Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

I showed her the four kittens, and she said they were perfectly lovely, but liked most the one with a white breast and a sweet dot of a white nose. I told her she might have it for hers as quick as it was old enough to leave its mother. But she has never sent for it since. I guess she must have forgotten.

When she had seen the guinea-pigs, and Tom's rabbits, and fed them all they would eat, we clambered into the hay-mow, and had a fine time playing on the hay, till the supper-horn blew.

There was no end of goodies for supper, but Jessie's Ma didn't eat scarcely a thing. But she drank two tumblers of Daisy's milk, and said she hadn't tasted anything so delicious in a year. But Jessie and I could eat, and Tom too,--after he had spilt a cup of tea and a pitcher of water, and knocked a piece of pie under the table. He said, when Jessie and her Ma had gone, that the lady's black eyes "discombobolated" him so that he had more than half a mind to dive under the table himself.

Soon as we were through supper, Pa brought up the horses (which Tom had driven to the barn, and watered and fed), for it was growing late, and the lady wanted to be home before dark. I put on Jessie's hat for her, and tried to straighten the crown, and pin on the long white feather, that was broken in two in the middle.

"It's 'most spoilt," I said. "Isn't it a pity?"

"Poh! I don't care," said Jessie. "I've got three more at home, prettier 'n this."

"Why-e-e-e!" said I. "Truly honest?"

"Why, yes!" said Jessie. "How many've you?"

"Just a horrid old Leghorn!" said I. "And it's been pressed over and over, and the trimmings washed, and I can't bear it!"

And I was telling her about the chip jockey hat that Sally Carroll's aunt bought her for a birthday present, when the buggy came to the door.

"Come, say good-bye to the little girl, my love," said the lady, smiling down at me.

Jessie threw her arms around my neck and whispered that I was the best girl she ever knew, and that she should write me a letter when she got to Boston, and hopped in.

The lady shook hands with Ma, and thanked her for being so kind, and then turned to Polly and said, softly:

"You good Polly, I _must_ do something for you. Wont you let me?"--and put her hand in her pocket.

I never saw Polly so mad but once before, and that was when Tom chucked Queen Victoria into the churn, because she wouldn't let him have but a quarter of an apple-pie to take to school. I mean Polly wouldn't. She walked into the buttery, and banged the door behind her as hard as ever she could.

The lady didn't say anything, but her cheeks were rather pink, and she bent and kissed me as if to hide them. Then Pa helped her into the buggy, and they drove away.

The next week, Jed went to the grist-mill, the other end of the village, with some buckwheat to be ground, and, calling at the post-office coming home, he found an express-box from Boston, with "Miss Mary Ann Murphy, Redfield, Massachusetts," printed on it in large black letters. He knew that was Polly's name, he said; and never having heard tell of but one Mary Ann Murphy in these parts, he hoisted it into the wagon.

Polly was washing by the kitchen-door as he rattled in at the gate.

"Hullo, there!" he sang out. "Here's a box that's a-wantin' Miss Mary Ann Murphy!"

"Git along wid yer nonsinse!" Polly said, scrubbing at one of Tom's blue gingham shirts. For Jed is such a fellow for fooling that you never can be sure when to believe him, and Polly thought it was a box of starch, or else of soap, that Ma had ordered from the grocery, and that Jed was only trying to get her to come and lug it into the house for him, so he could drive straight on to the barn.

Ma had set me to picking currants for jelly that morning, and I was getting over the vegetable-garden fence with a heaping pail on each arm when Jed spoke. In a minute, one pail was this side of the fence, and one was rolling along the path the other side, and I was in the wagon, reading the big black letters!

"Oh, Polly, _'t is_!" I hollered. "True's you live and breathe, a box from Boston! Oh, hurry up!"

Polly stopped short in "The Wearing of the Green," that she had commenced to sing at the top of her voice, and whirled about, her mouth and eyes as round as three pepper-box covers.

"Heh!" said she.

"An express-box for Polly, Jed?" called Ma, sticking her head from the kitchen-window. "You don't say so! Fetch it right in here." And Ma whisked the clothes-basket from before the door.

Jed threw the lines on Jerry's back, and shouldered me and the box, and dumped us both on the kitchen-floor.

"There you be, marm!" he said. "Want I should open it? Them nails appear to be driv' in pretty tight." For Jed was on tenter-hooks to know what was in it.

"No, I guess not," said Ma. "I'm afraid Jerry wont stand. Polly and I can open it."

"Oh, bless your soul and body, marm, he'll stand!" said Jed. "Best hoss I ever see fer that."

But Ma wouldn't hear to his losing the time; so Jed had to make himself scarce, looking mournfuller than when his grandmother died last spring.

"Come, here's the hatchet, Polly! Be a little spry!" Ma said. For Polly stood with her arms akimbo, and didn't budge an inch.

"Shure, an' who sint it?" she asked. And that was the only word she had spoken.

"Why, I don't know," said Ma. "But I can imagine. Can't you?"

Polly marched to her tub, her head high in the air.

"I wont tech the ould thing!" said she.

"Then I will for you," said Ma, and had it open in a jiffey.

Underneath the cover was a piece of paper, with this written on it:

Will Polly please accept these few articles in token that she
forgives me for having justly offended her by offering _pay_ for
a service which _can never be paid for_?

MRS. E. G. EDSON.

When she heard that, Polly wasn't quite so riled. She said Jessie's Ma was a _rale_ lady, anyway, and she might as well see what she had sent. So, wiping her hands on her apron, she planted herself in the door-way, while Ma went to work to empty the box.

First, there were six calico dress-patterns,--one purple, sprinkled with little black rings, and another pink, with a criggly vine running through it, and a black-striped white one, and the rest mixed colors.

Then beneath were three more dresses, of some sheeny stuff,--_alapaca_, Ma called it,--black, purple and brown, that took every inch of dander out of Polly. She wiped her hands extra clean, and came and twisted them this way and that, and crinkled them and smoothed them, and puckered the ends into folds, and laying them across the ironing-table, backed toward the wall with her head cocked sideways, and her eyes squinted together like Mr. Green's, the portrait-painter, when he looks at pictures.

"Shure, the Quane 'u'd be proud to wear thim!" she said; and said she should have the purple for a wedding-gown.

Then, besides, there was a red and black plaid shawl, and a whole piece of white muslin, such as you buy by the yard mostly, and a work-box, with cases of scissors and needles, and spools of thread and sewing-silk. And last was a bandbox tied with string, and that, Ma said, Polly must open.

So Polly pulled a pin from her belt and puttered at the knot till I 'most had a fit. For Ma wont ever have a string cut; she says it is a sinful waste. I thought it never would untie. Polly's fingers were all thumbs, and twice she dropped the pin. But it did--all knots do if you pick at them long enough--and in the box was a splendiferous bonnet, with green ribbon bows and three pink roses.

"Well, I declare!" said Ma. "What more can you want, Polly?"

Polly put the bandbox on the floor, and the bonnet on her head, and started for the sitting-room looking-glass.

"Sakes alive! Here's another!" Ma said, and held up by one of its bows the sweetest little hat you ever laid eyes on! It was light straw, trimmed with black velvet and blue silk, and had white daisies fastened to the velvet. Pinned to one of the streamers was a slip of paper, and on it was written, "For Kitty."

I just squealed! It was all I could do! To think of that beautiful little hat being for _me_, Kitty Hazel! Why, I never counted on having anything half so fine, unless I got to be the Grand Mogul, or something of that sort!

"The lady is very kind, I'm sure," said Ma, seeming as pleased as could be. "Try it on, child. You can squeal afterward." And she set it on my head.

I ran and looked in one of Polly's bright milk-pans that were sunning outside the door, and I hardly knew myself!

"Aint you smart!" said I, nodding to the girl in the pan. She smiled and nodded back, and looked so jolly that I came near turning a summer-set, new hat and all!

I wore it to meeting the next Sunday, with my new blue cambric; and I tell you what it is--it's enough sight easier to be good in an old hat than it is in a new one! I tried not to feel stuck-up, and I kept saying to myself: "Kitty Hazel, you're the same girl that sat here last Sunday, with an old Leghorn on. _You_ aint any different!"

But it wasn't much use; for whenever I'd raise my eyes there was Phil Gillis smiling at me from the judge's pew, and opposite were Dave and Aggie Stebbins, staring as though they had never seen the like of me before, and every now and then old Deacon Pettengil, who sits in front of us, would turn and peer at me through his green spectacles so funny that once I nearly giggled.

This all happened last summer, but my hat is as pretty now as it ever was. Ma says she should have supposed the blue would have faded some by this time--blue is such a poor color to wear; but it hasn't a bit. When it does, I shall take it off, and have it for a sash for Rachel Tryphena, and the hat will be 'most as nice as it is now.

KITTY HAZEL.

N.B.--I asked Polly how she thought of the umbrella. She said that when she was visiting her sister, that works for a dress-maker in Boston, she saw a picture of an old lady who was chased by a mad bull, and just as the bull was coming at her like sixty, the old lady turned and opened her umbrella square in his face. Polly said she always thought it was so cute of the old lady, and had meant to do the same when a mad bull chased _her_, if she had an umbrella with her. She said it all popped into her head when she saw the horses.

THE STORK AND THE CRANE: A FABLE.

BY HOWARD PYLE.

A Stork and a Crane once frequented the same marsh. The Stork was a quiet, dignified individual, with a philosophical countenance. One would never have thought, from his deeply reflective look, of the number of frogs and pollywogs, eels and small fish, that had disappeared in his meditative mouth. For the Stork was like many another philosopher, and in spite of his supernaturally wise external appearance, inside he was just as selfish, and just as voracious, as all the rest of his kind.

Although he never mentioned the subject, he was secretly very proud to recall the former grandeur of his ancestors, one of whom, in old Greek days, had been a famous king over the frogs, eels, and snakes, in a Spartan marsh.

The Crane was a lively little fellow, and not at all philosophical. He ate his dinner without moralizing over it, and felt thankful when he had enough. He had not a particle of aristocratic blood in his veins, and, in consequence, rather ridiculed the possession of that indescribable material by the Stork. Ridicule as he would, however, he was really secretly proud of his acquaintance with the other, and used to say to his friends and relatives sometimes:

"There is no one in the world that more despises pretentiousness than myself. One only too frequently hears an animal boast of its aristocratic acquaintances. _I_ never do that. Now, there is John Stork, of one of our highest families, and although I am not only on friendly but intimate terms with him, and even have been invited to call upon his estimable family, and make the acquaintance of Miss Stork (I have never had an opportunity to do so yet), one never hears _me_ boast of his friendship and intimacy."

To tell the truth, the conversations he held with the philosophical Stork were frequently so deep, that he found himself floundering beyond his depth. For instance, "Do you always stand upon one leg?" said he, one day.

The Stork reflected so long over this question that the Crane thought he had gone to sleep. Finally, however, the philosopher said:

"No; I do not. I always stand upon the other."

The Crane meditated for a space over this, but as it was completely beyond his comprehension, he gave the matter up and changed the subject. His respect for the Stork's wisdom was vastly increased by such conversations, for one often takes for wisdom what one cannot understand.

These two friends, however, did not always dwell together in perfect amity. The Stork was so proud that he frequently galled his humbler companion, and bitter disputes often arose. It was under the influence of such a feeling that the Crane burst forth one day:

"And what are you that you should boast? You have blue blood in your veins, indeed! Perhaps it is that blue blood that makes you so sluggish and stupid."

The Stork meditated a long while over this speech; finally, he said:

"When you accuse me of sluggishness and stupidity you judge by external appearances, and, consequently, by deductive logic. Beside, you do not take collateral matter into the case from which you draw your inference. You have never seen me when my physical energies have been aroused, consequently, your conclusion is both hollow and baseless--Q. E. D."

The Crane was rather taken aback by this speech, and, not comprehending it, he felt somewhat humbled. At length he said:

"_I_ am no philosopher, but as they say 'the proof of the pudding is in the eating of it,' I am willing at any time to run a foot-race with you, and so prove who is the more agile."

"I do not know," answered the Stork, meditatively, "whether my family would altogether approve of my entering into the lists with such a vulgar creature as yourself." Here he shut one eye, and looked reflectively with the other at a frog that sat on a tussock near by. "Still, I recollect that one of my ancestors proved his valor upon a turbulent duckling once, so I see no logical reason why I should not compete with you."

And so the matter was settled.

All was hubbub and excitement among the birds when the coming race was announced. The racecourse was so constructed that the larger birds stood upon one side, and the smaller birds and animals upon the other. This was so arranged, chiefly at the request of a deputy of frogs, because, at a mass meeting once, an albatross had eaten twenty-seven of these animals in a fit of absent-mindedness, as he said. Still the frogs desired to prevent the recurrence of so painful a scene.

The Cassowary was chosen director of the race, chiefly because he was a famous traveler as well as a pedestrian himself, and so was a judge of such matters. He was the same of whom the Gander, the poet-laureate, had written the poem commencing--

"It was a noble cassowary,
On the plains of Timbuctoo,
That gobbled up a missionary
Body, bones, and hymn-book too."

All were assembled. The champions stood neck to neck, while the spectators looked on, breathless with excitement.

"Go!" cried the Cassowary, and they went.

For a long time they continued neck and neck, and the excitement rose to fever heat. At this juncture a mouse attempted to cross the racecourse, and was instantly devoured by an owl, who acted as police of the course. At length the two racers re-appeared coming toward the grand stand,--that is, the place where the Cassowary stood with the signal-gun or, rather, pistol. The shouts and cries became more agitated and violent; there was no doubt about it,--_the Stork was ahead_! It was in vain that the gallant little Crane strained every sinew; the Stork came into the stand a good three lengths ahead of his adversary. Bang! went the pistol, and the Stork had won. His adherents crowded around him cheering vociferously, and raising him aloft upon their shoulders above the crowd. Even the Cassowary came forward and shook hands with him.

"Recollect, hereafter," said the successful Stork to the poor Crane, who stood dejectedly to one side, "not to scorn and undervalue qualities in any one, because they are not flaunted in the eyes of the world."

The Crane's adherents maintained that it was a foul start, while the Stork's friends answered that when two birds ran a race, it could not well be anything else.

The frogs, the mice, and most of the small birds, were divided among the successful betters; and, altogether, it was a day of rejoicing, except to the frogs, the mice, and most of the small birds.

* * * * *

WINTER FIRE-FLIES.

BY MRS. W. N. CLARKE.

One by one appearing
In their lower sky,
Come a host uncounted
Like the stars on high,
Flashing lights uncertain,
Ever changing place,--
Tricksy constellations
That we cannot trace!

Throbbing through the elm-tree
Little heart of fire!--
One in lonely longing
Rises ever higher;
Flits across the darkness,
Like a shooting star,
While the changeless heavens
Calmly shine afar.

When the flames are lighting
All the chimney dark,
When the green wood hisses,
And the birchen bark
In the blaze doth redden,
Glow and snap and curl,
Fire-flies, freed from prison,
Merrily dance and whirl.

Children on the hearth-stone,
Peering up the flue,
See a mimic welkin,
Lights that twinkle through,--
Sparks that flash and flicker,
Little short-lived stars,
On the sooty darkness
Glowing red as Mars!

Eager eyes a-watching
Fain would have them pause.
Catch these fire-flies--can you?--
In a web of gauze!
Ever upward flying
Toward the chimney's crown--
Up to meet the snow-flakes
As they flutter down!

THE ARMS OF GREAT BRITAIN.

BY SUSAN ARCHER WEISS.

My young readers have doubtless often observed upon familiar objects, such as books, china and steelware, etc., the device of a lion and a horse (sometimes represented as a unicorn) supporting between them a shield, surmounted by a crown. On the shield are certain divisions called "quarterings," in one of which you will observe two lions and a horse. Attached to the whole is the motto, _Dieu et mon droit_,--French words, whose meaning is, "God and my right."

If you inquire, you will be told that this device is the "coat-of-arms" of Great Britain,--as the eagle, shield and olive branch is that of the United States,--and that all articles thus marked are of British manufacture.

In old times the national symbol of England was the rose, of Scotland the thistle, of Ireland the shamrock, or clover. When England claimed Ireland and Scotland, these three were united on the British royal shield, as we find them in the time of Queen Elizabeth. On a victory over France, the symbol of France, a unicorn, was also added, the unicorn wearing a chain, to denote the subjection of France to England. This explains the nursery rhyme which you have no doubt often heard--

"The lion and the unicorn fighting for the crown;
The lion whipped the unicorn all around the town."

The sovereignty of Great Britain is by law hereditary, but sometimes there are disputes and wars for possession of the crown, and it passes into a new family. Thus some of the kings and queens of Great Britain have belonged to the family of Plantagenet, others to that of Tudor, and still others to the Stuarts. George the First of England was of a family named Guelph, and all the sovereigns of Great Britain succeeding him, down to Queen Victoria, have been of this family and name.

When a new sovereign succeeds to the crown, he has a right to place his own family coat-of-arms on the royal shield of Great Britain. George the First did this. The two lions and the white horse, which you see on one of the quarterings, is the coat-of-arms of the Guelphs, who were dukes of Brunswick and Hanover in Germany. It is therefore called the arms of the House of Brunswick, and it is about this that I now design to tell you.

In order to begin at the beginning, we must go far back into past ages--almost to the time when our Savior was upon earth. At that period the whole northern portion of Europe was inhabited by wild and barbarous tribes who had never heard of Christ, but were Pagans and worshiped imaginary gods, of whom Woden was chief. Among these races were the Saxons, a fair-haired, fair-complexioned people, of great size and strength, who inhabited that portion of country now known as north Germany. They have never been permanently driven out of this country, which is to this day occupied by their descendants, the Germans. This latter name signifies a "war-like people."

Now, according to the pagan belief, the god Woden had a favorite white or light-gray horse, created by magic art, and upon which he bestowed the power of assisting and protecting warriors. This horse was regarded as sacred, and shared in the worship given to Woden. The pagan priests had no temples; the art of building was unknown to them; but, instead, their religious ceremonies were performed in thick groves of oak which were set apart for the purpose. In these gloomy woods the priests reared beautiful white horses, which no man was ever permitted to mount, and which, being from their birth solemnly dedicated to Woden, were believed to be gifted by him with the power of foretelling events by means of certain signs and motions. Before going into battle these sacred steeds were consulted, and occasionally one was sacrificed to Woden or to his white horse, and the bloody head was then mounted upon a pole, and borne aloft in the van of the Saxon army, they believing that it possessed the power of vanquishing the enemy and protecting themselves. We read in history that when the great emperor, Charlemagne, conquered the northern countries, one of the Saxon leaders, named Wittikind, refused to submit to him, and that, in consequence, many bloody battles were fought, wherein the Saxons bore in their van a tall pole surmounted by a wooden horse's head. This was their ensign; and when they afterward became more civilized, they retained the same emblem,--a white horse painted upon a black ground,--which remains to this day the standard or banner of the little kingdom of Saxony.

In the year 861,--just about one thousand years ago,--Bruno, the son of a Saxon king, founded a city in Saxony which he called after himself, Brunonis Vicus, now known as Brunswick. He retained as the standard of Brunswick the white horse of Saxony, and thus it remained until the end of the three succeeding centuries. About that time the reigning prince of Brunswick was a certain Henry Guelph, a leader in the Crusades, noted for his strength and daring, which acquired for him the title of "Henry the Lion." This prince refused to own allegiance to the great Emperor of Germany, Frederic Barbarossa. He declared himself independent, and as a token of defiance set up a great stone lion in Brunswick, and had the same symbol placed upon his standard, two lions supporting a shield beneath the white horse.

Thus you now know the origin of the Brunswick coat-of-arms. But how came the banner of a small German country to be adopted on the arms of Great Britain? This I will now explain.

About the year 1650, the then reigning Duke of Brunswick, afterward also Elector of Hanover, married the granddaughter of King James the First of England. Their eldest son was named George Louis. When, on the death of Queen Anne, the English were in want of a successor, they looked about among those nearest of kin to the royal family, and decided to choose this great-grandson of King James I. Thus it was that George Louis Guelph--a Saxon-German--came to be King George the First of England, and this was how the "lion-and-horse" arms of Brunswick and Hanover came to be also part of the arms of Great Britain. His successors were George the Second, George the Third (against whose rule the American colonies rebelled), George the Fourth, William, and lastly Victoria, the present queen, who is granddaughter to George the Third. Thus you understand how Queen Victoria is descended from the princes of Brunswick,--how she happens to be of German instead of English blood,--and why her name is Guelph.

Now, whenever you look upon "The lion and the unicorn fighting for the crown," you will reflect how strange it is that this great and enlightened Christian nation should bear on its proud standard a symbol of pagan superstition. You will think of the bold Crusader, Henry the Lion; of Wittikind, the brave Saxon duke who, after a twenty years' resistance, was finally conquered and baptized into Christianity; of the wild, half-clad Saxons, with their bloody horse-head ensign; of the Druid priests, who sacrificed human beings as well as white horses; and so, far back to the god Woden himself, who was probably merely some great hero or warrior who lived in a period so remote that we have no record of it in history.

And yet, while you are wondering at England and her relic of Woden-worship, shall I tell you that here, in America, we too possess relics of this very pagan god to which some people accord a superstitious regard? Look on the threshold, or above the door of some cottage or cabin, and you will see nailed there a common horse-shoe as a protection against evil. Examine your grown-up sister's watch-chain, and you will find attached to it a tiny gold horse-shoe, studded with diamond nail-heads, which some friend has given her as a "charm" to secure "good luck." These are simply remnants of the old pagan Woden-worship which we inherit from our English ancestors, who are partly descended from the Saxons, as you have probably learned from your school history. And the word Wednesday is a corruption of Woden's-Day, a name given by our Saxon ancestors to the fourth day of the week in honor of their god.

When I was recently in Germany, I noticed upon the gable-end of every cottage and farm-house in Brunswick and Hanover a curious ornament, consisting of two horses' heads, roughly carved in wood, mounted upon poles, and placed above the entrance-doors, in the form of a cross. This was first done by order of Wittikind, who, upon professing Christianity, changed the pagan symbols above the doors of dwellings to the sign of Christianity--the cross. The ignorant peasants do not know the origin of the custom, but will tell you that the crossed-heads are placed there "to keep out evil spirits, and to bring good luck to the house."

I saw in Brunswick the great stone lion which Henry Guelph placed there seven hundred years ago; and in Hanover, the old palace in which George the First was born, with the lion and the horse above the entrance. Once, too, in the Hartz mountains, I visited a grand-looking ancient castle of the old dukes of Brunswick, in which was born the wife of George the Second of England. It stood on the summit of a lofty precipice, up which we had to climb; then crossing a deep moat by a narrow bridge, we entered through a great arched gate-way, surmounted by the Brunswick coat-of-arms, cut in the stone wall. The moat was dry, and ivy and tall trees growing in it far below, thrust the tips of their branches over the walls. I stopped and took a sketch of the old gate-way, which I here present my young readers.

UNDER THE LILACS.

BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT.