THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 
 <U _ &t
 
 STORIES. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO., 
 No. 13 ASTOR PLACE.
 
 A i U54- 
 
 tfif^tf 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 a,,-., HAVE been looking everywhere for 
 vou > Uncle Richard! what are you 
 doing out here alone ? " asks little 
 Beatrice, as she finds herself suddenly 
 facing the old walnut-tree in the far 
 meadow, and sees her well-beloved uncle, 
 with his hat well over his eyes, stretched 
 out at his ease among the tall grass and 
 sweet-scented clover. " The house is so 
 dull when you are away ! " 
 
 " Is it, little girl ? " he laughs, as she 
 
 6 
 
 622722
 
 6 UNCLE EICHAED S STORIES. 
 
 sits down beside him, and coolly proceeds 
 to take off his hat, and to carefully plane 
 a kiss on his nose. " Well, you see, it 
 is all so pleasant here especially for any 
 one like me, who spends all his days 
 in close streets and smoky towns the 
 country is such a treat." 
 
 "Yes, but why do you live there, 
 Uncle Richard ? You might as well 
 always stay here." 
 
 " I might, dearie ; but, you see, there's 
 duty." 
 
 "Duty ! I hate duty ! It always means 
 something disagreeable ! " and spoiled 
 Beatrice catches up a handful cf grass 
 and scatters it angrily about her. 
 
 " Not always. Indeed, you would find 
 it a most uncomfortable world if every 
 one only did what was agreeable to
 
 UNCLE EICHABD'S STORIES. 7 
 
 themselves. I don't like going about 
 among some of the grinders and workers 
 of our town, listening to their ugly 
 words and complaints, and sometimes 
 seeing sad sights in their homes, half as 
 well as I do lying here, with God's pure 
 air and beautiful birds and flowers about 
 me. But then I hope I am doing His 
 work when I can leave a good thought, 
 or do some little service to these poor 
 ignorant children of His then the heavy 
 duty becomes very light and pleasant, 
 love. The yoke of Christ is not a heavy 
 one to bear to those who take it up 
 willingly, as I learn of it here," and he 
 looks reverently at the book in his hand, 
 and then at the blue sky so calm and 
 still. 
 
 " What part are you reading, uncle ? "
 
 8 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 
 
 asks Beatrice, eagerly. " I like best 
 about little baby Moses, or poor Joseph, 
 who was sold, and became rich. Hagar 
 and Ishmael is such a sad story, though 
 Ishmael did become a great man. But 
 there are plenty of children in the Bible 
 that became famous prophets and kings, 
 and were written and talked about. How 
 nice it would be if one could become 
 famous now ! " Then, seeing the look in 
 her uncle's eyes, Beatrice added, " I mean, 
 become good very, very good and 
 famous." 
 
 " Good and famous are such very dif- 
 ferent things, Beatie ; a man may be fa- 
 mous and very bad. Some men " 
 
 41 Oh, I don't mean men. I mean chil- 
 dren boys, or girls like me. There 
 seems nothing at all that we can do."
 
 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 9 
 
 ? 
 
 "Girls like you can do a very great 
 
 deal; they can be gentle, and helpful, 
 and patient unselfish, in short think- 
 ing of others before themselves, and so 
 make others happy. That's doing some- 
 thing, isn't it?" 
 
 " Oh, that's nothing I any one can do 
 that ! " she sighs, still scattering the 
 daisies. 
 
 " Can they ? I heard of a girl disturb- 
 ing the whole house all one morning, 
 because she could not have a new doll's 
 hat. Yes, she did, really, Beatrice. 
 Then she sulked for an hour can you 
 believe it? because she was asked to 
 mend her own gloves. The rest of the 
 day was filled up with complaints, be- 
 cause of a small cut on her thumb done 
 by herself with a penknife borrowed un- 
 asked, anci "
 
 10 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 
 
 44 Ob, please don't ! " cried poor Beatie, 
 with a crimsoned face. 
 
 " Very well ! I only wanted to show 
 you how much there is for children to 
 do, and very difficult work, too ; so cheer 
 up, while I tell you the story of a little 
 girl I met with in the course of my 
 travels only a poor little simple country 
 child, but one who taught nre how great 
 was the power of unselfish love and pa- 
 tience." 
 
 Beatie, with a mental resolve to be 
 good, recovers her composure at the 
 promise of a story out here among the 
 llowers and butterflies, and listens atten- 
 tively as Uncle Richard begins. 
 
 44 Once upon a time as all stories 
 ought to begin, only mine did not begin 
 $Q very long ago I lived as curate in
 
 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 11 
 
 i pretty village in Yorkshire. An out- 
 oi -the-way spot it was, but very pretty, 
 and a great place for nutting and black- 
 berries. 
 
 41 During my rambles I often met with 
 big Ben Bryant, a kind of under-keeper, 
 who lived in a queer kind of nest, built 
 of logs and stories, some distance from 
 the village, and at the entrance of a 
 wood. It was a wild out-of-the-way sort 
 of place, pretty enough in summer, when 
 it was hidden in ivy and honeysuckle, 
 but dreary in the winter, when the snow 
 lying on it made it look like some 
 monster white mushroom an unlucky 
 place the villagers said, for summer after 
 summer the fever had stolen in like a 
 cruel thief, and carried off seven pretty 
 children, and at last their patient weakly
 
 12 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 
 
 mother, leaving poor big Ben almost 
 broken-hearted, with only Nellie Mary to 
 comfort him ; and a pretty, bright, healthy 
 looking gipsy she was when I first saw 
 her, most precious to her forlorn father, 
 who seemed to have fixed all the hopes 
 and love of his life on this one remaining 
 little blossom of that life's faded flowers. 
 
 " I often had long chats with big Ben, 
 when we met in the wood, and his honest 
 blue eyes would glisten, and the sadness 
 go out of his face when he talked of his 
 one darling his little maid, as he called 
 her. ne was never tired of telling of 
 her womanly little ways and speeches ; 
 then how she swept, and sewed, and sang 
 for him ; how she had her mother's sweet, 
 patient manners, and often reminded him 
 of her waiting in heaven I
 
 UNCLE RICHABD'S STOEIES. 13 
 
 " ' Ah, sir,' he said to me one day, * I 
 do pray God every iiight to spare me my 
 little maid. I'm oft afraid she's too good 
 for the like o' me. When I get grieved 
 and low, o' nights, sometimes, thinking 
 o' them that's gone, she do sing about 
 the goodness o' the Lord, hymns and 
 such like she have learnt at the school, 
 till I'm afraid she'll take wings like that 
 lark up yonder, sir, as is going up and 
 up, forgetting all about the evil and peck* 
 ing as is down in the world below it sir. 
 She sings that sweet it melts my grief 
 away. Part joy, part grief, sir.' 
 
 44 What he said about her singing was 
 true of him too. Every Sunday she came 
 hand in hand with her father to the tiny 
 church, and I could hear their voices, 
 clear and fresh above all others, rising
 
 14 UNCLE EICHABD'S STORIES. 
 
 up to His honor and giory, as though He 
 had never sent them a trouble or a trial. 
 Then they would trudge off together 
 lovingly, hand in hand, through the long 
 b^es, with a smiling bob and bow for 
 mv. folks they met ; she smart in an 
 old red cloth cloak, rapidly getting too 
 small for her growing self; he in well- 
 brushed velveteens, and a posy in his 
 button-hole. As long as her loving fin- 
 gers could detect a flower in any nook, 
 it was cherished for k f a ' on Sunday ; for 
 was he not all the world to her, his one 
 daughter, his pride, * his little maid ? ' 
 
 " One Saturday it happened that I had 
 some books sent from London, and turning 
 them over, I came to a small one, on the 
 <jover of which was the picture of a girl 
 in a red cloak. ' Not unlike little Brant I '
 
 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 15 
 
 I thought ; so I put it in my pocket, in- 
 tending to give it to her when she came 
 to church next morning. Then I strolled 
 out for a walk. It was just such a day 
 us this, Beatie, fresh and sweet, and I 
 wandered on from meadow to lane, now 
 stopping to admire the beauties about 
 me, now trying to decide which should 
 be my Easter Sunday text, when sud- 
 denly something red caught my eye, and 
 I saw it was a cloak lying on a chair, 
 which chair was standing in the porch 
 of Log Lodge, as the people called it. 
 I had come over three miles, so I stopped 
 to breathe, and think how pretty and 
 peaceful it all looked. Only a. little noisy 
 bulfinch sang and twittered in the win- 
 dow, over its nest all smothered in honey- 
 suckle, and a happy cat and kittens lay 
 purring on the grass-plat.
 
 16 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 
 
 44 Suddenly I remembered the book in 
 my pocket. I was in a good mind to go 
 in and give it to Nellie Mary in exchange 
 for a few of those smiles which I knew 
 it would conjure up. As I paused unde- 
 cided, I heard a light joyous laugh, which 
 the bird stopped its note to listen to. 
 Then oh, then ! I heard a far differ- 
 ent sound ring through the air the 
 sudden report of a gun, followed by a 
 shriek, a cry, and a fall. 
 
 "For a moment I thought it must be 
 some hunter near ; but then the lodge 
 door was broken open from within, and 
 ft man in his shirt-sleeves came rushing 
 frantically along the path, so pale, so 
 haggard, and so wild, I scarcely knew 
 
 for big brown Ben, the keeper. 
 4 1 caught him in my arms, exclaiming.
 
 UNCLE RICHAKD'S STORIES. 17 
 
 'What who has done this, Ben?' for 
 I thought he was wounded. 
 
 " ' I ha' done it : I ha* done it ! ' he 
 cried, struggling in my hold like a mad- 
 inan ; ' I ha' killed her, I say. Let me 
 go!' 
 
 "'Done what? done what, man?' and 
 I forced him to stand stilL 
 
 "'I ha' killed her my Nell! I ha' 
 seen her dead, I tell thee ! My last darl- 
 ing is dead ; 4 1 ha' killed her ! Let me 
 die too I ' 
 
 " Then, as I let go my hold, he cast 
 himself on the turf, and lay, face down- 
 wards, like a dead man. 
 
 " I ran hurriedly into the lodge. There 
 was a gun on the floor ; and on the black 
 hearth-rug lay little Nelly Mary, while 
 scattered about her were a lot of wild
 
 18 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 
 
 flowers, which she had evidently been 
 tying up as she fell. My own heart 
 almost stopped as I stooped down to feel 
 hers. Thank God ! it was beating yet, 
 though she was senseless. Then 1 saw 
 it was her arm that had been injured. 
 The old story a gun left loaded, and 
 carelessly handled. Oh dear, how many 
 lives this one mistake has cost ! 
 
 " I dared not move her, but I put some 
 water to her pale lips and face ; and pres- 
 ently the blue eyes opened, looked won- 
 deringly round, and fixed themselves on 
 the gun, lying near. 
 
 "'Where's fa'!' she whispered, chok- 
 ingly. 
 
 " ' He's here, darling he's here, little 
 Nell. Keep quiet, your father wishes it, 
 dear ! '
 
 UNCLE RICHABD'S STOKLES. 19 
 
 " Ah ! ' she sighed softly, 4 1 'm glad it 
 did not hurt poor fa' instead of me.' 
 Then she lay quite still again, a picture 
 of patience. 
 
 4i A deep groan made me look up with 
 a start. 4 Is my little maid dead ? ' asked 
 a hoarse voice. Ben had risen, and come 
 to the door. His eyes were quite dry, 
 and bright and shiny. 
 
 44 4 Ben,' I said, 4 with God's help, your 
 child will recover, but we must have a 
 doctor at once ; you must go to the village 
 as fast as you can.' 
 
 44 fc I canna go, sir ! 1 canna leave her. 
 Do you go, sir. I pray you, let me stay 
 by her. Maybe she's dying, my little 
 maid, and I killed her,' he wailed. 
 
 44 * Nonsense, Ben I go at once. ou 
 are fresher and quicker than I. I will
 
 20 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 
 
 watch her. She is safe for the present, 
 I tell you, man ! Go run, for her life I 
 If you love her and wish to save her, 
 go!' 
 
 " He flung himself down over the rug, 
 careful in his sorrow not to hurt her, and 
 kissed her still face in tearless agony. 
 Then he tore off like a hunted hare, 
 down the green lanes and across the 
 meadows ; it was a race for a life, dearer 
 far than his own.
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 STAYED alone by that little figure, 
 doing all I could for her, which was 
 not much; but I bound up the hurt 
 arm, gave her water, and waited. Every 
 now and then she roused a little, and 
 asked for c fa' dear fa' poor fa." 
 
 " I think she was bewildered whether 
 the same shot had touched them both ; but 
 she never once complained of her own 
 hurt and pain: he was her only trouble, 
 and the not seeing him fretted her woe- 
 fully. I could not persuade her he was 
 safe. At last how long it seemed to 
 21
 
 22 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 
 
 me, yet how short a time it realty was 1 
 there came a sound of wheels, nearer 
 and nearer, then good fat Dr. Robbins 
 came hurrying in, his face full of tender 
 compassion. 
 
 " 4 Well, well, my little girl Why, 
 
 here's a pretty to-do,' he said, softly, 
 bending over her. Then, as he saw her 
 looking uneasily behind him, he beckoned 
 to her father, who came forward, still 
 white and tearless and desperate. 4 Come, 
 father, we want you to help us a little. 
 Don't let her see you quake, man ! ' he 
 whispered. You can do more than I can 
 to soothe her.' But she had fainted again. 
 
 41 Between them they lifted the thick 
 i ug and its senseless occupant, and carried 
 it on to the little bed ; then I took Ben's 
 hand, and led him outside. He stood
 
 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 23 
 
 quite still where I placed him still as if 
 he had been stone. The little bullfinch 
 sang louder and more merrily than ever ; 1 
 could have choked it just then. I should 
 have tried to comfort the poor man, but I 
 was too excited and troubled. Oh, how 
 long the doctor seemed ! Would he tell 
 us the child must die ? Poor, poor Ben I 
 At this moment out waddled the doctor. 
 He shut the door very quietly behind him, 
 then he turned to the stony figure by his 
 side, and gave him a great hearty slap on 
 the back, crying, in his kind voice, 4 Cheer 
 up, Ben Briant ! there's no fear ; it's a 
 bad flesh-wound, but it will heal, with 
 care. Come, look up, man I Your little 
 maid's the right sort to mend. She's 
 patience itself, and will be well in a 
 month, if you keep her quiet. And no
 
 24 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 
 
 fretting, mind ! Your business is to cheer 
 her up ! ' 
 
 " Shall I ever forget the * Thank God I 
 haven't killed her ! ' which burst from 
 that poor father, as he let himself drop 
 straight down on his knees and, laying his 
 face on the old red cloak, wept and sobbed 
 out his thankfulness, forgetting we were 
 there. 
 
 "The doctor, opening the door, drew 
 me into the room gently. ' Poor chap I 
 let him have it out, for, bless me ! he has 
 something to be. thankful for. If the shot 
 had lodged anywhere else she'd have been 
 gone straight off. Ah, well ! What's 
 that you're saying, my dear? We can't 
 have any talking yet! Yes, your fa' is 
 coming never fear. 1 11 fetch him in 
 now. Come, father, to little NelJ.'
 
 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 25 
 
 " When I looked in an hour or two 
 afterwards, with the nurse I had brought 
 to help Ben, I found him sitting by her 
 bedside, with her uninjured hand in his. 
 She had had a little sleep, and was better 
 now, she said. And how pretty and 
 patient she looked, with her golden hair 
 lying on her pillow like a crown ! I 
 thought she did not see me, but she did, 
 in an instant, and drew her hand out of 
 Ben's for a moment only for a moment 
 to put it into mine. 
 
 " ' I am so glad ' 
 
 " ' My dear, you must not speak,' I 
 said, hurriedly. 
 
 " ' No, sir, I won't any more ; but I am 
 BO glad it was me that was hurt, instead 
 of fa'!' 
 
 "'Oh Nelly, darling!' he said, softly,
 
 26 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 
 
 foi he was trying not to excite himself, 
 for her sake, 4 1 could have borne ten 
 times as much, to save you pain.' 
 
 " I held up a warning finger, for she 
 was flushing as she answered, 4 But I am 
 onl} a little girl, of no use, and you are 
 fa,' that does so much for me. I can 
 better keep still than you, and the ache 
 will leave off if I try to be good, won't 
 it?" 
 
 "And did she get quite well?" asked 
 Beatie, with a great lump in her throat. 
 
 * She did, dear. You see, she was 
 gentle and quiet, trying to bear patiently 
 what she saw was so great a trial to her 
 father, she never complained, she never 
 spoke of herself, and only loved him the 
 more for the accident, showing that even 
 a child can be strong to bear, if there is a
 
 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 27 
 
 good will to help, and unselfish love for 
 others. 
 
 A few weeks after Uncle Richard had 
 gone Beatrice had a fall over a step a 
 little thing, it seemed, but it sprained her 
 ankle very severely ; it was bathed in 
 warm water, and rubbed and bathed again. 
 She must lie still on the sofa, was the 
 doctor's verdict, or it would be a serious 
 matter. 
 
 " Still on the sofa ! " Does any one of 
 you realize what that means for a lively 
 healthy girl like Beatie ? " Oh dear, I 
 shall have a dreadful time of it, she is so 
 self-willed!" groaned mamma, ever kind, 
 but with many household cares. 
 
 " Miss Beatrice keen still ! She'll keep 
 us all in a turmoil ! " groaned the servants. 
 
 44 She'll be laid up all the winter, such a
 
 28 UNCLE EICHABD'S STORIES. 
 
 little uncontrollable quicksilver as she is ! ' 
 said Aunt Sarah, who had nursed Beatrice 
 before. 
 
 But somehow Uncle Richard's words 
 had touched Beatie's heart. " Even a 
 child can be strong, if there is good will to 
 help strength." She would be strong, so 
 she submitted to all the rubbings, and lay 
 quietly on the sofa, only now and then 
 getting impatient at her imprisonment, 
 then determining to bear it with a good 
 will, and be strong. Seeing her so gentle 
 and patient, every one did their best to 
 help and cheer the little invalid. Books, 
 prints, pets of all sorts came, and smiling 
 friends, glad to see she was not crying and 
 complaining, as they expected. Every one 
 tries to help those who try to help them* 
 selves, and Beatrice did try.
 
 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 29 
 
 " Well, I never saw so bad a twist so 
 Boon mended ! " said the doctor, about a 
 fortnight after. " I wish all iny patients 
 had Miss Elliot's patience, they would get 
 over their troubles a good deal quicker, 
 and it would be much pleasanter work 
 attending to them, I am sure." 
 
 " I don't understand it, doctor ; but I 
 am most thankful Beatie has been a help, 
 instead of a trouble, on the sofa ; and oh, 
 what a help a child can be if she tries ! 
 No one knows how much the mother of a 
 family has to think about, and how sorry 
 and troubled she is when any of the chil- 
 dren are ailing ! " Then, as Beatrice came 
 slightly limping into the room, Mamma 
 went forward to meet her, and leading her 
 to her own easy-chair, said, with a kiss, " I 
 was just saying to Doctor Hall that J
 
 30 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 
 
 wondered what it was that had so altered 
 my little girl. Where did she learn to be 
 considerate and patient ? You are my 
 little comfort now, instead of my little 
 troublesome one. What has changed you, 
 darling ? " 
 
 " Only a story Uncle Richard told roe, 
 mamma."
 
 bright sunny Sunday afternoon, 
 when the very birds in the trees 
 seemed too thoughtful even to 
 sing loudly, but chirped their gladness in 
 low, subdued hymns of thankfulness for 
 the happy summer weather, Uncle Rich- 
 ard, having stolen a few days from his 
 town duties, is strolling, book in hand, 
 up and down the garden-walk at the back 
 of that dear old country house he loves. 
 He is thinking ho\v beautiful everything 
 is how sweet the flowers, how blue the 
 sky, how solemn the hush that even in 
 far-off country places is somehow only
 
 32 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 
 
 noticed on Sundays. He rambles on, un- 
 til he finds himself crossing the vegetable 
 garden, and approaching the low ivy- 
 covered nursery window, where a whole 
 colony of busy swallows are twittering 
 peacefully at home that is, the outside 
 but from within the room different 
 sounds are heard sad sounds to listen 
 to on this sweet Sunday afternoon. 
 
 " You're a horrid, bad, wicked boy ; 
 and I've a mind to give you a hard slap, 
 I have ! " cries a girl's voice, raised shrill 
 and high with passion. 
 
 " I'm so, so solly, Beatie I " sobs a 
 very subdued, childish tone. " So velly 
 solly I did it." 
 
 " ' Sorry ! ' what's the use of that ? 
 You've been and torn all the binding 
 off my new geography prize, and poked
 
 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 33 
 
 it in the fire you know you have, you 
 little monkey ! I hate you ! " 
 
 Then comes a sudden shriek ; the slap 
 has evidently been given. The culprit 
 resents with kicks, and cries for " Mam- 
 ma, mamma ! " and the nursery window 
 is flung open with such a sudden bang that 
 several young swallows chirp with alarm, 
 and Uncle Richard draws back unob- 
 served, while a little girl comes fluttering 
 out, and runs past him, wringing her 
 hands with rage. 
 
 Can this be his pretty Beatrice ? 
 her golden hair all dishevelled, her face 
 crimson, her blue eyes flashing! Can 
 this be gentle Beatrice, who, when her 
 frock is caught by a pitying white rose, 
 turns to break it from its stem, and 
 throws it, bruised and crushed, into the
 
 34 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 
 
 bushes ? O Passion, what an ugly mas- 
 ter thou art ! 
 
 On and on that ugly master carries 
 her, till he flings her on to a great 
 mound of new-cut grass, all scented 
 with dying buttercups, clover, and pink 
 daisies, fragrant to the last. She lays 
 her throbbing head on the soft pillow, 
 and cries, almost breathlessly, " Tiresome 
 child ! I detest him, I do ! " 
 
 A brown-eyed bird perches on a stone 
 opposite her, and seems to repeat her 
 words in a loud wondering note, " Detest, 
 detest, detest! I detest him, I do do 
 I low sad, how sad, how sad ! " 
 
 " Oh, go away, do, worry ! you mako 
 my head ache ! " 
 
 She clutches a handful of turf, to throw 
 at him, but still he sits and sings, or, aa
 
 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 35 
 
 it seems to her, repeats her own words, 
 " I detest, dete - e - st him ! " 
 
 When folks sit silently listening to a 
 bird, Passion gets tired of their company. 
 So it is with Beatrice, who lets the turf 
 drop, and begins to relent. 
 
 " Well, of course I don't mean that," 
 she thinks ; " I mean it was a shame of 
 Freddie naughty boy. I wish I hadn't 
 slapped him so hard, after all," she adds, 
 as Passion disappears from the scene ; 
 " poor little fellow ! he said he was sorry." 
 And a vision of the tear-stained rosy face 
 troubles her conscience. Then she re- 
 members some words his mother used be- 
 fore going to church that morning " Be 
 kind to Freddie, Beatrice, when I am 
 away ; be his little mother ; he is almost 
 a baby, remember, dear, and you are a 
 big girl."
 
 36 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 
 
 u Almost a baby ! " and she had slapped 
 him and shaken him, even while he cried, 
 " Beatrice, I am so solly ! " Should she 
 go back and comfort him ? No ; she is 
 not equal to that, when she thinks of her 
 spoiled "geography," and so she stifles 
 the better feeling that whispers forgive- 
 ness. For a good half hour she lies on 
 the scented grass ; the soft pitying sun- 
 shine dries her. tears, and the little wild 
 flowers look up, and wonder how she can 
 still look so sober, with them around 
 her. 
 
 " Beatie, Beatie ! wheje are you, my 
 girl ? " cries a cheerful voice near. 
 
 Poor Beatie ! she must face her uncle. 
 Hot and flushed, she jumps up, wondering 
 if he will see and wonder at her appear- 
 ance. But, no ; he takes no notice. Only
 
 UNCLE EICHAKD'S STORIES. 37 
 
 more kindly than usual, if possible, he 
 calls her to look at a rare humming-bird 
 moth that is darting in and out of all 
 the sweetest flowers. Then they get to 
 talking about bees and butterflies, and 
 the thousand and one country sights that 
 please townsfolk so much. She feels 
 good and happy again almost. 
 
 Presently they find themselves under 
 the old walnut-tree in the far meadow, 
 and Uncle Richard proposes that they 
 should rest a while on the soft clover, 
 and have a little quiet talk. 
 
 " Uncle," says Beatrice, as she snuggles 
 down by his side, " do you remember the 
 pretty story you told me here, about 
 Nelly Mary ? you know. Will you tell 
 me another like it ? please do." 
 
 " Tell me, first, what did you learn
 
 38 UNCLE RICHARD'S STOEIES. 
 
 from that one, Beatie ? " he asked , softly 
 stroking her hair. 
 
 44 1 learnt to try to be unselfish and 
 patient. I thought I had, at least ; but, 
 oh dear I its so hard, so very hard, to be 
 good, sometimes." 
 
 She is thinking how angry she was but 
 just now, and feeling that her uncle is 
 looking at her with serious, sad eyes, and 
 knows all about it. 
 
 " And you want another story to help 
 you. Well, I will tell you one, Beatie." 
 
 44 A true one ! " she cries, eagerly. 
 
 44 A true one, dear ; so listen to the 
 record of the doings of a little country 
 lass for no dainty lady was my Jenny ; 
 no golden-haired missy, like you, Beat, 
 with hosts of toys and books, and fine 
 silk sashes. No ! my Jenny had nothing
 
 UNCLE EICHAED'S STORIES. 89 
 
 when she was twelve years old, but her 
 Johnny, and very dear and precious was 
 he to her unselfish heart. 
 
 " At the time I am speaking of, Jenny 
 and her Johnny thus they were always 
 spoken of were living in a poor little 
 hut on the outskirts of a forest. Their 
 father had been killed by a falling wall ; 
 and worn out with sorrow and fretting, 
 their poor gentle hard-working mother 
 felt herself growing weaker every day. 
 She grew thinner and whiter, and more 
 anxious, as she looked at her two children, 
 and tried to trust them without a murmur 
 to that God who has promised that He 
 would be a father to the fatherless. 
 
 " Jenny was a slight, thoughtful girl, 
 tall and brown-eyed ; and little three-year 
 old Johnny was fat, rosy, and masterful.
 
 iO UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 
 
 No wonder the mother wondered what 
 would become of them wtien she was 
 gone, for they had no relations, and few 
 friends. Yet she had a true and trusting 
 heart, this poor dying widow, working 
 so hard at her embroidery to the last, 
 while Jenny, all unconscious of the com- 
 ing shadow: bustled about the two tiny 
 rooms cooking, cleaning, mending, in a 
 manner perfectly surprising in a girl of 
 her age. She knew her mother was 
 ailing, and that her strong young arms 
 could help her, so she did all the hard 
 work without a murmur, while the mother 
 sat stitching. 
 
 " But the day came when that mother's 
 hand dropped wearily ; when the needle 
 would no longer trace the dainty outline 
 of roses and lilies ; then she took Johnny
 
 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 41 
 
 in her arms, and called Jennv. still hold- 
 ing her boy tenderly to her heart. 
 
 " 4 My Jenny/ she said, ' I am going to 
 jive you a sacred trust. I am going to 
 ask you to be a little mother to our 
 Johnny. Will you promise, that I may 
 turn to God in peace and ask Him to 
 watch over you both, my poor forlorn 
 lambs?" 
 
 " It was a sad, sad awaking for poor 
 Jenny, who loved her patient mother 
 dearly ; so dearly that she tried to bear 
 the blow as quietly as possible. Pres- 
 ently, when the poor girl was able to stay 
 the bitter sudden tears that would make 
 her feel sick and faint with the great 
 trouble to come, the mother placed 
 Johnny in her arms, and drew both their 
 young heads to hei sorrowful patient
 
 42 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 
 
 heart, blessing and caressing them both, 
 while she said falteringly, ' Jenny, my 
 daughter, promise me now this one thing 
 and we will speak no more of the cloud 
 which the Lord sees fit to shadow your 
 young lives with. Promise that you will 
 take what care you can of your little 
 brother. That you will try to teach him 
 to be good ; that some day I may hold 
 you both again, mine for ever and ever." 
 
 " ' Mother, I promise I will be very good 
 to him,' sobbed the girl through her tears. 
 
 " ' And you, Johnny darling, try and be 
 good when poor mother is gone, and love 
 Jenny.' 
 
 " But Johnny, who had been staring 
 with wide open blue eyes, quite speechless 
 at the sight of Jenny's tears, burst out 
 with a sudden roar ' that mother should
 
 UNCLE KICHARD'S STORIES. 43 
 
 not go; she should not leave him; ho 
 would have no other mother ; thai he loved 
 her ; that he would fight any one who 
 tried to take her away ; ' and he clenched 
 his dimpled fists, and shook them at 
 Jenny, as though she were the aggressor. 
 
 " But before the autumn leaves had 
 fallen, his mother did go ; and Jenny and 
 Johnny were alone alone in that dreary 
 little cottage. And Jenny sat weeping, 
 with her hand hidden in the scanty black 
 skirt, while the boy played at her feet. 
 
 " But as she sat sobbing there, thinking 
 only of her own forlorn state, he gradually 
 left off his game, came with scared looks, 
 and, laying his tangled curly locks on her 
 lap, declared that she should be his mother 
 as long as she liked, if she only would 
 leave off crying, and take him just a bit.
 
 44 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 
 
 " Then Jenny threw aside the black 
 skirt, and, kissing the tearful rosy face, 
 renewed the promise she had made to her 
 dead mother. She would do her best for 
 Johnny's sake ; and she sat there rocking 
 him until the little fellow fell asleep in her 
 arms. 
 
 " Then she laid him in his bed ; and 
 shaking off the feeling that made her sit 
 there, uncaring, with her face hidden, sha 
 bathed her swollen eyes, brushed her hair, 
 and got the place in order, even fetching 
 out the embroidery frame which her 
 mother had used so long, and which 
 she had put out of sight in her first 
 despair. 
 
 " And the next day, when she found a 
 little lost lamb bleating so pitifully at her 
 door, she took it up and carried it in hei
 
 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 45 
 
 arms till she found its fond anxious mother ; 
 4 So,' she thought, ' will I care for Johnny. 
 Some day I will give him to our mother, 
 who will rejoice as this one does, only 
 a good deal more, because it will be 
 heaven there.'
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 that day Jenny sat aside all 
 thought of herself. Her whole 
 heart was set upon keeping her 
 promise, and bravely and nobly she did it ; 
 early and late she toiled ; she went from 
 house to house earning a few pence here 
 and there never begging, mind ; never 
 taking anything she had not earned ; but 
 never thinking any work too hard that 
 brought in money. Her mother had been 
 very skillful at her needle, and the girl 
 took after her ; at spare times, or when 
 Johnny was asleep, she practised at the 
 embroidery frame, but eoarsei work did 
 
 46
 
 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 47 
 
 not make her fingers very fit for such 
 delicate materials, nor did she very well 
 know how to dispose of the few articles 
 she had managed to embroider to her sat- 
 isfaction. The people at the big house 
 were away, and no one else wanted such 
 things. Still she scrambled along somehow 
 till Johnny's fourth birthday; the day 
 when I first saw her and heard her simple 
 story. 
 
 " I happened to be delayed in the vil- 
 lage for a day or two, and, taking a very 
 early morning stroll, saw a young gir] 
 standing at an old-fashioned doorway feed - 
 ing chicks. It was such a sweet, bright 
 smiling lace, that I could not resist smiling 
 back at it. 
 
 " ' What an early breakfast you are giv* 
 ing your noisy family, little maid ! ' I said.
 
 48 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 
 
 " It's my Johnny's birthday, and I 
 want to get done early, sir,' she answered, 
 quite as though everybody knew her John- 
 ny- 
 
 " Later on there was a great stir among 
 the villagers. Jenny's Johnny was missing 
 from the cottage, and Jenny was as one 
 out of her mind. 
 
 " Jenny, it seemed, had one little arti- 
 cle which she treasured next to Johnny 
 it was a lovely lawn handkerchief, all 
 gaily embroidered with red roses, the work 
 of her loved mother when a girl. It had 
 always been most carefully preserved ; and 
 every now and then Jenny took it out of 
 the little drawer filled with lavender, and 
 admired and cried over it. Of course, 
 wearing it was out of the question ; it wag 
 far too precious for that. She had even
 
 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 49 
 
 refused a golden half sovereign offered for 
 it by the peddler who had come that way 
 to the fair. 
 
 " Of late she had been too busy to look 
 at her treasure, for people were getting 
 used to employ the clever willing girl ; and 
 poor as they were, many a shilling came in 
 Jenny's way to help her keep her promise 
 and her Johnny. 
 
 " Well, it happened very unfortunately, 
 that the said Johnny, being left, as he 
 often was, to amuse himself as best he 
 could, took it into his head to get on the 
 top of the table and pull open the small 
 drawer, by the fireside, where lay the 
 precious handkerchief all by itself. 
 
 " ' Mammy's pretty wed woses ; how 
 nice you 'mell ! " cooed the boy, holding 
 the handle, and bending over the drawer.
 
 60 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 
 
 " Somehow he missed his footing, and 
 came down, drawer, ' woses,' and all ; 
 only he came down on his head, and 
 screamed as four-year-old boys can, and 
 the poor ' woses ' fluttered out of his 
 hand on to the fender. Luckily there 
 was no fire. 
 
 " Old Bridget, from her cottage, came 
 to see the cause of the screaming, and 
 found my lord with a great bruise on his 
 forehead, and the empty drawer clutched 
 in his fat hand. As she opened the door 
 something red-and- white fluttered on to 
 the bars, then up the broad open chim- 
 ney, then away who knows where but 
 the wind-angels ? 
 
 " Oh, how poor Jenny cried when she 
 found her precious little handkerchief 
 gone ! What a grief and a trouble it
 
 UNCLE KIC HARD'S STOBIES. 51 
 
 was to her ; yet she never said a harsh 
 word to the child that had set her heart 
 aching, but tenderly bathed the great 
 bump on his forehead, sobbing, while he 
 looked at her with wondering troubled 
 eyes. He knew it was all grief for that 
 handkerchief that was lost. 
 
 " ' Don't cwy, likle mother ! Other 
 mother's woses flewd away back to 
 other mother who did 'em. P'raps she'll 
 send 'em to Jenny again, p'raps.' 
 
 " ' Mother is in heaven ; it's too far, 
 dear.' 
 
 " ' Is it furder than the middle of the 
 forest ? " asked Johnny. 4 Couldn't I ask 
 her to give 'em you again ? She made 
 'em first.' 
 
 " ' Oh hush, Johnny ! I wish you 
 could. But it's no use talking ; bed time
 
 52 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 
 
 now, dear, and you must go to bed, be- 
 cause sister has to get out early and earn 
 some breakfast for Johnny.' 
 
 "As she laid the sturdy child down, 
 she kissed her boy as tenderly as ever, 
 for she remembered he was almost a baby, 
 and she a big girl, as you know, Beatrice." 
 Beatrice thought of that other boy, almost 
 a baby, that she had been so harsh to, and 
 blushed. 
 
 "Well, the next day, as I told you, 
 Johnny was lost. Jenny had gone out 
 to help do some washing, and Bridget 
 had left the child happily feeding a brood 
 of tiny chicks round about the cottage 
 door. She had thought no more about 
 him, till the unusual silence struck her. 
 
 " c Johnny ! ' for an hour or two she 
 called all about the place, but no Johnny
 
 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 53 
 
 answered her, and too spoil she found 
 that Johnny had vanished but wher^ 
 The few and far neighbors had not seen 
 him, and Bridget wrung her old hands 
 when she thought of the river, and the 
 possibility of his having strayed so far 
 alone. Those little red legs were firm 
 and strong. 
 
 44 111 news, they say, fly apace, and 
 certainly it was not long before the 
 knowledge of her brother's disappearance 
 reached Jenny, who went flying, white- 
 faced, seeking and calling for the child, 
 but no answer came. Kind men, who 
 had gone round about the place, returned 
 one by one without the slightest clue. 
 The daylight passed away, and darkened 
 into night, and then midnight : sti]l no 
 token or sign of the lost boy of pool 
 half-frantic Jenny.
 
 54 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 
 
 " ' We can look nowhere else to-night, 
 my poor child ! ' said my friend, who had 
 been eager in the chase ; ' we have gone 
 every way far beyond any distance he 
 could have wandered. Try and take pa- 
 tience till morning dawns ; we will surely 
 find him then ; he cannot have disap- 
 peared altogether, you know.' 
 
 " Jenny listened with dry, tearless eyes, 
 and answered huskily, ' But I must find 
 him ; I promised mother to take care of 
 him. What will she think ! what will 
 she think ! ' 
 
 "'My .dear,' I said, 'try and have pa- 
 tience. Your mother knows, perhaps, 
 how faithfully you have tried to keep 
 your promise. As soon as it is light we 
 will scour the country round, and bring 
 you your boy. We can do no more to- 
 night. 1
 
 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. u5 
 
 44 But she only wrung her hands, and 
 darted from the crowd, to resume her 
 fruitless search, for in the darkness we 
 could every now and then hear that piti- 
 ful cry ' Johnny, Johnny, where are 
 you, dear?' But still no answer came 
 to bless her. 
 
 " I do not think many people in the 
 village slept that night ; I did not for one. 
 That dark flowing river had been in my 
 thoughts as it had been in others' 
 luckily it never entered those of Jenny ; 
 but every time I dozed I woke up with 
 a frightened start. So, when the first 
 pale light showed itself I rose, and 
 dressed, and, going gently down stairs, 
 passed into the garden and the lane be- 
 yond. 
 
 "It was a soft gray spring morning,
 
 56 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 
 
 and only one cock made itself heard. 
 All seemed so hushed and still that I felt 
 quite depressed as I went round the back 
 of the cottages towards the one where 
 the lost child had so lately nestled. 
 
 " It looked very solitary standing there 
 alone ; the flowers drooped, the windows 
 were some of them open, and, looking 
 in at the little parlor, I saw a slim girl's 
 figure kneeling by the side of an empty 
 crib. She was in her hat and shawl, 
 just as she had left her washing yester- 
 day : she had evidently fallen asleep pray- 
 ing for her Johnny's safety. Retreating 
 as softly as possible, I was quite startled 
 by a sudden gruff squeak, and nip at my 
 legs ; looking round to see what this 
 meant, I found I had disturbed the repose 
 uf a solemn old one-eyed jackdaw, that
 
 UNCLE EICHAED'S STOEIES. 57 
 
 appeared to have been sleeping in the 
 remains of a chip basket. I cannot tell 
 why, at a time when my mind was filled 
 with far other things, I should have 
 stooped down to talk, to look in at the 
 retreat of this wise old bird perhaps 
 it was because I felt myself so useless as 
 yet. However, stoop down I did, and 
 peering into the basket saw there was a 
 child's hat lying at the back of it filled 
 with rubbish. Well, after all, it might 
 be any child's hat, but this had a green 
 ribbon, so had lost Johnny's ; and it was 
 clean, so was Johnny's ; how came it 
 there ? and the old jackdaw looked up at 
 me witn evil eyes, as much as to say, 
 l Ah, you would like to know, but you 
 won't ! ' and went hopping off in great 
 4udgeon. I felt quite angry with that
 
 58 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 
 
 bird ; where had he got that hat from ' 
 After all, was the child anywhere near? 
 and did the jackdaw know it ? 
 
 " Very soon the neighbors roused. 1 
 showed the hat. Mother Bridget declared 
 it to be the one the missing child had 
 worn but yesterday. Where, then, had 
 Jack found it? While they searched 
 every nook and corner he was known to 
 haunt, I followed the old bird for more 
 than two hours; and what a dance he 
 led me ! I dropped things for him to 
 hide, but he only put them into impossi- 
 ble places, and then screamed and hopped 
 with delight. Still he kept near about 
 the cottage, and never went beyond the 
 great straw-rick in the meadow beyond. 
 
 " Of course we had looked round this 
 rick, but all was clear there. Yet Jack
 
 UNCLE RICHAKD'S STOBIES* 59 
 
 kept his one eye so innocently turned 
 away from it that I could not help being 
 suspicious, and came back several times 
 to prod at it ; Jack following, and scream- 
 ing angrily. 
 
 " * 'Taint no use, master/ said an old 
 laborer, sorrowfully ; ' t' river's the next 
 thing to look into ; the child aint a mouse 
 that he could squeeze into this here 
 stack.' 
 
 " ' He couldn't have got to the top, 
 could he ? ' I asked, doubtfully ; it seemed 
 such a foolish question to ask the man. 
 
 " ' He couldn't unless he had wings, like 
 this here magpie, as seems to know we 
 ha' lost summat.' answered old Saunuors,, 
 rather sneeringly. 
 
 " ' I tell you what, I'll go up and see, 1 
 I said, all at once, more out of contra- 
 diction than anything else.
 
 80 UNCLE EICHAED'S STORIES. 
 
 "Will 'ee, sir? I make bold to ask 
 how ? we aint got no wings to lend you, 
 sir.' 
 
 "Well, perhaps you've got a ladder 
 instead, Master Clever.' 
 
 " ' There's only one as would reach in 
 all the place, and that belongs to Joe 
 Brush the miller, as squints.' 
 
 4i ' Well, go and ask Joe Brush to 
 bring it here.' 
 
 " ' Joe went to Talford yesterday, 
 an' he keeps it locked up when he's away, 
 leastways, so I've heard.' 
 
 " 1 sent off to inquire after Joe's lad- 
 der ; the searchers gradually got together; 
 and my friend, heading them, came 
 towards where I stood, and said, 4 We 
 are going down to the river, now, Rich- 
 ard. What are you doing here ? won't
 
 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 61 
 
 you come with us? are you waiting fox 
 anything ? ' 
 
 44 4 Waiting for Joe Brush's ladder,' I 
 answered. 
 
 " 4 Well, perhaps you are right. Why, 
 my poor Jenny, is it you ? You must go 
 home with Bridget here. You look ready 
 to drop, child. 
 
 " It was indeed Jenny, so pale and wan, 
 holding that little straw hat, pressed on 
 her arms. But she was not crying, only 
 looking anxiously, first at one face, then 
 at another. 
 
 44 4 Oh, please don't give up looking 
 for Johnny ! ' she cried, clasping her 
 hands ; 4 he can't be lost can he ? 
 Johnny, Johnny ! where are you ? ' she 
 almost screamed in her despair. 
 
 44 Then from high above our heads,
 
 62 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 
 
 came a sweet, childish voice, muffled and 
 far-off, 4 1 am here, Jennie ! I am here ! ' 
 
 " Whiter, whiter grew the little sister, 
 who, all unprepared, thought it was a 
 voice from the skies ; as to us, a loud and 
 joyous shout answered the call. And, 
 how it happened I cannot tell you, but 
 before Joe Brush's ladder had arrived, 
 one man had scrambled on another man's 
 back, and another on to his, and, almost 
 at the risk of a broken neck, had reached 
 the top of the great straw heap, into 
 which, somewhat to our surprise, he dis- 
 appeared, head-foremost, it seemed to us. 
 
 " 4 All right, I've got 'un ! ' came his 
 call. 
 
 " Where are you both ? ' we shouted. 
 
 " ' In a hole ! little 'un safe and sound, 
 but we can't get out till the laddei 
 comes.'
 
 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 63 
 
 *' What a rush there was to hurry oil 
 that ladder ! and, oh ! what a cheer when 
 Johnny , with his yellow hair all on end, 
 and his blue eyes very open and round, 
 was handed out of his hiding-place, and 
 passed from arm to arm, till he rested in 
 those of Jenny, hitherto so tearless, now 
 sobbing as though her heart would break 
 with very joy. 
 
 " ' Don't cry, Jenny ! ' with his fat arms 
 round her neck ; ' don't cry ! I am so 
 hungry ; and see, I have got back mother's 
 woses.' 
 
 44 And sure enough, rolled up in a damp 
 dirty lump, was a something pink and 
 white and torn. 
 
 44 1 need not ten you that the children 
 had not far to go for a breakfast that 
 morning, or indeed any other morning.
 
 64 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 
 
 I took care of that, at any rate. For a 
 trifle old Bridget looked after them until 
 Johnny was old enough to go to a good 
 school, and Jenny found time to practice 
 her embroidery, which in a short time she 
 did so well that she had no lack of cus- 
 tomers among our many acquaintances. 
 She was always unselfish and devoted a 
 real 4 other mother ' to the lad, as he grew 
 up honest and true, under her careful 
 charge." 
 
 44 But, uncle, how did he get up into 
 such a place ? and where did he find 
 * mother's woses ' ? " 
 
 " Oh, I forgot to tell you that impor- 
 tant part of my story, which we could 
 not quite make out at the time. We 
 found that Joe Brush had left his ladder 
 against the straw heap for a short time
 
 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 65 
 
 on the day Johnny was lost. Joe* re^ 
 numbered ' seeing the magpie hopping 
 about the ladder-foot, with some red rag, 
 as he thought, and a boy running after 
 him. We could suppose the child, seeing 
 the bird hopping off with the very hand- 
 kerchief his sister had cried about, fol- 
 lowed and scrambled up the ladder after 
 the thief. Once on the top, he had 
 tumbled into a very soft resting-place, 
 fortunately unharmed, and after crying a 
 bit, had burrowed into the straw, and 
 had fallen asleep his hiding-place solely 
 visible to the stars and was awakened 
 only by that loud-appealing call of 'John- 
 ny, where are you ? ' It was fortunate 
 we were near enough to hear his answer, 
 or he might have spent an unpleasant 
 time while we had been looking every-
 
 66 UNCLfi RICHARD'S STORIES. 
 
 where, but the right place for the pool 
 little man. 
 
 44 And now, Beatie, my story is finished, 
 Has it taught you anything ? Will you 
 tell me, or leave me to judge by the re- 
 sult ? " 
 
 Beatie bends her head over the clover, 
 and smiles, with tears in her eyes. 
 
 44 Why, I declare, there is Freddy at 
 the window ! I must go and say 4 Good- 
 morning ' to the little fellow." 
 
 Uncle Richard rises, and walks across 
 the lawn, and away to where the little 
 fellow is rubbing his nose in a rather 
 woebegone state on the glass. But he 
 btops at sight of his uncle. 
 
 44 What's the matter, old man ? " calls 
 out the uncle, from below ; 4t what are 
 you doing there?"
 
 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 67 
 
 " Ma's out, and I all 'lone, and Beatie 
 don't love me, an' its all mis'able ! " says 
 the boy, with a quiver in his voice and 
 
 UP. 
 
 Just then the door behind him opens, 
 and Beatie steals in, and, catching up the 
 little fellow in her arms, gives him such a 
 tender loving kiss that he looks amazed 
 and half-frightened. 
 
 " I'm so sorry that I slapped you, Fred- 
 dy ! I was very cross, I know ; but I'll 
 try and be kind another time, see if I 
 don't." 
 
 "Big sister, well, I won't never no 
 more tear your graffelly's books," pro- 
 tests Freddy, earnestly, as he claps his 
 hands joyfully. 
 
 I don't know if Freddy will keep his 
 promise "he is almost a baby;" but 1
 
 68 
 
 UNCLE RICHARD'S STORIES. 
 
 do know that Beatrice tries very hard to 
 keep hers." So you see, Uncle Richard's 
 second story was not thrown away.
 
 This book is DUE on the last 
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