Chapter 8

"But the next moment she was walking steadily along again as if no thought of danger or retreat had ever entered her mind; and as we came opposite the grocery and a tall man in an officer's uniform strolled out toward us with a curious, questioning look upon his handsome face, she gave the word of command to her little brigade in a voice as clear as a bell:

"'Halt, children!'

"We all stood still as mice, eying the stranger with looks in which fear and admiration were probably curiously blended, while Aunt Polly, taking the white flag from her color-bearer, advanced with a firm front to meet the foe who now, reinforced by several men, stood beside the way, evidently wondering what this queer parade was about.

"'Sir!' and Aunt Polly's voice trembled perceptibly but she waved the white flag manfully under his very nose, 'sir, I demand a safe passage for these innocent children to their different homes.'

"The officer stared, and his mouth twitched mischievously as if he had hard work to keep from laughing outright. But he was a gentleman; and when he spoke, he spoke like one.

"'My good woman,' he said kindly, 'these children are nothing to me. If you wish permission for them to go to their own homes you are welcome to it, though in what way the matter concerns me I must confess I am at a loss to imagine."

Then, and not till then, Aunt Polly broke down and sobbed aloud:

"'Run, children,' she cried as soon as she could speak; 'go home just as fast as you can scud; an' tell your folks,' she added with a gust of gratitude, 'that there's worse folks in the world than an Englishman.'

"You may be sure that we waited for no further urging; and as we flew, rather than ran, in the direction of our different homes, I heard the irrepressible burst of laughter with which the officer and his men received the grateful spinster's compliment which, to the day of her death, she loved to repeat whenever she told the thrilling story of her adventure with the English officer, 'when Hampden was took by the British in 1814;' always concluding with this candid admission:

"'An' really, now, if he'd 'a' been anybody but an Englishman, an' an inimy, I should 'a' said that I never sot eyes on a better-built, more mannerly man, in all my born days.'"

Heigho! Baby Mine! Now where are you creeping, With such a rapid pace across the nursery floor? Only out to Mamma who'll give you royal greeting, With coddling and petting and kisses galore.

CORINNE'S MUSICALE.

Inside of me says I am naughty, But truly, I know I am not; For if Brother Joe could see me Right in this very same spot, He'd let me do just what I'm doing, I'm very sure; that is, perhaps. Oh dear! however do big folks Hold this thing straight in their laps?

It slips, an' it slips, an' it slips, You naughty old Banjo, oh dear!

Is he coming? then what will he do To find me sitting up here! Ho, ho! 'twas a mouse --how silly An' frightened I've actually been; For he'd say, "If you hold it quite still, You may take it, I'm willing, Corinne!"

I know: so now I'll begin it; How does he go "tum-ty tum ting," An' make such beautiful tunes; Too lovely for anything? I ain't a bit 'fraid they may hear, --The house-people 'way off below-- Me playing in Brother Joe's room, Still I better be careful, you know.

If they didn't say 'twas amusing, I sh'd think 'twas stupid to play, To tug at such tiresome strings An' make them come over this way; But it must be delightful. I'll pull A very fine tune at first; Now, "tum-ty ting tw-a-n-g!" It sound's as if something had burst!

That string must 'a' truly been cracked, Don't you s'pose? or moth-eaten, p'raps; 'Tisn't pleasant to practice, I'm sure, But forlorn, when anything flaps. So I guess I have finished; hark, hark! He really IS coming--Oh my! Now, Banjo, I know mamma wants me, An' so I must bid you good-by! MARGARET SIDNEY.

Mr. Bunny was a rabbit, Mr. Bunny was a thief! He hopped into my garden And stole a cabbage leaf.

He ate up all my parsnips Without asking if he may, And when I tried to catch him Kicked up his heels and ran away.

BARBARA FRIETCHIE.

Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn,

The clustered spires of Frederick stand Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.

Round about them orchards sweep, Apple and peach-tree fruited deep,

Fair as a garden of the Lord To the eyes of the famished rebel horde,

On that pleasant morn of the early fall, When Lee marched over the mountain-wall--

Over the mountains winding down, Horse and foot, into Frederick town--

Forty flags with their silver stars, Forty flags with their crimson bars,

Flapped in the morning wind: the sun Of noon looked down, and saw not one.

Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, Bowed with her fourscore years and ten;

Bravest of all in Frederick town, She took up the flag the men hauled down:

In her attic window the staff she set, To show that one heart was loyal yet.

Up the street came the rebel tread, Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.

Under his slouched hat, left and right, He glanced: the old flag met his sight.

"Halt"--the dust-brown ranks stood fast, "Fire!"--out blazed the rifle-blast.

It shivered the window, pane and sash; It rent the banner with seam and gash.

Quick as it fell from the broken staff, Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf;

She leaned far out on the window sill, And shook it forth with a royal will.

"Shoot if you must this old gray head,-- But spare your country's flag," she said.

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, Over the face of the leader came;

The nobler nature within him stirred To life at that woman's deed and word.

"Who touches a hair of yon gray head Dies like a dog! March on!" he said.

All day long through Frederick street Sounded the tread of marching feet.

All day long that free flag tossed Over the heads of the rebel host;

Ever its torn folds rose and fell On the loyal winds that loved it well;

And through the hill-gaps, sunset light Shone over it with a warm good-night.

Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, And the rebel rides on his raids no more.

Honor to her!--and let a tear Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier.

Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, Flag of Freedom and Union wave!

Peace, and order, and beauty, draw Round thy symbol of light and law;

And ever the stars above look down On thy stars below at Frederick town!

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

A sturdy cow-boy I would be And chase this buffalo out in the West. An Indian pony I know I could ride, And "round up" with all the rest.

SHERIDAN'S RIDE.

(Used by special arrangement with J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, publisher of Mr. Read's Poems.)

Up from the South at break of day, Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, The affrighted air with a shudder bore, Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door, The terrible grumble and rumble and roar, Telling the battle was on once more, And Sheridan twenty miles away.

And wilder still those billows of war Thundered along the horizon's bar, And louder yet into Winchester rolled The roar of that red sea uncontrolled, Making the blood of the listener cold As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, And Sheridan twenty miles away.

But there is a road from Winchester town, A good, broad highway leading down; And there through the flash of the morning light, A steed as black as the steeds of night, Was seen to pass as with eagle's flight-- As if he knew the terrible need, He stretched away with the utmost speed; Hills rose and fell--but his heart was gay, With Sheridan fifteen miles away. Still sprung from these swift hoofs, thundering South, The dust, like the smoke from the cannon's mouth,

Or the trail of a comet sweeping faster and faster, Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster; The heart of the steed and the heart of the master, Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls, Impatient to be where the battle-field calls; Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, With Sheridan only ten miles away.

Under his spurning feet the road Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed; And the landscape sped away behind Like an ocean flying before the wind. And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire, Swept on with his wild eyes full of fire, But lo! he is nearing his heart's desire-- He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, With Sheridan only five miles away.

The first that the General saw were the groups Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops; What was done--what to do--a glance told him both, And striking his spurs with a terrible oath, He dashed down the line 'mid a storm of huzzahs, And the wave of retreat checked its course there because The sight of the master compelled it to pause. With foam and with dust the black charger was gray, By the flash of his eye, and his red nostrils' play, He seemed to the whole great army to say, "I have brought you Sheridan all the way From Winchester down to save the day!"

Hurrah, hurrah for Sheridan! Hurrah, hurrah for horse and man!

And when their statues are placed on high Under the dome of the Union sky-- The American soldiers' Temple of Fame-- There with the glorious General's name Be it said in letters both bold and bright: "Here is the steed that saved the day By carrying Sheridan into the fight, From Winchester--twenty miles away!" T. B. READ.

See-saw, Margery Daw, Jenny shall have a new master, She shall have but a penny a day, Because she can't work any faster.

An old Hippopotamus lived on the Nile, If she hasn't gone away, she's been there quite a while. She gives all her children a ride on her back, Broad enough to accommodate the whole scrambling pack.

THE CHILDREN'S HOUR

Between the dark and daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations That is known as the Children's Hour.

I hear in the chamber above me The patter of little feet, The sound of a door that is opened, And voices soft and sweet.

From my study I see in the lamp-light, Descending the broad hall-stair, Grave Alice and laughing Allegra, And Edith with golden hair.

A whisper, and then a silence; Yet I know by their merry eyes They are plotting and planning together To take me by surprise.

A sudden rush from the stairway, A sudden raid from the hall! By three doors left unguarded They enter my castle wall!

They climb up into my turret, O'er the arms and back of my chair; If I try to escape, they surround me, They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses; Their arms about me entwine, Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti, Because you have scaled the wall, Such an old Mustache as I am Is not a match for you all?

I have you fast in my fortress, And will not let you depart, But put you down in the dungeon, In the round-tower of my heart.

And there I will keep you forever, Yes, forever and a day, Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, And moulder in dust away.

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

I will dig me a garden and plant it with seeds, I will hoe and water it and keep down the weeds; Then perhaps some of these bright summer days, To mamma I can carry big boquets.

CARYL'S PLUM.

"He put in his thumb And pulled out a plum."

So sang Caryl over the stairs.

"Now if HE pulled out a plum, why shouldn't SHE?" she said to herself, halting a bit by the landing window. "And a good big plum too--nice and juicy. O Aunt Sylvia, Aunt Sylvia!"

She fairly hugged herself in glee, then drew one long breath and dashed on to her own poor little room.

"Oh, you here, Viny?" she exclaimed in surprise as she flung open the door.

A small figure rose to a perpendicular position in front of the old bureau, while a shoving-to of the under drawer proclaimed some attention having been paid to the pretty laces, ribbons, and various other adornments packed away for safe keeping.

Caryl remembered leaving the key in the drawer after taking out a bit of lavender ribbon the night before for Aunt Sylvia's cap.

"What have you been doing?" she asked sharply; and taking hold of the small wiry shoulder, she looked down into a little black face whose eyes were staring solemnly into the farthest corner of the room.

"Ben doin'?" repeated Viny, scared almost to death inwardly, but preserving a cool exterior. "Nothin', only shettin' the draw'; plaguey thing wouldn't stay put. Tore my dress," she added mumblingly to fill out the pause.

"Where?" said Caryl, looking sharply at her.

"Dar," said Viny, with a violent twist, so that she could compass the back breadths of her blue gingham frock, and she pointed abruptly to a cat-a-cornered rent.

"Oh, no, you didn't," contradicted Caryl, looking her through and through, and giving her a small shake, "tear that either; I heard Maum Patty scold you yesterday for letting Jip bite it and snip out a piece."

"Well, somefin tore," said Viny. "I donno whar 'tis, but it's somewhars. A mighty smart tare, too, Miss Ca."

"I'll lock, and lock, and lock," declared the young girl, now down on her knees before her precious drawer, "before I run the chance of your rummaging fingers getting here again. Now then, Viny!"

"Yes'm," said the little black girl obsequiously, and rolling her eyes to all quarters; "Oh, yes'm!"

"We are going to move, Viny," said her young mistress, taking the key out of its lock, and turning her back on drawers and contents, to sit on the floor with hands folded in her lap while she watched the effect of her words.

"MOVE?" echoed Viny with a start; "Oh, lawks! whatever's dat, Miss?"

"Why, go to a new place," said Caryl, laughing in spite of herself. "For mercy's sake, child, do take your eyes in! It'll be very fine, Viny, oh, so fine!" she cried enthusiastically.

"An' lib here nebber no mo'?" cried the little black figure in a shrill scream; "wot, an' hev no leaky sink dat keps me a-swashin' and a-swashin', an' no old ruf dat lets in hull buckets full o' water onter de bed, an'--"

"No," said Caryl, interrupting the steady stream of invective against the old heuse, "everything's to be as new and nice and neat as a pin, Viny--sinks and everything else; you can't begin to think how splendid it's to be!"

"I'm goin' to tell gramma," cried Viny, wholly off her balance, "dis berry same minnit. Lawks! but won't she be tickled to leave the ole shell! Den I'll git my bunnet an' go wid yer, Miss Ca, in tree shakes of a lobster's whisker!"

She scampered in the greatest excitement to the door, when a detaining pull on the end of her long apron, brought her to a full stop.

"You are crazy, child!" exclaimed Caryl, bursting into a laugh and holding her fast. "We can't go this moment, no matter how bad the old house is. Listen, Viny!"

But the small figure flung itself into a heap on the floor so suddenly that she nearly pulled her young mistress with her, while the little black hands clapped themselves over the bead like eyes, wail after wail of disappointment making the room to ring.

"Will you STOP!" cried Caryl in perfect despair. "Aunt Sylvia's head will snap with your noise! If you don't stop crying, Viny, you sha'n't go when the rest of us are ready to move, so there, now."

Threats had the power to do what nothing else could. Viny wiped off all the tears with the backs of her grimy little paws, gave two or three concluding sniffs, sat up straight, and was immediately all right for further developments.

"Now then"--Caryl pointed off her sentences briskly on the tips of her rosy fingers--"you must try to help--well, an awful great deal, Viny, yourself, or else it can't be a moving for any single one of us."

Viny's eyes widened fearfully, but she didn't stir.

"If you will take care--mind! SPLENDID care of Aunt Sylvia every morning," said Caryl slowly and with extreme empressment--"watch and get her everything she wants, not wait for her to ask for anything, then I can go off down street and make lots and lots of money, Viny. Think of that, lots and lots! Then we can move, and Aunt Sylvia will maybe get well."

Caryl's gray eyes were only a thought less big than those of her small black audience, who presently caught the infectious enthusiasm and emitted several lusty crows.

"Jiminy--oh, I DIDN'T say it--I didn't--I didn't! O Jiminy, I didn't--I didn't--O Jimmy, I--"

"Stop saying it, then," exclaimed her young mistress decidedly, and enforcing her words by a vigorous shake.

"Oh, I didn't--I will--O Jiminy! yes, I will!" cried the little black delinquent, the full tide of original sin taking an unfair advantage of her excitement to engulf her. "Oh--er--oh--er--r--"

Caryl came to her rescue by giving her a new idea.

"See how splendid you can be, Viny dear," she said kindly. "You can be such a good little helper, so that part of the new home will be of your getting; for I never could have the chance to earn anything if you didn't take my place and be Aunt Sylvia's nurse."

"I know how," said Viny, perfectly overcome with the greatness thrust upon her; "it's to slip crickets under her feet to put her toes onter. I'll slip 'em all day. An' it's to wipe her specs, an' to say yes, no, an' to--"

"To be good," finished Caryl solemnly; "that comprehends the whole business."

"To be good," repeated the small nurse yet more solemnly, "an' to compren' the whole bus'ness; I will."

"You are a ridiculous child," cried Caryl impatiently; "I don't really suppose you are fit to be trusted, but then, it's the only thing to try."

Viny, having been duly elected to office, considered her honors settled, so she was little disturbed by any opinions that might be held concerning her. Therefore she squatted and wriggled in great delight, grinning at every word that fell from her young mistress' lips.

"You see, Viny," Caryl was saying, beginning on her confidence, "I've got an order to teach the little Grant girls how to paint, and if I can run down there two hours every morning, I'm to have twenty-five dollars, and Madam Grant is going to give it to me in advance; that is, after the first quarter. Think, Viny, TWENTY-FIVE dollars! That's what we want to move with into Heart's Delight!"

This was the upstairs southwest corner of a little cottage that for a year or more had been the desideratum of the young girl's highest hopes that had to wear themselves out in empty longings, the invalid's scanty exchequer only sufficing for doctor's bills and similar twelvemonth, along with several other broken-down lodgers whose slender means compelled them to call this place "home"--this place where never a bit of sunshine seemed to come; where even the birds hated to stop for a song as they flew merrily over the tree-tops. And no wonder. The trees were scraggy, loppy old things hanging down in dismal sweep over the leaky roof and damp walls. They had to stay--the lodgers, but the birds and the sunshine tossed off the whole responsibility of life in such a gloomy old home, and flitted to gayer quarters. But now, what if Heart's Delight could really be theirs!

"Yer goin' ter tell 'em how to paint dem tings yer daub?" broke in Viny, and snapping off this delightful thought.

"You shouldn't speak so, child," said Caryl with the greatest dignity; "it's very fine work, and you couldn't possibly understand it. It's art, Viny."

"Ho, ho!" laughed the small black figure, nowise impressed and cramming her stumpy fingers up to her mouth to keep the laugh in as she saw her young mistress' displeasure. "It's an awful old dirty muss, an' I wish I could do it," she added under her breath.

"And I shall begin tomorrow," declared Caryl with still greater dignity, and drawing herself to her full height. "Aunt Sylvia says she'll try you. Now you'll be good, won't you?" she added anxiously. "It's only for two hours a day, Viny."

"I'll be good," declared Viny, "'strue's I live an' breeve." Meanwhile the darkest of plans ran riot in her little black head.

"Heart's Delight--Heart's Delight!" sang Caryl's happy voice all that day; and like St. Patrick's poor imprisoned snake, she began to feel that to-morrow would never come.

But hours come and go, and Caryl awoke the next morning, the brightest, cheeriest morning that ever called a happy girl out of bed.

"Aunt Sylvia won't have many more days in that dark little room of hers," she cried to herself, throwing on her clothes rapidly. "Oh, dear, where ARE the pins? I can't bear to wait a minute any more than Viny, when I think of that dear lovely nest, and the bay-window, and all that sunshine. I'll always have it full of flowers, and the bird shall sing all the time, and--and--and--"

The rest was lost in a dash of cold water over the rosy face, and Caryl soon presented herself at her aunt's bedside.

"I'll do well enough while you are gone," said her aunt, smiling up from the pillows into the bright face above hers. "Now you're not to worry about me in the least, for you cannot do justice to yourself if your mind is troubled. Remember, Caryl, and be thorough in your efforts to teach your little pupils."

"And Madam Grant is going to buy some of my panels and little plaques, I almost know," cried Caryl, bustling around for her aunt's long woolen wrapper and her day slippers, "for she told me she should want to see them some time. Then, Auntie--oh, then!"

The young girl in her eagerness climbed upon the old bed to lay her fresh young cheek against the pale thin one. How she longed to put brightness into the poor invalid's life!

"Remember," said Aunt Sylvia lightly, to hide the tears in her voice, "your fortune's to be made. Only be prompt and thorough, and put your whole mind to your work. That is the secret of success."

"I will, Auntie, oh, I WILL!" cried Caryl happily, "and Viny will do well, I guess," she added, the gleeful tones dropping down with an anxious note.

"Viny will prove a capital little nurse, I expect," said Miss Sylvia cheerfully; "now the day won't wait, Caryl, so get your old auntie up."

"My old auntie is just LOVELY," cried the girl, hopping off from the bed, and flying around merrily, well pleased at last when the invalid was in her chair, to see a little faint, pink color stealing up the wan cheek.

"The best cap, Aunt Sylvia--the best cap!" she cried, running for the one with the fresh lavender ribbons.

"What an extravagant puss!" exclaimed Aunt Sylvia, willing to humor the gay little heart, and tapping her cheek as the young girl settled the cap on the lovely gray hair.

"Everything must be best to-day," cried Caryl recklessly. "It's all fresh and new and fine! All the world is made just for us."

Maum Patty saw Caryl run down the dirty little brick path that served for all the lodgers in the old house as a walk to the broken-down gate, with her color-box under her arm, and her little roll of pictures in her hand, and heaved a sigh from her ample bosom.