acrost the way--he's lame, you know; an' little Annie his sister.
They're so poor, an' the father gets drunk, an' bates thim awful. I'd
like thim to have a good time for onst."
"Bliss your little heart!" said the mother; "you shall have thim in an'
wilcome, an' I'll buy some cookies to trate thim wid, and maybe
something besides. But don't you ask another child in this neighborhood;
they're a bould, bad set, as you know, and it's sorry I am we have to
live in the midst of thim."
"No, mother, I won't; but I do wish I could ax some of the girls I go to
school wid. There's Sally Flynn, and Jenny Dean, an' Mary Connor, and
Ann Gormly, an' Kitty Fay, an'--"
"Saints presarve us!" cried Mrs. Keaney. "Do you want to bring all New
York in on me? No, no, honey, I can't affoord such a party as that. Be
off to school now, like a good child, and don't bother me no more."
But the pleading face of her little girl, the only child she had,
haunted Mary Keaney, and when, later in the day, some unexpected work
arrived from a lady to whom Mrs. Ray had recommended her, she resolved
at once to gratify her darling.
"It comes only onst a year," she said, "an' she's the only child I've
got. I'll buy 'em some cookies an' gingerbread, an' a half-dozen limons
to make some limonade wid; an' I hope they'll be satisfied, for I can't
do no more."
So Biddy, to her great joy, was allowed to invite half a dozen little
girls, her most "intimate" friends, to her "party," which would take
place Thursday afternoon of the following week.
When Mrs. Keaney took Mrs. Ray's clothes home Thursday afternoon, she
told Eliza, the chamber-maid, as a good joke, about her little girl's
"party" and the expected guests.
Thursday afternoon came, and about four o'clock "Lame Jim" and his
sister arrived, and were received by Biddy, fresh and sweet as a pink in
her clean cambric frock, with a rose-colored ribbon tied above her
shining hair. Mrs. Keaney had but two little rooms in the third story of
a tenement-house, but though poor and scantily furnished, they were kept
as clean and sweet as broom and scrubbing-brush could make them.
How happy little Jim was! How his sweet wan face brightened like a pale
flower brought into the sunshine! Mrs. Keaney placed him in her one
rocking-chair, and gave him and little Annie a drink of milk and a
goodly slice of bread and butter straightway, for she knew how little
they had to eat at home.
And soon arrived the six girls all together; and what a merry clatter of
tongues there was in that little kitchen! They were just as happy as if
they had worn silk dresses and kid slippers--happier, perhaps. Soon all
were engaged in a merry game of "hide the thimble," Jim as active as any
one, hopping nimbly about on his crutches. At last they found the
thimble snugly hid in his pocket, where Kitty Fay had cunningly slipped
it, unknown even to the boy himself.
Game followed game in quick succession, until Mrs. Keaney, who had been
looking on smiling, ordered them into the bedroom.
"Guess she's settin' the table," said Mary Connor: "I hear the dishes
rattlin';" and hereupon they all fell a-chuckling. A few moments after,
they were called into the next room.
"Ain't it jist illegant?" whispered Ann Gormly to Sally Flynn. "Look at
the sugar-cookies! and, oh my! there's limonade. I smell it."
"Can't you behave?" said Sally, reprovingly. "One 'ud think you'd niver
been to a party before."
"No more I haven't," said Ann, quite above concealment. "Oh, goody,
Sally, there's slices of mate atween the bread an' butter!"
"Ain't she a greedy?" whispered Sally to Jenny.
"Poor thing! they say she's most starved at home," said kindly little
Jenny. "Her father's been out of work these three months."
Mary Keaney, hospitable-hearted soul, had not been able to content
herself with the bill of fare she at first meditated. The table was
bountifully spread with sandwiches, cookies, molasses-cake, rosy-cheeked
apples, and a plate of gay-colored candy in the centre.
Biddy's cheeks were like roses, and her eyes like stars. Was there ever
such a mother, and such a "party"? The good cheer soon set all the
little tongues going, while Mrs. Keaney watched the "fun," well pleased,
and kept the plates and glasses filled.
In the midst of their festivity Mrs. Keaney was called down stairs. She
came up in a few moments with something wrapped up in her apron.
The children were too absorbed to notice her, but when in a few moments
she appeared bearing a big earthen platter exultingly aloft, what a
shout went up from all the little throats!
"Ice-crame! ice-crame!" Even demure Sally joined in the cry; and Ann
Gormly nearly fell out of her chair in her joyful excitement.
"Oh, mother! mother! have you given _all_ your money for my party?"
cried Biddy, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, and feeling a pang of
self-reproach amid her transports.
"My lamb, who sent it I don't know, but I mistrust Mrs. Ray. An' look at
the illegant cake wid the dape white frostin', an' the Charlotte-Russys
too!" she added, setting two other dishes on the table. The children sat
a moment dumb with admiration, then set up another shout.
"The man said he'd a horrible job to find the place, an' I reckon it's
the first time ice-crame an' Charlotte-Russys found their way to Rid
Lane!" said Mrs. Keaney, who scarcely knew whether to laugh or cry
herself.
"Oh, mother, wasn't it lovely in Mrs. Ray?"
"Troth it was, darlint. It must be Eliza tould her, and--"
"Scarcely were the words out of her mouth, when a loud rap at the door
made her start.
"Sakes alive! I hope nobody's come to say the ice-crame wint to the
wrong place!" She opened the door; there stood John, Mrs. Ray's colored
man.
"Good-evenin', Mrs. Keaney," surveying her with a condescending smile.
"Here's a package for Biddy, with Miss Mabel's love. Sorry to be so
late, but I had a number of other errands, and it was hard to find the
place. Good-evenin'," and before Mrs. Keaney could speak, he was gone,
anxious to escape a reproof from his mistress for his delay.
With trembling fingers Mrs. Keaney undid the strings, while the little
group looked breathlessly on. But when at last she brought out a doll--a
lovely wax doll, with golden hair and large brown eyes--a cry of
admiration broke from all but Biddy. She stood speechless, with flushed
cheeks and dilated eyes, gazing up at the doll.
"Och, darlin', where's your tongue?" cried Mrs. Keaney. "Such a swate
doll, dressed up so illegant, an' she can open an' shut her eyes! Look,
honey, look! Why, what _are_ you crying for?"
"It's too beautiful!" sobbed little Biddy. "Everythin's so beautiful, I
don't know what to do.'"
* * * * *
That night, as Biddy lay in her bed, while her mother was tucking her
in, she said, with a long sigh, "Oh, mother! mother! I'm so glad I've
had a birthday! I'll niver forget it as long as I live! Oh, mother,
wasn't it jist beautiful?"
"Yes, dear," said Mrs. Keaney. But a little jealous pang gnawing at her
heart made her add, "I couldn't give you ice-crame, darlin', nor wax
dolls, but--"
Biddy threw both her arms round her mother's neck. "Oh, mother! dear,
darlin' mother! what you did was most of all. Oh, there niver was a
mother like mine!"
A tear rolled down the mother's cheek. What reward could be sweeter than
those loving words, the clasp of those little arms about her neck? And
so ended Biddy's happy birthday.
PHIL'S FAIRIES.
BY MRS. W. J. HAYS,
AUTHOR OF "PRINCESS IDLEWAYS," ETC.
CHAPTER I.
THE WIND HARP.
"Oh, Lisa, how many stars there are to-night! and how long it takes to
count just a few!" said a weak voice from a little bed in a garret room.
"You will tire yourself, dear, if you try to do that; just shut your
eyes up tight, and try to sleep."
"Will you put my harp in the window? there may be a breeze after a
while, and I want to know very much if there is any music in those
strings."
"Where did you get them, my darling?"
"From Joe."
"Joe, the fiddler?"
"Yes, he brought me a handful of old catgut; he says he does not play
any more at dances; he is so old and lame that they like a younger darky
who knows more fancy figures, and can be livelier. He _is_ very black,
Lisa, and I am almost afraid of him; but he is so kind, and he tells me
stories about his young days, and all the gay people he used to see.
Hark! that is my harp; oh, Lisa, is it not heavenly?"
"I don't know," said poor tired Lisa, half asleep, after her long day's
work of standing in a shop.
Phil's harp was a shallow box, across which he had fastened some violin
strings rather loosely; and Phil himself was an invalid boy who had
never known what it was to be strong and hardy, able to romp and run, or
leap and shout. He had neither father nor mother, but no one could have
loved him more or have been any gentler or more considerate than was
Lisa--poor, plain Lisa--who worked early and late to pay for Phil's
lodging in the top of the old house where they lived, and whose whole
earthly happiness consisted in making Phil happy and comfortable. It was
not always easy to do this, for Phil was a strange child: aside from the
pain that he suffered, he had odd fancies and strange likings, the
result of his illness, and being so much alone. And Lisa could not
always understand him, for she lived amongst other people; rough, plain,
careless people, for whom she toiled, and who had no such thoughts as
Phil had.
From the large closet that served as her bedroom, Lisa often heard Phil
talking, talking, talking, now to this thing, now to that, as if it were
real, and had a personality; sometimes his words were addressed to a
rose-bush she had brought him, or the pictures of an old volume she had
found on a stall of cheap books at a street corner, or the little
plaster cast that an image-seller had coaxed her to purchase. Then,
again, he would converse with his knife and fork or plate, ask them
where they came from, how they were made, and of what material. No
answer coming, he would invent all sorts of answers, making them reply
in his own words.
Lisa was so used to these imaginary conversations that they did not seem
strange to her.
Phil had, too, a passion for music, and would listen intently to the
commonest strains of a hand-organ, and Lisa had given him a little toy
harmonica, from which he would draw long, sweet tones and chords with
much satisfaction.
Old Joe, who blackened boots for some of the lodgers, had heard the
child's attempts at music, and had brought his violin, and played for
him. One day, happening to leave it for a while on the window-ledge,
Phil's quick ear had detected a low vibration from the instrument. This
circumstance, and something he had read about a wind harp, had given
him the wish to make one--with what success he was anxious to find out,
when Lisa laid it in the open window for him.
A soft south wind was blowing, and as Phil spoke, it had stirred the
loose strings of the rude ├ćolian harp, and a slight melodious sound had
arisen, which Phil had thought so beautiful. He drew his breath even
more softly, lest he should lose the least tone, and finding that Lisa
was really asleep, propped himself up higher on his pillows, and gazed
out at the star-lit heavens.
He often talked to the stars, but very softly and wonderingly, and
somehow he could never find any answers that suited him; but to-night,
as the breeze made a low soft music come from his wind harp, filling him
with delight, it seemed to him that a voice was accompanying the melody,
and that the stars had something to do with it; for, as he gazed, he saw
a troop of little beings with gauzy wings fluttering over the
window-ledge, and upon the brow of each twinkled a tiny star, and the
leading one of all this bevy of wee people sang:
"Come from afar,
Here we are! here we are!
From yon Silver Star,
Fays of the Wind,
To children kind."
[Illustration: "'HOW LOVELY THEY ARE!' THOUGHT PHIL."]
"How lovely they are!" thought Phil; "and so these really are fairies. I
never saw any before. They have wings like little white butterflies, and
how tiny their hands and feet, and what graceful motions they have as
they dance over my harp! They seem to be examining it to find out where
the music comes from; but no, of course they know all about it. I wonder
if they would talk to me?"
"Of course we will be very glad to," said a soft little voice in reply
to his thoughts.
"I was afraid I would frighten you away if I spoke," said Phil, gently.
"Oh no," replied the fairy who had addressed him; "we are in the habit
of talking to children, though they do not always know it."
"And what do you tell them?" asked Phil, eagerly.
"All sorts of nice things."
"Do you tell them all they want to know?"
"Oh no," laughed the fairy, with a silvery little voice like a
canary-bird's. "We can not do that, for we do not know enough to be able
to: some children are much wiser than we. I dare say you are."
"Indeed I am not," said Phil, a little sadly; "there are so many things
that puzzle me. I thought that perhaps, as you came from the stars, you
knew something of astronomy."
"What a long, long word that is!" laughed the fairy again. "But we are
wind fairies; and yet the Father of the Winds is called Astr├Žus--that
sounds something like your long word, does it not?"
"It sounds more like Astrea, and that means a star."
"Why, where did you learn so much?"
"I saw it in a big book called a dictionary."
"Another long word. Doesn't your head ache?"
"Sometimes, not now. I have not any books now, except picture-books."
"Did you ever have?"
"Oh yes; when papa was living we had books, and pictures, and many
beautiful things; but there was a great fire, and all sorts of trouble,
and now I have only Lisa. But Lisa does not understand as papa did; it
was he showed me that word in the dictionary."
"Oh, don't say that great ugly word again! Shall I tell my friends to
make some more music?"
"Yes, please."
The wind fairy struck her little hands together, and waved her wings. In
a moment the little white troop danced over the strings of the harp, and
brought out sweet, wild strains, that made Phil nearly cry for joy. They
seemed to be dancing as they did it, for they would join hands and sway
to and fro; then, parting, they wound in and out in graceful,
wreath-like motions, and the tiny stars on their foreheads flashed like
diamonds. Up and down they went, the length of the strings, then across,
then back again; and all the time the sweet wild music kept vibrating.
"How lovely! how lovely!" said Phil, when there was a pause.
"I am so glad you like it!--we often make music for people, and they
hardly hear it," said the fairy.
"I do not see how they can help hearing," said Phil.
"Why, I'll tell you how: we frequently are in the tree-tops, or whirling
about low bushes; every soft breeze that blows has some of our music in
it, for there are many of us: and yet very few people pay any attention
to these sounds."
"When the wind screams and roars in winter, is it you, then, who does
that too?" asked Phil.
[Illustration: FAST ASLEEP.]
"Oh no," said the fairy, rustling her wings in some displeasure. "We are
of the South Wind only, and have no such rude doings: I hope I may never
have any work to do for the North Wind, he is so blustery. Now it is
time you went to sleep, and we can not stay longer, for if the moon
rises we can not see our star-beams, and might lose our way. We will
just fan you a little, and you will soon be in dreamland."
As she spoke, Phil saw her beckon to her troupe, and they all flocked
about him, dazzling him so with their starry coronets that he was forced
to shut his eyes, and, as he closed them, he felt a gentle wafting as of
a hundred little wings about his forehead, and in another moment he was
asleep.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]
ROUND LAKE, HALIBURTON.
I and my brother used to have such good times fishing on these
lakes in our canoes, and hunting deer in the woods, but now I am so
lonely, for my only brother is dead. He went out in the woods to
hunt deer, and got lost, and froze to death. He was sixteen years
old, two years older than I am. It has been a very cold winter
here, and he froze to death on the 19th of November. As our
neighbors all live many miles away, there were only father and I to
hunt for him, and I found him dead the third day. He forgot to take
matches, and it snowed so much he could not see his tracks to get
back. It seems very hard for me to live here without my brother.
My sisters and I have received a good many requests for loons' and
gulls' eggs and for moss, and we will attend to them all, next
summer, as soon as we can gather them, for there is any amount of
those things here.
I received some pretty Christmas and New-Year's cards and books,
and my sister has received some presents and a doll from some
readers of YOUNG PEOPLE, and we have sent a set of deer horns and
what eggs we had in return, and in the spring we will be sure to
send other eggs we have been asked for.
ERASTUS W. LOCKMAN,
Dorset P. O., Muskoka District, Ontario, Canada.
* * * * *
JAMAICA PLAIN, MASSACHUSETTS.
I am going to write, so that some little girl may see what a nice
time a friend of mine and myself have been having. We dressed two
dolls, and saved up our money until, with what was given to us and
what we had saved ourselves, we had five dollars. Then we carried
the dolls and the money to the Children's Hospital, and gave them
to some sick children. It made the children very happy.
M. LOULOU C.
* * * * *
WINDSOR, VERMONT.
I have three Cotswold lambs, named Fanny, Nora, and Cora. They are
very tame, and will eat out of my hand.
I am eleven years old. I take HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE all myself.
Last summer I had a very fine sage bed. I cut the green leaves,
and dried them, and when they were sold, they brought more than
enough to pay for my YOUNG PEOPLE.
We have a piano. I have taken fourteen lessons, and can play a few
pieces.
NELLIE J. J.
* * * * *
SARANAC, MICHIGAN.
I am eight years old. I have a brother ten years old and a sister
two years old. My brother takes YOUNG PEOPLE, and he lets me read
it sometimes. I think it is very nice. My brother said he was going
to write a letter to the Post-office Box, but I am going to
surprise him, and send one first.
ALLIE S.
* * * * *
DAYTON, OHIO.
I am a subscriber to YOUNG PEOPLE, and although I am not one of the
"little folks," I find the Post-office Box very interesting, as I
am very fond of children and of pets. I have a bright, intelligent
pony, a Mexican dog four years old that does not weigh more than
two pounds, a mocking-bird, canaries, and a lot of fancy pigeons,
and two aquaria filled with fish. I must add my cat also, although
it is a poor stray waif that came to the house only a short time
ago. I had it carried away several times in the evening, as I had
determined it must go, on account of my birds. But as soon as the
door was opened in the morning, Cattie would be there, and after
giving one glad little mew, she would begin rubbing around my feet
and purring in such a cunning way, as though asking if she might
not stay. One day I heard Cattie calling in such a peculiar way
that I opened the door. There she was, with a mouse in her mouth,
and she began purring and rubbing around me. I stooped down and
petted her, and she seemed very proud, and ran away to eat her
mouse, casting a backward glance, as much as to say, That settles
it; I shall stay. And so she shall and welcome, if she will be
contented to make her home in the stable, with only an occasional
visit to the house.
Will Mary R., of Sunbury, Pennsylvania, please oblige me by giving
her method of cultivating heliotrope, as it is one of my
favorites, and I can never succeed in raising it. I have over two
hundred plants in my parlor and sitting-room windows, and not one
heliotrope.
SALLIE E. L.
* * * * *
NEW LONDON, CONNECTICUT.
There are four of us little folks here. Mamma or papa reads YOUNG
PEOPLE to us every week. We have all the numbers from the first.
Papa is having them bound in a book, and we expect it every day. We
all like the Post-office Box very much, and the stories too,
although some of them are too old for us; but we will have the
book, and will understand them better when we are older.
We have a big dog, Rover. When he stands up on his hind-legs, he
can put his fore-paws on papa's shoulder. He is awfully afraid of
a gun, and runs and hides when one is fired off. We have five
Seabright bantams; they are no larger than quails, and are very
pretty.
I was eight years old Christmas-day. Walter is six and a half,
Ollie is three and a half, and Robbie is four months.
Papa writes this for me, because it is my first letter to YOUNG
PEOPLE, but Walter and I go to school, and will soon be able to
write for ourselves. We both go to Sunday-school at nine o'clock
every Sunday morning.
ELLA R. W.
* * * * *
LANSINGBURG, NEW YORK.
I have a beautiful black goat named Dan, and a complete set of
silver-plated harness. I have a wagon; I drive out with it in
summer; and for winter I have an elegant red box cutter, and a
string of silver bells, and a beautiful robe. I have a nice house
for my goat, and in one corner of it I have a harness box. Dan will
not allow any boy to come near him, but he loves me dearly, and I
love him. I am eleven years old. I have no brother or sister, but I
have a cat that I think the world of, and a pet turtle about as
large as a silver dollar.
HARRY C. H.
* * * * *
SAGINAW CITY, MICHIGAN.
I am eleven years old, and I have always lived in Saginaw. A year
ago last Christmas my papa gave me a pony, and on my last birthday
I had a present of a saddle.
We have a club called the Saginaw City Horse Guards. There are
about ten boys belonging to it. Last summer we used to go to the
woods to play "follow my leader," and we had lots of fun. And we
went to the fair dressed in uniform.
It is very cold weather here. The other day we boys flooded the
back part of our yard, and made a skating rink twenty-seven feet
wide and forty-one feet long, and now we have a nice place to
skate. It is very good sleighing here, and I am having a splendid
time sleigh-riding.
FRED H. J.
* * * * *
MARSHALLTOWN, IOWA.
I am eight years old. Papa gave me YOUNG PEOPLE for my Christmas
present.
In September we visited Le Grand, where the Iowa marble quarries
are, and I saw the men getting marble, and I brought home some
pretty specimens.
There are two tribes of Indians not far from us, and some of them
are in town almost every day. They are lazy and dirty, and the
ladies here will not let the squaws into their houses; for if they
do, the squaws will not go away again until they are made to.
LUTIE B. R.
* * * * *
KEYESVILLE, VIRGINIA.
I began taking YOUNG PEOPLE in November, and I am very much
interested in "Toby Tyler" and "Mildred's Bargain."
We have a missionary society in the village, called "The
Children's Baptist Missionary Society." We meet once every month,
and at each meeting two of the members are required to read
something. I had to read at our first meeting, and I read "Out of
the Woods," from YOUNG PEOPLE No. 53, which pleased everybody very
much.
I am eleven years old, and I have three sisters. I came here in
May to stay with my grandpapa and grandmamma, but I am going to
Brooklyn in February.
We have an old horse here that is nearly twenty-six years old. His
name is Joe, and every one thinks there is no horse like him.
JULIA M. C.
* * * * *
WILMINGTON, NORTH CAROLINA.
My uncle sends me YOUNG PEOPLE, and I enjoy it very much. Santa
Claus brought me a knife, a football, a book, and a pair of gold
cuff buttons. I have a little sister named Lizzie. She can talk and
walk.
CHARLIE H. R.
* * * * *
COLFAX, CALIFORNIA.
We have read with interest and pleasure the entertaining stories in
YOUNG PEOPLE, and we think the children in the United States ought
to give a vote of thanks to this nice little paper, which provides
such pleasant reading for them.
Colfax, where we live, is a pleasant place, and the climate here
is delightful. Some time ago we had a small snow-storm, but now
(January 5) the green grass is springing up all about.
We have a wiggle club here, and send you a few which we have made.
We wish all possible success to YOUNG PEOPLE.
GRACE and JEANNIE.
The wiggles from this California club came too late to be printed with
the others, but we acknowledge them with thanks. The same
acknowledgments are due to George Arthur, Helen A. Searing, and other
correspondents whose wiggles arrived behind time.
* * * * *
PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA.
I have three pet turtles, but they all buried themselves under the
flower bed before the ground was frozen.