Part 2

"'Those scamps over there,' said Tom, his eyes flashing, 'they deserve a whipping, and I will help get it for them. There are half a dozen great boys always in mischief of one sort or other. It seems they have made a kind of slave of this little fellow; his mother is dead, and he is the youngest boy in school; they have made him run errands, and do all sorts of things for them; to-night they planned that he was to go down to Jordon's and get them some nuts, and raisins, and cider, and cake, and smuggle it into their rooms after hours, for them to have what they call a 'spread.' And it seems the little chap had the pluck to refuse to do it, because it was against the rules. They had a stormy time, and finally they threatened to lock him up in a hole where he would have to spend the night, and how much longer they could not tell. It seems he is timid in the dark, and they knew it. He was awfully afraid, he told me, "but then I couldn't do wrong, you know," he said, and his eyes were as blue as the sky, when he looked up in my face. Well, the rascals blindfolded him, and led him around and around the grounds, I presume, for he thought he walked a mile or more; then thrust him into a dark hole, and fastened the door and left him. When he pushed off the bandage from his eyes, no light was to be seen; he had not the least idea where he was, but thought it was somewhere in the woods, and he was dreadfully afraid, and cried aloud, he says, but he was sure no one could hear him. Then he remembered about the fiery furnace, and what the men said about God being able to deliver, and he got down in the dark and prayed for deliverance; but he says he didn't feel _sure_ it would come; he was only sure that God was able to do it if he thought best. He hadn't an idea, when he saw aunt Harriet, that she had come to answer his prayer. He knew her, and for some reason the little chap was afraid of _her_. He thought that she had been told that he had done something wrong.'

"'What horrid, awful boys!' I said. 'Do you suppose they were going to leave him there all night?'

"'No,' Tom said, he didn't suppose they were; probably they were only going to leave him long enough to get him thoroughly scared; but if he was not much mistaken they were the scared ones this time. Toby, when he went over to the boarding-house, saw two or three fellows skulking around the coal house, and he walked boldly up to them and said: 'If you are looking for Master Andrews, he is in Miss Peabody's library eating nuts and apples;' Toby's a sharp fellow; he said the way they scampered was worth a dollar.

"I suppose that evening's work was about the best thing that ever happened to 'Master Andrews.' Miss Harriet all but adopted him; she had him with her on Sundays, and holidays, and to spend the evening as often as she could get up an excuse for his coming. He told me once, with the great tears in his eyes, that she was the best friend a fellow ever had in the world. 'And to think,' he said, 'that very morning of the day she found me in her coal shed, I had joined in the laugh the boys had over her because she walked so straight and looked like a soldier! I tell you I never laughed at her again.'"

"What became of the boys who treated him so meanly? Were they expelled?"

"No; little Andrews plead for them, and got them forgiven; he said they didn't mean to be ugly, only darkness and rain were nothing but fun to them and they could not understand his dreadful fright. No, they really grew to be better boys under his influence; and one Thanksgiving Day Miss Harriet had them all to dinner, to please Andrews. One of them, the tallest and handsomest, actually cried when he was telling me about how frightened little Andrews was, and how sorry he felt for him afterwards. He slipped out, unknown to the others, to let him out of the coal shed; but it was too late; fortunately, Miss Harriet had found him. Oh! he wasn't a very bad boy, only a thoughtless one; he grew to be a splendid man; and young Andrews and he were friends as long as he lived."

"Are they both dead?"

"Oh, no; Andrews died when he was a young man; he was a good noble man, and died bravely because he wasn't afraid to run into danger to help save a life; but the other one is down in the library reading his paper, and I ought to go this minute and read it for him." Grandma fumbled for her spectacles, and went off smiling.

"There!" said Rollo, "I had a feeling it was Grandpa, all the time. Just think of Grandma calling him 'a horrid, awful boy!'"

PANSY.

POEM FOR RECITATION.

THE TWO GREAT CITIES.

SIDE by side the two great cities, Afar on the traveller's sight. One, black with the dust of labor, One, solemnly still and white. Apart, and yet together, They are reached in a dying breath; But a river flows between them, And the river's name is--Death.

Apart, and yet together, Together, and yet apart, As the child may die at midnight, On the mother's living heart. So close come the two great cities, With only the river between; And the grass in the one is trampled, But the grass in the other is green.

The hills with uncovered foreheads, Like the disciples meet, While ever the flowing water Is washing their hallowed feet. And out on the glassy ocean, The sails in the golden gloom Seem to me but the moving shadows Of the white enmarbled tomb.

Anon from the hut and the palace, Anon, from early till late, They come, rich and poor, together, Asking alms at the beautiful gate. O silent city of refuge On the way to the city o'erhead! The gleam of thy marble milestones Tells the distance we are from the dead.

Full of feet, but a city untrodden, Full of hands, but a city unbuilt, Full of strangers who know not even That their life-cup lies there, spilt. They know not the tomb from the palace, They dream not they ever have died; God be thanked, they _never will_ know it, Till they live, on the other side! SAMUEL MILLER HAGEMAN.

_Volume 13, Number 15._ Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO. _Feb. 13, 1886._

THE PANSY.

THE ENGINE'S PUNISHMENT.

WE were driving along to town one day-- Papa and I, behind "Old Gray," And our little Fred was along beside, Looking out o'er the fields, enjoying the ride.

I was sitting back reading, contented and calm, While Fred had the whip held tight in his palm, And was snapping it round at urchins and dogs, And sometimes at only some old rotten logs.

We were crossing the track, when we heard such a shout That all of us jumped, and looked quickly about, When we saw the old flagman as frantic and wild As a pea on a shovel that's hot; and his child

Screamed out "Stop, O, stop! here comes the train!" Papa looked quickly out, then drew in the rein. I shut my eyes tight, and held to the seat, And I knew I could hear my frightened heart beat!

A rush and a roar, a sudden pull back, A "toot! toot! toot! toot!" and a terrible crack; And I heard papa say, "Cheer up, little maid, For here we are, safe, so don't be afraid!"

"But what was that crack?" when I'd quite got my breath, And all things around us were silent as death (Except the low rumble of the distant train, Which, when we were safe, had steamed off again).

"Why, Katy, 'twas me!" and Fred turned in his place, "I whipped the old engine right in the face! I guess he won't scare us again so, do you? For I gave him a cut that just made him boo, hoo!"

Well, we laughed, and we laughed, till tears came in our eyes, At how little Fred did the engine chastise, Until over his face came a flush of bright red. "You are right; he won't scare us again," papa said. PARANETE.

REACHING OUT.

(_A further Account of Nettie Decker and her Friends._)

BY PANSY.

CHAPTER IV.

THAT was the way it came about that little Sate not only, but Susie and Nettie, went to the flower party.

They had not expected to do any such thing. The little girls, who were not used to going anywhere, had paid no attention to the announcements on Sunday, and Nettie had heard as one with whom such things had nothing in common. Her treatment in the Sabbath-school was not such as to make her long for the companionship of the girls of her age, and by this time she knew that her dress at the flower party would be sure to command more attention than was pleasant; so she had planned as a matter of course to stay away.

But the little old ladies in their caps and spectacles springing into active life, put a new face on the matter. Certainly no more astonished young person can be imagined than Nettie Decker was, the morning Miss Sherrill called on her, the one daisy she had begged still carefully preserved, and proposed her plan of partnership in the flower party.

"It will add ever so much to the fun," she explained, "besides bringing you a nice little sum for your spending money."

Did Miss Sherrill have any idea how far that argument would reach just now, Nettie wondered.

"We can dress the little girls in daisies," continued their teacher. "Little Sate will look like a flower herself, with daisies wreathed about her dress and hair."

"Little Sate will be afraid, I think," Nettie objected. "She is very timid, and not used to seeing many people."

"But with Susie she will not mind, will she? Susie has assurance enough to take her through anything. Oh, I wonder if little Sate would not recite a verse about the daisy grandmothers? I have such a cunning one for her. May I teach her, Mrs. Decker, and see if I can get her to learn it?"

Mrs. Decker's consent was very easy to gain; indeed it had been freely given in Mrs. Decker's heart before it was asked. For Miss Sherrill had not been in the room five minutes before she had said: "Your son, Norman, I believe his name is, has promised to help my brother with the church flowers this evening. My brother says he is an excellent helper; his eye is so true; they had quite a laugh together, last week. It seems one of the wreaths was not hung plumb; your son and my brother had an argument about it, and it was finally left as my brother had placed it, but was out of line several inches. He was obliged to admit that if he had followed Norman's direction it would have looked much better." After that, it would have been hard for Miss Sherrill to have asked a favor which Mrs. Decker would not grant if she could. _She_ saw through it all; these people were in league with Nettie, to try to save her boy. What wasn't she ready to do at their bidding!

There was but one thing about which she was positive. The little girls could not go without Nettie; they talked it over in the evening, after Miss Sherrill was gone. Nettie looked distressed. She liked to please Miss Sherrill; she was willing to make many grandmothers; she would help to put the little girls in as dainty attire as possible, but she did _not_ want to go to the flower festival. She planned various ways; Jerry would take them down, or Norm; perhaps even _he_ would go with them; surely mother would be willing to have them go with Norm. Miss Sherrill would look after them carefully, and they would come home at eight o'clock; before they began to grow very sleepy.

But no, Mrs. Decker was resolved; she could not let them go unless Nettie would go with them and bring them home. "I let one child run the streets," she said with a heavy sigh, "and I have lived to most wish he had died when he was a baby, before I did it; and I said then I would never let another one go out of my sight as long as I had control; I can't go; but I would just as soon they would be with you as with me; and unless you go, they can't stir a step, and that's the whole of it." Mrs. Decker was a very determined woman when she set out to be; and Nettie looked the picture of dismay. It did not seem possible to her to go to a flower party; and on the other hand it seemed really dreadful to thwart Miss Sherrill. Jerry sat listening, saying little, but the word he put in now and then, was on Mrs. Decker's side; he owned to himself that he never so entirely approved of her as at that moment. He wanted Nettie to go to the flower party.

"But I have nothing to wear?" said Nettie, blushing, and almost weeping.

"Nothing to wear!" repeated Mrs. Decker in honest astonishment. "Why, what do you wear on Sundays, I should like to know? I'm sure you look as neat and nice as any girl I ever saw, in your gingham. I was watching you last Sunday and thinking how pretty it was."

"Yes; but, mother, they all wear white at such places; and I cut up my white dress, you know, for the little girls; it was rather short for me anyway; but I should feel queer in any other color."

"O, well," said Mrs. Decker in some irritation, "if they go to such places to show their clothes, why, I suppose you must stay at home, if you have none that you want to show. I thought, being it was a church, it didn't matter, so you were neat and clean; but churches are like everything else, it seems, places for show."

Jerry looked grave disapproval at Nettie, but she felt injured and could have cried. Was it fair to accuse her of going to church to show her clothes, or of being over-particular, when she went every Sunday in a blue and white gingham such as no other girl in her class would wear even to school? This was not church, it was a party. It was hard that she must be blamed for pride, when she was only too glad to stay at home from it.

"I can't go in my blue dress, and that is the whole of it," she said at last, a good deal of decision in her voice.

"Very well," said Mrs Decker. "Then we'll say no more about it; as for the little girls going without you, they sha'n't do it. When I set my foot down, it's _down_."

Jerry instinctively looked down at her foot as she spoke. It was a good-sized one, and looked as though it could set firmly on any question on which it was put. His heart began to fail him; the flower party and certain things which he hoped to accomplish thereby, were fading. He took refuge with Mrs. Smith to hide his disappointment, and also to learn wisdom about this matter of dress.

"Do clothes make such a very great difference to girls?" was his first question.

"Difference?" said Mrs. Smith inquiringly, rubbing a little more flour on her hands, and plunging them again into the sticky mass she was kneading.

"Yes'm. They seem to think of clothes the first thing, when there is any place to go to; boys aren't that way. I don't believe a boy knows whether his coat ought to be brown or green. What makes the difference?"

Mrs. Smith laughed a little. "Well," she said reflectively, "there is a difference, now that's a fact. I noticed it time and again when I was living with Mrs. Jennison. Dick would go off with whatever he happened to have on; and Florence was always in a flutter as to whether she looked as well as the rest. I've heard folks say that it is the fault of the mothers, because they make such a fuss over the girls' clothes, and keep rigging them up in something bright, just to make 'em look pretty, till they succeed in making them think there isn't anything quite so important in life as what they wear on their backs. It's all wrong, I believe. But then, Nettie ain't one of that kind. She hasn't had any mother to perk her up and make her vain. I shouldn't think she would be one to care about clothes much."

"She doesn't," said Jerry firmly. "I don't think she would care if other folks didn't. The girls in her class act hatefully to her; they don't speak, if they can help it. I suppose it's clothes; I don't know what else; they are always rigged out like hollyhocks or tulips; they make fun of her, I guess; and that isn't very pleasant."

"Is that the reason she won't go to the flower show next week?"

"Yes'm, that's the reason. All the girls are going to dress in white; I suppose she thinks she will look queerly, and be talked about. But I don't understand it. Seems to me if all the boys were going to wear blue coats, and I knew it, I'd just as soon wear my gray one if gray was respectable."

"She ought to have a white dress, now that's a fact," said Mrs. Smith with energy, patting her brown loaf, and tucking it down into the tin in a skilful way. "It isn't much for a girl like her to want; if her father was the kind of man he ought to be, she might have a white dress for best, as well as not; I've no patience with him."

"Her father hasn't drank a drop this week," said Jerry.

"Hasn't; well, I'm glad of it; but I'm thinking of what he has done, and what he will go and do, as likely as not, next week; they might be as forehanded as any folks I know of, if he was what he ought to be; there isn't a better workman in the town. Well, you don't care much about the flower party, I suppose?"

"I don't now," said Jerry, wearily. "When I thought the little girls were going, I had a plan. Sate is such a little thing, she would be sure to be half-asleep by eight o'clock; and I was going to coax Norm to come for her, and we carry her home between us. Norm won't go to a flower party, out and out; but he is good-natured, and was beginning to think a great deal of Sate; then I thought Mr. Sherrill would speak to him. The more we can get Norm to feeling he belongs in such places, the less he will feel like belonging to the corner groceries, and the streets."

"I see," said Mrs. Smith admiringly. "Well, I do say I didn't think Nettie was the kind of girl to put a white dress between her chances of helping folks. Sarah Ann thinks she's a real true Christian; but Satan does seem to be into the clothes business from beginning to end."

"I don't suppose it is any easier for a Christian to be laughed at and slighted, than it is for other people," said Jerry, inclined to resent the idea that Nettie was not showing the right spirit; although in his heart he was disappointed in her for caring so much about the color of her dress.

"Well, I don't know about that," said Mrs. Smith, stopping in the act of tucking her bread under the blankets, to look full at Jerry, "why, they even made fun of the Lord Jesus Christ; dressed him up in purple, like a king, and mocked at him! When it comes to remembering that, it would seem as if any common Christian might be almost glad of a chance to be made fun of, just to stand in the same lot with him."

This was a new thought to Jerry. He studied it for awhile in silence. Now it so happened that neither Mrs. Smith nor Jerry remembered certain facts; one was that Mrs. Smith's kitchen window was in a line with Mrs. Decker's bedroom window, where Nettie had gone to sit while she mended Norm's shirt; the other was that a gentle breeze was blowing, which brought their words distinctly to Nettie's ears. At first she had not noticed the talk, busy with her own thoughts; then she heard her name, and paused needle in hand, to wonder what was being said about her. Then, coming to her senses, she determined to leave the room; but her mother, for convenience, had pushed her ironing table against the bedroom door, and then had gone to the yard in search of chips; Nettie was a prisoner; she tried to push the table by pushing against the door, but the floor was uneven, and the table would not move; meantime the conversation going on across the alleyway, came distinctly to her. No use to cough, they were too much interested to hear her. By and by she grew so interested as to forget that the words were not intended for her to hear. There were more questions involved in this matter of dress than she had thought about. Her cheeks began to burn a little with the thought that her neighbor had been planning help for Norm, which she was blocking because she had no white dress! This was an astonishment! She had not known she was proud. In fact, she had thought herself very humble, and worthy of commendation because she went Sabbath after Sabbath to the school in the same blue and white dress, not so fresh now by a great deal as when she first came home. When Mrs. Smith reached the sentence which told of the Lord Jesus being robed in purple, and crowned with thorns, and mocked, two great tears fell on Norm's shirt sleeve.

It was a very gentle little girl who moved about the kitchen getting early tea; Mrs. Decker glanced at her from time to time in a bewildered way. The sort of girl with whom she was best acquainted would have slammed things about a little; both because she had not clothes to wear like other children, and because she had been blamed for not wanting to do what was expected of her. But Nettie's face had no trace of anger, her movements were gentleness itself; her voice when she spoke was low and sweet: "Mother, I will take the little girls, if you will let them go."

Mrs. Decker drew a relieved sigh. "I'd like them to go because _she_ asked to have them; and I can see plain enough she is trying to get hold of Norm; so is _he_; that's what helping with the flowers means; and there ain't anything I ain't willing to do to help, only I couldn't let the little girls go without you; they'd be scared to death, and it wouldn't look right. I'm sorry enough you ain't got suitable clothes; if I could help it, you should have as good as the best of them."

"Never mind," said Nettie, "I don't think I care anything about the dress now." She was thinking of that crown of thorns. So when Miss Sherrill called the way was plain and little Sate ready to be taught anything she would teach her.

They went away down to the pond under the clump of trees which formed such a pretty shade; and there Sate's slow sweet voice said over the lines as they were told to her, putting in many questions which the words suggested. "He makes the flowers blow," she repeated with thoughtful face, then: "What did He make them for?"

"I think it was because He loved them; and He likes to give you and me sweet and pleasant things to look at."

"Does He love flowers?"

"I think so, darling."

"And birds? See the birds!" For at that moment two beauties standing on the edge of their nest, looked down into the clear water, and seeing themselves reflected in its smoothness began to talk in low sweet chirps to their shadows.

"Oh, yes, He loves the birds, I am sure; think how many different kinds He has made, and how beautiful they are. Then He has given them sweet voices, and they are thanking Him as well as they know how, for all his goodness. Listen."

Sure enough, one of the birds hopped back a trifle, balanced himself well on the nest, and putting up his little throat trilled a lovely song.

"What does he say?" asked Sate.

"Oh, I don't know," said Miss Sherrill, with a little laugh. Sate was taxing her powers rather too much. "But God understands, you know; and I'm sure the words are sweet to him."

Sate reflected over this for a minute, then went back to the flowers: "What made Him put the colors on them? Does He like to see pretty colors, do you sink? Which color does He like just the very bestest of all?"

"O you darling! I don't know that, either. Perhaps, crimson; or, no, I think He must like pure white ones a little the best. But He likes little human flowers the best of all. Little white flowers with souls. Do you know what I mean, darling? White hearts are given to the little children who try all the time to do right, because they love Jesus, and want to please him."

"Sate wants to," said the little girl. "Sate loves Jesus; she would like to kiss him."

"I do not know but you shall, some day. Now shall we take another line of the hymn?"