and all ready for her confirmation when the day came. This is a pretty
sight, and for her sake we went to the old church of St. Sauveur to see
it. It was a bright spring day, and the gardens were full of early
flowers, the quaint streets gay with proud fathers and mothers in
holiday dress, and flocks of strangers pausing to see the long
procession of little girls with white caps and veils, gloves and gowns,
prayer-books and rosaries, winding through the sunny square into the
shadowy church with chanting and candles, garlands and crosses.
The old priest was too ill to perform the service, but the young one who
took his place announced, after it was over, that if they would pass the
house the good old man would bless them from his balcony. That was the
best of all, and a sweet sight, as the feeble fatherly old priest leaned
from his easy-chair to stretch his trembling hands over the little flock
so like a bed of snowdrops, while the bright eyes and rosy faces looked
reverently up at him, and the fresh voices chanted the responses as the
curly heads under the long veils bowed and passed by.
We learned afterwards that our Marie had been called in and praised for
her secret charity--a great honour, because the good priest was much
beloved by all his flock, and took a most paternal interest in the
little ones.
That was almost the last we saw of our little friend, for we left Dinan
soon after, bidding the Lehon family good-bye, and leaving certain warm
souvenirs for winter-time. Marie cried and clung to us at parting, then
smiled like an April day, and waved her hand as we went away, never
expecting to see her any more.
But the next morning, just as we were stepping on board the steamer to
go down the Rance to St. Malo, we saw a little white cap come bobbing
through the market-place, down the steep street, and presently Marie
appeared with two great bunches of pale yellow primroses and wild blue
hyacinths in one hand, while the other held her sabots, that she might
run the faster. Rosy and smiling and breathless with haste she came
racing up to us, crying,--
'Behold my souvenir for the dear ladies. I do not cry now. No; I am glad
the day is so fine. _Bon voyage! bon voyage!_'
We thanked and kissed and left her on the shore, bravely trying not to
cry, as she waved her wooden shoes and kissed her hand till we were out
of sight, and had nothing but the soft colours and sweet breath of our
nosegays to remind us of Little Marie of Lehon.
_MY MAY-DAY AMONG CURIOUS BIRDS AND BEASTS._
Being alone in London, yet wishing to celebrate the day, I decided to
pay my respects to the lions at the Zoological Gardens. A lovely place
it was, and I enjoyed myself immensely; for May-day in England is just
what it should be, mild, sunny, flowery, and spring-like. As I walked
along the well-kept paths, between white and rosy hawthorn hedges, I
kept coming upon new and curious sights; for the birds and beasts are so
skilfully arranged that it is more like travelling through a strange and
pleasant country than visiting a menagerie.
The first thing I saw was a great American bison; and I was so glad to
meet with any one from home, that I'd have patted him with pleasure if
he had shown any cordiality toward me. He didn't, however, but stared
savagely with his fiery eyes, and put down his immense head with a
sullen snort, as if he'd have tossed me with great satisfaction. I did
not blame him, for the poor fellow was homesick, doubtless, for his own
wide prairies and the free life he had lost. So I threw him some fresh
clover, and went on to the pelicans.
I never knew before what handsome birds they were; not graceful, but
with such snowy plumage, tinged with pale pink and faint yellow. They
had just had their bath, and stood arranging their feathers with their
great bills, uttering a queer cry now and then, and nodding to one
another sociably. When fed, they gobbled up the fish, never stopping to
swallow it till the pouches under their bills were full; then they
leisurely emptied them, and seemed to enjoy their lunch with the grave
deliberation of regular Englishmen.
Being in a hurry to see the lions, I went on to the long row of cages,
and there found a splendid sight. Six lions and lionesses, in three or
four different cages, sitting or standing in dignified attitudes, and
eyeing the spectators with a mild expression in their fine eyes. One
lioness was ill, and lay on her bed, looking very pensive, while her
mate moved restlessly about her, evidently anxious to do something for
her, and much afflicted by her suffering. I liked this lion very much,
for, though the biggest, he was very gentle, and had a noble face.
The tigers were rushing about, as tigers usually are; some creeping
noiselessly to and fro, some leaping up and down, and some washing
their faces with their velvet paws. All looked and acted so like cats
that I wasn't at all surprised to hear one of them purr when the keeper
scratched her head. It was a very loud and large purr, but no fireside
pussy could have done it better, and every one laughed at the sound.
There were pretty spotted leopards, panthers, and smaller varieties of
the same species. I sat watching them a long time, longing to let some
of the wild things out for a good run, they seemed so unhappy barred in
those small dens.
Suddenly the lions began to roar, the tigers to snarl, and all to get
very much excited about something, sniffing at the openings, thrusting
their paws through the bars, and lashing their tails impatiently. I
couldn't imagine what the trouble was, till, far down the line, I saw a
man with a barrowful of lumps of raw meat. This was their dinner, and
as they were fed but once a day they were ravenous. Such roars and howls
and cries as arose while the man went slowly down the line, gave one a
good idea of the sounds to be heard in Indian forests and jungles. The
lions behaved best, for they only paced up and down, with an occasional
cry; but the tigers were quite frantic; for they tumbled one over the
other, shook the cages, and tried to reach the bystanders, just out of
reach behind the bar that kept us at a safe distance. One lady had a
fright, for the wind blew the end of her shawl within reach of a tiger's
great claw, and he clutched it, trying to drag her nearer. The shawl
came off, and the poor lady ran away screaming, as if a whole family of
wild beasts were after her.
When the lumps of meat were thrown in, it was curious to see how
differently the animals behaved. The tigers snarled and fought and tore
and got so savage I was very grateful that they were safely shut up. In
a few minutes, nothing but white bones remained, and then they howled
for more. One little leopard was better bred than the others, for he
went up on a shelf in the cage, and ate his dinner in a quiet, proper
manner, which was an example to the rest. The lions ate in dignified
silence, all but my favourite, who carried his share to his sick mate,
and by every gentle means in his power tried to make her eat. She was
too ill, however, and turned away with a plaintive moan which seemed to
grieve him sadly. He wouldn't touch his dinner, but lay down near her,
with the lump between his paws, as if guarding it for her; and there I
left him patiently waiting, in spite of his hunger, till his mate could
share it with him. As I took a last look at his fine old face, I named
him Douglas, and walked away, humming to myself the lines of the
ballad,--
Douglas, Douglas,
Tender and true.
As a contrast to the wild beasts, I went to see the monkeys, who lived
in a fine large house all to themselves. Here was every variety, from
the great ugly chimpanzee to the funny little fellows who played like
boys, and cut up all sorts of capers. A mamma sat tending her baby, and
looking so like a little old woman that I laughed till the gray monkey
with the blue nose scolded at me. He was a cross old party, and sat
huddled up in the straw, scowling at every one, like an ill-tempered old
bachelor. Half-a-dozen little ones teased him capitally by dropping bits
of bread, nut-shells, and straws down on him from above, as they climbed
about the perches, or swung by their tails. One poor little chap had
lost the curly end of his tail,--I'm afraid the gray one bit it
off,--and kept trying to swing like the others, forgetting that the
strong, curly end was what he held on with. He would run up the bare
boughs, and give a jump, expecting to catch and swing, but the lame tail
wouldn't hold him, and down he'd go, bounce on to the straw. At first
he'd sit and stare about him, as if much amazed to find himself there;
then he'd scratch his little round head and begin to scold violently,
which seemed to delight the other monkeys; and, finally, he'd examine
his poor little tail, and appear to understand the misfortune which had
befallen him. The funny expression of his face was irresistible, and I
enjoyed seeing him very much, and gave him a bun to comfort him when I
went away.
The snake-house came next, and I went in, on my way to visit the
rhinoceros family. I rather like snakes, since I had a tame green one,
who lived under the door-step, and would come out and play with me on
sunny days. These snakes I found very interesting, only they got under
their blankets and wouldn't come out, and I wasn't allowed to poke them;
so I missed seeing several of the most curious. An ugly cobra laid and
blinked at me through the glass, looking quite as dangerous as he was.
There were big and little snakes,--black, brown, and speckled, lively
and lazy, pretty and plain ones,--but I liked the great boa best.
When I came to his cage, I didn't see anything but the branch of a tree,
such as I had seen in other cages, for the snakes to wind up and down.
'Where is he, I wonder? I hope he hasn't got out,' I said to myself,
thinking of a story I read once of a person in a menagerie, who turned
suddenly and saw a great boa gliding towards him. As I stood wondering
if the big worm could be under the little flat blanket before me, the
branch began to move all at once, and with a start, I saw a limb swing
down to stare at me with the boa's glittering eyes. He was so exactly
the colour of the bare bough, and lay so still, I had not seen him till
he came to take a look at me. A very villainous-looking reptile he was,
and I felt grateful that I didn't live in a country where such
unpleasant neighbours might pop in upon you unexpectedly. He was kind
enough to take a promenade and show me his size, which seemed immense,
as he stretched himself, and then knotted his rough grayish body into a
great loop, with the fiery-eyed head in the middle. He was not one of
the largest kind, but I was quite satisfied, and left him to his dinner
of rabbits, which I hadn't the heart to stay and see him devour alive.
I was walking toward the camel's pagoda, when, all of a sudden, a long,
dark, curling thing came over my shoulder, and I felt warm breath in my
face. 'It's the boa;' I thought, and gave a skip which carried me into
the hedge, where I stuck, much to the amusement of some children riding
on the elephant whose trunk had frightened me. He had politely tried to
tell me to clear the way, which I certainly had done with all speed.
Picking myself out of the hedge I walked beside him, examining his
clumsy feet and peering up at his small, intelligent eye. I'm very sure
he winked at me, as if enjoying the joke, and kept poking his trunk into
my pocket, hoping to find something eatable.
I felt as if I had got into a foreign country as I looked about me and
saw elephants and camels walking among the trees; flocks of snow-white
cranes stalking over the grass, on their long scarlet legs; striped
Zebras racing in their paddock; queer kangaroos hopping about, with
little ones in their pouches; pretty antelopes chasing one another; and,
in an immense wire-covered aviary, all sorts of brilliant birds were
flying about as gaily as if at home.
One of the curiosities was a sea-cow, who lived in a tank of salt water,
and came at the keeper's call to kiss him, and flounder on its flippers
along the margin of the tank after a fish. It was very like a seal, only
much larger, and had four fins instead of two. Its eyes were lovely, so
dark and soft and liquid; but its mouth was not pretty, and I declined
one of the damp kisses which it was ready to dispense at word of
command.
The great polar bear lived next door, and spent his time splashing in
and out of a pool of water, or sitting on a block of ice, panting, as if
the mild spring day was blazing midsummer. He looked very unhappy, and I
thought it a pity that they didn't invent a big refrigerator for him.
These are not half of the wonderful creatures I saw, but I have not room
to tell more; only I advise all who can to pay a visit to the Zoological
Gardens when they go to London, for it is one of the most interesting
sights in that fine old city.
_OUR LITTLE NEWSBOY._
Hurrying to catch a certain car at a certain corner late one stormy
night, I was suddenly arrested by the sight of a queer-looking bundle
lying in a door-way.
'Bless my heart, it's a child! O John! I'm afraid he's frozen!' I
exclaimed to my brother, as we both bent over the bundle.
Such a little fellow as he was, in the big, ragged coat; such a tired,
baby face, under the fuzzy cap; such a purple, little hand, still
holding fast a few papers; such a pathetic sight altogether was the boy,
lying on the stone step, with the snow drifting over him, that it was
impossible to go by.
'He is asleep; but he'll freeze, if left so long. Here! wake up, my boy,
and go home, as fast as you can,' cried John, with a gentle shake, and a
very gentle voice; for the memory of a dear little lad, safely tucked up
at home, made him fatherly kind to the small vagabond.
The moment he was touched, the boy tumbled up, and, before he was half
awake, began his usual cry, with an eye to business.
'Paper, sir? "Herald!" "Transkip!" Last'--a great gape swallowed up the
'last edition,' and he stood blinking at us like a very chilly young
owl.
'I'll buy 'em all if you'll go home, my little chap; it's high time you
were abed,' said John, whisking the damp papers into one pocket, and his
purse out of another, as he spoke.
'All of 'em?--why there's six!' croaked the boy, for he was as hoarse as
a raven.
'Never mind, I can kindle the fire with 'em. Put that in your pocket;
and trot home, my man, as fast as possible.'
'Where do you live?' I asked, picking up the fifty cents that fell from
the little fingers, too benumbed to hold it.
'Mills Court, out of Hanover. Cold, ain't it?' said the boy, blowing on
his purple hands, and hopping feebly from one leg to the other, to take
the stiffness out.
'He can't go all that way in this storm--such a mite, and so used up
with cold and sleep, John.'
'Of course he can't; we'll put him in a car,' began John; when the boy
wheezed out,--
'No; I've got ter wait for Sam. He'll be along as soon's the theatre's
done. He said he would; and so I'm waitin'.'
'Who is Sam?' I asked.
'He's the feller I lives with. I ain't got any folks, and he takes care
o' me.'
'Nice care, indeed; leaving a baby like you to wait for him here such a
night as this,' I said crossly.
'Oh, he's good to me Sam is, though he does knock me round sometimes,
when I ain't spry. The big feller shoves me back, you see; and I gets
cold, and can't sing out loud; so I don't sell my papers, and has to
work 'em off late.'
'Hear the child talk! One would think he was sixteen, instead of six,' I
said, half laughing.
'I'm most ten. Hi! ain't that a oner?' cried the boy, as a gust of sleet
slapped him in the face, when he peeped to see if Sam was coming.
'Hullo! the lights is out! Why, the play's done, and the folks gone, and
Sam's forgot me.'
It was very evident that Sam _had_ forgotten his little _protege_; and
a strong desire to shake Sam possessed me.
'No use waitin' any longer; and now my papers is sold, I ain't afraid to
go home,' said the boy, stepping down like a little old man with the
rheumatism, and preparing to trudge away through the storm.
'Stop a bit, my little Casabianca; a car will be along in fifteen
minutes; and while waiting you can warm yourself over there,' said John,
with the purple hand in his.
'My name's Jack Hill, not Cassy Banks, please, sir,' said the little
party, with dignity.
'Have you had your supper, Mr. Hill?' asked John, laughing.
'I had some peanuts, and two sucks of Joe's orange; but it warn't very
fillin',' he said, gravely.
'I should think not. Here! one stew; and be quick, please,' cried John,
as we sat down in a warm corner of the confectioner's opposite.
While little Jack shovelled in the hot oysters, with his eyes shutting
up now and then in spite of himself, we looked at him and thought again
of little Rosy-face at home safe in his warm nest, with mother-love
watching over him. Nodding towards the ragged, grimy, forlorn, little
creature, dropping asleep over his supper like a tired baby, I said,--
'Can you imagine our Freddy out alone at this hour, trying to 'work off'
his papers, because afraid to go home till he has?'
'I'd rather not try,' answered brother John, winking hard, as he stroked
the little head beside him, which, by the bye, looked very like a
ragged, yellow door-mat. I _think_ brother John winked hard, but I can't
be sure, for I know I did; and for a minute there seemed to be a dozen
little newsboys dancing before my eyes.
'There goes our car; and it's the last,' said John, looking at me.
'Let it go, but don't leave the boy;' and I frowned at John for hinting
at such a thing.
'Here is his car. Now, my lad, bolt your last oyster, and come on.'
'Good-night, ma'am! thankee, sir!' croaked the grateful little voice, as
the child was caught up in John's strong hands and set down on the
car-step.
With a word to the conductor, and a small business transaction, we left
Jack coiled up in a corner to finish his nap as tranquilly as if it
wasn't midnight, and a 'knocking-round' might not await him at his
journey's end.
We didn't mind the storm much as we plodded home; and when I told the
story to Rosy-face, next day, his interest quite reconciled me to the
sniffs and sneezes of a bad cold.
'If I saw that poor little boy, Aunt Jo, I'd love him lots!' said
Freddy, with a world of pity in his beautiful child's eyes.
And, believing that others also would be kind to little Jack, and such
as he, I tell the story.
When busy fathers hurry home at night, I hope they'll buy their papers
of the small boys, who get 'shoved back;' the feeble ones, who grow
hoarse, and can't 'sing out;' the shabby ones, who evidently have only
forgetful Sams to care for them; and the hungry-looking ones, who don't
get what is 'fillin'.' For love of the little sons and daughters safe at
home, say a kind word, buy a paper, even if you don't want it; and never
pass by, leaving them to sleep forgotten in the streets at midnight,
with no pillow but a stone, no coverlet but the pitiless snow, and not
even a tender-hearted robin to drop leaves over them.
_PATTY'S PATCHWORK._
'I perfectly hate it! and something dreadful ought to be done to the
woman who invented it,' said Patty, in a pet, sending a shower of gay
pieces flying over the carpet as if a small whirlwind and a rainbow had
got into a quarrel.
Puss did not agree with Patty, for, after a surprised hop when the
flurry came, she calmly laid herself down on a red square, purring
comfortably and winking her yellow eyes, as if she thanked the little
girl for the bright bed that set off her white fur so prettily. This
cool performance made Patty laugh, and say more pleasantly--
'Well, it _is_ tiresome, isn't it, Aunt Pen?'
'Sometimes; but we all have to make patchwork, my dear, and do the best
we can with the pieces given us.'
'Do we?' and Patty opened her eyes in great astonishment at this new
idea.
'Our lives are patchwork, and it depends on us a good deal how the
bright and dark bits get put together so that the whole is neat, pretty,
and useful when it is done,' said Aunt Pen soberly.
'Deary me, now she is going to preach,' thought Patty; but she rather
liked Aunt Pen's preachments, for a good deal of fun got mixed up with
the moralising; and she was so good herself that children could never
say in their naughty little minds, 'You are just as bad as we, so you
needn't talk to us, ma'am.'
'I gave you that patchwork to see what you would make of it, and it is
as good as a diary to me, for I can tell by the different squares how
you felt when you made them,' continued Aunt Pen, with a twinkle in her
eye as she glanced at the many-coloured bits on the carpet.
'Can you truly? just try and see,' and Patty looked interested at once.
Pointing with the yard-measure, Aunt Pen said, tapping a certain dingy,
puckered, brown and purple square--
'That is a bad day; don't it look so?'
'Well, it was, I do declare! for that was the Monday piece, when
everything went wrong and I didn't care how my work looked,' cried
Patty, surprised at Aunt Pen's skill in reading the calico diary.
'This pretty pink and white one so neatly sewed is a good day; this
funny mixture of red, blue, and yellow with the big stitches is a merry
day; that one with spots on it is one that got cried over; this with the
gay flowers is a day full of good little plans and resolutions; and that
one made of dainty bits, all stars and dots and tiny leaves, is the one
you made when you were thinking about the dear new baby there at home.'
'Why, Aunt Pen, you are a fairy! How _did_ you know? they truly are just
as you say, as near as I can remember. I rather like that sort of
patchwork,' and Patty sat down upon the floor to collect, examine, and
arrange her discarded work with a new interest in it.
'I see what is going on, and I have queer plays in my mind just as you
little folks do. Suppose you make this a moral bed-quilt, as some people
make album quilts. See how much patience, perseverance, good nature, and
industry you can put into it. Every bit will have a lesson or a story,
and when you lie under it you will find it a real comforter,' said Aunt
Pen, who wanted to amuse the child and teach her something better even
than the good old-fashioned accomplishment of needlework.
'I don't see how I can put that sort of thing into it,' answered Patty,
as she gently lifted puss into her lap, instead of twitching the red bit
roughly from under her.
'There goes a nice little piece of kindness this very minute,' laughed
Aunt Pen, pointing to the cat and the red square.
Patty laughed also, and looked pleased as she stroked Mother Bunch,
while she said thoughtfully--
'I see what you mean now. I am making two kinds of patchwork at the same
time; and this that I see is to remind me of the other kind that I don't
see.'
'Every task, no matter how small or homely, that gets well and
cheerfully done, is a fine thing; and the sooner we learn to use up the
dark and bright bits (the pleasures and pains, the cares and duties)
into a cheerful, useful life, the sooner we become real comforters, and
every one likes to cuddle about us. Don't you see, deary?'
'That's what you are, Aunt Pen;' and Patty put up her hand to hold fast
by that other strong, kind, helpful hand that did so much, yet never was
tired, cold, or empty.
Aunt Pen took the chubby little one in both her own, and said, smiling,
yet with meaning in her eyes, as she tapped the small fore-finger, rough
with impatient and unskilful sewing--
'Shall we try and see what a nice little comforter we can make this
month, while you wait to be called home to see mamma and the dear new
baby?'
'Yes, I'd like to try;' and Patty gave Aunt Pen's hand a hearty shake,
for she wanted to be good, and rather thought the new fancy would lend a
charm to the task which we all find rather tiresome and hard.
So the bargain was made, and the patch Patty sewed that day was
beautiful to behold; for she was in a delightfully moral state of mind,
and felt quite sure that she was going to become a model for all
children to follow, if they could. The next day her ardour had cooled a
little, and being in a hurry to go out to play, she slighted her work,
thinking no one would know. But the third day she got so angry with her
patch that she tore it in two, and declared it was all nonsense to fuss
about being good and thorough and all the rest of it.
Aunt Pen did not say much, but made her mend and finish her patch and
add it to the pile. After she went to bed that night Patty thought of
it, and wished she could do it over, it looked so badly. But as it could
not be, she had a penitent fit, and resolved to keep her temper while
she sewed, at any rate, for mamma was to see the little quilt when it
was done, and would want to know all about it.