Part 1

STORIES AND BALLADS FOR YOUNG FOLKS.

By ELLEN TRACY ALDEN.

(Copyright, 1879.)

NEW YORK: AMERICAN BOOK EXCHANGE, TRIBUNE BUILDING. 1880.

CONTENTS.

PAGE.

Neighbor Edith 4

Castle Marvel 13

A May Morning 18

Patches and Perseverance 26

Kate’s Great-great-Grandmother 34

In the Woods 47

The Old Monsieur’s Story 61

Butternut and Blue 73

A Secret 77

Consolation 87

Julie, Julien and Oncle le Capitaine 94

The Voices 129

Moonshine 132

Sunshine 136

Czar and Carpenter 144

Queen Mabel 166

Princess Gerda 174

Jungenthor, the Giant 188

Little Florence 208

A Centennial Tea-pot 214

In Lilac Time 218

Blue Eyes 221

The Apple-Gathering 222

Good-by, Little Bird 223

He Will Come Back 224

Katy 226

Marie 228

The Banjo 231

Winsome Maggie 233

A Happy Pair 235

Sigs Veegs Ofer 238

The Child on the Battle-Field 239

Pinkety-Winkety-Wee 242

Puss in a Quandary 243

Lena Laughed 244

’Tis the Apples 245

Fooled 246

A New Toy 247

Charley on Horseback 248

Cruel! 249

Cluck, Cluck! 250

Bobbie and the Bee 250

NEIGHBOR EDITH.

The north-west wind, driving feathery flakes of snow before it, heaps up gray masses of cloud over the sunny afternoon, and then, as if bent on subduing what cheeriness remains among the shadows it has brought, howls dismally down the chimneys, moans at the casements dismally. The Lieutenant throws himself down on the lounge, and draws a long sigh. Kate slips quietly out of the room, catches up her shawl and hat from the rack in the hall, and her brother, hearing her go down the steps into the street, wonders where she is bound for, and why she didn’t say something about it, and then falls back into his gloomy reverie.

“It may be ‘sweet for one’s country to die’; but to live on, a shattered, helpless wreck”—and, at the thought, he gripes the curving frame of the lounge with his one hand, and his firm-set lips quiver; when, suddenly, without the faintest footfall to indicate the approach of any one, two little arms creep about his neck, and between silvery peals of laughter a shower of kisses falls over forehead and sightless eyes, on either cheek, on nose, mouth and chin. “There!” cries a childish, laughing voice, “I surpized you, didn’t I? Ha, ha, ha!”

“Ha, ha!” echoes the Lieutenant, coming directly from a horizontal to a sitting posture, his arm around the wee mite, “so you did ‘surpize’ me, midget. And where did you come from? Did you drop out of the sky?”

“Out of the sky!” repeats the little maiden, with a great deal of scorn and emphasis. “Why, I comed right from our house! Katy comed after me, and we went round to the back door, so you wouldn’t hear, and then Katy took off my shoes, and I comed up on tiptoe in my stocking-feet. Ha, ha! I surpized you, didn’t I? I’m go’n to ’gin!” and away she rushes across the room and back against him, pell-mell, arms about his neck, and kisses raining all over his face. “There! how do you like it?” and the room rings with her musical laughter—in which the Lieutenant once more joins, with—

“My dear young lady, I must confess that I haven’t the least objection to the proceeding.”

“Young—_la_-day!” is the slow and scornful rejoinder; “young _la_-dy! Why, I’m a little girl!”

“Why, so she is, just a mere baby.”

“A _ba_-by! (the italics are to mark the emphasis) I’m four-years-old big! _I_’m no _ba_-by! Willie’s the baby. He’s got a new tooth! That makes three—six—five! He’s got five teeth!”

“You don’t say! And what is this Edith has in her hands—a doll?”

“Yes, it’s my dolly.”

“What curly hair she has. And this ruffled affair—is it an apron?”

“An _a_-pron! It’s an over-skirt!”

“Oh, I beg pardon! an ‘over-skirt,’ is it? So she’s a fashionable doll. What might be her name?”

“Guess.”

“Keturah?”

“No.”

“Jerusha?”

“No.”

“Mary Ann, Sacharissa, Sophia, Clarissa, Joan, Melissa, Eloise, Elizabeth, Jane—”

“No-o-o-o-o!”

“Victoria, Eugenia, Augusta, Paulina, Virginia, Aurelia, Geraldine, Mollie—”

“Yes! Mollie! that’s what it is; but none of your other old—elephants. There, you’re laughing! You knowed what it was all the time; you was only pertendin’. You’ve seen my dolly before.”

“Where’s Katy?”

“She stayed down-stairs to pop some corn for me and you.”

“Shall we go down and see her do it?”

“Yes.”

“Very well.” And the Lieutenant, rising, manages to shift little dot up to his shoulder. “There, now, you’re a feather on top of a barn-door.”

“You’re _not_ a barn-door!”

“What am I, then?”

“You’re my brave captain boy.” (That was in a whisper.)

“Shall I tell you what _you_ are? You’re my little angel.” And, holding her carefully, he goes down the stairs, feeling his way, now and then, with the remnant of an arm in his dangling right sleeve.

“I’m almost through,” cries Kate, from the kitchen, her face all aglow with the heat. And Edith, from her lofty perch, watches the few yellow kernels that are nearly lost sight of in the bottom of the wire corn-popper, after a shake or two over the hot coals, suddenly—“Snap, snap, snap!” and look! it is full to the brim with something white and savory, which, seasoned with salt and the least bit of butter, she deals out (with great fairness and impartiality) to herself and her “captain boy,” after they have gone up-stairs again. By and by a thought strikes her.

“Katy, my doll hasn’t got any apron.”

“Why, so she hasn’t. We’ll have to make her one, won’t we?” And a box of ribbons and laces and pieces of silk is produced from somewhere, and the two sit down on the floor near the Lieutenant’s chair, talking all the time and planning out this wonderful apron.

“Now which of all these colors does Edie like best?” asks Kate.

“Well, I think the red’s the nicest.”

So an apron (with pockets, observe!) is soon manufactured out of a bit of a broad scarlet sash, and braided, too, with white silk braid; and straightway on it goes, in feverish haste (one is anxious to study the effect, you know), over the stylish (but serene) Mademoiselle’s black satin gown. (The effect isn’t bad.)

After due admiration from Edith, some other diversion is in order, and a book of engravings is brought for inspection. As the leaves are turned for her she glances for an instant at one picture after another, giving the word to proceed; but they finally come to something over which she pores a long while—so long that Kate is passing to the next without waiting for the “Go on” from little Miss, when the latter immediately takes the book into her own hands, returns to this picture, and continues to gaze at it. “What does it mean?” at length she asks.

“Had I better tell her?” Kate, in an under-tone, questions of her brother. “It’s Gustave Doré’s ‘The Deluge’—people and wild beasts huddled together upon a rock rising out of the waste of water, and the great, lashing waves reaching up for them greedily, like wide-mouthed monsters. Odd, isn’t it, that she should notice it so, among so many more attractive prints? She wouldn’t be likely to comprehend if I were to explain, would she? Good, there goes the tea-bell!” And Kate closes the book, glad of an excuse to escape telling the story of the flood to this blithesome little being, whom, she has a dim notion, it might give bad dreams.

Seated at the supper-table, and elevated to the common level by aid of three sofa-cushions, Edith for a few moments bestows particular attentions upon a sauce-plate of canned peaches, to the utter disregard of more substantial food. After which she sits back in her chair, and, inclining her head toward her hostess, whispers—

“Some of the cake, if you please.”

“But you haven’t eaten your bread and butter yet; eat that first, and then you shall have some cake.”

“I want it now,” responds the small person, with much firmness, and is directly supplied with the desired article—a measure which might meet with protest if Edith’s mamma were present. No, it wouldn’t, either, come to think of it, for Edith’s mamma knows what are Kate’s ideas concerning sweetmeats. Has she not, on a similar occasion, heard her express herself after this manner?—

“If unfeeling people _will persist_ in denying dainties to the wee folks, they may just keep the stuff out of sight. Set it right where the poor little things can watch it with wistful eyes, and then pass it around to the favored few, but for them—‘No, _you_ can’t have any. It isn’t healthy for you!’ If grown-up people can’t deny themselves such things, they haven’t any right to expect the children to. To require children to show more strength of character than they have themselves!—oh, it’s a downright shame! And then, leaving open the places where the forbidden fruit is kept, and when the midgets climb up the closet-shelves and take a bite, on the sly, finding fault with them! Leading them into temptation (and isn’t that what responsible people even _pray_ to be delivered from?) and then, when the poor little things fall into the very trap they have set, finding fault with them, and lecturing them, and all that nonsense! Oh, it’s a cruel shame!”

The speaker, you see, is the children’s zealous advocate; and, little people, if ever there is anything you especially covet, or if ever you get into trouble, just go to her. She will plead your cause with burning cheeks, and flashing eyes, and such withering eloquence that the stern household judges will not fail to relent.

But it is after dark, and the snow is falling heavily, and mamma will want her little Edith home. So Kate sets forth with her small charge, well wrapped and protected from the cold—although they have but a few steps to go, as Edith lives in the next house.

When Kate returns, her brother’s voice greets her from the parlor with—

“Sukie, heard of the last new poem?”

“No. What is it?”

“Oh, it’s an epic!—a grand affair—second only to the Iliad!”

“Strange I haven’t heard of it, isn’t it?”

“No, not so very; it hasn’t come out yet.”

“How did you hear of it? Some one been in while I was gone?”

“Yes.”

“Do tell me, what is it about, and who is it by?”

“It’s about a child, I believe—but modesty forbids my mentioning the name of the author.”

“Ah, you old rogue, I see what you’re driving at!—you’ve been having a call from the Muse.”

“Rather from some poor vagabond tricked out in her cast-off mantle, you mean.”

Kate goes and stands behind the high-backed arm-chair, and toys with her brother’s jetty locks. (Are they not her pride and consolation—those clustering curls? Not all the flying bullets, and slashing sabres, and ruthless cannon-balls could rob him of those—no, nor the weary, wasting sickness that followed the privations and exposure, and left him—blind.) “Come, now, Wallie, stop joking, and let me have the verses, won’t you?”

And so this is what “Wallie” says about

“NEIGHBOR EDITH.”

Alas! I cannot see what hue her eyes are, Nor yet the color of her silken hair; Tho’—thought consoling!—if I could, I fear me She’d be less lavish with her kisses rare.

I know her lips are dewy as the rose-bud When first it wakes, the flush of dawn to greet; Her breath it fans my face like early zephyr Up from the Southland roving, warm and sweet.

Her bird-like voice in simple, childish chatter, No better music need you care to hear— Unless it be the music of her laughter, Like rillet, gurgling now, now tinkling clear.

And when, in short-lived moods of thoughtful silence, You feel her tiny form against you lean, Or when anon her dainty, dimpled fingers Come creeping trustfully your own between,

Somehow there’s soothing in the touch, you fancy, A secret charm for sending grief astray: I half believe she is a born magician— This wee, wee elf the wind could blow away.

And that is Edith, that is neighbor Edith, Our winsome friend the other side the stile. When we’re sad-hearted and the days are dreary, We go and borrow her a little while.

CASTLE MARVEL.

“Heigho-ho!” yawned Harry, who had dropped in one evening, and curled himself up in his favorite nook, the chimney-corner. “I wish books had never been invented, or schools either, for that matter. I’ve been digging away at one of Æsop’s fables for the last two hours, and I can’t make any sense out of it at all. It’s a lot of stuff about some doves and hawks that got to fighting; but whether the doves eat up the hawks or not, how’s a fellow going to find out? And I got stuck in my algebra, too, and I sha’n’t have a single decent lesson to-morrow, and then old Williams’ll give me a lecture and a zero, and—well, a fellow gets disgusted with that sort of thing for a steady diet. Oh, I tell you I’ll be glad when once I’m out of school, and the pesky business is done with! What’s the use of it, anyhow? I wish I didn’t have to go another day.”

“But the time would be apt to hang pretty heavily on your hands, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh, I’d find plenty to do to fill up the time, never you fear! Now all these splendid days, along back, when I ought to have been down at the rink, skating, and there I had to sit in that stupid old schoolroom, moping over a desk! It makes me mad to think of it. But I came over—I got so tired studying. I thought maybe you’d have some story or other to tell, Lieutenant.”

“A story; what is there you haven’t heard, I wonder? I’m afraid my stock of stories has about run out. Let me see, though,—have you ever heard about Castle Marvel?”

“A castle! that’s the kind I like—about castles! no, I never heard it.”

“Well, this was a famous castle that stood upon a high mountain, and that people sometimes went to see. Among the rest, there went from a certain city a company of youths. Now, their route lay across a sunny plain that was like a very fairy-land; flowers covered it with every hue of the rainbow, and over these hovered clouds of golden-winged butterflies; and in the shady groves zephyrs sang and birds caroled as never sang zephyrs or caroled birds anywhere else.

“And, so, many of the youths tarried, saying, ‘It is pleasant here; let us gather roses;’ or, ‘Let us chase butterflies;’ or, ‘Let us lie down under the wide-spreading branches, and listen to the music overhead.’ The others, hastening onward, reached, at length, the foot of the mountain, and began to ascend. But to climb this mountain was by no means an easy task; for, while in some places it was very steep, in others a perpendicular and seemingly impassable wall would confront the weary traveler; and there were chasms, too, which must be crossed; but over most of these bridges had been built; and where the way was steep and slippery steps had been hewn among the rocks; and up the granite walls places had been cut for hands and feet; and all this had been done by travelers who had previously ascended—aye, with untold hardships, and often at the risk of their lives. But now, in climbing, so had the way been opened before them, these youths met with no peril, only with labor and weariness, here and there. And yet, ever, as they toiled upward, would one and another turn back, discouraged, to rejoin the comrades below, declaring that the sight of the castle was not worth so much pains.

“Now to these pleasure-seekers in the flowery meadows after a time returned the venturesome few who had succeeded in gaining the summit, and they were greeted with loud cries of astonishment—for behold, their faces shone wondrously, flooded as if with light, and they seemed like beings from another world.

“‘Tell us, what have you seen, or what have you heard, that your countenances should be thus altered?’ demanded the curious throng.

“‘Ah, friends,’ replied the others, ‘would that we might tell you the half of what we have seen, the half of what we have heard. Truly marvelous is this castle which we have visited, and beyond the power of words to describe. We may, indeed, relate to you how, from its windows, we beheld the fair earth, from pole to pole, spread out before us in new and undreamed-of beauty; how we found secret stairways which led us to the burning heart of this same earth; how, through mysterious passage-ways, we were guided to the silent and strangely-peopled valleys of the sea; how, by tower and turret, we mounted to dizzy heights, from whence we could peer in among the stars, and catch a glimpse of the glory lying beyond; how all the way, from lowest foundation-stone to loftiest pinnacle, they who went up before us had carved inscriptions, revealing in what manner the world has fared—even from its creation; how, passing to and fro, our questions were answered, our doubts were quieted, and we were filled with such delight as is only known to them who go up thither—this much, and more we may relate, and yet but a faint idea will you have of that mighty structure. Oh, friends, so vast it is, so wide, so high,—so deep down extend its massive walls, that, though one should wander a lifetime within its gates, still many portions would be unknown to him; so free and open to all it is, that whoever will may abide there, continually feasted and royally entertained; so magnificent it is, that whether you go up or down, whether you follow corridors that lead on, and ever on, or loiter in spacious treasure-halls, golden is the ceiling, crystal is the pavement, riches and splendor meet you at every turn, and you tread upon diamonds which are yours but for the picking up; and what is most marvelous about the castle is this—the more of these rare jewels that are gathered and carried away, the more remain.’

“Then the idlers, seeing their companions laden with precious gems, sparkling in the sunlight, could not doubt the truthfulness of this report; and they said: ‘Let us go up also, to be enriched, and to see those wonderful sights.’ But when they began to climb they discovered that their strength had departed, and that their eyes were dimmed so that they could not find the path; and they now first became aware of how the years had flown while they had been lingering among the pleasant fields, and that in the feebleness of age they were no longer able to mount upward. And they sat down and wept with regret, and nevermore ceased sighing, because of the years they had wasted below.”

“There’s a _Hæc fabula docet_ to that story, I suspect,” said Harry, good-naturedly, after staring awhile at the fire. “But I’ll forgive you, as it’s the only one of that sort I ever heard you tell.”

A MAY MORNING.

It is one of those first bright, pleasant days, so welcome after the rains and clouds that follow the long siege of winter. With the sunbeams so warm, and the air so soft and balmy, who can choose to stay indoors? The Lieutenant draws his chair out to the porch, and is presently joined by Harry, who mounts the railing and proceeds to relate an adventure he had the other night.

“You see we were out on the lake, fishing—a lot of us, and we’d caught about a dozen trout, when up come a storm—a regular gale. Boat capsized; out we went into the water. Rain pouring down in torrents, and so dark you couldn’t see your hand before you. Tell you we had to swim for it. But we got ashore at last, and they took us in at a house close by, and dried our clothes for us, and gave us some supper, and we had a regular jolly time of it, after all.”

“Yes, I heard about that excursion of yours from another source, and about a boy by the name of Harry who saved another boy from drowning.”

“No! did you, though? Well, you see he didn’t know much about swimming, and it was my doings, his going with us, and if anything had happened to him I’d have been to blame. But, I tell you, I thought one time there we were both goners, sure. Hallo, Edith!”

“See my new hat!” she cries, climbing up the steps. “I and mamma bought it down street this very morning. See, it’s all trimmed with blue ribbons!”

“Yes, it’s really pooty. There comes Marie Maross with her instruction book; she’s been taking a music lesson. Say, Marie, come in and sit down, won’t you? You look tired. Professor cross this morning?”

“Yes,” responds Marie, readily accepting the invitation. “He says I don’t half practice my lessons, and it’s no such thing! I practiced a whole half an hour yesterday, and on those wretched scales, too! they’re enough to drive one distracted.”

Harry glares at the gate-post as if it were the professor himself, and he is about to express, in strong terms, his poor opinion of professors of music generally, when—

“Che! cheree! cheree! te-hee, hee, ha, ha, ha!” laughs Robin Redbreast among the budding branches overhead. What is he cocking his shrewd black eye at the two on the steps below for?—looking for all the world as though he had seen them before now—passing notes to each other in that “horrid old school-room,” when “Old Williams” wasn’t watching.

But hush, you, Sir Robin, and hush, every one. Marie lifts her hand to impose silence; for, see, there is a wee gray sparrow prospecting about a moss basket hanging in the porch, evidently in search of a good building site.

But here comes the mail-carrier, who cannot stop for such trifles. As he rapidly approaches Mrs. Sparrow flies away.

Kate, who has been setting out tulip-bulbs in her flower-beds in the back-yard, comes to look over the letters. This one, from a small boy, she reads aloud:

DEER COZEN KATE

an Walter i can’t find ennything but this led pencil to rite with fur they’re housecleening an the inks all spillt on the carpit an the pens lost an the paper lockt up in the riting desk an nobody can find the kee and Briget shes cross she sez ive got to stop running all over the flore whare she scrubd it and so i tore this page out of my gografy whare it isnt printid i most made a bote to sale on our pond fur its chuckfull ov water an somebody swept it up an thru it into the fire when I get to be a Man an have a house ov my own I wont have enny housecleening going on never.

BOB.