a winter night, and mother was to go at eight, and that was considered
very late; but Uncle Robert, who was to take her, couldn't get home
before. Her dress was beautiful--a peach-colored satin, with lace on it
already a generation old, and the hair-dresser was to come out from town
to arrange her hair, and she was to take with her Abigail, our poor
half-witted maid, to put on the finishing touches after they arrived.
"Now Abby had, as some poor weak-brained creatures have, a passionate
admiration for anything particularly bright and showy, and she had one
treasure which she guarded as the apple of her eye. It was a _very_
large bow of arsenic green, golden yellow, and tartan plaid, fastened in
the centre by a huge buckle of green and white glass. She also adored
mother.
"Well, the eventful night came, and mother at last was dressed and
ready. They say she looked beautiful, and she _was_ a very handsome
woman in her day, my dears. The satin gown went on just right, and did
not even ruffle the powdered hair, and mother, Abigail, and Uncle Robert
departed in the sleigh at eight precisely.
"When they arrived they were ushered up stairs to uncloak. Just as
mother turned to go down stairs, one of the maids came running in and
said, 'Miss Dolly, Mr. Robert has forgotten a very important message he
was to give Mr. Grey, and he says he will come back as soon as he can,
and for you to go down.' It was rather hard to make her first entry
alone, but still mother mustered up courage and went down. The host and
hostess received her very kindly, and she was soon enjoying herself very
much. There was only one drawback to her happiness: wherever she passed,
the people slightly turned, looked rather surprised, and then hastily
looked away, in vain trying to repress a smile. At last mother began to
get seriously worried, and running up stairs, asked Abby what the
trouble was. 'Why, nothing, Miss Dolly,' said she; 'it looks beautiful.'
So mother, satisfied, went down again. But now it was worse than before.
Audible titters and looks of surprise greeted her wherever she turned,
until from excitement and vexation she was ready to cry; so you may
imagine it was not long after Uncle Robert came before they were on
their way home.
"As they entered the parlor poor mother dropped her cloak, and sinking
into a chair, was on the verge of a deluge of tears, when a burst of
laughter from the assembled family made her spring to her feet, pale
with anger. What are you laughing at?' she demanded. 'I never was
treated so before. I never knew there were such rude people in the
world.' And fairly overcome, she sank down and cried as if her heart
would break. And then, in the midst of sobs and laughter, grandmother
moved forward and unpinned from the middle of my mother's back Abby's
green bow, to which was added a long string of artificial pansies! The
poor girl had felt hurt that she could do nothing for mother's first
party, so when they arrived she had added this decoration, thinking she
put the crowning touch to the costume.
"And this is the story of 'My Mother's Début.'"
[Begun in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 66, February 1.]
PHIL'S FAIRIES.
BY MRS. W. J. HAYS,
AUTHOR OF "PRINCESS IDLEWAYS," ETC.
CHAPTER XI.
A PAIR OF CRUTCHES.
Aunt Rachel's plan was entered into most heartily by both boys, and
Graham became so much interested as to act as express agent on his own
account, going to the city with what he called his first load of berries
and flowers; but on his return was so silent and uncommunicative that
Phil asked him if anything had gone wrong.
"Don't ask me to tell you what I saw," said he, in reply. "It was more
than I could stand." Then, as if sorry for his short answer, he added:
"It was the most pitiful thing in the world--such a lot of little pale
faces all together! and when I came to give them their share, as the
lady in charge told me to do, I cried right out like any baby--there,
now! But you have no idea how they brightened up, and how glad they
looked when they took the posies. I don't want to go again, though,
unless Miss Rachel asks me to. I shall see those poor wizened little
things as long as I live. I am going to sell all my pets this fall, and
give the money to St. Luke's Hospital, and I shall sell every egg my
chickens lay, for the same purpose."
After that Phil asked no more questions, but worked harder than ever at
his drawings, and as the season advanced, and flowers and fruit grew
more abundant, they were able to dispatch a basket twice a week.
Every day was filled with new life and pleasure. Increasing strength
alone would have been a source of happiness, but in addition to this
Phil had the benefit of Aunt Rachel's loving-kindness, Lisa's nursing,
Joe's good offices, and Graham's pleasant, friendly attentions. Then he
was learning constantly something new, with eyes and ears, from the book
of nature, with all its wonderful pictures, and from the other books
allowed him.
Driving behind old Slow Coach and floating on the lake in the _Flyaway_
were some of the delights, and when more visitors came, and two charming
young cousins of Aunt Rachel made the house resound with melody, Phil
thought his happiness complete. But a new surprise was in store for him,
when, after repeated consultations, and measurements, and whisperings, a
huge parcel was brought to his room, and Aunt Rachel and Lisa took off
the wrappings. Neither of them looked particularly joyful as a pair of
stout crutches made their appearance, but their faces changed
wonderfully when Phil gave a cry of glee, and said, hilariously, "Now I
can walk! now I can walk!"
He was eager to use his new helps, but it took a longer time than he had
imagined to get accustomed to them, and it was many weeks before he
could go down the garden paths (followed by Nep with much gravity, as if
Phil were in his especial care) with desirable ease.
Coming in from one of these rather tiresome attempts one warm morning,
and hearing music and voices in the parlor, Phil strayed into the
dining-room, which was darkened and cool, and fragrant with fresh
flowers. He lay down on a lounge, with his crutches beside him, and was
listening to the pretty waltz being played in the other room, when he
thought he saw a tiny creature light upon one of his crutches. Supposing
it, however, to be a butterfly, he watched it in a sleepy, dreamy
fashion, until it approached more nearly, and these words startled him:
"You do not know me," said a tiny voice, rather reproachfully.
"What! is it you, my dear little wind fairy?" he asked. "I never dreamed
that I should see you again. How did you get here?"
"Blown here, to be sure, as I always am, only I have to pilot myself, or
what would be the use in having wings? I came on some thistle-down this
time, for I wanted to have another peep at you, and I have had hard work
to follow you in here, I assure you; but the vibrations of that lovely
music helped me, and here I am. Do not talk--let me do it all. I never
have much time, you know, and I want to thank you for your goodness in
taking my advice, and helping some of my little sick friends. You do not
begin to know what good you have done--nobody does; but doing good is
very like the big snow-balls that children make in winter--a little ball
at first, but as they roll, it grows bigger and bigger, almost of
itself, until it is more than one can manage. So it has been with your
kind action: many have imitated it, and flowers come now to the
hospitals by the bushel. Not only children, but grown people, sad with
suffering, have been cheered and benefited. And you too are growing
strong: how glad I am to see it! Your cheeks are tinged with just a
delicate bloom, and you have grown taller. Ah, the country is the place
for you children! I saw one of your sketches in the hospital the other
day, hung under a little cross made of moss; it was a water-lily, and
out of it was stepping some one who looked like me. The child who owned
it said it came to her tied to some roses. She did not know I heard her;
she was telling a visitor, and she said it made her happy every time she
looked at it. That was a pretty thought of yours. This is my last visit
for a long while. I am to be sent off to fan her Royal Highness, the
Queen of Kind Wishes, when her coronation takes place. She lives in her
palace of Heart's Ease in a faraway island. I am to sail part of the way
in a nautilus--one of those lovely shells you have seen, I dare say."
"No," said Phil, "I never saw one. And so you are going away--"
"Never saw a nautilus!" interrupted the fairy, as if afraid Phil was
going to be doleful over her departure. "It looks like a ship, for all
the world, and it _is_ a ship for me, but it would not hold you--oh no!
not such a gigantic creature as a boy;" and the fairy laughed aloud.
"Dear me!" said Phil; "no more visits, no more fairy stories. What will
I do?"
"Shall I tell you just one more story before I say good-by?"
"Please do."
"Well, shut your eyes and listen."
Phil obeyed, and the fairy began:
In the days when fairies had much more power than they now have,
there lived in a little house on the edge of a wood haunted by
elves and brownies a boy named Arthur. He was a bright, handsome
lad, but a little lazy, and much more fond of pleasure than of
work; and he had a way of flinging himself down in the woods to
lounge and sleep when his mother at home was waiting for him to
come back with a message, or to do some little promised task. Now
the fairies knew this, and it displeased them; for they are as busy
as bees, and do not like idleness. Besides, as one bad habit leads
to another, Arthur, in his lounging ways, would often do great
damage to the fairies' flower beds, switching off the heads of wild
flowers in the most ruthless fashion, and even pulling them up by
the roots when he felt like it.
[Illustration: THE ENCHANTED FROG AND THE LITTLE BROWN BIRD.]
One day he had been indulging this whim without any motive, hardly
even thinking what he was doing, when he began to feel very
strangely: a slight chill made him shiver; his eyes felt as if
they were coming out of his head, his legs as if they were getting
smaller and smaller; he had an irresistible desire to hop, and he
was very thirsty. There was a rivulet near, and instead of walking
to it, he leaped, and stooping to drink, he saw himself reflected
in its smooth surface. No longer did he see Arthur; no longer was
he a mortal boy. Instead of this, a frog--a green speckled frog,
with great bulging eyes and a fishy mouth--looked up at him. He
tried to call, to shout, but in vain; he could only croak, and
this in the most dismal manner. What was he to do? Sit and stare
about him, try to catch flies, plunge down into the mud--charming
amusements for the rest of his life! A little brown bird hopped
down for a drink from the rivulet; she stooped and rose, stooped
and rose, again and again.
A great green tear rolled down from the frog's bulging eye, and
splashed beside the bird's drinking-place. She looked up in alarm,
and said, in the sweetest voice imaginable,
"Can I do anything to assist you?"
"I am sure I don't know," croaked Arthur, hoarse as if he had been
born with a sore throat.
"But what _is_ the matter?" persisted the little brown bird, as
more green tears splashed beside her.
"The matter is that I am a frog, I suppose," said Arthur, rather
rudely.
"Well, what of that?" still said the little bird. "Frogs are very
respectable."
"Are they, indeed; then I'd rather not be respectable," said
Arthur.
"You shock me," said the bird.
"I don't wonder; it has been a great shock to me," responded
Arthur.
"What has?" said the bird.
"Being a frog," replied Arthur.
"Have you not always? Oh no; I presume you were once a tadpole;
all frogs are at first."
"Indeed I never was a tadpole," said Arthur, indignantly; and
then, it seeming somewhat a funny idea to him, he began to laugh
in the hoarsest, croakiest _kerthumps_, which brought him to his
senses again. Then he added, to the little brown bird, which
fluttered about him in some agitation, "No, I never was a
tadpole--I was a boy named Arthur a few moments ago."
"Aha!" twittered the little brown bird, "I see now: you have been
bewitched."
"I suppose so," said Arthur; "and I would gladly be beswitched
into a boy again, if that would do any good."
"I must try and see what I can do for you. I am very busy
repairing my nest--it was injured in the last storm; but I will go
as soon as I can to see one of the herb elves, and find out what
is to be done. You must have displeased them very much."
"You are very kind," replied Arthur, taking no notice of the
latter words.
"Oh no, not at all; it is a pleasure," said the little brown bird.
"Can I do anything for you?" asked Arthur, roused into politeness
by the pleasant manners of his little friend.
"You might gather some twigs or moss. Oh no, it would be all wet,
and I should have great bother in drying it," said the little
housekeeper. "I am equally obliged, but you had better just stay
quiet and keep cool till I return;" and she flew softly away.
"I can keep cool enough," repeated Arthur; "when one's legs are in
the water, it would be pretty hard to do anything else."
It seemed dreadfully long to wait, when all he could do was to
wink, and yawn, and gobble flies, and yet lounging in the woods
and killing flowers had never seemed tedious when he was a boy. He
tried to go to sleep, but was in too great a bewilderment to
quietly close his eyes in slumber, so he gazed at the brook, and
wondered when the little brown bird would re-appear.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
PINAFORE RHYMES.--(_Continued._)
[Illustration]
Yee-Lee, the Chinaman,
Goes walking down the street,
With paper sun-shade, and a dress
That reaches to his feet.
Oh what a funny sight is he,
That yellow Chinaman, Yee-Lee!
His eyes are slanting little slits,
So that he can't see straight;
His head is polished till it shines
Just like a china plate;
And pussy thinks he's very kind
To let his pigtail drag behind.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
The wind asked the children
To dance on the green;
But the fiddler and fifer
Were not to be seen.
So the wind whistled for them
A gay, merry tune,
But so fast that the children
Grew tired very soon.
"Oh, we must stop dancing!"
Cried each little child;
"The tune that you whistle
Is so very wild!"
That made the wind angry;
It rose very high;
And their hats and their sun-shades
Were blown to the sky.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
A merry group,
With spades in hand,
Building wee houses
Of yellow sand.
They dig and delve
The livelong day;
But even children
tired with play.
On pillows soft
Their heads they lay,
While the wee houses
Are washed away.
[Illustration]
* * * * *
[Illustration]
What is the matter with Princess Maude,
All alone in her tower?
She sits forlorn in her little chair,
And cries to herself by the hour.
We'll carry some flowers to Princess Maude,
And a basket of apples and pears;
We'll call her to open the window wide,
For we can't go up the stairs.
Throw open your window, Princess Maude,
It is only Charlie and me;
The cat and the dog are fast asleep,
And there's nobody here to see.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
Dear Mary Angelina Jane,
You will be sorry to be told
My doll was left out in the rain,
So that she caught a dreadful cold.
She's better now, the doctors say,
Though I'm afraid of a relapse.
And now no more from me to-day--
I'll write some other day, perhaps.
[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]
I am a little colored girl just seven years old. This is my first
letter. I live near our white folks, who have taught us to read and
write, and who let us read their copy of YOUNG PEOPLE. We read the
letters in the Post-office Box, and I thought I would ask the
little people to send me some of their old books, or anything to
help a little girl learn. I am too poor to buy any books, and the
ladies can not get them for me.
Please put this letter in the Post-office Box.
HANNAH MCDANIEL,
Lincolnton, Lincoln Co., N. C.
We hope little Hannah will write to us again, and tell us of the favors
which we are confident she will receive from many of our young readers,
of whose kind and generous hearts we have on different occasions had
gratifying proof. We are sure they will not allow the appeal of this
poor little colored girl to pass unnoticed.
* * * * *
BUTTERNUT LAKE, WISCONSIN.
My sister and I are delighted to have YOUNG PEOPLE again. We could
not get along without it. We received the back numbers all safe
before the snow blockade set in. The big snow-storms below shut us
in two weeks without any mail.
We live on a beautiful inland lake, about fifty miles from Lake
Superior. Our house is on a peninsula extending into the lake. We
can look down through the "Narrows" into another lake, where we
can see a beautiful island. The lake is full of pike and
muskallonge, some of the latter weighing forty pounds. We have
such beautiful trees here! Our pets are a big Newfoundland dog
named Leo, and a Norwegian cat named Eric. Leo will stand on his
hind-feet and beg, and go in the water for sticks. We can soon
watch for the hepaticas.
FANNIE T. M.
* * * * *
MARSHALLTOWN, IOWA.
Our school takes HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, and on Friday afternoons
our teacher reads us a story from it, and after hearing it we have
to write it out in our own words. The last we wrote about was
"Cleopatra's Needle."
Our County Superintendent advised all the other schools to take
YOUNG PEOPLE, so that the scholars might have something nice to
read.
Our teacher has read "Toby Tyler" to us, and we are very much
interested in it.
I wish every boy and girl in the United States could have YOUNG
PEOPLE to read.
HARRY B. M.
* * * * *
DENMARK, KANSAS.
We came here from Pennsylvania almost two years ago.
There are lots of prairie-wolves out here. They come right up to
the house at night after chickens. We have two dogs. One is a
shepherd dog, and we have named him Wolf, because he looks so much
like one. The other is a little rat terrier named Candle. One
night the wolves came round the house, and the dogs ran out after
them. Pretty soon we heard a dreadful yelping. We went out, and
found one of the wolves had Candle in its mouth, and our Wolf was
fighting like everything. When they saw us, the wolves dropped
Candle and ran away.
My brothers and I and the dogs caught fifteen rabbits this winter.
There are just lots of them out here.
There is very little timber here, only along the creeks. It is
mostly cottonwood and elm. We live between two creeks, ten miles
from town, and thirty miles from the railroad. Our school-house is
two miles away. It has been very cold here this winter, with deep
snow. We have to go three miles for the mail, and I generally go
on horseback. We can hardly wait for Tuesday, for that is the day
we get YOUNG PEOPLE.
ROBERT E. L. N.
* * * * *
CROW AGENCY, MONTANA.
There are about three thousand Indians around here. It is quite a
show to see them dance. They have a large drum made of skin, and
they paint and dress very queer. They are beginning now to come in
after their annuities. When they are distributed, the employés haul
them out in wagons, and the Indians sit around in rings, and each
chief orders some of his men to receive the things and distribute
them.
The winters here are very cold. They are much colder than in
California, where I used to live. I am thirteen years old.
VOLNEY B. K.
* * * * *
ILION, NEW YORK.
I think that HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE is the best paper that I ever
saw. It is welcomed alike by old and young in our household. We are
all very much interested in "Toby Tyler," and we all laugh at the
trials and troubles of Jimmy Brown.
My father taught school this winter, and I did not miss a day
during the term. Now I am tending a sugar bush with my grandpa. We
have a hut made of boards to shelter us when it storms; and it is
rare fun to see the sap seethe and hiss in the great square pan
which is set over the "arch," as the fire-place is called.
L. C. A.
* * * * *
MURFREESBOROUGH, TENNESSEE.
YOUNG PEOPLE is very interesting. I think "Phil's Fairies" is just
beautiful.
I went to the mountains in North Carolina last summer, and mamma
and I went to a mica mine and got some specimens. They are very
beautiful. I heard the explosion, and I saw the mica and rock come
up in a barrel, which was hoisted by a windlass worked by a
donkey.
Besides the thin transparent pieces of mica, we gathered some
specimens of white and green rock with little shreds of mica
glistening in them. They are lovely. I am seven years old.
CLAIRE F. H.
* * * * *
I find YOUNG PEOPLE so interesting that I can not do without it.
The boys here rush for it as eagerly as if the news-room were a
candy stand.
I would like to exchange some good books (no novels) for the works
of Oliver Optic or Harry Castlemon, or for other good books. I
have a large library. I only desire books bound and in good
condition.
Those wishing to exchange will please send me the title and name
of author of the book, and I will send the same of any volume I am
willing to give for it.
ALEXANDER A. REEVES,
Emporia, Lyon Co., Kansas.
* * * * *
I will exchange a book entitled _Grimm's Fairy Tales_, in good
condition, for Miss Alcott's _Eight Cousins_. Correspondents will
please write before sending the book.
PLEASANCE MILLER,
Chicorica Park, Raton, Colfax Co., New Mexico.
* * * * *
I will exchange Idaho minerals for well-bound books of an
instructive character. Correspondents will please send a list of
books they wish to exchange before sending me any package.
J. P. CLOUGH, Junction, Lemhi Co., Idaho.
We hope that these exchangers who wish to obtain books will meet with
success and fair dealing, as we regard the exchange of books, if well
conducted, as one likely to prove both pleasant and beneficial.
* * * * *
I would like to exchange a Baltimorean self-inking press for a good
scroll-saw. My press is a new one. I will also give two boxes of
old English and two of plain type for some patterns and saws.
VANDERBILT OLMSTEAD,
1558 Broadway, New York City.
* * * * *
I will exchange little cakes of nice maple sugar with any little
girl, for shells or sea-moss. We make a good lot of sugar here.
I am nine years old.
EDNA WHEELER,
Williamsville, Windham Co., Vt.
* * * * *
I live in Nagasaki, Japan. I was born here in an old temple. I have
a little sister seven years old. I am always so glad to get YOUNG
PEOPLE! I watch anxiously for every mail to come, that I may read
the new stories.
I have a great many pressed flowers and ferns, which I would like
to exchange, with any reader of YOUNG PEOPLE, for curious flower
seeds, Indian arrow-heads, or other curiosities.
J. PROVOST STOUT, Nagasaki, Japan.
* * * * *
I am a Southern girl, and I love YOUNG PEOPLE as well as any of the
Northern children. I live at our country-seat at a place called
"Locust Grove." It is very dear to me, and very beautiful. It has
been one of the coldest winters we have had in many years. The snow
has been more than a foot deep in many places, and it staid on the
ground three weeks.
I would like to exchange crochet patterns with some of the many
little girls who write to the Post-office Box. I crochet a great
deal, and I would like some new patterns.
LUCIE E. FOSTER,
Louisburg, Franklin Co., N. C.
* * * * *
BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS.
"Wee Tot" Brainard wishes to say that she has nearly one hundred
letters now lying unanswered, and she asks her correspondents to be
patient, and they shall all receive attention. Her cabinet of
curiosities is really very fine. There are beautiful things from
all parts of the world, and others are constantly coming.
"WEE TOT'S" PAPA.
* * * * *
I will exchange a specimen of the rock from which Michigan stucco
and plaster are made, for any curiosity except stamps. The plaster
beds are near here. To make the plaster they blast the rock, and
break it and grind it.
BEN C. ROBINSON,
91 Prospect Street, Grand Rapids, Mich.
* * * * *
Perhaps some of the readers of YOUNG PEOPLE would like to know how
I am getting a collection of pressed leaves, flowers, etc., for
they are very interesting as well as pretty.
My Leaf Album, as I call it, is a blank-book about four and a half
inches wide and seven and a half long, and it opens at the end.
But I think that a larger book would be better, because it would
hold some large leaves.
I put the leaves on one side of the paper only, and fasten them in
with a tiny touch of gum mucilage, and beneath each I write the
name, date, where picked, and often a few words relating to
something that occurred. For instance, below one leaf in my album
I wrote: "Elm leaf. May 22, 1880. Picked from the tree on which we
had our swing, at the Sunday-school picnic, near the lake, five
miles north of L----."