THE MAGICIAN
The triumvirate sat under the old cedar tree at Crofts, and once more
they discussed the important affairs of the little world at Wootton
Beeches. It was the first Saturday in the term; and Auntie Anna, true
to her promise, had invited Jean and Angela to drive over and spend
it with Barbara. The spring had come in with a rush, and May had dawned
in such a flood of warm sunshine that the child was able to pass most of
her time on a couch in the garden. The Doctor, in spite of the ten miles
that lay between his house and Crofts, came nearly every day to see how
she was; and he hinted at a promise of crutches in ten days' time, after
which she was to go away to the seaside and get strong enough to return
to school at the half-term. It was very nice, Barbara thought, to see
the Doctor so often, now that she was so much better and did not really
need him; but Christopher was very sarcastic on the subject.
'S'pose you think he comes to see _you_, don't you?' he remarked
scornfully; and when pressed by Barbara for a more definite explanation of
the Doctor's actions, he condescended to add: 'Once a chap gets engaged
to a _girl_, it's the _girl_ who's at the bottom of everything he does!'
The day was so hot that Kit and Bobbin came out to join the others under
the cedar tree, and they flung themselves on the grass in different
stages of exhaustion. Now and then, they threw in a lazy contribution
to the conversation that was going on over their heads, though at first
this related entirely to the number of new girls, the alterations in
the classes, and other bits of school gossip. Then, however, it took a
personal turn, and Christopher's comments grew satirical.
'Has anybody asked after me?' inquired Barbara.
'What a question!' scoffed Christopher. 'A kid like you!'
'They have, though,' declared Jean, making a great effort to overcome her
shyness of Barbara Berkeley's clever brother. 'Everybody did, first thing.
You'd never think the Babe had only been there one term.'
'Oh, well, that's because she smashed herself up,' said Kit, cheerfully.
'Girls always fuss over you, if you kill yourself ever so little.'
'They _don't_, Kit,' objected Babs.
'Guess what Margaret Hulme said about you yesterday,' put in Angela,
eagerly. Angela was not nearly so shy as Jean, and, much to Barbara's
astonishment, Kit found her 'better fun' in consequence. It seemed a
little strange that the genius of the family should not be able to
appreciate the amazing qualities of Jean Murray.
'What did she say about me?' asked Barbara, only to be interrupted by
another jeer from Christopher.
'Never knew such cockiness as the Babe's,' he laughed, tilting his straw
hat a little more over his eyes.
'Babs always thinks that everybody's always talkin' about her,' added
Bobbin, in his shrillest voice.
Barbara stretched as far as she could, and managed with difficulty to
knock off Kit's hat with the end of a stick. Robin was out of reach, so
she contented herself with frowning at him severely, and then leaned
back again and began to fan herself with her handkerchief. Everything
made one feel hot this afternoon. 'What did Margaret say about me?' she
repeated curiously.
'It was when I was waiting to put away her books, just before dinner
yesterday,' Angela related with eagerness; 'or was it before tea? No!
I think it was before dinner, because----'
'Oh, get on, Angela, do!' interrupted Jean, impatiently. Even the presence
of Barbara Berkeley's clever brother, which was paralysing her, could
not keep the leader of the junior playroom from snubbing Angela.
'Well, she said Babs was the most popular girl in the school,' continued
Angela. 'She did, honour bright, and I'm _not_ exaggerating, Jean. She
said it to Ruth Oliver, and Ruth Oliver said: "Isn't it queer? Such a
little kid, too." And Margaret said: "That's just it, stupid!" Then she
saw me listening, and she told me not to listen but to make myself scarce;
and of course I wasn't listening at all, I was only----'
'There's nothing new in _that_' interrupted Jean, looking superior.
'Everybody knows that the Babe----' Here she caught Kit's eye, and
stopped hastily. She was not sure that she liked Barbara Berkeley's
clever brother; he had such a queer way of looking at one. Nobody in
the junior playroom ever made her feel like that.
Barbara was in deep perplexity. 'Is that why every one clapped, then, on
the night of the display?' she said wonderingly.
Christopher looked in mock reproach at Angela. 'You shouldn't have told
her,' he said. 'She won't be fit to speak to for a month now.'
'Oh, don't, Kit!' retorted Barbara, more from habit than because she
really resented his words. As a matter of fact she had hardly heard them,
for she was busy puzzling things over in her mind. 'I can't think what it
all means,' she went on; 'every one used to complain of me so. There was
Mary Wells, for instance----'
'Oh, Mary Wells _adores_ you!' cried Angela, in her effusive manner. 'She
said so directly you broke your leg.'
Barbara puzzled still more. 'I don't understand about Margaret Hulme a
bit, though,' she observed. 'Only the day before the display, she told
me I was a little nuisance, because I didn't hear her the first time she
spoke to me; so of course I thought she hated me!'
'That was before you broke your leg, though,' explained Jean.
'She _adores_ you now,' added Angela.
Kit and Bobbin burst out laughing, but Barbara went on puzzling, and did
not notice them. Adoration at Wootton Beeches seemed to spring from the
strangest causes. After being more or less neglected for a whole term
by the greater part of her school-fellows, it was at least surprising
to be suddenly placed on a pinnacle of fame, just because she had broken
her leg. If she had only guessed at Angela's envy of that same broken
leg--an envy that was probably shared by half the junior playroom--she
might have been still further amazed.
The boys strolled indoors to find Auntie Anna and to beg for tea in the
garden; and the conversation under the cedar tree grew more intimate.
Jean came out of her shell, and talked about her home in Edinburgh in a
way she had never done before, even on half-holidays at school; and
Angela, in her turn, gave an elaborate description of her eldest
sister's drawing-room dress, and of the longing it had aroused in her
own frivolous little mind to be presented at Court herself.
'And so I shall be, some day; mother says so!' she announced, spreading
out the folds of her rough serge skirt, and seeing it in imagination many
times its length and composed of shimmering satin.
'I shan't,' said Jean, regarding her with scorn. 'I don't want to be
presented. Any stupid idiot can put on a white satin dress, miles long,
and grin at Queen Victoria. _I_ want to be clever like father, and get a
degree at college, and lecture to thousands and thousands of people,
and----'
'Oh, don't be like that, Jean,' interrupted Barbara, earnestly. 'If you're
going to give lectures you'll have to go away from all your children, for
months and months and months, and leave them to break all their legs,
all by themselves, and--oh, it _is_ so horrible to break your leg all
by yourself!'
'Poor dear,' said Angela, ready as usual with a tearful and demonstrative
sympathy.
Jean was much too wrapped up in her future to sympathise with anybody.
'I dare say I shan't have any children,' she said, seized with a happy
inspiration. 'You can't have everything, and I'd much sooner have a
degree.'
Barbara looked at her in some doubt. 'That's all very well,' she remarked,
'but you'll be jolly dull if you don't look out. _I_ don't mean to go
without children; I'm going to have millions of 'em--all boys--see if I
don't! Then we can always be sure of having enough for sides, without
inviting strangers to come and play. You can never be sure how strangers
are going to play, and sometimes they spoil the game, and that's a bore.'
'If you have boys of your own, you'll be a mother; and if you're a mother,
you won't join in the games at all. Mothers only sit and look on, and send
the ones to bed that can't agree,' said Angela, with an air of experience.
'I don't advise you to be a mother, Babe,' added Jean, earnestly. 'You'll
have to mend such a lot of socks, and p'r'aps make babies' clothes
too; and you've been a whole term getting round the hem of one flannel
petticoat, as it is.'
'You _can_ get things ready-made,' answered Barbara, but her tone did not
sound hopeful. She had to own sadly to herself that she was not cut out
for a mother, and she fell back on the more practical futures of other
people. 'Wilfred's going to be a doctor, after all,' she told them, with
great pride. 'Auntie Anna says she'll stand all the money that father
can't, and he's going to St. Thomas's--Will is, I mean. Isn't it awfully
splendid?'
Her friends murmured something appropriate, but they were not deeply
interested in the career of Wilfred. At school, the girls' conversation
was largely made up of details of this kind; but Crofts was not school,
and neither Jean nor Angela felt inspired to carry on the discussion.
Babs, however, failed to notice their want of enthusiasm. Everything was
happening exactly like the fairy story she had planned, the fairy story
that had begun in the old London house, on the day that a certain
dragon had entered it as a fairy godmother; and for the moment she was
back again in her own kingdom, where the old witch still wandered
about in her steeple-hat, in the company of Kit the prince, and where the
twice-disenchanted beast was placing a crown on the charming head of
the princess who had waited so long for him, and where a crowd of other
princesses, after breaking their heads and their legs and suffering
numerous unpleasant penalties of the kind, had at last returned from
their banishment and were hailing the child herself as their queen. But
one familiar figure was still missing from her fairy kingdom; and the
little queen came sadly back to the world under the cedar tree, with a
sigh and a murmured remark about 'America' and 'lectures' that her
listeners only half understood. They recognised the Babe's very natural
wish for her father's return, but they did not know how the wish had
grown into a longing since her accident, during the weary days in which
there had been no school to distract her, and nothing to do but to think.
'He'll be back in two months, won't he?' asked Jean, meaning to be
sympathetic, though her manner was awkward.
'Two months!' echoed Babs, dolefully, 'What's two months?'
'It's years, isn't it?' responded Angela, with her accustomed inaccuracy.
Having secured their sympathy, such as it was, Barbara allowed herself to
become more doleful still. 'He must have missed all our letters, too,'
she sighed. 'The last one he sent us was from some awful American place,
that Kit says is in the map if you've got a month to look for it, only
you haven't!--and he never told us where to write next, and he didn't say
a word about me. So he's not even heard yet that I fell off the rings!'
'Never mind, Babs dear,' said Angela, consolingly; 'think how _proud_ you
will be when you can tell him all about it yourself.'
Not appreciating the distinction of having broken her leg quite so warmly
as Angela, Babs did not respond; and the arrival of tea, and with it
every one from the house, made her give up the immediate attempt to pity
herself. After all, people who went away to America to lecture could
not leave their children to break their legs by themselves for ever; and
meanwhile, there was home-made cake and strawberry jam under the cedar
tree.
It was in the middle of tea, just as Robin, with a wavering hand, was
conveying a second cup to Babs, that the wonderful event happened. Jill
had the best view of the house from where she sat at the tea-table, and
her sudden exclamation interrupted the jeers of the others over Robin's
strenuous performance.
'Such a funny-looking man is coming up the drive!' she remarked. 'He's
wearing the very oddest kind of clothes, too--a sort of Inverness cape,
and a squashy brown hat. And do look at the way he is walking, with his
arms swinging about--just like Peter, when he's in a hurry.'
'He must be a tramp,' said Angela, giggling.
Everybody looked round, except Barbara, who made a plaintive request, that
nobody heard, for her couch to be wheeled into a different position.
Then Auntie Anna gave a little shriek, and dropped her pince-nez into her
lap.
'Bless my soul!' she cried, fumbling for them in an agitated manner. 'Why,
it looks exactly like--I do believe--look, Jill! Your eyes are younger
than----'
The boys were sharper than Jill, though, and they settled the question
at once in their own riotous fashion. Barbara's second cup of tea fell
with a crash and a splash, before she could reach out her hand for it,
and her two brothers rushed shouting and screaming across the lawn. In
another instant they had disappeared in the folds of the Inverness cape;
and Angela Wilkins realised with a shock that she had called Barbara
Berkeley's father a tramp!
* * * * *
'Well, Everard, and what have you to say for yourself?' demanded Auntie
Anna, in a severe tone, as soon as she could make herself heard. For quite
ten minutes, every one had been talking at once.
'What have I to say?' repeated Mr. Berkeley, with his eyes twinkling.
'Why, plum-cake, to be sure! You haven't offered me any tea yet.'
His sons nearly wrecked the tea-table in their efforts to be first in
supplying his wants; and Auntie Anna gave up the attempt to be firm.
'Well, well,' she said, shaking her head, 'you always were incorrigible,
Everard! But what about the end of your lecturing tour?'
'There won't be any end, as far as I'm concerned,' smiled her brother,
devouring plum-cake with avidity.
'But--but what did they _say_ to your extraordinary departure?' cried
Auntie Anna.
'I didn't give them time to say much,' answered Mr. Berkeley. 'The boat
was starting in a couple of hours, you see.'
Auntie Anna threw up her hands. 'Of all the improvident, hot-headed----'
she was beginning, when the change of expression in her brother's face
silenced her. He held out his cup to her with a pathetic look.
'You always forget,' he said. 'Two lumps, please.'
The boys flung themselves upon the sugar-basin, and more than two lumps
found their way into his cup. Jill took the opportunity to present
Barbara's friends to him, and Mr. Berkeley smiled and said something
genial to both of them, which made Jean forget at once how shy she was and
drove away the last bit of Angela's confusion over her stupid mistake. But
his attention soon wandered back to his children, and he stirred his
tea and beamed upon all three of them alternately, until the others began
to feel that they were in the way. His eyes rested longest of all upon
Babs, who lay on her couch with an expression of complete contentment
on her face; and Auntie Anna saw, and understood.
'I said all the while it was madness to write and tell you about it,' she
grumbled.
Mr. Berkeley chuckled. 'I never got your letter till last Wednesday week,'
he said. 'It had been following me about from place to place. Poor little
Babe!' he added, pinching her cheek softly; 'what a shame to let you
knock yourself about, when your poor old father wasn't there to take care
of you!'
Auntie Anna smiled grimly. 'No one could very well be less capable of
taking care of her,' she remarked.
Robin clambered on his father's knee and hugged him afresh.
'Why _did_ you come home, father?' he cried, raising his voice higher than
ever.
Mr. Berkeley looked mildly surprised. 'Can't you guess, sonny?' he asked.
'Do you suppose I could stay another minute in somebody else's country,
when I heard that my little girl was ill over here?'
Jill got up rather suddenly, and offered to take Jean and Angela round
the garden; and Auntie Anna grasped her blue-knobbed cane, and rose
slowly to her feet. Before she went off, however, she shot one more
question at her brother in her most abrupt manner. 'What about your
luggage, Everard?' she demanded. 'Where have you left it?'
Mr. Berkeley reflected a moment. 'I _think_ it was Boston,' he began
doubtfully, 'but it may have been----'
He did not finish his sentence, for the old lady shook her head in
despair at him and hobbled off towards the house. Barbara watched her
retreating figure, and smiled gently to herself. Auntie Anna might pretend
as much as she liked that she was a dragon, but nothing could prevent
her looking like a fairy godmother!
Her father stroked her rough, tumbled hair caressingly, and smiled back at
her.
'What is it, Babe?' he asked.
The child gazed at him as he sat there, with the two boys clinging to him
as though they would never let him go again; and the whimsical look stole
into her bright little eyes, and lighted up the whole of her small impish
face.
'The magician has come back,' she said, with a happy laugh; 'and there
isn't room to _move_ in my fairy kingdom!'
THE STANDARD SCHOOL LIBRARY.
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BAILEY. LESSONS WITH PLANTS. Suggestions for Seeing and Interpreting
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xxxi + 368 pages.
Here are given entire thirteen episodes from the "Chronicles" of Sir John
Froissart. The text is modernized sufficiently to make it intelligible to
young readers. Separated narratives are dovetailed, and new translations
have been made where necessary to make the narrative complete and easily
readable.
OVERTON. THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER. By Gwendolen Overton. 12mo.
Illustrated. vii + 270 pages.
A story of girl life at an army post on the frontier. The plot is an
absorbing one, and the interest of the reader is held to the end.
PALGRAVE. THE CHILDREN'S TREASURY OF ENGLISH SONG. Selected and arranged
by Francis Turner Palgrave. 16mo. viii + 302 pages.
This collection contains 168 selections--songs, narratives, descriptive
or reflective pieces of a lyrical quality, all suited to the taste and
understanding of children.
PALMER. STORIES FROM THE CLASSICAL LITERATURE OF MANY NATIONS. Edited by
Bertha Palmer. 12mo. xv + 297 pages.
A collection of sixty characteristic stories from Chinese, Japanese,
Hebrew, Babylonian, Arabian, Hindu, Greek, Roman, German, Scandinavian,
Celtic, Russian, Italian, French, Spanish, Portuguese, Anglo-Saxon,
English, Finnish, and American Indian sources.
RIIS. CHILDREN OF THE TENEMENTS. By Jacob A. Riis. 12mo. Illustrated.
ix + 387 pages.
Forty sketches and short stories dealing with the lights and shadows of
life in the slums of New York City, told just as they came to the writer,
fresh from the life of the people.
SANDYS. TRAPPER JIM. By Edwyn Sandys. 12mo. Illustrated. ix + 441 pages.
A book which will delight every normal boy. Jim is a city lad who learns
from an older cousin all the lore of outdoor life--trapping, shooting,
fishing, camping, swimming, and canoeing. The author is a well-known
writer on outdoor subjects.
SEXTON. STORIES OF CALIFORNIA. By Ella M. Sexton. 12mo. Illustrated.
x + 211 pages.
Twenty-two stories illustrating the early conditions and the romantic
history of California and the subsequent development of the state.
SHARP. THE YOUNGEST GIRL IN THE SCHOOL. By Evelyn Sharp. 12mo.
Illustrated. ix + 326 pages.
Bab, the "youngest girl," was only eleven and the pet of five brothers.
Her ups and downs in a strange boarding school make an interesting story.
SPARKS. THE MEN WHO MADE THE NATION: AN OUTLINE OF UNITED STATES HISTORY
FROM 1776 TO 1861. By Edwin E. Sparks. 12mo. Illustrated. viii + 415
pages.
The author has chosen to tell our history by selecting the one man at
various periods of our affairs who was master of the situation and about
whom events naturally grouped themselves. The characters thus selected
number twelve, as "Samuel Adams, the man of the town meeting"; "Robert
Morris, the financier of the Revolution"; "Hamilton, the advocate of
stronger government," etc., etc.
THACHER. THE LISTENING CHILD. A selection from the stories of English
verse, made for the youngest readers and hearers. By Lucy W. Thacher.
12mo. xxx + 408 pages.
Under this title are gathered two hundred and fifty selections. The
arrangement is most intelligent, as shown in the proportions assigned
to different authors and periods. Much prominence is given to purely
imaginative writers. The preliminary essay, "A Short Talk to Children
about Poetry," is full of suggestion.
WALLACE. UNCLE HENRY'S LETTERS TO THE FARM BOY. By Henry Wallace. 16mo.
ix + 180 pages.
Eighteen letters on habits, education, business, recreation, and kindred
subjects.
WEED. LIFE HISTORIES OF AMERICAN INSECTS. By Clarence Moores Weed. 12mo.
Illustrated. xii + 272 pages.
In these pages are described by an enthusiastic student of entomology
such changes as may often be seen in an insect's form, and which mark
the progress of its life. He shows how very wide a field of interesting
facts is within reach of any one who has the patience to collect these
little creatures.
WELLS. THE JINGLE BOOK. By Carolyn Wells. 12mo. Illustrated. viii + 124
pages.
A collection of fifty delightful jingles and nonsense verses. The
illustrations by Oliver Herford do justice to the text.
WILSON. DOMESTIC SCIENCE IN GRAMMAR GRADES. A Reader. By Lucy L. W.
Wilson. 12mo. ix + 193 pages.
Descriptions of homes and household customs of all ages and countries,
studies of materials and industries, glimpses of the homes of literature,
and articles on various household subjects.
WILSON. HISTORY READER FOR ELEMENTARY SCHOOLS. By Lucy L. W. Wilson.
16mo. Illustrated. xvii + 403 pages.
Stories grouped about the greatest men and the most striking events in our
country's history. The readings run by months, beginning with September.
WILSON. PICTURE STUDY IN ELEMENTARY SCHOOLS. By Lucy L. W. Wilson. 12mo.
Illustrated.
Ninety half-tone reproductions from celebrated paintings both old and
modern, accompanied by appropriate readings from the poets. All schools of
art are represented.
WRIGHT. HEART OF NATURE. By Mabel Osgood Wright. 12mo. Illustrated.
This volume comprises "Stories of Plants and Animals," "Stories of
Earth and Sky," and "Stories of Birds and Beasts," usually published
in three volumes and known as "The Heart of Nature Series." It is a
delightful combination of story and nature study, the author's name
being a sufficient warrant for its interest and fidelity to nature.
WRIGHT. FOUR-FOOTED AMERICANS AND THEIR KIN. By Mabel Osgood Wright,
edited by Frank Chapman. 12mo. Illustrated. xv + 432 pages.
An animal book in story form. The scene shifts from farm to woods, and
back to an old room, fitted as a sort of winter camp, where vivid stories
of the birds and beasts which cannot be seen at home are told by the
campfire,--the sailor who has hunted the sea, the woodman, the mining
engineer, and wandering scientist, each taking his turn. A useful family
tree of North American Mammals is added.
WRIGHT. DOGTOWN. By Mabel Osgood Wright. 12mo. Illustrated. xiii + 405
pages.
"Dogtown" was a neighborhood so named because so many people loved and
kept dogs. For it is a story of people as well as of dogs, and several of
the people as well as the dogs are old friends, having been met in Mrs.
Wright's other books.
YONGE. LITTLE LUCY'S WONDERFUL GLOBE. By Charlotte M. Yonge. 12mo.
Illustrated. xi + 140 pages.
An interesting and ingenious introduction to geography. In her dreams Lucy
visits the children of various lands and thus learns much of the habits
and customs of these countries.
YONGE. UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. By Charlotte M. Yonge. 12mo. Illustrated.
xi + 589 pages.
A story of the captivity of Mary Queen of Scots, told in the author's best
vein.