * * * *

One day Lizzie had a holiday, and she and Jenny set out to walk into the city by the pleasant river-side. Lizzie carried Jenny's little scrap-basket on her arm, and they were in luck, for a man driving a market wagon saw the small figure and the crutch, with the beautiful hair flowing around them, and stopped his horses, nodded respectfully to Lizzie, and asked if they wouldn't like a lift. So they rode into London.

"You'll like my fairy godmother," said Jenny, after the teamster put them down, as they went along the narrow street of St. Mary Axe. "He has a very nice old face and a long white beard."

"He!" said Lizzie, wondering.

"Oh yes, he!" Jenny answered, promptly. "A man can be a godmother if he's the right kind, can't he?"

They stopped in front of a yellow house with the blinds drawn down. Jenny struck the door smartly with her crutch, and it was opened by a man in an old-fashioned coat with long skirts and wide pockets. He was old; the top of his head was bald and shining, and long gray hair beginning just above his ears flowed down and mixed with his beard.

"It's a holiday, godmother," said Jenny, smiling at him, "and I've brought my Lizzie-Mizzie-Wizzie I've told you of, you know. Godmother's name's Riah," she added, turning to Lizzie.

The old man bowed very low to Lizzie, and helped Jenny over the sill.

"I've come for more waste," said Jenny, meaning the remnants of lace, ribbon, beads, and other finery, which with other odd things were on sale in the shop where this quiet old man was the clerk.

He led them into this shop at the back of the house, and when Jenny had picked out and paid for what she needed, she said,

"Now take us up to your garden, godmother. We've got all day, and there's some lunch, and Lizzie's going to read to me. Come."

The old man looked pleased, and went before them to the second floor, and then up a narrow flight of steps to a door in the roof. Pushing this door aside, he came down and carried Jenny up, and Lizzie followed.

As they came out upon the roof, a light cool wind caught up Jenny's bright hair, and Lizzie exclaimed, "How kind you are, Mr. Riah, to let us come up here!"

And it was a pleasant place.

An old canvas awning stretched between three of the chimneys made a nice shade, without shutting out the view on any side. A square of bright-colored carpet was spread on the roof under the awning; around the big blackened chimney a green creeper had been trained, and together with some boxes of evergreens and flowers made the place look and smell like a garden.

The girls sat down, and invited Mr. Riah to sit by them, and have some of the fruit and sandwiches they had brought. But just as he was about to do this, a thin, fretful voice called out from below,

"Where are you, old chap?"

"It's my master," said Mr. Riah, hurrying away.

"His master!" repeated Lizzie, in surprise.

Jenny nodded her head, and looked vexed.

"Godmother's poor," said she, "but a good fairy for all that. This ain't his place, and these ain't his things I buy. He works for somebody else, just as we do, and somebody else gets the most of him, just as they get the most of us, Lizzie-Mizzie-Wizzie. Never saw the man, but I suspect he's a beast."

"Sh! they're coming," said Lizzie.

The old man, followed by a young slim man with a thin foxy face, came out upon the roof. Lizzie rose, with her book in her hand.

"I can't get up, whoever you are," said Jenny, promptly, "because my back's bad and my legs are queer."

"This is my master, Mr. Fledgeby," said Mr. Riah, as he came forward.

"Don't look like anybody's master," exclaimed Jenny.

"This, sir," the old man went on, "is a little dressmaker for little people.--Explain to the master, Jenny."

"Dressmaker for dolls," said Jenny, hitching her chin and her eyes with that look which made her seem so old and sharp and wise. "They're very difficult to fit, too, Mr. Master Fledgeby, because their figures are so uncertain; you never know where to expect their waists."

"This is the little one's friend," said Mr. Riah, pointing to Lizzie. "Worthy girls both, sir. They are busy early and late, and at times, when they have a holiday, they take to book-learning."

"Not much good to be got out of that," said Mr. Fledgeby.

"Depends upon the person," exclaimed Jenny, with a snap of her teeth, that made it seem as if her eyes snapped too.

"The way I came to know them," said the old man, "was by Miss Jenny's coming to buy of our remnants and waste for her work."

"She's been buying that basketful to-day, I suppose, then?" Mr. Fledgeby asked.

"I suppose she has," cried Jenny, with another little snap, "and paying for it too, most likely."

"Let's have a look at it," said the foxy-faced young man. "How much for this, now?"

"Two precious silver shillings. Put it down, please; it's paid," Jenny said.

He set the basket down, but not until he had poked his finger about in it.

"Do _you_ buy anything here, miss?"

"No, sir," said Lizzie.

"Do you _sell_ anything?"

"No, sir."

Jenny put up her hand, and pulled Lizzie down beside her.

"We come here to rest, sir. It roars down there," waving her hand toward the city, "and it sometimes smokes up here," lightly touching the big chimney where she sat. "But it's so high, and you see the clouds rushing on above the narrow streets, and you feel as if you were dead."

"How do you feel when you are dead?" asked Mr. Fledgeby, staring at her in surprise.

"Oh, full of peace and thankfulness," said the little creature, smiling. "You don't work, you just rest, and you hear the people who are alive crying and working and calling to one another down in the close, dark, noisy streets, and you pity them, for the burden has fallen off from you, and you feel so strange, so easy, and light."

They all looked at her in silence.

"Why, it is only just now," she said, turning to old Mr. Riah, "that I thought I saw you come up out of your grave. You came up through the dark narrow door in the roof, and you were all bent over, and hot and tired; but then you took a breath, and stood up straight, and looked round at the sky, and the wind blew your white beard on your breast, and your life down in the dark was over--until _you_ called him back to life."

Her voice changed as she said these last words with a sudden little snap at Mr. Fledgeby. "_Why_ did you call him back? _You_ are not dead, you know. Go down to life." She pointed one little forefinger, and turned her small head, and shook her bright hair, and looked wonderfully like a small cunning bird of much golden plumage.

As they started to go down, she caught at Mr. Riah's long gown. "Don't be gone long," said she. "Come back and be dead." And they heard the sweet voice following after, more and more faintly, half calling, half singing, "Come up and be dead, come up and be dead."

"My dear," said Jenny that night, when they were at home again and going to bed, "the master _is_ a beast, and he wants to eat up my godmother," which was the little creature's odd way of saying that she felt sure old Mr. Riah worked very hard for very little money under the foxy-faced young man he called his master.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

DOT'S LETTER.

Here's a picture of Dot As she sat at her ease With a letter she'd got. "Dear Dot," it began, "We so want you to come! 'Twas to-day we began Our new plan of 'At Home.'

"There is Mollie and me And our new dolls, you know, Whom you're certain to see. We give plum-cake at tea, Besides sweets when you go. Your friend I remain, With much love, as you know."

THE REHEARSAL.

A duet, if you please, between Norman and Grace; Sister Olive is player; she's there in her place; Tiny Grace is Soprano, and Norman is Bass.

Little Grace is so eager she can not keep time, But runs on ahead without reason or rhyme.

"Sing slower!" cries Norman; "it is not a race; Still slower, Soprano, and _do_ keep your place."

"It is Olive," says Gracie; "what _is_ she about? She waited too long there, and quite put me out."

"No, indeed," answers Olive, that mark means a 'rest'; You don't understand, Grace--indeed I know best."

"Try again. Ah! that's better, by far than before; Now if people were here, they would cry out 'Encore,' Which means, you know, Gracie, 'Please sing it once more.'"

"A MAN OF STRAW."

Finch and Goldie, Redpole fine, In the corn field Came to dine.

"Oh! what is that?" They startled cry, All in a flutter Rushing by.

"Look, silly birds, And you will know It can not hurt," Cawed Father Crow.

"Tis but a thing 'Gainst nature's law, Only a sham-- 'A man of straw.'"

THE BATH-ROOM.

Cries Tom, in the bath, "I'm a seal at the Zoo." Says Ted, on the rug, "Then I'm glad I'm not you." "Ah, but, Ted," answers Tommy, "you know you're my brother; And if _I_ am a seal, why, you _must_ be another!"

We want to tell you a little story, by way of introducing the letters this week. The other day three boys we know went off for an afternoon's skating. The ice was as smooth as glass, and they flew over it like the wind, sometimes describing great circles, sometimes spinning around like tops, then cutting all sorts of pretty fancy figures, and again racing along as fast as their skates could go.

After a while Fred paused for breath. On the bank of the pond he saw a schoolmate, who was watching the sport with wistful eyes.

"I declare, boys," said Fred to Harry and Phil, "I don't believe that fellow has had a chance to skate this winter. He hasn't any skates, I'm sure."

"Skates?--not he. A good many days, I'm afraid, he don't get any dinner," answered Harry, as he finished a splendid pigeon-wing.

"Well"--Fred smothered a little sigh as he spoke, but he spoke bravely--"I think it's mean for us to have so much fun while he has none, and here goes! I say, Dan," he shouted to the boy on the bank, "come, take a turn on the ice. I'll lend you my skates awhile."

Dan needed a little urging, but the other boys, who liked their comrade none the less because he happened to be poorer than themselves, insisted, and the rest of the time he was among the skaters instead of Fred.

They all went home happier than usual, for those who do kind things are always repaid by the double delight they feel, and those who accept kindness gracefully are the happier for it too. How many of you boys and girls are enjoying the luxury of helping others along the way? We like to think that every day some of you are making the world gladder by simply doing the best you can wherever you happen to be. Do not wait for the chance to distinguish yourselves by great deeds, but seize the little opportunities as they come. It may be only amusing a fretful child, or helping a dull one to learn a hard lesson, or sewing a rip in an unlucky brother's gloves, or, as these three little fellows did, loaning a pair of skates, but believe me no unselfish action is ever done in vain.

* * * * *

PALMYRA, NEW YORK.

I have a nice auntie in Washington, who sends me YOUNG PEOPLE every week, and I have all but the first six numbers. I was out at Shortsville this summer visiting my cousins; and while I was there we had the play given in YOUNG PEOPLE No. 92, "Mother Michel and Her Cat," and it was a great success. I was Mother Michel.

I have a toy Mr. Stubbs, sent me by a kind gentleman in Washington who had read the story of "Toby Tyler." We have three birds-- But there! I must not write any more, for if I do I fear my letter will be too long to publish, and I want it to be printed, as I would like to surprise my auntie. I am glad Mr. Otis is having so good a time with his little yacht.

MINA L. C.

* * * * *

The little people who, like Mina, wish Mr. Otis a pleasant voyage, will be glad to read another letter from his pen:

ON THE PASQUOTANK.

Since it is neither a large nor important water-course, some of the readers of YOUNG PEOPLE may not know where the Pasquotank River is; but as it can readily be found on the map, those who care to read more about the cruise of the _Toby Tyler_ should learn about it from their books, in order to better understand the direction taken by the little yacht after it came out of the Dismal Swamp. It will be remembered that the yacht arrived at the terminus of the canal quite late at night, so that it was impossible for any of the party to judge of the river they were to enter; but they had been told it was very crooked, and, without any other reason, all believed the journey of twenty-three miles to Elizabeth City would be a tedious one.

Never were travellers more pleasantly surprised than were those on the _Toby_ during that Saturday morning sail.

The start was made about eight o'clock, just after the birds had cleared the breakfast things away, and were beginning their forenoon concert. The large audience, composed of the crickets, flowers, and leaves, were all in the best of moods, because the singing was really good, as well as in perfect harmony, and everything around was as bright and gay as possible, save, perhaps, the steward, who had fallen against the boiler and burned one of his ears.

The first two miles sailed after the last canal lock had been passed was not different from the trip through the swamp, for the little stream which ran into the river from the canal had been widened and straightened until it had almost ceased to be a natural water-course. But when the yacht glided around a sharp curve of the stream into the river, each one rubbed his eyes to assure himself that he was awake, and not dreaming of some land enchanted by the perfume and beauty of the flowers that were everywhere in the greatest profusion. They had crept to the very tops of the tallest trees, and then reaching down to the water, had left behind long, beautifully colored wreaths; they hung from every branch, and peeped from behind each tree trunk, disputing possession with the long gray moss, that seemed suddenly to have grown pale because of the almost overpowering perfume. Each side of the river seemed to be a bank of flowers, from out of which the branches of the trees rose like stems, while one could almost fancy the country one immense dish of water, in which flowers had been placed profusely, and that the wind had blown them apart, leaving a narrow channel for the yacht.

In the midst of such beauty the _Toby_ seemed suddenly to have grown dingy-looking and dirty, and although she was at once decked out in her brightest flags and most brilliant adornments, the flowers put to blush any such feeble attempts at beautifying.

There was no question as to the truth of the statement that the river was crooked; it was much as if some one had marked out a number of W's, into which the water had flowed. It was necessary to sail almost directly first toward one bank, and then back, in the opposite direction, to the other, in order to keep in the channel; but no one regretted the devious course that made the journey longer, since the way was through the flower-trimmed trees on water so smooth and mirror-like that the foliage appeared as if painted on it.

Sometimes, when sailing around a bend in the river, the voyagers would come suddenly upon the gnarled and bleached trunk of some gigantic tree that uprose from amid the blooming forest like a withered stalk in a bouquet, causing everything around it to look more bright and cheerful because of the contrast.

There had been times during the journey when the yacht did not move through the water fast enough to satisfy some of the party, but during this sail there was not one who did not regret he was leaving so quickly a river so beautiful as this.

Although the Pasquotank is a charming stream throughout its entire course, its banks are not thus literally lined with flowers more than ten miles, but after that the scenery is sufficiently beautiful to make it interesting without approaching so near to enchantment.

When the _Toby_ was about ten miles from Elizabeth City a draw-bridge was seen just ahead. It was not different from most other bridges, and yet it was approached with wonder and curiosity, for on it were nearly as many negroes as could be crowded there without too much risk that some of them would fall overboard. There were old men and women, young men and girls, and children of all ages, from a good-sized boy down to the tiniest and blackest of darky babies. Perhaps they were surprised at seeing the little yacht coming so swiftly toward them; certain it is that those on the _Toby_ were surprised at seeing such a company, and awaited the meeting with no small degree of curiosity.

"Is yer gwine ter 'Liz'beth?" asked an old gray-headed darky, as he opened the draw of the bridge cautiously, as if he feared the yacht might escape him if he made ready for her coming too quickly.

On being told that the yacht was on her way to Elizabeth, he, assisted by nearly all present, told the reason of the assembling. They were all anxious to reach the city in order to attend a Conference which was to be held on the following day; the steamer, due some hours earlier, had not arrived, and they were waiting for her with many fears as to whether she would come during the day. As soon as the story had been told, the entire party began to plead that they be taken on board the _Toby_, with a force and earnestness that resulted in a terrible din.

There was not room enough on the little boat for one-tenth of the would-be passengers; but it was almost impossible to convince the anxious ones of that most palpable fact, and after every one on the yacht had screamed himself nearly hoarse in the effort, they were made to understand that but five of the party could be taken. It was comical, the sight they presented as they tried to decide as to whom the fortunate ones should be; each one urged that he or she was most needed at the Conference, and as each was overruled by the rest, they would loudly urge their claims to the party on the yacht, one old man proposing that he be taken on board, "an' leave der odder fool niggers ter fight it out."

It was fully half an hour before the question was decided, and then the _Toby_ went on her way, with an addition to her passenger list in the shape of five as happy and inquisitive darkies as ever sailed down the Pasquotank Paver. They peered in at the cabin, careful not to touch anything, but anxious to see all the little room contained; they examined the machinery in the engine-room critically, while the oldest tried to explain how the boat could be propelled by the confusing-looking assortment of steel rods and bars. Then they went forward, where they gave themselves up to the enjoyment of the hour, as enthusiastic in their praise of the little steamer as one could wish they should be. After their delight had subsided in a measure, they began to be troubled about the amount they might be called upon to pay for their passage, but all their joy returned when they were told no money would be received. From that moment they were as happy as children, and insisted on singing a great number of camp-meeting songs as a means of showing their gratitude.

It was ten o'clock when the _Toby_ was made fast to the dock at Elizabeth City, where the passengers were landed, evidently sorry to leave the little boat, even though it was to a Conference they were going.

JAMES OTIS.

* * * * *

GERMANTOWN, PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA.

I sent you a letter a little while ago, but when I read in the last number about somebody seeing a dandelion on December 9, I thought I would write and tell you that to-day my cousin came in, and holding up a dandelion, said, "Look at that!" We have a pet cat. I went skating last Monday, and saw a man break through the ice.

W. S. N.

* * * * *

WOODSIDE, NEAR LINCOLNTON, NORTH CAROLINA.