Chapter XIV: In Doctor Fisher’s Gig 397 (10)

“I’ll find it,” said the boy, and he gave a twitch to the dirty calico gown, and picked up the end of a corn-cob, where it had fallen down in the folds of the old quilt. “There.” And he crammed it into the roaring mouth, when the two little hands, wildly pawing the air, seized it again. “I put some molasses on to it,” he explained, as the baby began to suck it in great content. But she didn’t take her big eyes from Phronsie’s face.

“Oh, Polly!” cried Phronsie, rapturously, “I want her, I do, for my very own baby--”

“Well, you can have her,” said the small boy; “I’ll give her to you.”

“Oh, will you--will you?” cried Phronsie, hopping up from the dirty floor, in a transport. Then she clapped her hands. “Polly, he’ll give her to me,” she cried, her cheeks very pink.

“Oh, Phronsie,” cried Polly, “he can’t give her to you.”

“Yes, I can, too. You don’t know anything about it, you girl, you!” retorted the boy. “She’s my sister, an’ I guess I can give her away if I want to. You may have her,” turning to Phronsie.

“He did say so, Polly, he did.” Phronsie, now quite overcome with delight, began to hop up and down, singing, “She’s my baby--she’s my baby!”

“You’re a bad boy,” said Polly, severely, “to want to give away your sister.”

“No, I ain’t bad either,” said the boy, sturdily. “I’m goin’ fishin’, an’ I don’t like that baby, an’ I ain’t a-goin’ to stay home an’ take care of her, so there.” And without another word, he sprang out of the old shed, seized a snarl of fishing-tackle on the ground just beside the door, and although Polly called with all her might, he jumped over the broken fence, and raced off.

“Now, whatever shall we do!” cried Polly, in great vexation. Phronsie neither heard nor saw anything but the baby, who was giving unmistakable signs of the most complete enjoyment in her old corn-cob.

“Well, I declare!” Little Doctor Fisher burst in upon them, his spectacles slipping to the end of his nose, as he stumbled over the rickety steps. “Bless me, I didn’t know where you had gone.”

“Oh, Doctor Fisher,” cried Polly, flying over to him, “there’s a poor baby here--a perfectly dreadful one.”

“Is the baby here?” cried Doctor Fisher, peering at the old box and its contents. Then he said, “Bless me” again and set his spectacles straight. “Where’s that boy,--his mother said he was taking care of it--”

“He’s run off,” said Polly.

“Run off!” exclaimed the little doctor. “Well, I’d like to catch him,” he added savagely.

“And he’s given me the baby,” declared Phronsie, springing up to seize Doctor Fisher’s big hand. “He has--and she’s whole mine, my very own--”

“The dickens he did!” exploded Doctor Fisher.

“O dear me!” exclaimed Polly, “it’s just as bad as it can be.”

“I should think it was,” said the little doctor, gloomily. Then he pulled his long nose thoughtfully, which showed he was in great trouble in his mind.

“O dear!” breathed Polly, in the greatest distress, for it always grieved her dreadfully to see Doctor Fisher, who had saved her eyes and given her a new stove, troubled about anything.

“You see, Polly,” said the little doctor, coming out at last from his perplexity, and standing up quite straight, “that poor woman is badly burned, her hands are, and _she_ can’t take care of the baby, that’s plain. And there isn’t anybody else to do it but that bad boy.”

“Oh, he can’t do anything,” declared Polly, vehemently. “Oh, don’t make the baby stay with him!” And quite overcome with pity, she knelt down by the old box.

“Ah--goo!” exclaimed the baby, deserting the charms of the old corn-cob for a breathing-space, Phronsie turning back from the little doctor to get down by Polly’s side.

“O dear me!--poor little thing!” breathed Polly; “nobody to take care of you except a bad boy and a cross old cat, and she’s run away, too.”

“Ah--goo!” said the baby, as if it were the pleasantest thing in the world to be left under such conditions.

“Oh, we can’t ever leave her,” said Polly, turning back, one hand on the edge of the box, to look up in the little doctor’s face, and her brow wrinkled in perplexity.

“No, of course not,” said Doctor Fisher, just as decidedly, and his face cleared as he saw that Polly would help him out. “It will only be for two days, you know, until Mrs. Granniss’s sister gets here. I’m going to write to her to come. Well, I shall take the baby up to Badgertown Centre with me, and find a place for her somewhere.”

And Doctor Fisher having quite made up his mind to do this, the next thing was to carry it out; so he skipped off, told the sick woman, sitting up in a big chair with her poor hands swathed in big bandages, all about it, and dashed out again before she had gotten out half her grateful thanks; picked up the baby out of its big box, packed all the children into the old gig, and away the gig rattled at Dobbin’s heels down the hill to Badgertown.

“I’m going to send Miss Punderson to look after her, till the sister gets here,” Doctor Fisher pointed his thumb at the poor little cottage and old shed almost walking away from it, they had left behind, “but she wouldn’t come if there was a baby in the house. Goodness me! she doesn’t know any more about ’em than an old cat.”

This made Polly remember about the cross, yellow cat at Mrs. Granniss’s house. So she leaned around the baby in her lap, and said anxiously, “Phronsie has got such a dreadful scratch.”

“What’s that?” cried Doctor Fisher, pulling Dobbin up suddenly, to look into Polly’s face; “what are you talking of, child?”

“Oh, the cross cat,” said Polly, “at that house.” Then she told the whole story, and Doctor Fisher made Dobbin stop entirely while he hung the old leather reins over his arm and examined Phronsie’s fat little neck to his satisfaction.

“That will be all right in two or three days,” he declared, “so you won’t know a cat ever touched you, Phronsie.” And then he picked off the reins from his arm and clacked to Dobbin, and away they went faster than ever.

“Oh, I do wish we could keep the baby,” said Polly, in a minute; “we could put her in the tub, and I’d wash her and comb her hair, and she’d be real pretty.” And she pulled down the dirty calico gown in a motherly way.

“Oh, no, I’m going to wash her, Polly,” said Phronsie, in alarm, crowding up as closely as she could to the two; “she’s my baby, and I’m going to do it.”

“Well, I don’t see how either of you can do it,” said Doctor Fisher. “Your mother ought not to take her. No, I must get some other place--”

“Perhaps Mamsie will,” said Polly, quickly, with an awful feeling at the mere thought of having the baby go anywhere else. “I’ll take care of her.”

“No, no,” protested Phronsie, in a loud, injured tone, “I’m going to take care of her all by myself. She’s my baby.”

“Well, never mind,” said Doctor Fisher, bursting into a laugh; “we’ll fix it somehow. There, now, go on, Dobbin, and let’s get this baby settled somewhere.”

And as good luck would have it, as little Doctor Fisher hopped out at the post-office to get the letter started to Mrs. Granniss’s sister without delay, who should come along but Mrs. Pepper, just starting home with a fresh bundle of coats Mr. Atkins had given her to make.

When she heard the story, interspersed with Phronsie’s pleadings to keep the baby, Mrs. Pepper looked at Polly.

“It must be as you say, Polly,” she said, “for the extra work will come on you, and you don’t get any time now to play.”

“Oh, I wish you’d keep the baby,” said Polly; “it’ll be play to take care of her. Do, Mamsie,” she begged, with sparkling eyes.

“I’m going to wash her,” said Phronsie, leaning out of the old gig with flushed face, “and put her to bed, and comb her hair, I am, Mamsie.”

“I will keep her,” said Mrs. Pepper, with a smile for Phronsie, but her glance rested on Polly’s face.

“Then I shall drive you home,” said little Doctor Fisher; “get right in, Mrs. Pepper.”

“Oh, no,” she said, laughing, “the gig won’t hold us all.”

“I’ll sit on the floor, Mamsie,” said Polly, slipping to the floor of the gig, baby and all.

“Very well, then, I will hold the baby.” So in got Mrs. Pepper, first handing in her bundle of coats next to Polly on the floor, then Polly handed up the baby, Phronsie crowding up closer than ever. Then in got the little doctor and away they all went, a gigful, with Mrs. Granniss’s baby to keep for two whole days.

“It does seem so good, Mamsie,” cried Polly, hurrying up the path to the Little Brown House with the baby, Phronsie running along by her side, protesting at every step that she ought to carry it as it was her baby, and Mrs. Pepper behind with the bundle of coats, “that we have a baby of our very own!”

“Oh, it’s mine,--my baby,” cried Phronsie, pushing back her yellow hair to look up in Polly’s face; “it’s my very own baby.”

“Well, never mind,” said Polly; “it can be your baby, Phronsie, but you see I’ve got to take care of it. Oh, the key, Mamsie, it’s in my pocket.”

“I’ll get it out,” said Mrs. Pepper, running her hand in Polly’s pocket, and drawing out the big key she unlocked the green door, and they all went in, Doctor Fisher peering around his old gig to watch them as he drove off.

“The first thing,” said Mrs. Pepper, with emphasis, “we must do, is to wash that baby, Polly.”

“Isn’t it,” cried Polly, with delight at the prospect; while Phronsie screamed, “Oh, I’m going to do it, I am!”

“So I’ll get the tub all ready,” said Mrs. Pepper, going into the bedroom to take off her things, and to make preparations for this new piece of work.

“Oh, Mamsie, I’m going to get the tub ready,” declared Polly, hurrying after her.

“No, no,” said Mrs. Pepper, with a glance at the face of the dirty little creature hanging on Polly’s arm. “You’d better let me, Polly; she’s used to you, now, and you must keep her for a while, else she’ll cry.”

Meantime, Mrs. Pepper was pulling out the tin bath-tub, Phronsie hurrying over every movement in the greatest excitement and begging to help.

“You can get the soap, Phronsie,” said Mother Pepper, bringing in the tea-kettle from the stove. “It’s good you filled it up, Polly,” she said approvingly, as she poured in the boiling-hot water to the tin tub.

“And can’t Phronsie get the towel, Mamsie?” said Polly, over in the corner where she had seated herself with the baby till the bath should be ready, Phronsie running off on happy little feet to get the soap.

“Yes, indeed,” said Mamsie, pouring in cold water to the tub, and trying it with her hand. “Now, I do expect that baby is going to cry dreadfully, Polly,” she said with a sigh. “Well, it can’t be helped. That’s a good girl, Phronsie,” as Phronsie ran up and held out the soap, with a very important air. “Now go to the under drawer and get out a towel. Well, Polly, we’re all ready; so you may hand her to me.”

Mrs. Pepper had seated herself on a low chair by the side of the bath-tub and held out her hands.

“Oh, Mamsie!” exclaimed Polly, in dismay yet she did as she was bidden. “I thought I was going to wash her.”

“Not this time, Polly,” said her mother, kindly; “to-morrow you may. O dear me!” as she rolled the baby over on her lap, and took out a big safety-pin that seemed to have the whole duty of keeping the dirty little calico gown together. “Polly, we shall have to wrap her up in a quilt till I can wash these clothes.”

“Can’t she take some of Phronsie’s things?” said Polly, hanging over the baby in the greatest distress. “O dear me, Mamsie, can’t she?”

“She can take my clothes,” said Phronsie, poking her yellow hair in between her mother’s busy fingers and the baby, who strange to say was so overcome by all this bustle, she really forgot to cry; “I’ll go and get ’em.”

“Come back, Phronsie,” said her mother, as she clattered off. “No, probably the baby will want to go to sleep, after she’s had a good bath, and Polly and I will have a chance to wash out her clothes.”

“And I’m going to help wash ’em, too,” declared Phronsie, getting back to her mother’s chair and the scene of operations, just in time to see the Granniss baby lowered carefully into the tub.

As soon as the water touched her little thin legs, the baby took off her wide-eyed gaze from these strange folks who had so interested her, and glanced wildly off at nothing in particular, to give a loud, shrill scream and wave her pinched arms frantically about.

“Oh, Mamsie!” exclaimed Polly, turning quite pale, while Phronsie threw herself down by the side of the tub, the tears raining down her cheeks. “Oh, take her out, Mamsie, do!” she implored.

“It has to be done,” said Mrs. Pepper, her lips firmly set together, while she soaped the baby, here and there, and sent gentle little splashes of water over its poor little body. “Phronsie, we’ve forgotten a wash-rag; don’t you want to get it for Mother?”

When Phronsie saw there was anything to be done, she stopped crying and hopped to her feet, and presently back she came with the wash-rag. But then she commenced to cry and to plead again, “Oh, do take her out, Mamsie.”

“I can’t until she has had a good bath,” said Mother Pepper; “and you don’t know how good she is going to feel, Phronsie, when it’s all done,” she added cheerily.

“Is she?” cried Phronsie, through her tears.

“Yes, indeed!” said Mrs. Pepper, giving soft dabs with the wash-rag here and there. “Now, baby, you begin to look better already.” And whether it was what the Granniss baby thought herself, or whether she liked the gentle touch and kind face above her and the feel of the water, no one will ever know. Certain it is, her screams died down to a low whimpering.

“She’s better, isn’t she?” whispered Polly, who had hardly dared to breathe, and leaning over with glad brown eyes.

“Decidedly,” said Mrs. Pepper, lifting baby out to her lap, on which Polly had spread the towel. “Now, then, I must get her as dry as a piece of toast.”

“Is she going to be as dry as a piece of toast?” said Phronsie, wiping off her own tears on her pinafore, and crowding up as closely as possible to her mother’s lap.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Pepper, folding the little creature in the big towel, and rubbing her gently; “just about as dry, and she likes it; now see.”

“She likes it,” repeated Phronsie, in great glee, and clapping her hands. “Oh, Polly, she does!”

“Doesn’t she!” cried Polly, with shining eyes, for the Granniss baby not only didn’t cry now, but she opened her mouth in a pleased little grin, and tried to pat her small, thin hands together when the ends of the big towel flew apart.

“Oh, Phronsie, she’s trying to play pat-a-cake with you!” screamed Polly, quite enchanted at the happy state of things. “Mamsie, see!”

“Yes, I know.” Mother Pepper nodded in satisfaction, then bundled the baby up in the towel closely. “Polly, I must give her one of Phronsie’s little shirts,” she said in a low voice. “There’s no other way, else she’ll take cold. Run and get it, child.”

Polly started, then stopped and looked back. “Oh, mayn’t Phronsie get it,” she said, although she wanted to dreadfully.

“To be sure,” said Mrs. Pepper, smiling approval. “Now, Phronsie, you may give her one of your own little shirts if you want to, because she’s your baby, you know.”

“Oh, I do want to,” screamed Phronsie, “give one of my own shirts to my very own baby.” And she ran as fast as she could, and pulled out the drawer to the big bureau where her clothes were kept, and raced back, waving it in the air. “Let me put it on,” she begged, “do, Mamsie.”

“No, Phronsie,” said Mamsie, taking it, “I must do that as quickly as I can, so baby won’t take cold.” So the little flannel shirt was slipped over the Granniss baby’s head, she still trying to play pat-a-cake, and then she was wrapped in a warm old quilt, and laid in the very middle of Mrs. Pepper’s big four-poster. “Now, she must go to sleep,” said Mamsie, “and you and I, Polly, and Phronsie too, will clear up these things, and make the bedroom all nice again.”

The Granniss baby fully intended to protest about this arrangement, but she hadn’t fairly begun, when her black eyes closed and she tucked her thumb in her mouth.

“She’s asleep already,” announced Polly, stopping to peep at the small heap in the middle of the big bed, on her way back after helping Mrs. Pepper to empty the tin tub out of the back door. “Hush, Phronsie, don’t wake her up.”

“I won’t wake her up,” promised Phronsie, in a soft little whisper, “and I shall sit down and watch her.”

“Do,” said Polly, in great satisfaction, dragging up a chair to the bedside. Then she went out into the kitchen and shut the door.

When Ben and Joel and David came home to dinner (they had all been to work at Deacon Blodgett’s), there was the little old calico gown and torn petticoat of the Granniss baby’s hanging on a line of string behind the stove and drying nicely.

“Oh, Ben!” exclaimed Polly, rushing at him tumultuously with hands uplifted, “we’ve got a baby.”

“_A baby!_” ejaculated Ben, in surprise. Joel and David who, in their joy at getting home, hadn’t heard anything of all this, were capering around and crying: “Isn’t dinner ready, Polly? Oh, we’re so hungry.”

“Hush!” warned Polly, flying over to the stove to get the hot baked potatoes. “You mustn’t make such a noise. Yes, I’ll get the dinner in just a minute, boys.”

“Polly,” Ben went over to her, and seized her arm, “what _do_ you mean about the baby?”

“I--oh--yes, there truly is, Ben,” said Polly, getting down to pull the potatoes out of the oven; “I’ll tell you about it in a minute.” But Ben, although he dearly loved to have Polly tell him things, in this instance couldn’t wait; so he started to find Mrs. Pepper, for she had gone into the bedroom and shut the door just a minute or two before the boys came home.

“Oh, you mustn’t go in there,” cried Polly, whirling around so quickly that two potatoes jumped from the dish she was carrying and spun off on the floor.

“Why not?” demanded Ben, stopping a minute and staring at her.

“O dear me! there go those potatoes!” exclaimed Polly, in vexation; “because I told you, there’s a baby in there.”

“_A baby!_” repeated Ben, again.

“Yes, yes, we’ve just got it,” said Polly, setting down the dish, and then hurrying to pick up the two potatoes on the floor, “it only came this morning. Oh, Ben, don’t you see.” She ran up to throw her arms around him. “It’s asleep, and the boys must have their dinner, and we mustn’t make any noise, and--and--oh, I’ll tell you all about it as soon as I cut the bread.” And off Polly ran to get the big bread-knife.

“There’s one thing I want to know,” said Ben, going after her with slow but determined steps. “I’ll cut the bread, Polly; here, give me the knife.” And he took it out of her hand. “Whose baby is it?”

“Oh, a poor woman’s; she tumbled over the stove, and Doctor Fisher took us there, and we brought her home, the baby, I mean, at least Mamsie did,” said Polly, jumbling up the words so fast that Ben wrinkled up his brows trying to understand it all. “O dear me. Yes, yes, Joel, I’m going to bring the bread as soon as I can; do let me cut it, Ben.”

“You two chaps will just wait until you can get this bread,” said Ben, brandishing the big knife, and then cutting off the slices as neatly as possible; “come along and get the plate, Joe,” as he piled them on.

“Whickets, I guess I will,” exclaimed Joel, tumbling out of his chair, where he had been impatiently drumming on the table with his fork, Polly never allowing the boys to begin to eat dinner till they were all ready together.

“What did you say, Joel?” reproved Polly. “Oh, Mamsie wouldn’t like it one single bit to hear you talk so.”

“I won’t,” began Joel, seizing the bread-plate so vehemently that a slice immediately flew off to the floor.

“Now, just see that!” exclaimed Polly, in consternation, “and bread is so dear, we can’t waste it.”

“I’ll eat it,” said Joel, picking it up with eager fingers.

“Take care,” warned Polly, “you’re spilling all the rest.” But little Davie fortunately having followed Joel away from the table to see if he couldn’t help too in getting dinner ready, caught the bread-plate just in time and set it straight.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to,” began Joel, in distress.

“And you can’t eat that bread after it’s been on the floor,” said Polly. “Dear me, Joe, what does make you act so!”

“I’ll scrape it!” said Joel, giving up the bread-plate to Davie, and suiting the action to the word he set to work on the slice.

“What’s that!” he exclaimed suddenly, dropping the bread, knife, and all. Little Davie jumped, too, and even Ben started, it was such a funny little noise. It didn’t sound like a cat exactly, and as the Pepper children didn’t have any pets, it couldn’t be one, of course.

“Oh, it’s the baby, and she’s awake!” Polly dashed off to the bedroom. “Come, Ben, and boys!”

It wasn’t necessary to tell them to follow her, for all three were close to her heels, as she opened the bedroom door and dashed in. Mother Pepper was over by the four-poster turning down the old quilt, and Phronsie was scrabbling up the other side of the big bed.

“Mamsie,” exclaimed Ben, after one look at the small face on the pillow, and he got close to Mrs. Pepper. “Oh, how can you take it?” pointing down at the bed, and he looked very grave.

“I know, Ben.” Mrs. Pepper turned to get a good look at his face. “I know what you’re thinking of, but, my boy, it was best, and besides it’s only for two days.”

“Oh, if it’s only for two days,” said Ben, drawing a long breath; “only, Mamsie, you have to work so hard, and there’s Polly.” He couldn’t get any further, and turned away to hide his face.

“Yes, there’s Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, in her cheeriest fashion. “Well, now, Bensie,” and she laid both hands on his shoulders to turn him around again so that she could look into his blue eyes, “don’t feel badly. I believe it won’t hurt Polly, nor any of us, to look after that baby for a little while; trust mother.”

“If I could only do anything to help,” said Ben, looking helplessly down into the baby’s little face, all wrinkled up as it began to yawn. Then it rubbed its fists into its eyes, preparatory to being wide awake.

Meantime Joel and David were wild with delight, both boys scrabbling up on the bed by the side of Phronsie, and clamoring to know where it came from, and if it was really theirs, and how long it was going to stay, Phronsie all the while declaring it was her very own baby, and she was going to keep it always, till the bedroom was just a babel of sounds; and no one had a good chance to hear anything; and so of course no one did hear when the big green door opened, and somebody came in from the kitchen, until--“What you doin’ with my baby?” struck into the general din, in a sharp, high voice.

Joel and David slid off the big bed and stared at the intruder and Phronsie screamed, for it was the ragged, dirty, bad boy that ran away from the baby, to go fishing. Now, having had very poor luck, he went home, and getting the news in a grateful burst from his poor mother, sitting up with bandaged hands in her chair, he had bounded out and somehow traced the baby to the Little Brown House.

“It’s my baby!” he declared, with eyes flashing from his dirty face, and squaring up to them all, “and you’ve stole her.”

“Oh, how can you say so?” cried Polly, her brown eyes very stern; “and you ran away and left her.”

“Well, you’d no business to take her,” said the boy, doggedly, but he dropped his tousled head and dug one set of toes back and forth across the braided rug. “She’s my sister and I want her back.”

“Don’t let him have her, Polly!” screamed Phronsie, frantically clasping the little heap in the old quilt.

“Phronsie,” said Mother Pepper. At the sound of her voice, the dirty boy lifted up his head and stared at her.

“And you ain’t coming in here,” declared Joel, in a loud, wrathful key. “This is our Little Brown House, so there!” And he doubled up his small fists.

“Joel,” said Mother Pepper.

“Well, you’ve got my baby,” said the boy, whirling round at him, but he turned back to stare at Mother Pepper when she spoke again.

“Come over here,” she beckoned to him. So he shambled around the foot of the four-poster, everybody making way for him, except Phronsie, and she was up on the side of the bed crouched close to the baby under the old quilt and trying to keep back the sobs since Mamsie had reproved her.

“Now, isn’t it nice that your little sister has come to visit us for two days?” said Mrs. Pepper, quite as if everything had all been planned with the boy and his family a long while before, “and you’re going to stay to dinner with us.” Here Mother Pepper looked over at Ben.

“Oh, I’ll help you,” his blue eyes said, though he had to swallow pretty hard to keep the lump in his throat down.

“Hey?” said the boy.

“Yes, I said you were going to stay to dinner with us,” said Mother Pepper, calmly, lifting the baby, old quilt and all, as she spoke. “Dinner’s all ready, isn’t it, Polly? Oh, and, Ben, will you take him? I don’t know what your name is.” And she paused for a reply.

“Ira,” said the boy, in a dazed way.

“Well, Ira, if you’ll go with Ben, he’ll show you where to wash your hands and face and--”

“And I’m going to show him, too,” shouted Joel, his fists flying open, and running over to seize the other boy’s hand, “and Davie’ll come, too--” And off the four boys went.

“And, Phronsie, you may go and help Polly to get something for the baby,” said Mrs. Pepper. “She can have your milk if you want to give it to her,” with a sigh, to think how little there was in the cup, that always had to be eked out with water, “and some bread crumbled in it.”

“Oh, I do, I do,” cried Phronsie, slipping down off the side of the bed to fly after Polly. “I do want to give it to my own baby.”

“And now, says I, we’ll have our dinner,” said Mother Pepper, going out into the kitchen with the baby.

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=PAULINE WYMAN=

By SOPHIE MAY Cloth Illustrated $1.25

In “Pauline Wyman” the author has drawn a typical New England girl whose strong and beautiful character is developed by her environment. How she overcomes unfavorable surroundings, her experience in teaching school, the interesting circumstances in a young girl’s life are all told with the same originality and freshness which have drawn a multitude of young people to the author’s previous work.

=MADGE A GIRL IN EARNEST=

By S. JENNIE SMITH 12mo Cloth Illustrated by JAMES E. MCBURNEY $1.25

Madge is indeed “a girl in earnest.” She scorns the patronage of an aristocratic relative and takes upon her strong young shoulders the problem of carrying along the family in an independent manner. Her bravely won success, in spite of the lions in her path, not the least of which was the fear of social disfavor felt by some of her family, forms an inspiring tale. An unusual amount of practical information is presented in a thoroughly entertaining manner, and the character-drawing is remarkably true and strong.

For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

Emboldened text is surrounded by equals signs: =bold=.

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.