Chapter VI: The Tower Room (1)

As time went on, Grace surely did not have to share a third part of her sisters' room, did she? For nothing is so much prized by most girls as a room of their very own, and a middle daughter, particularly such a middle daughter as Grace Wainwright, has a claim to a foothold--a wee bit place, as the Scotch say--where she can shut herself in, and read her Bible, and say her prayers, and write her letters, and dream her dreams, with nobody by to see. Mrs. Wainwright had been a good deal disturbed about there being no room for Grace when she came back to Highland, and one would have been fitted up had there been an extra cent in the family exchequer. Grace didn't mind, or if she did, she made light of her sacrifice; but her sisters felt that they ought to help her to privacy.

Eva and Miriam came over to the Manse to consult us in the early days.

I suggested screens.

"You can do almost anything with screens and portieres," I said. "One of the loveliest rooms I ever saw in my life is in a cottage in the Catskills, where one large room is separated into drawing-room, library, and dining-room, and sometimes into a spare chamber, as well, by the judicious use of screens."

"Could we buy them at any price we could pay?" said Miriam.

"Buy them, child? What are you talking about? You can make them. You need only two or three clothes-horses for frames, some chintz, or even wall-paper or calico, a few small tacks, a little braid, a hammer and patience."

After Grace was fairly launched on her career as teacher, mother suggested one day that the tower-room at Wishing-Brae could be transformed into a maiden's bower without the spending of much money, and that it would make an ideal girl's room, "just the nest for Grace, to fold her wings in and sing her songs--a nest with an outlook over the tree-tops and a field of stars above it."

"Mother dear, you are too poetical and romantic for anything, but I believe," said Amy, "that it could be done, and if it could it ought."

The tower at Wishing-Brae was then a large, light garret-room, used for trunks and boxes. Many a day have I spent there writing stories when I was a child, and oh! what a prospect there was and is from those windows--prospect of moors and mountains, of ribbons of rivers and white roads leading out to the great world. You could see all Highland from the tower windows. In sunny days and in storms it was a delight beyond common just to climb the steep stairs and hide one's self there.

We put our heads together, all of us. We resolved at last that the tower-room should be our birthday gift to Grace. It was quite easy to contrive and work when she was absent, but not so easy to keep from talking about the thing in her presence. Once or twice we almost let it out, but she suspected nothing, and we glided over the danger as over ice, and hugged ourselves that we had escaped. We meant it for a surprise.

First of all, of course, the place had to be thoroughly cleaned, then whitewashed as to the ceiling, and scoured over and over as to the unpainted wood. Archie Vanderhoven and all the brothers of both families helped manfully with this, and the two dear old doctors both climbed up stairs every day, and gave us their criticism. When the cleanness and the sweetness were like the world after the deluge, we began to furnish. The floor was stained a deep dark cherry red; Mrs. Raeburn presented the room with a large rug, called an art-square; Mrs. Vanderhoven made lovely écru curtains of cheese-cloth, full and flowing, for the windows and these were caught back by cherry ribbons.

We had a regular controversy over the bed, half of us declaring for a folding bed, that could be shut up by day and be an armoire or a book-case, the others wanting a white enameled bed with brass knobs and bars. The last party carried the day.

The boys hung some shelves, and on these we arranged Grace's favorite books. Under the books in the window were her writing-table and her chair and foot-stool. The Vanderhovens sent a pair of brass andirons for the fireplace, and the little Hastings children, who were taken into the secret, contributed a pair of solid silver candlesticks.

Never was there a prettier room than that which we stood and surveyed one soft April morning when it was pronounced finished. Our one regret was that dear Mrs. Wainwright could not see it. But the oldest of the Raeburn boys brought over his camera and took a picture of the room, and this was afterwards enlarged and framed for one of Mrs. Wainwright's own birthdays.

"Mother dear," said Grace one evening, as they sat together for a twilight talk, "do you believe God always answers prayers?"

"Always, my child."

"Do you think we can always see the answers, feel sure He has heard us?"

"The answers do not always come at once, Grace, nor are they always what we expect, but God sends us what is best for us, and He gives us strength to help answer the prayers we make. Sometimes prayers are answered before they leave our lips. Don't you know that in every 'Oh, my Father,' is the answer, 'Here, my child?'"

"I used to long, years ago," said Grace, "when I was as happy as I could be with dear uncle and auntie, just to fly to you and my father. It seemed sometimes as if I would die just to get home to Highland again, and be one of the children. Uncle and auntie want me to go abroad with them this summer, just for a visit, and they are so good they will take one of my sisters and one of the Raeburns; but I hate to think of the ocean between you and me again even for a few weeks."

"You must go, dearie," said Mrs. Wainwright. "The dear uncle is part owner of you, darling, and he's very generous; but he can never have you back to keep."

"No, indeed."

"Which of the Raeburns do you suppose they can best spare?"

"I don't know which they would choose to spare, but Amy will be the one to go. She was born under a fortunate star, and the rest will help to send her."

"I'd like Frances myself."

"Frances is the stay-at-home daughter. She cannot be spared. It will be Amy, and I will let Miriam go with you, and Eva, who is the youngest, can wait for her turn some other day."

"Is that Burden's cart going down the lane?" inquired Grace, looking out of the window. "It's queer how many errands Mr. Burden's had here lately. I believe he's been investing in another cart, or else he has painted the old one. Business must be brisk. There come papa, and Dr. Raeburn with him. Why, mother, all the Raeburns are coming! If there is to be company, I might have been told."

"So might I," said Mrs. Wainwright, with spirit. "Hurry, Grace, bring me some cologne and water to wash my face and hands, and give me my rose-pink wrapper. Turn the key in the door, dearie. An invalid should never be seen except looking her best. You can slip away and get into a tea gown before you meet them, if they are coming to supper. Whose birthday is it? This seems to be a surprise party."

"Why, mamma--it's my birthday; but you don't think there's anything on foot that I don't know of--do you, dearest?"

"I wouldn't like to say what I think, my pet. There, the coast is clear. Run away and change your gown. Whoever wished to see me now may do so. The queen is ready to give audience. Just wheel my chair a little to the left, so that I can catch the last of that soft pink after-glow."

"And were you really entirely unprepared, Grace," said the girls later, "and didn't you ever for a single moment notice anything whatsoever we were doing?"

"Never for one instant. I missed my Tennyson and my French Bible, but thought Eva had borrowed them, and in my wildest imagination I never dreamed you would furnish a lovely big room at the top of the house all for me, my own lone self. It doesn't seem right for me to accept it."

"Ah, but it is quite right!" said her father, tenderly, "and here is something else--a little birthday check from me to my daughter. Since you came home and set me on my feet I've prospered as never before. Eva has collected ever so many of my bills, and I've sold a corner of the meadow for a good round sum, a corner that never seemed to me to be worth anything. I need not stay always in your debt, financially, dear little woman."

"But, papa."

"But, Grace."

"Your father is right, Grace," said the sweet low tones of Mrs. Wainwright, even and firm. "Through God's goodness you have had the means and disposition to help him, but neither of us ever intended to rest our weight always on your shoulders. You needn't work so hard hereafter, unless you wish, to."

"Thank you, dear papa," said Grace. "I shall work just as hard, because I love to work, and because I am thus returning to the world some part of what I owe it; and next year, who knows, I may be able to pay Eva's bills at Miss L----'s."

Eva jumped up and down with delight.

Then came supper, served in Mrs. Wainwright's room, and after that music and a long merry talk, and at last, lest Mrs. Wainwright should be weary, the Raeburns took their way homeward over the lane and across the fields to the Manse.

Grace from the tower window watched them going, the light of the moon falling in golden clearness over the fields and farms just waiting for spring,

"To serve the present age
My calling to fulfill,

she whispered to herself. "Good-night, dear ones all, good-night," she said a little later climbing up the tower stair to her new room.

"God bless you, middle daughter," said her father's deep tones.

Soft, hushed footsteps pattered after the girl, step by step. She thought herself all alone as she shut the door, but presently a cold nose was thrust against her hand, a furry head rubbed her knee. Fido, the pet fox-terrier, had determined for his part to share the tower-room.

The Golden Bird.[2]

BY THE BROTHERS GRIMM.

In times gone by there was a king who had at the back of his castle a beautiful pleasure garden, in which stood a tree that bore golden apples. As the apples ripened they were counted, but one morning one was missing. Then the king was angry, and he ordered that a watch should be kept about the tree every night. Now the king had three sons, and he sent the eldest to spend the whole night in the garden; so he watched till midnight, and then he could keep off sleep no longer, and in the morning another apple was missing. The second son had to watch the following night; but it fared no better, for when twelve o'clock had struck he went to sleep, and in the morning another apple was missing. Now came the turn of the third son to watch, and he was ready to do so; but the king had less trust in him, and believed he would acquit himself still worse than his brothers, but in the end he consented to let him try. So the young man lay down under the tree to watch, and resolved that sleep should not be master. When it struck twelve something came rushing through the air, and he saw in the moonlight a bird flying towards him, whose feathers glittered like gold. The bird perched upon the tree, and had already pecked off an apple, when the young man let fly an arrow at it. The bird flew away, but the arrow had struck its plumage, and one of its golden feathers fell to the ground; the young man picked it up, and taking it next morning to the king, told him what had happened in the night. The king called his council together, and all declared that such a feather was worth more than the whole kingdom.

"Since the feather is so valuable," said the king, "one is not enough for me; I must and will have the whole bird."

So the eldest son set off, and, relying on his own cleverness, he thought he should soon find the golden bird. When he had gone some distance he saw a fox sitting at the edge of a wood and he pointed his gun at him. The fox cried out:

"Do not shoot me and I will give you good counsel. You are on your way to find the golden bird, and this evening you will come to a village in which two taverns stand facing each other. One will be brightly lighted up, and there will be plenty of merriment going on inside; do not mind about that, but go into the other one, although it will look to you very uninviting."

"How can a silly beast give anyone rational advice?" thought the king's son, and let fly at the fox, but he missed him, and he stretched out his tail and ran quick into the wood. Then the young man went on his way, and toward evening he came to the village and there stood the two taverns; in one singing and revelry were going on, the other looked quite dull and wretched. "I should be a fool," said he, "to go into that dismal place while there is anything so good close by." So he went into the merry inn and there lived in clover, quite forgetting the bird and his father and all good counsel.

As time went on, and the eldest son never came home, the second son set out to seek the golden bird. He met with the fox, just as the eldest did, and received good advice from him without attending to it. And when he came to the two taverns his brother was standing and calling to him at the window of one of them, out of which came sounds of merriment; so he could not resist, but went and reveled to his heart's content.

And then, as time went on, the youngest son wished to go forth and to try his luck, but his father would not consent.

"It would be useless," said he; "he is much less likely to find the bird than his brothers, and if any misfortune were to happen to him he would not know how to help himself, his wits are none of the best."

But at last, as there was no peace to be had, he let him go. By the side of the wood sat the fox, begged him to spare his life and gave him good counsel. The young man was kind and said:

"Be easy, little fox, I will do you no harm."

"You shall not repent of it," answered the fox, "and that you may get there all the sooner get up and sit on my tail."

And no sooner had he done so than the fox began to run, and off they went over stock and stone, so that the wind whistled in their hair. When they reached the village the young man got down and, following the fox's advice, went into the mean looking tavern without hesitating, and there he passed a quiet night. The next morning, when he went out into the field, the fox, who was sitting there already, said:

"I will tell you further what you have to do. Go straight on until you come to a castle, before which a great band of soldiers lie, but do not trouble yourself about them, for they will be all asleep and snoring; pass through them and forward into the castle, and go through all the rooms until you come to one where there is a golden bird hanging in a wooden cage. Near at hand will stand empty a golden cage of state, but you must beware of taking the bird out of his ugly cage and putting him into the fine one; if you do so you will come to harm."

After he had finished saying this the fox stretched out his tail again, and the king's son sat him down upon it; then away they went over stock and stone, so that the wind whistled through their hair. And when the king's son reached the castle he found everything as the fox had said; and he at last entered the room where the golden bird was hanging in a wooden cage, while a golden one was standing by; the three golden apples, too, were in the room. Then, thinking it foolish to let the beautiful bird stay in that mean and ugly cage, he opened the door of it, took hold of it and put it in the golden one. In the same moment the bird uttered a piercing cry. The soldiers awaked, rushed in, seized the king's son and put him in prison. The next morning he was brought before a judge, and, as he confessed everything, condemned to death. But the king said that he would spare his life on one condition, that he should bring him the golden horse whose paces were swifter than the wind, and that then he should also receive the golden bird as a reward.

So the king's son set off to find the golden horse, but he sighed and was very sad, for how should it be accomplished? And then he saw his old friend, the fox, sitting by the roadside.

"Now, you see," said the fox, "all this has happened because you would not listen to me. But be of good courage, I will bring you through, and will tell you how to get the golden horse. You must go straight on until you come to a castle, where the horse stands in his stable; before the stable-door the grooms will be lying, but they will all be asleep and snoring, and you can go and quietly lead out the horse. But one thing you must mind--take care to put upon him the plain saddle of wood and leather, and not the golden one, which will hang close by, otherwise it will go badly with you."

Then the fox stretched out his tail and the king's son seated himself upon it, and away they went over stock and stone until the wind whistled through their hair. And everything happened just as the fox had said, and he came to the stall where the golden horse was, and as he was about to put on him the plain saddle he thought to himself:

"Such a beautiful animal would be disgraced were I not to put on him the good saddle, which becomes him so well."

However, no sooner did the horse feel the golden saddle touch him than he began to neigh. And the grooms all awoke, seized the king's son and threw him into prison. The next morning he was delivered up to justice and condemned to death, but the king promised him his life, and also to bestow upon him the golden horse if he could convey thither the beautiful princess of the golden castle.

With a heavy heart the king's son set out, but by great good luck he soon met with the faithful fox.

"I ought now to leave you to your own fate," said the fox, "but I am sorry for you, and will once more help you in your need. Your way lies straight up to the golden castle. You will arrive there in the evening, and at night, when all is quiet, the beautiful princess goes to the bath. And as she is entering the bathing-house go up to her and give her a kiss, then she will follow you and you can lead her away; but do not suffer her first to go and take leave of her parents, or it will go ill with you."

Then the fox stretched out his tail, the king's son seated himself upon it, and away they went over stock and stone, so that the wind whistled through their hair. And when he came to the golden castle all was as the fox had said. He waited until midnight, when all lay in deep sleep, and then as the beautiful princess went to the bathing-house he went up to her and gave her a kiss, and she willingly promised to go with him, but she begged him earnestly, and with tears, that he would let her first go and take leave of her parents. At first he denied her prayer, but as she wept so much the more, and fell at his feet, he gave in at last. And no sooner had the princess reached her father's bedside than he, and all who were in the castle, waked up and the young man was seized and thrown into prison.

The next morning the king said to him:

"Thy life is forfeit, but thou shalt find grace if thou canst level that mountain that lies before my windows, and over which I am not able to see; and if this is done within eight days thou shalt have my daughter for a reward."

So the king's son set to work and dug and shoveled away without ceasing, but when, on the seventh day, he saw how little he had accomplished, and that all his work was as nothing, he fell into great sadness and gave up all hope. But on the evening of the seventh day the fox appeared and said:

"You do not deserve that I should help you, but go now and lie down to sleep and I will do the work for you."

The next morning when he awoke and looked out of the window the mountain had disappeared. The young man hastened full of joy to the king and told him that his behest was fulfilled, and, whether the king liked it or not, he had to keep his word and let his daughter go.

So they both went away together, and it was not long before the faithful fox came up to them.

"Well, you have got the best first," said he, "but you must know that the golden horse belongs to the princess of the golden castle."

"But how shall I get it?" asked the young man.

"I am going to tell you," answered the fox. "First, go to the king who sent you to the golden castle and take to him the beautiful princess. There will then be very great rejoicing. He will willingly give you the golden horse, and they will lead him out to you; then mount him without delay and stretch out your hand to each of them to take leave, and last of all to the princess, and when you have her by the hand swing her upon the horse behind you and off you go! Nobody will be able to overtake you, for that horse goes swifter than the wind."

And so it was all happily done, and the king's son carried off the beautiful princess on the golden horse. The fox did not stay behind, and he said to the young man:

"Now, I will help you to get the golden bird. When you draw near the castle where the bird is let the lady alight, and I will take her under my care; then you must ride the golden horse into the castle yard, and there will be great rejoicing to see it, and they will bring out to you the golden bird; as soon as you have the cage in your hand you must start off back to us, and then you shall carry the lady away."

The plan was successfully carried out, and when the young man returned with the treasure the fox said:

"Now, what will you give me for my reward?"

"What would you like?" asked the young man.

"When we are passing through the wood I desire that you should slay me, and cut my head and feet off."

"That were a strange sign of gratitude," said the king's son, "and I could not possibly do such a thing."

Then said the fox:

"If you will not do it, I must leave you; but before I go let me give you some good advice. Beware of two things; buy no gallows-meat, and sit at no brookside." With that the fox ran off into the wood.

The young man thought to himself, "that is a wonderful animal, with most singular ideas. How should any one buy gallows-meat? and I am sure I have no particular fancy for sitting by a brookside."

So he rode on with the beautiful princess, and their way led them through the village where his two brothers had stayed. There they heard great outcry and noise, and when he asked what it was all about, they told him that two people were going to be hanged. And when he drew near he saw that it was his two brothers, who had done all sorts of evil tricks, and had wasted all their goods. He asked if there were no means of setting them free.

"Oh, yes! if you will buy them off," answered the people; "but why should you spend your money in redeeming such worthless men?"

But he persisted in doing so; and when they were let go they all went on their journey together.

After a while they came to the wood where the fox had met them first, and there it seemed so cool and sheltered from the sun's burning rays that the two brothers said:

"Let us rest here for a little by the brook, and eat and drink to refresh ourselves."

The young man consented, quite forgetting the fox's warning, and he seated himself by the brookside, suspecting no evil. But the two brothers thrust him backwards into the brook, seized the princess, the horse, and the bird, and went home to their father.

"Is not this the golden bird that we bring?" said they; "and we have also the golden horse, and the princess of the golden castle."

Then there was great rejoicing in the royal castle, but the horse did not feed, the bird did not chirp, and the princess sat still and wept.

The youngest brother, however, had not perished. The brook was by good fortune dry, and he fell on the soft moss without receiving any hurt, but he could not get up again. But in his need the faithful fox was not lacking; he came up running and reproached him for having forgotten his advice.

"But I cannot forsake you all the same," said he. "I will help you back again into daylight." So he told the young man to grasp his tail and hold on to it fast, and so he drew him up again.

"Still you are not quite out of all danger," said the fox; "your brothers, not being certain of your death, have surrounded the woods with sentinels, who are to put you to death if you let yourself be seen."

A poor beggar-man was sitting by the path and the young man changed clothes with him, and went clad in that wise into the king's courtyard. Nobody knew him, but the bird began to chirp, and the horse began to feed, and the beautiful princess ceased weeping.

"What does this mean?" said the king, astonished.

The princess answered:

"I cannot tell, except that I was sad and now I am joyful; it is to me as if my rightful bridegroom had returned."

Then she told him all that happened, although the two brothers had threatened to put her to death if she betrayed any of their secrets. The king then ordered every person who was in the castle to be brought before him, and with the rest came the young man like a beggar in his wretched garments; but the princess knew him and greeted him lovingly, falling on his neck and kissing him. The wicked brothers were seized and put to death, and the youngest brother was married to the princess and succeeded to the inheritance of his father.

But what became of the poor fox? Long afterward the king's son was going through the wood and the fox met him and said:

"Now, you have everything that you can wish for, but my misfortunes never come to an end, and it lies in your power to free me from them." And once more he prayed the king's son earnestly to slay him and cut off his head and feet. So at last he consented, and no sooner was it done than the fox was changed into a man, and was no other than the brother of the beautiful princess; and thus he was set free from a spell that had bound him for a long, long time.

And now, indeed, there lacked nothing to their happiness as long as they lived.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 2: This is a fairy tale, pure and simple, but we must have a little nonsense now and then, and it does us no harm, but on the contrary much good.]

Harry Pemberton's Text.

BY ELIZABETH ARMSTRONG.

"He that hath clean hands and a pure heart."

Harry Pemberton went down the street whistling a merry tune. It was one I like very much, and you all know it, for it has been played by street bands and organs, and heard on every street corner for as many years as you boys have been living on the earth. "Wait till the clouds roll by, Jenny, wait till the clouds roll by." The lads I am writing this story for are between ten and fourteen years old, and they know that the clouds do once in a while roll around a person's path, and block the way, because fogs and mists _can_ block the way just as well as a big black stone wall.

At the corner of the street a red-headed, blue-eyed lad, a head taller than Harry, joined the latter. He put his hand on Harry's shoulder and walked beside him.

"Well," said this last comer, whose name was Frank Fletcher, "will your mother let you go, Harry, boy? I hope she doesn't object."

"But she does," said Harry, quickly "Mother doesn't think it right for us to start on such an expedition and she says all parents will say the same."

"Of all things, where can the harm be? Only none of the rest of us have to ask leave, as you do."

"Mother," said Harry, disregarding this speech, "is of the opinion that to enter a man's garden by the back gate, when the family are all away, is breaking into his premises and going where you haven't a right, and is burglary, and if you take flowers or anything, then it's stealing. Mere vulgar stealing, she says."

"Why, Harry Pemberton, how dare you say _stealing_ to me?" And Frank's red hair stood up like a fiery flame.

"I'm only quoting mother. Don't get mad, Frank."

"Does your mother know it's to decorate the soldiers' graves that we want the flowers, and that Squire Eliot won't be home till next year, and there are hundreds 'n hundreds of flowers fading and wasting and dying on his lawn and garden, and furthermore that he'd _like_ the fellows to decorate the cemetery with his flowers? Does she know that, I say?" and the blue-eyed lad gesticulated fiercely.

"All is," replied Harry, firmly, "that you boys can go ahead if you like, but mother won't let me, and you must count me out."

"All is," said Frank, mimicking Harry's tone, "you're a mother-boy, and we fellows won't have anything more to do with you." So they sent him to Coventry, which means that they let him alone severely. They had begun to do it already, which was why he whistled so merrily to show he did not mind.

I never for my part could see that there was any disgrace in being a mother-boy. But I suppose a boy thinks he is called babyish, if the name is fastened on him. As Harry went on his errand, he no longer whistled, at least he didn't whistle much. And as he went to school next day, and next day, and next day, and found himself left out in the cold, he would have been more than the usual twelve-year-old laddie if he had not felt his courage fail. But he had his motto text to bolster him up.

"Clean hands, Harry, and a pure heart," said Mrs. Pemberton, cheerfully. "It cannot be right to steal flowers or anything else even to decorate the graves of our brave soldiers."

And so the time passed--kite time, top time, hoop time, marble time.

It was the evening before Memorial Day, at last.

There was a good deal of stirring in the village. It was splendid moonlight. You could see to read large print. A whole crowd of boys met at the store and took their way across lots to the beautiful old Eliot place. The big house, with its broad porch and white columns, stood out in the glory of the moon. The gardens were sweet in the dew. Violets, lilies, roses, lilacs, snow-drops, whole beds of them.

Every boy, and there were ten of them, had a basket and a pair of shears. They meant to get all the flowers they could carry and despoil the Eliot place, if necessary, to make the cemetery a grand looking spot to-morrow, when the veterans and the militia should be out with bands of music and flying flags, and the Governor, no less, coming in person to review the troops and make a speech in the very place where his own father was buried.

In went the boys. Over the stile, up the paths, clear on toward the front portico. They separated into little groups and began to cut their flowers, the Eliots' flowers, all the Eliots in Europe, and not a soul on hand to save their property.

Suddenly the boys were arrested and paralyzed with fright.

An immense form leaped from behind the house and a deep-throated, baying bark resounded in a threatening roar. Juno, Squire Eliot's famous mastiff, the one that had taken a prize at the dog show, bounded out toward the marauders. They turned to fly, when a stern voice bade them stop.

"You young rapscallions! You trespassers! You rascals! Stop this instant or I'll thrash every one of you! Humph!" said Squire Eliot, brandishing his cane, as the boys stopped and tremblingly came forward. "This is how my neighbors' sons treat my property when I'm away. Line up there against the fence, every one of you. _Charge_, Juno! _Charge_, good dog!"

Squire Eliot looked keenly at the boys, every one of whom he knew.

"Solomon's methods are out of fashion," he said, "and if I send you boys home the chances are that your fathers won't whip you as you deserve to be whipped, so I'll do the job myself. Fortunate thing I happened to change my plans and come home for the summer, instead of going away as I expected. I heard there was a plan of this sort on foot, but I didn't believe it till I overheard the whole thing talked of in the village this afternoon. Well, boys, I'll settle with you once for all, and then I'll forgive you, but you've got to pay the penalty first. Frank, hold out your hand."

But just then there was an interruption. Lights appeared in the windows and a dainty little lady came upon the scene. The boys knew Grandmother Eliot, who wore her seventy years with right queenly grace, and never failed to have a kind word for man, woman and child in the old home.

"Eugene," she called to the Squire, imperatively, "I can't allow this, my son. The boys have been punished enough. Their fault was in not seeing that you cannot do evil that good may come. Let every one of these young gentlemen come here to me. I want to talk with them."

Now it is probable that most of the boys would have preferred a sharp blow or two from the Squire's cane to a reproof from his gentle old mother, whose creed led her to heap coals of fire on the heads of those who did wrong. But they had no choice. There was no help for it. They had to go up, shears, baskets and all, and let old Lady Eliot talk to them; and then, as they were going away, who should come out but a white-capped maid, with cake and lemonade, to treat the young depredators to refreshments.

"There's only one fellow in our class who deserves cake and lemonade," exclaimed Frank, "and he isn't here. We've all treated him meaner than dirt. We've been horrid to him, because he wouldn't join us in this. Now he's out of this scrape and we're in."

"Harry Pemberton," said Squire Eliot, who had locked up his cane, and was quite calm, "Harry Pemberton, that's Lida Scott's boy, mother. Lida would bring him up well, I'm sure. Well, he shall have a lot of roses to-morrow to lay on Colonel Pemberton's grave. Isn't that fair, boys?"

"Yes, yes," assented they all, with eagerness.

"And as you have by your own admission treated Harry rather badly, suppose you make it up to him by coming here in the morning, carrying the roses to his house, and owning that you regret your behavior."

It was rather a bitter pill, but the boys swallowed it bravely.

Next day, as Harry and his mother, laden with dog-wood boughs and branches of lilac, set out for the little spot most sacred to them on earth, they met a procession which was headed by Frank Fletcher. The procession had a drum and a flag, and it had roses galore.

"Honest roses, Harry," said Frank. "The Squire is at home and he gave them to us for you. Let me tell you about it."

The story was told from beginning to end. Then Mrs. Pemberton said, "Now, boys, take for your everlasting motto from this time forth, 'Clean hands and a pure heart.'"

Our Cats.

The first cat of our recollection was a large, sleek, black and white animal, the pet and plaything of our very early childhood. Tom, as we called him, seemed much attached to us all, but when we moved from the house of his kittendom and attempted to keep him with us, we found that we had reckoned without our host; all our efforts were in vain; the cat returned to its former home and we gave it up as lost to us.

The months sped along and we children had almost forgotten our late favorite, when one day he came mewing into the yard, and in so pitiable a condition that all our hearts were moved for him. He was in an emaciated state distressing to behold, and then one of his hind legs was broken so that the bone protruded through the skin. The dear old cat was at once fed, but it was soon seen that his injury was incurable, and our truly humane father said the only thing to do with Tom was to put him out of his misery. This was done, but we have ever kept in mind the cat that would not go from its first home, even with those it loved, and yet remembered those friends and came to them in trouble. I should have stated above, that the two homes were less than a mile apart.

Morris was another black and white cat, named Morris from our minister, who gave him to brother. He was a fine fellow, and would jump a bar four feet from the floor. But brother obtained a pair of tiny squirrels, the striped squirrels, and feared that Morris would catch them, for he was all alert when he spied them, and so the cat was sent to the house of a friend, as this friend wished to possess him. Morris was let out of the basket in which he was carried into our friend's kitchen, and giving one frightened look at his surroundings he sprang up the chimney and was never seen by any of his early friends again. Poor Morris, we never knew his fate!

One cat we named Snowball, just because he was so black. This cat was an unprincipled thief, and all unknown to us a person who disliked cats in general, and thieving cats in particular, killed Snowball.

We once owned an old cat and her daughter, and when the mother had several kittens and the daughter had but one, the grandmother stole the daughter's kitten, and though the young mother cried piteously she never regained possession of her child. Again, once when our brother was ploughing he overturned a rabbit's nest, and taking the young rabbits therefrom he gave them to the cat, who had just been robbed of her kittens. Pussy was at once devoted to these babies, and cared for them tenderly, never for a moment neglecting them. Nevertheless, they died, one by one; their foster mother's care was not the kind they needed.

Of all our cats we speak most tenderly of Friskie. She was brought when a kitten to our farm home, and if ever cat deserved eulogy it was she. A small cat with black coat and white breast and legs, not particularly handsome, but thoroughly good and very intelligent. The children played with her as they would; she was never known to scratch them, but would show her disapproval of any rough handling by a tap with her tiny velvet paw. She was too kind to scratch them.

Friskie grew up with Trip, our little black and tan dog, and though Trip was selfish with her, Friskie loved him and showed her affection in various ways. If the dog came into the house wet with dew or rain the dear little cat would carefully dry him all off with her tongue, and though he growled at her for her officiousness she would persevere till the task was accomplished, and then the two would curl up behind the stove and together take a nap.

When we became the owner of a canary, Friskie at once showed feline propensities; she wanted that bird, and saw no reason why she should be denied it. But when, from various tokens, Friskie learned that we valued it, she never again evinced any desire for the canary. And when, afterward, we raised a nest of birdlings, the little cat never attempted to touch them; no, not even when one flew out of doors and alighted almost at her feet. Instead of seizing it, Friskie watched us as we captured and returned it to the cage.

The writer of this story became ill with extreme prostration, and now Friskie showed her affection in a surprising manner. Each morning she came into our room with a tidbit, such as she was sure was toothsome: Mice, rats, at one time a half-grown rabbit, and, at length, a bird.

It was warm weather, the room windows were open, and being upon the first floor, when Friskie brought in her offerings they were seized and thrown from the window to the ground. At this she would spring after the delicacy and bring it back in a hurry, determined that it should be eaten, mewing and coaxing just as she might with her kittens. That the food was not accepted evidently distressed her. When she came with the little bird, she uttered her usual coaxing sound, and then, when it was unheeded, she sprung upon the bed and was about to give it to the invalid, who uttered a scream of fright. At this dear Friskie fled from the room and, we think, she never brought another treat. It was useless to try to treat a person so unappreciative.

At one time, when Friskie was the proud mother of four pretty kittens, she was greatly troubled with the liberties that young Herbert, aged three, took with her family. The little boy didn't want to hurt the tiny creatures, but he would hold them and play with them.

Mother cat bore this for a time, and then carried the kittens away to the barn, and hid them where no one but herself could find them.

While these babies were yet young Herbert was taken away for a visit. Strange to say, that upon the morning of the child's departure Friskie came leading the little ones down to the house. They could walk now, and at first she came part of the distance with three of them, stopped, surveyed her group and went back for the remaining kitten. All we have told is strictly true; it was evident that the cat knew when the disturber of her peace was gone, and also evident that she knew how many were her children.

Friskie died at the age of twelve, the most lovable and intelligent cat we have ever known.

Of late we have had two maltese cats in our kitchen, one old, the other young. The old cat has been jealous and cross with the young one, while the young cat has been kind and pleasant with her companion. One day the young cat, Friskie's namesake, sat and meowed piteously. We were present, and for a time did not notice her, for she is very demonstrative. What was our surprise to see her go to a low closet in the room and lie down, stretch her paws over her head, and by an effort pull open the door to release the old cat, who had accidentally been shut up in this closet.

The old cat is always very reticent, and would not ask to be let out. Her usual way of asking to have a door open is to tap upon it with her paw. She scarcely ever meows.

We might have enlarged upon these incidents, but have simply told facts.

Outovplace.

There's a very strange country called Outovplace,
(I've been there quite often, have you?)
Where the people can't find the things they want,
And hardly know what to do.

If a boy's in a hurry, and wants his cap,
Or a basin to wash his face,
He never can find that on its nail,
Or this in its proper place.

His shoe hides far away under the lounge;
His handkerchief's gone astray;
Oh! how can a boy get off to school,
If he's always bothered this way?

Oh! a very queer country is Outovplace--
(Did you say you had been there?)
Then you've seen, like me, a slate on the floor
And a book upon the stair.

You think they are easy to find, at least!
O, yes! if they would but stay
Just there till they're wanted; but then they don't;
Alas! that isn't the way.

When a boy wants his hat, he sees his ball,
As plain as ever can be;
But when he has time for a game, not a sign
Of bat or a ball finds he.

Sometimes a good man is just off to the train,
(That is, it is time to go);
And he can't put his hand on his Sunday hat!
It surely must vex him, I know.

If somebody wants to drive a nail,
It's "Where is the hammer, my dear?"
And so it goes, week in, week out,
And truly all the year.

How 'twould gladden the women of Outovplace,
If the boys and girls themselves
Should wake up some morning determined quite
To use hooks, closets and shelves.

The Boy Who Dared to Be a Daniel.

BY S. JENNIE SMITH.

Sunday-school was dismissed and the children were going, some in one direction, some in another, to their homes. The majority of them were chatting merrily of the proposed strawberry festival, but one little fellow seemed to be engrossed with more serious thoughts. He was alone and apparently unconscious of the nearness of his companions until a lad about his own age joined him and inquired, "Say, Ralph, what are you thinking of? You look as wise as an owl."

"I should hope I was a little bit wiser than a bird," answered Ralph, with a smile. "But I was just awondering, Ned, if I could be brave enough to go into the lion's den like Daniel did. I wouldn't like to stop praying to God, but it would be pretty hard to make up your mind to face a lot of lions."

"Yes, indeed; but then father says that we don't need grace to do those hard things until we are called upon to do them, and then if we ask God, He will give us the strength we require. All we've got to do is to attend to the duty nearest us, and seek for strength for that."

Ned was the minister's son and had enjoyed many an instructive talk with his kind father.

"He says, too, that we are often called upon to face other kinds of lions in this life, if we persist as we ought in doing the right. But here we part, Ralph, good-bye," and the boy turned off into a side road, leaving Ralph again alone.

Ralph's way led through a quiet country lane, for his home was beyond the village where nearly all of his companions lived.

"Well, I won't have to go into the lion's den to-day," he said to himself, as he sauntered along; "and when I do I guess God will give me the strength," and with this thought a gayer frame of mind came to him. "But it must be grand to be a Daniel."

Just then two large boys crept stealthily from the bushes that lined one side of the road and looked anxiously around. "Say, John, there's Ralph," one of them muttered. "He'll tell we didn't go to Sunday-school. Let's frighten him into promising not to."

"Hello!" cried John, in a loud voice.

Ralph turned and was surprised to see his brothers approaching him.

"Going home?" one of them asked.

"Why, yes, Tom, ain't you?"

"No, not yet; and if any one inquires where we are, just mention that we've been to Sunday-school and will be home soon."

Ralph's eyes opened wide in astonishment. "But you didn't go to Sunday-school," he replied, "because your teacher came and asked me where you were, and I told her I didn't know; I thought you were coming."

"Well, it isn't any of your business whether we went or not," growled John. "All you've got to do is to say we were there if you're asked."

"I can't tell a lie about it, can I?"

"Yes, you can, if you just make up your mind to do it."

"But I won't tell a lie about it," said Ralph, sturdily.

"No, I suppose you'd rather get your brothers in a scrape. You know what will happen if we're found out."

Ralph hesitated. He was an affectionate child and disliked to see anybody in trouble, especially his own brothers, but he had a very decided opinion that he was in the right, and therefore concluded to speak the truth at all hazards.

"I'm just as sorry as I can be," he returned, sadly, "and I'll beg papa to forgive you and say I know you won't ever do it again, but if they ask me I can't tell a lie about it."

"You won't, eh, little saint?" cried John, angrily, grabbing his brother's arm. "Now just promise to do as we say, or we'll pitch you into that deep pond over there."

Ralph was too young to realize that this was only an idle threat, and he was very much frightened, yet in that moment of terror the thought of Daniel in the lion's den flashed through his mind and gave him the strength that he had not dared to hope for. He saw in an instant that he had come to his temptation and his den of lions, and he felt that as God had protected Daniel in that far-away time, He would now protect him. Ralph had never learned to swim, and he was in fear of the big frogs and other creatures that inhabit ponds, but he did not flinch. With a boldness that surprised even himself, he looked steadily at his brother and replied, "You cannot frighten me into doing that wrong thing. I will not pray to the image of falsehood that you have set up."

It was now his brothers' turn to be astonished. They had never thought of Ralph as anything but a timid, little boy who could be overcome by the slightest threat, and for a moment they were at a loss what to say. Of course, Ralph was merely repeating some of his teacher's words, but they were not aware of that fact, and consequently wondered at his remarks. Finally John managed to stammer, "Do--do you want to go in that pond?"