hand, and giving a happy little hop.
"Going to see a dog," said grandpa, "that can do what a girl can't."
Mamie, of course, was eager to know what a dog "could" do that a girl
could not, and she asked a great many questions; but grandpa stopped
them all by beginning to tell a long story about the St. Bernard dogs
that save a great any people from freezing. The story lasted until they
got to the shop where grandpa had his boots mended.
[Illustration: DOGS OF ST. BERNARD.]
The shoemaker was a little old man, and he had a nice little shop, and
a good little old wife, and a funny little yellow dog.
Very soon grandpa said: "Mr. Jyricks, I want my little girl to see what
wonderful things your dog can do."
Then the little man twinkled a smile from his mouth and eyes, and
called:
"Here, Jip, you!"
And then the little dog in the net room came scampering into that room
so fast that he almost went heels over head, and seated himself in a
little yellow ball at his master's feet, his bright eyes turned to his,
as much as to say: "Now sir, what will you have?"
"Jip, shut that door!" said Mr. Jyricks.
And at the door Jip flew, and with his two fore paws pushed and pushed
with all his might, until it shut.
"Now, Jip, bring my slippers," his master said.
And Jip scampered into the other room and out again as quick as a
wink with a slipper in his mouth, laid it down, and then ran back and
brought the other one. And so he brought his master's glasses and the
newspaper without waiting an instant after he was told.
Mamie laughed until she almost cried to seethe funny little fellow
perform. She was so taken up with his tricks, seeing him stand on his
hind feet and offer one of his fore paws, when she said: "How do you
do, Jip?" that she forgot all about asking her grandfather what he
meant by saying Jip could do what a girl couldn't, until they were
almost home.
Then grandpa said, "I'll tell you when we have our talk to-night."
"Now, grandpa," Mamie said as she nestled into her grandfather's arms
after tea, when he and she were all alone in his room, "now tell me
what the little dog could do that I can't. I'm sure I can shut doors,
and bring your slippers, and newspapers, and glasses."
"Polly," said grandpa, taking her round face between his hands and
looking into her eyes, "the little dog can do it 'right away' the
minute he is spoken to. O, Polly, Polly! To think a poor little yellow
dog can do what you cannot."
[Illustration: ONE OF JIP'S TRICKS.]
The little head went down then on grandpa's bosom, and neither of them
spoke for a few minutes, then grandpa said:
"Polly, I suppose I can buy that little dog to wait upon me, then you
need not take the time from your kitty and dolly to run errands for an
old grandpa."
"Grandpa," said poor little Polly, sitting up and wiping off the tears,
with her handkerchief done into a hard ball, and struggling with her
sobs, "I—I—shall just DIE if you do; it—it 'll break my heart right in
two. Just try me once more, grandpa! I truly will do every single thing
the very minute you tell me. I do want to stop being so naughty. I will
remember, sure as I live and breathe."
Then the gray head and the golden head went together, and there was a
great hugging time, and grandpa took the sorrowful little bundle to his
bosom, and said: "There, there, little one, don't cry anymore. Grandpa
'll help you remember, won't he?"
"Yes;" said Mamie, sitting up straight. "You'll say 'little yellow dog'
to me every time you see me going to forget, won't you?"
Then grandpa laughed loud and long, and he hugged his pet again, and
took off his glasses and wiped away tears, or something, from them.
————————————
WHERE I WENT, AND WHAT I SAW.
DEAR PANSIES: Wherever I go, and whatever pleasant sight I see, I find
myself saying: I will tell the Pansies about that. But someway I never
seem to get to it. Now I have resolved that whatever of interest I find
as I go through the world, you shall share. Therefore I shall begin
with this year a series of papers with the above heading. Let me tell
you first about Long Branch.
"Where 'is' the branch?" said a little bit of a boy, leaning out of
the carriage and looking about him eagerly. "I don't see anything of a
'branch.'"
We found, on questioning him, that he had expected to see a long
gnarled branch of some grand old tree, with perhaps a nest or two built
in it, and a few birds keeping house. To find that it was simply a
town, with one long and rather narrow street, built up with hotels and
cottages on one side, and with old ocean rolling and tumbling along the
other side, was a disappointment to the little boy.
Oh, but the street is lovely! On a summer afternoon, with a bright
blue sky overhead, and a brisk sea-breeze rolling in, to be seated in
an easy carriage behind two handsome horses, and be wheeled along over
the hard road, watching the surf break on the shore by your side, is
about as pleasant a thing as one can have in this world. Where is Long
Branch? Only about two hours' ride, by rail, from that great bustling
dirty city—New York. The cottages I cannot attempt to describe; no two
are in the least alike. Most of them, however, are painted very dark,
with bright red trimmings; the lawns leading to the doors are kept
beautifully green and smooth shaven.
The afternoon in which I last rode through Long Branch was simply
perfect: cool and bright; sky and sea were all in their glory, and
nothing smoother or cleaner than the road over which we rolled, can
be imagined. There is a wonderful public garden, which we visited. I
have forgotten the owner's name, but we enjoyed the tens of thousands
of dollars that he had spread out for our benefit, quite as much as
"he" could have done. There we saw plants and flowers in every possible
variety; names spelled with flowers, mottoes in flowers, lawns covering
acres of ground bordered with flowers.
"Oh!" we said; and "Oh!" and "Oh!" was re-echoed in the carriage from
every side. That was all we could think of to say; and I find, in
trying to describe it, "Oh!" is the only word at command.
But there was one object of special interest to us all. Flowers might
grow and wave, the ocean might roll in all its grandeur, beautiful
houses by the dozens might invite attention, we gave only passing
thought to them all, and looked at, and talked about, and thought of
one plain cottage, on the roof of which waved our country's flag, and
around which stood a guard of soldiers. Oh, you know who lay in one
of the rooms under that cottage roof, about whom all the world was
thinking that day.
"What is the news!" we said, leaning forward and speaking to a man, a
stranger.
How did he know what we meant? There may have been news of great
importance somewhere else in the world.
But he shook his head, and said: "No news since twelve o'clock."
And we knew just what he meant.
A little further on we met a little girl, and she was crying.
We stopped again and said: "What news?"
How did we know but she was crying about a lost kitten, or because her
mother would not let her go to the beach, or the lake?
[Illustration: FRANKLYN COTTAGE, LONG BRANCH, WHERE PRESIDENT GARFIELD
DIED.]
No; she shook her head, and said: "We are afraid he is worse!" And she
cried harder.
We knew what she meant. It was Saturday afternoon, and the President of
the United States lay dying in that cottage close at hand! We stopped
our horses just before the lawn leading to the door. We looked at the
narrow railroad track which had sprung up in the night to carry him to
what we had hoped would be the life-giving sea, and we wondered if the
car would soon roll over this same track to take away only his body!
[Illustration: "A GOOD MAN."]
The gentlemen in our carriage lifted their hats as they stood opposite
the cottage where the President lay. For a few minutes none of us spoke.
Then Dr. Nelson of Geneva, New York, said slowly: "A good man."
I thought about it all the way home. President though he was, with all
true men and women watching in such anxious sorrow for news of him, the
utmost that could be said of him, or of any human being, was covered up
in that one word—"good."
Less than thirty-six hours from that time, the bells tolled out sadly
and solemnly, and when we looked out of our windows in the gray dawn of
the morning, all the flags were at half-mast. The "good man" was gone.
You know all about it, dear Pansies, how the Nation mourned for its
dead President.
Let me tell you of two verses which that same dear Dr. Nelson wrote
to us from his distant home. No, I will tell you where they are to be
found, and you may read them for yourselves. Psalms 46:1, 2. Meantime,
boys, have you begun such lives, that, when you are men, those speaking
of you can say: "A good man?"
[Illustration]
[Illustration: A HAPPY NEW YEAR.]
STORIES FOR BOYS AND GIRLS
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
IS it possible! What has become of 1881? Whoever knew a year to fly
away so fast before? Well, we start out together for 1882. We have many
new friends, and new plans and hopes.
We hope to have all your names enrolled as members of the "PANSY
SOCIETY" (for particulars look in another column). We hope to have many
letters from you during the year.
In the column entitled "Where I Went and What I Saw," we mean to tell
you about a good many places and people which we think will please you.
In the story entitled "Side by Side," we expect you to become specially
interested, for it is a very important story. As for "Reuben Stone,"
the "Man of the House," I have had so many letters from you during the
year, expressing pleasure in the story, that I know you will like to
follow my boy's fortunes through another year.
For the rest, I will not make any promises, only this: If the "PANSY"
is not a much better paper during the year 1882, I shall be very much
astonished, and sadly disappointed.
Now I hope that every true Pansy will set to work for his and her
paper. How many boys and girls do you know who do not take it? How many
have you asked to do so? How many will you ask again? How many prizes
for new subscribers do you intend to earn?
How I am pouring out the questions on you! Never mind, you are capable
of answering them all.
Just one more, the most important of all. Bend your ear and let me
whisper it: Do you begin this New Year with Jesus? Please write to me
and answer that question. Yours lovingly, PANSY.
————————————
WHO DID IT?—A STORY IN TWO CHAPTERS.
CHAPTER I.
HESTER opened her eyes in the gray dawn of the New Year's morning, and
gave a little chuckle of delight.
There was nothing very cheering about her. The attic in which she slept
was decent, it is true, in fact, was comfortable; but it was dark and
rather cold, and there was just as little furniture as one could get
along with. Yet Hester hugged the big red and brown comfortable, and
lay still a few minutes to enjoy her thoughts. There was no bright
stocking hung up for her as she knew there was down-stairs for the
children of the family. She did not expect a single present of any
sort; in fact, she never had New Year's presents, or presents of any
kind. But oh, how happy she was!
She had never been to a party in her life, and to-day she was going.
Mrs. Neilson, her Sabbath-school teacher, had made a New Year's party
for her class. A great many whispers had buzzed through the class last
Sunday about the wonders that would be seen in her beautiful home; and
Hester's hopes and expectations ran high. Besides, she had a brand new
dress to wear. To be sure it was only a bright calico of pretty figure
and neat make. But Hester was not used to anything better, and she
thought the new calico with a lace ruffle in the neck was beautiful.
So with her heart all full of happiness, she presently hopped out of
her warm nest and began to dress. It was less than two hours afterwards
that Hester's morning clouded.
"Hester!" came in an unusually loud sharp voice from Mrs. Denton's
room. Mrs. Denton was the woman with whom Hester lived; a pretty good
woman generally. Hester dropped the cloth she was polishing the knives
with and ran in haste; the tone was so unusually sharp.
Loud, excited voices sounded down to her from the room above, as she
ran up the stairs. Miss Cora was there, and Miss Emeline, and she could
hear Miss Cora's voice saying: "Of course she did it, mother, who else
would?"
Then Hester knocked timidly at the door.
"Hester, look here!"
Mrs. Denton's voice was positively awful. No wonder. She held, thrown
over her arm, Miss Cora's blue silk dress which always reminded Hester
of the sky in a winter day, or the sea getting ready for a storm.
Across the front breadth were great bright drops of blood. At least,
that was what they looked like to the horrified Hester. After awhile
she discovered that they were blotches of red ink: enough of them to
ruin the dress.
"Now," said Mrs. Denton, still in that awful voice, "suppose you give
us an account of this business!"
[Illustration: "WHO DID IT?"]
She give an account of that business! What did she know about it? How
could they think that she knew anything about those wonderful blue silk
waves?
"Me, ma'am?" she said, catching up the hem of her work-apron and
rolling it around her finger as she always did when she was startled,
her face growing red and white by turns.
"Yes, you! How came you to put those ink-stains on this dress? What
could have been your object, you wicked child? After all that we have
done for you, too. I cannot think it possible that it was an accident,
for you have no business near the dress. The least you can do is to
give an account of yourself."
"Why, ma'am," said Hester, her cheeks ablaze now, "why ma'am, how can
you think—I don't know—I never touched or saw—"
"Mamma," said Cora, "how can you stand there and hear her tell stories?
The deceitful, spiteful little thing! My best dress utterly ruined, and
I have nothing fit to wear to-day." And the young lady crumpled herself
into a heap on the foot of her mother's bed and sobbed aloud.
[Illustration]
"Hester," said Mrs. Denton, "there is no use in your trying to deceive
us in this way. It would be a great deal better for you to confess
your sin and explain what object you could have had. I am perfectly
astonished. I knew you were a high-tempered little girl, but I couldn't
have believed you guilty of such wickedness. When did you do it?"
"I never did! I never did!" almost screamed poor Hester, and her tears
rolled faster than Miss Cora's.
"Stop!" said the awful voice of Mrs. Denton. "How dare you stand
there and tell me what is false? Don't you know, you wicked child,
that Miss Cora had the dress on only last evening? That at tea time
it was in perfect order? That you were missing with colored inks all
the afternoon—foolish woman that I was to allow it!—and that when Miss
Cora changed the dress in my room at dusk, for her street one, she sent
you up-stairs with it, and here it is this morning lying across the
sofa where yen were told to put it, utterly ruined with the ink that
you, and you only, put on it? Naughty, wicked girl! I wouldn't have
believed that you could be so vindictive. Miss Cora says you slammed
the door as hard as you could last night, just because she reproved you
for brushing past Mr. Stuart's chair instead of going behind it as you
ought; and to think that you should have taken such a horrid revenge!"
Poor, red-faced Hester! What could she say or do? There was just one
part of this dreadful story that was true. She had felt cross at Miss
Cora for reproving her before Mr. Stuart, and she had slammed the door.
She remembered it well. The thought of it made her cheeks burn with
shame. But oh, to think that she was accused of inking that beautiful
silk dress, on purpose, too, and for revenge! What should she do? It
seemed of no use to say again that she didn't do it; for she could
hardly expect them to believe her. She had been amusing herself for a
whole bright hour with those lovely colored inks, and she was the only
one who had touched the silk dress after tea. How could the ink have
got on it? She didn't know. All that she could do was to cry. This
she did. She covered her face with her apron, and with one long, loud
wail, that, if Miss Cora's face had not been buried in the bedclothes,
might have gone to her heart, fled away to that attic room, there to
throw herself on the foot of the bed, and cry as though her heart would
break. And truly Hester thought that it would.
She did not know how many hours afterwards it was that she heard her
name called at the foot of the stairs.
"Hester!" There was nothing for it but to take her tear-stained face
and sore little heart down-stairs.
TO BE CONTINUED.
————————————
A DAY THAT JOHNNY NEVER FORGOT.
BY MRS. C. M. LIVINGSTON.
IT was a bright winter morning, and it was Saturday. It was early
yet—only half-past six—but Johnny Blynn was up and dressed.
[Illustration: THE BEGINNING OF THE DAY.]
He got up early now mostly—ever since he had a room to himself. He
was in a hurry to use his pretty blue washbowl and his new stiff hair
brush, and look about his beautiful room and think how nice it was
to be in there alone like any gentleman making his toilet, the door
locked, and even mamma not coming in without knocking.
It was a nice room. It had pea-green furniture, because that was
Johnny's favorite color. There were a pretty gray carpet with a green
border, and white muslin curtains at the window, and pictures on the
walls.
He did his work nicely. He was careful not to spill water, nor spatter
the drops about, although he washed himself till his face looked like
a pink and white morning-glory dripping with dew, then he brushed his
yellow curls, and dressed himself in his navy-blue suit. How like a
gentleman he looked when it was all done, his collar white as snow,
his necktie in a neat bow, everything all right, even his finger-nails
clean and white as any lady's.
He had one thing more to do before he went down-stairs. He drew his
rocking-chair near the register, and took his Bible and read a few
verses, then he knelt down and prayed. This part of his duties was
not so well done as the other had been. The Bible verses were gabbled
off as fast as he could make his tongue go. As to the prayer, the
words were all right. He asked God to bless him and make him a good
boy—obedient and kind, and keep him from being naughty to anybody, but
he was so busy thinking whether it was likely the creek was frozen
hard enough to skate on, that he scarcely knew what he was saying. He
hurried through the prayer and went down-stairs as fast as he could go.
In the dining-room was sister Nellie, standing by the grate warming her
hands. Johnny seized hold of one of her long braids and gave it such
a twitch that the blue ribbon that tied it came near falling into the
fire.
Then Johnny laughed, and Nellie said impatiently, as she twitched at
the knot in the ribbon:
"It's too bad! When I had my hair all ready for breakfast."
"Hair for breakfast! Ho! Ho!" shouted Johnny, dancing teasingly about
her. "Whoever heard tell of such a thing?"
Then did Nellie's patience vanish entirely, and she sprang up to give
Johnny a good shake, but he darted away and ran out-of-doors, appearing
soon in the kitchen, much to the dismay of Bridget who was flurrying
about trying to dish up breakfast. If there was anybody in the world
that Bridget didn't want to see in the kitchen, it was Johnny; so as
soon as he bounced in, she said:
"Now get out of this, Johnny Blynn, this very minute!"
But Johnny seized the spoon that was in the batter-cakes, shouting,
"I'll bake cakes for you."
Then he tried to put a cake on the griddle. He plunged the spoon deep
into the batter and carried it dripping across the table, and floor,
and stove, and splashed it on to the griddle.
Then Bridget seized both the spoon and the boy, put the spoon in the
dish and the boy through the open door, then shut and locked it, saying
wrathfully, as she put him out, "You're the very worst boy in this
world!"
This was a specimen of that whole day. He could not go out to skate,
because his mother said he was too hoarse to play out-of-doors such
a cold day, and such a day as they had of it! If Johnny's business
had been to torment everybody, make them lose their tempers and upset
nerves generally, he would have been a master-hand at business, for he
went from one thing to another as fast as possible, never once stopping
to rest himself.
He dropped papa's watch, and spilt the ink, and tipped over mamma's
work-basket, and quarreled with Nellie, played pranks on Bridget,
worried the cat, and teased the dog, till about four o'clock in the
afternoon; and then something happened.
From the window he saw two ladies coming to call upon his mother, and
immediately he ran into the parlor and hid behind the folding-doors,
when, as they stood open, were nice little corners behind them. "It
will be such fun," he said to himself, "to hear what they say when they
think they are all alone."
So, while they waited for his mother to come down, they talked. They
were friends of her school-girl days, and one of them had not seen her
for several years. They talked in low tones, but Johnny could hear
every word they said. One lady said to the other:
"Cornelia has a pleasant home."
"Yes," the other answered; "and Mr. Blynn is a very fine man."
"She has two children, you said. Are they nice children?"
"Why, yes, they are very smart and handsome. Nellie is a sweet child,
but Johnny is a perfect little torment. His mother spent the day with
me when I lived out at Riverdale, and she brought him along. He kept
my nerves on the stretch all day. There wasn't a thing on the mantel
or table but he must have hold of. I expected everything would go to
shivers that he touched, he was so rough. He brought mud on my carpet,
and trod on the lace curtains, and put his feet on the sofa, and his
mother kept saying, 'Johnny, don't! Johnny, stop!' And Johnny never
obeyed until he was spoken to three times. I guess his mother was glad
when night came; and I'm sure I was. I thought Cornelia would succeed
better in training children; she certainly has made a great failure in
this case."
[Illustration: HOW THE DAY ENDED.]
"What a pity that she should have such a burden to carry; you said her
health was frail."
"Yes, very; I should not be surprised if she did not live very long."
Just then the door opened, and Mrs. Blynn came into the room. Johnny
peeped through the crack at her—his sweet, beautiful mother; how pretty
she looked, dressed in white, with pink cheeks and bright eyes! What
dreadful thing was this he had just heard; his mamma die!—How could it
be? He had never thought of such a thing in his life. How he wished he
could get out of that place and go up to his room. He wanted to cry out
loud.
To think, too, that anybody should speak of him in that way—"a perfect
little torment!" Oh, it was too dreadful! Had he really done all those
awful things when he was at Mrs. Graham's last summer? He rolled over
on the floor and had hard work to keep from screaming outright.
Just then what did Mrs. Blynn say but:
"Is not this draught too strong for you, Mrs. Graham?" And arising,
closed the folding-doors, when behold! curled in a heap in the corner
was Johnny.
"Why!" said mamma.
But Johnny waited to hear no more. A dart and a bound took him through
the door, and on he went up to his own room, where he cried himself
almost sick; but while he cried, he did more thinking than ever he had
in his short life before.
"Nobody shall ever call me a torment again," he said with a long-drawn
sob. "I'll show 'em my mother does know how to bring up children; I
will!"
Don't suppose that Johnny grew to be a wonderfully good boy all at once
after that big resolve. He tried to keep it, but he kept forgetting and
doing the same naughty things day after day. He told it all to mamma
one night—how it was of no use for him to try and be good; he "just
couldn't!"
And then mamma said:
"Johnny, dear, don't you know you must pray just as you play, with all
your heart, and your heart must run to Jesus when you feel that you are
tempted to be naughty, just as you call after me when you are in any
danger?"
That made the way plainer, and everybody began soon to say, "Johnny is
certainly growing to be a better boy."
————————————
THREE LITTLE M'S.—A THREE-PART STORY.
BY MARGARET SIDNEY.
MATILDA, Martha, and Mary. That's what folks called them.