alone. So she scampered back, and meeting Watch by the gate, whispered
in his ear,
"Here is a piece of meat the fairy sent you. Now be a good dog, and
don't bark when she comes to-night."
Watch took the meat, ate, and growled over it.
Bessy put the key back softly. Then feeling very lonely and excited, she
crept softly around to the kitchen door for light and companionship.
There stood Lucy kneading bread for breakfast, while Ann sat by the door
knitting a long cotton stocking.
Bessy came close up to her and stood still, looking into the kitchen.
With everything shining and clean, so cozy and comfortable, it was quite
delightful after the mysterious lane, and the old fairy who smelled of
tobacco.
"Why, you darling," said Ann, "I was just coming to look for you. Where
have you been? You look as scared as a cat, and as wild as a witch.
What's the matter?"
"Nothing," answered Bessy. "I wish mother would come. What time is it?"
"Half past eight," said Lucy, looking at the clock. "She'll be along
soon now. Don't fret, and I'll give you a big piece of cake."
Bessy was as fond of cake as other little girls; so she sat down on the
door-step to eat the cake, and listened for the wheels of the carriage.
At last they came, and Bessy flew down to meet her parents with delight,
for she felt lonesome and queer.
Mamma called Ann to light the big lamp on the round table; then she
looked at her little girl, sat down, and took her on her lap, saying:
"Well, what have you been doing, little one? You look tired and cold.
Have you had your tea?"
How Bessy longed to tell them of the wonderful good luck in store for
them! But she remembered her promise, and only answered:
"Yes, mamma. I am sleepy."
So mamma took a candle from the mantel-piece, and led Bessy to bed,
undressed her, and listened to her little prayer, and tucked in the
quilt; then she said:
"I'll be back for the light after I have had my supper. Shut your eyes,
like a good girl, and go to sleep."
As soon as her mother left the room Bessy slid off of the bed and into
the next room, which was her mother's, to hunt for two pairs of shoes.
After some fumbling, she found a pair of slippers of her mother's and a
large pair of boots of her father's. She put them in a row by the door,
and then jumped into bed again.
It was not until after what seemed to Bessy a long, long time that she
heard her father and mother come out of the dining-room. Then she heard
papa say:
"Why, what's the matter with the key? I can't turn it." She heard the
key taken out, and papa say again: "What is this in the key? It looks
like wax."
After a little, she heard her father turn the key and hang it up on the
hook. Pretty soon mamma came into Bessy's room. Bessy closed her eyes
and pretended to be asleep. She felt mamma kiss her, and heard her close
the door.
How long she slept she never knew; but suddenly she started up wide
awake, to find the stars shining down on her through the window.
Everything was as still as it could be. Bessy wondered if the fairies
had come yet.
She stepped out of bed and across the room, and put her hand into the
big boots. They were empty; so were her own little shoes and mamma's
slippers.
"Well, they haven't come yet," she whispered.
She was about to return, when her attention was attracted by a flash of
light in the hall. Bessy peeped out, thinking it might be the fairy; but
what was her surprise at seeing two large men, in stocking feet, coming
up the lower stairs on tiptoe. The one behind carried a lantern, and was
making it flash backward and forward, up and down, as the old fairy did
in the lane.
What could they want? she wondered.
The first man carried a sack over his shoulder, and pointed toward the
closet where Bessy knew all the silver-ware was kept. Then the man with
the lantern began pushing what looked like an enormous nail between the
lock and the door, stopping every now and then to listen.
In a few moments the door flew open, and both went in together. Then
Bessy saw them take down the beautiful silver pitchers, tea-pots, trays,
and forks and spoons, and put them into the bag. They did it so softly
that there was not even the least little chink from them.
Though Bessy was a very little girl, and believed in fairies, she knew
these men had no right to take papa's silver. So she thought she must
tell him. She ran to the door between their rooms, and pushed it open a
little way.
"Papa! papa!" she cried, "two big men are in the house. They have taken
everything in the silver closet. Take a stick and drive them away."
Up jumped papa, seizing a pair of great pistols, and made a rush for the
stairs, with Bessy behind him.
They had not reached the first step when the two men darted out of the
room below.
But on seeing papa with a pistol in each hand, they dropped the bag and
ran toward the open hall door, and were out of sight in a moment.
Mamma, awakened by the noise, came hurrying out to see what was the
matter, and found Bessy crying in the corner, and papa rushing through
the house with a pair of pistols. Bessy's mother clasped her very
closely in her arms.
In a little while papa came back, looking very serious. The men had
disappeared, and Watch lay dead on the mat outside of the door.
By the time they had emptied the bag, and put everything in its place,
it was quite daylight, and Bessy knew the fairy had been frightened
away. So she climbed up in her mother's lap and began sobbing softly.
Then, when her mother coaxed her to tell what ailed her, she pointed to
the shoes, and told her about the old fairy in the lane and the key.
Bessy had to tell that story ever so many times that day. And for a long
time her mamma did not leave her alone in the evenings; so that Bessy
never saw the fairy godmother again.
THE CITY OF THE CALIPHS.
BY LIEUTENANT E. W. STURDY, U.S.N.
It was impossible for our friend Master Tom Fairweather not to indulge
in a chuckle when he opened his eyes upon the harbor of Bagdad the
morning after his arrival at that ancient city.
The passengers of the _Blosse Lynch_ were being carried ashore by the
basketful in the kufas which swarmed about the steamer, and which, made
of wicker-work, and round in shape, reminded our young friend of peach
and strawberry baskets.
It was not long, however, before Mr. Jollytarre and himself were
likewise progressing shoreward, whereupon the humor of the situation
considerably diminished. It is never as funny to do a thing ourselves as
to see other people do it.
Immediately on landing Mr. Jollytarre was presented with a note by an
important personage, who in a fez cap stood by while the Lieutenant read
the missive. Having done so, he said, "Tom, you are in luck. One of the
most influential merchants of Bagdad has invited us to lunch with him at
twelve to-day. We shall have lots of time before then to walk through
the bazars, and get, in fact, a general idea of the city. After lunch we
can do more sight-seeing. Would you like to go?"
"I suppose there are no ladies," demurred Tom, doubtfully.
"I am afraid not," and the Lieutenant shook his head sadly.
"Then I'd like to go," agreed Tom, cheering up.
The Lieutenant smiled at him. "You will hold different views one of
these days. But let me see; here, I'll write a line on my card;" and
pulling out his card-case he wrote with a flourish,
"Accept with pleasure.
"JACK JOLLYTARRE."
Then they started for the bazars, which they found to be long and broad,
and moderately full of pretty things. The streets were cleaner than in
most Eastern towns. The houses bore a family resemblance to each
other--a square court-yard in the centre, around the four sides of which
the rooms were built, sometimes to the height of three stories, and some
of them being quite open to the sun and air of the court-yard, there
being, as a rule, no windows on the dark narrow streets. The roofs are
generally flat, and the people sleep on them during the hot summer. In
fact, while the great heat lasts, the citizens of Bagdad spend the day
in the serdaubs, or as we would call them, cellars.
Tom and Mr. Jollytarre in their walk stood gazing into one of these
cellars through one of their grated windows.
"'Serdaub,'" read the Lieutenant from his guide-book, which he always
carried like a devoted traveller, "'means cold water.' The Bagdadese
call their cellars by this name because they keep cold water stored
there. In short, these cellars might be called during the hot months the
watering-places of Bagdad, when it is too intolerably hot to remain
above-ground. But the nights almost always cool off, and then the
frequenters of these summer resorts go up to spend their evenings on the
roof by way of variety. This I should consider a change decidedly for
the better, as venomous reptiles abound in the serdaubs, which do not
make very pleasant companions. Besides which, the air is damp and the
ventilation bad."
As they walked on, Tom said: "The air above-ground is good enough,
though, isn't it?"
"Oh yes, delightful; no better air or climate in the East. The wind is
always blowing over the city fresh from the surrounding desert. For six
or eight months the climate is as pleasant as in any place on earth. In
midwinter it is cold enough to form ice. The spring and autumn are
particularly delightful. But the summer sets in early. In May, for
instance, there are such swarms of insects as to render life almost
insupportable. We are here, however, in the very nick of time--April."
"Such lots of flowers!" commented Tom. "I know what those little yellow
flowers are in that garden--crocuses; and those are violets just like
ours at home; and did you ever smell anything so sweet as those orange
blossoms? That's something I never saw in our garden."
Here Tom and Jollytarre stood stock-still like two girls to stare in at
the flowers in the Bagdad gardens, and up at the birds, and
turtle-doves, and ring-doves on the mosques and minarets around them.
"There's a fine view from the top of that minaret," said Mr. Jollytarre,
pointing to a very tall one in the middle of the city. "Shall we climb
it?"
Of course Tom said yes, and off they started.
"The view is really very fine," exclaimed the Lieutenant, on their way
up, "of the city, the gardens, the river, the plain of Mesopotamia, and
the Persian hills; and the minaret itself is worth a visit on its own
account, having been standing since the year 1235, more than six hundred
years. It is, moreover, not only the oldest but the highest of any
minaret in Bagdad. It is lucky for us that although unbelievers are not
allowed entrance to Turkish minarets in general, this one being partly
in ruins, and being besides unattached to any mosque, is therefore open
to us dogs of Gentiles."
The entrance was high up, as in most minarets. A ladder was placed
against the wall, and our friends climbed up and scrambled into the
doorway over their heads.
From the top of the minaret Bagdad looked like a level plain made of the
flat roofs of the houses, honey-combed by narrow ditches--the ditches,
of course, being actually the streets.
Out of this plain of flat roofs rose mountain heights and peaks of
mosques and minarets, which glittered in the sun with their gaudy
covering of tiles, generally either blue or green.
[Illustration: THE BRIDGE OF BOATS.]
From their lofty position our travellers made out the fact that the town
was divided into two parts, one on the eastern and one on the western
bank of the Tigris. A certain freshness and beauty was given to the
river by the mulberry and date-palm trees growing in the court-yards of
many of the houses. The eastern and western portions of Bagdad were
connected by a pretty bridge of boats. Up and down the course of the
river groves and gardens follow the flow of its waters northward and
southward. But away from it to the east and west trees disappear and
deserts stretch out into trackless wastes.
Eastward of Bagdad are the old walls, now for the most part dismantled.
Long ago the bricks of which this wall was built were given to the
soldiers of the Caliph's army to eke out their pay, but the soldiers of
to-day are more fairly treated.
Tom made a visit to the citadel and barracks, which were in
exceptionally good order. The soldiers appeared very young-looking, but
steady and enduring. They wore a blue Zouave uniform.
Their lunch hour approaching, after leaving the barracks Tom and Mr.
Jollytarre now turned their steps in the direction of the house of their
host.
They found this house built around a court-yard, as you have been told
is generally the case in Bagdad. In this particular court, however, they
found a number of hawks, which their owner kept for sport. They are used
to hunt down gazelles and antelopes, which they either kill outright, or
else keep at bay until the hounds come up and put an end to them. The
general effect of the house was European. The walls, to be sure, were
plainly whitewashed, but other details were handsome and artistic. For
instance, the ceilings were handsomely decorated, and the floors were
carpeted. One large room was furnished as a billiard-room. In others
were handsome mirrors. The lunch table was laid in accordance with our
notions or prejudices; that is, with a cloth, knives, forks, and plates.
But there all sense of familiarity ceased. The fare was thoroughly
Oriental. First of all a sheep, roasted whole and elaborately stuffed,
was brought in on a tray and carried around to every one at table. Next
came a roast turkey, served in the same way. Then a goose, then a
gazelle, and then dishes and dishes of unknown names and composition.
Such was the _menu_. Besides all of which, the table was laden with
countless dishes of fruit and sweetmeats.
Tom, of course, being only a small boy, was admitted on sufferance, and
sat perfectly still, and did not once contribute a word to the
conversation. But he looked and listened all the harder, and I do not
believe he missed a single point in the entertainment. Still, he was not
particularly amused, and was certainly greatly relieved when the feast
was over, and Mr. Jollytarre and himself were once more in the streets
of Bagdad.
"They have the plague here frequently," said the Lieutenant, as they
strolled along, an Arab whom they had picked up for a guide at their
heels, "and the mortality is fearful. Once the authorities decided to
try the plan of shutting up every one in any house where the plague
broke out. But this plan was bitterly opposed, as it meant certain death
to all in the house. The Jewish rabbis proposed another plan. They
persuaded their people to emigrate to the desert, and live there until
the plague was stayed, or at least until they had themselves got rid of
it, having left it behind in the filth and foul air of the city. Some
Christians and Mussulmans followed their example. There is one curious
fact about the plague: hardly a person has ever been attacked who slept
on a bedstead, even when persons sleeping on the floor in the same room
have caught the disease and died."
"I suppose it is a summer disease," said Tom.
"No; on the contrary, it disappears with the fierce heats of summer,
only to perhaps re-appear in the fall."
"I should hate to live in a place where there was danger of such a vile
disease breaking out. But look at the troops of children--just out of
school, I suppose. Do you know whether schools are found here?"
"Excellent, I am told. The gentleman with whom we lunched just now told
me that these Bagdad children are taught to be good linguists, for one
thing. They learn to speak Arabic, Syriac, and Turkish, as well as
French and English, with fluency, in a Jewish school which was started
not long ago. When this school was first opened the Turkish parents
would not send their children. Now, however, they see the advantage, and
the attendance is very good, especially among the boys."
"They look very knowing in their little fez caps," said Tom. "But how
they stare! And did you ever see such black eyes? Are there no Turkish
schools?"
"Yes, one or two, and pretty good ones, besides a few others not so
good."
As they stood near the wharves, watching the shipment of grain, Tom
remarked that he supposed a great deal of the grain went out of the
country.
"Yes," said Mr. Jollytarre. "Bagdad ships immense quantities--last year
as much as 50,000 tons. Every now and then there is a grain riot here,
when the people take it into their heads there will be a failure of the
next harvest. They insist that the government shall put a stop to the
exportation of the grain. Sometimes these demands are yielded to, when
there is any prospect of a famine. The government does not give in
often, to be sure, but the thing has been done."
"Hello!" said Tom; "here's the _Blosse Lynch_."
"Yes, and it is time we were on board, for we've done a good day's work,
haven't we?"
[Illustration]
The naughty little girl that cries,
And rubs her fingers in her eyes,
And pouts and frets all day,
A ragged hat and gown must wear,
And in the garden stand, to scare
The thievish birds away.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
Have a jolly gallop
Over sticks and stones;
Do not get a tumble,
Or you'll break your bones.
That was a bouncer--
Very much too high--
But my little horseman
Is too brave to cry.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
Trippitty trip, trippitty trip,
Round and round we merrily skip;
Hippitty hop, hippitty hop,
Oh, 'tis such fun we never can stop!
* * * * *
[Illustration]
Up in the clouds little angel hands
Are shaking their beds so the feathers fly.
They flutter down through the frosty air,
Till soft and white on the ground they lie.
Oh, fair little angels, come and keep
A watch while the baby lies asleep!
[Illustration: LITTLE GOSSIPS.]
OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.
YOSEMITE VALLEY, CALIFORNIA.
I thought I would write you, as you might like to receive a letter
from the Yosemite Valley. I am a little boy eleven years old. I
have never written to you, but have taken HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE
from the beginning. I like it very much. I like the story of
"Talking Leaves" best. I live at Merced Falls, Merced County,
California. I came here for my health. I have not many pets, but
have a goat, which I harness to my wagon, and take a ride. They
caught a bear here in the valley a few nights ago. They set a trap
for him, and he got in it, and dragged it into the river, and was
drowned. It was a cinnamon bear. There are some big bears around
here, and there are deer in the mountains around the valley. There
is a little pet fawn here.
The valley is ten miles long and three wide, with high mountains
around it averaging 4000 feet in height. The valley itself is 4000
feet above the sea. One big mountain here is called Clouds' Rest,
which is 6450 feet high. I have not been on the top of it yet, but
expect to go. One other is called South or Half Dome, and is 6000
feet high. You have to climb a rope-ladder 900 feet high to get to
the top of the mountain. I think it is dangerous climbing there,
but quite a number of ladies and gentlemen have been to the top. I
have been to Glacier Point, another mountain, which is 3700 feet
above the valley. It is four and a half miles up a zigzag trail. I
walked up. Most of the tourists go there, as a very fine view of
the valley and the Vernal and Nevada falls can be had from this
point. These are the upper falls, and you go up a trail to get to
them.
Vernal Fall is 400 and Nevada 700 feet high. The Merced River forms
these falls, and flows on through the valley. I have been to these
falls, and think them very pretty. There is a valley called Little
Yosemite above Nevada Fall. Yosemite and Bridal Veil are two other
falls in the valley. Yosemite, which is 2634 feet high, is nearly
dry now. Bridal Veil Fall is 900 feet high. I have been to Mirror
Lake, which the guides call Looking-glass Lake, because its waters
reflect the mountains around its shore.
When you enter the valley you pass the mountain El Capitan, which
the Indians call the Great Chief of the Valley. There is an Indian
one hundred and six years old, the last of the Yosemite tribe, who
lives here. Last Saturday it snowed nearly all day long. The
mountains are covered with snow now, but in the valley it has
melted. On one of the roads to the valley eighteen inches of snow
fell.
WILLIE F. O.
* * * * *
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS.
About one month ago my papa and myself were visiting out on a farm
about fifty miles west of Chicago, where the folks were getting in
hay. They have an old dog named Major, and he and I had lots of fun
killing field-mice and moles that would run out of the hay when it
was stirred up. He would swallow the mice, and hardly chew them at
all. The moles he would not eat, neither will cats eat moles. At
last Major grabbed a large frog that jumped out of the hay, and bit
and shook him until we thought Mr. Frog was dead, when I took him
up and set him on the end of the hay-rack, letting his long
hind-legs hang down, and he looked just like many frog pictures I
have seen. He never tried to get away or appeared to be alive for
at least half an hour, and I was just saying what a fine funeral
Ernest and I would have with the frog when Ernest came home from
school, when, just as we were crossing a bridge on our way home,
and I was holding froggy by his hind-legs, he gave a jerk and
slipped out of my hands to the bridge, and then jumped into the
creek below, looking up, as much as to say, "I've spoiled your
funeral this time." Do you think he was partly killed, or was he
playing 'possum, as I have heard people say?
My papa is writing this, as I can't write well enough for printers
to read. He brings me YOUNG PEOPLE every week, and I like it.
MARVIE.
Wouldn't I have given Major a shake for his treatment of the frog if I
had been there? I am so glad poor froggy revived, and went leaping off.
I suppose he was quite exhausted by Major's rough play, and revived when
he felt his native air as you crossed the bridge. Long life to him!
* * * * *
A NUTTING FROLIC.
Come, Robin and Lulu, Cornelia and Fred,
And Daisy and Mollie, and Tommy and Ned,
Call Rover and Fido, and hurry away;
The nuts are just ripe for our frolic to-day.
The frost on the pasture this morning is white;
For sharp was the cold in the silence of night.
All the better; we'll race just to keep ourselves warm,
And rush to the woods like the winds in a storm.
Poor Bunny will scamper far out of our sight,
And watch our proceedings with eyes shining bright.
We'll spare him a feast, for we couldn't be mean,
And leave nothing there for a squirrel to glean.
Bring baskets and buckets and poles, if you please;
We all will take turns at a shake of the trees;
But the boys will work hardest, and laugh at the toil,
And the girls shall go home with the best of the spoil.
Too bad we can't carry our lame little Ted,
And that _we_ have such fun, while he's lying in bed.
I'll tell you, we'll save just the finest for him,
And give him three cheers when the day's growing dim.
Then home over lots with the stores we have won,
For long winter evenings of frolic and fun,
When we'll study our lessons, or merrily play,
And eat the sweet nuts that we'll gather to-day.
* * * * *
I think some of the older readers of the Post-office Box will enjoy this
beautiful description of the bells for which the little Roman children
listen every winter evening. Some of you who have been abroad have heard
them, and others who have never been across the sea are ready to learn
all they can about the grand old city which once was the mistress of the
whole known world:
THE BELLS OF SANTA MARIA MAGGIORE.
Any one who has been in Rome and lived on the Esquiline Hill must
have been struck by the beautifully toned bells of Santa Maria
Maggiore, the largest and finest church of the district. According
to the legend, it was built in the year 354, on the spot where a
miraculous shower of snow fell during the month of August--a most
unlikely time for snow to fall anywhere, and most of all in Rome,
where the heat is generally unbearable at that time. There is no
end to the freaks of legend, or to the simplicity of credulous
people who take legend for history. This legendary fall of snow is
actually commemorated in the church at the present day by a service
in the course of which white rose leaves are showered down from the
roof of a side chapel to imitate falling snow.