of the warmth and stillness, and half dozed. Mr. North turned a
compassionate gaze on the sad young face which in sleep showed such worn
lines.
"No Holsover blood there!" he muttered.
Mr. North was the only expressman, or carrier, in this very obscure part
of the country. Twice a week he came and went, carrying letters and
packages, as well as occasionally a traveller, to the different villages
of towns about. Once a month he visited Boston. His own house stood on a
country road about three miles from Holsover Farm. There he lived almost
alone, his widowed mother being too infirm to be considered very much of
a companion for a hearty, burly, good-humored man like himself.
The old farm-house in which Miss Holsover lived stood near the
cross-roads. It was a long low building with one story and an attic,
above which rose the slanting roof. Some old trees grew at one side, but
everything about it was dismal and uninviting to visitors. Miss Holsover
said she was glad of this. She liked to shut herself away as much as
possible from her fellow-creatures.
Not a human being in all the country about ever remembered a sympathetic
word or look from her. She was a tall grim woman of sixty, with bushy
eyebrows, gray hair, and thin, bluish lips. What comfort she could take
in life every one wondered, but it was whispered that she was hoarding
money; that if the truth was but known, untold sums lay hidden somewhere
in the old house.
Certainly Jesse Grey saw nothing of the kind. As the boy had said to Mr.
North, he did not know _how_ he had come to Holsover Farm. Jesse only
knew that he had "always been there." There were no dim remembrances in
his mind of any past which did not include the desolate house, and Miss
Holsover's cruel face and figure. The only variations in his
surroundings had been visits from the one human being Miss Holsover had
ever shown any fondness for. This was her reprobate nephew Bill.
The boy had appeared and disappeared so many times in the course of
Jesse Grey's remembrance that he had felt as if he might expect him any
particularly windy night, or any time when things were going on a
little comfortably. For Bill's visits to the farm were his seasons of
terror. Bill was a coarse, violent-tempered lad, who delighted in
terrifying him in every way possible, who forced his so-called aunt into
new cruelties to the helpless child, and who seemed only to know that he
could suffer.
Of late Jesse had begun to wonder when Bill would reappear. Last year,
just at this season, he had suddenly arrived, and how well Jesse
remembered his saying with a coarse laugh that he had come back as a
valentine! What _was_ a valentine? Jesse wondered. He looked at Mr.
North's spacious back a moment before he said,
"Mr. North, can you tell me what a valentine is like?"
Mr. North peered around with a queer smile at his little companion.
"Wa'al," he said, slowly, "there's all kinds. I think it's sort o' good
luck, or good wishes, like as if you wuz to do me a favor. I don't know
as I've seen many in my day. They hev 'em in store winders--paper
things, with Cupids; but they say on 'em, 'I'm your valentine.' Neow ef
eny one wuz to say he wuz _my_ valentine, he'd oughter do me a good
turn; seems to me as if a valentine _oughter_ be good luck."
It was a long speech, and Mr. North delivered it with some difficulty,
flecking his horses with his whip now and then, and apparently taking a
great interest in the weather.
"I wish _I_ could have something like a valentine, then," sighed Jesse.
"Wa'al," said Mr. North, "ter-morrow's the day."
But the boy only laughed sadly.
The dark road suddenly seemed to come to an end. Jesse jumped up and
looked out. There across the fields lay the gloomy brown farm-house. He
felt his heart sink within him as he thanked Mr. North, got down from
the wagon, and taking the basket turned in at the gate.
The door was opened with a click, and Miss Holsover stood there holding
a candle-light above her head.
"'Sthat you?" she said, in a shrill voice.
"Yes," answered Jesse. His entrance into the house was helped by Miss
Holsover giving him a decided push by the shoulders.
Jesse put the basket down, and began at once taking off his coat. In
spite of his rest and little sleep, he was shivering with cold and
fatigue.
"What's the matter?" said Miss Holsover, giving him another shake by the
shoulder.
"I'm wet and tired," said Jesse, timidly.
"Wet and fiddlesticks!" retorted the old lady. "None of that nonsense!
You've plenty to do to-night, let me tell you. I'm goin' across fields."
Jesse knew what this meant. Once in a while Miss Holsover took it into
her head to pay a visit to a cousin of hers living at the next
village--"across fields," as she called it. These nights were the
child's especial horror. Unhappy as was the farm-house _with_ Miss
Holsover, it had an element of terror for the child when he was left
alone--and then on such a night! Jesse stood still a moment looking at
Miss Holsover with dilated eyes, anticipating all the horrors of the
lonely evening; not all the work he knew there was left for him to do
would keep him from being frightened at every gust of wind that blew
around the old house, or moaned in the group of cedar-trees.
"Don't stand gapin' like that," exclaimed Miss Holsover. "Sit down and
eat your tea, and then go out and do your chores."
Jesse obeyed. The supper--some weak milk and stale bread--was soon
eaten, and then he followed Miss Holsover, who laid his work out, and
gave him his instructions for the night. He was to perform the tasks she
had set him, and not think of going to bed until she returned.
Jesse was too well accustomed to the hardships of his life to rebel
against anything. He stood still, listening quietly, and even helped the
old lady to go away in comfort.
Instead of going at once to work, he knelt down a moment before the
fire, thinking about the questions Mr. North had asked him.
Jesse never knew how it came into his head that _perhaps_ there might be
some escape for him. I suppose that in the loneliness of his position
that evening, and with the fear of being by himself in the desolate
house, there came a certain sense that he could do as he pleased. Then,
too, he knew absolutely nothing of the world, and it gradually seemed to
him quite feasible that he should run away, and try to find his real
aunt in Boston.
His plan, childish as it was, developed very quickly. Jesse had an idea
that he could walk very far before morning, and that he might meet Mr.
North somewhere on the way. He knew there was no time to lose, and so,
running up to his little attic room, he began hastily putting together
such things as seemed necessary for his long journey. The book with his
aunt's name was carefully tied up in the bundle. Jesse thought that the
name written there might perhaps help him in some way.
He had only a small bit of candle, and it so happened that this went out
before he had quite finished his preparations. He was standing by the
little dormer window, and almost at once he felt rather than saw the
gleam of a lantern. It was moving, and seemed to come from the barn
loft. In a moment there was a second flash, and this time it illumined a
man's figure.
Jesse shrank back in fear and trembling. Who could it be? But though
afraid of the lonely house, it frightened him still more to think of not
finding out who was in the barn. He hesitated but a moment, and then
sped down stairs, and creeping across the space between the house and
barn, slowly unlatched the door. He was scarcely inside the barn before
he caught the sound of voices. Two men were speaking, and Jesse's heart
sank within him as he recognized one voice as that of Bill Holsover.
The boy's feet seemed rooted to the spot. He was standing just by the
ladder leading to the loft, and in the absolute stillness and darkness
it was easy to hear what the men were saying. The first sentences were
of no importance, but suddenly the strange voice said,
"Do you know where she keeps it?"
Then came Bill's answer: "I'm most sure it's in the cupboard to the
right of the fire-place, under the floor."
"Will there be trouble getting it?"
"Not if we make sure she's in bed. There's that little young 'un around;
but we won't have any trouble keepin' him quiet."
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
BRAN'S CONSCIENCE.
There is not the slightest doubt that Bran had a conscience. No dog who
was not fully aware that he had misbehaved himself, and deeply penitent
on account of it, could have shown so much sorrow and contrition.
We were staying at Yarmouth, and Bran, who was allowed perfect liberty,
was _lost_ for one entire day.
At night, just before the house was shut up, he made his appearance,
very tired and travel-stained. Being met at the hall door, he was
rebuked, and his offered paw not taken, in token that he was in
disgrace.
His nightly resting-place was a cellar, where he had a comfortable straw
couch provided for him, and his usual custom was to run down stairs
immediately to his bed and supper; but on this evening he remained at
the top of the stairs, and cried and whined piteously.
Presently my brother said, "You must come and make it up with Bran, or
the poor fellow will cry there all night."
Accordingly we opened the door, and one by one shook Bran's paw in sign
of forgiveness, whereupon he quietly walked down stairs, and after
eating his supper with avidity, curled himself up on the straw and went
to sleep.
OUR BALLOON.
BY JIMMY BROWN.
I've made up my mind that half the trouble boys get into is the fault of
the grown-up folks that are always wanting them to improve their minds.
I never improved my mind yet without suffering for it. There was the
time I improved it studying wasps, just as the man who lectured about
wasps and elephants and other insects told me to. If it hadn't been for
that man I never should have thought of studying wasps.
One time our school-teacher told me that I ought to improve my mind by
reading history, so I borrowed the history of _Blackbeard the Pirate_,
and improved my mind for three or four hours every day. After a while
father said, "Bring that book to me. Jimmy, and let's see what you're
reading," and when, he saw it, instead of praising me, he-- But what's
the use of remembering our misfortunes? Still, if I was grown up, I
wouldn't get boys into difficulty by telling them to do all sorts of
things.
There was a Professor came to our house the other day. A Professor is a
kind of man who wears spectacles up on the top of his head and takes
snuff and doesn't talk English very plain. I believe Professors come
from somewhere near Germany, and I wish this one had staid in his own
country. They live mostly on cabbage and such, and Mr. Travel's says
they are dreadfully fierce, and that when they are not at war with other
people, they fight among themselves, and go on in the most dreadful way.
This Professor that came to see father didn't look a bit fierce, but Mr.
Travers says that was just his deceitful way, and that if we had had a
valuable old bone or a queer kind of shell in the house, the Professor
would have got up in the night, and stolen it and killed us all in our
beds; but Sue said it was a shame, and that the Professor was a lovely
old gentleman, and there wasn't the least harm in his kissing her.
Well, the Professor was talking after dinner to father about balloons,
and when he saw I was listening, he pretended to be awfully kind, and
told me how to make a fire-balloon, and how he'd often made them and
sent them up in the air; and then he told about a man who went up on
horseback with his horse tied to a balloon; and father said, "Now listen
to the Professor, Jimmy, and improve your mind while you've got a
chance."
The next day Tom Maginnis and I made a balloon just as the Professor had
told me to. It was made out of tissue-paper, and it had a sponge soaked
full of alcohol.[3] and when you set the alcohol on fire the tumefaction
of the air would send the balloon mornamile high. We made it out in the
barn, and thought we'd try it before we said anything to the folks about
it, and then surprise them by showing them what a beautiful balloon we
had, and how we'd improved our minds. Just as it was all ready, Sue's
cat came into the barn, and I remembered the horse that had been tied to
a balloon, and told Tom we'd see if the balloon would take the cat up
with it.
[3] We would caution our boy readers in regard to the terrible results
that may come from pouring alcohol on burning substances. The flame will
catch the stream as it falls, and, mounting to the bottle, accidents of
the most disastrous character may ensue.
[Illustration: "PRESENTLY IT WENT SLOWLY UP."]
So we tied her with a whole lot of things so she would hang under the
balloon without being hurt a bit, and then we took the balloon into the
yard to try it. After the alcohol had burned a little while the balloon
got full of air, and presently it went slowly up. There wasn't a bit of
wind, and when it had gone up about twice as high as the house, it stood
still.
You ought to have seen how that cat howled; but she was nothing compared
with Sue when she came out and saw her beloved beast. She screamed to me
to bring her that cat this instant you good-for-nothing cruel little
wretch won't you catch it when father comes home.
Now I'd like to know how I could reach a cat that was a hundred feet up
in the air, but that's all the reasonableness that girls have.
The balloon didn't stay up very long. It began to come slowly down, and
when it struck the ground, the way that cat started on a run for the
barn, and tried to get underneath it with the balloon all on fire behind
her, was something frightful to see. By the time I could get to her and
cut her loose, a lot of hay took fire and began to blaze, and Tom ran
for the fire-engine, crying out "Fire!" with all his might.
The firemen happened to be at the engine-house, though they're generally
all over town, and nobody can find them when there is a fire. They
brought the engine into our yard in about ten minutes, and just as Sue
and the cook and I had put the fire out. But that didn't prevent the
firemen from working with heroic bravery, as our newspaper afterward
said. They knocked in our dining-room windows with axes, and poured
about a thousand hogsheads of water into the room before we could make
them understand that the fire was down by the barn, and had been put out
before they came.
This was all the Professor's fault, and it has taught me a lesson. The
next time anybody wants me to improve my mind I'll tell him he ought to
be ashamed of himself.
[Illustration]
MAKE WAY FOR HIS MAJESTY!
Oh dear! what a fuss! It is certainty true.
Sweet Love is our ruler, whatever we do.
The lions and tigers his dainty whip feel;
He harnesses both to his chariot wheel.
Oh, none can escape. The eagle's fleet wing
Is no manner of use, or the hare's rapid spring.
The ostrich may stride, the eagle may fly,
But Love is their ruler--he ever is nigh.
The quick little rogue, with his whip and his wings,
He is ever about, and he ruleth all things;
And Mollie and Ted, as they hurry along,
Are only two more in his worshipping throng.
Oh, Love in the school-room has tenses and moods.
And Love in the kitchen quite often intrudes,
And Love o'er the ledger drops fancies of bliss.
Till the figures get mixed with the thought of a kiss;
And Love on the avenue raises his cap
To Love in the parlor with work in her lap,
And Love in a cottage or Love in a palace
Drink nectar alike from a cup or a chalice:
Let cross people scold, and let prim people frown.
Love reigns like a prince both in country and town.
Hurra for sweet Cupid! Ye laggards, give way,
While the lads and the lasses greet Valentine's Day.
"AS STUPID AS A GOOSE."
This is a very common saying indeed, and is used to denote the extreme
of stupidity, and as regards geese in general it is near enough to the
truth.
But all geese are not stupid. History tells us that the cackling of
geese once saved the city of Rome, and we find in a Scotch newspaper the
following instance of sagacity and reasoning on the part of a persecuted
goose:
"A haughty and tyrannical chanticleer, which considered itself the
monarch of a certain farm-yard, took a particular antipathy to a fine
goose, the guardian of a numerous brood, and accordingly, wheresoever
and whenever they met, chanticleer immediately set upon his antagonist.
The goose, which had little chance with the nimble and sharp heels of
his opponent, and which had accordingly suffered severely in various
rencontres, got so exasperated against his assailant that one day,
during a severe combat, he grasped the neck of his foe with his bill,
and dragging him along by main force, he plunged him into an adjoining
pond, keeping his head, in spite of every effort, under water, and where
chanticleer would have been drowned had he not been rescued by a servant
who witnessed the proceeding. From that day forward the goose received
no further trouble from his enemy."
Another writer gives the following incident, which he says was witnessed
in the north of England:
"One morning, during very cold weather, the geese on a large farm were,
as usual, let out of their roosting-place, and, according to their
custom, went directly to the pond on the common. They were observed by
the family to come back immediately, but you may guess their
astonishment when in a few minutes the geese were seen to return to the
pond, each of the five with a woman's patten in its mouth. The women, to
rescue so useful a part of their dress from the possession of the
invaders of their property, immediately made an attack, but the waddling
banditti presented such a stout resistance that it was not till some
male allies were called in that a victory could be obtained."
It would have been interesting had the geese been let alone, as we shall
never know what they intended doing with those pattens. Who knows but
they might have devoted them to some purpose that would have won geese a
reputation for wisdom for all time?
So much for the saying, "As stupid as a goose."
[Illustration]
THE NIGHTINGALE'S LESSON.
_"Unlearned is he in aught_
_Save that which love has taught,_
_For love has been his tutor."_
[Illustration]
OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.
The sweetest of letters.
Miss Bessie, for you,
From bonny Prince Charlie
Or Little Boy Blue.
The brightest of letters,
Sir Arthur, for you.
From fair Lady Edith
Or dear little Sue.
Your name is not Arthur?
Your name's not Bess?
Peep into your letter;'
You'll find it, I guess.
For the loveliest missives
Are flying all round
As thick as the white flakes
That fly to the ground.
And Our Post-office Box,
Like a ship in the bay,
Is crammed and is jammed
This Valentine's Day.
* * * * *
DETROIT, MICHIGAN.
The other night, about eleven o'clock, as my father and Mr.
Sherrill (he is a student, and my father is a doctor) were reading
in the office, they heard a noise on the steps, and my father went
out, and saw a large owl right before him. So he threw a rubber
cloak over him, and brought him in, and Mr. Owl screamed and yelled
like anything, but he was put safely into a bushel basket, and a
cover clapped over it. The next morning we went out on the steps,
and found a large dead rat, which the owl had brought there with
the purpose of eating. The following night we let him go.
ROYAL T. F.
* * * * *
NEW YORK CITY.
My name is Paul. I live in New York, near Central Park. I am five
years old, and go to school. My teacher is my beau. My teacher is
Miss Lizzie C. I love her. I printed this all on my slate myself,
and my mamma copied it off for me. I can draw a boat; and I can
draw it nice, too. My big brother has a big boat. Susie helped me
spell all the big words in this letter. Susie is eight. She is my
sister, and she had a big French doll named Eva. Naughty Charlie
broke Eva's head, and Susie cried. Charlie is our baby girl. We
haven't any cat or dog, but the firemen on our block have a nobby
little dog named Prince, and we boys all play with him. He
sometimes follows me into our house, and we think he is so cute. I
drew the boat all myself. Don't you think it a nice one?
PAUL L. L.
Yes, Paul, the boat you drew in your letter was very well done indeed
for such a little boy. You must send us some Wiggles.
* * * * *
CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS.
I live in Cambridge, very near the famous Washington Elm, of which
you gave an illustration in Vol. I., No. 25, page 340. It does not
look very much like that now, but resembles any other large old
tree, and has an iron fence around it, and an upright slab, with an
inscription, saying,
Under This Tree
WASHINGTON
First Took Command
of the
American Army.
July 3d. 1775.
It is on Garden Street. On the north side is the Common, on the
southwest is the Shepard Congregational Church. Near to this,
though on another street, is Longfellow's house. I had Miss Anna
Longfellow for my Sunday-school teacher last Sunday. I very much
liked the picture in YOUNG PEOPLE entitled "Little Dreamer." I have
had the two volumes of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE bound in your handsome
cover. I am glad to have Tuesday come, because I get my paper on
that day.
ARTHUR M. M.
* * * * *
WASHINGTON, D. C.
My name is Eugenia A. I am nine years old, and my sister Bessie is
five. Every summer we go to visit our Aunt Ella in Pennsylvania,
near Pittsburgh. Last summer we made the journey alone, changing
cars at Cumberland. The conductor helped us, and a gentleman was at
the last station to help us off, and take care of us. We had a
trunk and a lunch basket. When mamma was packing, papa said she
might as well take the trunk for our lunch and the basket for our
clothes. Aunt Ella came down for us, and bought me a large doll,
which I named Mignonette, and a set of dishes, and Bessie two dolls
and a rocking-chair. We hunted eggs, and tried to milk, and had a
good time. Aunt Ella sends me YOUNG PEOPLE, and Bessie _Our Little
Folks_.
* * * * *
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS.
I am going to tell YOUNG PEOPLE about my great fishing last summer.
I went to Milwaukee on an excursion, and staid there a few days.
While there I thought I would go a-fishing. So I went one morning
early, and staid on the pier until noon, but did not catch a single
fish, missed a half-day's pleasure while there (because there were
other places I could have gone to), spent nearly all my money for
car fare, lost my fishing-tackle, and, besides, broke my
fishing-pole, and since that time I have not been fishing.
F. E. K.
You had quite a day of disappointment. But we have no doubt other
fishermen have at times had equally bad luck, and the only way to do is
to take such misfortunes philosophically.
* * * * *
NEW YORK CITY.
I am nothing but a little white mouse, and I am almost two years
old. I was born in a market, and my mate and I were bought by a
little girl. I have had over twenty babies, and have only one left.
My mistress lets us run around the room once a day to exercise
ourselves. One evening she let us run out as usual, and my son that
I have now and his little sister were about two weeks old. My
grandmistress had company, and my mate ran right under the rockers,
and was killed instantly. My troubles seemed to come right in a
bunch, for a few days after, my little daughter was carried down
stairs by the old cat. My mistress weighed me and my little son
this morning, and I heard her say I weighed one-sixteenth of an
ounce, and my son one-fourth of an ounce. My mistress takes YOUNG
PEOPLE, and I often hear her say it is the nicest little paper she
ever read. I have travelled about a great deal, and my name is
LITTLE MOTHER MOUSE.
Ever so many thanks to Maud for helping her pretty white mouse to write
this tragic tale.
* * * * *
CLANTON, ALABAMA.
I live in a little town of about three hundred inhabitants. It is
only eleven years old, though, and builds up tolerably fast; don't
you think so? About half a mile from this place there is an old
field in which we think there must have once been an Indian battle
fought, because the ground is almost covered with broken arrow and
spear heads. My brother and I found some that were perfect. He
found one that was stained with blood.
JOHN NAT T.
* * * * *
NEWARK, NEW JERSEY.