that sudden fashion; it seemed like a dream to her that she found
herself walking over the familiar ground to the Deanery garden, Miss
Harleford uttering rapid, although but half-intelligible, explanations,
and saying, from time to time, "Now don't talk yet, Nora; you are all
worn out, I can see."
But how had time passed with her since she and her mother had left Mrs.
Bruce's kindly shelter? Nora made no effort to unravel the mystery of
her silence until she was seated in the elder Miss Harleford's room.
With her usual impetuosity Penny had gone directly to her aunt, holding
Nora by the hand, and introducing her briefly and joyfully as:
"Nora Phillips's daughter. We found each other, aunt," cried Penny,
still rather inclined to be tearful.
Then Nora's bonnet and cloak were removed. She was seated in a
comfortable chair before the fire, and presently a cozy tea-tray heaped
with delicacies was at her side, Penny declaring she was to be feasted
on everything good the Deanery larder contained. Neither of her two new
friends was surprised to hear that Nora had been violently ill since she
bade good-by to Mrs. Bruce. The widow and her daughter had gone to
London, trusting to find employment in the large city; but there, in the
poor lodging they had found, Nora fell ill, a low fever prostrating her
just as her mother most needed her help.
"As soon as I got better," said Nora, "I began to think of seeing Mrs.
Bruce--I had a fancy she might give me work in her shop. I was afraid to
write, for fear that her hard-hearted son would not let her have the
letter, and then--it was queer," added Nora, with a little flickering
smile--"I was so sure that screen was bought for you, I made up my mind
to try and find you, and perhaps you would let mamma have it again--the
loss of it always grieved her--and perhaps you might give her work.
Often and often when I was so ill and weak I used to think of the garden
here, and fancy I could hear your name, '_Penelope_,' and then
everything seemed to be confused, and I fancied you were with me. As
soon as I was better I persuaded mamma to let me come here. You know we
have had to sell nearly everything we own, and to buy my ticket down
here I sat up two nights working for our landlady in London. She is an
actor's wife, and I helped her in making some costumes; but you don't
know the feeling I had about seeing you. I kept saying to myself over
and over, 'Penelope, Penelope--I will find her.' And so I did, for I was
just coming from the train when I saw you. Oh, I could not help speaking
your name aloud!"
"And how glad I am that you did!" cried Penelope, pressing Nora's hand.
"Well, I'm sure it has all turned out beautifully, and all through
Lion's thought of me--dear old Lion!"
The Deanery was in a state of pleasurable excitement that evening. First
of all, a trusted old servant was dispatched to London to bring Mrs.
Mayne back with her. What solid comforts went with old Harriet only she
and Penelope knew; but certain it is the actor's family feasted on good
things for a week to come. Then Penny established Nora in a pretty room
near her own, insisting upon her going to bed, as she was so utterly
exhausted. Nora lay still in the soft white bed, thoroughly happy, in
spite of the queer sense that she must be dreaming. When Penelope left
her alone, she raised herself in bed, gazing around at the pretty
chintz-hung room, smiling at the reflection of her own face in the long
mirror opposite. Finally she fell into a comfortable sleep, that now
familiar name mingling with her dreams. Aunt Letitia, coming in to look
at the girl, heard the name on her lips, "Penelope," and she said to
herself, "Yes, I know Penny is doing just what her dear father would
like."
What Penny was doing just then was to make her uncle feel for once he
was the guardian of a very self-willed young lady. During dinner-time
Penny discoursed eloquently upon the Maynes, repeating Nora's story with
many exclamations of her own, and winding up by asking her uncle to
grant her an hour alone in his study.
The Dean consented, wondering what his bright, impulsive Penelope had in
her mind to say to him, and he was not surprised when she declared her
intention of assuming full charge of the Maynes.
"I have nothing in the world to do," said Penny, making a little grimace
as she sat in the lamp-light of her uncle's study; "and just reflect,
uncle, what a responsibility a fortune like mine is. Why, it ought to be
considered in _trust_, nearly all of it, for other people. I never felt
half so interested in any one as I am in Nora Mayne. Now I'll tell you
what I propose: I shall ask Nora and her mother to pay me a long visit
at Harleford. There I can manage it so that Mrs. Mayne will not feel
herself dependent. You know how much there is to do; and I will
regularly agree with Nora that she is to be my companion at a fixed
salary, don't you see? If it turns out badly, you, are at liberty to
send them back to America, if you will manage that they have a sum
settled on them which they will never know comes from me. Now, uncle,"
added Penny, laying her pretty cheek against the Dean's, "you may as
well give in first as last."
The Dean had known from the outset that Penelope would have her own way,
but I think a few words Miss Letitia spoke to him decided the question
in his mind. Something she told him of their elder brother's story. "And
_he_ would have cared for her child," said the gentle little lady with a
sigh. So Nora Mayne awoke at the Deanery in a new position. She was
brought into the breakfast-room by Penelope, who was proud of her new
friend, and the Dean welcomed her with gentle courtesy. He was
thoroughly pleased, he admitted to Penelope, by the American girl's
manner. Evidently her companionship would not be an injury to his
beloved niece.
Nora Mayne often speaks of that bewilderingly happy day. By eleven
o'clock she and Penelope were in the Deanery carriage on their way to
Mrs. Bruce's. The elder girl had made Nora feel thoroughly at ease about
the favors lavished upon her.
"You see," she said, in a very matter-of-fact tone, "I was just needing
some companion. Here in England we always engage companions for lonely
sisterless girls like me" (a firm pressure of Nora's hand followed
this), "and yet it is _so_ hard to find just the right person.
It has to be"--Penny hastily reviewed what she knew of Nora's
capabilities--"it has to be a young girl who is fond of music, and
charity visiting, and walking, and driving, and studying a great deal.
Perhaps you wouldn't like the place, Nora? Of course you have only to
say so, dear. And the salary I meant to give isn't _very_ large--about
£250 a year. Perhaps your mother and my aunt will decide about it."
What could Nora do but fling her arms around her new friend's neck and
burst into happy tears? And what could she find to say when, an hour
later, as they started for Mrs. Bruce's shop, Penelope placed a little
purse in her hands, whispering, "I thought, dear, you'd like some of
your salary in advance, as you said it worried you so much to owe Mrs.
Bruce."
Mary Jane was busily engaged sorting wools when the Deanery carriage
appeared and its occupants descended. She gave a little scream that
brought her aunt from the back parlor. Through the glass of the door
Mrs. Bruce recognized Nora, and flung the door open widely.
"My bonny lamb!" she cried out, and folded Nora in her arms warmly. What
an hour that was! To behold Nora as Miss Penelope Harleford's chosen
friend was to make her more than ever dear to Mrs. Bruce. The two young
people sat down in Mrs. Bruce's parlor, Mary Jane hovering in the
background, her broad face fairly shining with smiles. But I think the
final triumph was when Mr. James Bruce's swaggering figure appeared in
the doorway, his eyes lighting first upon Nora.
"Well, miss," he said, coarsely, "I hope you've come with our money--our
honest due." He proceeded no further, for the young lady of the Manor
stood up, saying, quietly:
"Miss Mayne has settled with your mother, Mr. Bruce."
His tone changed at once, profuse apologies and the most servile manner
only half covering his mortification. He seemed glad to disappear, and
Nora and her friend enjoyed a hearty laugh over his discomfiture when
they were once more in the carriage. Their next stopping-place was at
Searle's, the grocer, where Penelope insisted that Nora should order
various delicacies to be sent for Mrs. Mayne to the Deanery. Mr. Searle
was all good-humor, and his sharp-faced wife came out of the parlor
rubbing her hands, and bowing a dozen times to the heiress of the Manor,
who was so evidently the friend of their late unprofitable customer.
Penelope took great pains to consult Nora's wishes or opinions on every
point, saying, "Nora dear, shall you care for any more grapes?" or,
"Nora, didn't we decide upon apricot jam?"
Such judicious remarks impressed Mrs. Searle deeply, and of course she
soon learned that the young lady of the Manor was Miss Mayne's dearest
friend.
Nora's joy was complete when, on returning to the Deanery, she found her
mother established in Miss Harleford's room, the two ladies discussing
"old times" with many sighs and pressures of the hand, and many glances
at the two girls who seemed to be living over again the happy past. And
when, before the spring had fairly set in, the party were fairly settled
at Harleford Manor, the Dean himself declared there was nothing to find
fault with in the new arrangement. Penelope's restless little brain had
found something to think about peacefully. Nora's good sense and
American ways made her companionship most desirable. Penelope had no
more hours of nothing to do; Nora gave a stimulus to all the two girls
shared together, and before a year was over the people about Harleford
had learned to acknowledge and respect Miss Mayne almost as completely
as they did Miss Penelope.
[Illustration: "THE MANOR-HOUSE YOUNG LADIES."]
The great grief of Nora's life--her mother's death--was softened by
Penelope's gentle sympathy; and how tenderly were the widow's last days
guarded! After that the bond was permanently strengthened between the
two girls who visit the Deanery as sisters, who are known everywhere as
the "Manor-House young ladies." Even Penelope's marriage, when it
occurs, which every one says will be next year, after "Lion's" Indian
days are over, will not separate the two girls, for Nora is to remain as
"housekeeper and manager" of Harleford. "The consoler-general," Penelope
calls her, and Aunt Letty declares she could not live without her
"American niece."
Mrs. Bruce is a trusty friend of the Manor House, and it is astonishing
how often the young ladies have to buy wools and silks in the little
shop, and how often Mrs. Bates, the real housekeeper at the Manor,
requires the good woman's company to tea. Mary Jane occupies a position
of honor as Miss Harleford's own maid. If ever Nora requires a champion,
she will find one in the honest-hearted country girl.
There is one treasure Nora guards always with a loving care. It is the
little screen, with its faded colors and pretty lettering, and which her
mother's hand held almost in dying. The other day, as I stood in
Penelope's sitting-room, she and Nora and I talked over the story I have
been telling you. Nora was called away, and Penelope followed her with a
loving glance.
"Yes," she said, smiling, "that screen gave me a sister, and taught me
what I never knew before--that even trouble, want, and sorrow can
perfect our natures, and that there is no deeper satisfaction than in
helping one another."
When Penelope had said this, I suddenly realized how my young friend had
changed since she was in London two years ago. All the brightness and
prettiness remained, but she had gained something higher. That evening
dear old Miss Harleford held my hand while the two girls played a duet
in the long old-fashioned drawing-room.
"Nora Phillips's daughter!" she whispered. "She has proved my Penelope's
blessing."
THE END.
EMBROIDERY FOR GIRLS.
BY SUSAN HAYES WARD.
No. VI.
I am sure the girls who read HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE know better than to
ask, as a lady did of me last summer, "Is that worked in the Keniston
stitch?" First, the lady blundered, in forgetting--if indeed she had
ever known--that the Royal School for Art Needle-Work is at South
_Kensington_, England; and secondly, she fell into the mistake--which I
want especially to warn my girl readers against--in supposing that there
is any one stitch called _the_ Kensington stitch. All good embroidery
stitches are or should be South Kensington stitches.
A few years ago, while embroiderers here in America were counting the
spaces on pieces of canvas, or carefully pushing needles in and out of
the holes in perforated paper, pupils and teachers of the new English
school were studying out the many stitches they could find in old
embroidery, and were introducing them into their work. The so-called
"Kensington" stitch is merely a form of stem stitch, taken always in a
manner to fit the leaf or flower to be wrought. Its proper name is
"feather stitch," because the threads are made to look as if they lapped
over one another, like the feathers of a bird's plume. _Opus plumarium_
was its old Latin name. Besides reviving a number of old stitches and
introducing very many choice designs, the Royal School of Art
Needle-Work has taken great pains to secure suitable materials to work
on, and wools and silks of good quality and color with which to work.
For the stitch is not the all-important part of embroidery. No matter
how even and true the stitches, if the color or design is poor, the work
will look _shoppy_, and not artistic. You wish any one who picks up your
work to know at a glance that it is not the handiwork of an ignorant
shop-girl, but of a cultivated little lady, and it is by the design and
colors you choose that you show whether your eye and taste have had good
training.
[Illustration: FIG. 18.]
For a good lesson in color pick out from a bunch of wools the greens
that seem to you a suitable leaf-color. Then bring in a few leaves from
the lawn or garden and lay them beside your wools, and see if the greens
you have chosen are not much too vivid. One of my scholars who made this
experiment some time ago chose the green of a Brazilian beetle's wing, a
color that is only needed in embroidery to give brilliancy to a bug or
to a bird's plumage. The greens of nature are a great deal grayer and
duller than those you will be likely to choose at first. As for design:
In the shops you will find, perhaps, stamped on a single table-cover
daisies, buttercups, cat-tails, clovers, wild roses, and grasses, a
confused and irregular mass; leave out all but one, keep your clover,
for example, and only the leaf of that. Take a real clover leaf, lay it
on a piece of paper, and trace it off, with a closed leaf perhaps
crossing the stem; then stamp, according to directions in embroidery
article No. II., page 75, Vol. II., a row of these, three or four inches
apart, across the ends of a piece of crash or linen for a little
stand-cover, and draw lines for a finish above and below, as in Fig. 18.
Match the color of the leaf as nearly as possible in crewel, and then
work around the outer edge of the leaf, taking a long and then a shorter
stitch (see A), so that the stitches will be even on the edge of the
leaf, but irregular on the inside, and all point toward the stem; leave
the light space, and beginning at the stem, work a few lines of stem
stitch radiating from the stem, with a few extra stitches filled in
where the lines spread apart. A good way to fill in these extra stitches
is to bring the needle back, pointing toward the stem as at B. Afterward
fill in the light space by putting the needle in and out, pointing the
stitches toward the stem, but taking them irregularly according to the
space.
[Illustration: HIDE-AND-SEEK.]
[Illustration: ON THE BEACH.]
[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]
We publish with pleasure the following note from the Rev. G. H.
Houghton, D.D., rector of the Church of the Transfiguration:
_To the Editor of Harper's Young People:_
You were kind enough to print in your number of July 26 a letter in
which it was proposed that some of your young readers should unite
in endowing or supporting a cot in St. Mary's Free Hospital.
Connected with the Church of the Transfiguration, of which I am
rector, there is a society known as the Holy Innocents' Guild. This
guild has for its object the care of poor sick children, and has
furnished within the past year a ward, called the Holy Innocents'
Ward, in St. Mary's Hospital, 407 West Thirty-fourth Street, New
York, where such children can have the kind nursing care of the
good Sisters of St. Mary. It is a cot in this ward that it is
proposed that some of your young readers should unite in endowing
or supporting. The endowing of a cot, which will provide for the
care of a sick child for all time to come, will cost three thousand
dollars. The support of a cot for a year will cost two hundred
dollars.
This statement, if you will print it, will enable all who may
contribute to do so more intelligently.
G. H. HOUGHTON,
NEW YORK, _August_ 22, 1881.
* * * * *
WASHINGTON, D. C.
I have taken YOUNG PEOPLE from the first number, and have found a
great deal to interest me in its pages. My favorite pursuit is the
study of natural history, and I have made a fair collection of
insects, minerals, and shells since coming to this city about three
years ago. I began by collecting insects, among which I have the
following: a polyphemus moth six inches across the wings, a turnus
or tiger swallow-tail butterfly, a large hawk-moth, an Archippus
butterfly, Ajax and Asterias butterflies, a hummingbird moth, and
several cicadas. I have some specimens of the _Mantis religiosa_,
or, as the people here call them, the "rear-horse bug," because
they rear like horses when disturbed. This praying mantis is a
curious insect, and quite voracious, feeding on flies and other
insects. My first collection, which contained a variety of
dragon-flies, was destroyed by mites. I now have my second, as well
as a collection of spiders.
I have explored the District of Columbia thoroughly for geological
specimens. My cabinet now includes rough garnets, petrified wood,
fossilized shells imbedded in stone, crystals, and iron pyrites. I
have a microscope, which affords me many hours of amusement. I have
examined water-fleas, the bell-flower animalculæ, and that
miniature octopus the hydra.
I have had an aquarium, in which the fish were so tame that they
would eat from my hand. I have raised toads and frogs and catfish
from the spawn. I kept a nest of ants for a year in a glass jar,
and diligently studied their habits. I once put a quantity of
powdered cracker near their jar, and after they had discovered it,
and were conveying it home, I placed some sugar near it; but
although they observed the sugar, they finished carrying the
cracker away before they touched the other, though they love sugar.
Ants, as I have read, have their games, beasts of burden, and plans
of defense and assault, marching in columns like armies, and they
undoubtedly possess intelligence of a very high degree. I once
tried to tame a large gray and black spider, but did not succeed. I
found a small paper-making wasps' nest, and pinned it up in my room
shortly after coming to Washington. One day a small wasp with black
wings and red body flew in at the window. No doubt she was out
house-hunting, for on perceiving my wasps' nest, she took
possession, selected a cell, and deposited an egg in it. After this
she flew away, but soon returned, carrying a small gray spider,
placed it beside the egg, and sealed up the recess with some yellow
mud. She then went in search of another spider, which she also
placed in the same cell, but without laying another egg in the
second compartment. Then she began on another cell. There were
seventy cells in the nest, and it was curious to see a mud-wasp at
work in a paper-wasps' nest.
There are many facilities for study in Washington. Here are the
Botanical Gardens, the National Museum, the Smithsonian
Institution, and the Agricultural Museum and Conservatory. There
are several minor museums, and the Congressional Library.
Washington is, in fact, an excellent school to an observing person.
JOHN B. T.
* * * * *
FORT DODGE, IOWA.
Last year I had YOUNG PEOPLE for my birthday present. To-day I am
six years old, and have had given me a knife with a whistle
attached, and a pretty plate to eat ice-cream from. Mamma says it
is pleasant to _give_ things on birthdays as well as to receive
them, so I am going to send ten cents for the "Young People's Cot,"
and when I go to New York again, I hope to visit the hospital, and
see the cot. I live on the Des Moines River, but I was born in
Connecticut. Mamma reads everything in YOUNG PEOPLE to me, but I
hope soon to be able to read it myself.
ALLAN C.
* * * * *
PARKERSBURG, WEST VIRGINIA.
Parkersburg, our Post-office, is situated at the junction of the
Ohio and Little Kanawha rivers. It is growing rapidly, and contains
now about seven thousand inhabitants. We have a pulp factory here,
which manufactures the material for making paper. We also have two
railroads connecting with the town, and we will have a street
railway and two more railroads in a few years. I have been taking
YOUNG PEOPLE, ever since the first number, through the newspaper
dealer. I have induced two other boys to take it, and we all think
it splendid. Mr. Alden, I hope, will favor the readers of the Young
People with a story about canoes.
J. F. H.
* * * * *
BAY RIDGE, LONG ISLAND.
My papa goes to sea. He is first officer of the steam-ship _Colon_,
which goes to Aspinwall, and he brings home shells, bananas, and
cocoa-nuts. Our Polly has been ill, but is now a great deal better,
and laughs and talks as she used to. I can write only with my left
hand.
JENNIE B. F.
* * * * *
CLIFTON, NEW JERSEY.
I live in a beautiful village three miles south of Paterson. I
consider Mr. Otis a splendid author. I am nine years of age. I have
an excellent book on Natural History, by the Rev. J. G. Wood.
SADIE D.
* * * * *
RAPIDAN, MINNESOTA.
The Blue Earth River, on which we live, rose twenty feet above
low-water mark this spring, and logs and blocks of ice floated
away. Among other curious things afloat was a wagon, and a pig-pen
with pigs in it. I am eleven. I have three sisters younger than
myself. My baby sister Maggie, who is only nineteen months old,
cries, "Harp! Harp!" whenever YOUNG PEOPLE comes.
EDITH C.
* * * * *
NEW YORK CITY.
I would suggest that some of the collectors of postage stamps
should turn their attention to butterflies. They cost nothing, and
a child who lives on a farm can easily make a splendid collection
of them. Rare butterflies, and even common ones, are very
beautiful. Butterflies, for sea-weed, would make a good exchange, I
think.
JOHN W. S.
* * * * *
HANOVER, GERMANY.
I thought perhaps some of the boys and girls who read the
Post-office Box would like to know what I have been doing this
summer. Part of the time I have been travelling with papa and mamma
in Switzerland.
We went to a little village named Chamounix. It is at the very foot
of Mont Blanc. The people there ride on donkeys when they are going
up the mountains, the paths being too steep for horses. The
mountains were covered with snow, but down in the valley, where the
village is, it was very warm indeed.
We are now tarrying in Germany for a few weeks to study the German
language. It is very quiet here, but we have seen the ten horses
belonging to the ex-King of Hanover. They are white as driven snow,
and very beautiful. There are also to be seen the carriages and
harness which he formerly used. These harnesses are dark blue and
dark red, with rosettes to match. They were taken from the King by
the Prussian government, and will not be restored until he
renounces his right to be King of Hanover, which the people say he
will never do.
We hope to return in the fall to our home in New York, which is the
best place in the world, if a little girl of twelve years may form
an opinion.
JESSIE C. S.
* * * * *
KENSICO, NEW YORK.