Chapter I (1)

HE old house on Cherryfield high road, back of the row of stiff poplars, with its queer little gnarled apple-trees at the back, looked for all the world just as it did one hundred years ago. It had no more paint on it now than when the children’s grandfather took home his young bride who thought it the most beautiful place in all the world to begin housekeeping in. Then it was a dingy yellow, with faded green blinds; and now the same forlorn attempt at coloring greeted all passers-by. To be sure it had been painted many times in the interim, but always the same hue was chosen, so that to the oldest inhabitant it was the best known landmark for miles around.

The “Brimmer Place” was known too, for something else than its antiquity; it was the cheeriest, home-iest old house that ever stood on any road, overflowing with good-will to everybody, especially to sick people and to little children. If anybody were in trouble and could reach her, Mrs. Brimmer always found just the right word of cheer to speak, while she tried to help in many other ways—and what she didn’t do, why, there were Jack, and Cornelius, and Rosalie, to say nothing of Primrose, the baby—four little comforters who made everybody just happy to look at them. And yet every one who lived in the big, hundred-year-old house was poor.

“It’s most dreadful to be poor,” said Rosalie one morning, in a burst of confidence to the boys, out in the woodshed. Cornelius stopped hacking at an old log to flash her a convincing “no” out of his black eyes.

“And it’s so very unagreeable,” continued Rosalie, smoothing down her apron while she seated herself on one end of the bench.

“_Dis_agreeable, you mean,” corrected Jack, picking up sticks over in the corner. “There, Corny, you let that old fellow alone; I’ll tackle him soon. He’s too tough for you.”

Corny, resenting the implication, let the hatchet fly on the back of the old log to show how strong he was in such a masterful style that the chips flew in every direction, and Rosalie paused to shake them from her apron, before she said,

“No; I’m quite sure it is unagreeable—I saw it in the dictionary.”

“Well, then, you didn’t see right,” said Jack. “It’s d-i-s; awful big letters too. Means hateful, and not nice.”

“Well, it’s not nice to be poor,” said Rosalie wisely waiving all further discussion as to the word; “that you must say anyway, Jack.”

But Jack’s lips were tight. Presently he straightened himself up, and gave his head a shake. “Well, what shall we do about it?”

“Do?” said Rosalie, in surprise, “why, I don’t know what you mean, Jack?”

“When things are not nice, there is no use in talking about them if you don’t do something to make them better,” said Jack philosophically. “Now I want to know what we are going to do to make ourselves rich.”

“_To make ourselves rich—O Jack!_” cried Rosalie and Cornelius together.

“If we can earn some money, I suppose we shall be rich sometime,” observed Jack; “everybody was poor once, but they worked and got money. Now, how can we?”

The children were so possessed with the idea of their ever being rich, that no words came to their aid; and Jack went on without interruption.

“I’ve been thinking over something that, if we can do it, will be perfectly splendid, and help mammy take care of baby. Poor, dear mammy!”

He turned away for a moment, and then showed his face again, the same old Jack with the laughing eyes, and pleasant, honest mouth.

“Tell on,” said Cornelius, who had dropped his hatchet, and drawn near. “Be quick and tell us,” he added breathlessly.

“Well, there is the tool-house,” said Jack. “Funny old hole, but just the thing for us. Now what’s to hinder our setting up a shop in it, and selling things?”

“Real true-as-you-live things,” cried Rosalie, “with counters, string, and brown paper bags?” “And five cent pieces, and cents and quarters?” screamed Cornelius on his highest key. “Whickets! why didn’t we think of it before? But where’d we get the things to sell with? Phoh! your news isn’t anything, after all; only just an old dried-up joke.” He was so disgusted, that he went back, picked up his hatchet, and fell to slowly hacking again. Jack flung himself up to Rosalie’s side on the bench.

“Now see here, both of you. The thing can be done, if we will all club together, and work hard. It’s not to be a success in a day, mind you, but we’ve got to pull hard, and at it all the time. Are you willing to do it for mammy’s sake?”

“Can’t we have any time for play?” asked Rosalie with a long face.

“Perhaps; but there won’t be much,” said Jack, “if we make a good thing of this.”

“Well, I s’pose you and I are the men of this family,” said Cornelius, over his log, “and so if you’ll just say how the money’s coming to begin with, why, I’ll give you my word, I’ll keep at it.”

“We want Rosalie,” said Jack, kindly; “we can’t do anything without her.”

“Why, she’s nothing but a girl,” said Cornelius, still pummeling; “it takes men to keep store and make money.”

“But there are ever so many things that a girl can do to help us,” said Jack, “so we must take her into partnership.”

“O Jack! how very fine and exquisite,” cried Rosalie, grasping his arm with excited little fingers. “I’ll wait on customers, and make change all alone, and help you fix up things and look nice.”

“She uses such terribly big words,” said Cornelius, in disfavor at the scheme, “and puts on airs, just like all the other girls. Jack, we can’t let her in; it’s no use to try.”

“Now, Corny,” cried Rosalie, slipping from her bench and standing quite tall. “I’m very big—nearly ten; and I know a great many things, and Jack says I may—so there.”

“Yes, she really ought,” said Jack, with a nod over at the smaller boy, “because you see it’s a family concern. We must make it Brimmer Brothers and Company.”

“Am I Company?” asked Rosalie, in subdued excitement.

“Yes,” said Jack. “Well, now I’ll tell you how we can make the money to buy the things that we are to sell. To begin with, Rosalie?”

“I?” cried the Company, with widened eyes.

“Yes,” Jack nodded at her very decidedly. “You can take care of Mrs. Prouty’s baby.”

“O Jack!” It was a tone of horror that came from the girl of the family, “you don’t ever mean that?”

“If we are really going to earn money to help mammy with, we must expect to do some disagreeable work,” said Jack gravely.

Rosalie hid her ashamed little face a moment, then said, “Very well, I’ll do it. But how do you know she wants me?”

“I heard her tell the cook when I carried the lettuce there this morning that she’d give fifty cents to any girl who would take care of the baby a week—just come in every day. Her cousin is going there to-morrow to visit, and she wants her time to herself. Just think, Rosalie, fifty bright new cents!”

The Company fairly clapped her hands. “Perhaps she’ll let me bring the baby over home, then I sha’n’t be away from Primrose.”

“She’d be only too glad to get him out of the way, I’ll be bound,” said Jack; “I sh’d be, if I owned that baby.”

“And Primrose is so sweet that any other baby would smile and be good, even if it was a great fat, big, crying, red-faced one like Mrs. Prouty’s,” said Rosalie, seeing some alleviation to her task of earning fifty cents. “Now what is Corny going to do?” she demanded, trying not to hope that his work was disagreeable also.

“Corny and I have to work together,” said Jack, with a little grimace he couldn’t help. “It’s to clean up Widow Brown’s pig-pen.”

“I sha’n’t clean up that old woman’s pig-pen, nor anybody’s pig-pen,” shouted Corny, with a vicious hack at the log; “no, _sir_!”

“Very well, sir,” cried Jack back again, “then I’ll do it alone.”

He didn’t say, “I would if I were you,” or anything of the persuasive sort, knowing that by no such ways could he manage Cornelius. He simply let him alone, as he always did, and did his own duty. The consequence was, the chubby young wood-chopper presently turned around, and said complacently, “When I get this log chipped up for mammy, I’ll join you.”

“If you don’t come till that log is done, I’ll have Widow Brown’s pig-pen in apple pie order,” cried Jack, in high good humor.

ONLY A LITTLE MÄDCHEN.

RETCHEN VAN CORTLANDT was a little German _mädchen_, as you see by her name, and she lived in the great city of Berlin. She and her mother occupied two rooms in a tenement house on “Steinstrasse,” as her father had died when she was very young. Gretchen had very few play-things, and spent much of the time in helping her mother earn what little money she could.

One Sunday Gretchen went out for a walk, and while going along the crowded street, reached a large brick building, from which came the sound of singing. Above the door there was a sign which she spelled out, and found to be, “_Wilkommen!_” As that meant “Welcome!” to a little German girl, Gretchen hesitated, and finally pushed open the door, and walked in. It was a large room, with seats full of people, many of whom were poorly and even raggedly dressed. At one end was a desk, and behind it stood a man who was reading something out of a big book.

“Even Christ pleased not Himself.”

“My!” thought Gretchen, “I wonder why!” But the man was talking. There was a good deal he said that the little girl could not understand, but she found that there was once a very good Prince, the son of a good and great King, who had come from his palace and had gone around, through a great deal of trouble, trying to save people from harm. He did nothing to please only Himself, but wanted to please his Father and those who loved Him. Gretchen understood one other thing—that every one else could do as this Prince did, and help other people as He had done, because He loved them so. If they did this they would be pleasing Him.

So when she reached home, Gretchen told her mother what she had heard, and asked her to explain it.

“Truly, child,” said the Frau Van Cortlandt, “I remember very little that I used to hear about it, but it’s all true—what he said.”

“But, mother, how can we all, or a poor little _mädchen_ like me, please this great Prince?” asked Gretchen.

“Ach, child!” said the good Frau, “I remember very little about it, but this I know—that every little boy and girl in the Fatherland, no matter how poor or small they are, can please this Prince, and the King, His Father, by doing something good and kind.”

“I should like to do something for Him, mother, if He is as good as the man said,” replied Gretchen.

* * * * *

That is the first part of the story. The next part came nearly a week later, when there was to be a great procession through the city. There were proclamations all over the city, saying that the “Kaiser Wilhelm,” their emperor, was to march through the streets, with his soldiers and guards in full uniform, and the drums were to beat, and the bugles were to blow, and the houses were to be decorated with flags, in honor of the procession.

Our little _mädchen_ was, of course, in a flutter of delight about it, especially when she found they were to march down their street, and past their tenement-house, on the way to the Königstrasse. How delightful! She would see the great army of Germany, and the great Kaiser William, march by their door!

When the eventful morning came, everything was bright and gay-looking, and the sidewalks were crowded with people who wished to see the procession. When the Van Cortlandts’ bed had been made, the breakfast dishes cleared away, and the two rooms nicely swept and dusted (for it is to be believed that if the Frau Van Cortlandt had known the end of the world was to come in an hour, she would not have delayed her morning’s work a moment) Gretchen and her mother were ready to watch and wait, with the remainder of the city. But alas, and alas. No view was to be had from their windows, because of the crowd outside, and no room could be found outside. No one would give up their place. How much Gretchen wished for the Herr Van Breyck, their only friend, who would take her in his strong arms, and find a place for her, but he was away at Frankfort, and what should she do?

Suddenly she thought of the attic balcony! It was a little bit of a one, and would hold but one person. Gretchen’s mother could not go up the stairs, so she slipped up to the unoccupied garret, and out on the balcony, from which she could look down over the heads of the people, and see the Emperor and his troops, as nicely as she could wish.

She was leaning lazily over the edge of the balcony when she chanced to see, in the middle of the road, a poor old woman, who was vainly trying to get a good place amid the crowd. Among those people there was little chance for her, and Gretchen pitied her.

“Poor thing!” she said. “I think”—at this moment she suddenly stopped, startled by a thought which came into her mind, and remained silent quite a while. What she was thinking was something like this: “Suppose I should ask her to come up on the balcony? Then I couldn’t see the procession at all—and that wouldn’t do, after all my trouble to get a good place. I wonder if that would be doing what the man said—not pleasing myself? Maybe it would, but then it is such a little thing that I’m sure the King wouldn’t hear of it. If I could only please Him some _great_ way, how nice it would be!”

But I am glad to tell you, and am sure you will be glad to hear, that after this talk with herself, the little girl made her way down to where the old lady was looking about her.

“Good Frau,” she said, as the old lady turned to look at her, “I have a place for you to see the procession; will you come with me?”

Through the door, up the three flights of stairs, went the little light figure, followed by the older and feeble one. “I am afraid, good Frau, these stairs will tire you,” said Gretchen, “but it is the only place there is.”

A chair was then brought up from the Frau Van Cortlandt’s own kitchen, on which the old lady seated herself, after which Gretchen went to the bedroom down-stairs, and throwing herself on the bed, burst into a flood of tears. “I can’t help it,” she sobbed; “I did so want to see the procession! But I am not sorry, if the Prince knows.” Then she dried her eyes and went to the door, where she could see nothing but the backs of the people in front of it.

The Ellsworths had been in Berlin some weeks, and having seen all they wanted to of the city, were about ready to go back to America, but they stayed longer than they otherwise would have done, for the purpose of seeing the procession. And then, as Amelia said, “it was just perfectly horrid,” that, after all, the soldiers were not to pass in front of their hotel.

“I am determined to see the procession,” said Mrs. Ellsworth. “And so am I,” said Amelia. Nevertheless, they were acquainted with no one in Berlin who would offer them a place, and they couldn’t well stand in the streets, “with the rabble,” said Mrs. Ellsworth.

“Blees, your honors,” said Hans, their guide and interpreter, “I haf zomedings teu zay. Mein schwester hab ein house in der Steinstrasse, mit ein gut—vat you gall it—palgonie, vair you kon go, if blees you.”

“Let’s go, mother!” said Amelia, “anything is better than not seeing the procession, when we stayed in the city on purpose.”

And Hans, not in the least minding the doubtful compliment to his “schwester’s house,” agreed to drive them around there early enough to keep out of the crowd. So it came to pass that on the balcony of the Frau Krant’s house, across the street from the Frau Van Cortlandt’s, were seated, the morning of the procession, Mrs. Ellsworth, her daughter Amelia, and her sister Julia.

“Mamma,” said Amelia, “look at that cute little German girl across the street up on that mite of a balcony. See! she has gone down now.”

Sometime later, she had more remarks to make. “Mamma, that little girl went down and got a poor old woman to take her place on the balcony—see her up there—and she is down now where she can’t see a thing.”

“Is it possible!” said Mrs. Ellsworth; “that is an act of self-denial one doesn’t often see in a child. Are you sure she hasn’t a better place?”

“Yes, mamma, there she is, down by the door, where she can’t see anything, I know.”

“Then,” said Mrs. Ellsworth, “I am going to have her come up here. There is room between Julia and me. Hans!” and that individual, who had been talking with his “schwester” inside, appeared. “Tell that little German girl in the door across the road, that I would like to see her up here.”

“Mamma!” said Amelia.

“Ja!” said Hans, in his surprise returning to the use of his native tongue.

“She looks very neat and nice, Amelia,” said Mrs. Ellsworth.

So it happened that our heroine Gretchen was confronted by a dignified-looking personage of her race, who informed her that a Frau from America desired her presence in the balcony across the street. Gretchen was frightened, and vaguely wondered if she had in any way committed treason against the United States Government, but her trembling limbs carried her to the Frau Krant’s balcony, where Mrs. Ellsworth questioned her, through her interpreter.

The story all came out, in German and in English, how Gretchen had given up her place because of the King and his Son, whom she wanted to please. Said she, “I am only a little _mädchen_, but I thought He might know.”

By this time there came the sound of drum and fife and martial footsteps, from around the corner, and the eyes of all on Steinstrasse were turned toward the place whence the sound proceeded. Mrs. Ellsworth desired Hans to tell the little girl she could stay where she was until the procession passed, thus relieving her fears that she was to be arrested for treason, and she, in turn, committed her overwhelming thanks to the good Frau for a good place to stand.

That isn’t the end, though I am almost through. Gretchen says she would have been satisfied without a place on the balcony, or anything else, if she could have known that she pleased the King and his Son by not pleasing herself, but that didn’t hinder her being very thankful that she could see the Emperor and his troops, and Mrs. Ellsworth made up her mind that she wanted a nice little German girl to take home to America, and educate and help in various ways, in return for her services, and a nice German woman who could do her washing, and live with her, too.

So the week after the procession found the Frau Van Cortlandt and her daughter bidding the Herr Van Breyck good-by, as they boarded the steamer bound for America, at the Hamburg wharves.

Gretchen and her mother are still living with the Ellsworths, and though they are sometimes a little homesick for the “Fatherland,” they are enjoying their home in America very much.

The week after they reached home they ate the Thanksgiving dinner, with a huge turkey and its regular belongings, and though they had never been used to the day at home, Gretchen and her mother were as thankful, they thought, as anyone could have been. And the way to be happy and thankful as they would tell you, is to try to make others so. “And it all came about,” said Mrs. Ellsworth, “because of that kind and unselfish act of yours, Gretchen.”

“I am only a little _mädchen_,” said Gretchen, “but I pleased not myself, and the King saw.”

/* PARANETE. */

CELEBRATED TREES.

THE chestnut-tree at Mt. Etna, is one hundred and ninety-six feet in circumference, and its branches are like trees. For ages have pilgrims delighted to linger in its shadows. There is also a great chestnut-tree at Tamworth, England, and when Stephen was king, in 1135, it formed a boundary, called the “Great Chestnut-Tree.” I have also heard of one called the “Manna Tree;” they grow in Italy and Sicily. The bark of it is cut in August, and the manna flows out like water. It was used for medicine. It is unlike the manna mentioned in the Bible, called “Bread of Heaven,” upon which the Children of Israel were fed. That was a small grain, and fell early in the morning. It was made into paste, and baked.

The Bamboo is used mostly in making houses, in Sumatra, and when the great and good Dr. Judson was a missionary, his lovely wife, Anne Hasseltine, made themselves a bamboo cottage.

The India Rubber tree is also very useful. It grows in South America and India. In Quito it is made into cloth.

The Cocoa-tree gives the poor Indians bread, water, milk, honey, oil, sugar, needles, clothes, thread, cups, baskets, cordage, nails, roofs, etc.

The Bread-Tree of the Pacific Islands yields fruit for eight months of the year. Two or three trees will supply one person with sufficient food. It is very nourishing.

The Jaca resembles this tree; it grows in Asia. The fruit often weighs thirty pounds. When the tree is young it grows upon the twigs, later, on the trunk, when old, upon the roots.

/* R. */

LIKES AND DISLIKES.

THIS is a splendid game if well played. Form two lines, each facing the other. A leader goes down the centre asking the right-hand line, beginning at the head, “What do you like best?” Each one must answer just what he or she wishes to, funny objects of course adding to the jollity of the game. When Leader has finished, she turns around and goes up the centre, asking the left hand line, “What do you dislike most?” When all have answered, she claps her hands, and cries, “Now.” The two lines pass across each other, turn, and pass back again, turn to their original places, facing each other, when they remain still. As the lines are crossing, each player must sing “I love cheese,” or whatever he or she has professed to like, or, “I dislike cats,” or whatever he or she has professed to dislike, keeping distinct and clear, each his own utterance; _no one must smile_. After this is over, the leader must pass down and up the line, asking one side, “Why do you like it?” or, “Why do you dislike it?” Then the lines pass across, singing, “Because it is delightful,” or, “Because it is squealing,” or anything—turn, dance back again to places. The leader must then pass down and up the centre, asking each line, “What are you going to do with it?” When all have answered, the lines must pass across, singing their answers, turn, and pass back again, ending with each player singing “I like monkeys because they are funny, I’ll send them to school;” or, “I dislike pigs because they are squealing; I’ll cut off their heads;” or anything they choose. Pass across, turn, and pass back again, when two opposite players take hold of hands, beginning at top, pass down centre, bow to each other, and go off to their seat, continuing till all are seated. Whoever smiles during this game must be conducted out of the line and made to stand up against the side of the room, with their faces to the wall, where they must remain as wall-flowers till the game is finished.

P. S. This game is so long, we could only print one this month. Send on the games, Pansies, as soon as you can, that you wish to have printed in this department.

THE PANSY.

_Terms of Subscription._

/#
The price of THE PANSY is One Dollar a year. New
subscriptions may begin with the volume (November
issue), or with any number desired.

The date following the subscriber’s name on the label
shows the time to which the subscription is paid. Thus,
Oct. ’87 means that the subscription is paid to and
including the October, 1887, number.

If no request to discontinue the magazine is received,
it is understood that its continuance is desired. The
magazine will, however, be stopped at any time, if the
subscriber so desires, provided all arrearages are paid
as required by law.

The order to discontinue
must be sent to the publishers direct, and not through
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If a change of address is desired, the OLD as well as
the new must be given.

Remittances may be made by Post Office Money Order,
Draft, Bank Check, or American Express Money Order.

/* D. LOTHROP & CO., Publishers, Boston. */ #/

* * * * *

MY DEAR ONES:

Here we are with November at the door! A new year for THE PANSY. Greeting to you, every one. How have you treated the old year who has just shut the door on you all? Three hundred and sixty-five days since last November! Oh! the story of them. How ill it reads when you come to look it over! Oh! there is ever so much which you wish was blotted out? Is that what you say? I know, for I have to say the same. What a blessed thing for us all that we have a Friend, great and glorious, who has promised to do just that with the story of our mistakes and failures. “I will blot out their transgressions.” Have you been to Him to get them blotted out?

Well, we begin again. New faces join us; and we must do what we can to help them. They will do what they can to help us. A Thanksgiving Day is just ahead. Shall we each try to give some one something for which to be thankful? It may be that they need only a pleasant word, a loving smile, a kind “Good-morning!” Such easy things to give! Shall we look about us while the surly November winds blow over half the country, and the balmy November breezes glide over the other half, and whether Dame Nature smiles or frowns where we are, make all hearts light because of our brightness, and sympathy, and unselfishness? Try to spread sunshine, my Blossoms, so we may have real flowers all the year round.

What are we going to give you for 1887? Why, look through the November PANSY and see. “Monteagle.” Yes; that is a serial. I shall tell how it all happened, just as well as I can. I do hope you will like some of the people, for I do, very much. “She.” I know it is a queer title. It will be altogether a queer story. Something that happened, well known to seven different people, who intend to tell it as well as each of them know how. Who are the people? Why, their names will be at the head of the chapters which they write. You can see for yourselves. “All Along the Line.” I know you will like our new department. Young people always like to know what is really going on in this world; and of course you will enjoy the design, engraved especially for us, by an artist who is also one of our contributors, and who loves every Blossom of you. For the rest, the old friends, Faye Huntington, Rev. C. M. Livingston, Margaret Sidney, Paranete, etc., will continue to work for you; you have told me so many times that you thought they were “Just perfectly splendid,” and as they each intend to be more splendid than ever, this year, I have no fears for their places in your hearts.

There are other new features, which you will be able to see for yourselves. We mean, with your help, to make THE PANSY for 1887 a great deal better than ever before. How many new Blossoms can you gather for our bed?

Another thing; will you remember that you have now a department of your own to look after? “Around the Family Lamp” has been thrown open for your use. We do hope you will be industrious and unselfish, and send on your thoughts as often as you have any. Keep your eyes open, and when you see other people playing games which you think are pleasant, don’t be contented with simply copying their good times, but pass the word down the line for the rest of us.

That reminds me of the address: I wonder if there is any way in which I can get you to remember it? Winter Park, Orange Co., Florida. This, until further notice. Now please do not send your letters to Boston, nor to Cincinnati, nor to Chautauqua, nor anywhere else but to Winter Park. Understand? Of course when you want to subscribe for THE PANSY, or order books, or transact any business which would naturally belong to the Publishers, you send to Boston, as usual. But for the “P. S. Department,” or “Around the Family Lamp,” or when you want a badge, or want to ask me any question, remember the Winter Park address. For anything pertaining to the new department, “All Along the Line,” address the Editor, R. M. Alden, at Winter Park, also. Who will be the first to give us some games for our Christmas number?

/*
Lovingly,

PANSY.
*/

* * * * *

_Gracie_ from Canada. Indeed, your letter was not too long. I enjoyed every word. You must have been a very industrious Pansy to get so many premiums. I knew a boy who used to trouble his mother very much by being late to breakfast. One morning when he came down to the dining-room half an hour after time, he found the table dishes all cleared away, and there was no breakfast for that boy until next morning. I don’t think he was late again for nearly two weeks. I am glad you are going to break yourself of that careless habit without any such help.

_Mary Edith_ from Ohio. It is very easy to be cross, and brave to try to overcome the habit. I hope your badge will help you.

_Ray Spencer_ from Turkey in Asia. We are very glad to welcome you. One who “tries to do things right the first time,” is a great comfort to his friends, and will be likely to grow into a good and wise man. It is a pleasure to have a letter from your far-away home. The Pansies would all be glad to hear something about the people of Turkey. Can’t you write us a little letter for the magazine?

_Arthur_ from Iowa. You are right, my boy. What is generally meant by “talking back” does harm instead of good. The Bible says “a soft answer turneth away wrath.” But the trouble is, when people are saying things on purpose to vex us it is very hard to think of anything “soft” to say, or to be willing to say it if we could think of it. The One who has promised to “keep the door of our lips,” is the only Source of real help.

_Harry_ from Ohio. Yes, indeed, a boy six years old may have a badge. I am sorry you did not tell us the name of the habit you were going to get rid of; but so long as you know its name, and are pledged against it, we will trust you.

_Virginia_ from Louisiana. I hope you don’t think we put the letters of our Blossoms into the waste basket! I am always glad when I receive a pledge against “teasing.” I think it one of the most troublesome habits we have to deal with. So easy to form, so ready to grow, so hard to get rid of. Yet it can be conquered.

_Fred_ from Illinois. I once knew a beautiful black-eyed boy who used to tell his mother he saw seventy-two cats down in the back yard, when he meant that he saw three. His mother used to laugh, and think such stories were amusing, so Eddie kept telling them, until, when he was nine years old, people said of him: “You cannot believe a word that boy says.” And yet I don’t think Eddie meant to tell what was false; he had simply formed a bad habit, and let it grow. I am glad to receive your pledge.

_May_ from Georgia. Do you know the difference between “firmness” and “stubbornness?” The former we admire, and the latter is unpleasant to everybody. I asked a little girl the difference between the two, and she said, “Firmness was sticking to a thing because it was right, and you thought you ought; and obstinacy was sticking to it anyhow, because you wanted your own way, right or wrong.” Do you accept her definition?

_Edward Mason._ Now, my friend, you and I are both in trouble. You have sent a letter, asking for a badge, and giving your pledge, but you have not told me where you lived, neither town nor State! How can I get a badge to you? I am hoping your bright eyes will see this printed letter, and that you will at once let me hear from you again.

_Bernie_ from Missouri. If here isn’t another Blossom who bites her poor little finger-nails! How glad we are that she has resolved to stop it, and I hope by this time succeeded. Did the missing magazines reach you at last?

_Ella_ from Nebraska. Oh! these tempers. I know all about them. It is astonishing how small a thing will ruffle them. Yet I know a lady of whom everybody says: “How lovely she is. One never hears her speak an ungentle word.”

And the lady told me herself that when she was a young girl she used to fly into a passion over the smallest things, and have to be locked into her room for hours! So, you see, the naughty tempers can be overcome.

_May_ from Conn. Thirty-seven mistakes in my “queer letter!” I wonder if any of the Pansies will find more than that number? I am waiting to see. Your little poem gave me so much amusement I think I must copy it for all our family.

_Harold_ and _Laurence_ from New Mexico. Welcome to our Pansy Bed, my dear, brave boys! How do I know you are brave? Because people who own their faults and resolve to conquer them, have a right to that title. Don’t you know the Bible says: “He that ruleth his spirit, is greater than he that taketh a city?” Is that just the way it reads? I am quoting from memory. Look it up, won’t you, and see if I am exactly correct?

We would like to hear about the interesting things in New Mexico.

_Lizzie_ from Illinois. Don’t get discouraged, my dear girl, even when things will not go just as you want them. Don’t you know the old couplet:

/*
If at first you don’t succeed,
Try, try again.
*/

It is a good motto to work by. If I were you, I would, by all means, try a “P. S.” in the new home. You may be able, through it, to do a great deal of good.

_Marion_ from Conn. I hope our badge is helping you. Jealous people manage to get a great deal of unhappiness out of things which were intended for their pleasure. It is wise to get rid of that weed as fast as possible.

_Minnie_ from Conn. I am glad to hear from you. Yes, it is hard to do right; but we have one comfort: it is, after all, a great deal harder to do wrong, because doing right grows easier as the days go by, while doing wrong makes life harder for us each day.

_Ralph_ from Ohio. “My boy,” said an old gentleman, putting his hand on the head of a little fellow, “here is something to remember: other people may do your work, but no one can ever do your duty for you.” The boy is a man now, a grand one, and says he has always tried to live by that sentence which the old gentleman gave him. Your pledge made me think of this.

_Stella_ from Nebraska. There are plenty of weeds in our bed, my dear; you need not think you are alone in that; but the beauty of it is, we are all trying to get rid of them. “I always count tardy obedience just the same as disobedience,” said a stern-faced mother to me the other day.

That seems rather hard, doesn’t it? I don’t think that is quite the way; but tardy obedience is a very disappointing kind. I know your mother must be glad that you intend to give no more of it.

_Clarence_ from —— The truth is, my boy, I don’t really know where you are from. You forgot the State.

You are right about the mistakes. And did you correct them all without help? I should agree with you about the rabbit. I think we are often very cruel in trying to cage and make pets of animals and birds who are used to freedom.

_Mattie_ from Tennessee. O, yes! I have been in Florida. In fact, while I am writing, I sit at this moment under an orange-tree in Orange Co., answering your letter. As I read it, I raise my voice and give Mr. Livingston, who is in his study overhead, your message. He is very glad to get it. It makes a minister’s heart glad to have a young listener say that he makes things plain, in the pulpit.

I hope you find your badge a reminder whenever you are tempted not to do the next thing promptly.

_Rufus_ and _Mamie_ from Massachusetts. So glad to welcome these dear people to our garden! I think often of Rufus’ pleasant face, and of his tender care of Mamie. I wonder if that little Blossom is becoming less timid? Flowers often droop their heads, but the sweet, gentle dews make them look up and smile. I think the dew of gentleness will drop all around Mamie’s life and give her courage. Thank the dear mamma for her sweet, kind, strong words to me. When we all get home, what a happy time we shall have together.

_George_ from Indiana. Oh! these tempers. I think I must have said that at least a dozen times this morning. I find so many of my Pansies tortured by that weed “anger.” If we were not sure we could succeed, how discouraging it would be! As it is, I rejoice over every new name I write in our great pledge book.

_Emma_ from Dakota. I congratulate mamma. I know by experience just how trying it is to have to repeat the same direction several times before it is obeyed. If you read the answers to letters, you will notice how many of our Pansies are at work in the same line. We will take courage; the next men and women will be stronger and better than we.

EXTRACTS FROM PANSY LETTERS.

/* DEAR PANSY: */

I am a little girl ten years old. I have taken THE PANSY for two years, and like it ever so much. I got some nice presents from the Publishers: a knitting machine, two balls of yarn, a box of Logomachy, and your picture. I think Nettie Decker was splendid. And Grandma Burton did tell such lovely stories! My grandma went to Heaven just a little while ago. She was eighty-four years old. Mamma thinks I am making my letter too long, but I cannot tell you all I want to in a little short letter. If you would only come to Wells Island I would go down there on purpose to see you; I think a great many other Pansies would do the same.

I have many faults to overcome. One is, not being up in time for breakfast; another is, not doing things quickly; and, not putting things in their places when I have done with them. My two little brothers want badges. One will try not to act cross when he can’t have things just as he wants them, and one will try to remember to take off his hat when he comes into the room.

/*
Your loving friend,

GRACIE CONGER.
*/

* * * * *

/* DEAR PANSY: */

I really cannot think how to commence this letter. Oh! I want to tell you that I found thirty-seven misspelled words in the funny queer piece about babies. I hope none of them are mine. Once I made up some poetry; it is not very good, but I will write it to you. Here it is:

/*
Many an Indian man
Intruded upon the colonial land.
But they never tried to massacre
The little people of Alaska.
*/

I am very much interested in Nettie Decker, and, for that matter, in every story that there is in THE PANSY.

/*
Good-by,

MAY FINNEY.
*/

* * * * *

/* DEAR PANSY: */

I have taken your magazine for nearly two years. I like it very much. Ever since I began reading the letters, I have thought how I should like to join your band. Now I am going to, although I am afraid you will find me a weedy Pansy. I mean to try and pull out every weed. I have so many faults, I do not know which of them I need to overcome the worst. One of them is not to go right away when mamma calls, but to wait till I forget it.

How I should like to hear from you real often! But I know you have so many Pansies to write to, I will try to be real patient. Mamma likes to read THE PANSY as well as I do. We are reading the New Testament together. Every morning when I get up, I take a verse from the Bible to live by, during the day. One verse I try to live by, is: “For even Christ pleased not himself.”

/*
Your loving friend,
STELLA GRAHAM.
*/

======

Until further notice, the address of Mrs. G. R. Alden will be Winter Park, Orange Co., Florida.

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/# WILD FLOWERS AND WHERE THEY GROW. #/

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/#
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AND THEIR HOMES.
#/

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/* _Franklin and Hawley Streets, Boston._ */

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* * * * *

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/*
A Family Flight through Mexico.
A Family Flight around Home.
A Family Flight over Egypt.
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A Family Flight through France.
*/

* * * * *

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/# Golden West (The), AS SEEN BY THE RIDGWAY CLUB. #/

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/#
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CLUB.
#/

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