wanted a lunch or a nap; but it was a rule with him never to stay there
quietly if he was fastened in. So long as the door of the cage was open,
he was perfectly contented; but when it was closed, he would dance back
and forth, scolding and screaming, until, for the sake of peace and
quiet, one was quite willing to unfasten the door.
Bobby trotted gravely over the entire house, never offering to go
out-of-doors when the windows were open, although he sometimes surveyed
the street from the window-ledge. No one was ever more punctual at the
table than this same saucy Bob; the back of a chair served him as a
seat, and a cake with a quantity of plums in it was regularly put on the
table for his especial benefit. He was very well behaved at meal-time,
except when the plums were baked in too hard, and then he would pull and
tug at the offending dainty until, it coming out suddenly, he would
tumble on his back, with the plum held tightly in his beak.
At twilight his favorite position was on my shoulder, where, with his
little body as close to my neck as possible, he would remain until
driven away.
But it was in the library, the room in which he was first introduced to
the family, that he most liked to stay. There, perched high on the desk
while his master was writing, he would gravely watch the work, or,
tiring of that, amuse himself by dragging pencils or pen-holders to the
edge of the desk, and pushing them off. With his head tipped on one
side, he would watch the fall of the articles, his little bright eyes
fairly twinkling with mischief and pleasure.
It was when the story of Toby Tyler was being written that Bobby
appeared to settle down into a grave and sedate citizen, acting very
much as if he thought he was aiding in the work. He would sit quietly on
the pen rack until the book was opened and the writing begun; then he
would hop down on the open page, watching every movement of the pen,
singing over and over again two or three soft notes, as if giving
advice, only stepping from the book when it was necessary to turn the
pages. In this manner Bobby would pass hour after hour, until he thought
he had been neglected too long, when he would peck and strike at the
pen, as much as to say that it was time he was attended to. Then he
would fly back and forth from the desk to the closet where his grapes
were, calling loudly for his favorite fruit. From one end to the other
of the table he would roll the grapes, after eating all he wanted,
almost as if he were having a regular game at ball.
After having been thus feasted and amused, Bobby would take up his
position on the book again, standing there on one leg until he was so
sleepy that he could hardly keep erect, but never attempting to go to
bed until the book was closed. Of the many pages of manuscript that made
up the story of Toby, there certainly were not more than four or five on
which he had not perched somewhat after the fashion of general
assistant; and his life was ended very shortly after his work on the
story was done.
In November, at about the same time Toby's story was begun in YOUNG
PEOPLE, little Bobby disappeared. All search for him was vain, and we
grieved sorely for him, believing some strange cat had devoured him.
Each one in the house missed the poor little fellow almost as much as if
he had been a child, and for many days Bobby's perch on the desk,
without its bright-eyed occupant, made the room seem too lonely for
work.
A few weeks ago the heavy draperies that had been hanging at the windows
were taken down to give place to lighter ones for the summer; and there,
far up, at one corner, under the cornice, with his feet caught in the
ravelled edges of the lace curtains, was the body of poor Bobby. He had
probably crept up there in search of flies, been imprisoned by the
threads, and died, the heavy covering over him preventing his cries from
being heard.
It was a sad ending to the little life which made that home bright,
whose walls have never echoed to the music of childish voices and the
patter of tiny feet.
A SUMMER SHOWER.
BY GEORGE COOPER.
"Hush!" sighed the leaves;
"Hurry, birds, hurry!
See yonder sheaves
All in a flurry."
"Come under quick,
Grasshopper, cricket!"
Whispered the vines
Down in the thicket.
"Hide," lisped the grass,
"Lady-bug, spider;
Ant, here's a place;
Fly, sit beside her."
"Rest, katydid,
Here in my bushes;
Butterfly, too;
How the rain rushes!"
Why, there's the sun!
Hark the birds singing,
"Good-by, dear leaves,
Off we'll be winging."
"Bee," smiled the rose,
"Thank you for calling;
Drop in again
When the rain's falling."
[Begun in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 80, May 10.]
SUSIE KINGMAN'S DECISION.
BY KATE R. McDOWELL.
CHAPTER IV.
"May-party day at last!" cried Susie, dancing gayly about her room.
"School ended, and now for a splendid time to-day!" As she went toward
the window the sweet June air was coming softly in, the birds, too, were
singing, and unconsciously she found herself chanting, "Let everything
that hath breath praise the Lord." Then, stopping suddenly, "Why, that
reminds me, I forgot to turn over to a new leaf in my _Silent Comforter_
before breakfast. Oh, surely it's the 20th, and I've come round again to
that verse with 'In honor preferring one another' in it, which perplexed
me so. How this month has flown! It seems at once the longest and
shortest I remember. To think Florence is so changed a girl! Why, she
really seems like one of the family, rushing in and out at all times,
bringing or sending mamma flowers every day; and the girls all like her
so well, and wouldn't need any urging _now_ to vote for her. Why, there
she is this minute!" as a pretty phaeton stopped at the gate.
"Could the day be finer?" called Florence, as she tied the gray pony. "I
thought I saw you drinking in this air, when I was at the turn in the
road about half a mile off. Come, bring your hat and take a drive with
me. I've something very important to tell you," and she opened the gate
to take some rare flowers to Mrs. Kingman, who was sewing on the piazza,
with the baby playing near her chair. Florence took the little one in
her arms, begging it to say her name. "She can not get any farther than
'Flo,'" said Mrs. Kingman, putting aside her work to go and arrange her
flowers.
"That's what my sister Bessie always calls me," said Florence, kissing
the little one more tenderly.
"When are you going to show me the picture of that wonderful Bessie?"
asked Susie, straightening out the daisies on her hat as they went
slowly down the walk.
"I should have brought it over this morning if I hadn't something else
on my mind to tell you."
A moment later the pretty pony was carrying the young girls along at an
easy gait, pricking up his ears occasionally, as if to catch the drift
of the gay chatter going on behind him.
"By-the-way," Florence was saying, "I found this scrap of paper on the
floor this morning when I was over at school," handing it to her
companion. "The girls were all clearing out their desks--"
But Susie had read the few pencilled words, and looked aghast: "_Vote
for F. T. We're all going to. S. K. wishes it._"
The pony was walking leisurely along. Florence had dropped the reins;
her arms were about Susie's neck. "To think I never suspected it!" she
said, kissing her.
"I never wanted you to know," said Susie, "and if it hadn't been for
Sadie's carelessness--"
"Oh, I'm glad I _do_ know--just as glad as can be, and I can never thank
you enough."
"I don't deserve any thanks at all," protested Susie; "and if I did, I
felt fully repaid when your uncle offered his grounds, and looked so
kindly at--"
"Yes," said Florence, "and from that moment my life changed entirely.
Oh, Susie, you can not imagine how lonesome I used to feel, for uncle
seldom spoke to me, and I felt that I never could get used to so many
strange faces, and I kept wishing myself back with Bessie. But no; our
home was broken up. When papa died, mamma only lived a week longer, and
after that, where were we to go? Mamma's sister Rebecca was with us at
the time, and offered to take one of us, which was a great deal, for
she has a large family of her own, and then she wrote to uncle to take
the other. He chose me, because I was named after mamma, and I suppose
he fancied I would look like her, whereas Bessie is her very image.
Well, when I got here, uncle met me at the dépôt, asked one or two
questions, and then we rode to Maplewood without another word. I was too
homesick to talk. So things went on, one day exactly like another, with
simply a Good-morning and Good-night to begin and end up the day. I
often found money and other presents in my room, and, oh! how I longed
to send each thing on to Bessie, but I really was afraid to ask if I
could. But I must hurry on to the red-letter day of my life, the 20th of
May. That day, at dinner, after the scene at school, uncle praised my
high standing, and began to ask me about Bessie. I showed him her
photograph, and he looked a long time at it, murmuring something about
'Florence of long ago,' and asked me if she didn't look a great deal
like mamma. 'Everybody used to speak of the wonderful resemblance,' I
answered. 'Well,' said he, 'we must have a larger picture of her.' And
what do you think he has done? _Sent on to have Bessie's portrait
painted_, and I'm to have it for my room."
"The tears are for joy," continued Florence, in answer to Susie's
earnest, "Oh, this is enough! don't tell me any more."
"Uncle grew more and more kind. He seemed to enjoy planning for the May
party, and you'll see this afternoon some of the arrangements he has
made. It has given him something to think of, which Dr. Folger said
yesterday was the best thing in the world for one of his melancholy
disposition. Uncle has said again and again, 'I'm glad you take an
interest in your studies; it pleases me greatly.' And, Susie, I know all
this happiness would never have come to me unless the girls had voted
for me that day as they did. I know they used to think me selfish, for
one morning--"
"What! you heard what Sadie said?"
"Yes; but I've made up for it since, haven't I? For I haven't been alone
once since the day uncle said, 'You can take whoever you choose when you
go out.' By that time I had lost all fear, and kissed and thanked him.
And so things have gone on, each day better than the last. Uncle handed
me a telegram this morning, which read, 'The portrait is on the way'; so
we expect it by the first express. Susie, I can never thank you--never,
as long as I live; all I _can_ do is to tell you that, next to Bessie, I
love you best of any one on earth."
There was a great lump in Susie's throat. She was crying softly, with
her cheek against Florence's. At the gate Mrs. Kingman met them.
"Tell your mother all about it," called Florence, touching up the horse;
and Susie did.
* * * * *
"To think it's all over!" said Susie, about seven o'clock that evening,
as they were going down to supper. "Didn't Florence look lovely?"
"No lovelier than a certain maid of honor that crowned her," said papa,
drawing Susie toward him.
"Well, didn't the Squire appear delighted?"
"Yes," said Mr. Kingman, "I think he was; but I doubt if he was as happy
as I"--with a loving look at his little daughter--"for mamma had been
telling me something."
"And you were glad?" she asked, nestling closer.
"Far more than to have seen you Queen"--kissing her. Then taking a spray
of delicate green from a vase near by, "I will crown you myself;" and he
tenderly twined it round her head.
But the day was not yet done. A sharp ring was heard soon after at the
door, and Susie, on hearing Sadie's breathless "I must see Susie right
away," darted into the hall.
"Have you heard?" gasped Sadie, handing her a note.
"No--what?" questioned Susie, in the same excited tone, grasping the
paper, and pulling Sadie into the library. She turned up the light,
which fell upon the words:
"Oh, Susie! the portrait has come, _and it's Bessie herself_! She has
come to Maplewood _to live_. I'm the happiest girl on earth. Bessie says
_she_ is, and we owe it all to God through _you_."
"_I_ am happier than either," said Susie, a great joy lighting up her
face. "Isn't it like a story, Sadie?"
[Illustration: BESSIE'S PORTRAIT.]
"Yes," said Sadie, excitedly. "I was there when she came. The Squire
came to Florence's door and asked, 'Shall I bring in the portrait?' We
looked around, and there stood Bessie. I shall never forget Florence's
face as she rushed forward, nor the Squire's as he said, 'She has come
to live with us, Florence.' The first I knew I was crying away as hard
as could be, Florence was on her knees, the Squire had his arm round
Bessie, and--and--"
"What next?" asked Susie, her face growing more and more bright as she
listened.
"Oh, they're _so_ happy! When I came away, the Squire had an arm around
each, and said, 'I've got two daughters now'; and they made a lovely
picture. Nothing in the May party compared with it. Then Florence said,
'Won't you take this note to Susie, as you go by her house, and tell her
how happy I am, if any words _can_ tell?' But how late it's getting!
Good-by." Then, coming back: "I forgot to say they want you to come over
the first thing in the morning. Florence told her uncle that it was
through your unselfishness that she was made Queen, and she keeps saying
she _owes Bessie to you_. I don't half understand it, but I know it was
lovely in you to give up the honor;" and off she ran.
"I can hear the word _honor_ now, and not shut my ears to it," thought
Susie; and with Florence's note in her hands, and papa's crown on her
head, she murmured, "My cup runneth over."
THE END.
[Illustration]
A FABLE FOR SMART LITTLE BOYS.
There was a little Hottentot
Who wandered in a shady spot,
Beside a sluggish river's brink,
Where savage beasts came down to drink,
When suddenly he ran across
A monstrous, grim rhinoceros.
The little blackamoor was pert,
And not afraid of being hurt;
So, without any hesitation,
He entered into conversation,
And, just to make his smartness clear,
Began to ridicule and jeer:
"My gracious! what an ugly beast!
Your skin is all begrimed and creased
And what a nose for shape and size,
With a great horn between the eyes!"
Whereat that big rhinoceros
Just gave his nose a little toss,
His funny little critic eyed
With grim good-humor, and replied:
"My nose, young darky? take a look
At yours, reflected in the brook:
Now tell me what you think of _that_?"
"Mine? Why, 'twas beautifully flat
When I was born; my mother's care
To give me a distinguished air
Has broadened it to what you see,
And made my playmates envy me."
"Yes, made you quite a beau! But hark 'ee,
You most impertinent young darky,
And let me tell you I was made
With this huge form, and thus arrayed
With a great horn upon my nose,
To serve as warning to all those
Who poke in other folks's platters,
And make free with their neighbors' matters.
I've half a mind--'twould serve you right--
To toss you fairly out of sight.
I'm coming for you now! Here goes!
Say, now, how do you like my nose?"
"Oh, don't, you dear, good, lovely beast!
I didn't mean it in the least;
You are the sweetest beast I know,
And every one will tell you so."
"You little impudence! begone!
Quick, or my nose shall help you on!"
That frightened little Hottentot
Departed on a lively trot.
[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX]
LYNN, NORTH CAROLINA.
I am nine years old. I have a little baby sister named Jeanne. We
had to leave papa, and come here with mamma for her health. We have
a little mule named Kit, that is very little and gentle, and we
ride it nearly every day. Kit just suits these mountain roads. The
mountains are very high and beautiful. A great many people come
here with their little boys and girls, so I always have playmates.
We go fishing and riding. I have a garden of my own. I study part
of the day, then I play, and have a good time. Strawberries are
ripe now, and peaches will be ripe in June on the mountains in what
they call the thermal belt, where the frost has not killed them as
it has in other places this year.
Just now the mountains are covered with flowers. There are azalias,
kalmias, rhododendrons, wild phlox, and other flowers, and many
trees are blooming. Mamma says she never saw so many flowers in her
life. When you look up the mountain from below, it looks like the
made pyramids of flowers we have at home in the city, only so much
bigger. I wish everybody could see. Papa sends me YOUNG PEOPLE, and
I am delighted with it.
FRED J. T.
* * * * *
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK.
The other afternoon papa took my little sister Annie to Mr.
Barnum's circus, and I want to tell YOUNG PEOPLE the joyful news
she brought when she came home. She rushed into the house in great
excitement, calling out: "Oh, mamma, mamma, Mr. Stubbs isn't dead,
because Mr. Barnum has got him all safe and well! I saw him myself
in a big wagon, and Toby Tyler was there talking with him." Annie
has mourned bitterly over the sad death of the poor monkey, and
since she went to the circus and saw him alive, she has been a much
happier little girl. She says a dozen times a day: "I'm so glad Mr.
Stubbs didn't die! I knew they couldn't be so _cooel_ as to let him
die!" She tells everybody that comes to the house that Mr. Stubbs
is alive, and that Mr. Barnum has got him all safe.
I don't know what we children would do without YOUNG PEOPLE. We can
hardly wait for Tuesday night, when papa brings it home.
H. C. L.
* * * * *
BETHLEHEM, NEW YORK.
I want to tell YOUNG PEOPLE about my guinea-fowls. I wish all the
little readers could see them. They have such lovely spotted
feathers, and such cunning little heads, and they make such a
funny, screeching noise that they frighten away the chicken-hawks.
I wish I could send all the little girls some of their pretty
feathers.
I am eleven years old, and my music teacher says I can play the
piano very well.
I. L. K.
* * * * *
BURLINGTON, VERMONT.
I have an Excelsior printing-press. I have not had it very long,
but I have earned a few dollars with it. My uncle has a
printing-office, and three or four presses. I like to go and watch
him print, and I like to print myself very much.
We have a summer-house on the shore of the lake, and a boat. We go
there in the long vacation, and stay two or three months. I have a
great deal of fun. I own a sail-boat about two feet long. It sails
splendidly.
FRANK P. L.
* * * * *
MARSHALLTOWN, IOWA.
We take YOUNG PEOPLE in our school because the teacher says "it
gives her ideas." We have lately organized a club in our school
called the "Little Pitcher Club," so named, I suppose, because all
its members are "little pitchers with big ears."
We are bound by our by-laws to relate once a fortnight some story
or incident which we have heard or read, in a natural manner, and
in our own language, and subject to the fiercest criticism from the
rest of the class, who pounce upon us like little tigers as soon as
we are done. It is great fun, I think. We have a fine large
play-ground, and the School Board have kindly given us permission
to lay it out in flower-beds, one for each room, and there are four
in the building. Our room is going to try for the premium offered
at our county fair for the best set of letters from any school in
the county, and we get a good many ideas from the Post-office Box
in your little paper. The teacher says some of the letters printed
there are models of correct letter-writing, and she chooses one
every week for us to study and copy. We hope you will print this
letter. Your little friend
CARRIE A. (eight years).
* * * * *
BROOKLYN, E. D., NEW YORK.
A number of boys and girls, readers of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, have
corresponded with me about an object which no doubt would prove
interesting and instructive to them. The object was, viz., a
Natural History Society, composed of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE readers
residing in all parts of the world where its welcome visits extend.
My idea is that an organization of this kind would prosper much
better if it was taken up by the boys and girls themselves. So I
leave it in their hands, and would request that if they are in
favor of such an association, to send their ideas, suggestions, and
questions to the Post-office Box.
CHARLES H. WILLIAMSON,
President of the Young Chemists' Club.
* * * * *
LIMA, NEW YORK.
I was born in India. My father is a missionary there now. Two years
ago he sent me here to my grandpa's, and I like it very much. I am
nine years old. I have saved money enough to take YOUNG PEOPLE all
myself.
HARRY L MCM.
* * * * *
I have no more arrow-heads to exchange, but I will exchange moss
from the mountain cliffs, ore, periwinkles, and mussel shells from
the river; or flints that will strike fire, for ocean shells, a
piece of lava, or foreign postage stamps.
C. D. MANSFIELD, Merville, Powell Co., Ky.
* * * * *
I would like to exchange coins, minerals, stamps, shells,
postmarks, woods, butterflies, and other curiosities, for foreign
stamps. Please send stamps, and I will pick out what I wish, and
return the others with curiosities equal in value to the stamps I
keep.
FRANK B. ELDREDGE,
P. O. Box 458, Attleboro, Mass.
* * * * *
We wish to notify correspondents that we have no more arrow-heads
to exchange, and hope no one will send things requesting
arrow-heads in return. We will now exchange lead ore, quartz, and
flint, for other minerals and Indian relics.
JOHN L. and MINNIE SCOTT,
P. O. Box 39, Frankfort, Franklin Co., Ky.
* * * * *
After the 1st of June I can make no more exchanges.
JULIE WICKHAM,
338 Lexington Avenue, New York City.
* * * * *
I have received three Chinese postage stamps from New York city,
but as the sender did not give any name, I can not return
specimens.
AMELIA FRINK, Marshall, Calhoun Co., Mich.
* * * * *
I have received some things from a boy in Beattie, Marshall County,
Kansas, but he did not sign his name. I will send him his
sulphurates as soon as he sends me his name.
GEORGE HAWES,
73 Gilbert Street, Bridgeport, Conn.
We have often endeavored to impress upon the minds of our young readers
the importance of giving full name and address when writing a letter
requiring an answer. Every day the Post-office Box receives letters
requesting exchange, often concluding with, "Please, Mr. Editor, make
room for this," and in their anxiety lest their letter be not printed,
the boys and girls often forget to sign their request, and except for
the postmark on the envelope, the editor would never know in what part
of the world the careless little correspondent lived. Now there are a
great many of you watching every paper for your exchange. You are sure
you wrote it clearly, and in every number you see others asking for the
same thing you asked for, so you know your exchange was not against the
rules. You can not understand why it is not printed. It never will be
printed, because you forgot to give your name and address; and if you
wish to exchange your stamps or other things, you must write again, and
be more careful than before.
* * * * *
I have no more arrow-heads, but I hope to have some soon, and will
send them to correspondents who have written to me.
WILLIE G. WHITE,
Yorkville, York Co., S. C.
* * * * *
Louis Treadwell, Redding, Connecticut, and Nat B. Blunt, New York city,
withdraw their names from our exchange list, as they have no more
specimens.
* * * * *
The following exchanges are offered by correspondents:
Rare foreign and United States postmarks, for rare coins or Indian
relics.
CLINTON C. ANDREWS,
Kirkwood, St. Louis Co., Mo.
* * * * *
Pink and mushroom coral, ivory nuts, three kinds of South-Sea
beans, or Mexican, Western coast, and South-Sea shells, for shells.
Only good specimens desired.
J. S. ARNHEIM,
Drug Store, 248 Oak Street, San Francisco, Cal.
* * * * *
Postmarks.
CLARENCE L. AVERY,
Herkimer, Herkimer Co., N. Y.
* * * * *
A Chinese coin, for twenty foreign stamps. A Japanese coin, for
forty foreign stamps. A stone from Ohio, for one from any other
State.
WILLIAM ALTER,
P. O. Box 790, Kenton, Hardin Co., Ohio.
* * * * *
German, French Republic, Great Britain, Holland, Hong-Kong, India,
or Roman States stamps, for a 90-cent United States, issue of 1851,
a 30-cent due stamp, issue of 1879, a 1, 10, 12, 15, and 24 cent
Interior Department, or a 1, 7, 10, 12, 24, 30, or 90 cent Navy
Department.
J. C. STEWART,
P. O. Box 64, Bound Brook, N. J.
* * * * *
Silver of the United States, for silver of any other country except
Canada.
EDSON T. BOYD,
P. O. Box 41, Harmony, Chautauqua Co., N. Y.
* * * * *
Some coins over a hundred years old, for other curiosities.
ED. BYNON,
37-1/2 Vickroy Street, Pittsburgh, Pa.
* * * * *
Stamps from India, for those of any other foreign country except
South America.