and Margie agreed, as they were getting ready for bed, and Fay said,
drowsily, from her crib, "I shouldn't think you'd care, _now_, if Madge
Hammond"--and then the words came slower and slower, "should
bring--twenty--rubbers--in--a--ditch."
Jane came into the nursery next morning, saying, "There is a valentine
at each of your plates this morning;" but not another word would she say
about them.
You may be sure no one was late to breakfast _that_ morning, and I wish
you could have seen how three expectant faces lit up as each spied a
tiny basket of flowers at her plate.
"When _did_ they come?" "Who _could_ have sent them?" "Will they keep
fresh till Monday?"
"Wait a minute," said papa, feeling for his pencil. "I must write down
all these questions. Now I'm ready for number four."
"Don't tease us, papa," pleaded Margie. "Just answer what we've asked
already."
"Agreed: firstly, they came last night, and mamma thought it best not to
wake you; secondly, Mr. Brooks sent them."
"Mr. Brooks!" all in chorus.
"Yes, he's a kind of bear, I heard yesterday," said papa.
Lilla looked ashamed.
"Thirdly, they _will_ keep till Monday, if good care is taken."
"Then we can carry them to school," joyfully exclaimed Lilla.
"And what do you think of Mr. Brooks now?" asked mamma.
"Why, I don't know _what_ to think, I'm so surprised. Are you certain
they're from him?"
"I judge so, from what Rosa told me last night. Mr. Brooks asked her who
you were, and when she told him you were going to send the rubbers as a
valentine to Dinah, he said, 'I believe I'll write down their names:
"One good turn deserves another."' And more than that, Rosa says he is
one of the kindest men she ever knew, and far from being as cross as he
looks."
"I think," said Lilla, "I shall remember after this lesson to 'judge not
by appearances.'"
"I guess I'll keep account of all the proverbs about Mr. Brooks," said
Margie, and reaching mischievously for papa's pencil, she wrote:
"Before you say 'tis chill December,
Know all the signs of mild September."
Said Blackbird to Miss Yellow-Bird:
"How bright the sun does shine!
And you look sweet. Oh, pray consent
To be my Valentine!"
"I really can't," said Yellow-Bird;
"I don't to you incline;
I am too blonde--indeed, I am--
To be your Valentine."
[Begun in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 66, February 1.]
PHIL'S FAIRIES.
BY MRS. W. J. HAYS,
AUTHOR OF "PRINCESS IDLEWAYS," ETC.
CHAPTER III.
PHIL HAS A VISITOR.
Phil was alone, as indeed he was always, except on Sundays, or the few
half-holidays that came to Lisa. Once in a while Lisa begged off, or
paid another woman for doing an extra share of work in her place, if
Phil was really too ill for her to leave him. The hot sun was pouring
into the garret room, though a green paper shade made it less blinding,
and Phil was lying back in a rocking-chair, wrapped in a shawl. On a
small table beside him were some loose pictures from a newspaper, a
pencil or two, and an old sketch-book, a pitcher of water, and an empty
plate.
The boy opened his closed eyes as Joe came in, after knocking, and
looked surprised.
"Why, Joe, what is the matter?" he asked. "You do not come twice a day
very often."
"No," said Joe, "nor are you always a-sufferin' as you was this mornin'.
I've come to know how you are, and to bring you _that_," said he,
triumphantly putting the nosegay before the child's eyes.
The boy nearly snatched the flowers out of Joe's hand in his eagerness
to get them, and putting them to his face, he kissed them in his
delight.
"Oh, Joe dear, I am so much obliged! Oh, you darling, lovely flowers,
how sweet you are! how delicious you smell! I never saw anything more
beautiful. Where did they come from, Joe?"
"Ah, you can't guess, I reckon."
"No, of course not; they are so sweet, so perfect, they take all my pain
away; and I have been nearly smothered with the heat to-day. Just see
how cool they look, as if they had just been picked."
"It's a pity the one who sent 'em can't hear ye. Shall I bring her in?"
"Who, Joe--who do you mean?"
"Joe means me," said a soft voice; "I sent them to you, and I am Miss
Rachel Schuyler, an old friend of Joe's. I want to know you, Phil, and
see if I can not do something for that pain I hear you suffer so much
with. Shall I put the flowers in water, so that they will last a little
longer? Ah, no, you want to hold them, and breathe their sweet
fragrance."
Miss Schuyler had opened the door so gently, and appeared so entirely at
home, that Phil took her visit quite as a matter of course, and though
astonished, was not at all flurried. He fastened his searching gaze upon
her, over the flowers, which he held close to his lips, and made up his
mind what to say. At last, after deliberating, he said, simply, "I thank
you very much." His thoughts ran this way: "She is a real lady, a kind,
lovely woman; she has on a nice dress--nicer than Lisa's; she has little
hands, and what a soft, pleasant voice! I wonder if my mother looked
like her?"
Miss Schuyler's thoughts were very pitiful. She was much moved by the
pale little face and brilliant eyes, the pleased, shy expression, the
air of refinement, and the very evident pain and poverty. She could not
say much, and to hide her agitation, took up the sketch-book, saying,
"May I look in this, please?"
Phil nodded, still over the flowers.
As the leaves were opened, one after the other, Miss Schuyler became
still more interested. The sketches were simply rude copies of newspaper
pictures, but there was no doubt of the taste and talent that had
directed their pencilling.
"Have you ever had any teaching, Phil?" she asked.
"No, ma'am," answered Joe for Phil, thinking he might be bashful. "He
hasn't had no larnin' nor teachin' of anythin'; but it is what he wants,
poor chile, and he often asks me things I can't answer for want of not
knowin' nuthin' myself."
"And what is this?" said Miss Schuyler, touching the box with violin
strings across it, which was on a chair beside her.
"Please don't touch it," answered Phil, anxiously; then fearing he had
been rude, added: "It is my harp, and I am so afraid, if it is handled,
that the fairies will never dance on it again. You ought to hear what
lovely music comes out of it when the wind blows."
Phil spoke as if fairies were his particular friends. Miss Schuyler
looked at him pitifully, thinking him a little light-headed. Joe nodded,
and looked wise, as much as to say, "I told you so."
Just then Phil's pain came on again, and it was as much as he could do
not to scream; but Miss Rachel saw the pallor of his face, and turning
to Joe, asked:
"Does he have a doctor? Is anything done for him?"
"Nuthin', Miss Rachel, that I knows of. I never knew of his havin' a
doctor."
[Illustration: PHIL AND MISS SCHUYLER.]
"Poor child!" said Miss Rachel, smoothing his forehead, and fanning him.
Then she tucked a pillow behind him, and did all so gently that Phil
took her hand and kissed it--it eased his pain so to have just these
little things done for him. Then she poured a little of her cordial in a
glass with some water, and he thought he had never tasted anything so
refreshing. She sent Joe after some ice, and spreading her napkins out
on Phil's table, set all her little store of dainties before him,
tempting the child to eat in spite of his pain.
Phil thought it was all the fairies' doing and not Joe's--poor pleased
Joe--who looked on with a radiant face of delight. Phil would not eat
unless Joe took one of his cakes, so the old fellow munched one to
please him.
Meanwhile Miss Schuyler gazed at the boy with more and more interest; a
something she could hardly define attracted her. At first it had been
his suffering and poverty, for her heart was tender, and she was always
doing kind deeds; but now as she looked at him she saw in his face a
likeness to some one she had loved, the look of an old and familiar
friend, a look also of thought and ability which only needed fostering
to make of Phil a person of great use in the world--one who might be a
leader rather than a follower in the path of industry and usefulness.
The grateful little kiss on her hand had gone deeply into her heart.
Phil must no longer be left alone: he must have good food and medical
care and fresh air, and Lisa must be consulted as to how these things
should be gained. So while Phil nibbled at the good things, and Joe
chuckled and talked, half to himself and half to Phil, Miss Schuyler
wrote a note to Lisa, asking her to come and see her that evening, if
convenient, explaining how her interest had been aroused in Phil, and
that she wanted to know more about him, and wanted to help him, and was
sure she could make his life more comfortable, and that Lisa must take
her interference kindly, for it was offered in a loving spirit. Then she
folded the note, and gave it to Phil for Lisa, and arranging all his
little comforts about him, bade him good-by.
Phil thought her face like that of an angel's when she stooped to kiss
him; and after Joe, too, had hobbled off, promising to come again soon
with his violin, he took up his pencil, and tried to sketch Miss
Schuyler. Face after face was drawn, but none to his taste: first the
nose was crooked, then the eyes were too small, then the mouth would be
twisted, and just as Lisa came in, with a tired and flushed face, he
threw his pencil away, and began to sob.
"Why, my dear Phil," said Lisa, in surprise, "are you so very miserable
to-night?"
"No, I am not miserable at all," said Phil, between his tears; "that is,
I have had pain enough, but I have had such a lovely visitor!--Joe
brought her--and I wanted to make a little picture of her, so that you
could see what she looked like; and I can not. Oh dear! I wish I could
ever do anything!"
"Ah, you are tired; drink this nice milk, and you will be better."
"I have had delicious things to eat, and I saved some for you, Lisa.
Look;" and he showed her the little parcel of cakes Miss Schuyler had
left. "And see the big piece of ice in my glass."
"Some one has been kind to my boy."
"Yes; and here is a note for you; and you must dress up, Lisa, when you
go to see our new friend."
Lisa looked down at her shabby garments; they were all she had, but she
did not tell Phil that her only black silk had been sold long ago. She
read the note, and her face brightened. There seemed a chance of better
things for Phil.
"I will go to-night, if you can spare me."
"Not till you have rested, Lisa; and you must drink all that milk your
own self. Did you ever hear of Miss Schuyler?"
"I don't know," said Lisa, meditating; "the name is not strange to me.
But there used to be so many visitors at your father's house, Phil dear,
that I can not be sure."
"She is so nice and tender and kind-- Have you had a tiresome day,
Lisa?" added Phil, quickly, fearing Lisa might think herself neglected
in his eager praise of the new friend.
"Yes, rather; but I can go. So Joe brought her here?"
"Yes; and see these flowers--yes, you must have some. Put them in your
belt, Lisa."
"Oh, flowers don't suit my old clothes, child; keep them yourself, dear.
Well, it is a long lane that has no turning," she said, half to herself
and half to Phil. "Perhaps God has sent us Miss Schuyler to do for you
what I have not been able to; but I have tried--he knows I have."
"And I know it too, dear Lisa," said Phil, pulling her down to him, and
throwing both arms around her. "No one could be kinder, Lisa; and I love
this old garret room, just because it is your home and mine. Now get me
my harp, and when you have put it in the window, you can go; and I will
try not to have any pain, so that you won't have to rub me to-night."
"Dear child!" was all Lisa could say, as she did what he asked her to
do, and then left him alone.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
THE END OF MY MONKEY.
BY JIMMY BROWN.
I haven't any monkey now, and I don't care what becomes of me. His loss
was an awful blow, and I never expect to recover from it. I am a crushed
boy, and when the grown folks find what their conduct has done to me,
they will wish they had done differently.
[Illustration]
It was on a Tuesday that I got the monkey, and by Thursday everybody
began to treat him coldly. It began with my littlest sister. Jocko took
her doll away, and climbed up to the top of the door with it, where he
sat and pulled it to pieces, and tried its clothes on, only they
wouldn't fit him, while sister, who is nothing but a little girl, stood
and howled as if she was being killed. This made mother begin to dislike
the monkey, and she said that if his conduct was such, he couldn't stay
in her house. I call this unkind, for the monkey was invited into the
house, and I've been told we must bear with visitors.
[Illustration]
A little while afterward, while mother was talking to Susan on the front
piazza, she heard the sewing-machine up stairs, and said, "Well I never
that cook has the impudence to be sewing on my machine without ever
asking leave." So she ran up stairs, and found that Jocko was working
the machine like mad. He'd taken Sue's nightgown and father's black coat
and a lot of stockings, and shoved them all under the needle, and was
sewing them all together. Mother boxed his ears, and then she and Sue
sat down and worked all the morning trying to unsew the things with the
scissors.
[Illustration]
They had to give it up after a while, and the things are sewed together
yet, like a man and wife, which no man can put asunder. All this made my
mother more cool toward the monkey than ever, and I heard her call him a
nasty little beast.
[Illustration]
The next day was Sunday, and as Sue was sitting in the hall waiting for
mother to go to church with her, Jocko gets up on her chair, and pulls
the feathers out of her bonnet. He thought he was doing right, for he
had seen the cook pulling the feathers off of the chickens, but Sue
called him dreadful names, and said that when father came home, either
she or that monkey would leave the house.
[Illustration]
Father came home early Monday, and seemed quite pleased with the monkey.
He said it was an interesting study, and he told Susan that he hoped
that she would be contented with fewer beaux, now that there was a
monkey constantly in the house. In a little while father caught Jocko
lathering himself with the mucilage brush, and with a kitchen knife all
ready to shave himself. He just laughed at the monkey, and told me to
take good care of him, and not let him hurt himself. Of course I was
dreadfully pleased to find that father liked Jocko, and I knew it was
because he was a man, and had more sense than girls. But I was only
deceiving myself and leaning on a broken weed. That very evening when
father went into his study after supper he found Jocko on his desk. He
had torn all his papers to pieces, except a splendid new map, and that
he was covering with ink, and making believe that he was writing a
President's Message about the Panama Canal. Father was just raging. He
took Jocko by the scruff of the neck, locked him in the closet, and sent
him away by express the next morning to a man in the city, with orders
to sell him.
[Illustration]
The express-man afterward told Mr. Travers that the monkey pretty nearly
killed everybody on the train, for he got hold of the signal cord and
pulled it, and the engineer thought it was the conductor, and stopped
the train, and another train just behind it came within an inch of
running into it and smashing it to pieces. Jocko did the same thing
three times before they found out what was the matter, and tied him up
so that he couldn't reach the cord. Oh, he was just beautiful! But I
shall never see him again, and Mr. Travers says that it's all right, and
that I'm monkey enough for one house. That's because Sue has been saying
things against the monkey to him; but never mind.
First my dog went, and now my monkey has gone. It seems as if everything
that is beautiful must disappear. Very likely I shall go next, and when
I am gone, let them find the dog and the monkey, and bury us together.
[Illustration]
OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.
ROMA, ON THE RIO GRANDE, TEXAS,
_December_ 31, 1880.
Early this morning, just as we were all dressed, a great noise was
heard on the stairs; it was Morton, who was shouting, "Oh, papa,
the ground is all over white, and the orange-tree has a great white
cap on its head!"
We all knew at once that it was snow, which we children had heard
and read so much about, but had never seen.
We all rushed out, and found the air full of little feathers, and
everything dazzling white. We went wild over it. Papa chased our
two little brothers, washed their faces with snow, and showed them
how to make snow-balls, and after doing so, got pelted by his
boys, and girls too, for that matter, for we all took part. Two
inches of snow had fallen. The air was still and calm. And at last
we thought of the snow crystals we had read about in HARPER'S
YOUNG PEOPLE, and asked papa to show them to us. He got a piece of
black cloth, and we spread it on the top of a box in the yard, and
recognized nearly all of the forms we had seen in the
illustration. Little Northern readers will say, "Why such a fuss
about two inches of snow?" But they must remember we had never
seen it before, and I do not believe they ever saw an orange-tree
loaded with snow, and its golden fruit shining out from a setting
of frosted silver and deep green leaves. I know they never saw
anything so beautiful in their lives.
But I forgot--I must tell you who I am, or rather who we are. We
are seven sisters and brothers. Our two elder sisters are married,
and have homes of their own. I am the youngest of the girls, and
the two boys are the youngest of the family. My mother is a
Mexican lady, and father is an American from Ohio. He has lived in
this country thirty years. One sister, one brother, and myself
were born in Mexico, and Spanish is our mother-tongue, but we read
and understand YOUNG PEOPLE.
CLOTILDE C.
* * * * *
THYATIRA, MISSISSIPPI.
I have six goats. Two of them I work in a little wagon. When I can
get some little boys to help me, it is royal fun to drive them.
I do not go to school, as we have none near by, and I have no one
to go with me. I had three sweet little sisters and one little
brother, but they all died. I would love to tell you a great deal
about them, but this is my first letter to the Post-office Box,
and I am afraid it will be too long, and go into that much-dreaded
waste basket. I will be nine years old the 17th of February.
It is awfully cold here this winter.
JACK C.
* * * * *
HOBOKEN, NEW JERSEY.
I thought I would write to say how much I like the stories of "Toby
Tyler" and "Mildred's Bargain." They are so nice I can not help
writing to tell you.
I am glad to hear from so many little girls who have seen blossoms
and fruit as late in the season as I have.
REBA H.
* * * * *
SHEBOYGAN, WISCONSIN.
I want to tell the boys and girls what we do away out here in
Sheboygan. This winter has been very cold, and it has been thirty
degrees below zero part of the time. A good deal of snow has
fallen, and yesterday the pupils of my school took a sleigh-ride.
We were in a large sleigh drawn by four horses. We went to
Sheboygan Falls, and on the way we saw farm-houses, forests, and
fields all covered with deep snow.
Sheboygan is a nice place in summer. It is on the western shore of
Lake Michigan, about sixty miles north of Milwaukee. I am eleven
years old.
ERWIN B.
* * * * *
BRIDGEWATER, NEW YORK.
My brother takes YOUNG PEOPLE, and we like it ever so much.
We have the dearest little three-year-old colt. Papa broke him to
the harness last fall, and he seems to enjoy taking us out to
ride. Papa is going to have him trained to the saddle for my use.
I have to walk three-quarters of a mile to school. The snow has
drifted nearly level with the fences, and now the crust has
formed, so that we enjoy skimming over it.
MAY R.
* * * * *
WASHINGTON, D. C.
I think YOUNG PEOPLE is just splendid, and only wish it would come
every day. I could never get tired of reading it. Toby Tyler's life
with the circus is delightful. I would like to have such a friend
as "Mr. Stubbs."
We are having the coldest winter known in this city for years. My
little sister, my brother, and myself have elegant times coasting
down the streets.
EMMA H. T.
* * * * *
GILROY, CALIFORNIA.
I have received so many answers to my request for exchange, which
was printed in YOUNG PEOPLE, that my stock of duplicate eggs is
exhausted. I will keep the addresses, and in the spring, when I can
get a new supply of eggs, will try to answer all letters which I
can not answer now.
FANNIE W. ROGERS.
* * * * *
Owing to the severe weather, I have been unable to collect enough
arrow-heads to supply all my correspondents, but I will send them
as soon as possible. If those who have offered me coins and other
things in exchange will wait until I can get some more arrow-heads,
which will be before long, I will be very glad.
ISOBEL L. JACOBS,
Darlington Heights, Prince Edward County, Va.
* * * * *
I am very much interested in the Post-office Box. I like YOUNG
PEOPLE very much.
I live beside the beautiful Geneva Lake, which is a great summer
resort. In warm weather we have great sport fishing, but now it is
all ice-boating and skating.
We raised five Bramah chickens last summer. They were very tame.
One went to sleep with its head on my aunt's shoulder, and they
were capital pickpockets. They were in such demand that we had to
part with all but one. She is named Pulleta, and is so tame I can
pick her up anywhere.
I would like to exchange postmarks, for foreign stamps, or shells
from the Gulf of Mexico or Atlantic coast.
HUBERT C. SCOFIELD,
P. O. Box 207, Geneva, Wis.
* * * * *
I would like to exchange pieces of bass-wood, red and white oak,
bird's-eye and hard and soft maple, iron-wood, red and yellow
birch, elm, ash, and butternut, for specimens of other kinds of
woods. Correspondents will please mark specimens.
GEORGE EMPEY,
Hersey, St. Croix County, Wis.
* * * * *
I would like to exchange postmarks, for sea-shells. I am nine years
old.
REYNOLDS WHITE,
132 East Forty-fifth Street, New York City.
* * * * *
I will exchange postmarks, for stamps, with any little boy or girl.
I am nine years old.
PERCY G. LAPEY,
62 Clinton Street, Buffalo, N. Y.
* * * * *
I would like to exchange postage stamps. I have a Swedish, a
Canadian, and a New South Wales stamp, two Italian, some French,
English, and old issues of United States stamps, which I will give
for others.
A SUBSCRIBER TO "YOUNG PEOPLE,"
141 Fifth Avenue, New York City.
* * * * *
I wish to notify correspondents that I do not wish to exchange for
postage stamps any longer, but I will exchange stamps, curiosities,
shells, and minerals, for curiosities, shells, and minerals.
V. L. KELLOGG,
P. O. Box 411, Emporia, Kansas.
* * * * *
I would like to exchange shells and pressed sea-weeds, for other
shells, Lake Superior agates, ore, or other small specimens of
minerals. I would like everything sent me to be clearly marked, and
I, in return, will name and classify the shells.
MISS MAY HART,
Soquel, Santa Cruz County, Cal.
* * * * *
I live only eighteen miles from King's Mountain, where a great
battle of the Revolutionary war was fought.
I have a little rat terrier I have named Rip Van Winkle, because
he sleeps so much. I would like to exchange birds' eggs with
readers of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE. I am twelve years old.
WILLIE F. ROBERTSON, Yorkville, S. C.
* * * * *
I have a collection of about fifteen hundred stamps, and I have
about five hundred duplicates, which I would like to exchange for
others. Correspondents will please send a list of those they
desire.
HIRAM H. BICE,
39 Second Street, Utica, N. Y.
* * * * *
The following exchanges are also offered by correspondents:
Coins or specimens of woods, for Indian relics, curiosities,
fossils, or minerals.
ALFRED S. KELLOGG,
P. O. Box 103, Westport, Fairfield County, Conn.
* * * * *
Postage stamps.
J. CLARKE BURRELL,
307 East Eighty-sixth Street, New York City.
* * * * *
Postage stamps, for Indian relics, or anything suitable for a
museum.
GEORGE LUNHAM,
147 Skillman Street, Brooklyn, L. I.
* * * * *
Foreign postage stamps.
LIONEL W. CROMPTON,
Care of Mr. Clifton, 104 Sixth St., Hoboken, N. J.
* * * * *
Foreign postage stamps, for old issues of United States postage
stamps, or for any Department stamps.
FRANK BANG,
271 Avenue B, New York City.
* * * * *
Postmarks, for stamps.
JAY HOLLIS GIBSON,
Vassar College, Poughkeepsie, N. Y.
* * * * *
A silver Japanese coin and a piece of prehistoric pottery, for a
genuine Indian bow and arrow.
DAVID M. GREGG,
404 Penn Street, Reading, Penn.
* * * * *
Ocean curiosities, for a guinea-hen's egg or other eggs; or
twenty-five postmarks, for a Chinese stamp and nine other foreign
stamps.