A TENDER-HEARTED SKELETON.
"Now, then, lazy-bones," was Mr. Lord's warning cry as Toby came out of
the tent, "if you've fooled away enough of your time, you can come here
an' 'tend shop for me while I go to supper. You crammed yourself this
noon, an' it'll teach you a good lesson to make you go without anything
to eat to-night; it'll make you move round more lively in the future."
Instead of becoming accustomed to such treatment as he was receiving
from his employers, Toby's heart grew more tender with each brutal word,
and this last punishment--that of losing his supper--caused the poor boy
more sorrow than blows would. Mr. Lord started for the hotel as he
concluded his cruel speech, and poor little Toby, going behind the
counter, leaned his head upon the rough boards, and cried as if his
heart would break.
All the fancied brightness and pleasure of a circus life had vanished,
and in its place was the bitterness of remorse that he had repaid Uncle
Daniel's kindness by the ingratitude of running away. Toby thought then
that if he could only nestle his little red head on the pillows of his
little bed in that rough room at Uncle Daniel's, he would be the
happiest and best boy, in the future, in all the great wide world.
While he was still sobbing away at a most furious rate he heard a voice
close at his elbow, and looking up, he saw the thinnest man he had ever
seen in all his life. The man had flesh-colored tights on, and a
spangled red velvet garment--that was neither pants, because there were
no legs to it, nor a coat, because it did not come above his waist--made
up the remainder of his costume. Because he was so wonderfully thin,
because of the costume which he wore, and because of a highly colored
painting which was hanging in front of one of the small tents, Toby knew
that the Living Skeleton was before him, and his big brown eyes opened
all the wider as he gazed at him.
"What is the matter, little fellow?" asked the man, in a kindly tone.
"What makes you cry so? Has Job been up to his old tricks again?"
"I don't know what his old tricks are"--and Toby sobbed, his tears
coming again because of the sympathy which this man's voice expressed
for him--"but I know that he's a mean, ugly thing, that's what I know;
an' if I could only get back to Uncle Dan'l, there hain't elephants
enough in all the circuses in the world to pull me away again."
"Oh, you run away from home, did you?"
"Yes, I did," sobbed Toby, "an' there hain't any boy in any
Sunday-school book that ever I read that was half so sorry he'd been bad
as I am. It's awful; an' now I can't have any supper, 'cause I stopped
to talk with Mr. Stubbs."
"Is Mr. Stubbs one of your friends?" asked the skeleton, as he seated
himself on Mr. Lord's own private seat.
"Yes, he is, an' he's the only one in this whole circus who 'pears to be
sorry for me. You'd better not let Mr. Lord see you sittin' in that
chair, or he'll raise a row."
"Job won't raise any row with me," said the skeleton. "But who is this
Mr. Stubbs? I don't seem to know anybody by that name."
"I don't think that is his name. I only call him so, 'cause he looks so
much like a feller I know who is named Stubbs."
This satisfied the skeleton that this Mr. Stubbs must be some one
attached to the show, and he asked,
"Has Job been whipping you?"
"No; Ben, the driver on the cart where I ride, told him not to do that
again; but he hain't going to let me have any supper, 'cause I was so
slow about my work, though I wasn't slow; I only talked to Mr. Stubbs
when there wasn't anybody round his cage."
"Sam! Sam! Sam-u-el!"
This name, which was shouted twice in a quick, loud voice, and the third
time in a slow manner, ending almost in a screech, did not come from
either Toby or the skeleton, but from an enormously large woman, dressed
in a gaudy red and black dress, cut very short, and with low neck and an
apology for sleeves, who had just come out from the tent whereon the
picture of the Living Skeleton hung.
"Samuel," she screamed again, "come inside this minute, or you'll catch
your death o' cold, an' I shall have you wheezin' around with the
phthisic all night. Come in, Sam-u-el."
"That's her," said the skeleton to Toby, as he pointed his thumb in the
direction of the fat woman, but paid no attention to the outcry she was
making--"that's my wife Lilly, an' she's the fat woman of the show.
She's always yellin' after me that way the minute I get out for a little
fresh air, an' she's always sayin' just the same thing. Bless you, I
never have the phthisic, but she does awful; an' I s'pose 'cause she's
so large she can't feel all over her, an' thinks it's me that has it."
"Is--is all that--is that your wife?" stammered Toby, in astonishment,
as he looked at the enormously fat woman who stood in the tent door, and
then at the wonderfully thin man who sat beside him.
"Yes, that's her," said the skeleton. "She weighs pretty nigh four
hundred, though of course the show cards says it's over six hundred, an'
she earns almost as much money as I do. Of course she can't get so much,
for skeletons is much scarcer than fat folks; but we make a pretty good
thing travellin' together."
"Sam-u-el," again came a cry from the fat woman, "are you never coming
in?"
"Not yet, my angel," said the skeleton, placidly, as he crossed one thin
leg over the other, and looked calmly at her. "Come here an' see Job's
new boy."
"Your imprudence is wearin' me away so that I sha'n't be worth five
dollars a week to any circus," she said, impatiently; but at the same
time she came toward the candy stand quite as rapidly as her very great
size would admit.
"This is my wife Lilly--Mrs. Treat," said the skeleton, with a proud
wave of the hand, as he rose from his seat and gazed admiringly at her.
"This is my flower, my queen, Mr.--Mr.--"
"Tyler," said Toby, supplying the name which the skeleton--or Mr. Treat,
as Toby now learned his name was--"Tyler is my name, Toby Tyler."
"Why, what a little chap you are!" said Mrs. Treat, paying no attention
to the awkward little bend of the head which Toby had intended for a
bow. "How small he is, Samuel!"
"Yes," said the skeleton, reflectively, as he looked Toby over from head
to foot, as if he were mentally trying to calculate exactly how many
inches high he was, "he is small; but he's got all the world before him
to grow in, an' if he only eats enough-- There, that reminds me. Job
isn't going to give him any supper, because he didn't work hard enough."
"He won't, won't he?" exclaimed the large lady, savagely. "Oh, he's a
precious one, he is, an' some day I shall just give him a good shakin'
up, that's what I'll do. I get all out of patience with that man's
ugliness."
"An' she'll do just what she says," said the skeleton to Toby, with an
admiring shake of the head. "That woman hain't afraid of anybody, an' I
wouldn't be a bit surprised if she did give Job a pretty rough time."
Toby thought, as he looked at her, that she was large enough to give
'most any one a pretty rough time, but he did not venture to say so.
While he was looking first at her, and then at her very thin husband,
the skeleton told his wife the little which he had learned regarding the
boy's history, and when he had concluded she waddled away toward her
tent.
"Great woman that," said the skeleton, as he saw her disappear within
the tent.
"Yes," said Toby, "she's the greatest I ever saw."
"I mean that she's got a great head. Now you'll see about how much she
cares for what Job says."
"If I was as big as her," said Toby, with just a shade of envy in his
voice, "I wouldn't be afraid of anybody."
"It hain't so much the size," said the skeleton, sagely--"it hain't so
much the size, my boy; for I can scare that woman almost to death when I
feel like it."
Toby looked for a moment at Mr. Treat's thin legs and arms, and then he
said, warningly, "I wouldn't feel like it very often if I was you, Mr.
Treat, 'cause she might break some of your bones if you didn't happen to
scare her enough."
"Don't fear for me, my boy--don't fear for me; you'll see how I manage
her if you stay with the circus long enough. Now I often--"
If Mr. Treat was going to confide a family secret to Toby, it was fated
that he should not hear it then, for Mrs. Treat had just come out of her
tent, carrying in her hands a large tin plate piled high with a
miscellaneous assortment of pie, cake, bread, and meat.
[Illustration: TOBY GETS HIS SUPPER.]
She placed this in front of Toby, and as she did so she handed him two
pictures.
"There, little Toby Tyler," she said--"there's something for you to eat,
if Mr. Job Lord and his precious partner Jacobs did say you shouldn't
have any supper; an' I've brought you a picture of Samuel an' me. We
sell 'em for ten cents apiece, but I'm going to give them to you,
because I like the looks of you."
Toby was quite overcome with the presents, and seemed at a loss how to
thank her for them. He attempted to speak, couldn't get the words out at
first, and then he said, as he put the two photographs in the same
pocket with his money: "You're awful good to me, an' when I get to be a
man I'll give you lots of things. I wasn't so very hungry, if I am such
a big eater, but I did want something."
"Bless your dear little heart, and you shall have something to eat,"
said the fat woman, as she seized Toby, squeezed him close up to her,
and kissed his freckled face as kindly as if it had been as fair and
white as possible. "You shall eat all you want to, an' if you get the
stomach-ache, as Samuel does sometimes when he's been eatin' too much,
I'll give you some catnip tea out of the same dipper that I give him
his. He's a great eater, Samuel is," she added, in a burst of
confidence, "an' it's a wonder to me what he does with it all
sometimes."
"Is he?" exclaimed Toby, quickly. "How funny that is! for I'm an awful
eater. Why, Uncle Dan'l used to say that I ate twice as much as I ought
to, an' it never made me any bigger. I wonder what's the reason?"
"I declare I don't know," said the fat woman, thoughtfully, "an' I've
wondered at it time an' time again. Some folks is made that way, an'
some folks is made different. Now I don't eat enough to keep a chicken
alive, an' yet I grow fatter an' fatter every day--don't I, Samuel?"
"Indeed you do, my love," said the skeleton, with a world of pride in
his voice; "but you mustn't feel bad about it, for every pound you gain
makes you worth just so much more to the show."
"Oh, I wasn't worryin'; I was only wonderin'; but we must go, Samuel,
for the poor child won't eat a bit while we are here. After you've eaten
what there is there, bring the plate in to me," she said to Toby, as she
took her lean husband by the arm and walked him off toward their own
tent.
Toby gazed after them a moment, and then he commenced a vigorous attack
upon the eatables which had been so kindly given him. Of the food which
he had taken from the dinner table he had eaten some while he was in the
tent, and after that he had entirely forgotten that he had any in his
pocket; therefore at the time that Mrs. Treat had brought him such a
liberal supply he was really very hungry.
He succeeded in eating nearly all the food which had been brought to
him, and the very small quantity which remained he readily found room
for in his pockets. Then he washed the plate nicely, and seeing no one
in sight, he thought he could leave the booth long enough to return the
plate.
He ran with it quickly into the tent occupied by the thin man and fat
woman, and handed it to her with a profusion of thanks for her kindness.
"Did you eat it all?" she asked.
"Well," hesitated Toby, "there was two doughnuts an' a piece of pie left
over, an' I put them in my pocket. If you don't care, I'll eat them some
time to-night."
"You shall eat it whenever you want to, an' any time that you get hungry
again, you come right to me."
"Thank you, marm. I must go now, for I left the store all alone."
"Run, then; an' if Job Lord abuses you, just let me know it, an' I'll
keep him from cuttin' up any monkey shines."
Toby hardly heard the end of her sentence, so great was his haste to get
back to the booth; and just as he emerged from the tent, on a quick run,
he received a blow on the ear which sent him sprawling in the dust, and
he heard Mr. Job Lord's angry voice as it said, "So, just the moment my
back is turned, you leave the stand to take care of itself, do you, an'
run around tryin' to plot some mischief against me, eh?" and the brute
kicked the prostrate boy twice with his heavy boot.
"Please don't kick me again," pleaded Toby. "I wasn't gone but a minute,
an' I wasn't doing anything bad."
"You're lying now, an' you know it, you young cub!" exclaimed the angry
man as he advanced to kick the boy again. "I'll let you know who you've
got to deal with when you get hold of me."
[Illustration: JOB LORD LEARNS A LESSON.]
"And I'll let you know who you've got to deal with when you get hold of
me," said a woman's voice; and just as Mr. Lord had raised his foot to
kick the boy again, the fat woman had seized him by the collar, jerked
him back over one of the tent ropes, and left him quite as prostrate as
he had left Toby. "Now, Job Lord," said the angry woman, as she towered
above the thoroughly enraged but thoroughly frightened man, "I want you
to understand that you can't knock and beat this boy while I'm around.
I've seen enough of your capers, an' I'm going to put a stop to them.
That boy wasn't in this tent more than two minutes, an' he attends to
his work better than any one you have ever had; so see that you treat
him decent. Get up," she said to Toby, who had not dared to rise from
the ground, "and if he offers to strike you again, come to me."
Toby scrambled to his feet, and ran to the booth in time to attend to
one or two customers who had just come up. He could see from out the
corner of his eye that Mr. Lord had arisen to his feet also, and was
engaged in an angry conversation with Mrs. Treat, the result of which he
very much feared would be another and a worse whipping for him.
But in this he was mistaken, for Mr. Lord, after the conversation was
ended, came toward the booth, and began to attend to his business
without speaking one word to Toby. When Mr. Jacobs returned from his
supper Mr. Lord took him by the arm, walked him out toward the rear of
the tents, and Toby was very positive that he was to be the subject of
their conversation, and it made him not a little uneasy.
It was not until nearly time for the performance to begin that Mr. Lord
returned, and he had nothing to say to Toby save to tell him to go into
the tent and begin his work there. The boy was only too glad to escape
so easily, and he went to his work with as much alacrity as if he were
about entering upon some pleasure.
When he met Mr. Jacobs, that gentleman spoke to him very sharply about
being late, and seemed to think it no excuse at all that he had just
been relieved from the outside work by Mr. Lord.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
CLEOPATRA'S NEEDLE.
ABOUT TO BE ERECTED IN THE CENTRAL PARK, NEW YORK.
BY REV. J. S. HOLME.
Cleopatra's Needle is not such a needle as we use to sew with: it is a
great stone--sometimes called an obelisk--nearly seventy feet long, and
about seven feet square at the base on which it stands. Its sides
gradually taper from the bottom until at the top it ends in a small
pointed four-sided pyramid. It is of red granite, and the sides are
covered all over with pictures of birds, animals, and other things, cut
into the stone. It is called a needle because it is so long and slender.
But why it should be called Cleopatra's Needle is not quite so clear.
Cleopatra was a famous Queen who lived in Egypt a little while before
the birth of Christ. She was a very beautiful woman, and well educated;
but she did many foolish things, and some very wicked things; and, as
such people often are, she, though a great Queen, was at last so very
unhappy that she wickedly put an end to her own life.
This obelisk was at first erected by Thothmes III., one of the old Kings
of Egypt, at Heliopolis, about 3600 years ago. It was taken from that
place to Alexandria, where Cleopatra lived, not long after her death, by
the Roman Emperor Augustus C├Žsar, as a trophy of his victory over the
Kings of Egypt, and it was called "Cleopatra's Needle," we suppose,
merely in compliment to the late Queen.
Egypt is supposed to be the oldest nation in the world. The Kings used
to be called Pharaohs, and many of them were very great and powerful.
Some were great warriors, others were great builders--builders of
pyramids, cities, temples, and obelisks. They were very vain of their
glory, and they were great boasters, fond of inscribing their names and
deeds on stone. Cleopatra's Needle is one of two great obelisks which
one of these Pharaohs erected, and placed one on each side of the
entrance to the Temple of the Sun at Heliopolis. The Egyptians
worshipped the sun as their god under the name of Ra, and the name of
Pharaoh, by which the Egyptian Kings were known, means "a son of the
sun."
The Pharaohs did great honor to their sun-god, as they thought they were
his children. The Temple of the Sun at Heliopolis was the greatest in
all Egypt, and its ruins now cover nearly a mile in extent. Thothmes
erected these obelisks at the entrance to this Temple of the Sun, partly
in honor to the sun-god, and partly to honor himself, as he wrote his
own history up and down the sides of the obelisk, not in letters such as
we use, but in pictures of birds, animals, and other things, which kind
of writing these old Egyptians used, and we call them hieroglyphics.
This obelisk stood a great many years near the door of this temple at
Heliopolis--or, as it is called in the Bible, "the city of On"--where it
was at first erected.
Some of the children may remember that a few weeks ago, in the regular
Sunday-school lesson, it is said that "Pharaoh gave to Joseph in
marriage Asenath, the daughter of Poti-pherah, priest of On." This
Poti-pherah was the high-priest--a very great man in Egypt, and lived in
the Temple of the Sun at On. And it is quite likely that this very
obelisk stood before his door on the day that Joseph married his
daughter Asenath. And if this is so, is it not wonderful that this great
stone that weighs 213 tons, on which Joseph may have looked on his
wedding day 3600 years ago, should now be in a country 5000 miles away,
of which the old Egyptians never heard? And is it not still more
wonderful that, while the children in the Sunday-schools of America
should be studying their regular Bible lesson about Joseph's marriage,
this great obelisk, that stood at the door of his father-in-law's house,
should be lying in the street, at the door of one of our schools, on its
way to the Central Park in New York?
But now we must tell you how this great obelisk came to be brought to
this country. Obelisks are great curiosities. There are only a few large
ones in the world. These all used to be in Egypt, and the Egyptians
thought a great deal of them. But four or five of these were taken at
different times, without leave of the people of Egypt, to different
countries in Europe. Two stand in Rome, one in Constantinople, one in
Paris, and one in London. Now Mehemet Ali, the late Khedive of Egypt,
had a great liking for America. He thought that the United States had
treated him better than the European nations; and it seemed to him that
we ought to have an obelisk as well as the nations of Europe. And when
the American Consul asked for one, he said, "I will think of it." It was
supposed he might give us a little one. But no one ever thought of
asking for "Cleopatra's Needle" at Alexandria: this was one of the
largest and most beautiful in all Egypt. But it so happened that this
obelisk stood very near the sea. The waves of the Mediterranean rolled
right up to its base. There was great danger of its being undermined. It
was thought already to begin to lean a little. Many feared it would soon
fall. This gave the Khedive great anxiety; and so he proposed to remove
it to another part of the city of Alexandria. But this would cost a
great deal of money, and the Khedive was not at this time rich; so he
proposed that the wealthy men of the city should raise by subscription
one-half of the money needed to remove it, and he would provide the
other half. But the people of Alexandria thought the government ought to
do it all, and did not subscribe a dollar. At this Mehemet Ali was
greatly displeased; and he thereupon made up his mind to make this
beautiful obelisk a present from Egypt, the oldest nation of the world,
to the United States of America, the youngest nation. And glad, indeed,
we were to get it; and sorry enough were the Egyptians at last to lose
it.
One of our wealthy citizens, on learning the intention of the Khedive of
Egypt, said he would pay $75,000, the estimated cost of its removal,
when the obelisk should be erected in the Central Park.
Lieutenant-Commander Gorringe, U.S.N., undertook the task of bringing it
over--and a very great one it has been; but he has done it with great
skill and success, and thus far at his own expense and risk. And it will
cost much more to complete the work than the $75,000 promised; but New
York, without doubt, will see Lieutenant-Commander Gorringe repaid for
his outlay, for it will be a great thing to have a genuine Egyptian
obelisk, Cleopatra's Needle, in the Central Park in this city.
[Illustration: THE MONKEYS.]
THE MURDER OF THE PRINCES IN THE TOWER.
[Illustration: THE UNFORTUNATE PRINCES.]
One of the wickedest acts of the wicked King Richard III. of England was
the murder of his two young nephews in the Tower. He had seized upon the
crown that belonged of right to them, and had shut them up in a gloomy
cell of that huge castle that still stands on the banks of the Thames,
below London. They were separated from their mother, the widow of the
late King Edward IV., and kept like prisoners and criminals in the part
of the vast fortress now known as "the Bloody Tower." The elder, Edward,
Prince of Wales (now Edward V., King of England), was thirteen, his fair
and gentle brother, the Duke of York, only eleven. Their cruel uncle
sent orders to the Governor of the Tower, Brackenbury, to put them to
death secretly, but the honest man refused to do so wicked an act.
Richard then placed Sir James Tyrrel, his evil instrument, in command of
the fortress for a single day; the keys of the gates and cells were
given up to him by Brackenbury, and the plans for the murder were
carefully prepared by the King. Tyrrel hired two hardened
criminals--John Dighton, his own groom, and Miles Forest, a murderer by
trade--to commit the act, and remove from their uncle's path the two
innocent princes who might yet dispute his title to the throne.
It was a dark and gloomy night when Tyrrel, followed by his two
assassins, crept up the narrow stone staircase that led to the room
where the young children were confined. He found them clasped in each
other's arms asleep, having just repeated their prayers, and lying on a
bed. It is easy to imagine the terrors of the poor children in that
stony and gloomy chamber, shut out from their mother and all their
friends, and seeing only the cold, strange faces of their jailers. But
now they had forgotten all their sorrows in a sleep that was to be their
last. What dreams they may have had at that fearful moment no one can
ever tell. By the light of a flickering torch Tyrrel probably looked
into the chamber to see that his victims were safe. But he did not go
in, and stood watching and listening at the door while Dighton and
Forest performed their dreadful deed. They took the pillows and bolsters
from the bed, pressed them over the faces of the children, and thus
smothered them to death. When they were dead they carried their bodies
down the long staircase, and buried them under a heap of stones at its
foot. It was reported that Richard III., touched by an unusual feeling
of superstition, had removed them to consecrated ground, and that the
place of their final burial was unknown. But long afterward, in the
reign of Charles II., when it was found necessary to take away the
stones, and dig in the spot where it was supposed the assassins had laid
them, the bones of two persons were found that corresponded to the ages
of the young princes. They were buried by the King beneath a marble
monument.
But wherever they slept, the murder of his nephews must have forever
haunted the brain of the wicked Richard III. His people hated and feared
him. He grew every day more cruel and tyrannical; he murdered friend and
foe. At last Henry, Earl of Richmond, of the house of Lancaster, landed
in England with a small force, which was soon increased by the general
hatred of the King. The nobility and the people flocked to his camp. His
army was soon very strong. Richard, at the head of a powerful force,
marched to meet his rival, and on Bosworth Field, August 22, 1485, the
decisive battle was fought. Richard was betrayed, as he deserved, by his
own officers. He rode raging on horseback around the field, and when he
saw Henry before him, rushed upon him to cut him down. He killed one of
his knights, but was stricken from his horse, and fell dead in the
crowd. Then the soldiers cried, "Long live King Henry!" and that night
Richard's body, flung across the back of a horse, was carried into
Leicester to be buried. His wicked reign had lasted only two years.
MISS SOPHONISBA SYLVIA PLANTAGENET TUDOR.
BY LILLIAS C. DAVIDSON.
Far away, across, the blue Atlantic, lies an island--not a very big
island, but a wonderful one, for all that. Its name is England. Who
knows what is the capital? London? quite right; I see the Young People
are well up in their geography. Well, in this London there is a great
square called Portland Place, and before one of its big tall houses
there was standing a carriage one bright afternoon.
Presently the house door was flung wide open by a most gentlemanly
butler in black, and down the steps there came an imposing procession.
First, Lady Ponsonby, in silks and laces, very stately and very
beautiful; then little Ethel; and last, but not least--oh no, indeed! by
no means least--Miss Sophonisba Sylvia Plantagenet Tudor, closely
clasped in the arms of her doting mother, Miss Ethel.
"What, only a doll?"
My dear Young People, can it be possible that I hear you say "only"?
Miss Sophonisba Sylvia Plantagenet Tudor was by far the most important
member of the present party--at all events, Ethel would have told you
so, for so she firmly believed. Never was there so lovely a doll. Eyes
like violets; real golden hair, cut with a Gainsborough fringe (what you
American little girls called "banged," although why, I don't know, I am
sure); complexion as beautiful as wax and paint could make it; and a
costume which was the admiration and envy of every one of Ethel's
particular friends. Muriel Brabazon, who lived in Park Lane, had
actually shed tears when she saw Miss S. S. P. Tudor's new black satin
jacket with its jet fringe; but then poor Muriel had no mamma, and was
not as well brought up as might be desired.
All the same, Miss Sophonisba was a pride and joy to any possessor, and
Ethel felt a thrill of calm happiness at every fresh glance that was
cast at their carriage as they drove quickly through the busy streets
toward the Park. Hyde Park, you must know, is to London what the Central
Park is to New York; and in it there is a long drive called Rotten Row,
where London people go in crowds, and on this afternoon it was a perfect
crush of carriages of every description.
The Ponsonby carriage had to go at a slow and stately pace, and all the
throngs of people who walked by the side of the Row, or sat on the green
chairs under the trees, had a fine opportunity of gazing their fill at
Miss Plantagenet Tudor's glories.
All at once there was a little stir and flutter among the crowd, and
murmurs ran about from one to another of "The Princess! the Princess!"
Ethel clapped her hands, and nearly danced upon her seat, for this was
almost _too_ delightful; and in another minute there came in sight a
very plain, neat carriage, with dark horses, and servants in sober
liveries, and there, smiling and bowing, sat the sweet and gracious lady
who will probably one day be Queen of England. She is so good and so
charming that the English people love her dearly; and all the
gentlemen's hats came off in a minute, and all the ladies bowed, and
everybody looked as pleased as possible. As for Ethel, she bowed so hard
that she looked like a little Chinese Mandarin, and even jumped up to
get another glimpse as they passed, for their own carriage was just
turning out of the great Park gates to go home to Portland Place.
Actually, for five minutes, she had forgotten her beloved doll; but what
may not happen in five minutes?
"Sophonisba Sylvia, my precious," she murmured, turning to take her in
her motherly arms, "did you see the Princess? Isn't she
_loverly_?--almost as beautiful as you?" But here she stopped quite
short.
Alas! it is almost too dreadful to go on writing about. How can I tell
you? There was no Miss Sophonisba S. P. Tudor! She had totally vanished.
Oh, poor, poor Ethel! Nine years old, and beginning to learn German
verbs, and yet her tears rained down like an April shower.
"Oh, my Sophonisba! The best, the dearest, of my twenty-three dolls! Oh,
mamma! mamma! _can_ I go on living without her?"
"Ethel, my own," cried her distracted mother, clasping her in her arms,
"don't cry, my pet, don't cry. We'll advertise for her; we'll offer
rewards; we'll go to Creamer's this moment, and buy you another; we'll
send to Paris, Vienna, anywhere."
But oh! you among my readers who are mothers of dolls yourselves, you
can fancy how Ethel rejected this last consolation. Another doll! Could
there be another Sophonisba? Never! oh, never! And should her place be
taken by another, even if there were?
"Please, mamma," she murmured, burying her tear-stained face in Lady
Ponsonby's best silk mantle, "I would so much rather not. I don't want
another. I couldn't love any one else like her. Oh, Sophy Sylvia!"
No use to look for the dear lost one. They drove back the whole way they
had come, and asked five policemen, but not a trace was to be found.
But where, all this time, was Miss Plantagenet Tudor? Scarcely had she
recovered her senses from the shock of her violent fall upon the wood
pavement at Hyde Park Corner, when she was seized by the waist, and a
rich Irish brogue greeted her ears.
"Arrah, thin, what an illigant doll! Sure and it's wild wid joy Norah'll
be to get it. Come along, me darlint."
Then perhaps she fainted with horror, for the next thing she was aware
of was being clasped in the arms of a little girl, nearly the same age
as her beloved little mistress, but ah! how different in all but age!--a
little red-haired girl, clean and tidy, to be sure, but with what
patched and faded clothes, what little red rough hands, what a loud
voice, and what an accent! Neither Miss Tudor's nerves nor her temper
could stand it. She made her back far stiffer than nature and Mr.
Creamer had ever intended it to be, and refused all comfort. In fact,
did what in a less distinguished and high-bred doll would have been
called sulking; and little Norah at last left her in despair, with a
sorrowful sigh.
It really was not for three days after this that she came out of
her--well, yes, sulks; and that was because she was disturbed by a
terrible noise of sobbing and crying.
"Och, thin, don't ye now, Norah--don't ye. It's no mortal use, I tell
ye; we'll have to go to prison, and that's the blessed truth. My lady's
grand lace handkerchief, and it's worth three guineas or more; and the
housekeeper says as it's never come home, and I'll swear I sint it; and
how iver are we to pay at all, at all?"
Now Miss Plantagenet Tudor had by no means a bad heart; she felt really
sorry to see such distress. However, it was no business of hers, and she
was just going off into her dignified gloom again, when her blue eyes
spied something thin, white, and lace-like under the edge of the big
chest in the corner.
There was the missing handkerchief, the cause of all this woe. Should
she show it to them, and make the poor things happy? Yes, she would; she
knew Ethel would, if she were there. And so, with the lofty grace which
was all her own, Miss Sophonisba Sylvia Plantagenet Tudor fell flat,
face downward, upon the floor, with one stiff arm stuck out straight
before her.
Norah rushed to pick her up, and as she stooped she too saw the
handkerchief, and clutched at it.
* * * * *
"La, Miss Ethel," said the little school-room maid, "there's such a
funny tale Mrs. O'Flannigan's been telling in the kitchen. I know you'd
like to hear it--it's about a doll."
"Oh, Susan, I don't think I can bear to hear about dolls to-night. Who's
Mrs. O'Flannigan?"
"The washer-woman, miss; and she lost your ma's best
pocket-handkerchief, and very likely would have had to gone to prison,
and been hung" (oh, Susan! Susan! that was a dreadful stretch of
imagination on your part), "only her little girl Norah's doll fell down,
and when they picked it up it was a-pointing in the corner, and there
was the pocket-handkerchief; and Norah she says she's sure she done it a
purpose."
"Why, of course she must have. What a dear delightful doll! I think,
Susan, really, that I should like to see her. May I?"
"La, miss, of course you may. I'll tell Mrs. O'Flannigan to bring her."
Ah, little did Sophonisba Sylvia guess where she was going that evening
when Norah wrapped her carefully in a corner of her shawl, and trotted
off by Mrs. O'Flannigan's side through the gas-lit streets! They went in
by the kitchen steps--a way Miss Tudor had never been before; but
somehow the great tiled hall looked strangely familiar; and who was that
coming a little timidly out of a door held open by a tall and powdered
footman?
Ah, dear Young People, it is as hard to write of joy as of sorrow.
Ethel's shriek rang through the house, and brought her papa, Sir Edward,
from his billiards, and Lady Ponsonby from her drawing-room, in a
tremendous hurry.
Norah went home happy in the possession of five dolls out of Ethel's
twenty-three, and her good fortune did not stop there. Indeed, she had
the greatest reason to bless the day when Miss Sophonisba Sylvia
Plantagenet Tudor had her eventful fall from the Ponsonby carriage at
Hyde Park Corner.
[Begun in YOUNG PEOPLE No. 58, December 7.]
MILDRED'S BARGAIN.
A Story for Girls.
BY MRS. JOHN LILLIE.