other, "and yet the butterflies and birds tell us we are very pretty."
But the lily was mistaken, for the very next morning the gardener came
out into the meadow with a trowel in his hand, and digging up some of
the largest daisy plants, replanted them in a large flower-pot.
"Somebody wants us after all," they called to the grass, and the
dandelions, and the other daisies, as they were carried away, "and we
shall see the fine houses, and perhaps live with lilies, roses, and
geraniums all the rest of our lives. Good-by, dear friends, good-by."
In a short time the daisies found themselves in a market-place--not
among cabbages and tomatoes, but at the end of a row of blooming plants
from the garden at which they had so often peeped through the fence. But
they had scarcely had time to look about them when they saw a shabbily
dressed boy coming slowly toward them--slowly, poor fellow, because one
of his feet was sadly misshapen, and in his arms he carried a heavy
bundle of newspapers. He looked eagerly at the gardener as he came near.
"I've got your daisies, my boy," the man called, cheerily. "Here they
are, still wet with the dew, as handsome daisies as ever I saw. You must
keep them in the shade a day or two, giving them a drink now and then,
and I don't doubt they'll do finely. Will you take them now?"
"Yes, sir, thank you," said the boy, his whole face lighting up, and his
pale cheeks flushing, "if you will let me leave my papers here a few
minutes until I can run home with them. But you've brought so many--and
they're in a nice pot, too--I'm afraid I haven't money enough to pay for
them."
"Five cents was the price agreed on yesterday," said the good-natured
gardener, "and I always stick to a bargain. And if there's more than you
expected, all the better for you--some of 'em'll be sure to thrive
anyhow. As for the pot, you're welcome to that. A flower-pot more or
less won't make me or break me."
The boy threw down his bundle, took the daisies with another "thank
you," and hurried away as fast as his poor foot would let him to an old,
queer-looking wooden house near the market, where, hugging his treasure
closely to his breast, he mounted the shaky stairs until he reached the
garret. Pushing open a door here, he entered a neat little room with
only one window in it, but that a dormer facing the south. The floor of
this room was bare, with the exception of two or three round rag mats,
and the walls were decorated in the oddest manner with pictures cut from
old papers and magazines, bits of colored glass, strips of glittering
tin twisted into grotesque shapes, and red and green motto-papers
fashioned into some semblance of flowers.
On a bed near the window lay a little pale-faced, brown-haired girl,
with wistful gray eyes, and a smile like sunshine breaking through a
cloud. In her hands she held a pair of knitting-needles, with which she
was knitting with marvellous quickness some coarse thread into wide,
strong lace. Beside the bed stood a small table, holding a box of
water-colors, a camel's-hair brush or two, a lead-pencil, a cup filled
with water, and a piece of paper on which was a rude attempt at a
painting of a bunch of daisies.
"See what I've brought you, Phemie!" cried her brother, joyfully.
"To-day's your birthday: thirteen years old--almost as old as I am. Bet
you thought I'd forgotten it; but I didn't, dearie; no, indeed."
"Daisies! daisies!" cried the girl, with a sweet glad laugh, dropping
her work, and holding out her pretty slender hands. "Oh, brother--dear,
good, _darling_ brother--will they live and grow?"
"The gardener says they will, and he ought to know," answered her
brother. "And now you needn't be aching your poor little head any more
trying to think exactly how they look, for you can study them all day
long. But, good gracious! I must go and sell my papers, or we'll have no
berries for dinner, and that would be dreadful." And giving his sister a
kiss, he hurried away again, as happy, I believe, as any boy in that
great city on that pleasant summer day.
"I am so glad, so very, _very_ glad that you have come," said Phemie to
the daisies as soon as he was gone, as she set them on the table, and
gazed at them with tears in her eyes, "and I beg of you to live, dear
daisies. I am a poor weak little girl, and I can sit up but a few hours
each day. But a long while ago I could run about like other little
girls, and I lived in the country, where thousands of daisies grew, and
I have never forgotten them. Mamma was alive then, but she's dead now,
and father left us here a year after she died, and we have never seen
him since. He didn't care for daisies or us. How good of Brother Frank
to bring you to me, daisies! I shall knit so much better and faster, and
earn so much more money, with your bright faces smiling at me. And some
day I shall make a picture of you--I have been trying to paint one from
memory--that shall be almost as pretty as your own dear selves." And she
leaned back against her pillow, singing softly to herself; and while her
fingers plied the knitting-needles, her spirit, led by the spirits of
the meadow flowers, wandered to green fields, and listened to the hum of
the bees and the song of the birds, and grew lighter and happier every
moment. And Frank, coming in quietly at noon, saw her with closed eyes
and clasped hands, and heard her say, "Dear God, a helpless child thanks
Thee for daisies!"
And the daisies all lived, and increased in numbers until the room
overflowed with them. On floor and shelves they bloomed in cracked
pitchers, broken jars, old fruit cans, everything that Frank could find
to fill with them. And Phemie did paint a beautiful picture of them at
last, and through this picture came much good fortune to that garret
home. For Frank, showing it, in his brotherly love and pride, to a kind
gentleman whom he served with papers, was surprised to learn that it was
worth more than his sister knitting lace for three long months could
earn.
And now to end the story. The very prettiest New-Year's card that
appeared to celebrate the birth of 1880 was one on which the New-Year's
greeting was printed on a ribbon encircling the stems of a bunch of
daisies. Those daisies are Phemie's daisies. And the young flower
painter, growing stronger day by day, is the happy mistress of two
pleasant rooms and a mite of a studio.
OLD HANNIBAL.
BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.
"No, mother," said Colonel Dunway to his wife, at the breakfast table,
"I shall ride the black colt on parade to-day. Hannibal is too fat and
too old."
"Too old? He and Barry are just of an age."
"And Barry's only a little colt yet? Well, you may bring him and Prue
out to the grand review in the afternoon, but I guess I'll ride the
black this morning. You can put Hannibal in the carry-all. Perhaps he'd
like to take a look again at a regiment of troops in line."
Barry and Prue listened with all their ears.
They knew there was to be a grand parade of soldiers that day, and they
were prouder than they knew how to tell of the fact that their father
was to wear a uniform, and ride a horse, and give orders to some of the
men.
"Prue," said Barry, "father's going to 'spect them."
"_In_-speck them," whispered Prue, correcting him. "Nobody else knows
how."
That might be, for Colonel Dunway had been an officer of the regular
army, and he was now Colonel of a regiment of militia; but there was one
thing he had said that puzzled Barry and Prue dreadfully.
"Barry," said Prue, after breakfast, "is Nibble old?"
"Father says he is."
"And he said he was fat."
"Dr. Barnes is old, and he's fat."
"But his head's bare."
"Nibble isn't bald, and he isn't gray either."
"He's brown."
Mrs. Dunway had told the exact truth about Hannibal, or Nibble, as the
children called him. He and Barry were just of an age, and he had been a
mere two-year-old colt when Prue was a baby in her cradle.
It was after that that Colonel Dunway had taken Hannibal with him to the
army, and brought him home again.
He had been a war-horse, the Colonel said, and so it would not do to
turn him into a plough-horse, and the consequence was that Nibble did
not have enough work to do, and he grew fat too fast.
Yet he and Barry were only nine years old apiece. That made eighteen
years between them; and if you added seven years for Prue, it would only
have made twenty-five, and everybody knows that is not very old, if you
had given them all to Hannibal.
Barry and Prue would have given him almost anything they had, for he was
a great friend and crony of theirs.
"Prue," said Barry, "let's go out to the barn. I've got an apple."
"He can have my bun."
What there was left of it, that meant, for Prue's little white teeth had
been at work on that bun.
That had been a troubled morning for Hannibal. Before he had finished
his breakfast a party of men rode by the house, and one of them was
playing on a bugle. He had set Hannibal's mind at work upon army matters
and war; so when Barry and Prue came to see him, he would not even
nibble. He smelled of the apple, and he looked at the bun, but that was
all.
"He's getting old," said Barry.
"And fat," added Prue.
"Tell you what, Prue, let's take him out into the lot. I know mother'd
let us."
That was likely, for Mrs. Dunway always felt safer about them if Nibble
were keeping them company.
"I'll get on his back."
"And I'll lead him. Wait till I fix the halter."
Prue climbed up on the side of the stall where Nibble was, and he stood
perfectly still while she clambered over to her place on his back.
Barry knew exactly what to do, and the old war-horse began to think he
did himself. He must have been thinking, for he half closed one eye as
he was walking out, and opened the other very wide, with a wonderfully
knowing look.
He was looking down the lane, and he saw that the front gate was open,
and just at that moment there came up the road, very faint and sweet,
the music of the cavalry bugle.
"Nibble! Nibble!" exclaimed Barry, "where are you going?"
Hannibal did not answer a word, but walked on down the lane very fast
indeed, and Barry lost hold of the halter.
As for Prue, she was not scared a particle, for she had ridden in that
way many a time, and her confidence in herself and old Nibble was
unbounded.
"Cluck, cluck, cluck--get-ap."
"Stop, Prue, stop. He's going faster."
"Get-ap! Come, Barry. Oh, there's mother at the window!"
[Illustration: THE "THREE CHILDREN."--DRAWN BY KELLY.]
Mrs. Dunway was not frightened any more than Prue, for she said to
herself, "Too old, indeed! Well, they're more like three children, when
they're together, than anything else. I'm glad he is fat. He won't go
too fast for Prue."
He was in the road now, and he seemed disposed to keep Barry from again
getting hold of that halter.
"Oh dear," said Barry, "the parade-ground's down there."
Hannibal knew that, by the music, and he was almost trotting now.
In fact, he was looking younger and younger, somehow, every minute, and
Barry felt more and more as if he ought to have hold of the halter,
instead of merely running along-side and shouting to Prue.
The regiment was drawn up on the great bare field where the review was
to be that afternoon, and they looked splendidly.
Colonel Dunway was saying so, as he sat in front of them, on his
handsome black colt, and a number of other officers who were riding with
him said the same, and so did the ladies who were keeping them company.
Just then the bugle sounded again, from the head of the column, and Prue
had to hold on hard, for Hannibal suddenly began to canter, and he
answered the music with a loud, clear whinny of delight.
Barry was half out of breath with running, but he kept up with the other
two, and in a moment more Hannibal halted, proudly arching his neck, and
treading daintily upon the grass, right in front of the regiment.
"I declare," exclaimed Colonel Dunway, "the old fellow has come to
review the troops."
"So has Prue," said one of the officers.
Barry hardly knew whether to laugh or to cry, but the soldiers suddenly
broke out in a grand "hurrah."
They were cheering Prue and her war-horse, and Colonel Dunway himself
was compelled to let the "three children" stay and keep the place
Hannibal chose for them at the head of the regiment.
There was plenty of apples for Nibble that day.
SEA-BREEZES.
LETTER No. 2 FROM BESSIE MAYNARD TO HER DOLL.
OLD ORCHARD BEACH, _July, 1880_.
The days must seem very long and lonely to you, my sweet Clytemnestra,
and I will send you another letter, to "cheer you up a bit," as nursie
used to say when she gave me a lump of sugar, after pulling my curls
'most out of my head, trying to get out the tangles.
How are you getting along all this time? and what do you find to amuse
yourself with? Do you sit still in your own corner of the baby-house day
after day, or does some kind fairy come in once in a while and wind you
up, so that you can run round the room and get a little exercise? We
will have lots of walks and talks when I get home, my Clytie. I heard
mamma telling Cousin Frank last night that we should proberly go next
month. If I did not know that you were at home expecting and wanting me,
it would be awfully hard to think of leaving this place; for life by the
sad sea waves is truly (as I heard a lady say yesterday) "fassernating
and terancing."
There are so many people here it seems like a party all the time. There
are not many children, though--at least not at _our_ hotel; only Fanny,
Dora, and me for girls; Randolph Peyton, Jack Hunter, Charley Phillips,
and Hal Davis for boys; Snip and Moppet for dogs; and the cunningest wee
little mite of a pussykin, named Whitetoes, for cats. Not that cats and
dogs are exactly _children_, either, but they are just as good, and
sometimes better. I'm sure I would rather play any time with Snip and
Whitetoes than with that horrid Randolph. He is the very unpolitest boy
I ever knew. Let me tell you something he did yesterday, and then I
guess you will agree with me. We seven children and the dogs had planned
a beautiful picnic down on "the island," as we call it.
You know the geography says (or you _would_ know if you had ever been to
school, poor child!) that "an island is a portion of land entirely
surrounded by water." Well, _this_ "portion of land" runs out ever so
far into the sea, and has a pretty grove on it; and at high tide the
water covers the little strip of land where it really joins the beach,
so that for a little while it _is_ an island, but the rest of the time
it is a _peninsula_. That is a big word, and you don't know a bit what
it means, and I can't tell you now; you shall learn about it when we
begin our lessons.
But, oh dear, I was going to tell you about the picnic, and Randolph
Peyton, the great disagreeable boy. Somehow or other, when I begin to
write to you, there are so many things to essplain that I never seem to
"come to the point," as papa says.
We had planned to start at eight o'clock, but what with Moppet's running
away, and Snip's taking a nap behind a hay-cock down in the orchard,
where we only found him by accident at the very last minute, we were
not fairly on our way till almost nine. The boys carried the lunch
baskets, Fan wheeled her baby carriage, with poor invalid Jane lying
back on the pillows, looking too forlorn for anything, but really Fan
seems to love her even more than she loved Lucille; and I do think,
considering what Jane has been through, that she is the very best child
in the world.
Sometimes when I look at her woe-begone face, and her poor little head
without a single hair on it (she wears a lace cap, but we can see the
_bald_ right through), and remember her cheeks as they used to be, and
her lovely golden curls, and then think how gentle and kind she is,
never complaining, nor speaking a single cross word, I can't help
saying' right out to her, "You poor little dear thing. Solomon was right
when he said 'Handsome is, that handsome does.'" Well, Fan wheeled her
along, and I carried Moppet curled up in my arms like a white puff-ball,
while Dora ran races all along the beach with Snip.
I forgot to tell you that Randolph had been behaving badly all the way,
teasing us girls, pinching the dogs, and making fun of Jane; but the
terrible thing of all did not happen till we were crossing over to the
island. We always lay a board across from a rock on the beach side to a
rock on the island side, and over that we girls walk, though the boys
generally wade right through the water.
[Illustration: HOW WE LOOKED JUST BEFORE _IT_ HAPPENED.]
Fan and Jane went first on the board, then Dora and Snip, and last
Moppet and me.
Now listen, my Clytie, though, without having seen it, you never can
quite know how perfectly terrible it was. Just as Dora and Snip were in
the very middle of the board, and _all_ of us were _on_ it, Randolph,
who was standing in the water, gave a most unearthly screech, and at
that very minute-- But, mercy me! there's the tea-bell, and you _must_
excuse me, my lamb, for leaving you right here, for how can I help it
when I smell _waffles_?--waffles, and muffins too, I think.
In greatest haste,
Your own mamma,
BESSIE.
P.S.--It _was_ waffles I smelled, and I thought of you, dear Clytie, as
I ate them. Now I shall have to leave my story of Randolph at its very
smilax (or climax, which is it?), and finish it in my next letter, for I
have written so much my fingers are all cramped up; so good-night.
THE PITIFUL HARE.
FROM THE JAPANESE, BY W. E. GRIFFIS.
Hares are always treated kindly by the Chinese and Japanese people, who
make household pets of them. The Chinese believe that the hare lives to
be a thousand years old, and that at the end of five centuries its hair
becomes white. Instead of seeing a man in the moon, they imagine they
see a hare standing on its hind-legs, and pounding drugs in a mortar.
There are great creatures like gigantic men, called genii, who live in
the moon, and make "the elixir of life," a draught of which confers very
long life. The hare is their steward, and spends his time in pounding
the precious roots and bark of the "tree of the king of drugs," from
which the elixir is made. In the Japanese fairy tales, whoever smells,
touches, or tastes of this tree is immediately healed of all disease.
The country folks in Japan believe a great deal more in the influence of
the moon on crops, and good luck, and the weather, than our farmers do,
and some of the Japanese almanacs are very funny to read. It is for
these reasons that the people do not injure the hare, for fear of
hindering the good influence of the moon.
[Illustration]
The hare is considered above all others the faithful animal, and in the
story which the picture tells he is comforting his master.
It would seem very queer to you, my readers, to see tame hares running
about the house instead of your pet dogs and cats? But this is what the
little Japanese see.
[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]
MEREDITH, NEW HAMPSHIRE.
I thought some of the readers of YOUNG PEOPLE would like to hear
about a young robin my papa found under a cherry-tree near the
house. He thought I could raise him, and take him back to New York
for a pet. But after I had kept him two days in my room, he would
chirp so mournfully when he heard the other birds singing merrily
outside that it made me feel so sorry, I took him and put him on a
branch of the tree. Oh, I wish you could have seen him flap his
wings with delight. Then the old birds came, so glad to greet him.
And how glad I was then that I had given him his freedom!
ALBERTO A. DAL M.
* * * * *
MEADVILLE, PENNSYLVANIA.
I am a subscriber to YOUNG PEOPLE, and am much pleased with it. It
is the only pet I have.
I live near the Alleghany College, and I like to see the students
drilling. On Commencement afternoon they had a regular sham
battle. The military is composed of four companies, all under the
command of Major H----. The Major ordered out two companies for
the sham battle. One company he sent around the base of a hill,
and up through a ravine. The other company turned the cannon
round, and made the attacking party surrender as they came out in
sight.
WILLIE V.
* * * * *
ST. LOUIS COUNTY, MISSOURI.
I caught some turtles, which I keep in a tub. I feed them on meat,
bread, and carrots. Last summer I hatched out two land turtles.
Now I have fifteen turtles' eggs, and I think they will hatch. We
found a land turtle that had July 3, 1776, carved on its back. I
hope "The Moral Pirates" will catch some turtles. I am nine years
old.
C. G. R.
* * * * *
WELLSBURG, WEST VIRGINIA.
I was up in the woods a few days ago, and I saw a woodchuck go in
a hole. Having heard that they had a great deal of curiosity, I
hid behind a heap of dirt real close to the hole, and in a minute
out the woodchuck came to get a better look at me. Just then Dick,
a little dog, came scampering up, ran by the hole, turned round,
and crept softly back and stopped, watching, with eyes and ears on
the alert. But I made a noise, so the woodchuck did not come out
again.
Once Dick was watching on the top of a steep bank, and a great big
woodchuck stuck its head out of a hole. Dick grabbed it, and
together they rolled to the bottom of the bank, where, if somebody
had not killed the woodchuck, Dick would have had the worst of the
fight, as he was the smallest.
Are ground-squirrels, chipmunks, and gophers the same kind of
animals?
I have a barrel sunk in the ground, with cold water running in and
out, and about two hundred minnows in it. Please tell me something
good to feed them on.
SAMUEL J.
The ground-squirrel and chipmunk are the same animal, but the gopher, or
Canada pouched rat, belongs to a different family.--Feed your minnows by
throwing bread-crumbs, and flies, and other small insects on the surface
of the water.
* * * * *
CHIMACUM VALLEY, WASHINGTON TERRITORY.
I live on a farm. I take YOUNG PEOPLE, and I think it is a very
nice little paper.
I have had the rheumatism since Christmas so bad that I could not
walk nor turn myself in bed. Do you know what will get me well? I
am thirteen years old.
A lady gave me eight ducks' eggs. I set them under a hen, and now
I have five little ducks. The old hen looks so frightened when her
little ones go swimming in a pan of water! I suppose she thinks
they are strange chickens. I have a dog named Prince. He knows so
much he comes very near talking. Whenever I go away and come back,
he will pick up a stick in his mouth and run toward me. I have a
hen with nine little chicks. Whenever they get hungry, the mamma
hen will come to the door of the house and cluck. My father milks
twenty-eight cows. They give a bucket of milk apiece.
ARTHUR S. R.
* * * * *
YOSEMITE VALLEY, CALIFORNIA.
I live in Philadelphia, but it is so hot there in the summer that
we decided to spend a few weeks in this beautiful Californian
valley, camping out.
We travelled from Merced to this place in our own wagons, pitching
our tents every night. I like camp life very much, sleeping in
tents and eating in the open air. Sometimes we build a camp fire
in the evening, and all sit around it, telling stories and
singing. It is very warm in the daytime here, and cold at night;
and there is such a strong wind almost all the time that if you go
too near the water-falls the spray is blown over you like rain. We
make excursions every day to mountains and water-falls near by.
On the way here we saw a tree so large that it took fourteen of us
to get our arms round it.
If any of the readers of YOUNG PEOPLE ever get a chance to go
camping, I advise them to do it, for I think it is a great deal of
fun.
I like to read YOUNG PEOPLE very much, and I am so glad I take it.
I am twelve years old.
ALICE W. S.
* * * * *
GLENORA, MISSISSIPPI.
My grandma gives YOUNG PEOPLE to my brother and myself, and we
like it very much. I have no pets to write about, for my little
pet deer, named Nettie, died. We live in the country, on the banks
of a beautiful lake, and have a nice time fishing and taking skiff
rides. I wish you could see the lovely magnolia-trees in my
grandma's yard; and she has so many pretty roses too.
LOUISE B.
* * * * *
BRIDGEPORT, CONNECTICUT.