tried to feed it. To her great joy it ate crumb after crumb as if it
were half starved, and soon fluttered nearer with a confiding
fearlessness that made her very proud. Soon Baby Robin seemed quite
comfortable, his eye brightened, he "queeked" no more, and but for the
drooping wing would have been himself again. With one of her bandages
Nelly bound both wings closely to his sides for fear he should hurt
himself by trying to fly; and, though he seemed amazed at her
proceedings, he behaved very well, only staring at her, and ruffling up
his few feathers in a funny way that made her laugh. Then she had to
discover some way of accommodating her two larger patients, so that
neither should hurt nor alarm the other. A bright thought came to her
after much pondering. Carefully lifting the handkerchief, she pinned
the two ends to the roof of the cart, and there swung little
Forked-tongue, while Rob lay easily below.
By this time Nelly began to wonder how it happened that she found so
many more injured things than ever before. But it never entered her
innocent head that Tony had searched the wood and meadow before she was
up, and laid most of these creatures ready to her hands, that she might
not be disappointed. She had not yet lost her faith in fairies, so she
fancied they too belonged to her small sisterhood, and presently it did
really seem impossible to doubt that the good folk had been at work.
Coming to the bridge that crossed the brook, she stopped a moment to
watch the water ripple over the bright pebbles, the ferns bend down to
drink, and the funny tadpoles frolic in quieter nooks where the sun
shone, and the dragon-flies swung among the rushes. When Nelly turned
to go on, her blue eyes opened wide, and the handle of the ambulance
dropped with a noise that caused a stout frog to skip into the water
heels over head. Directly in the middle of the bridge was a pretty
green tent, made of two tall burdock leaves. The stems were stuck into
cracks between the boards, the tips were pinned together with a thorn,
and one great buttercup nodded in the doorway like a sleepy sentinel.
Nelly stared and smiled, listened, and looked about on every side.
Nothing was seen but the quiet meadow and the shady grove, nothing was
heard but the babble of the brook and the cheery music of the bobolinks.
"Yes," said Nelly softly to herself, "that is a fairy tent, and in it I
may find a baby elf sick with whooping-cough or scarlet fever. How
splendid it would be! only I could never nurse such a dainty thing."
Stooping eagerly, she peeped over the buttercup's drowsy head, and saw
what seemed a tiny cock of hay. She had no time to feel disappointed,
for the haycock began to stir, and, looking nearer, she beheld two
silvery-gray mites, who wagged wee tails, and stretched themselves as
if they had just waked up. Nelly knew that they were young field-mice,
and rejoiced over them, feeling rather relieved that no fairy had
appeared, though she still believed them to have had a hand in the
matter.
"I shall call the mice my Babes in the Wood, because they are lost and
covered up with leaves," said Nelly, as she laid them in her snuggest
bed, where they nestled close together, and fell fast asleep again.
Being very anxious to get home, that she might tell her adventures, and
show how great was the need of a sanitary commission in that region,
Nelly marched proudly up the avenue, and, having displayed her load,
hurried to the hospital where another applicant was waiting for her.
On the step of the door lay a large turtle, with one claw gone, and on
his back was pasted a bit of paper with his name, "Commodore Waddle,
U.S.N." Nelly knew this was a joke of Will's, but welcomed the ancient
mariner, and called Tony to help her get him in.
All that morning they were very busy settling the new-comers, for both
people and books had to be consulted before they could decide what diet
and treatment was best for each. The winged contraband had taken Nelly
at her word, and flown away on the journey home. Little Rob was put in
a large cage, where he could use his legs, yet not injure his lame
wing. Forked-tongue lay under a wire cover, on sprigs of fennel, for
the gardener said that snakes were fond of it. The Babes in the Wood
were put to bed in one of the rush baskets, under a cotton-wool
coverlet. Greenback, the beetle, found ease for his unknown aches in
the warm heart of a rose, where he sunned himself all day. The
Commodore was made happy in a tub of water, grass, and stones, and Mr.
Fuzz was put in a well-ventilated glass box to decide whether he would
be a cocoon or not.
Tony had not been idle while his mistress was away, and he showed her
the hospital garden he had made close by, in which were cabbage,
nettle, and mignonette plants for the butterflies, flowering herbs for
the bees, chickweed and hemp for the birds, catnip for the pussies, and
plenty of room left for whatever other patients might need. In the
afternoon, while Nelly did her task at lint-picking, talking busily to
Will as she worked, and interesting him in her affairs, Tony cleared a
pretty spot in the grove for the burying-ground, and made ready some
small bits of slate on which to write the names of those who died. He
did not have it ready an hour too soon, for at sunset two little graves
were needed, and Nurse Nelly shed tender tears for her first losses as
she laid the motherless mice in one smooth hollow, and the gray-coated
rebel in the other. She had learned to care for him already, and, when
she found him dead, was very glad she had been kind to him, hoping that
he knew it, and died happier in her hospital than all alone in the
shadowy wood.
The rest of Nelly's patients prospered, and of the many added afterward
few died, because of Tony's skilful treatment and her own faithful
care. Every morning when the day proved fair the little ambulance went
out upon its charitable errand; every afternoon Nelly worked for the
human sufferers whom she loved; and every evening brother Will read
aloud to her from useful books, showed her wonders with his microscope,
or prescribed remedies for the patients, whom he soon knew by name and
took much interest in. It was Nelly's holiday; but, though she studied
no lessons, she learned much, and unconsciously made her pretty play
both an example and a rebuke for others.
At first it seemed a childish pastime, and people laughed. But there
was something in the familiar words "Sanitary," "hospital," and
"ambulance" that made them pleasant sounds to many ears. As reports of
Nelly's work went through the neighborhood, other children came to see
and copy her design. Rough lads looked ashamed when in her wards they
found harmless creatures hurt by them, and going out they said among
themselves, "We won't stone birds, chase butterflies, and drown the
girls' little cats any more, though we won't tell them so." And most
of the lads kept their word so well that people said there never had
been so many birds before as all that summer haunted wood and field.
Tender-hearted playmates brought their pets to be cured; even busy
fathers had a friendly word for the small charity, which reminded them
so sweetly of the great one which should never be forgotten; lonely
mothers sometimes looked out with wet eyes as the little ambulance went
by, recalling thoughts of absent sons who might be journeying painfully
to some far-off hospital, where brave women waited to tend them with
hands as willing, hearts as tender, as those the gentle child gave to
her self-appointed task.
At home the charm worked also. No more idle days for Nelly, or fretful
ones for Will, because the little sister would not neglect the helpless
creatures so dependent upon her, and the big brother was ashamed to
complain after watching the patience of these lesser sufferers, and
merrily said he would try to bear his own wound as quietly and bravely
as the "Commodore" bore his. Nelly never knew how much good she had
done Captain Will till he went away again in the early autumn. Then he
thanked her for it, and though she cried for joy and sorrow she never
forgot it, because he left something behind him which always pleasantly
reminded her of the double success her little hospital had won.
When Will was gone, and she had prayed softly in her heart that God
would keep him safe and bring him home again, she dried her tears and
went away to find comfort in the place where he had spent so many happy
hours with her. She had not been there before that day, and when she
reached the door she stood quite still and wanted very much to cry
again, for something beautiful had happened. She had often asked Will
for a motto for her hospital, and he had promised to find her one. She
thought he had forgotten it; but even in the hurry of that busy day he
had found time to do more than keep his word, while Nelly sat indoors,
lovingly brightening the tarnished buttons on the blue coat that had
seen so many battles.
Above the roof, where the doves cooed in the sun, now rustled a white
flag with the golden "S.C." shining on it as the west wind tossed it to
and fro. Below, on the smooth panel of the door, a skilful pencil had
drawn two arching ferns, in whose soft shadow, poised upon a mushroom,
stood a little figure of Nurse Nelly, and underneath it another of Dr.
Tony bottling medicine, with spectacles upon his nose. Both hands of
the miniature Nelly were outstretched, as if beckoning to a train of
insects, birds, and beasts, which was so long that it not only circled
round the lower rim of this fine sketch, but dwindled in the distance
to mere dots and lines. Such merry conceits as one found there! A
mouse bringing the tail it had lost in some cruel trap, a dor-bug with
a shade over its eyes, an invalid butterfly carried in a tiny litter by
long-legged spiders, a fat frog with gouty feet hopping upon crutches,
Jenny Wren sobbing in a nice handkerchief, as she brought poor dear
dead Cock Robin to be restored to life. Rabbits, lambs, cats, calves,
and turtles, all came trooping up to be healed by the benevolent little
maid who welcomed them so heartily.
Nelly laughed at these comical mites till the tears ran down her
cheeks, and thought she never could be tired of looking at them. But
presently she saw four lines clearly printed underneath her picture,
and her childish face grew sweetly serious as she read the words of a
great poet, which Will had made both compliment and motto:--
"He prayeth best who loveth best
All things, both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all."
IV.
GRANDMA'S TEAM.
"It's no use, I can't find a horse anywhere, for love or money. All
are either sick or kept quiet to-day for fear of being sick. I declare
I'd almost rather lose Major than disappoint mother," said Farmer
Jenks, coming in on Sunday morning from a fruitless visit to his
neighbors.
It was in the height of the horse distemper, and his own valuable beast
stood in the stall, looking very interesting, with his legs in red
flannel bandages, an old shawl round his neck, his body well covered by
blankets, and a pensive expression in his fine eyes as he coughed and
groaned distressfully.
You see it was particularly unfortunate to have Major give out on
Sunday, for grandma had been to church, rain or shine, every Sunday for
twenty years, and it was the pride of her life to be able to say this.
She was quite superstitious about it, and really felt as if her
wonderful health and strength were given her as a reward for her
unfailing devotion.
A sincerely pious and good old lady was Grandma Jenks, and her entry
into the church always made a little sensation, for she was eighty-five
years old, yet hale and hearty, with no affliction but lame feet. So
every Sunday, all the year round, her son or grandsons drove her down
to service in the wide, low chaise, got expressly for her benefit, and
all the week seemed brighter and better for the quiet hour spent in the
big pew.
"If the steeple should fall, folks wouldn't miss it any more than they
would old Mrs. Jenks from her corner," was a saying among the people,
and grandma felt as if she was not only a public character, but a
public example for all to follow, for another saying in the town was,--
"Well, if old Mrs. Jenks can go to meeting, there's no excuse for our
staying at home."
That pleased her, and so when the farmer came in with his bad news, she
looked deeply disappointed, sat still a minute tapping her hymn-book,
then took her two canes and got up, saying resolutely,--
"A merciful man is merciful to his beast, so I won't have poor Major
risk his life for me, but I shall walk."
A general outcry followed, for grandma was very lame, church a mile
away, and the roads muddy after the rain.
"You can't do it mother, and you'll be sick for the winter if you try,"
cried Mrs. Jenks, in great trouble.
"No, dear; I guess the Lord will give me strength, since I'm going to
His house," answered the old lady, walking slowly to the door.
"Blest if I wouldn't carry you myself if I only could, mother,"
exclaimed the farmer, helping her down the steps with filial gentleness.
Here Ned and Charley, the boys, laughed, for grandma was very stout,
and the idea of their father carrying her tickled them immensely.
"Boys, I'm ashamed of you!" said their mother, frowning at them. But
grandma laughed too, and said pleasantly,--
"I won't be a burden, Moses; give me your arm and I'll step out as well
as I can, and mebby some one may come along and give me a lift."
So the door was locked and the family set off. But it was hard work
for the old lady, and soon she said she must sit down and rest a spell.
As they stood waiting for her, all looking anxious, the boys suddenly
had a bright idea, and, merely saying they had forgotten something,
raced up the hill again.
"I'm afraid you won't be able to do it, mother," the farmer was just
saying, when the sound of an approaching carriage made them all turn to
look, hoping for a lift.
Nearer and nearer drew the rattle, and round the corner came, not a
horse's head, but two felt hats on two boys' heads, and Charley and Ned
appeared, trotting briskly, with the chaise behind them.
"Here's your team, grandma! Jump in, and we'll get you to meeting in
good time yet," cried the lads, smiling and panting as they drew up
close to the stone where the old lady sat.
"Boys, boys, it's Sunday, and we can't have any jokes or nonsense now,"
began Mrs. Jenks, looking much scandalized.
"Well, I don't know, wife. It's a new thing, I allow, but considering
the fix we are in, I'm not sure it isn't a good plan. What do _you_
think, mother?" asked the farmer, laughing, yet well pleased at the
energy and good-will of his lads.
"If the boys behave themselves, and do it as a duty, not a frolic, and
don't upset me, I reckon I'll let 'em try, for I don't believe I can
get there any other way," said grandma.
"You hoped the Lord would give you strength, and so He has, in this
form. Use it, mother, and thank Him for it, since the children love
you so well they would run their legs off to serve you," said the
farmer, soberly, as he helped the old lady in and folded the robes
round her feet.
"Steady, boys, no pranks, and stop behind the sheds. I can lend mother
an arm there, and she can walk across the green. This turn-out is all
very well, but we won't make a show of it."
Away went the chaise rolling gently down the hill, and the new span
trotted well together, while the old lady sat calmly inside, frequently
saying,--
"Don't pull too hard, Ned. I'm afraid I'm very heavy for you to draw,
Charley. Take it easy, dears; there's time enough, time enough."
"You'll never hear the last of this, Moses; it will be a town joke for
months to come," said Mrs. Jenks, as she and her husband walked briskly
after the triumphal car.
"Don't care if I do hear on't for a considerable spell. It's nothing
to be ashamed of, and I guess you'll find that folks will agree with
me, even if they do laugh," answered the farmer, stoutly; and he was
right.
Pausing behind the sheds, grandma was handed out, and the family went
into church, a little late but quite decorously, and as if nothing
funny had occurred. To be sure, Ned and Charley were very red and hot,
and now and then stole looks at one another with a roguish twinkle of
the eye; but a nudge from mother or a shake of the head from father
kept them in good order, while dear old grandma couldn't do enough to
show her gratitude. She passed a fan, she handed peppermints in her
hymn-book, and when Ned sneezed begged him to put her shawl over his
shoulders.
After church the lads slipped away and harnessed themselves all ready
for the homeward trip. But they had to wait, for grandma met some
friends and stopped to "reminiss," as she called it, and her son did
not hurry her, thinking it as well to have the coast clear before his
new team appeared.
It was dull and cold behind the sheds, and the boys soon got impatient.
Their harness was rather intricate, and they did not want to take it
off, so they stood chafing and grumbling at the delay.
"You are nearest, so just hand out that blanket and put it over me; I'm
as cold as a stone," said Ned, who was leader.
"I want it myself, if I've got to wait here much longer," grumbled
Charley, sitting on the whiffletree, with his legs curled up.
"You're a selfish pig! I'm sure I shall have the horse-cough to-morrow
if you don't cover me up."
"Now you know why father is so particular about making us cover Major
when we leave him standing. You never do it if you can help it, so how
do you like it yourself?"
"Whether I like it or not, I'll warm you when we get home, see if I
don't, old fellow."
Up came the elders and away went the ponies, but they had a hard tug of
it this time. Grandma was not a light weight, the road pretty steep in
places, and the mud made heavy going. Such a puffing and panting,
heaving and hauling, was never heard or seen there before. The farmer
put his shoulder to the wheel, and even Mrs. Jenks tucked up her black
silk skirts, and gave an occasional tug at one shaft.
Grandma bemoaned her cruelty, and begged to get out, but the lads
wouldn't give up, so with frequent stoppages, some irrepressible
laughter, and much persistent effort, the old lady was safely landed at
the front door.
No sooner was she fairly down than she did what I fancy might have a
good effect on four-legged steeds, if occasionally tried. She hugged
both boys, patted and praised them, helped pull off their harness, and
wiped their hot foreheads with her own best Sunday handkerchief, then
led them in and fed them well.
The lads were in high feather at the success of their exploit, and each
showed it in a different way. Charley laughed and talked about it,
offered to trot grandma out any day, and rejoiced in the strength of
his muscles, and his soundness in wind and limb.
But Ned sat silently eating his dinner, and when some one asked him if
he remembered the text of the sermon, he answered in grandma's words,
"A merciful man is merciful to his beast."
"Well, I don't care, that's the only text I remember, and I got a
sermon out of it, any way," he said, when the rest laughed at him, and
asked what he was thinking about.
"I seem to know now how Major feels when we keep him waiting, when I
don't blanket him, and when I expect him to pull his heart out, with no
time to get his breath. I'm going to beg his pardon after dinner, and
tell him all about it."
Charley stopped laughing when sober Ned said that, and he saw his
father and mother nod to one another as if well pleased.
"I'll go too, and tell the old fellow that I mean to uncheck him going
up hill, to scotch the wheels so he can rest, and be ever so good to
him if he'll only get well."
"You might add that you mean to treat him like a horse and a brother,
for you have turned pony yourself," said his father, when Charley
finished his virtuous remarks.
"And don't forget to pet him a good deal, my dears, for horses like to
be loved, and praised, and thanked, as well as boys, and we can't do
too much for the noble creatures who are so faithful and useful to us,"
said Mrs. Jenks, quite touched by the new state of feeling.
"It's my opinion that this sickness among the horses will do a deal of
good, by showing folks the great value of the beasts they abuse and
neglect. Neighbor Stone is fussing over his old Whitey as if he was a
child, and yet I've seen that poor brute unmercifully beaten, and kept
half starved. I told Stone that if he lost him it would be because
kind treatment came too late; and Stone never got mad, but went and
poured vinegar over a hot brick under Whitey's nose till he 'most
sneezed his head off. Stone has got a lesson this time, and so have
some other folks."
As the farmer spoke, he glanced at the boys, who remorsefully recalled
the wrongs poor Major had suffered at their hands, not from cruelty,
but thoughtlessness, and both resolved to treat him like a friend for
evermore.
"Well," said grandma, looking with tender pride at the ruddy faces on
either side of her, "I'm thankful to say that I've never missed a
Sunday for twenty year, and I've been in all sorts of weather, and in
all sorts of ways, even on an ox sled one time when the drifts were
deep, but I never went better than to-day; so in this dish of tea I'm
going to drink this toast: 'Easy roads, light loads, and kind drivers
to grandma's team.'"
V
FAIRY PINAFORES.
After Cinderella was married and settled, her god-mother looked about
for some other clever bit of work to do, for she was not only the best,
but the busiest little old lady that ever lived. Now the city was in a
sad state, for all it looked so fine and seemed so gay. The old king
was very lazy and sat all day in his great easy-chair, taking naps and
reading newspapers, while the old queen sat opposite in _her_
easy-chair, taking naps and knitting gold-thread stockings for her son.
The prince was a fine young man, but rather wild, and fonder of running
after pretty young ladies with small feet than of attending to the
kingdom.
The wise god-mother knew that Cinderella would teach him better things
by and by, but the old lady could not wait for that. So, after talking
the matter over with her ancient cat, Silverwhisker, she put on her red
cloak, her pointed hat and high-heeled shoes, took her cane and trotted
away to carry out her plan. She was so fond of making people happy
that it kept her brisk and young in spite of her years; and, for all I
know, she may be trotting up and down the world this very day, red
cloak, pointed hat, high-heeled shoes, and all.
In her drives about the city, she had been much grieved to see so many
beggar-children, ragged, hungry, sick, and cold, with no friends to
care for them, no homes to shelter them, and no one to teach, help, or
comfort them. When Cinderella's troubles were well over, the good
god-mother resolved to attend to this matter, and set about it in the
following manner:--
She went into the poor streets, and whenever she found a homeless child
she bade it come with her; and so motherly was her face, so kind her
voice, that not one feared or refused. Soon she had gathered a hundred
little boys and girls,--a sad sight, for some were lame, some blind,
some deformed, many black and many ugly, all hungry, ragged, and
forlorn, but all dear children in her sight, for the little hearts were
not spoilt, and her fairy power could work all miracles. When she had
enough, she led them beyond the city gates into the beautiful country
and no one saw them go, for she made them invisible to other eyes.
Wondering, yet contented, they trooped along, delighted with all they
saw. The strong helped the weak; those who could see described the
lovely sights to the blind; the hungry found berries all along the
road; the sick gladly breathed the fresh air, and to none did the way
seem long, for green grass was underneath their feet, blue sky
overhead, and summer sunshine everywhere.
As they came out from a pleasant wood, a great shouting arose, when the
god-mother pointed to a lovely place and told them that was home. She
had but to wish for any thing and it was hers; so she had wished for a
Children's Home, and there it was. In a wide meadow stood a large, low
house, with many blooming little gardens before it, and sunny fields
behind it, full of pretty tame creatures, who came running as if to
welcome and tell the children that their holiday had begun. In they
went, and stood quite breathless with wonder and delight, all was so
pleasant and so new. There were no stairs to tire little feet with
climbing up, or to bump little heads with tumbling down, but four large
rooms opening one into the other, with wide doors and sunny windows on
every side.
In one stood a hundred clean white beds, with a hundred little, clean
white caps and gowns ready for the night. Dark curtains made a
comfortable twilight here, and through the room sounded a soft lullaby
from an unseen instrument, so soothing that all the children gaped at
once and began to nod like a field of poppies.