VIOLET'S SCHOLARS.
Violet still had her little school of Narcissa's brothers and sisters;
but she was so gentle and patient that study was never very hard to
them, though the lessons might be long; and then at recess time the boys
would go out and pick cherries, or apples, or plums, from the garden,
bring them in on fresh green leaves, and they would all sit in the porch
and have a little feast together.
Saturday afternoons they would take a walk in the woods; and Violet
taught them how to weave oak leaves into crowns, and to make necklaces
out of dandelion stems and lilac flowers, and baskets of rushes.
They always took something home to Narcissa, who could not enjoy long
walks because of her lameness. One would pick up a pocket full of
checkerberries, and one a handful of the young, spicy leaves; and the
prettiest branch of hawthorn, the longest-stemmed violets, the
largest-leaved bough of oak, were sure to go home for her.
When it grew late in the year, they had such sport gathering chestnuts,
hazelnuts, and shagbarks; the boys climbed the trees, and shook or beat
them with long poles, and down the nuts would come rattling by baskets
full. These were stored away in the cottage; for they all knew that what
Violet kept for them was safe.
When they came near the cottage again after one of these excursions,
looking so bright, with their rosy cheeks, and flying hair, and laughing
faces, Narcissa's smiling face was always at the window watching, and
quickly appeared at the door to welcome them. Sometimes they all went
home crowned with autumn leaves, sometimes with woodbine or ground pine,
and early in spring with bloodroots, violets, or anemones.
But the prettiest crown, and the rarest flower, and the juiciest bunch
of berries were always for Narcissa.
In stormy days, or when the ground was covered with snow, Violet still
made the holidays pleasant for her scholars; they would play games and
sing in the afternoon. She would teach the girls how to dress their
dolls, and the boys how to make pasteboard boxes and kites, and how to
put puzzles together. Then at evening they would gather around the
fireplace, with Narcissa's great chair in the midst of the circle, and
she or Violet would tell stories for hours together.
One of these stories Narcissa liked so much that she wrote it down, and
after Violet was dead,--for, like the snowdrops and wild roses, our
Violet died at last,--she read it to me. I will try and remember it for
you; but first I must tell what sorrow there was in the great house on
the hill, and not there only, but among all the poor in the
neighborhood, when Violet went to heaven.
Under the elm tree they buried her, beside Mary and Reuben; and the
orioles she loved to watch still hatch their young and sing sweet songs
above her grave.
Alfred wanted to build a great marble monument over her; for he said the
whole world did not contain a better or lovelier woman. But Narcissa
said,--
"No; she has built her own monument of good deeds, which will last after
marble has mouldered away. Let us cover her grave with her own sweet
violets, that whenever we pass we may think of _our_ Violet."
Long afterwards, even to this day, when any who knew her witness a kind
action, or meet one with a cheerful, hopeful spirit, and a sunny smile,
they say, "It is just like Violet."
So, dear children, let us try to make friends with her fairies, Love and
Contentment, and let us remember that whenever the thought of her urges
_us_ to be cheerful, contented, and loving, we, too, shall plant a
flower on Violet's grave.
VIOLET'S STORY.
CHAPTER I.
It was a snowy night, and the children, as we gathered around the fire,
began to ask for stories. I told them a queer dream of my own, and then
they insisted that Violet should give one of her fairy tales.
While she was puzzling her brain for a new one, my little sister Mabel,
who had climbed upon the sofa and was nestling close to her, asked,--
"What makes you love violets so much? Here even in winter time you have
some in your bosom. Aren't you sweeter than these little homely things?"
"Narcissa," she answered, "has told a dream, and now I will tell one.
It's a kind of fairy story besides, and partly true. You must not ask
any questions about the little girl, or make any guesses. Her name
happened to be just like yours, Mabel."
"Little girl! I thought 'twas a _dream_," said Mabel.
[Illustration: MABEL'S DREAM.]
"Listen, then: A little girl went out one day in search of strawberries.
She went into a wide green field that was starred all over with
dandelions, and clusters of wild lilies hanging like bells around their
stems, and violets, and blue-eyed grass.
"There was not a living being in this place except the birds, and little
fishes in the brook; for through the long grass all around the field ran
a stream of clearest water over a dark-brown, pebbly bed.
"Rising on every side, so as to shut the field in by itself, were hills
closely covered with trees and vines. Here birds sang all day long, and
flowers bloomed, and nuts and berries ripened; the ground was in some
places slippery with fallen pine leaves, and in others soft with a
carpet of fresh moss.
"It was shady in these woods, but in the field the sun shone, opened the
lilies, ripened the strawberries, and made the little girl feel bright
and glad, although it was so warm.
"Strawberries are tiny things to pick; the little girl thought it would
take a million to fill her pail; and often she longed to leave them and
gather flowers, or play with the fish in the brook, or rest in the cool
wood.
"But she had always loved violets, just as I love them; and a gardener's
wife had promised Mabel that the first time she brought a pail full of
strawberries to her, she should have in return a whole bunch of these
fragrant flowers.
"So, stooping among the lilies, which were almost as tall as herself,
and picking one by one, one by one, the bright sun pouring its heat down
upon her, after a great while her pail was heaped with berries. Almost
as fragrant as violets they were, too, and looked, upon their long green
stems, like little drops of coral.
"Mabel's work was not over now; she climbed half way up the hill, found
a beautiful shady place, where the grass was long, and the roots of a
great tree had coiled themselves into a seat, which was cushioned over
with moss.
"She threw aside her sun bonnet, and began to pick off the green hulls
from her fruit, while the broad oak leaves overhead kept fanning her,
and lifting the matted curls from her warm forehead.
"But then came a great mosquito, and then another, and another; they
would whirl around her head, buzzing and buzzing, and fly from her
forehead to her nose, and from nose to hand, and hand to shoulder, and
then creep into the curly hair, and buzz so close to her ear it
frightened her.
"Twenty times she had a mind to throw her berries into the brook and run
home; but then she thought of the violets--how splendid it would be to
have them all to herself; she should not give away one flower, not one,
she had worked so hard for them.
"Throwing the stems away lowered the contents of her pail so much that
Mabel had to go out in the hot field and pick again, and then back to
the wood where the mosquitoes were, and work another hour. She never had
such a long, hard task before.
"But the little girl travelled home at last with her pail brimful in one
hand, and a splendid great bunch of lilies in the other. This last
served as a parasol till she reached the gardener's gate.
"Then, taking her violets, Mabel hurried home. There were more of them,
and they were larger and sweeter, than she had even hoped. She hardly
took her eyes from them until she reached her mother's door.
"While she was placing her flowers in water, a woman came up the hot,
dusty road, with a young child in her arms. She looked tired and warm,
and said she had eaten nothing all day long. Mabel looked in the closet;
there was plenty of bread, but she dared not give it without her
mother's leave. She looked in all the rooms; but her mother was not to
be found; and when the poor woman had rested a little, Mabel watched her
creep out into the blazing sun again, dragging the little child after
her. She could not bear to think that while she had every thing to make
her happy, others must go hungry and tired; and 'Suppose it were my
mother,' Mabel thought; 'I _must_ do something for her; yet I have
nothing in the world to give.'
"'Except the violets,' whispered something inside of Mabel's heart.
Snatching them from the table, she ran after the beggar, and said,--
"'There, I gave a whole pail of strawberries for these; perhaps you can
sell them for a loaf of bread.'"
The poor woman looked so pleased, and thanked Mabel so heartily, that
she felt the violets could never have caused her so much joy as it had
done to give them away.
CHAPTER II.
"Not many days after these events, Mabel went again to the field where
the lilies and strawberries grew, played about in the sun until she was
tired, and then seated herself under a shady tree to rest, and hear the
birds and rustling leaves, and watch the brook glide through the grass.
"The grass about her was long, and fine, and soft as any bed; it was
cool too, and Mabel, listening to the quiet murmur of the brook, fell
fast asleep; but all the while she thought herself wide awake, and
wondered why the sound of the rippling of water changed to something
like the tread of tiny feet; and then there came the sweetest, most
delicate music; and all at once--could it be?--she saw a multitude of
little beings marching through the very pathway her footsteps had made
in the grass, and approaching her. They were hardly taller than a
grasshopper would be if he could stand up like a man, and had formed
themselves into the drollest little procession.
"First came the musicians; there were flute players, using each a joint
of grass stem for instrument, bell ringers, jingling lilies of the
valley, and trumpeters tooting through white lilac blossoms. Then came
the guards, dressed in uniform, and bearing each a fern leaf for banner
at once and parasol. With these leaves they shaded a group of little
women, who marched along as dignified as nuns until they came to a bunch
of fennel leaves that grew near Mabel's resting-place. Towards this they
flew, for the tiny people had wings; they climbed the stems and clung to
the feathery leaves, and then all at once, espying Mabel, trooped
towards her, and ranged themselves upon a platform of plantain leaves.
"They were funny little women--tall, and prim, and slim, wearing green
mantles and such big purple hoods. They were more polite than some
larger people, and did nothing but bow, and courtesy, and smile to
Mabel, who asked them who they were and whence they came.
"They shook their heads, and laughed, while the air was filled with
sweetest odor. At last one said,--
"'We are flower spirits. Every year we come to earth and live in some
blossom, which we fill with beauty and fragrance; but when it withers we
go back to Fairyland until another spring. We have, besides our fairy
queen, a queen whom we choose every year among mortals, and serve her
faithfully. We have just returned from working in her service.'
"'Are you not hungry?' asked Mabel. 'I have brought luncheon. Won't you
eat some of my gingerbread?'
"The fairies laughed again. 'We live,' they said, 'upon flower dust and
dewdrops; we should not relish mortal food.'
"Then they called from the attendants who lingered among the fennel
leaves their steward and butler; and it was Mabel's turn to laugh when
she saw how queerly they ate.
"Some blossoms from the elder bush, little ivory urns, served them for
goblets. These were set upon a mushroom, and some red clover blossoms
were rolled around the table for seats. The little men had tried in vain
to break these blossoms off; so they caught a caterpillar, whipped him
along with grass blades, and made him use his teeth for a knife. Then
they had caught a toad, and heaped his round back with the blossoms,
which rolled off as fast as they could be picked up again; and by the
time they reached their mistresses, the fairy servants were warm and red
in the face as any hay makers.
"The fairies grew so hungry with waiting that they even tasted a crumb
of Mabel's gingerbread; but not liking this very well, they took out
from among the provisions that were packed in a wild rose, the petals
nicely fastened together with cobweb threads, some poppy and caraway
seeds, upon which they began to gnaw with their little white teeth.
"'You must have lived in violets,' said Mabel. 'Every time you shake
your bonnets and laugh, the air is full of their odor. Can't you smell
it?'
"'Yes, for we were violets once ourselves, and all blossomed in the same
garden; some of us grew from the same root, and a queer life we have led
in the last few days. One hot day this very week the gardener's wife
picked us in the greatest haste, and tied us together so tightly we were
all but smothered for a while. The woman gave us to a little girl, who
was just putting our stems in some cool water, and we half dead with
thirst, when she must needs give us away to a beggar woman.'
"'Why,' exclaimed Mabel, 'were you _my_ violets?'
"The fairies only laughed.
"'The woman held us in her hot hands until we were all but wilted, and
she gave one or two of my sisters to the poor tired child that followed
her through the dust.'
"'What is the matter?' asked Mabel; 'your eyes are full of tears.'
"'I am thinking of my sisters, whom we shall never meet again;' and the
tears ran down the fairy's little cheeks. 'The child was overtired, and
so warm that when they came to a resting-place, and she lay down to
sleep, she never awoke again. A lady who had taken pity upon her laid
the little body out for burial, and finding those few violets still
clinched in the dead hand, would not remove them; so my sisters were
buried in her grave, and must remain there no one knows how long; for
while we live on earth we must take care of these bodies, frail flowers
though they be. If we omit this, all our happiness and usefulness are
gone. The kind lady who buried the beggar child bought us from the
woman, all wilted as we were. In her shady parlor we soon grew
refreshed, lifted our heads again, and in gratitude breathed forth
odors, till the room was all perfumed. A lovely girl came to visit the
lady, and said so much about our sweetness, that, to our joy, we were
divided with her. She took us to her home, a splendid place, all light,
and gilding, and flowers, curtains, and cushions, and velvet carpets,
and marble stands. Upon one of these last we were placed, in a white
Parian cup, but hardly had time to regain our breath when one of the
maiden's lovers came, selected me from among the rest, and twirled me
around his finger as he talked, until my stem was broken, and I all but
dead. In a lucky hour he let me fall, and, lame as I was, I caught by
the leg of a great fly, who whizzed me out of the window in a second,
buzzing so all the while that he almost stunned me. I have just found my
friends here, and have not had time to ask about their adventures.'
"The little woman, tired with talking so long, sank into her seat on the
plantain leaf, and taking a caraway seed from her pocket, began
nibbling, while her companions finished the story.
"'We have had less trouble,' they said. 'The benevolent lady took us to
a dismal prison, to be sure, and we were shut up for a while with a man
who had murdered another, and was waiting to be hung. He had forgotten
his own mother and his early home; but when he looked at us, the past
came back to him. He remembered the little garden by his father's house,
and felt for a moment like an innocent boy again. From that hour he grew
penitent, and he may be forgiven in consequence by God.'
"'But didn't the jailer forgive him?' asked Mabel.
"'No; he was hung. We belonged to no one then, so we caught our
withering bodies under our arms, and flew away through the iron gratings
of his cell. But, Mabel, what are you thinking about?' ended the fairy.
"'Thinking,' said Mabel, 'how much better it was to give away my violets
than to keep them. I little dreamed they would do so much good in the
world. But, fairy, what is the name of the earthly queen you told me
about?'
"'Mabel,' answered all the little voices; and the fern leaf banners
waved, and violet odors filled the air again, while the tiny flutes and
trumpets made sweet music at the mention of their queen.
"'Why, that is my name,' said the little girl.
"'And you are our queen,' said the fairies. 'It is a kind and loving
heart that gives one power like a fairy wand, and can win all good
spirits to serve its owner. This will change selfishness into
benevolence, and sin to penitence, and hatred to forgiveness; it will
transform--haven't you done it?--a prison into a dewy garden, and put
love and penitence into a murderer's heart. Whoever uses us to best
purposes is our queen; and _this_ summer our queen is Mabel.'
"Mabel reached forward to take her little subjects from the leaf; but
lo, it was only a handful of violets. In her surprise, she awoke, with a
dim feeling still that she had watched the little procession wind away
through her foot tracks in the grass, the fern leaf banners waving over
it, while mingled with violet odors came back triumphant music from the
tiny flutes and timbrels. Low but clear were the fairy voices; and Mabel
never forgot the words they sang, which ended,--
'All of us, whoe'er we be,
May carve us out such royalty.'"
JUVENILE WORKS
CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS AT CHESTNUT HILL.
BY COUSIN MARY.
Containing fine engravings from original Designs, and printed very
neatly.
It will be found to be a charming little book for a present for all
seasons.
LITTLE BLOSSOM'S REWARD;
A CHRISTMAS BOOK FOR CHILDREN
BY MRS. EMILY HARE.
Beautifully Illustrated from original Designs, and a charming
Presentation Book for Young People.
ESTELLE'S STORIES ABOUT DOGS;
Containing six beautiful Illustrations; being original Portraits from
Life.
BY H. TRUSTA
LITTLE MARY; OR, TALKS AND TALES.
This little book is charmingly illustrated, and is a very beautiful
book. It is made up of short lessons, and was originally written for the
practical use of children from five to ten years of age.
PEEP AT "NUMBER FIVE;"
Or, A CHAPTER IN THE LIFE OF A CITY PASTOR.
THE TELLTALE;
Or, HOME SECRETS TOLD BY OLD TRAVELLERS.
THE "LAST LEAF FROM SUNNY SIDE;"
BY PAUL CREYTON.
FATHER BRIGHTHOPES;
Or, AN OLD CLERGYMAN'S VACATION.
HEARTS AND FACES;
Or, HOME LIFE UNVEILED.
By Francis C. Woodworth.
EDITOR OF "WOODWORTH'S YOUTH'S CABINET," AUTHOR OF "THE WILLOW LANE
BUDGET," "THE STRAWBERRY GIRL," "THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE," "THEODORE
THINKER'S TALES," ETC., ETC.
UNCLE FRANK'S BOYS' AND GIRLS' LIBRARY
_A Beautiful Series, comprising six volumes, with eight Tinted
Engravings in each volume. The following are their titles
respectively_:--
I. THE PEDDLER'S BOY; or, I'll be Somebody.
II. THE DIVING BELL; or, Pearls to be sought for.
III. THE POOR ORGAN GRINDER, and other Stories.
IV. OUR SUE: Her Motto and its Uses.
V. MIKE MARBLE: His Crotchets and Oddities.
VI. THE WONDERFUL LETTER BAG OF KIT CURIOUS
"Woodworth is unquestionably and immeasurably the best writer
for children that we know of; for he combines a sturdy common
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End of Project Gutenberg's Violet: A Fairy Story, by Caroline Snowden Guild