They're high-born, I'm sure; but wot's keeping them starving here in
Nunsford is wot _I_ can't tell."
"And you've give more credit?" said the sharp voice of his wife, as that
lady's thin figure appeared in the doorway of the shop parlor. "Well,
Searle, you _are_ easy took in."
"Never mind, Sairey," answered Searle. "I couldn't look at that child's
white face, and let her go 'ungry."
Mrs. Searle slammed the parlor door expressively, while her husband
turned to watch the arrival of some more distinguished customers.
Meanwhile the American girl was hurrying on in the wintry twilight down
the High Street of the quaint old town, where the lamps were just
beginning to be lighted, and where many people, hastening homeward with
that expectant look that seems to mean a cheerful fireside and cozy
supper, made the young girl think sadly of her own desolation. Nora
Mayne had a stout little heart: she was accustomed to trying to feel
brave, to forcing herself to think cheerfully both of the present and
the future, but I am afraid that just then it seemed rather hard work.
She and her mother were almost at the end of their resources, friendless
and alone in a strange English town.
As she went along, slackening her pace a little as she passed the dear
old Abbey Church, Nora thought over the last year, deciding in her own
mind that it had been a great mistake to try their fortunes in England.
Just a year before, Mr. Mayne's death left his widow and child with a
few hundred dollars, and almost no friends, in a Connecticut village.
Mr. Mayne had been a visionary man. Nora remembered brief periods of
luxury, followed by want and loneliness. Her life had been a wandering
one, for Mr. Mayne rarely staid long in any one place; and the girl was
early accustomed to leading a lonely life among her books, not caring to
make friends she might leave on the morrow. At her father's death Nora
and her mother had come to England, hoping to find employment among some
of the widow's early friends. Mrs. Mayne's girlhood had been spent in
England--a bright, luxurious period, of which Nora never tired of
hearing; but death, and the long silence of years, had scattered all
traces of that happy past. The associations of twenty years before
seemed to have vanished as though the whole story had been a dream.
Months passed in London and in the little town of Nunsford, which Mrs.
Mayne remembered in that happy "long ago," and now mother and daughter
were living from week to week, no longer hopeful, only waiting for some
chance to take them home again. Meanwhile illness had been added to
their trials; Nora had the new misery of seeing her mother suffer while
she vainly searched for some employment. Day after day she returned to
their humble lodging tired and disappointed; yet even on this evening,
feeling it so difficult to face the future with any hope, there lurked
somewhere in the dim corner of her heart a confidence in "to-morrow."
Nora only allowed herself to linger a moment by the old church. It was
her favorite haunt; the gray walls, the bit of cloister, the solemn
pathway with its tombs and archway of leafless trees--how she loved it
all! It was so like the pictures she had seen of England--so peaceful,
when her heart was full of anxieties, so bright on the winter mornings,
with sunshine among the fir-trees and the ivied door outside, and a
flood of light from the old stained-glass windows within! Nora had
learned to know every nook and corner near the old abbey; and how great
was her delight the day she found a short-cut from the High Street, past
the grayest wall, the end of the grammar school with its quaint bit of
thatched roof, and around by the beautiful brick-walled Deanery garden.
That Deanery garden was another source of comfort to little Nora. She
fancied all manner of stories connected with it. She knew that once the
house had been a monastery, and, later, a famous manor, and now it
looked as if it might contain any romance, however picturesque or
poetic.
It was a beautiful old house, with many turrets and gabled ends. It
stood in the midst of a garden that even in winter-time seemed to have a
bloom of its own. There are many winter flowers in Devonshire. These
colored the Deanery garden faintly, and filled the girl's heart with
pleasure as she caught glimpses of them on her lonely walks. Sometimes
the garden gate stood open; often in passing, Nora saw the Dean's
daughters with their governess going in or out. Once as she stood in the
morning sunshine that fell warmly on the brick wall, Nora had seen an
invalid lady carried out to a Bath-chair, followed by a tall servant in
livery and a pretty, slim young girl. The lady had a beautiful face
framed in white hair; she flashed a look on Nora in her shabby gown
standing in the cruel sunlight--a wistful, pathetic little figure, with
something worth remembering in her eager eyes. The young lady at her
side was drawing on a long glove, and Nora saw the sparkle of her pretty
rings. In spite of the lady's wan face, it all suggested comfort, and
prosperity,' sunshine, warmth; the _green_ things of life seemed to
little Nora to be shut in, and to come out of that quaint old garden.
She stood still, fancying herself unseen, as the lady was placed in the
Bath-chair, her young companion arranging her fur wraps comfortably.
"Thanks, dear," the lady said, in a sweet low voice. Then she glanced
back at some one within the Deanery garden. "Penelope is with me," she
said, smiling.
"That is her name, then," thought the little watcher, sighing, as the
Bath-chair was wheeled away. "And what a lovely face! what a sweet way
she had with the poor lady! Oh, but it is easy to take care of sick
people who have plenty of money!" cried the poor child to herself,
thinking of her mother in need at home.
But Nora never saw "Penelope" again. She watched often, wondering if the
pretty young figure would not appear in the garden or out of the old
wall door. Gradually she began to think of her as a "story-book"
girl--some one to build up a romance about, while her own life was
dragging on with such bitter anxieties.
Nora's destination was not very far from the Deanery. It was an
old-fashioned Berlin wool shop, the upper floors of which were let in
lodgings. She passed the shop window quickly, and entering by a side
door, hurried up the old oak staircases to a room on the top floor. A
fire was burning low, faintly illuminating the dreary room, with its
stiff furniture and inartistic decoration. Mrs. Mayne was pillowed in an
easy-chair before the fire.
"Here I am, mamma," said Nora, cheerfully; "and now you shall have a
good cup of tea."
Mrs. Mayne answered with a faint smile; but it pleased her to watch her
daughter's lithe figure moving quickly about, as she stirred the fire
into a brighter blaze, made the tea, and wheeled a little table into the
glow. Nora's languid looks were always reserved for the moments she was
by herself. She kept up a cheerful flow of conversation while the kettle
boiled, and she prepared a second cup of tea, and toasted a fresh round
of bread to tempt her mother's appetite.
A sharp little knock sounded on the door.
"That is Mrs. Bruce," exclaimed Nora, bending over her mother's chair,
as the door opened on the fat, good-humored-looking figure of their
landlady.
[Illustration: MRS. BRUCE ASKS A FAVOR.--DRAWN BY E. A. ABBEY.]
"I beg your pardon, 'm," said Mrs. Bruce, standing still, with folded
arms, "but _could_ miss do me a favor?"
"Certainly," exclaimed Nora.
"Then _would_ you mind stopping harf an hour in the shop for me? I must
go hout, and there ain't a soul to leave in it. There won't be a many
coming in at this hour. If you'll come down with me, I'll give you a
hidea of some of the prices, though most of the things is marked."
Nora eagerly assented, and leaving the candle and a book near her
mother, she followed Mrs. Bruce down the staircases to the Berlin wool
shop, which was comfortably warmed and lighted. A broad window full of
gay wares fronted the street. Within were the usual contents of such a
shop--Berlin wools, fancy-work, patterns, and the like. Nothing out of
the common, but for Nora Mayne the shop always possessed a curious
fascination.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
[Illustration: SUMMER-DAY QUERIES]
[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]
UNION GROVE, WISCONSIN.
In one of the April numbers of YOUNG PEOPLE I noticed an article
entitled, "How to Build a Catamaran." It reminded me of the
catamarans I used to see on the surf at Madras, and I thought the
boys would like to hear something about them. The name catamaran is
taken from two Tamil words, meaning literally "tied trees." Along
the coast of South India and Ceylon hundreds of catamarans may be
seen dancing up and down the sparkling surf. They are made of three
or four mango logs fastened together securely with ropes made from
the palmyra-tree. Sitting on deck as our ice-ship, the _Robert_,
approached Madras, it looked as if there were a great many dark
figures standing on the water. The boats were invisible, and only
the figures seemed coming closer, until they drew so near that we
could see under the water the logs on which the fishermen were
standing. Every man had a long pole in his hand, with which he
guided his curious craft. The fishermen were nearly naked, so that
getting wet did not trouble them very much. The hot Indian sun
poured down on their heads, but they did not seem to mind it.
Often when sitting on the veranda of our sea bungalow in Ceylon,
looking over the blue waves of the Bay of Bengal, we would see the
fishermen wade out from the shore, dragging their catamarans until
they reached deep water, when, gracefully skipping on, off they
would go, paddling skillfully over the white caps of the surf, till
they almost disappeared in the blue distance. After a while they
would come safely back, balancing their rudderless barks carefully
till they were beached on the sand. Then they would go to the bazar
or market with the fish they had caught, the long pole resting on
their black shoulders. Probably the readers of YOUNG PEOPLE would
not enjoy a sail on a catamaran in India, but the little Hindoo
boys enjoy it very much, and are expert and daring in the
management of their boats.
There is another queer craft, called a "dhomy," of which you may
hear at another time.
ÉMILE DE R.
* * * * *
OTTAWA, KANSAS.
We have a very kind cousin who sends YOUNG PEOPLE to my little
sister. During the days of "Toby Tyler" one of our intimate friends
came up every Thursday to read the story with us. One of us would
read aloud, pausing now and then to wipe away the tears which
_would_ come. Every morning when papa went down town my little
three-year-old sister would say, "Don't forget to bring 'Toby'
to-night." I am very glad Mr. Otis is writing another story.
We used to have a hen which we called Speck. In one of her broods
was a white chick, whose name was Minnie. When Minnie was half
grown, Speck had some more little ones, which Minnie seemed to
think were as much hers as they were Speck's. Whenever she had
anything to eat she called them to share it, and really took as
good care of them as Speck did. While Speck was sitting on the
eggs, Minnie would get on the nest behind her. One day papa went
out to the chicken-coop, and Speck with her brood was on one of the
nests, covering as many chicks as she could with one wing, while
little Miss Minnie on the other side was covering as many as she
could with _her_ wing.
The other day some little swallows fell down through the chimney
into the fire-place in mamma's room. They were too young to fly, so
we put them in a basket, and hung it on a tree. The mother bird
heard their cries, and came and fed them, but in two days the poor
things died.
It has been warmer here lately than ever before in Kansas.
EVELYN.
* * * * *
LUZERNE, WARREN COUNTY, NEW YORK.
Although I wrote once before, and my letter was not published, I
will try again; for I know the Editor must be very busy if he reads
all the letters the young people send to Our Post-office Box. I
enjoy all the stories very much. "Mildred's Bargain" was excellent.
An Indian was here lately who had three rattle-snakes. He got them
from Lake George, and was trying to tame them, but one of them bit
him. To cure him they had to give the poor man liquor to drink till
he was intoxicated.
BELLE N.
* * * * *
WILLIMANTIC, CONNECTICUT.
I must tell you about my poor pet kitty. She was black and white,
and I thought her splendid, but she was run over by a train, and
there were some very sober faces here that day, you may be sure. I
have a dog now. His name is Prince, and as he does not like
kittens, we have to get along without any. He is eight years old.
We have had him about a year.
My brother George is six years old, and I am nine, and we both take
great comfort in reading YOUNG PEOPLE.
MARY W. H.
We are very sorry so dreadful a fate befell your little kitty. If Prince
were younger, you might teach him to be friendly with Madam Puss and her
kits; but as he is eight years old, which is a quite dignified and
"settled" age for a dog, you will have to let him keep his opinions. A
kind, intelligent dog is, we think, as satisfactory a pet as a cat.
* * * * *
EDNA, MINNESOTA.
I have been meaning for a long time to write to YOUNG PEOPLE, and
thank the young friend who sends me the paper. I enjoy reading it
very much, as I do all other good reading matter. I am driving
three horses on a sulky plough. I have broken thirty acres of
prairie this summer. I have to strap myself to the seat, as I have
no legs to steady me. I like this work, and am very sorry the
season is so nearly over.
ELMER P. BLANCHERD.
* * * * *
The tragic fate of a family of bantams is touchingly told in these
rhymes by a little correspondent:
THE LITTLE PRIZE BANTAM.
Nine little bantams were pecking at the shell;
One got free too soon, and fell down the well.
Eight little bantams nestled close at night;
A weasel snatched one, and fled out of sight.
Seven little bantams wandered in the lane;
A hawk pounced on one; it ne'er was seen again.
Six little bantams were eating crumbs of bread;
A greedy bantam took too much, and fell down dead.
Five little bantams were playing in the barn;
The horse stepped on one of them, but did the rest no harm.
Four little bantams watched the ducks swim;
One tumbled over the pond's grassy rim.
Three little bantams were in their mother's care;
A rooster pecked one, and then were left a pair.
Two little bantams trod the world together;
Cook killed one of them, and pulled out every feather.
One little bantam, brave in colors rare,
Won the very highest prize at the county fair.
L. G. R., Louisville, Ky.
* * * * *
CHELSEA, MASSACHUSETTS.
I would like to tell the readers of YOUNG PEOPLE about a pretty
pair of white mice which my father gave me. About a month ago, when
I went to feed them, I found a very cunning little one in the nest.
He has grown to be almost as large as the big ones. Last Friday I
was away all day, and when I came home I went to play with my pets,
when I found five more little ones.
The next evening I heard a noise in the kitchen, and when I went to
see what it was, I saw my cat with the poor little mother mouse in
her mouth. When she saw me coming she started to run, but I caught
her by the tail, and got it away from her. Alas! it only lived a
few seconds. Oh! I felt dreadfully.
I tried to feed the little ones, but they were so young they could
not eat, and they grew so weak that my mother said it would be a
mercy to drown them. I felt very sad about this, but I put them in
a box, and that in a pail of water, and they were soon out of their
misery. I buried them in my garden, under my plum-tree. I have only
two left.
My father would not allow me to punish the cat, because he said it
was her nature. I have, besides my mice, two cats and a canary. My
brother has three rabbits. He has gone this afternoon to get me a
turtle.
L. B. G.
* * * * *
BAY RIDGE, LONG ISLAND.
We have two dogs, and we call them Tip and Becky. We have a Polly,
and she is sick. I had a paroquet, but a cruel dog killed it. This
is my first letter to any paper, although I am twelve years old.
JENNIE B. F.
* * * * *
NEWARK, NEW JERSEY.
I am a little boy ten years old. I have taken the YOUNG PEOPLE only
three weeks, and I like it very much. "The Cruise of the 'Ghost'"
is splendid. I liked it so well that I borrowed the back numbers,
and read it all through. I am very sorry that the President was
shot, and I want to tell you that he does not forget the boys and
girls. I wrote him a letter telling him I was very glad that he was
elected, and he in return sent me a handsome photograph of himself.
I think all the more of it now, and if he should die, money could
not buy it.
MILTON W. D.
* * * * *
VERONA, ITALY.
When I was in Milan I went to the National Exposition, and there I
saw how silk was made from the very beginning--a thing which
interested me very much. The silk-worm was feeding upon the leaves
of the mulberry-tree. Afterward it wound about itself an oval ball
of silk, which is called a cocoon. The cocoon was then put into
boiling water to kill the worm and find the end of the silk, which
was wound off by machinery in large skeins. The natural colors of
the cocoons are white, buff, and yellowish-green. The skeins are
dyed to make the other colors of silk used. Some of the cocoons
were saved until the worm changed into the butterfly, and then the
butterfly was put into a lace bag to lay its eggs, which next
spring will produce more silk-worms.
I saw ribbons of different colors of silk being made; also saw the
manufacture of satins and velvets. All the women and girls who were
working at the machines wore the same kind of head-dress; it was
composed of silver pins, fastened at the back of the head, and
standing out like a fan.
In the evening I went to the Gallery of Victor Emanuel, which is a
favorite place for those who wish to promenade. It is several
blocks long, and in the shape of a cross, with stores on all sides,
and the buildings quite high. Over all is an arched roof of glass,
which at night is brilliantly lighted by gas, making it look very
pretty. I watched the way they lighted up the dome: a man wound up
a little locomotive, which went round on a track with a lighted
torch, and in a few minutes the gallery was as bright as day.
ALBERTO D. W.
* * * * *
CHARDON, OHIO.
YOUNG PEOPLE is given me by my good grandpa. I gave him a
pocket-knife which I found. I was five years old in April, and can
not yet read, though I know all my letters, can make every one of
them with a pencil, and can spell my name.
Both papa and mamma were formerly teachers. They and grandpa read
the pretty stories aloud, and I look at the pictures.
My little sister, nearly two years old, has black eyes and curly
hair. We play together, feed the chickens, make mud pies, and swing
under the apple-tree. We have a steady horse named Betty, and a
frisky two-year-old colt; two pussies, Tabby and Topsy; and Topsy
has two kitties. Grandpa wants to go to New York, and get
acquainted with Harper & Brothers.
BESSIE H.
* * * * *
ORPHANS' HOME, ROCHESTER, BEAVER COUNTY, PENN.
My uncle began sending me your paper last fall, and I like it very
much. I am an orphan, and live at the Home in this place. It is a
beautiful house, situated on a hill from which we have a very
extensive view, seeing ten miles up and down the Ohio River. Last
week we had examination in our school, and now we have vacation for
two months. We have a large play-ground, several games of croquet,
and a swing. I like "Paul Grayson," "Toby Tyler," "Mildred's
Bargain," and "The Cruise of the 'Ghost'" best of all your stories.
I was thirteen years old the 19th of March last. Can you or any of
the readers of YOUNG PEOPLE inform me how many cities in Egypt
spoke the language of Canaan?
LUELLA M. H.
The language of Canaan was substantially the same as Hebrew. In this
sense it was spoken in no Egyptian city. The Phoenician language
spoken in Carthage was closely allied to the Hebrew. The Egyptian
language itself shows a similar resemblance both to the Phoenician and
Hebrew.
* * * * *
DETROIT, MICHIGAN.
I am deeply interested in the YOUNG PEOPLE, and think it is not
only a paper from which much pleasure may be derived, but also one
from which we can learn a great deal. I do not suppose this will
find its way to the Post-office Box, but I shall feel much
gratification if it does. I am thirteen years old. I have eight
pretty rabbits, which are very cute.
FRANK L. W. B.
* * * * *
VICTORIA, TEXAS.
If Mrs. Alice Richardson would like some numbers of YOUNG PEOPLE,
she is welcome to some of mine. Jimmy Brown writes funny stories. I
like "Toby Tyler," "Mildred's Bargain," "Susie Kingman's Decision,"
and "Aunt Ruth's Temptation" best of all. I would like to tell the
little readers something about our birds. There is a mocking-bird
that builds in our honeysuckle every spring. The dear little
humming-bird sips the honey of our flowers.
SADIE E. S.
* * * * *
GERMANTOWN, NEW YORK.
I am twelve years old, and this is my first letter to the
Post-office Box. I think "The Cruise of the 'Ghost'" is splendid.
My cousins were down from Albany, and we camped out for three or
four days. We went fishing, and set our lines one night, and we
caught an eel two and one-half feet long. Papa made me a present of
a new set of harness. He lets me drive one of our horses, because
it is gentle.
E. C. R.
* * * * *
BURLINGTON, KANSAS.
I live on a farm. My papa has a sheep ranch. I have a little
brother six years old. I am ten myself. I have a pony, and a pet
bird that will fight with me. When he wants to fight, he chirps to
let me know. It is quite warm here now, with little rain. I think
Judith W.'s letter was splendid.
GRACIE MAY B.
* * * * *
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK.
I have a little silver-fish for one of my pets, and every morning
when I change the water I give him a fly. He has become so tame
that he will take it out of my fingers, and as the fall is coming,
I don't know what I shall feed him with. Will you please tell me
what I can give him?
I think the Jimmy Brown stories are splendid. Papa asks me every
Tuesday if there is anything by Jimmy, and if there is, he reads it
aloud to us.
I am glad that Mr. Otis has written another story for YOUNG PEOPLE.
His stories are so natural, and so very interesting!
Can you tell me where Swaffham is? I think it must be in some of
the British Possessions, for the postmark is on an English stamp.
If you will please answer my questions, I shall be very much
obliged.
MAMIE E. F.
A prepared fish food is sold at the bird stores. We have given it to
gold and silver fish, and they like it. Swaffham is a town of England,
in Norfolk. It is situated on a height, and is one of the best-built
towns in the county.
* * * * *
PLYMOUTH, NEW HAMPSHIRE.
I am a boy eleven and a half years old, and the son of a Methodist
minister. We have a beautiful home at the foot of the White
Mountains, on the banks of the Pemigewasset River, about one
hundred miles south of Mount Washington, and over one hundred miles
north of Boston. I am collecting curiosities. I have already nice
specimens of zinc, lead, amethyst, beryl, gypsum, agate, etc.,
among the minerals, also arrow-head, ivory-nut, Florida moss, etc.
I hail the coming of your paper with delight, and long for Tuesday
to arrive and bring it.
FRED S. K.
* * * * *
ABILENE, TAYLOR COUNTY, TEXAS.
I am a little girl nine years old, and I live out on the Texas and
Pacific Railroad, sixty-five miles from Fort Concha. I often find
very lovely butterflies, white with brown-streaked wings. We see
beautiful antelopes when we are out riding. Mamma has a phaeton,
and a gentle horse called Frank. Josie and Earle (my two baby
brothers) and I take long drives with mamma. There are many
tarantulas here, resembling large hairy spiders. I have killed
several. We sometimes see whole families of prairie-dogs--papa,
mamma, and the little ones--on top of the hill, beside their holes,
as we pass, and they bark loudly till we are close to them, when
they wag their tails, and scamper off into their hiding-places.
We had to go out and fight prairie fire the other day. It came
within a dozen rods of our home. We beat it out with coffee sacks.
I wish to exchange Texas moss, soil, and stones, for shells.
HATTIE W. MCELROY.
* * * * *