Chapter 6

Presently, down the widest and the lonesomest of the white roads, there appeared a long train of people coming. They were walking slowly, and seemed to be asking each other questions as to which way they should take. As the procession came nearer, and finally stopped outside the little hut, Babouscka was frightened at the splendor. There were Three Kings, with crowns on their heads, and the jewels on the Kings' breastplates sparkled like sunlight. Their heavy fur cloaks were white with the falling snow-flakes, and the queer humpy camels on which they rode looked white as milk in the snow-storm. The harness on the camels was decorated with gold, and plates of silver adorned the saddles. The saddle-cloths were of the richest Eastern stuffs, and all the servants had the dark eyes and hair of an Eastern people.

The slaves carried heavy loads on their backs, and each of the Three Kings carried a present. One carried a beautiful transparent jar, and in the fading light Babouscka could see in it a golden liquid which she knew from its color must be myrrh. Another had in his hand a richly woven bag, and it seemed to be heavy, as indeed it was, for it was full of gold. The third had a stone vase in his hand, and from the rich perfume which filled the snowy air, one could guess the vase to have been filled with incense.

Babouscka was terribly frightened, so she hid herself in her hut, and let the servants knock a long time at her door before she dared open it and answer their questions as to the road they should take to a far-away town. You know she had never studied a geography lesson in her life, was old and stupid and scared. She knew the way across the fields to the nearest village, but she know nothing else of all the wide world full of cities. The servants scolded, but the Three Kings spoke kindly to her, and asked her to accompany them on their journey that she might show them the way as far as she knew it. They told her, in words so simple that she could not fail to understand, that they had seen a Star in the sky and were following it to a little town where a young Child lay. The snow was in the sky now, and the Star was lost out of sight.

"Who is the Child?" asked the old woman.

"He is a King, and we go to worship him," they answered. "These presents of gold, frankincense and myrrh are for Him. When we find Him we will take the crowns off our heads and lay them at His feet. Come with us, Babouscka!"

What do you suppose? Shouldn't you have thought the poor little woman would have been glad to leave her desolate home on the plains to accompany these Kings on their journey?

But the foolish woman shook her head. No, the night was dark and cheerless, and her little home was warm and cosy. She looked up into the sky, and the Star was nowhere to be seen. Besides, she wanted to put her hut in order--perhaps she would be ready to go to-morrow. But the Three Kings could not wait; so when to-morrow's sun rose they were far ahead on their journey. It seemed like a dream to poor Babouscka, for even the tracks of the camels' feet were covered by the deep white snow. Everything was the same as usual; and to make sure that the night's visitors had not been a fancy, she found her old broom hanging on a peg behind the door, where she had put it when the servants knocked.

Now that the sun was shining, and she remembered the glitter of the gold and the smell of the sweet gums and myrrh, she wished she had gone with the travelers.

And she thought a great deal about the dear Baby the Three Kings had gone to worship. She had no children of her own--nobody loved her--ah, if she had only gone! The more she brooded on the thought, the more miserable she grew, till the very sight of her home became hateful to her.

It is a dreadful feeling to realize that one has lost a chance of happiness. There is a feeling called remorse that can gnaw like a sharp little tooth. Babouscka felt this little tooth cut into her heart every time she remembered the visit of the Three Kings.

After a while the thought of the Little Child became her first thought at waking and her last at night. One day she shut the door of her house forever, and set out on a long journey. She had no hope of overtaking the Three Kings, but she longed to find the Child, that she too might love and worship Him. She asked every one she met, and some people thought her crazy, but others gave her kind answers. Have you perhaps guessed that the young Child whom the Three Kings sought was our Lord himself?

People told Babouscka how He was born in a manger, and many other things which you children have learned long ago. These answers puzzled the old dame mightily. She had but one idea in her ignorant head. The Three Kings had gone to seek a Baby. She would, if not too late, seek Him too.

She forgot, I am sure, how many long years had gone by. She looked in vain for the Christ-child in His manger-cradle. She spent all her little savings in toys and candy so as to make friends with little children, that they might not run away when she came hobbling into their nurseries.

Now you know for whom she is sadly seeking when she pushes back the bed-curtains and bends down over each baby's pillow. Sometimes, when the old grandmother sits nodding by the fire, and the bigger children sleep in their beds, old Babouscka comes hobbling into the room, and whispers softly, "Is the young Child here?"

Ah, no; she has come too late, too late. But the little children know her and love her. Two thousand years ago she lost the chance of finding Him. Crooked, wrinkled, old, sick and sorry, she yet lives on, looking into each baby's face--always disappointed, always seeking. Will she find Him at last?

Come, Bossy, come Bossy! Here I am with my cup, Come give me some milk, rich and sweet. I will pay you well with red clover hay, The nicest you ever did eat.

DAISIES.

Daisies!

Low in the grass and high in the clover, Starring the green earth over and over, Now into white waves tossing and breaking, Like a foaming sea when the wind is waking, Now standing upright, tall and slender, Showing their deep hearts' golden splendor; Daintily bending, Airily lending

Garlands of flowers for earth's adorning, Fresh with the dew of a summer morning; High on the slope, low in the hollow, Where eye can reach or foot can follow, Shining with innocent fearless faces Out of the depths of lonely places, Till the glad heart sings their praises --Here are the daisies! The daisies!

Daisies! See them ebbing and flowing, Like tides with the full moon going; Spreading their generous largess free For hand to touch and for eye to see; In dust of the wayside growing, On rock-ribbed upland blowing, By meadow brooklets glancing, On barren fields a-dancing, Till the world forgets to burrow and grope, And rises aloft on the wings of hope; --Oh! of all posies, Lilies or roses, Sweetest or fairest, Richest or rarest, That earth in its joy to heaven upraises, Give me the daisies!

Why? For they glow with the spirit of youth, Their beautiful eyes have the glory of truth, Down before all their rich bounty they fling --Free to the beggar, and free to the king

Loving they stoop to the lowliest ways, Joyous they brighten the dreariest days; Under the fringe of their raiment they hide Scars the gray winter hath opened so wide; Freely and brightly-- Who can count lightly Gifts with such generous ardor proffered, Tokens of love from such full heart's offered, Or look without glances of joy and delight At pastures star-covered from morning till night, When the sunshiny field ablaze is With daisies!

Daisies, Your praise is, That you are like maidens, as maidens should be, Winsome with freshness, and wholesome to see, Gifted with beauty, and joy to the eye, Head lifted daintily--yet not too high-- Sweet with humility, radiant with love, Generous too as the sunshine above, Swaying with sympathy, tenderly bent On hiding the scar and on healing the rent, Innocent-looking the world in the face, Yet fearless with nature's own innocent grace, Full of sweet goodness, yet simple in art, White in the soul, and pure gold in the heart --Ah, like unto you should all maidenhood be Gladsome to know, and most gracious to see; Like you, my daisies! M. E. B

Sing a song of sixpence, A pocket full of rye; Four-and-twenty blackbirds Baked into a pie. When the pie was opened The birds began to sing. Wasn't that a dainty dish To set before the King?

The King was in the parlor Counting out his money; The Queen was in the kitchen Eating bread and honey; The maid was in the garden Hanging up the clothes, There came a little blackbird And picked off her nose.

DRIVING HOME THE COWS.

Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass, He turned them into the river lane; One after another he let them pass, Then fastened the meadow bars again.

Along by the willows and over the hill He patiently followed their sober pace-- The merry whistle for once was still And something shadowed the sunny face.

Only a boy, and his father had said He never could let his youngest go, Two already were lying dead Under the feet of the trampling foe.

But, after the evening work was done, And the frogs were loud in the meadow swamp, Over his shoulder he slung his gun And stealthily followed the footpath damp.

Across the clover and through the wheat, With resolute heart and purpose grim, Though cold was the dew on his hurrying feet, And the blind bat's flitting startled him.

Thrice since then have the lanes been white And the orchards sweet with apple bloom, And now when the cows came back at night The feeble father drove them home;

For news had come to the lonely farm That three were lying where two had lain, And the old man's tremulous, palsied arm Could never lean on a son's again.

The summer day grew cool and late, He went for the cows when his work was done, But down the lane, as he opened the gate, He saw them coming, one by one.

Brindle and Ebony, Speckle and Bess, Tossing their horns in the evening wind, Cropping the buttercups out of the grass, But who was it following close behind?

Loosely swung in the idle air The empty sleeve of army blue, And worn and pale through its crisped hair Looked out a face that the father knew.

For Southern prisons will sometimes yawn And yield their dead to life again, And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn In golden glory at last may wane.

The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes, For the hearts must speak when the lips are dumb, And under the silent evening skies Together they followed the cattle home.

KATE PUTNAM OSGOOD.

To and fro, See us go! Up so high, Down so low; Now quite fast, Now real slow. Singing, Swinging, This is the way, to get fresh air In a pleasant way.

THE BABY'S KISS.

AN INCIDENT OF THE CIVIL WAR.

Rough and ready the troopers ride, Pistol in holster and sword by side; They have ridden long, they have ridden hard, They are travel-stained and battle-scarred; The hard ground shakes with their martial tramp, And coarse is the laugh of the men of the camp.

They reach the spot where a mother stands With a baby shaking its little hands, Laughing aloud at the gallant sight Of the mounted soldiers, fresh from the fight. The captain laughs out, "I will give you this, A bright piece of gold, your baby to kiss."

"My darling's kisses cannot be sold, But gladly he'll kiss a soldier bold." He lifts up the babe with a manly grace, And covers with kisses its smiling face. Its rosy cheeks and its dimpled charms, And it crows with delight in the soldier's arms.

"Not all for the captain," the troopers call; "The baby, we know, has a kiss for all." To each soldier's breast the baby is pressed By the strong rough men, and kissed and caressed. And louder it laughs, and the lady's face Wears a mother's smile at the fond embrace.

"Just such a kiss," cried one warrior grim, "When I left my boy I gave to him;" "And just such a kiss on the parting day, I gave to my girl as asleep she lay." Such were the words of these soldiers brave, And their eyes were moist when the kiss they gave. ANON.

"Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool?" "Yes sir, yes sir three bags full; One for my master and one for my dame, And one for the little boy who lives in the lane."

Tommy Bangs looks quite smart, Driving along in his new goat cart, But Tommy's not one of your selfish boys, With every baby he shares his joys, Takes them to ride and lets them drive, Of course, they like Tommy The best boy alive.

THE LOST DIAMOND SNUFF BOX.

The grand old kingdom of England, in the course of the mossy centuries you can count over its head, has had its times of gloom and depression at dangers that looked near, and its times of shouting and rejoicing over dangers its brave men have driven away quite out of sight again.

One of the deepest seasons of gloom was when the French Emperor, Napoleon, had conquered one country after another, until there was scarcely anything but England left to attack; and one of the proudest times of rejoicing was when the "Iron Duke" Wellington, and the bluff old Prussian, Blucher, met him at Waterloo, defeated his armies and drove him from the field. There were bonfires, and bell-ringings then, and from that day onward England loved and cherished every man who had fought at Waterloo--from the "Duke" himself down to the plainest private, every one was a hero and a veteran.

In one of the humblest houses of a proud nobleman's estate, a low, whitewashed cottage, one of these veterans lived not so very many years ago. He had fought by his flag in one of the most gallant regiments until the last hour of the battle, and then had fallen disabled from active service for the rest of his life.

That did not seem to be of so very great consequence though, just now; for peace reigned in the land, and with his wife and two beautiful daughters to love, his battles to think over, and his pension to provide the bread and coffee, the old soldier was as happy as the day was long. It made no difference that the bread and the coffee were both black, and the clothes of the veteran were coarse and seldom new.

"Ho, Peggy!" he used to say to his wife, "my cloak is as fine as the one the 'Iron Duke' wore when they carried me past him just as the French were breaking; and as for the bread, only a veteran knows how the recollection of victory makes everything taste sweet!"

But it seemed as if the old soldier's life was going to prove like his share in that great day at Waterloo--success and victory till the end had nearly come, and then one shot after another striking him with troubles, he could never get over.

The first came in the midst of the beautiful summer days, when the bees droned through the delicious air, the rose-bush was in full bloom, and the old soldier sat in the cottage door reveling in it all. A slow, merciless fever rose up through the soft air--it did not venture near the high ground where the castle stood, but it crept noiselessly into the whitewashed cottage, one night, and the soldier's two daughters were stricken down. This was the beginning of terrible trouble to the veteran of Waterloo. Not that he minded watching, for he was used to standing sentry all night, and as for nursing, he had seen plenty in the hospital; but to see his daughters suffering--that was what he could not bear!

And worst of all, between medicines and necessaries for the sick, the three months' pension was quite used up, and when the old soldier's nursing had pulled through the fierceness of the fever, there was nothing but black bread left in the house--and black bread was almost the same as no bread at all to the dainty appetities the fever had left; and that was what he had to think of, and think of, as he sat in the cottage door.

"Bah!" said the old soldier, with something more like a groan than was ever heard from him while his wounds were being dressed, "I could face all the armies of Napoleon better than this!"

And he sat more and more in the cottage door, as if that could leave the trouble behind; but it stood staring before him, all the same, till it almost shut the rosebush and the bees out of sight. But one morning a tremendous surprise came to him like a flash out of the sky! He heard the sound of galloping troops, and he pricked up his ears, for that always made him think of a cavalry charge.

"Who goes there?" he cried; but without answering his challenge the sound came nearer and nearer, and a lackey in full livery dashed up to the door, and presented him with a note sealed with the blood-red seal of the castle arms. It was an invitation to dine at the castle with a company of noblemen and officers of the army. His lordship, who had also fought at Waterloo, had just learned that a comrade was living on his estate, and made haste to do him honor, and secure a famous guest for his dinner party.

The old soldier rose up proudly, and gave the lackey a military salute.

"Tell his lordship," he said, "that I shall report myself at headquarters, and present my thanks for the honor he has done me."

The lackey galloped off, and the veteran pushed his chair over with his wooden leg, and clattered across the cottage floor.

"Ho, Peggy!" he cried, "did I not say that luck comes and trouble flies if you only face the enemy long enough? This is the beginning of good things, I tell you! A hero of Waterloo, and fit to dine with lords and generals, will certainly have other good fortune coming to him, till he can keep his wife and daughters like princesses. Just wait a bit and you shall see!" and he turned hastily away, for his heart came up in his throat so that he could not speak.

All the rest of that day he sat in the door, brushing and darning and polishing his stained uniform. It had lain abandoned on the shelf for many a year, but before night every button was shining like gold, the scarlet cloth was almost fresh once more, and the old soldier, wrapped in his faithful cloak, was making his way joyfully across the heathery moors to the castle quite at the other side.

But when he had fairly reached it, and the servant had shown him into the drawing-room, his heart almost failed him for a moment. Such splendor he had never seen before--a thousandth part would have bought health and happiness for the dear ones he had left with only his brave goodbye and a fresh rose-bud to comfort them!

However, what with the beautiful ladies of the castle gathering round him to ask questions about the battle, and with a seat near his lordship's right hand at dinner, he soon plucked up again, and began to realize how delightful everything was. But that was the very thing that almost spoiled the whole again, for when he saw his plate covered with luxuries and delicacies more than he could possibly eat, the thought of the black bread he had left at the cottage brought the tears rushing to his eyes.

But, "Tut!" he said to himself in great dismay, "what an ungrateful poltroon his lordship will think he has brought here!" and he managed to brush them off while no one was looking.

It was delicious, though, in spite of everything, and after a while the wine began to flow--that warmed his very heart--and then he heard his lordship calling to a servant to bring him something from his private desk, saying:

"Gentlemen, I am about to show you the proudest treasure I possess. This diamond snuff-box was presented to me by the stout old Blucher himself, in remembrance of service I was able to perform at Waterloo. Not that I was a whit worthier of it than the brave fellows under my command--understand that!"

How the diamonds glistened and gleamed as the box was passed from hand to hand! As if the thickest cluster of stars you ever saw, could shine out in the midst of a yellow sunset sky, and the colors of the rainbow could twinkle through them at the same time! It was superb, but then that was nothing compared to the glory of receiving it from Blucher!

Then there was more wine and story-telling, and at last some asked to look at the snuff-box again.

"Has any one the snuff-box at present?" asked his lordship, rather anxiously, for as he turned to reach it no snuff-box was to be seen.

No one said "yes," for everyone was sure he had passed it to his neighbor, and they searched up and down the table with consternation in their faces, for the snuff-box could not have disappeared without hands, but to say so was to touch the honor of gentlemen and soldiers.

At last one of the most famous officers rose from his seat:

"My lord," he said, "a very unlucky accident must have occurred here. Some one of us must have slipped the box into his pocket unconsciously, mistaking it for his own. I will take the lead in searching mine, if the rest of the company will follow!"

"Agreed!" said the rest, and each guest in turn went to the bottom of one pocket after another, but still no snuff-box, and the distress of the company increased. The old soldier's turn came last, and with it came the surprise. With burning cheeks and arms folded closely across his breast he stood up and confronted the company like a stag at bay.

"No!" he exclaimed, "no one shall search my pockets! Would you doubt the honor of a soldier?"

"But we have all done so," said the rest, "and every one knows it is the merest accident at the most." But the old soldier only held his arms the tighter, while the color grew deeper in his face. In his perplexity his lordship thought of another expedient.

"We will try another way, gentlemen," he said, "I will order a basket of bran to be brought, and propose that each one in turn shall thrust his hand into the bran. No one shall look on, and if we find the box at last, no one can guess whose hand placed it there."

It was quickly done, and hand after hand was thrust in, until at last came the old soldier's turn once more. But he was nowhere to be seen.

Then, at last the indignation of the company broke forth.

"A soldier, and a hero of Waterloo, and willing to be a thief!" and with their distress about the affair, and his lordship's grief at his loss, the evening was entirely spoiled.

Meantime the old soldier, with his faithful cloak wrapped closely round him once more, was fighting his way through the sharp winds and over the moors again. But a battle against something a thousand times sharper and colder was going on in his breast.

"A thief!" he was saying over and over to himself, "me, who fought close to the side of the 'Iron Duke'! And yet, can I look one of them in the face and tell him he lies?"

The walk that had been gone over so merrily was a terrible one to retrace, and when the cottage was reached, instead of the pride and good luck the poor invalids had been watching for, a gloom deadlier than the fever followed him in. He sat in the doorway as he used, but sometimes he hung his head on his breast, and sometimes started up and walked proudly about, crying--