Part 6

He was not going to school. The fact was, he hoped to get a place as office boy that morning. He was on his way to see about it. If he could only have crossed the lake, it would have saved so much time! He quickened his steps into almost a run as he thought of it, and arrived, somewhat out of breath, at the place advertised, to see two of the boys who had shouted after him at the lake, sitting comfortably in two office chairs, chatting.

"You here!" he said in dismay; and wondered how many more wanted the place.

Yes, they assured him they were there; and they didn't cut through into the lake, either. They hoped he had a nice walk this cold morning. But there wasn't much fun in teasing Sidney; he was so good-natured.

"I should have liked to skate across," he said, swinging, his skates to the floor, "but mother worries about it, and she asked me not to go on the ice this morning. So of course I didn't."

"Of course I would!" said the larger boy. "My mother is just such a moolly. She tried to make me keep off, but I told her 'No sir!' Catch me going around, with the thermometer below zero."

"It's queer what ails the mothers," said the third boy, laughing. "There's three of them it seems, only mine is my grandmother. 'Now, Tommy dear, 'don't' skate across,' she said." And he mimicked the feeble voice.

"What did you say?" inquired his giggling friend.

"Oh, I said—

"'Of course not, grandma. I wouldn't "think" of such a thing.'

"I meant, you know, that I wouldn't think of such a thing as walking around."

Then there was more laughing. Presently they began to talk about their chances for the place, in the midst of which the door to the inner office opened, and the man who wanted a boy called one of them to him.

The other boys waited until in turn each had been to talk with the lawyer. He took their names and ages, and asked for specimens of their handwriting, and gave them a chance to show how rapidly and correctly they could add a column of figures, then he left them all to themselves, and they discussed their hopes.

At last the door opened again, and the gentleman said:

"Sidney Martin, I have decided that you are the boy I want. If the terms suit, you may consider yourself engaged. It is only fair to explain to these others what decided me. Thomas is a trifle more rapid at figures than you, and Henry's writing is rather better; but, the truth is, you all talked pretty loud while you were alone here, and that partition is thin. I want a boy who can obey is mother, even when he thinks her rules are unnecessary. And I want one who is neither disrespectful nor deceitful, which, by your own stories, you two were this morning. Remember, my lads, that a boy who respects his mother, is very apt to be trustworthy."

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THE LITTLE YELLOW DOG.

BY MRS. C. M. LIVINGSTON.

MAMIE was a dear little bit of a girl, pretty and bright and loving, with such a sunshiny face that it cured the blues just to look at her.

She had a great many names. She would answer to "Dantie," "Pussy," "Sunshine" and "Polly," quite as well as to Mamie. "Polly" was grandpa's name for her.

Polly had one fault; that does not mean that she had but one, but that this one was so very great it was noticed more than all the others.

The fault was this: she was never quite ready to do anything the very minute she was asked to; she always had something of her own to attend to first.

If papa said, "Dantie, please get my slippers," he was sure to hear "Yes, in just a minute, papa; Dollie is most asleep." When grandpa said, "Come, little Polly, can't you run up-stairs and get my glasses?" She was sure to take just three more turns round the room—if she happened to be playing with kitty—before she started. Or if she were reading a story and was asked to do an errand, she would get slowly up, and creep along with her eyes on the book, stop at the foot of the stairs and read, and then call out, "Mamma, did you say you wanted a spool of white or black thread?"

It was very trying indeed, and grandpa said the ugly weed ought to be rooted out before it grew any bigger. Sometimes he tried to make her ashamed of it. When she was gone for a long time for the newspaper that he sent her for, she would find grandpa busily writing when she came with it, and he would take no notice of her until she said, "Here is your paper, grandpa."

"My paper!" he would say then, looking over his glasses at her. "Sure enough, I did send for a paper some minutes ago, didn't I? But the time has gone by now, I have turned my attention to other subjects; no paper for me, Miss Polly, thank you."

Then Mamie would hang her head and blush; but by the next time grandpa asked her to do an errand for him, she had forgotten all about it.

One day grandpa called Mamie to take a walk with him. She ran for her hat and sack, for she was always glad of the chance to go with him. They always had nice times together; he explained everything to her that she did not know about, and let her chatter off long stories. And if they came along to any shop or place where anything curious was going on, grandpa took her right in.

"Where are we going to-day, grandpa?" said Mamie, holding fast to his hand, and giving a happy little hop.

"Going to see a dog," said grandpa, "that can do what a girl can't."

Mamie, of course, was eager to know what a dog "could" do that a girl could not, and she asked a great many questions; but grandpa stopped them all by beginning to tell a long story about the St. Bernard dogs that save a great any people from freezing. The story lasted until they got to the shop where grandpa had his boots mended.

The shoemaker was a little old man, and he had a nice little shop, and a good little old wife, and a funny little yellow dog.

Very soon grandpa said: "Mr. Jyricks, I want my little girl to see what wonderful things your dog can do."

Then the little man twinkled a smile from his mouth and eyes, and called:

"Here, Jip, you!"

And then the little dog in the net room came scampering into that room so fast that he almost went heels over head, and seated himself in a little yellow ball at his master's feet, his bright eyes turned to his, as much as to say: "Now sir, what will you have?"

"Jip, shut that door!" said Mr. Jyricks.

And at the door Jip flew, and with his two fore paws pushed and pushed with all his might, until it shut.

"Now, Jip, bring my slippers," his master said.

And Jip scampered into the other room and out again as quick as a wink with a slipper in his mouth, laid it down, and then ran back and brought the other one. And so he brought his master's glasses and the newspaper without waiting an instant after he was told.

Mamie laughed until she almost cried to seethe funny little fellow perform. She was so taken up with his tricks, seeing him stand on his hind feet and offer one of his fore paws, when she said: "How do you do, Jip?" that she forgot all about asking her grandfather what he meant by saying Jip could do what a girl couldn't, until they were almost home.

Then grandpa said, "I'll tell you when we have our talk to-night."

"Now, grandpa," Mamie said as she nestled into her grandfather's arms after tea, when he and she were all alone in his room, "now tell me what the little dog could do that I can't. I'm sure I can shut doors, and bring your slippers, and newspapers, and glasses."

"Polly," said grandpa, taking her round face between his hands and looking into her eyes, "the little dog can do it 'right away' the minute he is spoken to. O, Polly, Polly! To think a poor little yellow dog can do what you cannot."

The little head went down then on grandpa's bosom, and neither of them spoke for a few minutes, then grandpa said:

"Polly, I suppose I can buy that little dog to wait upon me, then you need not take the time from your kitty and dolly to run errands for an old grandpa."

"Grandpa," said poor little Polly, sitting up and wiping off the tears, with her handkerchief done into a hard ball, and struggling with her sobs, "I—I—shall just DIE if you do; it—it 'll break my heart right in two. Just try me once more, grandpa! I truly will do every single thing the very minute you tell me. I do want to stop being so naughty. I will remember, sure as I live and breathe."

Then the gray head and the golden head went together, and there was a great hugging time, and grandpa took the sorrowful little bundle to his bosom, and said: "There, there, little one, don't cry anymore. Grandpa 'll help you remember, won't he?"

"Yes;" said Mamie, sitting up straight. "You'll say 'little yellow dog' to me every time you see me going to forget, won't you?"

Then grandpa laughed loud and long, and he hugged his pet again, and took off his glasses and wiped away tears, or something, from them.

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WHERE I WENT, AND WHAT I SAW.

DEAR PANSIES: Wherever I go, and whatever pleasant sight I see, I find myself saying: I will tell the Pansies about that. But someway I never seem to get to it. Now I have resolved that whatever of interest I find as I go through the world, you shall share. Therefore I shall begin with this year a series of papers with the above heading. Let me tell you first about Long Branch.

"Where 'is' the branch?" said a little bit of a boy, leaning out of the carriage and looking about him eagerly. "I don't see anything of a 'branch.'"

We found, on questioning him, that he had expected to see a long gnarled branch of some grand old tree, with perhaps a nest or two built in it, and a few birds keeping house. To find that it was simply a town, with one long and rather narrow street, built up with hotels and cottages on one side, and with old ocean rolling and tumbling along the other side, was a disappointment to the little boy.

Oh, but the street is lovely! On a summer afternoon, with a bright blue sky overhead, and a brisk sea-breeze rolling in, to be seated in an easy carriage behind two handsome horses, and be wheeled along over the hard road, watching the surf break on the shore by your side, is about as pleasant a thing as one can have in this world. Where is Long Branch? Only about two hours' ride, by rail, from that great bustling dirty city—New York. The cottages I cannot attempt to describe; no two are in the least alike. Most of them, however, are painted very dark, with bright red trimmings; the lawns leading to the doors are kept beautifully green and smooth shaven.

The afternoon in which I last rode through Long Branch was simply perfect: cool and bright; sky and sea were all in their glory, and nothing smoother or cleaner than the road over which we rolled, can be imagined. There is a wonderful public garden, which we visited. I have forgotten the owner's name, but we enjoyed the tens of thousands of dollars that he had spread out for our benefit, quite as much as "he" could have done. There we saw plants and flowers in every possible variety; names spelled with flowers, mottoes in flowers, lawns covering acres of ground bordered with flowers.

"Oh!" we said; and "Oh!" and "Oh!" was re-echoed in the carriage from every side. That was all we could think of to say; and I find, in trying to describe it, "Oh!" is the only word at command.

But there was one object of special interest to us all. Flowers might grow and wave, the ocean might roll in all its grandeur, beautiful houses by the dozens might invite attention, we gave only passing thought to them all, and looked at, and talked about, and thought of one plain cottage, on the roof of which waved our country's flag, and around which stood a guard of soldiers. Oh, you know who lay in one of the rooms under that cottage roof, about whom all the world was thinking that day.

"What is the news!" we said, leaning forward and speaking to a man, a stranger.

How did he know what we meant? There may have been news of great importance somewhere else in the world.

But he shook his head, and said: "No news since twelve o'clock."

And we knew just what he meant.

A little further on we met a little girl, and she was crying.

We stopped again and said: "What news?"

How did we know but she was crying about a lost kitten, or because her mother would not let her go to the beach, or the lake?

No; she shook her head, and said: "We are afraid he is worse!" And she cried harder.

We knew what she meant. It was Saturday afternoon, and the President of the United States lay dying in that cottage close at hand! We stopped our horses just before the lawn leading to the door. We looked at the narrow railroad track which had sprung up in the night to carry him to what we had hoped would be the life-giving sea, and we wondered if the car would soon roll over this same track to take away only his body!

The gentlemen in our carriage lifted their hats as they stood opposite the cottage where the President lay. For a few minutes none of us spoke.

Then Dr. Nelson of Geneva, New York, said slowly: "A good man."

I thought about it all the way home. President though he was, with all true men and women watching in such anxious sorrow for news of him, the utmost that could be said of him, or of any human being, was covered up in that one word—"good."

Less than thirty-six hours from that time, the bells tolled out sadly and solemnly, and when we looked out of our windows in the gray dawn of the morning, all the flags were at half-mast. The "good man" was gone. You know all about it, dear Pansies, how the Nation mourned for its dead President.

Let me tell you of two verses which that same dear Dr. Nelson wrote to us from his distant home. No, I will tell you where they are to be found, and you may read them for yourselves. Psalms 46:1, 2. Meantime, boys, have you begun such lives, that, when you are men, those speaking of you can say: "A good man?"

STORIES FOR BOYS AND GIRLS

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

IS it possible! What has become of 1881? Whoever knew a year to fly away so fast before? Well, we start out together for 1882. We have many new friends, and new plans and hopes.

We hope to have all your names enrolled as members of the "PANSY SOCIETY" (for particulars look in another column). We hope to have many letters from you during the year.

In the column entitled "Where I Went and What I Saw," we mean to tell you about a good many places and people which we think will please you. In the story entitled "Side by Side," we expect you to become specially interested, for it is a very important story. As for "Reuben Stone," the "Man of the House," I have had so many letters from you during the year, expressing pleasure in the story, that I know you will like to follow my boy's fortunes through another year.

For the rest, I will not make any promises, only this: If the "PANSY" is not a much better paper during the year 1882, I shall be very much astonished, and sadly disappointed.

Now I hope that every true Pansy will set to work for his and her paper. How many boys and girls do you know who do not take it? How many have you asked to do so? How many will you ask again? How many prizes for new subscribers do you intend to earn?

How I am pouring out the questions on you! Never mind, you are capable of answering them all.

Just one more, the most important of all. Bend your ear and let me whisper it: Do you begin this New Year with Jesus? Please write to me and answer that question. Yours lovingly, PANSY.

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WHO DID IT?—A STORY IN TWO CHAPTERS.

CHAPTER I.

HESTER opened her eyes in the gray dawn of the New Year's morning, and gave a little chuckle of delight.

There was nothing very cheering about her. The attic in which she slept was decent, it is true, in fact, was comfortable; but it was dark and rather cold, and there was just as little furniture as one could get along with. Yet Hester hugged the big red and brown comfortable, and lay still a few minutes to enjoy her thoughts. There was no bright stocking hung up for her as she knew there was down-stairs for the children of the family. She did not expect a single present of any sort; in fact, she never had New Year's presents, or presents of any kind. But oh, how happy she was!

She had never been to a party in her life, and to-day she was going. Mrs. Neilson, her Sabbath-school teacher, had made a New Year's party for her class. A great many whispers had buzzed through the class last Sunday about the wonders that would be seen in her beautiful home; and Hester's hopes and expectations ran high. Besides, she had a brand new dress to wear. To be sure it was only a bright calico of pretty figure and neat make. But Hester was not used to anything better, and she thought the new calico with a lace ruffle in the neck was beautiful. So with her heart all full of happiness, she presently hopped out of her warm nest and began to dress. It was less than two hours afterwards that Hester's morning clouded.

"Hester!" came in an unusually loud sharp voice from Mrs. Denton's room. Mrs. Denton was the woman with whom Hester lived; a pretty good woman generally. Hester dropped the cloth she was polishing the knives with and ran in haste; the tone was so unusually sharp.

Loud, excited voices sounded down to her from the room above, as she ran up the stairs. Miss Cora was there, and Miss Emeline, and she could hear Miss Cora's voice saying: "Of course she did it, mother, who else would?"

Then Hester knocked timidly at the door.

"Hester, look here!"

Mrs. Denton's voice was positively awful. No wonder. She held, thrown over her arm, Miss Cora's blue silk dress which always reminded Hester of the sky in a winter day, or the sea getting ready for a storm. Across the front breadth were great bright drops of blood. At least, that was what they looked like to the horrified Hester. After awhile she discovered that they were blotches of red ink: enough of them to ruin the dress.

"Now," said Mrs. Denton, still in that awful voice, "suppose you give us an account of this business!"

She give an account of that business! What did she know about it? How could they think that she knew anything about those wonderful blue silk waves?

"Me, ma'am?" she said, catching up the hem of her work-apron and rolling it around her finger as she always did when she was startled, her face growing red and white by turns.

"Yes, you! How came you to put those ink-stains on this dress? What could have been your object, you wicked child? After all that we have done for you, too. I cannot think it possible that it was an accident, for you have no business near the dress. The least you can do is to give an account of yourself."

"Why, ma'am," said Hester, her cheeks ablaze now, "why ma'am, how can you think—I don't know—I never touched or saw—"

"Mamma," said Cora, "how can you stand there and hear her tell stories? The deceitful, spiteful little thing! My best dress utterly ruined, and I have nothing fit to wear to-day." And the young lady crumpled herself into a heap on the foot of her mother's bed and sobbed aloud.

"Hester," said Mrs. Denton, "there is no use in your trying to deceive us in this way. It would be a great deal better for you to confess your sin and explain what object you could have had. I am perfectly astonished. I knew you were a high-tempered little girl, but I couldn't have believed you guilty of such wickedness. When did you do it?"

"I never did! I never did!" almost screamed poor Hester, and her tears rolled faster than Miss Cora's.

"Stop!" said the awful voice of Mrs. Denton. "How dare you stand there and tell me what is false? Don't you know, you wicked child, that Miss Cora had the dress on only last evening? That at tea time it was in perfect order? That you were missing with colored inks all the afternoon—foolish woman that I was to allow it!—and that when Miss Cora changed the dress in my room at dusk, for her street one, she sent you up-stairs with it, and here it is this morning lying across the sofa where yen were told to put it, utterly ruined with the ink that you, and you only, put on it? Naughty, wicked girl! I wouldn't have believed that you could be so vindictive. Miss Cora says you slammed the door as hard as you could last night, just because she reproved you for brushing past Mr. Stuart's chair instead of going behind it as you ought; and to think that you should have taken such a horrid revenge!"

Poor, red-faced Hester! What could she say or do? There was just one part of this dreadful story that was true. She had felt cross at Miss Cora for reproving her before Mr. Stuart, and she had slammed the door. She remembered it well. The thought of it made her cheeks burn with shame. But oh, to think that she was accused of inking that beautiful silk dress, on purpose, too, and for revenge! What should she do? It seemed of no use to say again that she didn't do it; for she could hardly expect them to believe her. She had been amusing herself for a whole bright hour with those lovely colored inks, and she was the only one who had touched the silk dress after tea. How could the ink have got on it? She didn't know. All that she could do was to cry. This she did. She covered her face with her apron, and with one long, loud wail, that, if Miss Cora's face had not been buried in the bedclothes, might have gone to her heart, fled away to that attic room, there to throw herself on the foot of the bed, and cry as though her heart would break. And truly Hester thought that it would.

She did not know how many hours afterwards it was that she heard her name called at the foot of the stairs.

"Hester!" There was nothing for it but to take her tear-stained face and sore little heart down-stairs.

TO BE CONTINUED.

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A DAY THAT JOHNNY NEVER FORGOT.

BY MRS. C. M. LIVINGSTON.

IT was a bright winter morning, and it was Saturday. It was early yet—only half-past six—but Johnny Blynn was up and dressed.

He got up early now mostly—ever since he had a room to himself. He was in a hurry to use his pretty blue washbowl and his new stiff hair brush, and look about his beautiful room and think how nice it was to be in there alone like any gentleman making his toilet, the door locked, and even mamma not coming in without knocking.

It was a nice room. It had pea-green furniture, because that was Johnny's favorite color. There were a pretty gray carpet with a green border, and white muslin curtains at the window, and pictures on the walls.

He did his work nicely. He was careful not to spill water, nor spatter the drops about, although he washed himself till his face looked like a pink and white morning-glory dripping with dew, then he brushed his yellow curls, and dressed himself in his navy-blue suit. How like a gentleman he looked when it was all done, his collar white as snow, his necktie in a neat bow, everything all right, even his finger-nails clean and white as any lady's.