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THE JUNIOR CLASSICS
A LIBRARY FOR BOYS AND GIRLS
[Illustration: EVERYTHING'S GOT A MORAL IF ONLY YOU CAN FIND IT
_From the painting by Beatrice Stevens_]
THE JUNIOR CLASSICS
SELECTED AND ARRANGED BY
WILLIAM PATTEN--MANAGING EDITOR OF THE HARVARD CLASSICS
INTRODUCTION BY
CHARLES W. ELIOT, L L. D.--PRESIDENT EMERITUS OF HARVARD UNIVERSITY
WITH A READING GUIDE BY
WILLIAM ALLAN NEILSON, Ph.D.--PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH, HARVARD UNIVERSITY
PRESIDENT SMITH COLLEGE, NORTHAMPTON, MASS., SINCE 1917
VOLUME SIX
OLD-FASHIONED TALES
CONTENTS
The Race for the Silver Skates _Mary Mapes Dodge_
Nelly's Hospital _Louisa M. Alcott_
A Fox and a Raven _Rebecca H. Davis_
The Private Theatricals _Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney_
A Case of Coincidence _Rose Terry Cooke_
The Flight of the Dolls _Lucretia P. Hale_
Solomon John Goes for Apples _Lucretia P. Hale_
Wild Robin _Sophie May_
Deacon Thomas Wales' Will _Mary E. W. Freeman_
Dill _Mary E. W. Freeman_
Brownie and the Cook _Mrs. Dinah M. Craik_
Brownie and the Cherry Tree _Mrs. Dinah M. Craik_
The Ouphe of the Wood _Jean Ingelow_
The Prince's Dream _Jean Ingelow_
A Lost Wand _Jean Ingelow_
Snap-Dragons--A Tale of Christmas Eve _Juliana H. Ewing_
Uncle Jack's Story _Mrs. E. M. Field_
Bryda's Dreadful Scrape _Mrs. E. M. Field_
The Cratchits' Christmas Dinner _Charles Dickens_
Embellishment _Jacob Abbott_
The Great Stone Face _Nathaniel Hawthorne_
The King of the Golden River _John Ruskin_
The Two Gifts _Lillian M. Gask_
The Bar of Gold _Lillian M. Gask_
Uncle David's Nonsensical Story _Catherine Sinclair_
The Grand Feast _Catherine Sinclair_
The Story of Fairyfoot _Frances Browne_
ALICE IN WONDERLAND
Down the Rabbit-Hole _Lewis Carroll_
The Pool of Tears _Lewis Carroll_
A Caucus-Race and a Long Tale _Lewis Carroll_
The Rabbit Sends in a Little Bill _Lewis Carroll_
Advice from a Caterpillar _Lewis Carroll_
Pig and Pepper _Lewis Carroll_
A Mad Tea-Party _Lewis Carroll_
The Queen's Croquet Ground _Lewis Carroll_
The Mock Turtle's Story _Lewis Carroll_
The Lobster-Quadrille _Lewis Carroll_
Who Stole the Tarts? _Lewis Carroll_
Alice's Evidence _Lewis Carroll_
ILLUSTRATIONS
"EVERYTHING'S GOT A MORAL, IF ONLY YOU CAN FIND IT"
Alice in Wonderland
_Frontispiece illustration in color from the painting by Beatrice
Stevens_
"IS THERE A PECULIAR FLAVOR IN WHAT YOU SPRINKLE FROM YOUR TORCH?"
ASKED SCROOGE
The Cratchits' Christmas Dinner
_From the drawing by T. Leech_
GLUCK PUT HIS HEAD OUT TO SEE WHO IT WAS
The King of the Golden River
_From the drawing by Richard Doyle_
THE KING AND QUEEN OF HEARTS WERE SEATED ON THEIR THRONE
Alice in Wonderland
_From the drawing by Sir John Tenniel_
THE RACE FOR THE SILVER SKATES
By Mary Mapes Dodge
The 20th of December came at last, bringing with it the perfection
of winter weather. All over the level landscape lay the warm sunlight.
It tried its power on lake, canal, and river; but the ice flashed
defiance, and showed no sign of melting. The very weather-cocks stood
still to enjoy the sight. This gave the windmills a holiday. Nearly
all the past week they had been whirling briskly: now, being rather
out of breath, they rocked lazily in the clear, still air. Catch a
windmill working when the weather-cocks have nothing to do!
There was an end to grinding, crushing, and sawing for that day. It
was a good thing for the millers near Broek. Long before noon, they
concluded to take in their sails, and go to the race. Everybody would
be there. Already the north side of the frozen Y was bordered with
eager spectators: the news of the great skating-match had travelled
far and wide. Men, women, and children, in holiday attire, were
flocking toward the spot. Some wore furs, and wintry cloaks or shawls;
but many, consulting their feelings rather than the almanac, were
dressed as for an October day.
The site selected for the race was a faultless plain of ice near
Amsterdam, on that great _arm_ of the Zuyder-Zee, which Dutchmen,
of course, must call the Eye. The townspeople turned out in large
numbers. Strangers in the city deemed it a fine chance to see what was
to be seen. Many a peasant from the northward had wisely chosen the
20th as the day for the next city-trading. It seemed that everybody,
young and old, who had wheels, skates, or feet at command, had
hastened to the scene.
There were the gentry in their coaches, dressed like Parisians fresh
from the Boulevards; Amsterdam children in charity uniforms; girls
from the Roman-Catholic Orphan-House, in sable gowns and white
headbands; boys from the Burgher Asylum, with their black tights and
short-skirted, harlequin coats. [Footnote: This is not said in
derision. Both the boys and girls of this institution wear garments
quartered in red and black alternately. By making the dress thus
conspicuous, the children are, in a measure, deterred from wrong-doing
while going about the city. The Burgher Orphan-Asylum affords a
comfortable home to several hundred boys and girls. Holland is famous
for its charitable institutions.] There were old-fashioned gentlemen
in cocked hats and velvet knee-breeches; old-fashioned ladies, too, in
stiff, quilted skirts, and bodices of dazzling brocade. These were
accompanied by servants bearing foot-stoves and cloaks. There were the
peasant-folk arrayed in every possible Dutch costume--shy young
rustics in brazen buckles; simple village-maidens concealing their
flaxen hair under fillets of gold; women whose long, narrow aprons
were stiff with embroidery; women with short corkscrew curls hanging
over their foreheads; women with shaved heads and close-fitting caps;
and women in striped skirts and windmill bonnets; men in leather, in
homespun, in velvet and broadcloth; burghers in model European attire,
and burghers in short jackets, wide trousers, and steeple-crowned
hats.
There were beautiful Friesland girls in wooden shoes and coarse
petticoats, with solid gold crescents encircling their heads, finished
at each temple with a golden rosette, and hung with lace a century
old. Some wore necklaces, pendants, and ear-rings of the purest gold.
Many were content with gilt, or even with brass; but it is not an
uncommon thing for a Friesland woman to have all the family treasure
in her head-gear. More than one rustic lass displayed the value of two
thousand guilders upon her head that day.
Scattered throughout the crowd were peasants from the Island of
Marken, with sabots, black stockings, and the widest of breeches; also
women from Marken, with short blue petticoats, and black jackets gayly
figured in front. They wore red sleeves, white aprons, and a cap like
a bishop's mitre over their golden hair.
The children, often, were as quaint and odd-looking as their elders.
In short, one-third of the crowd seemed to have stepped bodily from a
collection of Dutch paintings.
Everywhere could be seen tall women, and stumpy men, lively-faced
girls, and youths whose expression never changed from sunrise to
sunset.
There seemed to be at least one specimen from every known town in
Holland. There were Utrecht water-bearers, Gouda cheese-makers, Delft
pottery-men, Schiedam distillers, Amsterdam diamond-cutters, Rotterdam
merchants, dried-up herring-packers, and two sleepy-eyed shepherds
from Texel. Every man of them had his pipe and tobacco-pouch. Some
carried what might be called the smoker's complete outfit,--a pipe,
tobacco, a pricker with which to clean the tube, a silver net for
protecting the bowl, and a box of the strongest of brimstone-matches.
A true Dutchman, you must remember, is rarely without his pipe on any
possible occasion. He may, for a moment, neglect to breathe; but, when
the pipe is forgotten, he must be dying, indeed. There were no such
sad cases here. Wreaths of smoke were rising from every possible
quarter. The more fantastic the smoke-wreath, the more placid and
solemn the smoker.
Look at those boys and girls on stilts! That is a good idea. They can
see over the heads of the tallest. It is strange to see those little
bodies high in the air, carried about on mysterious legs. They have
such a resolute look on their round faces, what wonder that nervous
old gentlemen, with tender feet, wince and tremble while the
long-legged little monsters stride past them!
You will read, in certain books, that the Dutch are a quiet people: so
they are generally. But listen! did ever you hear such a din? All made
up of human voices--no, the horses are helping somewhat, and the
fiddles are squeaking pitifully (how it must pain fiddles to be
tuned!); but the mass of the sound comes from the great _vox humana_
that belongs to a crowd.
That queer little dwarf, going about with a heavy basket, winding in
and out among the people, helps not a little. You can hear his shrill
cry above all the other sounds, "Pypen en tabac! Pypen en tabac!"
Another, his big brother, though evidently some years younger, is
selling doughnuts and bon-bons. He is calling on all pretty children,
far and near, to come quickly, or the cakes will be gone.
You know quite a number among the spectators. High up in yonder
pavilion, erected upon the border of the ice, are some persons whom
you have seen very lately. In the centre is Madame van Gleck. It is
her birthday, you remember: she has the post of honor. There is
Mynheer van Gleck, whose meerschaum has not really grown fast to his
lips: it only appears so. There are grandfather and grandmother, whom
you meet at the St. Nicholas _fête_. All the children are with them.
It is so mild, they have brought even the baby. The poor little
creature is swaddled very much after the manner of an Egyptian mummy;
but it can crow with delight, and, when the band is playing, open and
shut its animated mittens in perfect time to the music.
Grandfather, with his pipe and spectacles and fur cap, makes quite a
picture as he holds baby upon his knee. Perched high upon their
canopied platforms, the party can see all that is going on. No wonder
the ladies look complacently at the glassy ice: with a stove for a
footstool, one might sit cosily beside the North Pole.
There is a gentleman with them who somewhat resembles St. Nicholas as
he appeared to the young Van Glecks, on the fifth of December. But the
saint had a flowing white beard; and this face is as smooth as a
pippin. His saintship was larger around the body, too, and (between
ourselves) he had a pair of thimbles in his mouth, which this
gentleman certainly has not. It cannot be St. Nicholas, after all.
Near by, in the next pavilion, sit the Van Holps, with their son and
daughter (the Van Gends) from The Hague. Peter's sister is not one to
forget her promises.
She has brought bouquets of exquisite hot-house flowers for the
winners.
These pavilions, and there are others beside, have all been erected
since daylight. That semicircular one, containing Mynheer Korbes's
family, is very pretty, and proves that the Hollanders are quite
skilled at tent-making; but I like the Van Gleck's best,--the centre
one,--striped red and white, and hung with evergreens.
The one with the blue flags contains the musicians. Those pagoda-like
affairs, decked with sea-shells, and streamers of every possible hue,
are the judges' stands; and those columns and flagstaffs upon the ice
mark the limit of the race-course. The two white columns, twined with
green, connected at the top by that long, floating strip of drapery,
form the starting-point. Those flagstaffs, half a mile off, stand at
each end of the boundary line, cut sufficiently deep to be distinct to
the skaters, though not enough so to trip them when they turn to come
back to the starting-point.
The air is so clear, it seems scarcely possible that the columns and
flagstaffs are so far apart. Of course, the judges' stands are but
little nearer together.
Half a mile on the ice, when the atmosphere is like this, is but a
short distance, after all, especially when fenced with a living chain
of spectators.
The music has commenced. How melody seems to enjoy itself in the open
air! The fiddles have forgotten their agony; and every thing is
harmonious. Until you look at the blue tent, it seems that the music
springs from the sunshine, it is so boundless, so joyous. Only when
you see the staid-faced musicians, you realize the truth.
Where are the racers? All assembled together near the white columns.
It is a beautiful sight,--forty boys and girls in picturesque attire,
darting with electric swiftness in and out among each other, or
sailing in pairs and triplets, beckoning, chatting, whispering, in the
fulness of youthful glee.
A few careful ones are soberly tightening their straps: others,
halting on one leg, with flushed, eager faces, suddenly cross the
suspected skate over their knee, give it an examining shake, and dart
off again. One and all are possessed with the spirit of motion. They
cannot stand still. Their skates are a part of them; and every runner
seems bewitched.
Holland is the place for skaters, after all. Where else can nearly
every boy and girl perform feats on the ice that would attract a
crowd if seen on Central Park? Look at Ben! I did not see him before.
He is really astonishing the natives; no easy thing to do in the
Netherlands. Save your strength, Ben, you will need it soon. Now other
boys are trying! Ben is surpassed already. Such jumping, such poising,
such spinning, such india-rubber exploits generally! That boy with a
red cap is the lion now: his back is a watch-spring, his body is
cork--no, it is iron, or it would snap at that. He is a bird, a top, a
rabbit, a corkscrew, a sprite, a flesh-ball, all in an instant. When
you think he's erect, he is down; and, when you think he is down, he
is up. He drops his glove on the ice, and turns a somerset as he picks
it up. Without stopping, he snatches the cap from Jacob Poot's
astonished head, and claps it back again "hindside before." Lookers-on
hurrah and laugh. Foolish boy! It is arctic weather under your feet,
but more than temperate overhead. Big drops already are rolling down
your forehead. Superb skater, as you are, you may lose the race.
A French traveller, standing with a note-book in his hand, sees our
English friend, Ben, buy a doughnut of the dwarf's brother, and eat
it. Thereupon he writes in his note-book, that the Dutch take enormous
mouthfuls, and universally are fond of potatoes boiled in molasses.
There are some familiar faces near the white columns. Lambert, Ludwig,
Peter, and Carl are all there, cool, and in good skating-order. Hans
is not far off. Evidently he is going to join in the race, for his
skates are on,--the very pair that he sold for seven guilders. He had
soon suspected that his fairy godmother was the mysterious "friend"
who had bought them. This settled, he had boldly charged her with the
deed; and she, knowing well that all her little savings had been spent
in the purchase, had not had the face to deny it. Through the fairy
godmother, too, he had been rendered amply able to buy them back
again. Therefore Hans is to be in the race. Carl is more indignant
than ever about it; but, as three other peasant-boys have entered,
Hans is not alone.
Twenty boys and twenty girls. The latter, by this time, are standing
in front, braced for the start; for they are to have the first "run."
Hilda, Rychie, and Katrinka are among them. Two or three bend hastily
to give a last pull at their skate-straps. It is pretty to see them
stamp to be sure that all is firm. Hilda is speaking pleasantly to a
graceful little creature in a red jacket and a new brown petticoat.
Why, it is Gretel! What a difference those pretty shoes make, and the
skirt, and the new cap! Annie Bouman is there, too. Even Janzoon
Kolp's sister has been admitted; but Janzoon himself has been voted
out by the directors, because he killed the stork, and only last
summer, was caught in the act of robbing a bird's nest,--a legal
offence in Holland.
This Janzoon Kolp, you see, was--There, I cannot tell the story just
now. The race is about to commence.
Twenty girls are formed in a line. The music has ceased.
A man, whom we shall call the crier, stands between the columns and
the first judges' stand. He reads the rules in a loud voice:--
"THE GIRLS AND BOYS ARE TO RACE IN TURN, UNTIL ONE GIRL AND ONE BOY
HAS BEATEN TWICE. THEY ARE TO START IN A LINE FROM THE UNITED COLUMNS,
SKATE TO THE FLAGSTAFF LINE, TURN, AND THEN COME BACK TO THE
STARTING-POINT; THUS MAKING A MILE AT EACH RUN."
A flag is waved from the judges' stand. Madame van Gleck rises in her
pavilion. She leans forward with a white handkerchief in her hand.
When she drops it, a bugler is to give the signal for them to start.
The handkerchief is fluttering to the ground. Hark!
They are off!
No. Back again. Their line was not true in passing the judges' stand.
The signal is repeated.
Off again. No mistake this time. Whew! how fast they go!
The multitude is quiet for an instant, absorbed in eager, breathless
watching.
Cheers spring up along the line of spectators. Huzza! five girls are
ahead. Who comes flying back from the boundary-mark? We cannot tell.
Something red, that is all. There is a blue spot flitting near it, and
a dash of yellow nearer still. Spectators at this end of the line
strain their eyes, and wish they had taken their post nearer the
flagstaff.
The wave of cheers is coming back again. Now we can see. Katrinka is
ahead!
She passes the Van Holp pavilion. The next is Madame van Gleck's. That
leaning figure gazing from it is a magnet. Hilda shoots past Katrinka,
waving her hand to her mother as she passes. Two others are close now,
whizzing on like arrows. What is that flash of red and gray? Hurrah,
it is Gretel! She, too, waves her hand, but toward no gay pavilion.
The crowd is cheering; but she hears only her father's voice,--"Well
done, little Gretel!" Soon Katrinka, with a quick, merry laugh, shoots
past Hilda, The girl in yellow is gaining now. She passes them
all,--all except Gretel. The judges lean forward without seeming to
lift their eyes from their watches. Cheer after cheer fills the air:
the very columns seem rocking. Gretel has passed them. She has won.
"GRETEL BRINKER, ONE MILE!" shouts the crier.
The judges nod. They write something upon a tablet which each holds in
his hand.
While the girls are resting,--some crowding eagerly around our
frightened little Gretel, some standing aside in high disdain,--the
boys form in line.
Mynheer van Gleck drops the handkerchief, this time. The buglers give
a vigorous blast.
The boys have started.
Halfway already. Did ever you see the like!
Three hundred legs flashing by in an instant. But there are only
twenty boys. No matter: there were hundreds of legs, I am sure. Where
are they now? There is such a noise, one gets bewildered. What are the
people laughing at? Oh! at that fat boy in the rear. See him go! See
him! He'll be down in an instant: no, he won't. I wonder if he knows
he is all alone: the other boys are nearly at the boundary-line. Yes,
he knows it. He stops. He wipes his hot face. He takes off his cap,
and looks about him. Better to give up with a good grace. He has made
a hundred friends by that hearty, astonished laugh. Good Jacob Poot!
The fine fellow is already among the spectators, gazing as eagerly as
the rest.
A cloud of feathery ice flies from the heels of the skaters as they
"bring to" and turn at the flagstaffs.
Something black is coming now, one of the boys: it is all we know. He
has touched the _vox humana_ stop of the crowd: it fairly roars.
Now they come nearer: we can see the red cap. There's Ben, there's
Peter, there's Hans!
Hans is ahead. Young Madame van Gend almost crushes the flowers in her
hand: she had been quite sure that Peter would be first. Carl Schummel
is next, then Ben, and the youth with the red cap. The others are
pressing close. A tall figure darts from among them. He passes the red
cap, he passes Ben, then Carl. Now it is an even race between him and
Hans. Madame van Gend catches her breath.
It is Peter! He is ahead! Hans shoots past him. Hilda's eyes fill with
tears: Peter _must_ beat. Annie's eyes flash proudly. Gretel
gazes with clasped hands: four strokes more will take her brother to
the columns.
He is there! Yes; but so was young Schummel just a second before. At
the last instant, Carl, gathering his powers, had whizzed between
them, and passed the goal.
"CARL SCHUMMEL, ONE MILE!" shouts the crier.
Soon Madame van Gleck rises again. The falling handkerchief starts the
bugle; and the bugle, using its voice as a bow-string, shoots off
twenty girls like so many arrows.
It is a beautiful sight; but one has not long to look: before we can
fairly distinguish them, they are far in the distance. This time they
are close upon one another. It is hard to say, as they come speeding
back from the flagstaff, which will reach the columns first. There are
new faces among the foremost,--eager, glowing faces, unnoticed before.
Katrinka is there, and Hilda; but Gretel and Rychie are in the rear.
Gretel is wavering, but, when Rychie passes her, she starts forward
afresh. Now they are nearly beside Katrinka. Hilda is still in
advance: she is almost "home." She has not faltered since that
bugle-note sent her flying: like an arrow, still she is speeding
toward the goal. Cheer after cheer rises in the air. Peter is silent;
but his eyes shine like stars. "Huzza! Huzza!"
The crier's voice is heard again.
"HILDA VAN GLECK, ONE MILE!"
A loud murmur of approval runs through the crowd, catching the music
in its course, till all seems one sound, with a glad rhythmic
throbbing in its depths. When the flag waves, all is still.
Once more the bugle blows a terrific blast. It sends off the boys like
chaff before the wind,--dark chaff, I admit, and in big pieces.
It is whisked around at the flagstaff, driven faster yet by the cheers
and shouts along the line. We begin to see what is coming. There are
three boys in advance, this time, and all abreast,--Hans, Peter, and
Lambert. Carl soon breaks the ranks, rushing through with a whiff.
Fly, Hans; fly, Peter: don't let Carl beat again!--Carl the bitter,
Carl the insolent. Van Mounen is flagging; but you are as strong as
ever. Hans and Peter, Peter and Hans: which is foremost? We love them
both. We scarcely care which is the fleeter.
Hilda, Annie, and Gretel, seated upon the long crimson bench, can
remain quiet no longer. They spring to their feet, so different! and
yet one in eagerness. Hilda instantly reseats herself: none shall know
how interested she is; none shall know how anxious, how filled with
one hope. Shut your eyes, then, Hilda, hide your face rippling with
joy. Peter has beaten.
"PETER VAN HOLP, ONE MILE!" calls the crier.
The same buzz of excitement as before, while the judges take notes,
the same throbbing of music through the din; but something is
different. A little crowd presses close about some object near the
column. Carl has fallen. He is not hurt, though somewhat stunned. If
he were less sullen, he would find more sympathy in these warm young
hearts. As it is, they forget him as soon as he is fairly on his feet
again.
The girls are to skate their third mile.
How resolute the little maidens look as they stand in a line! Some are
solemn with a sense of responsibility; some wear a smile half-bashful,
half-provoked: but one air of determination pervades them all.
This third mile may decide the race. Still, if neither Gretel nor
Hilda win, there is yet a chance among the rest for the silver skates.
Each girl feels sure, that, this time, she will accomplish the
distance in one-half the time. How they stamp to try their runners!
How nervously they examine each strap! How erect they stand at last,
every eye upon Madame van Gleck!
The bugle thrills through them again. With quivering eagerness they
spring forward, bending, but in perfect balance. Each flashing stroke
seems longer than the last.
Now they are skimming off in the distance.
Again the eager straining of eyes; again the shouts and cheering;
again the thrill of excitement, as, after a few moments, four or five,
in advance of, the rest, come speeding back, nearer, nearer, to the
white columns.
Who is first? Not Rychie, Katrinka, Annie, nor Hilda, nor the girl in
yellow, but Gretel,--Gretel, the fleetest sprite of a girl that ever
skated. She was but playing in the earlier race: _now_ she is in
earnest, or, rather, something within her has determined to win. That
lithe little form makes no effort; but it cannot stop,--not until the
goal is passed!
In vain the crier lifts his voice: he cannot be heard. He has no news
to tell: it is already ringing through the crowd,--_Gretel has won
the silver skates!_
Like a bird, she has flown over the ice; like a bird, she looks about
her in a timid, startled way. She longs to dart to the sheltered nook
where her father and mother stand. But Hans is beside her: the girls
are crowding round. Hilda's kind, joyous voice breathes in her ear.
From that hour, none will despise her. Goose-girl, or not, Gretel
stands acknowledged Queen of the Skaters.
With natural pride, Hans turns to see if Peter van Holp is witnessing
his sister's triumph. Peter is not looking toward them at all. He is
kneeling, bending his troubled face low, and working hastily at his
skate-strap. Hans is beside him at once.
"Are you in trouble, mynheer?"
"Ah, Hans! that you? Yes, my fun is over. I tried to tighten my strap,
to make a new hole; and this botheration of a knife has cut it nearly
in two."
"Mynheer," said Hans, at the same time pulling off a skate, "you must
use my strap!"
"Not I, indeed, Hans Brinker!" cried Peter, looking up, "though I
thank you warmly. Go to your post, my friend: the bugle will sound in
a minute."
"Mynheer!" pleaded Hans in a husky voice. "You have called me your
friend. Take this strap--quick! There is not an instant to lose. I
shall not skate this time; indeed, I am out of practice. Mynheer, you
_must_ take it;" and Hans, blind and deaf to any remonstrance, slipped
his strap into Peter's skate, and implored him to put it on.
"Come, Peter!" cried Lambert from the line: "we are waiting for you."
"For madame's sake," pleaded Hans, "be quick! She is motioning to you
to join the racers. There, the skate is almost on: quick, mynheer,
fasten it. I could not possibly win. The race lies between Master
Schummel and yourself."
"You are a noble fellow, Hans!" cried Peter, yielding at last. He
sprang to his post just as the white handkerchief fell to the ground.
The bugle sends forth its blast, loud, clear, and ringing.
Off go the boys.
"Mein Gott!" cries a tough old fellow from Delft. "They beat every
thing,--these Amsterdam youngsters. See them!"
See them, indeed! They are winged Mercuries, every one of them. What
mad errand are they on?
Ah, I know: they are hunting Peter van Holp. He is some fleet-footed
runaway from Olympus. Mercury and his troop of winged cousins are in
full chase. They will catch him! Now Carl is the runaway. The pursuit
grows furious. Ben is foremost.
The chase turns in a cloud of mist. It is coming this way. Who is
hunted now? Mercury himself. It is Peter, Peter van Holp! Fly, Peter!
Hans is watching you. He is sending all his fleetness, all his
strength, into your feet. Your mother and sister are pale with
eagerness. Hilda is trembling, and dare not look up. Fly, Peter! The
crowd has not gone deranged: it is only cheering. The pursuers are
close upon you. Touch the white column! It beckons; it is reeling
before you--it--
"Huzza! Huzza! Peter has won the silver skates!"
"PETER VAN HOLP!" shouted the crier. But who heard him? "Peter van
Holp!" shouted a hundred voices; for he was the favorite boy of the
place. "Huzza! Huzza!"
Now the music was resolved to be heard. It struck up a lively air,
then a tremendous march. The spectators, thinking something new was
about to happen, deigned to listen and to look.
The racers formed in single file. Peter, being tallest, stood first.
Gretel, the smallest of all, took her place at the end. Hans, who had
borrowed a strap from the cake-boy, was near the head.
Three gayly-twined arches were placed at intervals upon the river,
facing the Van Gleck pavilion.
Skating slowly, and in perfect time to the music, the boys and girls
moved forward, led on by Peter. It was beautiful to see the bright
procession glide along like a living creature. It curved and doubled,
and drew its graceful length in and out among the arches: whichever
way Peter, the head, went, the body was sure to follow. Sometimes it
steered direct for the centre arch; then, as if seized with a new
impulse, turned away and curled itself about the first one; then
unwound slowly, and bending low, with quick, snake-like curvings,
crossed the river, passing at length through the farthest arch.
When the music was slow, the procession seemed to crawl like a thing
afraid: it grew livelier, and the creature darted forward with a
spring, gliding rapidly among the arches, in and out, curling,
twisting, turning, never losing form, until at the shrill call of the
bugle rising above the music, it suddenly resolved itself into boys
and girls standing in double semicircle before Madame van Gleck's
pavilion.
Peter and Gretel stand in the centre, in advance of the others. Madame
van Gleck rises majestically. Gretel trembles, but feels that she must
look at the beautiful lady. She cannot hear what is said, there is
such a buzzing all around her. She is thinking that she ought to try
and make a courtesy, such as her mother makes to the _meester_, when
suddenly something so dazzling is placed in her hand that she gives a
cry of joy.
Then she ventures to look about her. Peter, too, has something in his
hands. "Oh, Oh! how splendid!" she cries; and "Oh! how splendid!" is
echoed as far as people can see.
Meantime the silver skates flash in the sunshine, throwing dashes of
light upon those two happy faces.
Mevrouw van Gend sends a little messenger with her bouquets,--one for
Hilda, one for Carl, and others for Peter and Gretel.
At sight of the flowers, the Queen of the Skaters becomes
uncontrollable. With a bright stare of gratitude, she gathers skates
and bouquet in her apron, hugs them to her bosom, and darts off to
search for her father and mother in the scattering crowd.
NELLY'S HOSPITAL
By Louisa M. Alcott
Nelly sat beside her mother picking lint; but while her fingers flew,
her eyes often looked wistfully out into the meadow, golden with
buttercups, and bright with sunshine. Presently she said, rather
bashfully, but very earnestly, "Mamma, I want to tell you a little
plan I've made, if you'll please not laugh."
"I think I can safely promise that, my dear," said her mother, putting
down her work that she might listen quite respectfully.
Nelly looked pleased, and went on confidingly.
"Since brother Will came home with his lame foot, and I've helped you
tend him, I've heard a great deal about hospitals, and liked it very
much. To-day I said I wanted to go and be a nurse, like Aunt Mercy;
but Will laughed, and told me I'd better begin by nursing sick birds
and butterflies and pussies before I tried to take care of men. I did
not like to be made fun of, but I've been thinking that it would be
very pleasant to have a little hospital all my own, and be a nurse in
it, because, if I took pains, so many pretty creatures might be made
well, perhaps. Could I, mamma?"
Her mother wanted to smile at the idea, but did not, for Nelly looked
up with her heart and eyes so full of tender compassion, both for the
unknown men for whom her little hands had done their best, and for the
smaller sufferers nearer home, that she stroked the shining head, and
answered readily:
"Yes, Nelly, it will be a proper charity for such a young Samaritan,
and you may learn much if you are in earnest. You must study how to
feed and nurse your little patients, else your pity will do no good,
and your hospital become a prison. I will help you, and Tony shall be
your surgeon."
"O mamma, how good you always are to me! Indeed, I am in truly
earnest; I will learn, I will be kind, and may I go now and begin?"
"You may, but tell me first where will you have your hospital?"
"In my room, mamma; it is so snug and sunny, and I never should forget
it there," said Nelly.
"You must not forget it anywhere. I think that plan will not do. How
would you like to find caterpillars walking in your bed, to hear sick
pussies mewing in the night, to have beetles clinging to your clothes,
or see mice, bugs, and birds tumbling downstairs whenever the door was
open?" said her mother.
Nelly laughed at that thought a minute, then clapped her hands, and
cried: "Let us have the old summer-house! My doves only use the upper
part, and it would be so like Frank in the storybook. Please say yes
again, mamma."
Her mother did say yes, and, snatching up her hat, Nelly ran to find
Tony, the gardener's son, a pleasant lad of twelve, who was Nelly's
favorite playmate. Tony pronounced the plan a "jolly" one, and,
leaving his work, followed his young mistress to the summer-house, for
she could not wait one minute.
"What must we do first?" she asked, as they stood looking in at the
dim, dusty room, full of garden tools, bags of seeds, old flower-pots,
and watering-cans.
"Clear out the rubbish, miss," answered Tony.
"Here it goes, then," and Nelly began bundling everything out in such
haste that she broke two flower-pots, scattered all the squash-seeds,
and brought a pile of rakes and hoes clattering down about her ears.
"Just wait a bit, and let me take the lead, miss. You hand me things,
I'll pile 'em in the barrow and wheel 'em off to the barn; then it
will save time, and be finished up tidy."
Nelly did as he advised, and very soon nothing but dust remained.
"What next?" she asked, not knowing in the least.
"I'll sweep up while you see if Polly can come and scrub the room out.
It ought to be done before you stay here, let alone the patients."
"So it had," said Nelly, looking very wise all of a sudden. "Will says
the wards--that means the rooms, Tony--are scrubbed every day or two,
and kept very clean, and well venti--something--I can't say it; but it
means having a plenty of air come in. I can clean windows while Polly
mops, and then we shall soon be done."
Away she ran, feeling very busy and important. Polly came, and very
soon the room looked like another place. The four latticed windows
were set wide open, so the sunshine came dancing through the vines
that grew outside, and curious roses peeped in to see what frolic was
afoot. The walls shone white again, for not a spider dared to stay;
the wide seat which encircled the room was dustless now,--the floor as
nice as willing hands could make it; and the south wind blew away all
musty odors with its fragrant breath.
"How fine it looks!" cried Nelly, dancing on the doorstep, lest a
foot-print should mar the still damp floor.
"I'd almost like to fall sick for the sake of staying here," said
Tony, admiringly. "Now, what sort of beds are you going to have,
miss?"
"I suppose it won't do to put butterflies and toads and worms into
beds like the real soldiers where Will was?" answered Nelly, looking
anxious.
Tony could hardly help shouting at the idea; but, rather than trouble
his little mistress, he said Very soberly: "I'm afraid they wouldn't
lay easy, not being used to it. Tucking up a butterfly would about
kill him; the worms would be apt to get lost among the bed-clothes;
and the toads would tumble out the first thing."
"I shall have to ask mamma about it. What will you do while I'm gone?"
said Nelly, unwilling that a moment should be lost.
"I'll make frames for nettings to the windows, else the doves will
come in and eat up the sick people."
"I think they will know that it is a hospital, and be too kind to hurt
or frighten their neighbors," began Nelly; but as she spoke, a plump
white dove walked in, looked about with its red-winged eyes, and
quietly pecked up a tiny bug that had just ventured out from the crack
where it had taken refuge when the deluge came.
"Yes, we must have the nettings. I'll ask mamma for some lace," said
Nelly, when she saw that; and, taking her pet dove on her shoulder,
told it about her hospital as she went toward the house: for, loving
all little creatures as she did, it grieved her to have any harm
befall even the least or plainest of them. She had a sweet child-fancy
that her playmates understood her language as she did theirs, and that
birds, flowers, animals, and insects felt for her the same affection
which she felt for them. Love always makes friends, and nothing seemed
to fear the gentle child; but welcomed her like a little sun who shone
alike on all, and never suffered an eclipse.
She was gone some time, and when she came back her mind was full of
new plans, one hand full of rushes, the other of books, while over her
head floated the lace, and a bright green ribbon hung across her arm.
"Mamma says that the best beds will be little baskets, boxes, cages,
and any sort of thing that suits the patients; for each will need
different care and food and medicine. I have not baskets enough, so,
as I cannot have pretty white beds, I am going to braid pretty green
nests for my patients, and, while I do it, mamma thought you'd read to
me the pages she has marked, so that we may begin right."
"Yes, miss; I like that. But what is the ribbon for?" asked Tony.
"O, that's for you. Will says that, if you are to be an army surgeon,
you must have a green band on your arm; so I got this to tie on when
we play hospital."
Tony let her decorate the sleeve of his gray jacket, and when the
nettings were done, the welcome books were opened and enjoyed. It was
a happy time, sitting in the sunshine, with leaves pleasantly astir
all about them, doves cooing overhead, and flowers sweetly gossiping
together through the summer afternoon. Nelly wove her smooth, green
rushes, Tony pored over his pages, and both found something better
than fairy legends in the family histories of insects, birds, and
beasts. All manner of wonders appeared, and were explained to them,
till Nelly felt as if a new world had been given her, so full of
beauty, interest, and pleasure that she never could be tired of
studying it. Many of these things were not strange to Tony, because,
born among plants, he had grown up with them as if they were brothers
and sisters, and the sturdy, brown-faced boy had learned many lessons
which no poet or philosopher could have taught him, unless he had
become as childlike as himself, and studied from the same great book.
When the baskets were done, the marked pages all read, and the sun
began to draw his rosy curtains round him before smiling "Good night,"
Nelly ranged the green beds round the room, Tony put in the screens,
and the hospital was ready. The little nurse was so excited that she
could hardly eat her supper, and directly afterwards ran up to tell
Will how well she had succeeded with the first part of her enterprise.
Now brother Will was a brave young officer, who had fought stoutly and
done his duty like a man. But when lying weak and wounded at home, the
cheerful courage which had led him safely through many dangers seemed
to have deserted him, and he was often gloomy, sad, or fretful,
because he longed to be at his post again, and time passed very
slowly. This troubled his mother, and made Nelly wonder why he found
lying in a pleasant room so much harder than fighting battles or
making weary marches. Anything that interested and amused him was very
welcome, and when Nelly, climbing on the arm of his sofa, told her
plans, mishaps, and successes, he laughed out more heartily than he
had done for many a day, and his thin face began to twinkle with fun
as it used to do so long ago. That pleased Nelly, and she chatted like
any affectionate little magpie, till Will was really interested; for
when one is ill, small things amuse.
"Do you expect your patients to come to you, Nelly?" he asked.
"No, I shall go and look for them. I often see poor things suffering
in the garden, and the wood, and always feel as if they ought to be
taken care of, as people are."
"You won't like to carry insane bugs, lame toads, and convulsive
kittens in your hands, and they would not stay on a stretcher if you
had one. You should have an ambulance and be a branch of the Sanitary
Commission," said Will.
Nelly had often heard the words, but did not quite understand what
they meant. So Will told her of that great never-failing charity, to
which thousands owe their lives; and the child listened with lips
apart, eyes often full, and so much love and admiration in her heart
that she could find no words in which to tell it. When her brother
paused, she said earnestly: "Yes, I will be a Sanitary. This little
cart of mine shall be my amb'lance, and I'll never let my
water-barrels go empty, never drive too fast, or be rough with my poor
passengers, like some of the men you tell about. Does this look like
an amb'lance, Will?"
"Not a bit, but it shall, if you and mamma like to help me. I want
four long bits of cane, a square of white cloth, some pieces of thin
wood, and the gum-pot," said Will, sitting up to examine the little
cart, feeling like a boy again as he took out his knife and began to
whittle.
Upstairs and downstairs ran Nelly till all necessary materials were
collected, and almost breathlessly she watched her brother arch the
canes over the cart, cover them with the cloth, and fit an upper shelf
of small compartments, each lined with cotton-wool to serve as beds
for wounded insects, lest they should hurt one another or jostle out.
The lower part was left free for any larger creatures which Nelly
might find. Among her toys she had a tiny cask which only needed a peg
to be water-tight; this was filled and fitted in before, because, as
the small sufferers needed no seats, there was no place for it behind,
and, as Nelly was both horse and driver, it was more convenient in
front.
On each side of it stood a box of stores. In one were minute rollers,
as bandages are called, a few bottles not yet filled, and a wee doll's
jar of cold-cream, because Nelly could not feel that her outfit was
complete without a medicine-chest. The other box was full of crumbs,
bits of sugar, bird-seed, and grains of wheat and corn, lest any
famished stranger should die for want of food before she got it home.
Then mamma painted "U. S. San. Com." in bright letters on the cover,
and Nelly received her charitable plaything with a long sigh of
satisfaction.
"Nine o'clock already. Bless me, what a short evening this has been,"
exclaimed Will, as Nelly came to give him her good-night kiss.
"And such a happy one," she answered. "Thank you very, very much,
dear Will. I only wish my little amb'lance was big enough for you to
go in,--I'd so like to give you the first ride."
"Nothing I should like better, if it were possible, though I've a
prejudice against ambulances in general. But as I cannot ride, I'll
try and hop out to your hospital to-morrow, and see how you get
on,"--which was a great deal for Captain Will to say, because he had
been too listless to leave his sofa for several days.
That promise sent Nelly happily away to bed, only stopping to pop her
head out of the window to see if it was likely to be a fair day
to-morrow, and to tell Tony about the new plan as he passed below.
"Where shall you go to look for your first load of sick folks, miss?"
he asked.
"All round the garden first, then through the grove, and home across
the brook. Do you think I can find any patients so?" said Nelly.
"I know you will. Good night, miss," and Tony walked away with a merry
look on his face, that Nelly would not have understood if she had seen
it.
Up rose the sun bright and early, and up rose Nurse Nelly almost as
early and as bright. Breakfast was taken in a great hurry, and before
the dew was off the grass this branch of the S. C. was all astir.
Papa, mamma, big brother and baby sister, men and maids, all looked
out to see the funny little ambulance depart, and nowhere in all the
summer fields was there a happier child than Nelly, as she went
smiling down the garden path, where tall flowers kissed her as she
passed and every blithe bird seemed singing a "Good speed!"
"How I wonder what I shall find first," she thought, looking sharply
on all sides as she went. Crickets chirped, grasshoppers leaped, ants
worked busily at their subterranean houses, spiders spun shining webs
from twig to twig, bees were coming for their bags of gold, and
butterflies had just begun their holiday. A large white one alighted
on the top of the ambulance, walked over the inscription as if
spelling it letter by letter, then floated away from flower to flower,
like one carrying the good news far and wide.
"Now every one will know about the hospital and be glad to see me
coming," thought Nelly. And indeed it seemed so, for just then a
blackbird, sitting on the garden wall, burst out with a song full of
musical joy, Nelly's kitten came running after to stare at the wagon
and rub her soft side against it, a bright-eyed toad looked out from
his cool bower among the lily-leaves, and at that minute Nelly found
her first patient. In one of the dewy cobwebs hanging from a shrub
near by sat a fat black and yellow spider, watching a fly whose
delicate wings were just caught in the net. The poor fly buzzed
pitifully, and struggled so hard that the whole web shook; but the
more he struggled, the more he entangled himself, and the fierce
spider was preparing to descend that it might weave a shroud about its
prey, when a little finger broke the threads and lifted the fly safely
into the palm of a hand, where he lay faintly humming his thanks.
Nelly had heard much about contrabands, knew who they were, and was
very much interested in them; so, when she freed the poor black fly,
she played he was her contraband, and felt glad that her first patient
was one that needed help so much. Carefully brushing away as much of
the web as she could, she left small Pompey, as she named him, to free
his own legs, lest her clumsy fingers should hurt him; then she laid
him in one of the soft beds with a grain or two of sugar if he needed
refreshment, and bade him rest and recover from his fright,
remembering that he was at liberty to fly away whenever he liked,
because she had no wish to make a slave of him.
Feeling very happy over this new friend, Nelly went on singing softly
as she walked, and presently she found a pretty caterpillar dressed in
brown fur, although the day was warm. He lay so still she thought him
dead, till he rolled himself into a ball as she touched him.
"I think you are either faint from the heat of this thick coat of
yours, or that you are going to make a cocoon of yourself, Mr. Fuzz,"
said Nelly. "Now I want to see you turn into a butterfly, so I shall
take you, and if you get lively again I will let you go. I shall play
that you have given out on a march, as the soldiers sometimes do, and
been left behind for the Sanitary people to see to."
In went sulky Mr. Fuzz, and on trundled the ambulance till a golden
green rose-beetle was discovered, lying on his back kicking as if in a
fit.
"Dear me, what shall I do for him?" thought Nelly. "He acts as baby
did when she was so ill, and mamma put her in a warm bath. I haven't
got my little tub here, or any hot water, and I'm afraid the beetle
would not like it if I had. Perhaps he has pain in his stomach; I'll
turn him over, and pat his back, as nurse does baby's when she cries
for pain like that."
She set the beetle on his legs, and did her best to comfort him; but
he was evidently in great distress, for he could not walk, and instead
of lifting his emerald overcoat, and spreading the wings that lay
underneath, he turned over again, and kicked more violently than
before. Not knowing what to do, Nelly put him into one of her soft
nests for Tony to cure if possible. She found no more patients in the
garden except a dead bee, which she wrapped in a leaf, and took home
to bury. When she came to the grove, it was so green and cool she
longed to sit and listen to the whisper of the pines, and watch the
larch-tassels wave in the wind. But, recollecting her charitable
errand, she went rustling along the pleasant path till she came to
another patient, over which she stood considering several minutes
before she could decide whether it was best to take it to her
hospital, because it was a little gray snake, with a bruised tail. She
knew it would not hurt her, yet she was afraid of it; she thought it
pretty, yet could not like it; she pitied its pain, yet shrunk from
helping it, for it had a fiery eye, and a keen quivering tongue, that
looked as if longing to bite.