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 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA
 
 WHAT HAPPENED TO 
 BARBARA 
 
 BY 
 
 OLIVE THORNE MILLER 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 ;be Ciitcrsibc press, Cambridge 
 1907
 
 COPYRIGHT 1907 BY H. M. MILLER 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 Published April tqoj
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 I. BARBARA'S RASH PROMISE 
 II. BARBARA'S HOME 
 
 III. UNCLE KARL 
 
 IV. A FUNNY LUNCH 
 
 V. ON A CANAL BOAT .... 
 
 VI. QUEER WAYS OF AUNT BETTY 
 
 VII. STRENUOUS HOUSEKEEPING 
 
 VIII. JACK FROST AS SANTA GLAUS 
 
 IX. STICKY TIMES IN THE STUDIO . 
 
 X. UNCLE KARL AND BARBARA RUN AWAY 
 
 XI. DROLL MRS. BLAKE .... 
 
 XII. A BEAR IN CAMP . . . . 
 
 XIII. IN A BLIZZARD 
 
 XIV. THE FRIENDLY LOG CABIN . 
 XV. ONLY POTATOES TO EAT . 
 
 XVI. BARBARA'S BIRTHDAY .... 
 XVII. THE CHILDREN'S SYMPHONY 
 XVIII. CONFIDENCES . ,. . . . 
 XIX. BARBARA HIRES OUT 
 XX. THE SECRET HIDING-PLACE . . . 
 XXI. A LETTER FROM UNCLE KARL . . 
 XXII. " IMPROVING HER MIND " . .""'.. 
 
 XXIII. BOARDING SCHOOL * 
 
 XXIV. THE SECRET Our
 
 vi CONTENTS 
 
 XXV. THE END OF SCHOOL DAYS . . . 223 
 XXVI. ADVENTURES ON THE WAT . . 229 
 
 XXVII. THE MAGIC Box 241 
 
 XXVIII. CAMPING OUT . . . . 248 
 
 XXIX. A NIGHT SCARE 263 
 
 XXX. FORDING THE RIVER .... 271 
 
 XXXI. THE " STAR " 280 
 
 XXXII. HAPPY AT LAST . . . 288 
 
 XXXIII. THE END OF TROUBLES . . . 294
 
 WHAT HAPPENED TO 
 BARBARA
 
 WHAT HAPPENED TO 
 BARBARA 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 BARBARA'S RASH PROMISE 
 
 " Is N'T that lovely ! " 
 
 " Where did it come from ? " 
 
 "Who made it?" 
 
 This confusion of tongues greeted Barbara 
 as she opened the schoolroom door one morn- 
 ing. She drew near the group to see the won- 
 der that excited them, when another voice 
 arose that of Jenny Mills saying exult- 
 antly : 
 
 " It came from New York, and there is n't 
 one in town like it, and I don't believe there 's 
 any one that can make one ! " 
 
 Barbara came hastily near and was greeted 
 with a shout. 
 
 " Come, Barbara ! see this lovely basket !
 
 4 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 Do you know how it 's made ? " for Barbara 
 was handy at making fancy things. 
 
 " Humph ! " said Jenny with scorn. " I 'd 
 like to see her make one ! " 
 
 Barbara had never seen one before, but it 
 looked easy enough. She could n't bear to fall 
 below the expectations of her schoolmates, 
 and she resented Jenny's tone, and in fact 
 some sudden impulse perhaps vanity made 
 her say instantly : 
 
 " Pooh ! anybody can make one of those ! 
 Is that the great thing you were all talking 
 about?" 
 
 " Can you do it ? Oh, make me one ! " was 
 the cry that now burst upon her. 
 
 " She can't do it ; she 's only bragging," 
 said Jenny's exasperating voice. 
 
 " I can do it," she asserted proudly. 
 
 " Oh, please," pleaded the voice of her 
 warmest friend, a girl younger than herself 
 who clung to her like a worshiper, "please 
 make one for me ! " 
 
 " She can't do it ; she dare n't try," said 
 Jenny again.
 
 BARBARA'S RASH PROMISE 5 
 
 " I can do it, Dora," said Barbara quietly, 
 " and I will." 
 
 " Let's see it, won't you? " sneered Jenny. 
 
 " Yes, Dora, you '11 show it to them when 
 it 's done, won't you ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! " said Dora loyally, " and 
 it '11 be prettier than that one, I know ! " 
 
 At this moment the bell rang and the girls 
 separated to their seats. 
 
 Barbara was very happy in this school, which 
 was what was called a Select School, of not 
 more than forty or fifty girls. It was held in 
 one large room with a single row of desks all 
 around next the wall. 
 
 Nearly everything about it was pleasant to 
 Barbara. She liked the teacher, and she liked 
 her studies, but the dearest of all to her was 
 a little secret society of half a dozen of her 
 most intimate friends who had united them- 
 selves together for the purpose of indulging 
 their love for writing. Who started it has 
 long been forgotten, but as two of the party 
 became well-known writers at a later day, it 
 is to be supposed that one of them formed it.
 
 6 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 In this little society each girl assumed a 
 character either from history or from a favor- 
 ite romance, or a purely imaginary one. This 
 fictitious personage chose her residence in 
 some foreign country and pretended to write 
 all her letters from there, trying in every way 
 to act the character she had chosen. 
 
 One of the girls, for instance, took the 
 name of a favorite young girl in Scott's nov- 
 els, and dated her letters in the Highlands of 
 Scotland ; another became a princess of France 
 and wrote the most wonderful stories of life 
 in a royal palace ; a third buried herself in the 
 woods and wrote hermit letters from there. 
 
 All letters were passed to each of the circle 
 to read. 
 
 In this way Barbara indulged her passion 
 for letter-writing, and after she had used up 
 her too limited paper she would fill her slate, 
 and when a good chance offered, pass it around 
 to be read, then wash it off and fill it again. 
 Behind the big geographies of those days 
 many an hour was spent in this dear pleasure. 
 
 On the day my story begins, after the ex-
 
 BARBARA'S RASH PROMISE 7 
 
 citement about the basket and Jenny's taunts 
 were over, Barbara's heart was rather heavy, 
 for she had never seen a basket like that, and 
 she had promised to make one. She would not 
 fail for anything, and thus not only disappoint 
 Dora's trusting heart but bring down the 
 sneers of Jenny and the rest. The thing had 
 been made by hands, and she was resolved to 
 make one like it, if it took a year. It must be 
 prettier, too, to justify Dora's faith. 
 
 The basket was to hang on the wall to hold 
 letters or cards. It was made of two colors of 
 paper woven together as the kindergarten 
 children nowadays weave mats. Then it was 
 bound together, had tassels at the corners and 
 a curiously braided band to hang it by. 
 
 Such a thing would be very commonplace 
 now, but in those days it was new and pretty. 
 It looked easy, but let me tell you what a 
 time Barbara had learning to make one. 
 
 Jenny's basket was of blue and white paper, 
 but Barbara resolved that Dora's should be of 
 gilt and silver paper, that being the most gor- 
 geous thing she could think of.
 
 8 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 When she got home from school Barbara 
 went to the drawer where she kept her trea- 
 sures and opened a little hox containing her 
 small savings. Girls did not have much money 
 in those days, and such a thing as an allow- 
 ance to spend as she pleased Barbara had 
 never heard of. She looked at the little pile 
 of pennies and half-dimes with a sigh. She 
 had set her heart on a certain purchase for 
 examination day at the close of the school, 
 and she had denied herself candy and gum- 
 mastic and " acid," of which girls used to buy 
 five cents' worth at the drug-stores and dis- 
 solve on the tongue a strange fancy which 
 I am surprised their parents allowed. Still she 
 had managed to save little more than a dollar. 
 
 She felt very unhappy, but there was no 
 other way, the money must go. She took out 
 sixty cents and went to the bookstore, where 
 she bought a sheet of gilt and another of silver 
 paper, for in those days they cost thirty cents 
 apiece. Of course it was much more than was 
 needed for the basket she said to herself 
 but she could make other things with it.
 
 BARBARA'S RASH PROMISE 9 
 
 When Barbara reached home she went to 
 her own room and locked the door, having 
 first slipped a pair of her mother's scissors into 
 her pocket. 
 
 She opened the paper and cut off a square 
 she thought big enough. Of course she should 
 have practiced on common paper, or at least 
 measured and cut it out with extreme care. 
 But she did not know anything about this 
 sort of work, and she had to learn on the costly 
 paper how to do it. 
 
 The weaving was of alternate strips of the 
 two papers, so she cut a number of strips of 
 the proper width and length, and tried to 
 weave them together. First she laid down side 
 by side all the gold strips and then tried to 
 weave in the silver. 
 
 Fancy the trouble she had ! She would 
 get one strip woven in, but the moment she 
 began the next, the first one would slip out. 
 All the first afternoon she wasted trying to do 
 it in that way. 
 
 The next morning at school she was greeted 
 with shouts of "Have you brought the has-
 
 10 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 ket?" "Let's see your wonderful basket!" 
 etc. 
 
 Barbara did n't feel quite so confident as the 
 day before, but she was not going to be sneered 
 out of it, so she answered carelessly : 
 
 " I didn't have time to make it last night." 
 
 Jenny laughed insultingly. 
 
 " Oh, if you 're in a hurry, Miss Mills," said 
 Barbara loftily, " you can wait till your hurry 
 is over ; it isn't for you ! " 
 
 All day that basket weighed on her mind, 
 and at night she tried a new way. When she 
 had woven the first strip in, she stuck a pin 
 straight down through every cross strip into 
 the table it lay on. That held it, and though 
 it was extremely awkward handling it, she 
 managed to weave in all the strips for one side, 
 holding them in place by a bristling army of 
 pins. 
 
 Then she noticed with horror that as she 
 had not cut her strips exactly, there were gaps 
 and places where they did not fit properly. 
 This would never do ; she saw that she must 
 begin again. So passed the second day.
 
 BARBARA'S RASH PROMISE 11 
 
 The second morning the laughs of the 
 enemy were louder, and the voices of her 
 friends fainter, but she made some excuse, and 
 spent another day thinking about it. 
 
 The third night she cut new strips by help 
 of a ruler, and saw with dismay that her two 
 sheets would not be enough to complete the 
 dreadful thing. The third morning her friends 
 said nothing, but looked with wistful eyes 
 at her empty hands, while her enemies met 
 her with shouts as far off as they could see 
 her. 
 
 " Where 's the basket? " " Hope you brought 
 that basket! " " We're dying to see that bas- 
 ket!" and other schoolgirlish remarks meant 
 to be ironical and crushing. 
 
 She answered back bravely, though her 
 heart was heavy. 
 
 That day she began to fail in recitation. 
 Her teacher spoke sharply to her, which nearly 
 broke her heart, for she was proud of her 
 standing in school, and to be reproved was 
 only a little less mortifying to her than to be 
 marked less than perfect. How could she
 
 12 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 study with that horrid basket like a night- 
 mare before her ! 
 
 The fourth night she wove the two sides 
 and left them pinned to her table, for she did 
 not dare unpin them till she had contrived 
 some way to hold the strips in place, and only 
 now discovered that she should have woven 
 them wrong side out so that she could have 
 pasted them firmly on the back. 
 
 The fourth morning her friends looked the 
 other way, except dear trusting Dora, who 
 clung to her as usual, and the enemy taunted 
 her unmercifully. 
 
 "I can do it and I will!" said Jenny, 
 mocking her tone and manner. " Pooh ! any- 
 body can do that ! " repeated Jenny's great 
 friend, and so they went on. I need n't tell 
 you girls the various ways in which one can 
 manage to distress and annoy another. 
 
 This day she failed worse than ever in les- 
 sons and went home in disgrace. 
 
 The fifth evening she managed to unpin 
 and gum in place the two woven pieces so that 
 they looked tolerably well, and to bind the
 
 BARBARA'S RASH PROMISE 13 
 
 edges in a somewhat clumsy way, with a broad 
 strip of the gilt paper. 
 
 The fifth morning was a repetition of the 
 fourth as to treatment, only her friends now 
 said openly they did not believe she could do 
 it. She was much shaken by her worry and 
 the girls' treatment. She seemed unable to 
 understand the simplest question in her books; 
 she simply could not fix her mind on them. 
 Her teacher was grieved and kept her after 
 school to talk to her seriously. 
 
 She could only cry and feel utterly broken 
 down, but she would not tell what was the 
 matter, nor would she give up trying to make 
 that basket. She must succeed now or be set 
 down as a liar, and I think she would have 
 died before she would fail. 
 
 The sixth evening she struggled with fast- 
 ening the two sides together, which she ac- 
 complished in a tolerably neat way, and began 
 attempts on the braided strip to hang it up by. 
 
 By this time the family had become inter- 
 ested in her strange, secret ways ; she kept 
 her door locked ; she spent every moment out
 
 14 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 of school in her room ; she would not let any 
 one in ; she always came home with red eyes ; 
 she could not eat or sleep. Her brother teased 
 unmercifully about her wonderful secret ; he 
 declared she was writing a book ; he examined 
 her fingers for ink spots ; he called her " blue- 
 stocking;" he pretended to read notices out of 
 the newspapers about the celebrated authoress. 
 She was nearly wild. 
 
 Now came Sunday. She did not dream of 
 being so wicked as to touch her work on that 
 day, and went to church and Sunday-school 
 as usual. 
 
 The sixth morning she heard the word she 
 dreaded unspeakably. " Liar ! " was first spoken 
 by Jenny and then shouted at her by Jenny's 
 friends. 
 
 " I do not wish to speak to a liar ! " said 
 one, turning away from her. 
 
 " My mother will not allow me to associate 
 with untruthful persons ! " said another with 
 pursed-up lips. All turned their backs on her 
 except faithful Dora, who clung to her though 
 weeping. At recess no one would speak to
 
 BARBARA'S RASH PROMISE 15 
 
 her; at noon, when all brought lunch and 
 usually ate it socially and had fine games after 
 it, the girls gathered in groups, talking in low 
 tones, except when they wished to fling a word 
 at her or make a remark to another about her, 
 or at her you know how. 
 
 As for Barbara, she never left her desk ; she 
 had brought no lunch ; she bent over her geo- 
 graphy, and pretended not to hear anything. 
 
 That day her distressed teacher kept her 
 again, and after trying in vain to induce her 
 to tell the truth, said she should have to send 
 a note to her parents, and she kept her while 
 she wrote it, and gave it to her to deliver. 
 
 Why did she put such a dreadful tempta- 
 tion before the tortured girl? All the long 
 way home Barbara battled with herself about 
 delivering that note, and she ended so far 
 had her thoughtless boasting brought her 
 by tearing it to bits. 
 
 The seventh evening she completed the 
 braided band to hang the basket by and fas- 
 tened it on. Now only remained the tassels, 
 and she hoped one day more would end it.
 
 16 WHAT HAPPENED TO BAEBARA 
 
 She was tempted that day to play truant, 
 but she could not bear that her enemies should 
 think they had driven her away, so she took 
 her place as usual. That dreadful day her dear 
 Dora, whose trusting faith when every one 
 else had doubted her had helped very much 
 to keep her up, was absent. No one conde- 
 scended to tell her why, for now she was let 
 severely alone, the worst punishment possible 
 for schoolgirls to inflict. She was an outcast ! 
 
 Her teacher asked her if she had brought 
 an answer to her note, and Barbara told her 
 " no," though she felt sure her teacher must 
 know from her guilty looks the truth. She 
 could not recite ; she was almost unconscious 
 of what was going on about her. 
 
 At noon her teacher talked to her again 
 and told her she thought she should have to 
 expel her, such complete failure in lessons, 
 such obstinate refusal to explain ; she could 
 not have such an example before the others ; 
 it was affecting the scholarship of the school ; 
 and in fact she should go and talk to her 
 parents that afternoon. As for Barbara, she
 
 BARBARA'S RASH PROMISE 17 
 
 told her she might go home then ; it was 
 worse than useless for her to stay there. She 
 told her besides to take her books with her. 
 
 Utterly heart-broken and crushed, Barbara 
 gathered up her books and left the school 
 where she had been so happy. Her whole life 
 seemed spoiled. She was disgraced ; dismissed 
 from school with the name of liar fastened 
 upon her. She dragged herself home, with a 
 splitting headache, slipped into the side door, 
 and stole up to her room without being seen 
 by anybody ; and then though she could 
 not keep the tears from rolling over her cheeks 
 she would not give up till she had finished 
 the last tassel and hung the hated thing upon 
 the wall. 
 
 " They may hate me and dismiss me and 
 kill me if they like," was her wild cry as she 
 threw herself on the bed, "but they shall 
 never call me a liar again." 
 
 Now she gave up to her grief ; she cried and 
 sobbed and could not stop ; she shivered and 
 then burned, and in fact, though she did not 
 know it, she was in a raging fever.
 
 18 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 Meanwhile the hours flew by, and at the 
 hour when she should have come from school, 
 her mother was startled to see the teacher in- 
 stead. The whole shameful story was told. Her 
 mother was grieved and shocked, but when 
 the fact came out that Barbara had started for 
 home at noon, she was seriously alarmed. 
 
 The whole family was questioned, but no 
 one had seen her, and her father was sent for. 
 It was feared that she had run away, or thrown 
 herself into the lake, as she had sometimes 
 threatened when she was angry. 
 
 Fortunately she was found before the pub- 
 lic search began, but even then her mother 
 was not at rest, for Barbara's face was burn- 
 ing and she was in a high fever and hardly 
 knew what she said. 
 
 " There it is ! " she cried as she opened 
 the door at her father's stern command, and 
 pointed to the basket hanging on the wall; 
 " there 's the hateful thing ! " she went on 
 wildly, " that 's the cause of all the trouble ! 
 but it is done and they shall never call 
 me liar again ! " and she laughed a laugh
 
 BARBARA'S RASH PROMISE 19 
 
 that was like that of a maniac. The whole 
 family crowded into the room, surprised and 
 alarmed. 
 
 " What does all this mean ? " demanded her 
 father. 
 
 " Miss Grey knows ! " she screamed, " but 
 perhaps she won't tell, for she hates me and 
 she 's going to expel me ! I wish I was dead ! " 
 she added. 
 
 " Clear the room ! " said her father. " Ned, 
 go for the doctor ! The child does n't know 
 what she 's saying ! There 's something more 
 here than appears. I shall sift this to the 
 bottom." 
 
 The room was cleared, except of her mother, 
 who made her go to bed, calmed and soothed 
 her till the doctor came, who gave her a sleep- 
 ing dose, and the next week or two was ever 
 a blank in her memory. 
 
 Meanwhile, by close inquiry among the girls 
 at school, with the clues Barbara gave in her 
 raving, the whole truth came out, and Miss 
 Grey, holding the finished basket in her hand, 
 had given the girls a lecture they never forgot
 
 20 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 on the vice of boasting and the crime of tor- 
 turing another. 
 
 During the days Barbara's life was in dan- 
 ger, gloom hung over the school, where she 
 had many true friends in spite of the way they 
 had treated her when they thought her un- 
 truthful ; and when she was pronounced con- 
 valescent they came in a body to see her, 
 though they were not allowed to do so, for she 
 was too weak to endure it. 
 
 They loaded her with flowers, however, 
 every day lovely fresh bouquets, and she rap- 
 idly recovered, though her not very strong 
 constitution had received a great shock.
 
 CHAPTER H 
 
 BARBARA'S HOME 
 
 I MUST tell you how it was that Barbara's 
 happiest times were at school ; it was because 
 she was not happy at home. 
 
 She had a pleasant home and a loving father 
 and mother, but when she was about ten years 
 old long before this story begins some- 
 thing happened that made her very unhappy, 
 though it was all because of a mistake. This 
 thing was the coming to live in her home 
 of an aunt and a cousin two or three years 
 older than herself. 
 
 When Barbara heard that she was going to 
 have a playmate she was delighted, for she had 
 no sister and had always longed for one. She 
 went at once to prepare for the great event; 
 her dolls and their clothes were put in order ; 
 her playhouse in the attic was thoroughly 
 cleaned, and a thousand questions were asked 
 about the newcomer.
 
 22 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 She learned that the cousin, Janet, though 
 a little older than herself, would doubtless 
 her mother thought like to play with dolls; 
 of course she would go to school, and Barbara 
 was warned to be very kind to her because she 
 had no father. 
 
 Barbara was prepared to welcome her 
 warmly as a sister when Janet and her mother 
 arrived. Disappointments began the first hour. 
 Janet declined Barbara's invitation to go and 
 look at a new brood of chickens, and when 
 Barbara offered to show her her dolls, she said 
 primly that she did n't care for dolls. 
 
 This was a great blow to Barbara, for she 
 lived in her world of dolls. They were to her 
 society and the playmates she was too shy to 
 seek, for she was born the most diffident of 
 girls, and had not yet made the school ac- 
 quaintances spoken of in the previous chapter. 
 
 This blow was only the first ; it turned out 
 that Janet was different from Barbara in all 
 her tastes and her ways. She was a prim little 
 personage who never soiled her hands or 
 mussed her clothes. She had no childish tastes,
 
 BARBARA'S HOME 23 
 
 and she did not go to scHool, but had lessons 
 with her mother at home. She preferred to 
 be dressed and stay with her mother and aunt 
 in the house, while Barbara roamed the place, 
 spent hours in the orchard, and loved nothing 
 better than to take a book and climb into the 
 haymow where no one could find her, and 
 she could read in peace and comfort. To be 
 dressed in clothes of which she must be care- 
 ful was torture to Barbara, and to sit in the 
 parlor and look at stupid books on the centre 
 table tired her dreadfully. The two girls 
 could not have differed more if they had been 
 of different races instead of near relations. 
 
 Barbara was sadly disappointed, as I said, 
 - but perhaps that would not have had much 
 effect on her but for two things. First, the 
 two mothers, hoping to have their daughters 
 friends, decided to dress them alike, a cus- 
 tom in those days. This was a most unfortu- 
 nate plan for Barbara, for in her free-and- 
 easy out-door ways she soiled and tore her 
 clothes, while Janet, always primly in the 
 house, kept hers in perfect trim. In order to
 
 24 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 keep the two always dressed alike it was there- 
 fore necessary to provide Barbara with two 
 dresses and two aprons to Janet's one, and 
 what was worse gave Janet a chance to com- 
 pare herself with her careless cousin. 
 
 " Auntie," she would say with prim little 
 lips, " see how dirty Barbara has got her 
 apron ! Mine, you see, is quite clean." 
 
 This would draw a gentle reproof from her 
 mother. 
 
 " And see her hair! " Janet would go on, 
 encouraged ; " there 's hay on her head ; she 's 
 been in the barn ! Is n't the barn a very 
 dirty place ? " 
 
 " Barbara," her mother would say gently, 
 " you know I don't like you to climb up on 
 the hay ; I'm afraid you '11 fall and get hurt." 
 
 Then Janet, having got Barbara into dis- 
 grace, would look so very meek and virtuous 
 that Barbara would have to run out of doors 
 to keep from calling her names or even strik- 
 ing her. 
 
 The consequence of all this was that Bar- 
 bara was constantly reproved by her too gen-
 
 BARBAEA'S HOME 25 
 
 tie mother. And there was still worse ; Janet 
 being older and dependent upon Barbara's 
 father, Barbara's unselfish mother seemed to 
 make more of her than of her own daughter. 
 Reproaching herself that she could not love 
 Janet much, she tried to make up for it by 
 lavishing more upon her than upon her own. 
 When presents were given Janet always had 
 a little more, a little better, than Barbara. 
 
 When Barbara complained that this was 
 unfair, as she did at first, her mother replied, 
 "But it's because she is older than you, dear; 
 and besides she is our guest, and we always 
 give the best to our guest." 
 
 This did not seem fair to Barbara, and 
 though she did not say any more about it, she 
 laid it up in her heart, and made up her mind 
 that her own mother did not love her. 
 
 If she had been less shy and had told her 
 mother the dreadful thing she was thinking, 
 all would have been made clear to her ; but 
 she never spoke of it. She brooded over it 
 day by day, growing all the time more re- 
 served, more sure that she was right, and of
 
 26 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 course more unhappy. She never thought of 
 asking advice or help in anything; she lived 
 in her father's house almost like a stranger, 
 perfectly sure that no one at home loved her 
 or cared for her. 
 
 One confidant, one comfort, she had, 
 her journal. Into that she poured all the feel- 
 ings she hid from the world, and being fond 
 of writing she filled pages every night after 
 she had gone to her room to go to bed. 
 
 The journal at last made serious trouble. 
 One day, not long before my story begins, 
 Barbara accidentally left unlocked the drawer 
 where she kept the precious volume. Janet in 
 her prying way got hold of it, and partly read 
 it. She had hardly chance to do more than 
 glance at it when Barbara was at school, look- 
 ing out of the window every minute to see if 
 she was coming. 
 
 She read enough, however, to make her very 
 angry, and when Barbara came home she 
 found a storm raging, Janet more prim than 
 usual, quite pleased to have made a sensation, 
 her own mother in distress, and Aunt Jane in
 
 BARBARA'S HOME 27 
 
 tears, declaring that she could not stay where 
 her fatherless child was hated. 
 
 Barbara was met by reproving words from 
 her mother, and when she learned that all this 
 commotion was because Janet had read her 
 journal and told what she remembered, or 
 thought she remembered, she was furious at 
 first, charging Janet with stealing her book ; 
 and then when Janet in turn got angry and 
 told more and more things she said she had 
 seen in the book Barbara boldly declared 
 she was a liar. 
 
 Then when her father came upon the scene 
 and tried to get at the truth, for Janet made 
 assertions which Barbara indignantly denied, 
 he said at last something that sent Barbara to 
 her room like a flash : " The only way we can 
 get at the truth is to have the journal read." 
 
 Have it read ! her inmost thoughts ! her 
 most secret hopes and wishes read to the fam- 
 ily ! she would die first ! 
 
 She hurried out of the room, ran like a mad 
 creature to her bureau, which she found with 
 the key in the lock, snatched the fatal book, 
 X
 
 rushed down the back stairs, tearing off the 
 heavy covers as she went, and stuffed it into 
 the kitchen stove, poking it in and watching 
 to see that every word was burned, paying no 
 heed if she even heard to the warning 
 of the maid, who declared she would set the 
 house on fire. It tore her very heart to do 
 this; it was like burning a part of herself; 
 but she was in such a rage of terror and fury 
 that she hardly knew what she was doing, and 
 when it was ended she rushed back to her room 
 and flung herself on the bed, sobbing bitterly. 
 
 She was aroused by her father's voice, very 
 stern : 
 
 " Daughter ! come down and bring the jour- 
 nal!" 
 
 " I can't ! " cried Barbara ; " it 's all burnt 
 up!" 
 
 "What?" cried her father. 
 
 " I 've burnt it up," sobbed Barbara. " You 
 may kill me now but no one shall ever 
 read it ! " 
 
 "Kill you?" said her father more gently. 
 " What do you mean ? "
 
 BARBARA'S HOME 29 
 
 Barbara was in such a rage that her diffi- 
 dence slipped away from her, and for once she 
 spoke her inmost heart. 
 
 " I know you and mother don't love me ! " 
 she burst out in hot words; "you love Janet 
 best and she 's lied about me, and you believe 
 her 'n' I wish I was dead ! 'n' I '11 run away 
 'n' never come back I will ! rl will ! " 
 
 Barbara was never in such a passion before 
 or after, for her parents, shocked by this reve- 
 lation of her feelings, hushed the matter up 
 and made much of her. But she was not to be 
 petted out of the belief she had taken into her 
 heart, that Janet was loved and she was not. 
 
 Her unhappiness at home as I said 
 was the reason that Barbara loved school 
 where she could forget Janet and her own 
 misery. And this was why the trouble over 
 that foolish basket was so hard to bear.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 UNCLE KARL 
 
 WHILE Barbara after her illness was still creep- 
 ing around the house, pale and thin, without 
 much of her old liveliness, they were one day 
 surprised by a visit from Uncle Karl. This 
 favorite artist uncle lived away off in the West 
 and not often got so far from home. 
 
 " Why, Barbara ! " he said when he met her, 
 "what's the matter with you? Where are 
 the rosy cheeks and bright eyes you had the 
 last time I saw you ? " 
 
 Barbara did not reply ; she could not speak ; 
 the loving tone brought the ready tears to 
 her eyes, and her mother answered, " Barbara 
 has been ill, and is just getting well." 
 
 "Well; I'll tell you what, Sister Mary; 
 you must let her go home with me ! We don't 
 have any pale cheeks out in Minnesota ! I '11 
 send her back rosy and gay as a lark! Will
 
 UNCLE KARL 31 
 
 you go, girlie ? " turning to Barbara, who had 
 brightened at the thought. 
 
 " Oh, I should love to go," she said eagerly, 
 for there was nothing she liked much better 
 than traveling, and no one on earth that she 
 loved better than Uncle Karl. 
 
 " Why ! " said her mother, moved by Bar- 
 bara's eager looks, " I don't know but it would 
 be a good thing for her ; we 've been think- 
 ing she would be better for a change." 
 
 " Then it 's settled ! " said Uncle Karl gayly. 
 " Run and pack up your duds, girlie ; we '11 
 be off to-morrow." 
 
 " Oh, no, indeed ! " said her mother, " she 
 can't get off so soon as that and besides, 
 I'll have to talk to her father." 
 
 Barbara's face fell, but Uncle Karl encour- 
 aged her. "I'll talk to Brother James my- 
 self ; and I '11 wait a few days for her, though 
 you must n't forget, Sister Mary, that we live 
 in the backwoods and she won't need any 
 finery." 
 
 " I thought you lived in a village ! " said 
 Barbara's mother doubtingly.
 
 32 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 " We do, of course ! " Uncle Karl hastened 
 to explain, " but it 's in the Far West, you 
 know, and what you down-easters consider the 
 woods." 
 
 " Oh, I hope there are woods ! " Barbara put 
 in earnestly. 
 
 " There are close by ; you '11 have woods 
 enough, I promise you." 
 
 " Oh, mother! " wailed Barbara, "do let me 
 go ! I never lived near the woods and I want 
 to so much ! " 
 
 Her mother noticed the color in Barbara's 
 cheeks, the brightness of her eyes, and made 
 up her mind that the change was the very 
 thing for her. That evening she talked to her 
 husband, and it was settled that Barbara should 
 go home with Uncle Karl. 
 
 "But," said Barbara's mother in talking 
 it over the next morning, " what will Sister 
 Betty say about it ? How will she like an un- 
 invited guest ? " 
 
 " She '11 be delighted, I know," said Uncle 
 Karl, " and besides, Barbara '11 be my guest, 
 and live in the studio with me."
 
 UNCLE KARL 33 
 
 Barbara's mother looked surprised, and he 
 went on laughing : 
 
 " Oh, she '11 sleep and eat in the house, of 
 course, and no doubt her aunt '11 train her in 
 housekeeping ways she 's a famous house- 
 keeper, you know," with a droll look that 
 Barbara understood later ; " but all the same, 
 I consider myself responsible for the red cheeks 
 and bright eyes I promised, and my studio is 
 the finest place in the world for just such 
 girlies as Barbara. She '11 help me in lots of 
 ways, too," he added, as he noticed the eager 
 look in Barbara's eyes and the doubting one 
 in her mother's. 
 
 The next few days were a busy whirl in the 
 house. A traveling-dress had to be made, and 
 various other things got ready before the trunk 
 was really packed. 
 
 A queer little old-fashioned thing was this 
 trunk, covered with horse-hide with the hair 
 left on, and ornamented with a great display 
 of brass-headed nails. This was Barbara's first 
 journey without her mother, when she had a 
 trunk to herself; and great was the excitement
 
 34 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 of packing it. It was packed and unpacked at 
 least a dozen times before it was really locked 
 and corded, and a neat card with Barbara's 
 name, written in her father's plainest hand, 
 tacked on where no careless baggageman could 
 fail to see it. 
 
 At last the day of starting came, and Bar- 
 bara, with a brighter look already on her face, 
 said good-by to the family, and began her jour- 
 ney with Uncle Karl to the Far West. 
 
 All this was a good many years ago, and 
 they did not take the cars and whirl across 
 the country as you would now ; a journey was 
 a very different affair in those days, and it took 
 several days and nights of travel to reach 
 Minnesota. 
 
 The first part of the journey was to Buffalo 
 by the Erie Canal, which ran through New York 
 State to the Great Lakes. Before they began 
 their boat journey there was a fifty-mile ride 
 and an over-Sunday visit to a cousin in the city 
 through which the canal ran. 
 
 This ride was for the most part through the 
 open country with one small bit of woods about
 
 UNCLE KARL 35 
 
 the middle of the way. It was the custom for 
 travelers to take their own lunch to eat on the 
 way, and when it was known that Barbara was 
 going to that unknown region the Far West, 
 and no one could tell when she would come 
 back, if indeed she ever did, her school- 
 girl friends, feeling very guilty about the way 
 they had treated her, had a strong desire to 
 make amends to her in some way, to show her 
 that their old love for her was not dead. 
 
 Saying nothing to one another, each girl 
 began to plan how she could show this, and 
 queerly enough it happened that the same idea 
 occurred to several with a funny result.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 A FUNNY LUNCH 
 
 IT happened in this way : On that Saturday 
 morning when Barbara and Uncle Karl started 
 on their long journey,' they were provided at 
 home with a nice luncheon, packed in a box 
 under the seat of the carriage. 
 
 Hardly had they turned the corner when 
 they passed the house of Nelly Hanford, and 
 there she stood at the gate with a big package 
 in her hands. Seeing the carriage, she ran 
 out and motioned them to stop. The driver 
 drew up his horses, and Nelly came out to the 
 carriage. 
 
 "Barbara," she said, half bashfully, at the 
 same time handing up' the package, " I 'm 
 sorry you 're going away ; please take this to 
 eat on the way." 
 
 Barbara was about to explain that they had 
 already more than they could eat, but Uncle 
 Karl spoke :
 
 A FUNNY LUNCH 37 
 
 " Thank you ; it was kind of you to think 
 of us/' and took the package. 
 
 When they had passed on, Barbara said, 
 " Why, Uncle Karl, mother put up more than 
 we can eat ! " 
 
 He replied, "I know it, girlie; but you 
 would n't hurt the feelings of your friend by 
 refusing what gives her so much pleasure to 
 offer!" 
 
 Barbara hadn't thought of that, but she 
 thanked Uncle Karl for thinking for her. 
 
 Her gravity was, however, severely tried 
 at the next corner, where Mamy Field was 
 lying in wait for them, with a box neatly 
 tied up with a ribbon. This she offered with 
 blushes and a stammering word of how sorry 
 she was that Barbara was going away, and a 
 hope that she would like what she had put 
 
 up- 
 Hard as it was to keep from laughing, 
 
 Barbara thanked her, and they passed on. 
 
 Half-way down the street lived Jenny Green, 
 
 and as they came in sight Barbara cried : 
 " There 's Jenny Green ! Uncle Karl, do
 
 38 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 you suppose " and there came from Sam 
 the driver a low " Golly ! here 's another ! " 
 
 Sure enough ; Jenny stopped them and 
 offered a small basket, while Barbara nearly 
 choked trying to keep a sober face and thank 
 her properly. 
 
 But that was not the end. While Barbara 
 was struggling with her emotions, Sam broke 
 out with : 
 
 " Je-ru-sa-lem ! still they come ! " and drew 
 up beside Kate Wilson, who stood smiling 
 and holding up a pretty box. 
 
 "I thought "she began, "I made some 
 cookies this morning and I thought you 
 might like some for lunch in the woods." 
 
 " Oh, thank you, Kate ! " said Barbara with 
 shining eyes. " I 'm sure we shall enjoy them 
 I like cookies ever so much ! " 
 
 "I'm so sorry you're going away," said 
 Kate earnestly. " I do hope you '11 come back 
 soon ! " 
 
 Seeing how hard Barbara found it to say 
 anything, Uncle Karl came to the rescue, and 
 said heartily :
 
 A FUNNY LUNCH 39 
 
 "I mean to bring her back a good deal 
 rosier than she is now. Good-morning ! " and 
 away they went. 
 
 In a moment or two came another low 
 explosion from the astonished driver. 
 
 "Gee-whillikens! if there ain't another! Do 
 they think we're an orphan asylum?" and he 
 stopped again while Mate Durgin offered her 
 package, and Barbara choked and gasped and 
 got red in the face, while Uncle Karl blandly 
 thanked the rather surprised giver. 
 
 Barbara was still almost convulsed when 
 Sam broke out again. 
 
 " Now see here, mister ! I shall have to 
 take to the back streets this is cruelty to 
 animals ! Have n't they any mercy on my 
 horses ? " and he drew up beside the walk to 
 receive a box from Jane Carter, which Uncle 
 Karl accepted with thanks, while Barbara 
 buried her face in her handkerchief and ap- 
 peared to be convulsed with emotion, as 
 indeed she was ; but not tears, as Jane sup- 
 posed. 
 
 Hastily Sam started up his horses, and Uncle
 
 40 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 Karl said, "Do many more of your friends 
 live on this street, girlie ? If so, I think we 
 better try another or, Sam," as a new 
 thought struck him, " could n't you look the 
 other way and not see them ? This is getting 
 serious ! " 
 
 " 'Deed, sir," said Sam, turning around to 
 answer, " they all looks so pretty and plead- 
 in', I hain't the heart to disapp'int 'em ! " 
 
 Barbara was past speaking to her friends as 
 one after another stopped the carriage and 
 offered her package. She kept her face buried 
 in her handkerchief, and Uncle Karl had to 
 do all the talking, and indeed he was getting 
 rather anxious about Barbara, who was still 
 weak, and did n't seem able to control herself. 
 
 But as long as they were passing through 
 this part of the town, package and box and 
 basket followed one another, and were added 
 to the pile on the bottom of the carriage, 
 which Uncle Karl kept carefully covered with 
 the carriage robe, not to embarrass the eager 
 givers. 
 
 When at last they had left the town behind
 
 A FUNNY LUNCH 41 
 
 them and were nearing the woods, Barbara no 
 longer tried to smother her laugh, but had it 
 out, and Uncle Karl joined heartily, joking 
 Barbara about her appetite and making that 
 drive a very jolly one. 
 
 When they reached a brook about half-way 
 through the woods, they stopped to take their 
 lunch, and Sam prepared the noon feed for 
 the horses, asking Barbara if he had n't better 
 offer them bread and butter, while Uncle 
 Karl brought out the packages and Barbara 
 laid them on the grass and opened them. They 
 held almost every kind of dainty known to 
 schoolgirls. Nelly Hanford had sensibly 
 brought chicken sandwiches; Mamy Field's 
 box held cake and a pot of jam ; Jenny Green's 
 contained hard-boiled eggs and pickles ; Mate 
 Durgin contributed doughnuts and cheese. 
 
 There were tarts and pastries of various 
 kinds, and candies, and preserves, and in fact 
 goodies enough to have feasted a mob of school- 
 girls. 
 
 When the whole was kid out, Uncle Karl 
 looked on 'with dismay, while Barbara had a
 
 42 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 fit of laughing that ended in hysterical sobs, 
 and Sam filled the air with roars of laughter. 
 
 When they had calmed down and eaten as 
 much as they could, Barbara having tasted of 
 each thing so as to enjoy the contribution of 
 each friend, the next thing was what to do 
 with it all ; how to dispose of it in such a way 
 as not to hurt the feelings of the givers by 
 letting them hear of it. 
 
 Several plans were discussed, and no way 
 out of the dilemma reached, till Uncle Karl, 
 noticing a rather eager look on Sam's face, 
 had a bright thought. 
 
 " Sam," he said, " do you know any big 
 family to whom all these nice things would 
 be acceptable and who would n't know where 
 they came from? " 
 
 " Why ! " said Sam, scratching his head, a 
 little embarrassed, " I don't know any bigger 
 lot of young-ones than lives in my own cabin 
 'n' if young missy really wants to get rid of 
 'em, quiet like, why, I '11 be glad to re- 
 lieve her of 'em an' nothin' said." So it was 
 arranged, and when Sam drove back to his
 
 A FUNNY LUNCH 43 
 
 home that evening he surprised his wife and 
 delighted his six children with such a supper 
 as they never had before. 
 
 And he kept his word about telling. Not 
 even his wife knew where he had found such 
 a treasure. He always said he found it in the 
 woods, and his wife supposed it was left there 
 by some picnic party. 
 
 But the memory of it always caused Uncle 
 Karl and Barbara, whenever they thought of it, 
 such hearty laughs that Uncle Karl declared 
 that schoolgirl lunch did more to bring Bar- 
 bara back to health than anything else.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 ON A CANAL BOAT 
 
 AFTER a quiet Sunday spent with the cousin, 
 Uncle Karl and Barbara made their way to the 
 dock where lay the canal boat ready to be off. 
 
 It was a queer-looking, squatty sort of a 
 boat with a flat roof not much above the tow- 
 path. They stepped over the low railing on 
 the side, and went down a few steps into the 
 cabin, to deposit their hand baggage. 
 
 Barbara looked around with surprise, won- 
 dering where they were to sleep and eat, for 
 the whole inside was one long narrow room, 
 with seats built along both sides. There were 
 a good many passengers, and Barbara drew 
 back. 
 
 " Why, Uncle Karl ! " she whispered, " where 
 shall I put my things ? Where am I going to 
 sleep?" 
 
 " You '11 see," said Uncle Karl with twink- 
 ling eyes. " This is a sort of india-rubber con-
 
 ON A CANAL BOAT 45 
 
 cern ; it '11 stretch out for a dinner-table, and 
 beds '11 grow along the sides. Put your things 
 on the side bench and come on deck, that 's 
 the place to be ; we '11 stay in here only to eat 
 and sleep." 
 
 Somewhat reassured, though still wondering, 
 Barbara obeyed, and soon they were seated 
 on chairs on top of the boat, the horses had 
 started up the tow-path, and they were slowly 
 moving. 
 
 "There! isn't this fine?" asked Uncle 
 Karl as they passed street after street. " We '11 
 soon be out of the city and then we '11 have 
 the lovely country to look at ; this beats the 
 stage ah 1 hollow ! " 
 
 " It 's awful nice," said Barbara, " but I 
 don't see 
 
 " Of course you don't," interrupted her 
 uncle ; " but take my word for it, you '11 find 
 it all right and comfortable. We 're going to 
 live in this boat two or three days, you know; 
 we have more than two hundred miles to ride 
 on it, and we shall see all the towns and the 
 fields and the woods between here and Buffalo,
 
 46 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 and I don't know any state prettier to ride 
 through than old New York. Don't you 
 worry, girlie ; I came down this way, and I 
 know." 
 
 A little comforted, though still wondering 
 how it could possibly be, Barbara settled her- 
 self to enjoy the landscape. 
 
 By this time they had passed the last street 
 and were going through gardens and past coun- 
 try houses, and before long they came to the 
 real country. Best of all, in an hour or two they 
 passed through a beautiful piece of real woods, 
 tall old trees near together, the ground un- 
 der them covered with fallen leaves and mosses 
 and ferns, where many little flowery-looking 
 plants were growing one of the loveliest 
 spots in the world to Barbara. 
 
 How she longed to go into them and gather 
 moss and ferns and perhaps flowers, and how 
 eagerly she listened to her uncle, who told her 
 about the country near his home where they 
 were going ! 
 
 Their talk was interrupted by the ringing 
 of a big bell at the cabin door.
 
 ON A CANAL BOAT 47 
 
 " That 's supper," said Uncle Karl ; " let 's 
 go down." 
 
 Down they went, and to Barbara's amaze- 
 ment the cabin was filled its whole length and 
 width with a table loaded with supper. There 
 was just room to slip in beside it, and the 
 benches on the side were the seats provided. 
 The first comers passed to the end, and as 
 others came in they took the seats remaining; 
 no one could pass another. 
 
 Barbara and her uncle took seats together, 
 and soon were fully occupied with the meal. 
 The food was all on the table, for no waiter 
 could pass around it, and every one had to 
 help himself. 
 
 If one seated along in the middle of the 
 table finished his supper before the others, he 
 could not leave the table, but was obliged to 
 wait till those nearest the end had left the 
 way open. 
 
 After supper they went again on deck, and 
 Barbara was full of questions. 
 
 " Uncle Karl, where did that long table 
 come from?"
 
 48 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 "It was all in pieces, and packed away 
 somewhere," said Uncle Karl, "and you'll 
 see more wonders at bedtime ; but now see, 
 we 're going through a lock ! " 
 
 " What 's a lock ? " asked Barbara. 
 
 " It 's where the canal has to go to lower 
 ground ; you see it can't go down hill like a 
 road, for the water would all run away, so it 
 has to go down steps ; you '11 see how we 
 manage it." 
 
 Indeed, Barbara was looking eagerly, for 
 the boat had got into a sort of box not much 
 larger than itself, and great gates were shut 
 behind it, so that it could n't move forward or 
 back. Then it began to sink, and Barbara 
 cried out in terror. 
 
 " We 're sinking, Uncle Karl ! " 
 
 "Yes," said Uncle Karl calmly, "we sink 
 a little way to the level of the next piece of 
 the canal." 
 
 Down, down they went, till the deck was 
 on a level with the ground ; still lower, till 
 it was far below, and they were hemmed in 
 by the dripping sides of their box-like prison.
 
 ON A CANAL BOAT 49 
 
 Barbara was alarmed; it did look danger- 
 ous. 
 
 " Oh, Uncle Karl ! " she cried, " we shall be 
 drowned ! " 
 
 " No, indeed, girlie ! don't worry ! that 's 
 the way a boat has to go downstairs." 
 
 Sure enough, in another moment, the end 
 of the box at the front end of the boat began 
 slowly to open, so that one could see it was 
 formed of big gates. The water rushed out 
 and the boat slowly moved on. Barbara drew 
 a sigh of relief. They had taken a long step 
 down and now came out into a pretty coun- 
 try, and Barbara was again happy. 
 
 It was a beautiful moonlight night and the 
 boat was passing through woods, which so 
 delighted Barbara that she could n't bear to 
 go to bed. But about ten o'clock they came 
 to a town, and then she found herself very 
 sleepy, and was glad to go below again. 
 
 When they opened the door to the cabin, 
 Barbara stood amazed. This surely was not 
 the place where they had eaten supper ! A row 
 of rather wide shelves lined each side of the
 
 room, leaving only a passage between. Before 
 these shelves were curtains, and about half- 
 way down, another curtain stretched across, 
 dividing the cabin into two rooms. Not a per- 
 son was to be seen. 
 
 " Oh, Uncle Karl ! " gasped Barbara. 
 
 Uncle Karl laughed. 
 
 "Now, you see, girlie," he said quietly, "I 
 told you that beds grew on the sides ; beyond 
 that curtain is the ladies' bedroom, and this 
 side is the men's bedroom." 
 
 " But where are all the folks ? " asked Bar- 
 bara, dismayed. 
 
 "Gone to bed, I guess," said Uncle Karl, 
 "and I must hunt up somebody to show you 
 your berth." 
 
 At that moment a man's head was thrust out 
 between the curtains, and Barbara shrank back. 
 
 " Oh, uncle ! must I sleep on one of those 
 shelves," she whispered, almost in tears. " I 'd 
 rather stay on deck all night." 
 
 "Well, I wouldn't," said Uncle Karl, 
 " and you '11 find it not so bad ; it 's a good 
 deal better than the feather beds we find
 
 ON A CANAL BOAT 51 
 
 sometimes. Besides, it 's the only bed you '11 
 have for several nights, remember." 
 
 At this moment a colored woman appeared, 
 who told Barbara she would show her where 
 to go. With a rather tearful good-night kiss 
 Barbara left Uncle Karl and followed the 
 woman to the ladies' cabin behind the curtain. 
 There she pointed to a berth neatly made up, 
 on which lay Barbara's traveling-bag and 
 other things. 
 
 " That 's your berth," she said. 
 
 Barbara looked with dismay ; it was the 
 upper shelf, and a woman and baby were al- 
 ready asleep in the lower one. 
 
 " But how can I get .up there ? " she cried. 
 
 " Can't you climb, miss ? " said the stew- 
 ardess scornfully. " I reckon you can git up if 
 you try hard enough." Then, seeing that Bar- 
 bara was almost in tears, she relented. " You 
 just put your foot on the edge of the lower 
 berth, and there you are ! " 
 
 Suddenly remembering how many trees she 
 had climbed not so long ago, Barbara thought 
 she could manage it.
 
 52 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 " But," she said, looking around, " where shall 
 I undress, and where shall I put my clothes? " 
 
 " Seems to me you 're rather notional," said 
 the woman. " You 're 'most too grand for a 
 packet-boat ! you 're used to a coach and four, 
 or a private carriage with a groom, I reckon." 
 Then rather impatiently, " You '11 undress 
 right here and leave your clothes on the floor 
 if you like ; most folks are n't too fine to take 
 them into the berth with them. And so good- 
 night, miss," she added as she raised the cur- 
 tain to leave. 
 
 A lantern hanging from the ceiling gave 
 a dim light, and after the stewardess had 
 gone, Barbara stood a moment irresolute. She 
 could n't bear to undress there, and she knew 
 she could n't find room for her clothes on that 
 shelf ; and besides, she thought, what if any- 
 thing should happen and she had to get out 
 in a hurry ? She hesitated, and then came the 
 thought, " I '11 not undress at all ; then I shall 
 be ready for anything." 
 
 Taking off her hat, and not finding any 
 place to put it, she at last hung it up by pin-
 
 ON A CANAL BOAT 53 
 
 ning the strings to the curtain. She then put 
 her foot on the edge of the lower berth, as 
 she had been told, and was instantly greeted 
 with a sharp " Who 's that ? " from the berth. 
 
 " It 's only me," said Barbara meekly ; " the 
 woman told me to get up this way." 
 
 " Well, you need n't stick your shoe right 
 into my face," said the voice crossly; "you 
 should n't sit up half the night, anyway, and 
 come disturbing folks so late." 
 
 Barbara had nothing to say to this, and be- 
 ing now safely in her berth she made herself 
 as comfortable as she could with her clothes 
 on, and being really tired after the excitements 
 of the day, was soon asleep. She was not very 
 comfortable, however, and after her first nap 
 she was restless and tossed and tumbled in her 
 narrow bed, two or three times just saving 
 herself from falling out. 
 
 In the morning she was pale and tired ; her 
 clothes were twisted every way, and dreadfully 
 mussed. She climbed down as quietly as she 
 could and was trying to comb and braid her 
 hair, when the curtains of the lower berth
 
 54 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 parted and a woman's head appeared ; she 
 eyed Barbara sharply. 
 
 " Slept in your clothes, I guess ! " she said. 
 " You look like it ! You 're the uneasiest crit- 
 ter I ever knew; kept me awake half the 
 night. I'll get the stewardess to put you 
 somewhere else to-night. How 're you going 
 to git your frock decent?" she added. 
 
 " I don't know," said Barbara, looking rue- 
 fully at the wrinkled condition of her pretty 
 new dress. 
 
 " You '11 have to git the stewardess to iron 
 it out for you," said the woman more kindly 
 as she saw how distressed Barbara was. 
 
 " Well, girlie ! " said Uncle Karl when she 
 hurried to the deck and found him, " how did 
 you sleep ? " and then in surprise, " What ails 
 your dress ? " 
 
 " Why why " stammered Barbara, " I 
 could n't bear to undress down there and I 
 I slept in it." 
 
 " Whew ! " whistled Uncle Karl. " I should 
 think you did ! We '11 have to get it pressed, 
 I guess."
 
 ON A CANAL BOAT 55 
 
 " But I have n't anything else to put on," 
 wailed Barbara; "and there is n't anyplace to 
 stay and and Genuine tears now 
 choked her and made her silent. 
 
 " Well, never mind, dearie," said Uncle 
 Karl soothingly. " We '11 manage some way ; 
 don't cry ! See what a lovely country this is 
 we are going through ! We are almost to the 
 
 city of R . That 's a fine place and worth 
 
 seeing." 
 
 The mussed dress turned out not to be so 
 bad as feared. It was of wool and of rather wiry 
 texture, so that, being all day in a warm sun, 
 it straightened itself out a good deal, and by 
 the end of the day it did not look so very bad. 
 But that night Barbara was careful to take it 
 off and hang it up by the simple way of pin- 
 ning it to the curtain in front of her berth. 
 
 By the time they reached Buffalo Barbara 
 had got used to sleeping in a berth, and so she 
 was not disturbed when Uncle Karl led her on 
 board the steamer Empire State, which was 
 to take them " around the lakes." 
 
 Here Barbara had a little stateroom to her-
 
 56 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 self, and Uncle Karl had one next to it, so that 
 she could talk to him, and this was really a 
 charming trip. They passed through Lake 
 Erie, then the little St. Glair, next Lake Hu- 
 ron, and lastly the great Lake Michigan. 
 
 It took them several days to get through 
 all these lakes, but Barbara was fond of the 
 water, and besides they had a fine band on 
 board, and every evening all the passengers 
 came into the great saloon where the band 
 played and the people danced, and Barbara 
 was never tired of listening to the music and 
 looking at the gay scene. She was really sorry 
 when this part of the journey came to an end, 
 and they landed in Chicago. 
 
 The next part of the journey was by stage, 
 a great old-fashioned vehicle with three seats 
 and a place behind for the baggage. It was 
 drawn by four horses and rocked like a cradle 
 as it rolled along. 
 
 Two days and a night they passed in the 
 stage, stopping at small towns for their meals 
 and to change horses, riding all night as well 
 as day, sleeping as best they could sitting up.
 
 ON A CANAL BOAT 57 
 
 It was tiresome work, and Barbara was very 
 glad when they reached the great river the 
 Mississippi where they were to take to the 
 water again. This time, too, Barbara had a 
 little stateroom to herself, with Uncle Karl in 
 the very next one, and the trip was not a long 
 one. 
 
 When they reached the wharf where they 
 were to take another stage for Uncle Karl's 
 home, they found that vehicle waiting, with its 
 four horses and big, red-faced driver on the 
 box, ready to start. The baggage was brought 
 out and soon packed on, and in a very short 
 time they were off.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 QUEER WAYS OF AUNT BETTY 
 
 AFTER several hours' ride Barbara and Uncle 
 Karl reached the village where he lived, and 
 the stage stopped in front of a nice-looking 
 white house with a pretty grassy yard in front. 
 Uncle Karl got out and helped Barbara down. 
 
 " Here we are," he said. 
 
 " But uncle ! " said Barbara, " the house 
 is all shut up ! Aunt Betty must have gone 
 away." 
 
 Sure enough ; every window was protected 
 by a green blind, and every blind was shut 
 tight ; it looked entirely deserted. 
 
 " Oh, no ! " said Uncle Karl, taking out the 
 handbags and telling the stage driver where 
 to place Barbara's trunk. " Oh, no ; she 's at 
 home all right. You see," he went on hur- 
 riedly, as they walked up the path, " your 
 aunt is a wonderful housekeeper wonderful! 
 and she hates a fly as I do a fop, and so when
 
 QUEER WAYS OF AUNT BETTY 59 
 
 she gets the house all in order she just shuts 
 it up so they can't get in." And having now 
 reached the house he led the way past the 
 front steps to a door on the side. 
 
 "I guess we'll go in the side door," he 
 said ; " that 's always unlocked." As he spoke 
 he opened the door and hurried Barbara in so 
 that no fly should take that chance to enter. 
 "When he shut the door behind her it was 
 perfectly dark. 
 
 " Betty ! " he called, opening the door into 
 a room almost as dark as the hall, " where 
 are you ? " 
 
 A voice came from a distance, " Up here ; 
 come right up." 
 
 " Here 's Barbara," called her uncle again. 
 " Come down and see her, won't you ? " 
 
 In a moment appeared her aunt, a tall, thin 
 woman with an anxious-looking face. She 
 kissed Barbara, and said she was glad to see 
 her, and they would go right up to her room. 
 And off she started. 
 
 Barbara's heart sank. Was this dungeon 
 of a house the place she had come to stay in ?
 
 60 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 Was this fretful-looking woman so afraid 
 of flies and daylight really her aunt ? and 
 must she live with her ? She was on the verge 
 of tears, but Uncle Karl's hearty voice com- 
 forted her. 
 
 " When you get off your things, girlie, 
 come right out to the studio ; that 's where I 
 live." And to his wife, " Betty, I '11 send the 
 boys to carry Barbara's trunk up." 
 
 " They better wait till after dark," said Aunt 
 Betty anxiously ; " they '11 let too many flies in 
 if they come now." 
 
 " Very well," said Uncle Karl. " Barbara 
 won't mind, I'm sure, will you, girlie?" 
 
 " No," said Barbara faintly, longing to hold 
 on to him, and almost fearing to go with her 
 aunt. 
 
 However, as Uncle Karl left the house, slip- 
 ping quickly out of the door and closing it 
 after him, she had to follow her aunt as well 
 as she could through the dark. She stumbled 
 over chairs and bumped against tables, for, 
 coming so suddenly out of the bright sun- 
 shine, she could not see.
 
 QUEER WAYS OF AUNT BETTY 61 
 
 " It seems dark to you," said her aunt, not 
 unkindly, as they climbed the stairs; " but you 
 see, Barbara, we 're awfully troubled with flies, 
 and they do ruin nice furniture so, I can't 
 bear to have them get in. I sit up here," she 
 said, opening the door of a large cheerful- 
 looking room at the very back of the house, 
 and carefully shutting the door after they 
 were in. There stood her sewing table and 
 her low chair, and indeed it was plain that 
 this back chamber was the real living-room of 
 the house. Here the blinds were a little open, 
 but every window was shut, and on this plea- 
 sant fall day the air of the room was stifling. 
 
 " This is where I sit," said Aunt Betty ; 
 " here you '11 generally find me after I get the 
 house in order in the morning. Your room is 
 down the hall ; I '11 show you." And return- 
 ing to the dark hall, she opened a door and 
 ushered Barbara into another dark room ; she 
 stepped to the window and turned the slats of 
 the blinds so that a little light came in, and 
 then carefully drew down the sash so that no 
 vagrant fly should slip in also. 
 
 J A
 
 62 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 It was a pretty little room, but Barbara's 
 pleasure in it was at once destroyed by her 
 aunt's next remark. 
 
 " I 'd like to have you be careful, Barbara, 
 always to close the window when you open 
 the slats, or you '11 let flies in all over the 
 house. You won't care to stay here much, you 
 know ; you '11 like best the studio, where 
 your uncle does n't mind flies. There 's one 
 now ! " she cried suddenly, making a wild dash 
 at a poor little straggler who must have been 
 waiting beside the window to slip in when it 
 was opened for an instant. 
 
 To Barbara's amazement now began a mad 
 chase of the unfortunate insect ; snatching 
 a towel from the rack, Aunt Betty pursued 
 the frightened creature around the room, strik- 
 ing at him when he tried to escape by settling 
 on the ceiling, and approaching warily when 
 he tried to seek rest for the soles of his feet 
 on furniture or window. 
 
 At last by a sudden grab of the towel she 
 secured him, and cautiously opening the win- 
 dow a crack, she cast him out comfortless
 
 QUEER WAYS OF AUNT BETTY 63 
 
 upon the wide, wide world, where the much 
 bedraggled and utterly discomfited creature 
 settled on the outside of the sill, with the air 
 of thinking over the adventure. His manner 
 was so droll that Barbara had hard work to 
 keep from laughing, though she was very near 
 to crying from sudden homesickness. 
 
 " You can lay off your things here and 
 wash yourself if you wish, you must be 
 dusty after that stage ride," said her aunt, 
 " and then I presume you '11 like to go to the 
 studio ; or if you like to come to see me, 
 you '11 find me in my sewing-room." 
 
 " Where is the studio ? " asked Barbara 
 faintly. 
 
 " You go out the side door where you 
 came in, and just go down the walk past the 
 corner of the house, and you '11 see it. I won- 
 der your uncle did n't show it to you : he 's 
 awful fond of it ; he fairly lives there ; he 
 don't care a snap about having things kept 
 nice. I might work my fingers to the bone 
 to preserve the furniture for all he'd care," 
 she added rather bitterly.
 
 64 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 Very quickly Barbara threw off her things, 
 gave herself a hasty wash, struggling to 
 keep back the tears, and then stumbled her 
 way back downstairs, through the dismal 
 dining-room, in which she wondered if they 
 ever ate, out of the door, into the beautiful 
 sunlight once more. 
 
 Never again did she want to enter that dun- 
 geon. She had a wild desire to run away that 
 minute, and never, never come back ; but the 
 sight of Uncle Karl standing in the door of 
 a low, pleasant-looking building among the 
 apple-trees, gave her courage. She ran to him, 
 flung herself into his arms, and the tears burst 
 forth in a shower. 
 
 " Now, girlie ! " he said soothingly, patting 
 her back while the flood poured over his shoul- 
 der, " now, girlie, don't take it so hard ! this 
 is your home, you know. Your aunt, you see," 
 hesitating just how to put it, "your aunt 
 is a wonderful housekeeper, and flies are to 
 her like a red rag to a bull ; but she means to 
 make us all comfortable as you '11 see ; only 
 those of us who are n't so very nice why
 
 QUEER WAYS OF AUNT BETTY 65 
 
 we just live out here. Come in, girlie," and he 
 drew her into a large light room with doors 
 and windows all open, and easels and paints 
 and canvases and easychairs all around. 
 
 The first glance through her tears showed 
 Barbara a thousand things of interest; she 
 wiped her eyes, and in a few moments was 
 eagerly questioning Uncle Karl about the 
 things she saw. 
 
 " Now," said her uncle, " I '11 fix a corner 
 for you ; " and at once cleared a small table by 
 sweeping its many contents onto the floor, 
 saying, 
 
 " I '11 look them over and put them away 
 by and by." 
 
 This table he placed near a low window 
 that looked away from the house into the 
 heart of the orchard, and before it he drew up 
 a specially comfortable armchair. 
 
 " There, girlie, " he said cheerfully, " that 's 
 your corner; you can bring out your writ- 
 ing things or your sewing things if you 
 ever sew," he added grimly, " and keep them 
 on that table. No one will disturb them; we 
 don't sweep out here."
 
 66 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 " No ; I see you don't," interrupted Barbara, 
 a laugh spreading over her face as she looked 
 around the room. 
 
 " No," said Uncle Karl, laughing too ; 
 " this is Liberty Hall ; it 's a sort of offset to 
 over there," nodding his head in the direction 
 of the house. " We can't be strenuous all the 
 time ; we must relax sometimes and this is 
 the place we do it." 
 
 "May I stay here with you all the time?" 
 asked Barbara eagerly. 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; every minute you choose, but 
 you '11 get acquainted ; there are some nice 
 folks here, and by and by I shan't see half so 
 much of you as I want to." 
 
 " Oh, yes, you will ! I shall stay here al- 
 ways." 
 
 Just then a bell rang, and Uncle Karl hur- 
 ried to a far corner,where he washed his hands 
 and brushed his hair, and then taking Bar- 
 bara's arm, he started towards the door. 
 " That 's supper," he said briefly. 
 
 Barbara shrank back. " Oh, I don't want 
 any supper," she said.
 
 QUEER WAYS OF AUNT BETTY 67 
 
 " Yes, you do, girlie; don't be silly. It isn't 
 so bad as you fear, and anyway you'll have 
 to get used to it, for you know you 're going to 
 live with me, and you must eat." 
 
 Very unwillingly Barbara went with Uncle 
 Karl back to the house, and, picking their way 
 through the dark dining-room, came to the 
 large kitchen, where light enough was allowed 
 to enter to enable them to see to eat. 
 
 On one side, far enough from the stove to 
 be comfortable, a corner was evidently fitted 
 for a dining-room; a square of carpet covered 
 the floor, a table spread for the evening meal 
 stood ready. 
 
 " You sit here, Barbara," said her aunt, in- 
 dicating one of the chairs, while she and Uncle 
 Karl took the others. The supper was very 
 good and abundant, and Barbara was hungry. 
 
 "Where's Mary?" asked Uncle Karl, look- 
 ing around the kitchen. 
 
 " She 's out picking the currants," answered 
 Aunt Betty. " I 'm going to make jelly to- 
 morrow."
 
 CHAPTER VH 
 
 STKENUOUS HOUSEKEEPING 
 
 " GIRLIE," said Uncle Karl as they parted for 
 the night at the door of her room, where Bar- 
 bara found her trunk already placed, her bed 
 opened, and a candle burning on the stand, 
 " girlie, you 're tired with the journey, and in 
 the morning you need n't get up till you want 
 to. I '11 take your breakfast out to the studio 
 for you." 
 
 She hesitated. "But Aunt Betty " 
 " I '11 arrange it with your aunt," he said ; 
 "to-morrow is sweeping-day, and she and 
 Mary begin work very early, so you need n't 
 stir- if you hear them ; you just come out to 
 me the first thing." 
 
 Barbara was tired, and only unpacking 
 enough to get out night clothes, she quickly 
 jumped into bed and was asleep in a minute, 
 first, however, quietly opening her window, for 
 she felt that she should smother.
 
 STRENUOUS HOUSEKEEPING 69 
 
 Before it was really light she awoke to hear 
 strange noises downstairs. Chairs and tables 
 seemed to be dragged about, and she was quite 
 alarmed till she remembered what Uncle Karl 
 had said about sweeping-day. 
 
 However, she could not sleep any more, so 
 she got up and dressed, and then leaving her 
 bed open to air with window opened, though 
 blinds closed she went softly downstairs. 
 
 The dining-room was full of furniture, and, 
 the door on the other side of the hall being 
 open, she thought she would take a look at 
 the parlor. That room was half lighted by 
 the slats of the blinds being turned, and there 
 she saw her aunt on her knees doing some- 
 thing at the edge of the carpet. Every bit of 
 furniture was out of the room ; she knew 
 where it was, for she had stumbled over it in 
 the dining-room. Every curtain and shade 
 was taken down ; every picture taken from 
 the wall. 
 
 Wondering what her aunt was doing, Bar- 
 bara went into the room to say good-morning, 
 and apologize for her late appearance.
 
 70 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 To her amazement her aunt was at work 
 with a hairpin picking out the dust that gath- 
 ered between the edge of the carpet and the 
 wall, and looking back of her, Barbara saw a 
 little row of dust-heaps already dug out and 
 waiting, no doubt, for the broom. 
 
 " Why, Aunt Betty ! are you cleaning 
 house?" she asked, looking around at the 
 bare room. 
 
 " Cleaning house ! " cried her aunt scorn- 
 fully; " No indeed ! Do you think I leave the 
 carpet down when I clean house ! I 'm just 
 sweeping it as I do every Friday. Doesn't 
 your mother have her house swept every 
 week?" 
 
 " Yes, of course ; " said Barbara ; " but she 
 does n't have everything taken out." 
 
 " Well, / can't feel that I get my rooms 
 clean unless I go to the bottom of every- 
 thing, " said Aunt Betty, digging savagely at 
 the crack by the edge of the carpet. " When I 
 get around the edge I shall go over it with 
 the broom again." 
 
 " I should think it must be awful clean," 
 said Barbara politely.
 
 STRENUOUS HOUSEKEEPING 71 
 
 " Clean, child ! " said her aunt, jerking her- 
 self along to reach a new place ; " clean ! it is 
 far enough from clean ! After I have swept it 
 two or three times I go over every inch of it 
 with a damp cloth and then I don't get the 
 dirt all off. I never feel with all my work that 
 my house is really clean. Did you leave your 
 room shut up ? " she asked with sudden 
 thought. 
 
 " Why no ! " said Barbara, feeling very 
 guilty. " I left the window open to air the bed 
 but I did n't open the blinds,'* she added 
 hastily, seeing a look of horror on her aunt's 
 face. " Shall I run up and close it ? " she said 
 quickly. 
 
 "Yes," said her aunt; "and you better 
 make your bed while you are there ; I never 
 leave my beds open. I think there 's a great 
 deal of nonsense said about airing beds." 
 
 Barbara hurried back through the crowded 
 dining-room and upstairs, very rebellious 
 thoughts stirring in her heart. 
 
 "Aunt's so particular about a speck of 
 dust," she thought, "I should think she'd
 
 72 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBAKA 
 
 want fresh air in her house too ; " and she 
 sighed as she thought of her own home with 
 every window wide open, not only all night, 
 but during the day, when the weather would 
 allow. 
 
 When she reached the room she was horri- 
 fied to see two or three flies floating around 
 near the ceiling as if in glee at really getting 
 into the house. 
 
 Hastily closing the door, Barbara began a 
 vigorous war on the intruders with a towel, 
 and not tilt she had seen the last one escape 
 through the blinds did she close the window 
 and turn her attention to the bed. 
 
 Now Barbara had never made a bed in her 
 life. Having always been in school, with 
 studies and piano practice at home, and no 
 long summer vacations, such as schoolchil- 
 dren have now-a-days, her mother had thought 
 best for her to be out of doors all the time 
 she had to spare. 
 
 She now looked in dismay at the tumbled 
 bedclothes, and wondered if she could ever 
 get them straight. A long time she struggled,
 
 STRENUOUS HOUSEKEEPING 73 
 
 but she could not make the bed look as it 
 should; it seemed as if every blanket and 
 sheet had a will of its own, and a few tears 
 and many rebellious thoughts went to the 
 making of it. 
 
 At last when it was in tolerable order she 
 hurried downstairs, and as she passed the 
 parlor she saw her aunt on her knees with a 
 pail of water and a cloth, going over the car- 
 pet as she had said. 
 
 " dear ! " thought Barbara, " I can never 
 please Aunt Betty ! I wish I was home ! " 
 
 With these thoughts she entered the studio 
 where Uncle Karl was busily engaged at his 
 easel. 
 
 " Why, girlie," he said, " what 's the mat- 
 ter ? " More tears came at his kind tone. 
 
 " Oh, Uncle Karl ! I want to go home ! I 
 never can please Aunt Betty I can't I 
 can't ! " and sobs interrupted her. 
 
 "Now, girlie," he said, putting away his 
 brushes and drawing her on to his knee, " you 
 must n't take things so hard ; your aunt, as 
 I told you, is a wonderful housekeeper ; but
 
 74 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 she is kind-hearted, and she won't be hard on 
 you. She may want to teach you some of her 
 ways, but you won't mind that ; it 's good to 
 be a nice housekeeper if it is n't carried 
 too far," he added somewhat ruefully. " But 
 I '11 tell you " - brightening up " you 're 
 going to live out here with me, you know. 
 See what a breakfast I have for you ! " and he 
 pointed to her little table, where, sure enough, 
 a plentiful breakfast was spread out. 
 
 Barbara was hungry after her bed-making 
 labors, and comforted, as she always was in her 
 troubles, by dear Uncle Karl, she soon forgot 
 her sorrow in eating her breakfast. 
 
 "What shall I do with the dishes?" she 
 asked when she had finished. 
 
 "Put them on the tray," said Uncle Karl, 
 "and take them to the kitchen; go to the 
 back door, you know, and Mary will take them. 
 You '11 find Mary very nice," he went on. " I 
 told her about you." 
 
 Barbara did as she was bid; she found 
 Mary busily engaged in preparing the cur- 
 rants for the grand jelly-making, which was
 
 STRENUOUS HOUSEKEEPING 75 
 
 to take place that afternoon. The kitchen was 
 as neat as any one's parlor, and Mary, with 
 her white apron and smiling face, was as neat 
 as the room. 
 
 " I 'm sorry to give you so much trouble, 
 when your breakfast dishes are all washed," 
 said Barbara, as she set the tray on the table. 
 u I won't be so lazy again." 
 
 " Oh, I don't mind ! " said Mary good-na- 
 turedly. " I '11 get them out of the way in a 
 jiffy," and she put aside the work she was 
 doing and turned her attention to the tray. 
 
 " I should like to help you," said Barbara 
 timidly, " but I 'm afraid I could n't do it well 
 enough to suit Aunt Betty." 
 
 " Your aunt is particular," said Mary, " but 
 I 've lived with her five years and learned her 
 ways, so 't we get along first-rate. She had 
 about forty-'leven girls the year before I came 
 to her, and none of them suited her ; " and 
 Mary laughed softly at the recollection. " And 
 even I, after five years' training, " she went 
 on, "even I can't sweep the parlor to suit 
 her ; she has to do that all herself ; I can take
 
 76 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 out the things and put them back, but I can't 
 clean it." 
 
 " I tried to make up my bed," said Barbara, 
 encouraged by Mary's friendly manner, " but 
 it looks awful I never made one before." 
 
 " Well," said Mary kindly, " I '11 just slip 
 up, soon 's I get these things put away, and 
 straighten it out a little, and if you want, I '11 
 show you how to do it to-morrow." 
 
 " Oh, thank you ! " said Barbara gratefully, 
 " I shall be glad to learn."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 JACK FROST AS SANTA GLAUS 
 
 " BARBAKA," said her aunt, the morning before 
 Christmas, " will you go down to Mrs. Brown's 
 and ask her if she can help me to-morrow ? " 
 
 Barbara consented, of course, and was soon 
 on her way. It was a glorious morning, and 
 she walked between high walls of snow each 
 side. Six feet deep it lay all over that part of 
 the country, and the walks had been cut out. 
 
 Mrs. Brown's little house, hardly more 
 than a shanty, was not far off, down a side 
 street, and she soon reached it. Mrs. Brown 
 went out to days' work, and she was not at 
 home that morning, but Maggie was there. 
 
 Maggie was Mrs. Brown's daughter, about 
 Barbara's age, and an invalid, not able to walk 
 at present, though the good doctor hoped she 
 would be better in the spring. 
 
 Cheerless enough was the room, though 
 clean as constant scrubbing could make it.
 
 78 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 There was no fire in the rickety old stove, 
 and the sick girl was bundled up in all the 
 blankets and quilts the house held that she 
 might not suffer, for wood was too costly to be 
 used through the day. When the children 
 came home from school and the mother from 
 her work they had to have a little fire. 
 
 But Maggie's eyes were brilliant, and a 
 smile of perfect happiness made her plain 
 little face almost lovely. 
 
 Barbara was startled by her look, and after 
 delivering her errand, and finding she must 
 wait till Mrs. Brown came home, she ex- 
 claimed, 
 
 " Why Maggie ! how bright you look ? 
 what 's happened ? " 
 
 "Oh," said Maggie warmly, "I 've had such 
 wonderful Christmas presents! such beautiful, 
 beautiful pictures ! I don't believe any one in 
 the world has had such wonderful pictures! " 
 
 " Pictures ? " said Barbara, looking around 
 on the poor bare walls, " where are they ? " 
 
 " Look ! " cried Maggie joyously, pointing 
 to the only window in the room.
 
 JACK FROST AS SANTA CLAUS 79 
 
 Barbara looked and saw only a bare, bleak- 
 looking window, every pane of whicb was cov- 
 ered with frost-work. 
 
 " I don't see any pictures," she said rather 
 crossly, for she thought Maggie was fooling 
 her. 
 
 " Oh, don't you ! " said Maggie. " Look at 
 that one, at the bottom, next the door; don't 
 you see the great mountains covered with 
 trees, all full of birds, and beautiful clouds 
 blowing over them ? And see that lot of chil- 
 dren climbing up the steep rocks, every one 
 with a tall stick, and flowers in their hair, and 
 long white gowns on. They 're going to the 
 top to see the world over the other side, and 
 they 're singing as they go ! How happy they 
 look! Oh, it's wonderful!" 
 
 Barbara looked, and could see how the fan- 
 tastic frost-work could be made to look as 
 Maggie saw it. 
 
 "And the next one," went on Maggie, rap- 
 turously. " See that garden full of sweet 
 flowers and vines, almost hiding the little 
 arbor ; and the beautiful trees where the birds
 
 80 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 are singing, I know. And see that little girl 
 not so big as me, with a little silver rake, 
 raking up the weeds. Is n't she lovely, with 
 her white shining frock and white slippers? 
 How happy she must be ! And then that 
 pretty Christmas tree in the next, all hung full 
 of lovely things, and the children dancing 
 around it ; and see that little doggie down in 
 the corner dancing about with the rest ain't 
 he cute? And see the children all in white, 
 with their arms all full of books and things. 
 And do you see their mamma a beautiful 
 woman off in the corner in her rocking-chair? 
 Ah ! " with a sigh of bliss, " how happy they 
 are!" 
 
 Barbara, who at first thought Maggie had 
 gone crazy, really began to see the things de- 
 scribed, for the window was indeed a wonder- 
 ful example of fantastic frost-work, and a vivid 
 imagination could see almost anything. 
 
 " And look at the next one, on top ; see 
 that beautiful lake so still and shining, and 
 the great hills all around it, and the moon 
 just coming over the hills. And see ! in the
 
 JACK FROST AS SANTA CLAUS 81 
 
 far corner a little boat with silver sail and a 
 girl lying asleep all covered up with flowers, 
 so sweet she looks see her ? " 
 
 " Yes," assented Barbara, fired with Mag- 
 gie's enthusiasm, in spite of herself. 
 
 "And the boat is slowly moving," went 
 on Maggie, "and it '11 come to the shore where 
 other girls will meet her. The next picture is 
 the best of all," went on Maggie, almost sol- 
 emnly, her voice becoming soft and low 
 almost with a sort of awe. "It's the woods 
 all trees, wonderful, wonderful trees, with 
 mossy old trunks and dear little flowers around 
 their feet. I love that one best of all ; see the 
 darling little brook running over the stones 
 and sparkling in the sunshine ! Oh ! is n't it 
 lovely ! I can almost hear the birds singing. 
 Oh ! " sighed Maggie, with accent of almost 
 greater bliss than she could bear. " Oh ! what 
 a beautiful world it is ! Oh ! I am so happy !" 
 and she closed her eyes in a sort of ecstasy. 
 
 Barbara looked around the poverty-stricken 
 room, cold, dark, dismal enough, and 
 that happy face on the pillow she could not
 
 82 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 understand. After a moment she asked, in a 
 low voice, "Maggie, can I do anything for 
 you? Shall I make a fire?" 
 
 Maggie opened her eyes, a sweet smile on 
 her face. " No," she said, " wood is so dear 
 mother can't afford a fire all day, and I 'm 
 warm enough. I've been making Christmas 
 presents for the children," she went on ; 
 "would you like to see them?" 
 
 " Yes," answered Barbara, wondering what 
 they could be. 
 
 " Well, here they are," said Maggie, draw- 
 ing a dingy pasteboard box from under the 
 bed covering. She opened it and displayed 
 with sparkling eyes to the amazed Barbara 
 several things made out of paper. " There 's 
 a doll for Susy," she said, holding up a paper 
 doll dressed in clothes cut from a piece of 
 brown wrapping paper, with features made 
 with a lead pencil. " See, she has a hat, and her 
 frock takes off. Susy 's awful fond of dolls. 
 And this," she went on, carefully lifting it 
 out of the box, " is a dog drawing a sled. 
 That 's for Johnny, he loves dogs so."
 
 JACK FROST AS SANTA CLAUS 83 
 
 " Where did you learn to cut out dogs ? " 
 asked Barbara, for it was really quite a 
 creditable dog, of the brown paper, with har- 
 ness and sled of white paper. 
 
 " Why, I found a picture in a book and 
 cut it as near like that as I could. I know 
 Johnny '11 like it." 
 
 " Of course he will," said Barbara. 
 
 " I tried to think of something I could 
 make for mother," said Maggie rather wist- 
 fully, " but I could n't think of anything. 
 Can you think of anything I could make? " 
 she added. 
 
 " I 'm afraid I can't," said Barbara. 
 
 " Oh, here 's another thing! " said Maggie, 
 holding up a ring of dancing girls, cut out of 
 the same brown paper. " See, they '11 stand up ! 
 Susy '11 like that. And for Johnny I made a 
 ball," and she drew out her last treasure, a 
 ball of strips of paper wound tightly and held 
 by string wound closely around it everyway. 
 
 Barbara went home very slowly, a happy 
 thought struggling for expression, a plan of 
 what she might do to brighten that dull little
 
 84 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 room ; and it was a very eager Barbara who at 
 last took Uncle Karl into her counsels. 
 
 " Uncle Karl," she said earnestly, " such a 
 dismal place you never saw ! cold and dark 
 and horrid, and such poor little things for 
 presents ! and that girl so happy ! Why, she 
 told wonderful stories about the frost on the 
 windowpanes ; she saw so many things in them 
 and called them her Christmas presents her 
 pictures. I never heard any one talk so ; I 
 thought at first she was crazy, but after a 
 while she made me see them too." 
 
 " That reminds me," said Uncle Karl, " of a 
 piece I used to speak in school about Jack 
 Frost. I can remember only one verse," and 
 throwing himself into schoolboy attitude he 
 began : 
 
 " He went to the windows of those who slept, 
 And over each pane like a fairy crept: 
 Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped, 
 
 By the light of the moon were seen 
 Most beautiful things: there were flowers and trees; 
 There were bevies of birds and swarms of bees ; 
 There were cities with temples and towers, and these 
 
 All pictured in silver sheen."
 
 JACK FROST AS SANTA GLAUS 85 
 
 " Oh ! that 's lovely ! " cried Barbara, " Can't 
 you remember the rest ? I 'd like to learn it 
 and say it to Maggie. I 'm sure she 'd like it." 
 
 Uncle Karl studied very hard a few minutes, 
 but he could n't think of another word. At last 
 he said, " Perhaps it '11 come to me sometime, 
 and if it does I '11 remember it for you. That 
 must be the girl that Maggie that some- 
 times came with her mother to work, and I 
 found her several times standing in the studio 
 door looking at the pictures as if she would 
 devour them. She must have a great deal of 
 fine feeling." 
 
 "I 'm sure she has," said Barbara enthusias- 
 tically, "and I'm going to give her some of 
 my books." 
 
 " Ask your Aunt Betty," said Uncle Karl. 
 " She '11 surely help ; and I '11 find something 
 - I '11 tell you, girlie," suddenly, " I have a 
 big woodpile, more than enough for the win- 
 ter for us, and I '11 get Tom Bruce to take a 
 load over to them." 
 
 "Oh! that'll be splendid!" said Barbara, 
 " Maggie said her mother could n't afford to
 
 86 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 have a fire all day when she was alone ; so she 
 was bundled up in all the bedclothes in the 
 house, I guess." 
 
 Barbara rushed eagerly into the house, 
 where she found Aunt Betty in the kitchen 
 with Mary, both very busy with Christmas 
 doings. 
 
 She told the story of Maggie and her poor 
 little presents, and Aunt Betty was interested 
 and said she would send something, and Mary's 
 warm heart was touched, and she began to 
 plan what she could do. 
 
 The next morning Barbara brought out sev- 
 eral books, and a warm dressing-gown she had 
 worn when she was ill, but was sure her mother 
 would let her give to Maggie ; and Aunt Betty 
 went into her pantry and prepared a basket 
 filled with a regular Christmas dinner : a roast 
 chicken with proper accompaniments, a suet 
 pudding, and the sweets that children love 
 cakes, cookies, jam, raisins, and nuts ; such a 
 Christmas dinner as the Brown children had 
 
 never seen. 
 
 + 
 
 Last of all, Barbara thrust into the loaded
 
 JACK FROST AS SANTA CLAUS 87 
 
 basket a box of candy one of her own pre- 
 sents which had come by mail that day; and 
 when her aunt looked surprised at this gift 
 from the candy-lover, she said, 
 
 " You know, aunt, I had two boxes, and I 
 don't believe Maggie ever had one." 
 
 And when that morning the grocer brought 
 some things to the house and saw what was 
 going on, he went quietly back to the store 
 and packed a barrel full of vegetables, tur- 
 nips, onions, cabbages, and potatoes, with a 
 goodly sprinkling of apples. 
 
 And after that he told the story to the group 
 of men who always hang around a country 
 store, and one kind-hearted old man who had 
 known hard times in his life told the store- 
 keeper to send a bag of flour and charge to 
 his account; and when he went home and 
 told his wife, she brought out of her clothes- 
 press a comfortable woolen dress for Mrs. 
 Brown, and another neighbor hunted up a 
 warm cloak that her daughter had outgrown, 
 for Maggie when she was better. 
 
 In fact, that happy thought of Barbara's
 
 88 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 spread so fast and so far that the Brown fam- 
 ily had the most wonderful Christmas they 
 had ever known. 
 
 After that Barbara went often to see Mag- 
 gie and help her pass the weary hours, and she 
 had the pleasure of seeing that the warmth, 
 and the more abundant food, and the happi- 
 ness that Maggie felt, all together helped her 
 to get well very fast, so that in a few weeks 
 she could sit up, wrapped in Barbara's warm 
 wrapper, and before summer was able to come 
 up to the studio and return some of Barbara's 
 visits.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 STICKY TIMES IN THE STUDIO 
 
 ONE morning some weeks later, after Barbara 
 had made her bed and put her room in order, 
 which now, thanks to Mary's help, she could 
 do very nicely, she hastened as usual to the 
 studio, where she was surprised to see a visitor. 
 A young lady was talking volubly to Uncle 
 Karl, who looked a little disturbed. 
 
 " And I 'm sure it won't be much trouble, 
 Mr. Burton," she said glibly, " or I would n't 
 think of asking you, for I know you are so 
 busy." 
 
 " How many figures did you say ? " asked 
 the artist, pausing with brush in hand. 
 
 " Only eight ; and they may be as rough as 
 you please," the lady hastened to say. "It 
 won't take you long to dash off one, will 
 it?" 
 
 " N-o," said the artist, hesitating, " the 
 mere painting won't be much."
 
 90 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 " Oh, we '11 prepare the canvas and all that," 
 interrupted the eager lady. 
 
 Uncle Karl hesitated ; he was extremely busy; 
 he felt that he could n't spare the time, yet on 
 the other hand, it was for a Sunday-school 
 entertainment. He might do it in the evening, 
 and in a word, he was too good-natured to 
 refuse. 
 
 His guest was quick to see yielding in his 
 face. 
 
 " Oh, I 'm so glad ! I know you 've decided 
 to help us out ! Thank you so much ! I '11 
 send the canvases over right away ; " which 
 she did. 
 
 " Humph ! no trouble ! " said Uncle Karl 
 softly, when he saw the eight full-length can- 
 vases brought into the studio, with a frame on 
 which each one was to be stretched for painting. 
 " I only wish I may get through in a week ! " 
 
 " Now Barbara," he went o, after a few 
 moments, " you can help me a little in this, 
 for I shall paint these figures in distemper." 
 
 " Distemper ! " exclaimed Barbara. " What 's 
 that?"
 
 STICKY TIMES IN THE STUDIO 91 
 
 " Why, you know," said Uncle Karl mildly, 
 " I shall not waste oil paints on these things 
 to be used only an hour or two ; I shall get 
 dry paints and mix them with weak glue. 
 You can prepare the glue and mix the colors." 
 
 Barbara was delighted to do something for 
 her dear uncle who was always doing so much 
 for her, and listened eagerly as he went on. 
 
 " I shall need nine colors," he said, after a 
 few moments' thought, " and therefore nine 
 dishes of some sort to mix in. Mary will 
 give you these ; any old cans will do. You 
 will have to dissolve the glue and stir each 
 color into it." 
 
 Barbara consented eagerly, and hurried off 
 to Mary for the dishes. 
 
 Well, a pound of glue was bought and put 
 into a pan of water on the studio stove to 
 dissolve. When this was done, Barbara who 
 was eager to do it all herself told Uncle 
 Karl that she knew how to make glue, and 
 he could go back to his work. With a sigh of 
 relief he did so, and Barbara set herself to 
 watch matters in the pan.
 
 92 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 When the glue was reduced to liquid form, 
 Barbara filled one of the cans half full of the 
 evil-smelling stuff and began work on the first 
 color her uncle had placed ready for her. 
 This was labeled " Lampblack." 
 
 She poured some of the dry powder into 
 the glue and began to stir ; the first dash sent 
 a cloud of the lampblack in a great puff over 
 her dress and the floor around. 
 
 " Oh ! " she cried, but softly, not to disturb 
 Uncle Karl; and laying down the paper of 
 lampblack, she hurried to the washing basin 
 behind a screen at the back of the studio, to 
 brush her dress and wash her hands. But 
 lampblack is peculiarly greasy, and glue is 
 sticky, and she did not succeed in getting very 
 clean, while all attempts to brush it off her 
 dress ended in smearing it over the whole 
 front. 
 
 "Well," she said to herself at last, "this 
 dress is spoiled, and I may as well keep it to 
 use all through ; " and she returned to the 
 making of distemper. 
 
 Now she worked more carefully, but in spite
 
 STICKY TIMES IN THE STUDIO 93 
 
 of her greatest efforts the lampblack would 
 continue to mix with the air, and not by any 
 coaxing with the glue. When Uncle Karl 
 chanced to look up and saw the concern on 
 Barbara's face, and noticed the fine coating of 
 lampblack over everything around, he came 
 hastily over to examine. 
 
 Barbara was a sight, and everything in 
 her vicinity was also ; and almost choking in 
 generous efforts to keep from laughing at 
 her, he told her to leave the lampblack, go 
 to the kitchen for Mary's help in getting it 
 off her face and hands, and then go to work 
 on the other colors. 
 
 After as thorough a scrubbing as soap and 
 water could furnish, Barbara returned, still 
 wearing the soiled dress, ready to try again. 
 
 Of course no one at least, no young girl 
 ever handled glue without getting herself 
 more or less daubed. First Barbara got her 
 hands sticky, and then getting excited and 
 warm, everything she touched was daubed; 
 gradually her eyebrows, her forehead, her 
 very lips were gluey; her loose hair glued
 
 94 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 fast to her forehead her eyelashes sticking 
 to her cheeks when she winked. Several times 
 during that morning she slipped quietly over 
 to the kitchen and begged Mary's help and 
 hot water to soak herself out a little, so that 
 she could go on and not trouble Uncle Karl, 
 and then returned to her work. 
 
 With the colors she had no trouble, and 
 eight beautiful cans of colored glue rewarded 
 her efforts. 
 
 The cans were placed on a table for use 
 that evening, and the fire under the glue-pot 
 put out. 
 
 " There ! " she said, with a sigh of satis- 
 faction, " that horrid job is done ! " 
 
 Was it? 
 
 " Now," said Uncle Karl after supper, draw- 
 ing out the big frame consisting of four sides 
 like a box without top or bottom, with a can- 
 vas four feet by six stretched on each of the 
 four sides, " now for these figures ! " 
 
 He placed his frame conveniently near the 
 light, moved his chair up before it, took his 
 brush, and dipped into the first can. Alas ! it
 
 STICKY TIMES IN THE STUDIO 95 
 
 touched something hard; he looked in it 
 was solid as a rock ! In turn he examined 
 each one each was a' solid mass! the glue 
 was too thick. 
 
 He was dismayed. " Poor Barbara ! " was 
 his first thought, followed by " Is n't it a joke 
 on her ! " 
 
 He then proceeded to arrange the joke. 
 Carefully loosening each solid cake of glue, 
 he turned them out in a row on the table. 
 They made a beautiful show rocks of lovely 
 colors, crimson lake, translucent yellow, hea- 
 venly blue, and others. Then he called Bar- 
 bara to see them. 
 
 " Uncle Karl ! " she exclaimed in horror; 
 and then as the truth dawned upon her she 
 added, " That glue was too thick ! " 
 
 " So it was, my dear ; you were too gener- 
 ous," said Uncle Karl, putting away the bulky 
 frame. " I '11 wait till to-morrow." 
 
 To-morrow Barbara tried it again. Labori- 
 ously she melted up part of each lovely color, 
 thinned it with water, daubing herself afresh 
 with glue, and again set eight cans of dis-
 
 96 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 temper on the table for use, with "I guess 
 that's thin enough it's nothing but water." 
 
 Again came out the big frame, and once 
 more the brush was thrust in. Not far ! the 
 contents were jelly, sparkling, shaking, rain- 
 bow-hued jelly, and not to be handled by 
 a brush. 
 
 It was hardly a joke this time ; temper that 
 was not distemper began to come dangerously 
 near the surface as Barbara surveyed her 
 work; two days wasted and glue all over 
 everything, was a little too much even for a 
 good-natured girl to bear. She had her say 
 and then well, then she tried it again. A 
 very small quantity of the colored jelly was 
 dissolved in quarts of water. Eight times this 
 operation was repeated, Barbara getting more 
 dauby and more impatient every time. 
 
 But at last it was right. That evening a 
 very tired and very much " stuck up " Bar- 
 bara sat by while Uncle Karl with big brushes 
 painted life-sized figures. 
 
 Four were partly done and must be left to 
 dry before they could be finished, yet he had
 
 STICKY TIMES IN THE STUDIO 97 
 
 time to sketch in more. Barbara, eager to 
 help again, forgot the nature of glue, and her 
 own fingers stretched the fifth canvas over one 
 already painted. The fifth figure was sketched, 
 and all were left to dry. 
 
 The next morning on returning to the 
 work it was found that, although thin, the 
 glue was good. The two canvases were one ; 
 no amount of pulling would separate them, 
 and they finally went into the bath-tub to 
 soak apart at their leisure and be painted 
 over again. 
 
 After four evenings of work from Uncle 
 Karl, and four days of struggle and work 
 from Barbara, the thing that was to be " very 
 little work " was done and sent away. But 
 the studio was a sight ! lampblack over every- 
 thing, glue over everything. If one sat 
 quietly half an hour in a chair, it was im- 
 possible to get out of it without tearing 
 one's clothes in the effort; a book lying care- 
 lessly on the table was found to be a fixture ; 
 every garment worn there was daubed. 
 
 This would never do ; and much as he hated
 
 98 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 to have his things disturbed, Uncle Karl told 
 Aunt Betty of the trouble. She at once re- 
 plied with glee that she would attend to it, 
 for she had tried in vain to get a chance to 
 clean the studio, the condition of which was 
 a great trial to her.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 UNCLE KAKL AND BARBARA RUN AWAY 
 
 " TO-MOKROW," said Aunt Betty, at the supper 
 table, "to-morrow Mary and I are going 
 to clean the studio ! " 
 
 This fell like a thunderbolt on Uncle Karl 
 and Barbara, who looked at each other in dis- 
 may. 
 
 " We should only be in the way, girlie," he 
 said. " Let 's run away ! Where shall we 
 go?" 
 
 " Why don't you take Barbara to New- 
 berry ? " asked Aunt Betty. " That 's a plea- 
 sant ride, and will show some of our coun- 
 try." 
 
 "That's a good idea," said Uncle Karl; 
 " and I have a little business there too ; I 
 want to see Blake about something. Do you 
 like to ride, girlie ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Barbara eagerly ; " I love 
 it!"
 
 100 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 " Well, then, we '11 go. And, by the way, 
 it must be maple-sugar time ! We may be 
 able to see something of that." 
 
 After some more talk, it was settled that 
 they were to start early the next morning, 
 and as it was a long way to Newberry, they 
 would stay all night at Mrs. Blake's, and 
 come back the next morning. 
 
 At this Barbara demurred. 
 
 " But perhaps she can't keep us," she pro- 
 tested. 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Blake takes summer boarders," 
 said Aunt Betty. " She has a houseful every 
 summer from St. Paul, and she 's always ready 
 to entertain. It 's almost like a hotel." 
 
 The next morning before it was very light 
 Barbara was called, and remembering that 
 this was Uncle Karl's holiday, she jumped out 
 of bed, hastily got into her clothes, and ran 
 downstairs. Breakfast was smoking on the 
 table, and Uncle Karl was all ready to start. 
 
 " You need n't stop to make up your bed," 
 said Aunt Betty ; " it 's a long ride to New- 
 berry. Mary '11 do that."
 
 THE RUNAWAYS 101 
 
 Before the door stood a horse hitched to a 
 buckboard. Barbara stared at the strange 
 vehicle. It was merely a long board reaching 
 from the front to the back wheels, with a seat 
 resting upon it, and no box. 
 
 " Why, Uncle Karl," she said, what a 
 queer wagon ! I never saw one like it." 
 
 " It 's a buckboard, my dear," said Uncle 
 Karl, " and very comfortable to ride in, as 
 you'll see. And isn't old Charley a nice 
 horse ? " 
 
 Hearing his name, the intelligent beast 
 turned his head and looked at them. Uncle 
 Karl patted his nose, and looking at Barbara 
 with a twinkle in his eye, said, " Have n't 
 you a lump of sugar you could give him ? " 
 
 " I '11 get one," said Barbara, running back 
 into the house. She found the kitchen de- 
 serted for the moment, and hastily taking a 
 lump from the sugar-bowl, she ran back and 
 offered it to Uncle Karl. 
 
 " You give it to him yourself," said Uncle 
 Karl. "Don't offer it with your fingers," he 
 said suddenly, as she was about to hold it up
 
 102 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 to Charley's mouth. " Open your hand wide 
 and lay it in the palm ; then he can get it 
 without danger of taking a finger with it." 
 Barbara did as she was bid, and Old Charley 
 
 who was evidently used to such attentions 
 
 daintily took the sugar and munched it 
 with evident satisfaction. Then Uncle Karl 
 helped Barbara up to her seat, and they were 
 off. 
 
 It was a lovely morning in February. The 
 snow which had covered the ground all winter 
 was about gone ; the roads, which quickly dry 
 in that country, were very good; and Charley 
 trotted along as if he enjoyed it as much as 
 the two runaways did. 
 
 About noon they came to a lane, up which 
 Uncle Karl turned the horse. 
 
 "Where are you going, Uncle Karl?" asked 
 Barbara. 
 
 " I think we '11 stop here for dinner ; it 's 
 just about their dinner-time." 
 
 The fresh air had made Barbara hungry, 
 and she was glad when the farmer's wife 
 who came to the door as they came up said
 
 THE RUNAWAYS 103 
 
 she could give them dinner if they would take 
 " pot-luck " with the family. Charley was sent 
 off to the barn to get his dinner, and Uncle 
 Karl and Barbara went into the big kitchen, 
 where the farmer's wife was just taking up the 
 meal. 
 
 A long table was set with knives and forks, 
 and a big pile of plates at one place along 
 about the middle; and putting on two more 
 knives and forks, she told her guests to sit 
 down. 
 
 Uncle Karl asked if they could wash their 
 hands and faces first. She gave them a clean 
 towel and told them to go right out to the pump. 
 
 Uncle Karl's eyes laughed as he led the 
 astonished Barbara out to the back of the 
 house, where they found one of the farmer's 
 men already engaged in washing face and 
 hands by the simple process of giving the 
 pump-handle a jerk which started the water, 
 and then catching it in his hands as it fell, 
 and throwing it over face and hands. 
 
 Barbara looked on in horror. " I could n't 
 do that ! " she whispered.
 
 104 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 " You need n't," said her uncle ; " you can 
 wet part of this towel and use that ; but you 
 see how much trouble this way saves. Now I 
 like it ! " and he proceeded to follow the ex- 
 ample of the man who had finished, and threw 
 great handfuls of the clear cold water over 
 face and head. 
 
 Their toilets thus made, the two went back 
 to the kitchen, where the family were already 
 seated. 
 
 " Set right up," said the farmer's wife. 
 
 The farmer, at whose place stood the pile 
 of plates, was serving the dinner from a 
 huge pan a dish-pan it looked like. Barbara 
 looked on in surprise as he took from this 
 smoking receptacle great chunks of meat, 
 potatoes, turnips, beets, and parsnips, filling 
 up each plate with a pile of these things and 
 then passing it along. Everything was in that 
 pan, excepting the salt and the butter, and 
 an enormous platter of what looked like small 
 loaves of bread. 
 
 When a plate, generously filled from the 
 pan, was placed before Barbara, she looked at
 
 THE RUNAWAYS 105 
 
 it in dismay, and Uncle Karl, taking the platter 
 of loaves, offered it to her, saying with roguish 
 looks, " Have a biscuit, Barbara ? " 
 
 "Biscuit!" gasped Barbara; then recover- 
 ing herself, " I 'd like part of one, Uncle 
 Karl." 
 
 Barbara was hungry, as I said; so taking 
 up her funny two-tined fork, which looked 
 like a pitchfork, she began picking bits off 
 the great mound of provisions before her. It 
 tasted better than she had feared, and she had 
 no trouble in making a good dinner without 
 half emptying her plate, and then she enjoyed 
 looking about to see the rest eat. Every one 
 emptied his plate, and one or two passed theirs 
 back for more. 
 
 When the farmer's wife saw that Barbara 
 had eaten all she wanted, and the pan was 
 nearly empty, she got up and brought a plate 
 of pie, and shoving back the dish of meat 
 and vegetables, set it before her. There were 
 two huge pieces, mince and pumpkin, 
 with a big piece of cake on top and a great 
 slice of cheese on that.
 
 106 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 Barbara looked so astonished that Uncle 
 Karl almost choked trying to keep from laugh- 
 ing. But as she began to look about for a 
 fork to attack this mountain of food, he whis- 
 pered, " Take your fork from the other plate." 
 
 With this overworked implement Barbara 
 timidly set to work on the pie, first laying off 
 the cheese and cake. She found it very hard, 
 however, to manage pieces of the pumpkin pie 
 which she liked best with that awkward 
 tool. Again her uncle whispered, " Do as the 
 rest do." 
 
 She glanced around ; every one was rapidly 
 disposing of the pile of pie, by shoveling great 
 pieces into his mouth with his knife. 
 
 Barbara was horrified ; but looking at Uncle 
 Karl she found him doing the same, though 
 with twitching lips that showed how hard it 
 was to keep from laughing. She really wanted 
 the pie ; so she struggled with this new way of 
 eating till she became rather expert at it, and 
 managed to finish the piece of pumpkin pie, 
 only dropping about half a dozen pieces, and 
 leaving the rest.
 
 THE RUNAWAYS 107 
 
 " Don't you feel well, miss ? " asked the 
 farmer, as she shoved back from the table. 
 
 " You don't eat anything ; I 'm afraid you 
 won't make out a dinner," said his wife, with 
 anxiety. 
 
 " Oh, thank you ! " said Barbara eagerly. 
 " I 've eaten a lot ! it 's very nice." 
 
 " Well, girlie, " said Uncle Karl, when they 
 were well on their way again, and they had 
 enjoyed a hearty laugh, " you 've learned 
 something to-day. Shall you show off your 
 new table manners with Aunt Betty?" 
 
 " Oh, don't tell her, Uncle Karl," said Bar- 
 bara earnestly ; " she would be shocked ! " 
 
 Uncle Karl laughed loud and long. (( She 
 would, indeed. I took her there once " 
 laughing again at the recollection ; " she was 
 hungry when we stopped, but she could n't eat 
 a mouthful ; she pleaded a sudden headache, 
 and went and sat on the steps till I came out. 
 She said it made her sick ! she was n't used to 
 eating out of a trough ; " and again Uncle Karl 
 laughed and Barbara with him, till the woods 
 rang.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 DROLL MRS. BLAKE 
 
 IT was nearly dark, after what Uncle Karl 
 always called their " dishpan dinner," when 
 they reached the suburbs of the village of 
 Newberry and drove into the yard and up to 
 the side door of Mrs. Blake's house. 
 
 It was a wide-spreading, old-fashioned build- 
 ing, with a big yard. Under the trees in front 
 were three groups of chairs ; queer home-made 
 things of boards, painted bright red and yel- 
 low and blue, one of each color in each group. 
 
 " Oh, look at those funny chairs ! " cried 
 Barbara, laughing. " What are they for ? " 
 
 " They 're for the boarders to sit on," said 
 Uncle Karl, " and they 're supposed to be very 
 stylish, like the rustic seats the story-books 
 tell about. You mustn't laugh at them be- 
 fore Mrs. Blake. She thinks they give her 
 house an air, and they certainly do ! " he 
 added, with laughing eyes, though a very
 
 DROLL MRS. BLAKE 109 
 
 sober mouth, as Mrs. Blake's jolly face ap- 
 peared at the door with a hearty greeting. 
 
 " Why, Mr. Burton ! is it really you ? And 
 who is this young lady you have brought to 
 see me ? Get right out ; I 'm proper glad to 
 see you," she went on, without waiting for 
 answers. 
 
 " Now what would you like for supper ? " 
 she asked, after Uncle Karl had gone to the 
 barn to see that Charley was made comfortable. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know ! " said Barbara. " You 
 know best, Mrs. Blake." 
 
 Mrs. Blake considered a moment ; then, 
 "How about cream short-cake? " 
 
 " I never tasted that," said Barbara ; " but 
 it sounds good." 
 
 Mrs. Blake laughed. " Well, it eats good 
 too, 'n' I '11 make you one ; I know you '11 like 
 it ; all young folks do, not to mention old 
 folks, specially women ; it 's a sort o' woman 
 dish. You know men and women have differ- 
 ent likings." 
 
 " Have they ? " asked Barbara. 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; I 've kept summer boarders
 
 110 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 a good many years, 'n' I 've learned a thing or 
 two. Now men V great on meat pies. A meat 
 pie 's a real handy thing to have when there 's 
 a passel o' men around ; they mostly likes 'em ; 
 they 're mighty tasty, too ; now Blake 's the 
 fondest man of a meat pie ever I see; I'd 
 make one for your uncle if there was time." 
 
 " Oh, Uncle Karl likes most anything ! " 
 said Barbara. " He 's the easiest to please of 
 any one I know." 
 
 " Humph ! he 's different from summer 
 boarders then ! " said Mrs. Blake. " Summer 
 boarders are the beater and all for eating ! " 
 
 Mrs. Blake had started up to get tea, but 
 summer boarders was plainly a burning sub- 
 ject with her, for she went on pouring out her 
 views, still standing ready to move. 
 
 " City folks Y such ones to eat ! I b'lieve 
 they starve to home ! It 's nothin' for them to 
 eat three pieces o' pie an' make whole supper 
 o' cake, 'specially one kind o' mine, 't has 
 fruit in it 'n' is very rich ; eat three 'r four 
 pieces cut big, too ! 'n' all the time sayin' 
 they never eats cake to home ! I guess not,
 
 DROLL MRS. BLAKE 111 
 
 nor anything else, thinks me ! One man and 
 wife 't I had would eat three strawberry short- 
 cakes size of small platters ; 'n the way they 'd 
 guzzle the cream, my sakes ! My cows Y as 
 good as ever a pail set under, but they don't 
 give cream ! an' besides stuffin' at table, the 
 loads they 'd carry off ! Why ! I could n't 
 have oranges or bananas or peaches on the 
 table, for they 'd all be carried off to the 
 rooms to eat between meals." 
 
 Mrs. Blake paused an instant, and Barbara 
 had a chance to get in a word. 
 
 " They could n't have been very nice 
 people! " 
 
 " They called themselves the top notch," 
 said Mrs. Blake. "I had one little boy here 
 sweet little feller he was! so pretty-spoken, 
 an' allus wantin' to do somethin' to help. He 
 liked to carry a drink to the men in the field, 
 an' when they was diggin' potatoes he liked 
 to go an' pick up ; but good gracious me ! 
 was n't his ma mad ! One day she shut him 
 up all day just 'cause he asked me to let 
 him carry a piece to Mr. Arthur down in the
 
 112 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 field." Seeing a look of surprise on Barbara's 
 face, she interrupted herself to explain. " A 
 'piece,' you know, is just a bit o' lunch, a 
 sandwich maybe 'r a nutcake 'r such. Well, o' 
 course, I done it, an' he started off with his 
 little pail ; an' when he come back his mother 
 just shut him up to stay all day 'n' go without 
 his dinner, an' called him a servant an' such ! 
 I was that mad I could V stomped on her. 
 Says me, 'The little darlin' shan't go without 
 his dinner.' So I takes the piece o' chicken he 
 liked, the leg it was ; an' I had green- 
 apple pie that day, an' he was the fondest boy 
 o' green-apple pie ever I see ; so I cuts him a 
 big piece o' pie, an' just sets 'em away; 'n' the 
 pie was a favorite, an' a good many et three 
 pieces an' some asked for more, 'n I says, e I 'm 
 sorry, but there ain't no more for you ; ' 'n' 
 about three o'clock poor little feller come down, 
 'n' I calls him, says I, ' Come here, darlin', 
 aunty's got somethin' for you;' 'n' I gave him 
 the dinner; 'n' he says, 'Ma '11 be very angry,' 
 'n' I says, ' Let her, then ! ' I was so mad I 
 did n't care what I said, 'n' he set down an' et
 
 DROLL MRS. BLAKE 113 
 
 it but this won't make cream short-cake," 
 she interrupted herself, rushing into the pan- 
 try. 
 
 In a moment she came out, with a pan of 
 flour and other things, and proceeded to mix 
 up the short-cake, talking all the time. 
 
 " You see, dearie," she went on, " I 've 
 had my share o' trouble; before I took to 
 keepin' boarders long ago when I was a 
 girl 'bout your size I was allus in some sort 
 of a scrape." 
 
 Barbara thought of the paper basket in her 
 own life and was silent. 
 
 "One thing I remember particular," went 
 on Mrs. Blake, rubbing the butter into the 
 flour vigorously. "It's funny now but it 
 was n't funny then, I tell you. You see I was 
 home at mother's, she had a farm down in 
 York state where you come from, an' we had 
 a hog that would come into the cellar every 
 time the door was left open ; an' one day father 
 bro't home some herrin', 'n' it was more 'n we 
 could eat, 'n' mother says to me, says she, 
 ( Sarah, you just carry 'em down cellar 'n' smoke
 
 114 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 'em V they '11 be nice.' So I takes a three- 
 gallon jar a tall old-fashioned one with a 
 little neck to the top, 'n' I carried the herrin' 
 down 'n' sets the jar in the place we set such 
 things, 'n' I went out for somethin'- 
 
 Here Mrs. Blake went to the pantry for a 
 rolling-pin, rolled out the short-cake into a 
 big square shape, put it into a baking-pan, 
 and shoved it into the oven, Barbara looking 
 on with the greatest interest. Then washing 
 her hands, Mrs. Blake proceeded to set the 
 table and went on with her story : 
 
 " Well, do you know I had n't hardly got 
 out when that hog come in and went right 
 for the jar an' stuck her head in ! 'n' could n't 
 git it out ! When I come I found her and 
 scared her so she started to run up the steps 
 to git out with that jar on her head, an' she 
 run all over the place an' banged against 
 fences 'n' well curb 'n' barn door before the 
 jar broke, o' course scatterin' herrin' all over 
 the place, 'n' I was so mad I could V killed her, 
 'n' I says, 1 1 bate you I '11 cure that hog o' 
 comin' in my cellar ; ' so the next time she
 
 DROLL MRS. BLAKE 115 
 
 come I was a scaldin' milk pans we had 
 thirty cows 'n' o' course a lot o' milk an' many 
 pans to wash, 'n' I allus washed 'em in a tub 
 out doors, so's not to sozzle all over the 
 kitchen floor seems as if she 'd come a pur- 
 pose so I ups with a handful o' water an' 
 I sprinkles her good. Did n't much hit her, 
 but she did holler an' run for a mud puddle, 
 an' flops into that 'n' father says, ' Sarah, what 's 
 the matter with the hog ?' an' says I, ' Just let 
 her come into my cellar again 'n' she '11 find 
 out. I ain't a-goin' to have no hog comin' 
 into my cellar.' ' 
 
 Barbara laughed. "Did she ever come in 
 again?" 
 
 " No, she never did, an' that fall she went 
 into the pork barrel. But I had a worse time 
 a year or two ago with another hog; hogs 
 are the worst critters, I do believe ! I had set 
 bread arisin' on the stove hearth, and Blake 
 he'd picked a bushel o' pears for a man to 
 carry over to brother John's, 'n' I 'd just done a 
 churnin' 'n' had two pails o' buttermilk : well, 
 I 'd forgot entirely that Blake 'd put a sheep
 
 116 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 in the orchard that was all for runnin' away 
 the day before he 'd spent half a day runnin' 
 after it ; well, after a few minutes I looked out 
 'n' there was that sheep a-runnin' for life, V I 
 never thought of nothin' but savin' him a chase, 
 so I runs out 'n' left my kitchen door open 
 great gump that I was ! Well, that very day 
 Blake 'd let out an old hog 'n' five pigs but 
 they was most as big as she was 'n' after I 
 run f'r the sheep awhile I suddenly remem- 
 bered I 'd left the door open 'n' I turned - 
 says I, ' Legs, do your duty/ 'n' I ran hard as 
 ever I could. There ! I had n't been gone ten 
 minutes mout V been fifteen, but I don't 
 think it were 'n' them hogs had upset the 
 bushel o' pears 'n' the buttermilk 'n' had got 
 my two loaves o' bread into the mess on the 
 floor. Well, I stood 'n' looked. I never was so 
 mad in my life I could 'a' killed 'em easy 
 'n' just then the butcher came in 'n' says he, 
 1 Miss Blake, I do pity ye ! what 'd ye do when 
 ye come in? did ye laugh or cry ? ' says he, 'n' 
 I says, ' Well, I know the devil got into a hog, 
 'n' I don't believe he ever got out.' '
 
 DROLL MRS. BLAKE 117 
 
 At this moment Uncle Karl and Mr. Blake 
 came in, and Mrs. Blake burst out, 
 
 " Well now, Mr. Burton, I guess I 've nigh 
 about talked your niece to death ; I 've been 
 goin' on f 'r all I 'm worth, but you see I don't 
 often get a chance to let out now-days, 'n* 
 when you say boarder to me I just boil over," 
 and she ended with a hearty laugh in which 
 Barbara and Uncle Karl joined. 
 
 Then going to the stove she drew out the 
 short-cake. It was light and brown, and the 
 top all scored in squares. She turned it out on 
 the table and broke it up into the squares 
 as it was marked, splitting them as if to but- , 
 ter them. Then she put each piece into a 
 saucepan on the stove, which was half full of 
 steaming hot cream thick and rich. As the 
 pieces were properly soaked she lifted them 
 out and piled them on a platter, and then 
 they sat down to tea. The table was already 
 loaded with good things, which she had put 
 on while telling her story; two or three kinds 
 of pie, four kinds of cake, several kinds of pre- 
 serves, and sweet pickles and cream cheese, etc.
 
 118 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 The cream short-cake proved to be so de- 
 licious that Barbara did not want to eat any- 
 thing else, though Mrs. Blake placed a double 
 row of little dishes around her plate, each one 
 having something most tempting. 
 
 " Mrs. Blake 's a master hand for pies," 
 said Uncle Karl after he had eaten two pieces, 
 " and every one 's better than the others ; one 
 never knows where to leave off ; I don't won- 
 der you have a houseful of boarders every 
 summer ; you must make hundreds of pies in 
 a season." 
 
 " One year," said Mrs. Blake, " I did try to 
 f . keep count, 'n' I got up to near four hundred, 
 'n' then I got clear tuckered out with some 
 folks with a packle o* young ones 't I never 
 could fill up, 'n' I lost count 'n' near took to 
 my bed."
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 A BEAR IN CAMP 
 
 "AIN'T Harris sugerin' off to-night?" Mrs. 
 Blake asked her husband at the supper table. 
 
 " Yes, he told me he was," was the answer, 
 and Mrs. Blake turned to Barbara, 
 
 " Did you ever see a sugarin' off, dearie ? " 
 
 " No," said Barbara. " What is it ? " 
 
 " Why, it 's up in the sugar bush where 
 they boils the sap down to sugar ; just before 
 it sugars it 's very nice to eat ; young folks is 
 mostly very fond of it. Blake, you can hitch 
 up 'n' take 'em over, can't you ? " 
 
 " Yes, I can," answered Mr. Blake, " if they 
 wants to go." 
 
 " Should you like to go, Barbara ? " asked 
 her uncle. 
 
 " Yes, if you '11 go too," she said eagerly. 
 
 " Of course I '11 go ; I like maple wax my- 
 self, though it 's years since I had any not 
 since I was a boy, I believe."
 
 120 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 As soon as it was dark Mr. Blake drove up 
 to the door with a big lumber wagon and two 
 farm horses to draw it. There was only one 
 seat stuck up high in front, and Barbara was 
 half afraid to get up there. She begged Uncle 
 Karl to let her ride on the straw which half 
 filled the wagon-box. 
 
 " Oh, yes," cried Mrs. Blake from the door, 
 " let her sit in the little chair in the straw ; 
 that '11 be nicer 'n' warmer too," and she 
 hastened to bring out a small child's chair 
 which had belonged to their only son, now a 
 young man of eighteen. 
 
 Barbara was tucked in warmly with shawls 
 and a buffalo-skin robe, and Uncle Karl 
 climbed up to the high seat beside Mr. Blake, 
 and off they went. 
 
 After a mile or two of riding they turned 
 into a woods road through the trees, and there 
 the snow had not melted away as it had out- 
 side. 
 
 Before long they saw light shining between 
 the trees, and Uncle Karl called to Barbara 
 that they were almost there. In a moment
 
 A BEAR IN CAMP 121 
 
 the wagon stopped and Barbara found herself 
 before a big blazing fire, with a woman and 
 two girls standing beside a great kettle, which 
 was steaming and sending out a delicious 
 odor. 
 
 " Where 's Harris ? " called Mr. Blake. 
 
 " He had to go to the farm for more pans," 
 said Mrs. Harris. " He '11 be back soon ; won't 
 you light?" 
 
 "I've brought a young city girl and her 
 uncle to see a sugarin' off, 'n' I '11 just drive 
 back 'n' meet Harris," said Mr. Blake. 
 
 " He '11 take it very kind of you an' the 
 young lady is welcome," said Mrs. Harris. 
 " Did you never see a sugar camp, miss ? " 
 she asked as Barbara drew near the great 
 kettle which one of the girls was watching. 
 
 " No ; is that going to be maple sugar ? " 
 asked Barbara. 
 
 "Yes; it's most done now. Tilly," turning 
 to her daughter, "get some snow and offer 
 the young lady some wax. Young folks is 
 mostly fond of wax," she added to Barbara. 
 
 In a minute or two the girl brought to
 
 122 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 Barbara a plate packed hard with snow, on 
 which she had dropped out of the kettle sev- 
 eral little dabs of the boiling sap. These had 
 spread out and hardened, and Barbara found 
 them so delicious that she ate them all, and 
 the smiling girl, about her own age, filled her 
 plate again. 
 
 "You like it so well," said Mrs. Harris, 
 "should you like a cake of it to take home?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " cried Barbara. 
 
 " Well, I'll make you one," said Mrs. Harris, 
 and as good as her word she made a little cake 
 and set it out in the snow to cool. 
 
 "Aren't you afraid to stay out here alone? " 
 asked Barbara, when she had eaten all she 
 could of the delicious wax and was sitting 
 beside Uncle Karl on a log. 
 
 "Why, no," said Mrs. Harris, "there's 
 nothing to be afraid of; coyotes come around 
 sometimes, but they 're easily scared away. We 
 have once or twice had a bear come about. 
 Bears, you know, love sugar awfully and some- 
 times they upset the sap buckets, they 're such 
 clumsy great things ! "
 
 A BEAR IN CAMP 123 
 
 "Ma," whispered one of the girls at this 
 moment, "I surely hear something moving 
 over that way." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said her mother. " You 're 
 always hearin' bugars." 
 
 " But there is something ! " cried Barbara 
 excitedly. " I hear it ! Oh, Uncle Karl ! " and 
 she laid hold of her uncle's arm in terror. 
 
 "There there!" said Uncle Karl sooth- 
 ingly. " Don't be scared, girlie ! If there is 
 anything, the worst it can be in these woods 
 is a bear, and he '11 be after the sugar and 
 not us." 
 
 " It is a bear ! and he 's coming this way ! " 
 shrieked the girl who had first heard it, and 
 she scampered into the little cabin where they 
 lived while making sugar. " Come in, every- 
 body ! " she cried as she ran. 
 
 " Yes, come in ! " said Mrs. Harris, now 
 frightened herself. " If I only had a gun ! " 
 she added. "Could you shoot it, mister?" 
 turning to Uncle Karl. 
 
 " I might perhaps," said Uncle Karl, " but 
 I'd rather see it alive;" for Uncle Karl was
 
 124 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 not alone an artist he had a special love for 
 all animal life, and his best pictures were of 
 animals. He could put life and expression 
 into the drawing of an animal that few could 
 equal. 
 
 " Oh, come in ! " cried Barbara, as he 
 lingered, hoping to see Bruin. To please her 
 he went to the cabin, and while the rest of 
 the party were inside, he stood at the open 
 door, gazing eagerly into the lighted space 
 around the fire. 
 
 " Come in ! Come in ! " cried Barbara, pull- 
 ing at his coat sleeve. 
 
 " Wait, girlie ! " he said quietly. " I can 
 come in quick enough if he comes this way ; 
 but I want to see him." 
 
 The bear, shuffling along, now came in plain 
 sight, and looking out of the one little window 
 they could see him sniffing about the great 
 kettle. But the fire evidently did not please 
 him, and he moved along uneasily, Uncle 
 Karl perfectly absorbed in looking at him. 
 
 " Oh, he 's coming ! " cried Barbara in terror, 
 trying to drag Uncle Karl within.
 
 A BEAR IN CAMP 125 
 
 But Uncle Karl shook her off, saying almost 
 sternly for him, " Go in yourself if you 're 
 afraid ! I want to see what he '11 do," and 
 gently pushing her into the cabin, he closed 
 the door himself outside. 
 
 " Oh, Uncle Karl ! " cried Barbara wildly. 
 But Mrs. Harris said quietly, " You need n't 
 be so scared, miss. The bear won't touch any- 
 body, not while there 's sugar about. What 
 I'm afraid of, is that he'll meddle with that 
 hot kettle and upset it I 've heard of such 
 things," and she looked anxiously out the 
 small window, muttering in low tones, "I 
 wisht I had the gun ! it was stupid to forget 
 it." 
 
 Meanwhile the hungry fellow outside was 
 snuffing around, evidently wild for that sugar, 
 but as plainly afraid of the fire; probably he 
 had had some experience with fire before. 
 Suddenly he came upon something that in- 
 terested him, and Mrs. Harris, watching him, 
 eagerly cried out, 
 
 " Thank goodness ! He 's found that cake 
 o' wax ! That '11 give him something to do."
 
 126 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 And it did ! The teeth of the great beast 
 closed upon the stiffened mass, and for an in- 
 stant Bruin was happy. But only for an instant 
 for on trying to bite, he found his teeth 
 locked in the wax and not to be got out. He 
 shook his head violently, and then Barbara 
 heard a laugh from Uncle Karl, who pushed 
 open the door, crying, " Now if you want to see 
 some fun, come out here, all of you ! " 
 
 Mrs. Harris hurried out, but Barbara stood 
 in the door, ready to dodge back inside if the 
 bear came towards them. She soon saw, how- 
 ever, that he had enough business of his own 
 to keep him from troubling himself about 
 other people. 
 
 He could n't have been funnier if he had 
 been performing for their amusement, and 
 Uncle Karl roared with laughter at his droll 
 antics. He turned somersets ; he rolled over 
 and over ; he whirled round and round like a 
 crazy top ; he almost stood on his head ; he 
 lay on his back and savagely pawed the air 
 with all four Jegs, all the time frantically 
 brushing with his huge paws the side of his
 
 A BEAR IN CAMP 127 
 
 face, trying to rid himself of his too-too- 
 sweet mouthful. 
 
 Now and then he stood up on his hind legs 
 and beat and clawed at his face, waving his 
 arms and looking like a man gone crazy. 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " said Barbara in the pauses 
 of laughing, "I wonder if he'll ever get it 
 off!" 
 
 " Oh, it won't hurt him," said Uncle Karl, 
 " for it '11 gradually soften and be swallowed. 
 It won't hurt him if he only knew it 
 unless he bangs himself against a tree in his 
 frenzy." 
 
 " He 's smeared it all over his eyes with his 
 paws," said Barbara. " I don't believe he can 
 see." 
 
 " Oh, I wish that gun was here ! " said Mrs. 
 Harris eagerly. " You could shoot him, could 
 n't you, Mr. Burton ? " 
 
 " I might be able to," said Uncle Karl, " but 
 I would n't for anything ! " 
 
 "Why not?" asked Mrs. Harris. "Bear's 
 meat is very good, and the skin makes a fine 
 robe."
 
 128 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 "Don't you think it would be taking a 
 mean advantage of a poor fellow in distress ? " 
 asked Uncle Karl, who was every bit an art- 
 ist and animal-lover, and not a bit of a 
 hunter. 
 
 " But he stole my wax," urged Mrs. Harris, 
 somewhat surprised at this new way of look- 
 ing at a bear. 
 
 " How did he know it was yours ? " asked 
 Uncle Karl. " Perhaps he thought it was put 
 there on purpose for him. He loves sweets 
 like the rest of us, and I don't suppose he has 
 been taught the Ten Commandments." 
 
 That was another new thought to Mrs. Har- 
 ris, and she found nothing to say in answer 
 to it. 
 
 Just then the wagon was heard coming 
 back, with much noise of jingling harness and 
 wheels screeching in the snow. The bear 
 heard it too, and at once started running away 
 from it still clawing at his jaws, and bump- 
 ing against the trees in his way. 
 
 "John," called Mrs. Harris as they drew 
 near, " did you think to bring the gun ? "
 
 A BEAR IN CAMP 129 
 
 " By Jiminy ! I clean forgot it ! " replied 
 Mr. Harris. 
 
 " Well, you 've lost a chance to get a bear- 
 skin," said Uncle Karl pleasantly, " and we 've 
 had enough fun out of the poor fellow to pay 
 for the wax." 
 
 " I 'm so glad he did n't bring it ! " said 
 Barbara in a whisper in Uncle Karl 's ear. 
 
 It was now getting late, and Uncle Karl and 
 Barbara, thinking they had enjoyed enough 
 for one day, climbed into the wagon and drove 
 back to Mrs. Blake's. 
 
 That good woman had ready a nice lunch 
 for them, and when they had eaten a little to 
 please her, and started for bed, the tall old 
 clock in the hall struck two. 
 
 " Good night, girlie ! " said Uncle Karl as 
 they parted for the night. " Have you had a 
 good day ? " 
 
 " Splendid ! " cried Barbara with shining 
 eyes, following Mrs. Blake into the room pre- 
 pared for her. 
 
 It was a queer little room, with the queer- 
 est furniture Barbara had ever seen, every
 
 130 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 piece a hundred years old ; but the bed aston- 
 ished her. It was an enormous structure with 
 a tall post at each corner and a canopy over 
 the whole ; and the bed itself was so high 
 that she did n't see how she should get into 
 it. 
 
 "Why, Mrs. Blake," she said timidly, " that 
 bed 's so high, how shall I climb into it ? " 
 
 " You don't want to climb," said Mrs. Blake, 
 " because it 's feathers ; you want to get right 
 into the middle. I guess you better step on a 
 chair and jump in. Then you '11 be all snug 
 and cozy I used to love to do that when I 
 was young and spry; you can leave your 
 candle burning so you can see to get in, and 
 I '11 come in and get it." 
 
 As she spoke Mrs. Blake carefully turned 
 back the bedclothes ready for the plunge. 
 
 When Barbara was undressed she did as she 
 was bid, and from a chair at the bedside she 
 sprang into the very middle of the feathery 
 sea, where she sank down almost out of sight. 
 Drawing the bedding up around her, she was 
 asleep almost as soon as she touched the pil-
 
 A BEAR IN CAMP 131 
 
 low, and she did not know when Mrs. Blake 
 came in to take the candle. 
 
 " Did you sleep well, girlie ? " asked Uncle 
 Karl the next morning when they met on the 
 stairs on their way to breakfast. 
 
 " Oh, splendidly ! " cried Barbara. " I had 
 a regular feather nest like a bird's nest ! " 
 
 " Well, I 'm glad you enjoyed it, " said 
 Uncle Karl rather ruefully. " I had one like 
 it, and I did n't sleep a wink ; I was fairly 
 smothered." 
 
 The breakfast was like the supper, with the 
 addition of warm griddle-cakes and coffee, and 
 the omission of the cream shortcake, and be- 
 fore ten o'clock Old Charley was brought out, 
 and Uncle Karl and Barbara started for 
 home. They did not take a dish-pan dinner at 
 the Quinns', for Mrs. Blake had put up for 
 them a bountiful luncheon, which they ate in 
 the wagon, while Charley half -unharnessed 
 took his from a box, which the same good 
 hostess had provided. 
 
 "Wife," said Uncle Karl that evening 
 when they sat at the supper-table, " Barbara
 
 132 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 has had some lessons in table manners since 
 we left home; I expect she'll astonish the 
 down-easters, when she goes back, with her 
 expertness with the knife; we dined with 
 Farmer Quinn on our way." 
 
 " Now Uncle Karl ! " protested Barbara. 
 
 " Humph ! " said Aunt Betty with disgust. 
 " I never could bear to see pigs eat ! "
 
 CHAPTER XIH 
 
 IN A BLIZZARD 
 
 " WIFE," said Uncle Karl one morning at 
 the breakfast-table, laying down a letter he 
 had just read, " I shall have to go up to Mill- 
 town to settle that business after all ; I can't 
 put it off any longer." 
 
 " I knew you ought to go a long time ago," 
 said Aunt Betty. 
 
 " I know you did," said Uncle Karl 
 meekly ; " but I never seem to get time to do 
 it ; now I must." 
 
 Barbara listened eagerly ; Uncle Karl's go- 
 ing away was something she could not endure 
 the thought of ; now she broke in. 
 
 "Where is it you're going, Uncle Karl? 
 Let me go too ! " 
 
 " Why, girlie, I 'd love to take you if it 
 was summer; it's a pretty ride away up in the 
 hills about fifty miles off ; but now "
 
 134 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 " Oh, I 'm sure it will be nice now ! " urged 
 Barbara. " Do you go in a carriage ? " 
 
 " No ; in a stage. I 'm afraid," he added 
 doubtfully, "I'm afraid there may be some 
 snow left in the hills ; it hangs on there long 
 after the prairies are bare." 
 
 " That would n't make any difference," said 
 Barbara. " I love to take stage journeys. Do 
 let me go, Uncle Karl ! " 
 
 There was something in her tone that 
 warned Uncle Karl that she would n't be very 
 happy without him, for although she had got 
 over her first dread of Aunt Betty and her 
 ways, she never felt really at home in the 
 house ; her whole happiness was in the studio. 
 He felt that having taken her away from her 
 home he was bound to keep her well and con- 
 tented ; so he hesitated. 
 
 " I should think it a very f oolish trip for a 
 young girl to take," said Aunt Betty grimly ; 
 " but there 's no folly you two are n't capable of 
 committing. You 're about as much of a child 
 as she is," - nodding at her husband half 
 seriously as she rose to leave the room.
 
 IN A BLIZZARD 135 
 
 "I know," said Uncle Karl doubtfully; 
 "it may be very foolish " and he hesitated, 
 while, Aunt Betty having closed the door, 
 Barbara sprang up and threw her arms around 
 his neck. 
 
 " Please please, Uncle Karl ! " she cried 
 coaxingly. " You know I can't be left alone 
 here ! " 
 
 Uncle Karl could not resist longer. " Well, 
 girlie," he said, " if you '11 take the risk of a 
 hard trip though I hope it won't prove so 
 - why why The end of the sentence 
 was smothered in Barbara's eager kisses, and 
 so the matter was settled. 
 
 The next morning found the two travelers 
 waiting for the stage, which had been ordered 
 to call for them. The weather was still cold, 
 and Aunt Betty had insisted that if Barbara 
 would go, she should have wraps enough to 
 be comfortable. So, although Barbara pro- 
 tested almost to the point of tears, she was 
 forced to yield to her aunt's good sense, and 
 be clothed in the warmest things of her own, 
 with a few of her aunt's over them.
 
 136 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 Worst of all was a great hood which Aunt 
 Betty said positively she should not go with- 
 out, and Uncle Karl was obliged to agree with 
 her that the summer-like hats Barbara had 
 brought from home were no protection against 
 the sharp winds of Minnesota. 
 
 Hating it with all her heart, Barbara was 
 yet obliged to wear it, or give up the trip, as 
 Uncle Karl was, for once, firm against coax- 
 ing. So it was a very cross face that looked 
 away from Aunt Betty and wouldn't say 
 good-by, when the stage drove up to the 
 door. 
 
 This vehicle was the old-fashioned sort, 
 and the choice seat in fine weather is that 
 beside the driver, where all the country can 
 be seen, and there is plenty of fresh air. 
 This seat Uncle Karl had taken for Barbara 
 and himself. 
 
 " Uncle Karl," said Barbara, as she stood 
 by the wheel looking up at the seat so high 
 above her head, " I 'm afraid I can't climb up 
 to that seat," with all these people looking 
 on, she might have added, for if she had
 
 IN A BLIZZARD 137 
 
 been alone she would not have hesitated, but 
 taking such a climb before spectators rather 
 scared her. 
 
 "Would you rather go inside?" asked 
 Uncle Karl. 
 
 " Oh, no ; if I can get up there." 
 
 " What ! such a little climber as you used 
 to be ? " said Uncle Karl, laughing. " Don't 
 you see the steps? You put your first foot 
 here the next one there the driver will 
 give you a hand, and I '11 be here to catch 
 you if you fall." Barbara, seeing that he was 
 joking her, boldly put her foot where he had 
 showed her; seized the stout hand held down 
 to her; Uncle Karl gave her a lift; and the 
 next minute she dropped into the seat beside 
 the driver, breathless but happy. In a moment 
 Uncle Karl, who was rather stout, puffing 
 and blowing from the exertion of the climb, 
 took his seat beside her, and they were off. 
 
 " There, girlie ! is n't this fine ! " he said 
 as they passed out of the little town and struck 
 into the open country. 
 
 " Splendid ! " said Barbara, at once forget-
 
 138 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 ting the hateful hood. " I 'm so glad you got 
 these seats." 
 
 After two or three hours' pleasant riding 
 over the smooth prairie, it began to cloud up, 
 and Uncle Karl said, " It looks a little like 
 snow, does n't it, driver ? " 
 
 " It does that," said the driver, a little 
 anxiously, "and there's a plenty snow now 
 back in the hills. I had hard enough work 
 getting through yesterday." 
 
 " Well, perhaps it '11 hold off a while," said 
 Uncle Karl cheerfully. 
 
 " Maybe," said the driver. "Get up, Bill! " 
 
 But it didn't hold off; the clouds came 
 nearer, and in an hour or so it began to snow. 
 
 " I guess you better go inside, girlie," said 
 Uncle Karl. 
 
 " Oh, no ; a little snow won't hurt me," said 
 Barbara, " and I do love to see it snow ! " 
 
 " Humph ! " said the driver ; " you would n't 
 if you had to drive through the hills ahead 
 there!" 
 
 Faster and faster came the snow, and more 
 and more the driver urged his horses. Soon
 
 IN A BLIZZARD 139 
 
 Uncle Karl and Barbara were mounds of snow 
 and had to keep brushing it away from eyes 
 and mouth. 
 
 "How far is it to Swift's?" asked Uncle 
 Karl after a while. 
 
 "A mile or two yet," said the driver ; " but 
 I shan't stop there for dinner to-day. I must 
 get through before dark if I get through 
 at all," he added, muttering to himself. 
 
 When they reached Swift's, the usual dining- 
 place, the horses were changed and Uncle Karl 
 and Barbara got inside the coach. Dinner was 
 ready in the little inn, but the driver would n't 
 wait, so the passengers took what they coul<J 
 carry from the table and hurried back into the 
 stage, the driver being already in his seat and 
 calling them to hurry up. 
 
 "Now, girlie," said Uncle Karl, "what a 
 pity we haven't some of those nice lunch- 
 boxes along ! " 
 
 Barbara burst into a laugh, which was what 
 Uncle Karl wanted, for he thought she looked 
 anxious. 
 
 Soon they reached the hills, and found that
 
 140 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 the driver had not exaggerated. The side of 
 the track was piled high with snow, and the 
 fresh snow falling so fast made the roads very 
 heavy. 
 
 The horses first fell to a walk, then as it 
 grew worse and worse they floundered and 
 struggled, often stopped short and refused to 
 go on, till after a little rest the driver urged 
 them again. 
 
 " This looks pretty bad," said one of the 
 passengers on the back seat. " It 'minds me 
 of the time I got snowed-up 'way back in 
 Michigan in '49. There warn't no hills neither 
 but you couldn't see your hand before 
 you, and the horses no, mules they was 
 could n't keep the road." 
 
 " What did you do ? " asked another pas- 
 senger. 
 
 " Why, we just camped out in the sleigh," 
 said the first speaker. " The country was all 
 wild then and there warn't no houses anywhere 
 about." 
 
 " I should 'a' thought you 'd 'a' froze," said 
 the other.
 
 IN A BLIZZARD 141 
 
 " Oh, no ! we made ourselves dens in the 
 deep snow and did n't suffer much from cold 
 but we did nigh about starve for not a 
 thing could we get to eat. Jiminy ! did n't 
 supper taste good when we got to a farmhouse 
 after two days' hard work ! " 
 
 " Uncle Karl," whispered Barbara, "what '11 
 we do if we get stuck in the snow ? " 
 
 " Well," said Uncle Karl cheerfully, " we '11 
 hunt around and find some farmhouse where 
 we can stay." 
 
 " But if there is n't any farmhouse ? " per- 
 sisted Barbara. 
 
 " Well" he hesitated " then we '11 camp 
 out in the stage, and think about the lunch- 
 boxes we did n't bring along." 
 
 Barbara laughed. 
 
 " And if worst comes to worst why, we 
 need n't really starve we can eat one of the 
 horses." 
 
 " Oh, Uncle Karl ! " cried Barbara, " how 
 dreadful ! " 
 
 " Why so? " asked Uncle Karl half seriously. 
 " We eat cows why not horses ? But I don't
 
 142 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 think we '11 come to that," he added, just as 
 the driver came to the door. 
 
 "I'm plum stuck here," he said gruffly. 
 " My cattle can't go a step further. I think 
 Joe Jansen's cabin is down the road a piece. 
 You can go down there and take what you 
 can get I guess not very much, though - 
 or you can stick by the coach as I shall 
 till it moderates, or they send help from the 
 barn." 
 
 " What is the prospect for that ? " asked 
 Uncle Karl. 
 
 "Well, to be honest," said the driver, "I 
 don't suppose they '11 worry about us till 
 morning, and they could n't possibly get to 
 us with all the help and horses they can get 
 -before noon to-morrow. I think your lit- 
 tle gal," looking at Barbara's staring eyes, 
 " would be better off if you could get to Joe's. 
 He's a decent fellow enough, and he has a 
 decent wife, I believe and soon 's the road 's 
 open you could take the next stage through." 
 
 " How far is it to Joe's ? " asked Uncle 
 Karl ; "and how shall we find it? "
 
 IN A PLIZZARD 143 
 
 "You go back on the road a piece 
 maybe half a mile," said the driver, "and when 
 you come to a road to the right though I 
 do' know 's you can see any road now," he 
 interrupted himself " anyway if you do 
 find it, maybe you'll see Joe's tracks; he 
 mostly goes to the tavern back there every day. 
 His cabin is down that road a little maybe 
 you '11 see the light it 's getting dark now." 
 
 He went back to his horses, and the pas- 
 sengers began to discuss the question of start- 
 ing out in the storm to find Joe's, or sticking 
 to the coach, with the certainty of a cold, 
 hungry night. 
 
 " What do you say, girlie ? " asked Uncle 
 Karl at last. " Which would you rather do ? " 
 
 " Oh, let 's go for the cabin," she cried ea- 
 gerly. " I 'm tired to death of sitting still, and 
 I 'm sure I should be dead before morning." 
 
 Uncle Karl smiled. "It takes more than 
 sitting up all night to kill one," he said; "but 
 I do believe it 's our best chance to go for 
 the cabin. At any rate, if we don't find it we 
 can come back."
 
 144 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 Three of the passengers agreed with Uncle 
 Karl, and at last they set off in a party - 
 two men and one woman, with Uncle Karl 
 and Barbara. 
 
 First, however, Uncle Karl looked at Bar- 
 bara's light traveling boots, for Aunt Betty 
 had not thought of their being obliged to 
 walk, and then without a word he got his 
 valise out of the back of the coach, opened it, 
 took out a pair of woolen socks, and in spite 
 of Barbara's protest that her feet were not 
 cold, and she could walk very well with her 
 shoes he insisted on drawing them on over 
 her shoes. Then they all started off.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE FRIENDLY LOG CABIN 
 
 THEIR first plunge into the snow showed 
 them the difficulty the poor horses had to 
 drag them even so far as this. The snow was 
 very deep and dry, almost like flour, so 
 that it was very hard to get through it. 
 
 After struggling along what seemed a half- 
 mile, they began to look for a road, but the 
 air was full of snow and it was getting dark. 
 Never would they have found it if Barbara 
 had not seen a faint light. Hanging on her 
 uncle's arm, she was not obliged to pick her 
 way as the rest were, and so she was the first 
 to see the light, away off to the right. 
 
 " Oh, Uncle Karl ! " she cried joyfully, 
 "there's a light!" 
 
 With fresh courage the little party turned 
 towards the welcome sign, and struggled on. 
 They could find no road, but they fought their 
 way inch by inch, often falling into drifts,
 
 146 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 again coming against fences or rocks, or some- 
 thing which they had to go around. But at 
 last, when it seemed as if they couldn't go 
 half a dozen steps farther, they came near 
 enough to see that their beacon light was in 
 the window of a low house. Feeling along 
 the wall till he came to a door, Uncle Karl 
 knocked. 
 
 " Who 's there ? " called a woman's voice. 
 
 " A party of travelers from the stage ; let 
 us in, please," answered Uncle Karl. 
 
 "I don't keep no tavern," said the voice. 
 
 " Oh, for God's sake, woman, let us in ! " 
 cried one of the men. " Here 's women and chil- 
 dren suffering out here in this storm." 
 
 " Oh, do ! " sobbed the woman, who was 
 nearly exhausted. 
 
 At that the lock was undone and the door 
 opened. A thin-faced, hungry-looking woman 
 stood there. 
 
 " If there 's women and children," she said 
 anxiously, "I can't refuse but my husband 
 has n't got back, and I 'm worried about him 
 and I can't let in a lot of strange men."
 
 A FRIENDLY LOG CABIN 147 
 
 " Certainly you could n't," said Uncle Karl, 
 in his pleasant manner, which seemed to reas- 
 sure her at once. " But you see the stage is 
 stuck, up on the hills, and we had to stay 
 there all night, or beg your hospitality." 
 
 "Oh, come right in," said the woman, 
 catching sight of Barbara and the woman out- 
 side. " It 's little enough I can do for you 
 but at least it 's better than out in the snow." 
 
 It was a dismal little log cabin of one room 
 into which they went. A very small fire burned 
 on the hearth ; a bed stood on one side ; a 
 table and two chairs on the other, and that 
 was almost all the place contained. Barbara 
 looked around in dismay. " Oh, Uncle Karl ," 
 she whispered, " we can't stay here ! " 
 
 " We can be very thankful, my dear," he 
 said quietly, " to have a roof over our heads, 
 and not be lying out in the snow to freeze, or 
 to sleep ourselves to death before morning. 
 And I 'm sure," he went on gently, " my girlie 
 is too sensible to be silly over the discomforts 
 of one night." 
 
 This was the most like a reproof that Uncle
 
 148 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 Karl had ever given to Barbara, and it made 
 her see how childish she had been. She 
 squeezed his hand affectionately by way of 
 saying she was sorry, and said no more. 
 
 Meanwhile the party grouped itself around 
 the fire, which the woman replenished with a 
 stick or two, and then she returned to her watch 
 at the window, for she was plainly very anxious. 
 Uncle Karl noticed this, and said quietly : 
 
 " As soon as we thaw out a little, madam, 
 we '11 go out and look for your husband." 
 
 " Oh, if you would ! " she cried. " He never 
 stayed so late before ! I 'm nearly crazy. I 
 wish I had more chairs to offer you," she 
 went on, seeing their dilemma, " but you 
 must do the best you can." 
 
 " Well, ma'am," said one of the men, " we'll 
 leave the chairs to the ladies, and sit on the 
 floor if you '11 let us ; " and without waiting 
 for her consent he dropped on the floor as if 
 he had sat on floors all his life. The other man 
 followed, and the woman took a chair, leaving 
 the other chair for Uncle Karl and Barbara. 
 
 As soon as they were warm, Uncle Karl
 
 A FRIENDLY LOG CABIN 149 
 
 asked the woman Mrs. Jansen if she had 
 a lantern, and on her getting one and lighting 
 the lamp inside he said : 
 
 " Now, men, shall we go out and look up our 
 host?" 
 
 Both men rose, and taking the lantern 
 Uncle Karl started ahead, first turning to 
 Barbara, who stared at him in horror of 
 his leaving her, and whispered : 
 
 " Now, girlie, show yourself the brave little 
 girl you are. Stay here and see that the light 
 is kept bright in the window, and all will be 
 well ; " and turning he left with the men. 
 
 " Oh ! " cried the anxious woman, turning to 
 Barbara, " how kind your father is !" 
 
 "My uncle," interrupted Barbara. 
 
 " Well, whatever he is," said Mrs. Jansen 
 warmly, " he 's an angel I '11 say that ! " 
 
 " Yes, he is ! " assented Barbara, " the best 
 man in the world." 
 
 "I believe you," said Mrs. Jansen. 
 
 Meanwhile the men were struggling towards 
 the road, keeping the window in sight, and 
 waving their lantern and shouting as they went.
 
 150 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 Not fifty feet from the house Uncle Karl 
 stumbled over something, which, as he rose, he 
 saw to his horror was a man, apparently asleep. 
 
 "Here, men ! " he called, "here he is 
 we must carry him in." 
 
 The two men took hold of the unconscious 
 figure, and Uncle Karl went ahead with the 
 lantern to show the path, and in ten minutes 
 they were back in the cabin and laid their bur- 
 den on the bed. 
 
 The woman was nearly wild, for she thought 
 he was dead ; but the men, used to the cold of 
 that country, soon found that he was only 
 stupefied. "Though, if we hadn't found 
 him," said one, " he would never have stirred 
 again." 
 
 " Oh," cried the wife, wringing her hands, 
 " what can I ever do for you ! You have saved 
 his life and he 's all I have in the world." 
 
 "Well," said Uncle Karl, "he is saved, 
 and the best you can do for us is to give us 
 something to eat if you can. We have had no 
 dinner to speak of and anything will be 
 welcome." The others joined in the request.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 ONLY POTATOES TO EAT 
 
 AT this request Mrs. Jansen at first looked 
 embarrassed, but in a moment she spoke. 
 
 " I '11 do the best I can for you, but to tell 
 the truth we have almost nothing ourselves. 
 Joe went to-day to get something I suppose 
 you did n't see anything when you found him," 
 she added anxiously. 
 
 " His coat pocket seems to have something 
 in it," said one of the men who had been work- 
 ing over him. Eagerly the woman searched his 
 pockets and found a small package of meal. 
 
 She seized the package with an air of relief 
 and hurried to the fireplace, where she hung 
 a kettle over the fire and half filled it with 
 water. As soon as it was hot she opened the 
 package of meal and began to sprinkle it 
 into the water. 
 
 Barbara watched her with deep interest as 
 she added salt and stirred and beat the boil-
 
 152 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 ing mass, which began to send out a delicious 
 odor. 
 
 After a while she said it was done, and lift- 
 ing off the kettle she set it on the hearth to 
 cool. Then going to a shelf at the back of 
 the cabin she brought out two bowls, and 
 two cups and saucers, with only two spoons, 
 however. This was scanty allowance for six 
 people, but, as they were thankful for any- 
 thing, nothing was said. 
 
 With a tin dipper she ladled out the smok- 
 ing mush into the dishes she had brought, 
 and, setting them on the table, asked her 
 guests to help themselves, saying, " I guess 
 you '11 have to take turns with the spoons 
 it 's all I have." 
 
 Uncle Karl, who seemed naturally to be 
 speaker and actor for the party, gave the 
 spoons to the woman passenger and Mrs. 
 Jansen, who at first would not take it, till he 
 insisted, saying that he should make spoons 
 for the rest. He then took from his pocket 
 a small package of letters, opened one that 
 had a clean sheet inside, and with a deft twist
 
 ONLY POTATOES TO EAT 153 
 
 of his handy fingers made a neat little scoop, 
 which he handed to Barbara with a merry 
 twinkle in his eye. 
 
 "Now, girlie," he said, "see how well you 
 can eat with a scoop." 
 
 With a laugh Barbara tried it, and found 
 it worked very well. Meanwhile Uncle Karl 
 had made two more which he offered to the 
 two passengers. Soon they had all filled them- 
 selves with the welcome food, and began to 
 think of sleep. 
 
 Arrangements for the night were soon 
 made ; the men lay down on the floor before 
 the fire, while the woman passenger and Bar- 
 bara lay on the bed. Uncle Karl sat on the 
 floor beside Barbara and laid his head against 
 the bed close to her, for she couldn't bear to 
 have him away. 
 
 The master of the house, who had now 
 recovered, sat up in a chair, tilting it back 
 on two legs against the wall, while the mis- 
 tress, taking the business of keeping the fire 
 going, sat up in the other chair. 
 
 Thus they passed the night, and woke in
 
 154 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 the morning to find the little log cabin almost 
 huried in drifts of snow, and the storm still 
 raging. 
 
 The situation was now gloomy enough : 
 there was nothing to eat; and it was impos- 
 sible to get anywhere without the probability 
 of perishing on the way. Joe and his wife had 
 a whispered consultation outside the door, and 
 then Joe came forward and said : 
 
 "Friends, the last thing and the only 
 thing I have on earth that you can eat, is 
 a bushel of potatoes buried out behind the 
 house. I was keeping them for seed next 
 spring," he went on, " but but " he 
 hesitated. 
 
 Uncle Karl broke in heartily. " Let us have 
 the potatoes ! We '11 see that you have all 
 the seed potatoes you want. Of course," look- 
 ing around at the men, " you have saved our 
 lives, I feel sure, and we shall all pay you 
 according to our ability. That so ? " turning 
 to the others. 
 
 There was a cheerful chorus, " Of course 
 we will."
 
 ONLY POTATOES TO EAT 155 
 
 " We '11 pay board right along," said one, 
 at once searching his pockets for money, of 
 which he drew out a handful. " This was n't 
 much use to starving and freezing people last 
 night, but it'll come in handy for seed pota- 
 toes in the spring." 
 
 Now a more cheerful air pervaded the room ; 
 the prospect of potatoes was heartening. 
 
 Taking a shovel, Joe started out to open his 
 hoard of potatoes. The two men followed, 
 and taking turns at the frozen earth, they suc- 
 ceeded at last in reaching the store, which 
 they brought into the house to keep it from 
 freezing. 
 
 Potatoes ! Barbara had always despised this 
 humble vegetable, never touched one when 
 she could help it, and never unless it had 
 plenty of butter or cream ; but nothing ever 
 tasted so good to her as these potatoes roasted 
 in the ashes before the fire, and eaten from 
 their own skins with nothing but salt on 
 them. 
 
 While the storm raged the little party in 
 the log cabin passed their time in roasting
 
 potatoes, keeping up a good fire, and taking 
 turns at keeping a way open to the main road 
 where they could see when a stage got there. 
 
 It was the second morning that the sun 
 came out clear and bright, and the prisoners 
 in the cabin began to take hope, and to won- 
 der what had become of the stage and its 
 passengers. The two men, with Joe for guide, 
 decided to make their way back to Swift's 
 tavern to take the first stage that went 
 through, and Joe promised to bring provisions 
 to make his three guests more comfortable till 
 the stage road was fully open. 
 
 So it came to pass that Uncle Karl and 
 Barbara stayed three or four day sin that little 
 log cabin in the hills. After Joe came back 
 with other things to eat besides potatoes, with 
 tin plates and spoons enough to go around, so 
 that they could have meals in a little more 
 civilized way, they cheered up and grew very 
 sociable. 
 
 Joe brought in some boxes for seats, and 
 they amused themselves telling stories, guess- 
 ing conundrums, of which Uncle Karl knew
 
 ONLY POTATOES TO EAT 157 
 
 dozens, and could make them up besides, and 
 above all, looking at the pictures which Uncle 
 Karl's ever-ready hand drew all over the walls 
 of the cabin, with bits of charcoal from the fire. 
 
 On the fifth day, soon after noon, the wel- 
 come sound of the stage horn called them to 
 the main road, where that vehicle, with six 
 horses and its familiar driver, was waiting for 
 them. 
 
 Uncle Karl, having given Mrs. Jansen a 
 goodly roll of bills, and thanked her heartily 
 besides, started off after Barbara, when the 
 woman's voice recalled him. 
 
 " Come again ! Come again ! I shall miss 
 you awfully." 
 
 The six fresh horses drew them quickly and 
 safely to the town of Milltown, where Uncle 
 Karl took rooms at the little country tavern, 
 transacted his business, and made ready to take 
 the stage the next morning for home. 
 
 They found Aunt Betty a good deal worried 
 by their long absence, and the reports that had 
 reached her of the storm in the hills. But 
 Uncle Karl assured her that they had a jolly
 
 158 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 time, and Barbara declared she was awfully 
 glad she had gone, adding repentantly, " And 
 the hood was comfortable, Aunt Betty." 
 
 " Humph ! " said Aunt Betty, " young folks 
 sometimes find out that old folks do know 
 something."
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 BARBARA'S BIRTHDAY 
 
 BARBARA had now been several months at 
 Uncle Karl's and had learned to accustom her- 
 self to the household ways of her aunt. She 
 could make a bed as neatly as Mary herself, 
 and she had trained herself to keep her own 
 things in the house always in order never 
 to leave anything around, and above all to 
 wage constant war upon the flies. Now being 
 winter, however, those persistent little crea- 
 tures had lived out their troublesome short 
 lives and disappeared, so that more light 
 was allowed in the house, though the blessed 
 sun was as carefully shut out as ever, lest his 
 too warm rays should fade the carpets and 
 curtains. 
 
 Living so much in the studio, Barbara 
 found it easy to do as Aunt Betty wished in 
 the house, and, finding her so docile, her aunt 
 had come to be very fond of her, a regard
 
 160 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 which was mutual, for Aunt Betty, in spite 
 of her strenuous housekeeping, was really 
 a kind-hearted woman with many admirable 
 qualities. 
 
 Soon after the adventure in the snow Bar- 
 bara's birthday came on. She had not men- 
 tioned it, for she did not want to seem to ask 
 for anything. They might not have remem- 
 bered it, but about a week before that day 
 Uncle Karl had received a package by express 
 from home to be given to Barbara on her 
 birthday. 
 
 He said nothing to Barbara about it, but 
 went quietly to work to honor the day. Bar- 
 bara saw that some mystery was on foot, for 
 Uncle Karl, who was open as the day and 
 never had any secrets to keep, was so myste- 
 rious and so full of glee over something that 
 she couldn't help noticing it. 
 
 Also on two evenings when she had gone to 
 her room to go to bed, she had noticed a light 
 in the studio much later than usual, and she 
 wondered, and was a little bit hurt that Uncle 
 Karl did not tell her what he was doing.
 
 BARBARA'S BIRTHDAY 161 
 
 At last the morning dawned, and Barbara's 
 first thought as she woke was that she was a 
 year older than yesterday, and with the new 
 dignity of fifteen upon her she went down to 
 breakfast. 
 
 But what was that standing beside her 
 plate? A small figure in clay a model of 
 the bear of the sugar camp standing up like 
 a man and waving his arms frantically about 
 his head. The resemblance was perfect ; Bar- 
 bara recognized it at once, and guessed also in 
 the same instant what had been the mystery 
 with Uncle Karl. 
 
 Upon the neck of that dear uncle Barbara 
 threw herself, kissing him and calling him 
 the dearest uncle in the world, laughing, and 
 to her surprise finding a few tears in her 
 eyes. 
 
 Tears ; not because she was unhappy 
 far from it ; but the thought of the birthday 
 brought up the memory of home and the dear 
 ones, and though not homesick well, per- 
 haps you know how it is yourself ! 
 
 After a few happy tears, Barbara seated her-
 
 162 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 self at the table, laughing every time she 
 looked at the little bear. 
 
 When breakfast was over, and Barbara had 
 put her room in the order that Aunt Betty 
 loved, she went to the studio as usual, hugging 
 her bear in her arms, intending to put him on 
 her little table where she could see him all 
 day. But she found her table occupied, a 
 package, tightly tied, with glaring express 
 labels on it. 
 
 "From home!" cried Barbara joyfully. 
 " Oh, Uncle Karl ! " turning to her dear uncle, 
 as she always did, in joy or sorrow. "When 
 did it come?" 
 
 " A few days ago, girlie," he said. 
 
 " And that 's what made you so queer ! " 
 said she. 
 
 "Yes; I never could keep a secret," said 
 Uncle Karl, " especially a pleasant one. Shall 
 I cut the string?" 
 
 " Yes, please," said Barbara, placing her 
 bear tenderly on the window-sill. 
 
 When the string was cut and the wrappings 
 taken off, there appeared a box on top of
 
 BARBARA'S BIRTHDAY 163 
 
 which lay a card with " Many happy returns " 
 painted on it in gay colors. 
 
 Hastily Barbara lifted the cover ; the box 
 appeared full of packages, each tied up with rib- 
 bon and bearing a card. She took up a pack- 
 age and read the card, " From your loving 
 friend May." 
 
 "Oh, that's from May," cried Barbara ex- 
 citedly. " I wonder what it is ? " She hastily 
 removed the wrapping and brought to light a 
 dainty embroidered silk bag and a loving note 
 which she laid aside to read later. 
 
 Next came another package, a little larger, 
 with the card of another school friend, and 
 another note. So it went on ; the box was 
 filled with gifts from school friends and from 
 home each with a note or letter. As she 
 got farther down in the box she found books 
 and bigger things, and when the last article 
 was opened the table and her chair were full 
 and running over, with books and many pretty 
 things, and Barbara sank into a chair, very 
 still. 
 
 She had begun very lively and gay, but as
 
 164 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 the loving messages multiplied they brought 
 home and dear friends so strongly before her 
 that she found herself though very happy 
 very quiet. 
 
 Uncle Karl understood; he always did un- 
 derstand, that was what made him so dear. 
 He broke in cheerfully : 
 
 "Now, girlie, what, a time you'll have 
 answering all these letters ! Want me to help 
 you?" 
 
 " Yes," said Barbara, brightening up, for 
 Uncle Karl's horror of letter-writing was well 
 known. He would paint you a picture or make 
 a sketch with delight the brush was his 
 right hand ; but the pen was a serious mat- 
 ter to him. Once long ago when Bar- 
 bara's mother was away from home and he 
 wanted to tell her of the death of a pet bird, 
 he took a card and sketched the whole story. 
 There on the floor lay the bird on its back 
 with legs in the air saying " dead " as plain as 
 words. One side stood Maggie, the fat cook, 
 with hands raised in horror. There was the 
 mother anxiously bending over the dead pet,
 
 BARBARA'S BIRTHDAY 165 
 
 and beside it, crouched on the floor and rain- 
 ing tears which flooded the carpet, was Cousin 
 Julia whose pet it was. The likenesses 
 were so good that they were recognized at 
 once and the whole story plain without a word. 
 At the bottom was only the date ; there was 
 no need of signature, no one but Uncle Karl 
 could do it. 
 
 Barbara remembered this story which her 
 mother had told her, and it brought a hearty 
 laugh which relieved the desire to cry. 
 
 Over her books, which Barbara now began 
 to look at, she was in raptures. Nothing could 
 please her so well as books ; she fairly hugged 
 them in her delight, reading their titles and 
 the gift inscriptions, filled very full of happi- 
 ness. 
 
 "Oh," she sighed at last, fairly weary with 
 delight, " Uncle Karl, how lovely people are ! 
 how I shall love these books ! And my dear 
 little bear, too ! he 's too cute for anything ! 
 It 's exactly like him, poor fellow ! I wonder 
 if he did get that horrid wax off before he 
 killed himself ! "
 
 166 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 " Oh, no doubt he did," said Uncle Karl. 
 " Wax is terribly sticky, but it does n't last 
 very long." 
 
 " Oh ! I hope he got safely off ! but was n't 
 he funny ! " And both had another good laugh 
 over his antics. 
 
 That was a happy day for Barbara, and it 
 was not yet over. When they went to supper 
 she found another surprise. This was Aunt 
 Betty's, a fine big birthday cake with fifteen 
 wax candles burning around the edge; and 
 Mary, not to be left out, presented a plate 
 piled up with molasses candies beautiful 
 white sticks that made one's mouth water to 
 look at, and of which Barbara was very fond.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE CHILDREN'S SYMPHONY 
 
 AFTER supper, when Barbara had cut her 
 birthday cake, and offered her candy to Aunt 
 Betty, who declined, she never ate sweets, 
 and to Uncle Karl, who was fond of them as 
 any schoolgirl, and helped her enjoy them, 
 about half-past seven o'clock Uncle Karl said : 
 
 " We 're invited out this evening." 
 
 "Why, where?" cried Barbara; for in this 
 little town social doings were almost unknown. 
 
 "To the house of Mr. Wallace, a Danish 
 gentleman who has not been here very long, 
 but is a charming old gentleman with snow- 
 white hair and beautiful face. He always re- 
 minds me of his great countryman, Hans An- 
 dersen though he does n't look at all like the 
 pictures of the famous story-teller." 
 
 " If he can tell stories like Hans Andersen," 
 said Barbara with enthusiasm, "I shall like 
 him ; I love those stories ! "
 
 168 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 " So do I, girlie ! " said Uncle Karl warmly. 
 
 " Shall I change my dress, Aunt Betty ? " 
 asked Barbara, hesitating. " Had n't I better 
 put on my blue merino ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, " said Aunt Betty. " It is n't a 
 formal affair ; your dress is all right." 
 
 "Won't you go too, wife?" asked Uncle 
 Karl. 
 
 " No ; I have some sewing I want to do," 
 said Aunt Betty. 
 
 They were soon off, and five minutes' walk 
 brought them to the house of Mr. Wallace. 
 It was not a large house, and there were not 
 many guests, perhaps a dozen of the neigh- 
 bors, but the orchestra was a rather large one 
 for the place, and their instruments were 
 some of them very droll. 
 
 Of the usual sort of instruments there were 
 a piano, three violins, and a violoncello. These 
 were played by grown-ups. But besides these 
 there were ten or twelve toy instruments in 
 the hands of younger players children, in 
 fact. 
 
 Some of these youngsters had small tin
 
 THE CHILDREN'S SYMPHONY 169 
 
 horns, such as boys nowadays delight to tor- 
 ture the air with ; fifes there were, triangles 
 and tambourines, and, to the delight of the small 
 boy behind it, a drum with real drumsticks 
 which he fairly ached to use. Besides these 
 there was a " cuckoo toy," which shouted that 
 word as enthusiastically as a brand-new cuckoo 
 clock, a loud rattle in the hands of a stout 
 youngster who looked quite equal to deafen- 
 ing the audience with it, and lastly a glass 
 bird-call, which, on being half filled with water 
 and well blown, can be made to imitate bird 
 notes very well. 
 
 Barbara was invited to take an instrument, 
 but as she had n't practiced with the " band " 
 and had no idea what they were going to do, 
 she preferred to listen; but Uncle Karl ac- 
 cepted the responsibility of the "cuckoo," and 
 entered into the spirit of the thing like a boy. 
 
 When all was ready the host rose, his tall, 
 graceful figure clad in black velvet, which was 
 more grand than had ever been seen in that 
 little Western town, and began in his brokeu 
 English, and with the enthusiasm of the ro-
 
 170 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA* 
 
 mance-loving Dane to explain the " Kinder 
 Symphonic," or in English " Children's Sym- 
 phony." 
 
 He said : " My friends, in going to hear a 
 grand symphony you generally have some 
 printed programme telling what is meant by 
 the music, what every movement tries to say 
 to you ; and perhaps you may think it a little 
 profane to have such a solemn and grand thing 
 as a symphony performed on toy instruments. 
 But it is not so ; the children, as well as we, 
 have a world of their own, a world of fairy 
 tales and plays, of Christmas festivals and toys, 
 and it is fitting that this child-world should 
 be represented in music. 
 
 " Now in this which we shall give, you will 
 find a child's story. We do not know what 
 the author had in mind when he wrote it, but 
 let us see what it says to us, and let us begin 
 in the good old-fashioned way: 
 
 " Once upon a time there was a contention 
 between the Rattle and the Nightingale as to 
 which could make the most noise. All the 
 birds and animals had something to say about
 
 THE CHILDREN'S SYMPHONY 171 
 
 it, and the discussion grew louder and louder, 
 till all was confusion and noise, and nobody 
 could be heard. This you will hear in the 
 music. 
 
 " Despairing of coming to any decision, they 
 decided to go to Leo, the king of beasts ; so 
 they started on a lively march which may re- 
 present this walk through the forest. 
 
 " Leo is very cross and growly and does n't 
 like to be disturbed, and when the case is laid 
 before him he does n't know what to say, so 
 he, like many other tyrants, to get rid of 
 bother, says gruffly : 'Let the Rattle and the 
 Nightingale both be hanged.' Then every- 
 thing is sad; a great wail arises and sweeps 
 all through the forest ; and this too you shall 
 hear in the music. 
 
 " But after a while they resolve to try to 
 coax Leo ; so they all put on their most fas- 
 cinating manners, and go dancing and tip- 
 toeing through the woods which you will 
 hear in the dancing, light-tripping air. 
 
 " They come to Leo and they coax him ; 
 they sing their sweetest and look their pretti-
 
 172 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 est, and so finally Leo gets softened and con- 
 signs the Rattle to a very warm place, and 
 places him in the tail of a serpent who is 
 henceforth called the rattlesnake ; while the 
 Nightingale goes up North and delights all 
 the world with his song. 
 
 " Now listen and see if you do not hear all 
 this in the music." 
 
 He then turned to his orchestra, waving 
 his baton, and they began. 
 
 Such queer sounds ! the harsh Rattle and 
 the sweet Nightingale high above all ; the 
 roar of the lion (the rolling drum) ; the 
 screaming of the fifes ; and now and then the 
 calm " Cuckoo ! Cuckoo ! " louder than all. 
 
 Such a funny medley as it was, and the per- 
 formers funnier still ! Such frantic efforts of 
 the small players each to have his part heard ; 
 such cheeks puffed out over the horns ; such 
 mad shaking of the tambourine and beating of 
 triangles ! and louder and more savage than 
 all, the terrific clatter of the Rattle into 
 which broke often and loud the droll call 
 " Cuckoo ! Cuckoo ! " But not all the crash-
 
 THE CHILDREN'S SYMPHONY 173 
 
 ing and banging could drown the sweet notes 
 of the bird-call rising high above everything. 
 
 The small but appreciative audience laughed 
 till they were tired, but they could see that the 
 music had really told the story they had heard. 
 
 After shaking hands warmly with the grand 
 old Dane and thanking him heartily for the 
 pleasure he had given them, Uncle Karl and 
 Barbara went home ; and so ended a very 
 happy birthday.
 
 CHAPTER XVin 
 
 CONFIDENCES 
 
 BARBARA was very happy in her life in the 
 studio, and after she had learned to appreciate 
 and like Aunt Betty, nothing seemed wanting 
 to her perfect content. 
 
 But back of all this was memory ; the re- 
 collection of her unhappy home, of Janet's 
 exasperating ways, and her own mother's pre- 
 ference for Janet. Little things Janet had said 
 and done would come back to her, and dread 
 of going all over it again checked the long- 
 ing she often felt for home and friends. 
 
 When she was not with Uncle Karl she 
 would often brood over this trouble, and some- 
 times even in the studio, when Uncle Karl was 
 absorbed in his work, she would fall into a 
 reverie, and Uncle Karl looking up suddenly 
 would see her sitting silent, doing nothing, 
 staring straight ahead with musing eyes, ap- 
 parently oblivious to everything around her.
 
 CONFIDENCES 175 
 
 This troubled him greatly, and he longed to 
 help her someway. 
 
 Not far from the house was a piece of 
 woods, the heart's delight of Barbara, who, 
 as soon as the weather grew at all springlike, 
 spent many hours there. Uncle Karl who 
 was as fond of it as Barbara had made a 
 rustic seat just big enough for two, between 
 two fine old trees, hemmed in by so many 
 others that it was almost as hidden from sight 
 as though it were enclosed by walls. 
 
 To this delightful spot Barbara loved to 
 take a favorite book and spend hours reading 
 and enjoying the sweet freshness of the woods 
 at the same time. Here too Uncle Karl liked 
 to come when he was not too busy in the 
 studio, and when he did so Barbara's hap- 
 piness was perfect. 
 
 " Oh, Uncle Karl ! " said she warmly, one 
 day when they were enjoying their retreat to- 
 gether. " How I love this beautiful place ! " 
 
 Uncle Karl looked at her sharply. " Girlie," 
 he said suddenly, " I have often wondered why 
 you are happier here in this little backwoods
 
 176 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 place with no companion but your stupid old 
 uncle than you are at home surrounded by 
 friends of your own age, and the beloved 
 only daughter of the house." 
 
 Barbara was silent, but on her bright face 
 fell the shadow Uncle Karl had seen on it at 
 home. 
 
 " Won't you tell me, girlie ? " he said ten- 
 derly. " I 'm a good deal older than you, and 
 perhaps I could help you. You know you are 
 the only daughter of my heart; dearie, tell 
 me the truth." 
 
 Barbara hesitated, and sudden tears filled 
 her eyes. It was hard for her to speak of her 
 secret grief, but Uncle Karl was well, he 
 was Uncle Karl, and no more need be said. 
 
 " It was n't altogether that miserable school 
 affair that made you sick, girlie," he went on 
 gently ; " there was something back of that, 
 I 'm sure. I saw it in your face ; I see it now 
 when I speak of your home. It's a serious 
 trouble ; let me help you." 
 
 Barbara suddenly burst into tears, with 
 heavy sobs that made it impossible to speak,
 
 CONFIDENCES 177 
 
 while Uncle Karl gently stroked her hair and 
 said soothingly: 
 
 "There there girlie! don't cry so 
 you wring my heart." 
 
 Soon as she could speak, it all came out in 
 one burst : " My mother does n't love me 
 nobody does they all love Janet they be- 
 lieve her and they don't believe me. Uncle 
 Karl, I want to stay with you always ! " 
 
 " Girlie girlie," cried Uncle Karl in hor- 
 ror, " you 're all wrong ! What has made you 
 think so ! Your mother loves you above every- 
 thing on earth ; I know it !" 
 
 " Oh, no," sobbed Barbara, " you don't 
 know." 
 
 By close questioning Uncle Karl got the 
 whole story; all the little things over which 
 Barbara had brooded till they made the world 
 black to her, and he understood, for he knew 
 his gentle, peace-loving sister Barbara's 
 mother well enough to see how, in her 
 anxiety to make the widow and orphan happy, 
 she had not thought how it would appear to 
 her daughter.
 
 178 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 Though not more than half convinced by 
 Uncle Karl's warm defense of her mother, 
 Barbara was somehow comforted. 
 
 That night, after she was in bed, Uncle 
 Karl wrote a long letter to Barbara's mother, 
 not a picture letter as usual, but a true account 
 of what was in Barbara's heart, that had made 
 her so unhappy, and had so grieved her mother 
 when she was at home. 
 
 Barbara's mother was much shocked, but 
 she could not realize Barbara's depth of feel- 
 ing, and there before her was Janet's mother, 
 with her sad face, always speaking of her fa- 
 therless child and looking sharply for slights to 
 her ; so that it was impossible for one of her 
 peace-loving temperament to make a sudden 
 change. But she thought of it constantly, and 
 gradually plans were made to provide another 
 home for the aunt and cousin whose presence 
 had so unhappy an effect on her own daughter. 
 
 The arrangements were made, but could 
 not be carried out until the fall, and there 
 would be a few more months of Janet to en- 
 dure, for Barbara must go home in the spring.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 BARBARA HIRES OUT 
 
 IN the spring, therefore, Barbara went home, 
 quite well and strong, and happy to get back, 
 for, although she loved Uncle Karl best of 
 everybody in the world, she did love her par- 
 ents and her young friends. 
 
 She had passed a very profitable winter, 
 having improved a good deal in her drawing, 
 and progressed wonderfully in her studies, 
 under the careful instruction of her devoted 
 uncle, who gave most of his evenings to this 
 labor of love. 
 
 But she found that during her absence 
 Janet had more and more absorbed the atten- 
 tions of her mother, and she seemed now even 
 to take Barbara's place in the house. It was 
 intolerable to Barbara, and she felt that she 
 could not endure it. Her journey and her long 
 absence from home had given her a little 
 more confidence in herself, and she began to
 
 180 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 look cautiously about for some way of escape 
 from the daily annoyance of Janet's presence. 
 
 At last she made up her mind to hire her- 
 self out as a child's nurse. 
 
 She considered many plans before she came 
 to this decision. At first she planned to run 
 away to another town and support herself by 
 writing ; but, having secretly made a few 
 attempts and found that nobody wanted her 
 work, quite unlike the story books in which 
 the young writer is generally welcomed with 
 effusion and asked for more, she had the 
 sense to see that she might starve before she 
 succeeded in earning her living. 
 
 Nothing that she could think of was feas- 
 ible except the one plan of going out as a 
 servant, and so wretched had she become in 
 her home that at last she resolved to do it. 
 
 Learning that a new family at the farther 
 end of the town was looking for a girl to take 
 care of a child, she made up her mind to 
 begin with them. So one morning, telling her 
 mother she was going to see Ellen Harbeck 
 an intimate friend she started out.
 
 BARBARA HIRES OUT 181 
 
 "I shall never see my home again," was 
 the bitter thought that filled her heart as she 
 closed the door behind her. " Nor that hate- 
 ful Janet ! " was the next thought, that turned 
 her mood from sorrow to anger. " Now they 
 can do everything for her; I shall never 
 trouble them again," and with these wretched 
 thoughts she hurried on. 
 
 She first went to her friend's house, for she 
 was a truthful girl ; but Ellen was not at 
 home, so she did not stay a minute, but passed 
 on. 
 
 When she reached the house of the stran- 
 gers she went boldly up to the kitchen door 
 and knocked. 
 
 A tired-looking woman with a two-year- 
 old child hanging to her skirts came to the 
 door. 
 
 " I heard," stammered Barbara, " that you 
 want to hire a nurse-girl." 
 
 " Indeed I do ! " said the lady eagerly ; " do 
 you know of any one I could get ? " 
 
 " Would you take me ? " asked Barbara. 
 
 " You? " said the lady, for she saw at once
 
 182 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 that Barbara was not the sort who usually 
 apply for situations. 
 
 " Yes," said Barbara shortly, turning as if 
 to go ; " but perhaps I would n't do ! " 
 
 " Wait ! " cried the lady. " I 'm sure you '11 
 do if you want the place; have you ever 
 worked out?" 
 
 " No," said Barbara shortly, wishing with 
 all her heart she had not come. 
 
 " But you Ve taken care of children, per- 
 haps," cried the lady, looking very sharply at 
 her. 
 
 " No," said Barbara, again turning away. 
 
 " Well don't be in such a hurry," said 
 the lady, who saw that this was an unusual 
 case, and wanted to understand it. " I '11 take 
 you on trial," she said hastily. " Come right 
 in." 
 
 Half inclined to take to her heels and run, 
 Barbara slowly followed her into the house. 
 
 " You see," said the lady, " I have not been 
 able to get help, and my baby here," turn- 
 ing to the fretting boy still clinging to her 
 and looking at Barbara with half-frightened
 
 BARBARA HIRES OUT 183 
 
 eyes, " my baby is getting his teeth and wants 
 a good deal of care. What I should want you 
 to do would be to amuse him and keep him 
 quiet and help me what you could when he is 
 asleep. I think you can do it, and anyway I '11 
 try you for a week. You can go right up the 
 back stairs and take off your things ; you '11 
 find your room at the head of the stairs." 
 
 Slowly Barbara climbed the narrow, steep 
 stairs to a little attic room over the kitchen. 
 It was low and small, with one half-window, 
 a cot, and a chair, a few hooks on the wall 
 and nothing else ; not even a strip of carpet 
 on the floor, nor a curtain to the window ; nei- 
 ther washstand nor table of any kind. She 
 stood amazed, for her mother had always fur- 
 nished her maid's quarters as comfortably as 
 any in the house. 
 
 A thought of her own dainty room gave her 
 a sharp pang ; its pretty blue carpet and cur- 
 tains, its dressing-table, its shelf for books ; 
 but another thought followed instantly 
 " They '11 give it to Janet now " which 
 hardened her heart again, and she went down.
 
 184 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 I cannot give the whole history of that day, 
 for Barbara could never recall it all. It is 
 enough to say that she coaxed the boy to go 
 into the yard with her, and succeeded in keep- 
 ing him tolerably still by the hardest work she 
 had ever known, and when at last worn out 
 he dropped asleep and she laid him on the 
 bed, almost ready to drop herself, she found 
 her new mistress ready with further tasks for 
 her. 
 
 There was a sink full of dishes to be washed, 
 the kitchen to be swept, and dinner to be got. 
 
 And when the lady had eaten her dinner 
 alone and told Barbara to sit down at the 
 mussed table, with its dirty dishes and cold 
 food, and eat her dinner, she had to swallow 
 very fast and brace herself with thoughts of 
 Janet, before she could do it, and even then 
 she could not eat. 
 
 The lady was watching her closely and noted 
 all this, but said nothing, and when she left 
 the table, told her to wash the dishes. 
 
 These tasks were most hateful to Barbara. 
 She had not dreamed of anything but taking
 
 BARBARA HIRES OUT 185 
 
 care of a child ; and all that long day they grew 
 more and more distasteful to her, and when- 
 ever she thought of that dismal attic room her 
 very soul revolted. At last towards night she 
 felt that she could not stand it any longer, and 
 got courage to say : 
 
 " I don't think I shall suit you, Mrs. Smith, 
 and I guess I '11 go." 
 
 But Mrs. Smith, though she did not really 
 expect to keep her, wanted to find out who 
 she was, and what was the reason of her run- 
 ning away from home, for she readily un- 
 derstood that such was the case, and would 
 not let her go. 
 
 When it grew dark Mr. Smith came home, 
 and he and his wife went into another room 
 and talked in low tones, and Barbara knew 
 they were talking about her ; and while she 
 walked the kitchen with the fretful child, try- 
 ing to get him to sleep, she caught now and 
 then a word which showed her that they 
 meant to find out who she was, and, she 
 thought probably, tell her family about her. 
 
 This belief was helped by the fact that Mr.
 
 186 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 Smith looked at her so sharply, and asked her 
 so many questions, and when she declared she 
 would give up the place, he would not con- 
 sent, but insisted upon her staying out the 
 week for which she had hired. When she 
 persisted, he even threatened that he could 
 have her arrested for " breach of contract." 
 
 Barbara did not know what that was, but 
 it sounded legal, and she began to be afraid 
 of the man and terrified at the position in 
 which she found herself. 
 
 As soon as the supper dishes were washed 
 and she could get away, she went up to the 
 little attic room and threw herself on the bed, 
 very tired from her hard day's work, but wide 
 awake to plan her escape; for she could not 
 stand it another minute, with that man hunt- 
 ing up her family and covering her with 
 shame. 
 
 Bitterly she regretted her wild adventure, 
 and thought if she could once get safely 
 home she would never never leave it 
 again. But how to get home without that 
 man finding out that was the puzzle now.
 
 BARBARA HIRES OUT 187 
 
 She heard them going about downstairs, 
 locking the doors, and at last all was quiet. 
 Now perhaps she could steal down and get 
 away; but it was a long way home, and she 
 was afraid to go alone at night, and besides, 
 her mother would think she had stayed all 
 night with Ellen, as she sometimes did, and 
 the house would be locked up, too. 
 
 So she determined to wait till morning 
 as soon as it was light and before they got 
 up. She dared not go to sleep for fear she 
 should not wake in time. Keeping awake was 
 even harder than the day's work had been, 
 but she got off the bed and sat on the hard 
 kitchen chair to keep herself from sleeping. 
 
 Never was a night so long, though she did 
 sleep a little even sitting up ; never was day- 
 light so slow in coming, and all through 
 those long hours, except the few minutes that 
 she dozed off, Barbara was thinking. 
 
 How foolish her own conduct seemed ! How 
 crazy the notion that she could carry out this 
 scheme! Of course her parents would hunt 
 her up, and she would be disgraced. How
 
 188 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 silly in that bitter hour looked her re- 
 sentment against Janet ! In a word, what a 
 fool she had been! If she could only get 
 safely away !
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE SECRET HIDING-PLACE 
 
 As soon as it was fairly light Barbara slipped 
 off her shoes and stole down the stairs. As 
 she feared, she found the kitchen door locked 
 and the key gone they had meant to keep 
 her ! But she had thought of that, and re- 
 membered that the windows were not very 
 high from the ground, and she had particu- 
 larly noticed that one was above a flower-bed 
 into which she dared drop. 
 
 Raising the window inch by inch with 
 greatest care to make no sound, Barbara at 
 last got it high enough to get up on the sill 
 and drop out. As she touched the ground 
 she remembered her shoes left on the floor, 
 but she could not get back, nor would such 
 a small thing as shoes tempt her to go into 
 that house again if she could. 
 
 She left the yard quietly, and then started 
 on a wild run through the still silent streets,
 
 fearing that she might be pursued, and look- 
 ing back every minute to see if Mr. Smith 
 were in sight. 
 
 After she had turned a corner she felt a 
 little safer, and then she realized that this 
 pace would arouse suspicion if any one met 
 her, and being without shoes would be still 
 more suspicious ; so she forced herself to walk. 
 
 She was niost disturbed by her stockings, 
 which, of course, in those days, were white, and, 
 in her short dress, very conspicuous. Then 
 she stopped and pulled them off. "They'll 
 think I always go barefooted," she thought ; 
 but the whiteness of her feet struck her, and 
 she was afraid that would be noticed. So the 
 first muddy place on the street that she came 
 to, she walked into it and soon reduced her feet 
 to a condition that she was sure would stamp 
 her as a regular barefoot. 
 
 She reached home breathless and very tired, 
 just as Bridget was opening the door; and, hid- 
 ing behind a lilac-bush till she had gone into 
 the woodshed for wood to start the fire, Barbara 
 first wiping her feet on the grass slipped
 
 THE SECRET HIDING-PLACE 191 
 
 quietly into the kitchen, up the back stairs, 
 and reached her own room without being seen. 
 
 Oh, what a relief she felt when after a 
 good bath to her feet she flung herself on to 
 her own little white bed and burst into tears 
 half happy and half still fearful, for she 
 was sure that man would try to find her and 
 arrest her as he had said. 
 
 At present, at any rate, she was safe, and 
 hastily undressing she went to bed. 
 
 At breakfast-time her mother came to the 
 door and opened it. 
 
 " Why, Barbara," she said, " I thought you 
 stayed with Ellen all night ; I did n't see you 
 come in." 
 
 " I was tired," said Barbara drowsily, " and 
 I came right up to bed," - thankful that she 
 did not have to explain. 
 
 " Well ; if you 're still sleepy," said her 
 mother, who noticed her tone, " you may lie 
 awhile ; I '11 save your breakfast for you." 
 
 " Thank you," said Barbara sleepily, turn- 
 ing over for a fresh nap. 
 
 It was late when at last she got up and
 
 192 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 went downstairs, but she had made her plan 
 to avoid that man. 
 
 The house Barbara lived in was an old-fash- 
 ioned one. Over the front door was a little 
 porch, and above it a roof. Now this roof 
 was at the end of the upstairs hall which ran 
 through the house, and long ago, when Bar- 
 bara was small, she had discovered that behind 
 a lounge which always stood across that end, 
 there was an opening into this porch roof. 
 The lounge was probably kept there for the 
 purpose of hiding the opening, which was, to 
 be sure, not very ornamental. 
 
 Without saying anything to any one, Bar- 
 bara in her silent ways had often slipped into 
 this place which no one seemed to know about. 
 It was not very light or she would have loved 
 to have it for a hiding-place in which to read 
 and not be discovered ; such a retreat as she 
 found in the haymow. But now it occurred 
 to her as a place where she could hide if that 
 man came to the house to find her. 
 
 So she went quietly to work to make it 
 habitable.
 
 THE SECRET HIDING-PLACE 193 
 
 Taking the time -when she knew her mother 
 and her aunt were busy in the back part of 
 the house, and Janet had gone to walk, Bar- 
 bara brushed out the little place, full of dust 
 and spider webs, as well as she could, and 
 carried a strip of old carpet from the attic 
 to lie on for it was too low to sit up in a 
 chair. 
 
 She then went to her father's tool box and 
 got a gimlet, with which she bored a hole 
 through the floor of her den so that she could 
 look into the porch below and see any one who 
 came to the door. 
 
 Her plan was, whenever she heard the door- 
 bell ring, to hide in there, and see if the guest 
 was the man she feared, for she thought he 
 would go ah" over the town and try to find her. 
 She planned to bring up there some food, so 
 that if he came and insisted on waiting to see 
 her, she could stay in there all day if she had 
 to. 
 
 All this she carried out; she furnished 
 her hiding-place with fruit and cakes, when- 
 ever she could take them without being no-
 
 194 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 ticed, and often and often, for the first week or 
 two, at the sound of the doorbell she scram- 
 bled into her den, and watched and waited for 
 the enemy. 
 
 If that place had only been lighter it would 
 have been the joy of her life, for the posses- 
 sion of such a secret retreat that absolutely 
 no one knew or remembered if they did 
 know was just the thing her heart loved. 
 It was several weeks before Barbara could hear 
 the doorbell without a terror that sent her at 
 once to her hiding-place. 
 
 Janet who was always peering around, 
 looking for something to tell about nearly 
 discovered the precious secret. She had no- 
 ticed that Barbara often disappeared and could 
 not be found, and one day she saw the hall 
 lounge a little drawn away from the wall, and 
 drawing it still farther she saw the opening 
 through which Barbara slipped ; she went at 
 once to her aunt. 
 
 " Auntie," she said eagerly, " what is that 
 great hole behind the lounge in the hall up- 
 stairs?"
 
 THE SECRET HIDING-PLACE 195 
 
 " Oh, that 's only into the roof of the porch," 
 said her aunt, looking up from her sewing. 
 
 " May I go in there and see what it's like ?" 
 asked Janet. 
 
 Barbara, who was reading by the window, 
 started in dismay, but her mother's words 
 calmed her. 
 
 " Oh, I would n't go in there ! " she said. 
 " It 's full of dust and cobwebs probably 
 spiders. It 's too low to be cleaned out, and 
 you 'd get very dirty. Besides, there 's nothing 
 to be seen there, anyway." 
 
 That settled Janet ; to get dirty was the one 
 thing she hated above all others. So Barbara 
 breathed freely, and her den was never dis- 
 covered.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 A LETTER FROM UNCLE KARL 
 
 " BARBARA," said her mother one day as she 
 came in from school, " here 's a letter for you 
 from Uncle Karl." 
 
 " Oh, good ! " cried Barbara, springing joy- 
 fully to take it. 
 
 It was rather large for a letter, and her 
 mother smiled as she gave it to her. " I guess 
 it 's one of his kind of letters written with the 
 brush and not the pen," she said. 
 
 Hastily Barbara took off the cover, and 
 sure enough it was a card somewhat larger 
 than an ordinary letter covered with the sketch 
 of a lively scene. 
 
 "It's the kitchen," cried Barbara, recogniz- 
 ing it at once ; " there 's the stove, and over 
 here " pointing "is the door that leads up- 
 stairs, and that is Mary there, in the same old 
 blue dress ; but what is the matter? There 's 
 a puddle of something on the floor and
 
 A LETTER FROM UNCLE KARL 197 
 
 and a broken dish and she seems to be 
 wringing her hands and " 
 
 "I think," interrupted her mother, "that 
 she has dropped a dish and spilled something, 
 and is in distress about it." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " said Barbara, " all over her floor 
 that was always white as snow ! and that 's 
 Aunt Betty with the same checked apron, 
 and how horrified she does look ! " and Bar- 
 bara's merry laugh rang out as she imagined 
 the scene. 
 
 " And there 's Uncle Karl just come in to 
 the door," went on Barbara eagerly, " hold- 
 ing his handkerchief to his eyes as if crying 
 the dear old humbug ! and see, mother 
 one eye peeking out over the top! Oh, is n't he 
 funny ! " and she laughed long and loud ; the 
 picture was so real, she could see the whole 
 thing. 
 
 " And see ! " she cried suddenly, pointing 
 to the figure of a small dog escaping through 
 an open door evidently in a desperate fright, 
 tail curled down, running for dear life. 
 
 " He 's the guilty one ! he tripped Mary
 
 198 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 or startled her so that she let the dish fall ; I 
 wonder what was in it ! Oh, see ! the kettle is 
 lifted off the stove onto the hearth, and the 
 stuff on the floor is steaming why, that's 
 Aunt Betty's preserving kettle it 's the big- 
 gest one in the house I believe that 's a lot 
 of preserves she has just made ! " 
 
 "And see there on the table," said her mo- 
 ther, "all those jars, ready, no doubt, to hold 
 it." 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Barbara, " and see this 
 border around the whole it 's branches - 
 and and " she hesitated " and pears, I 
 do believe! yes yes Mary was putting up 
 pears they have a beautiful pear-tree in the 
 garden and that little dog ran in and star- 
 tled her and she let the dish fall ; it 's plain 
 as day ! Is n't he wonderful, mother ? and so 
 dear ! " she added warmly. 
 
 "He certainly is," said her mother, "my 
 dearest brother." As he was her only brother, 
 this made Barbara laugh again. 
 
 " Why, there 's something on the other side ! " 
 she exclaimed, turning over the card.
 
 A LETTER FROM UNCLE KARL 199 
 
 Sure enough, there was another scene ; the 
 same kitchen with Mary on her knees scrub- 
 bing away for dear life, and Aunt Betty stand- 
 ing before the stove with dress pinned up so 
 as not to touch the floor, stirring something 
 in the big kettle, which sent steam nearly to 
 the ceiling. 
 
 " Mary 's cleaning up, and Aunt Betty 's 
 making a new lot," said Barbara, laughing 
 again. 
 
 "You must answer this letter," said her 
 
 mother. 
 
 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! I '11 write this very evening," 
 said Barbara warmly. "Dear Uncle Karl ! I 
 wish he lived here ! " with a little sigh. 
 
 " Mother," she said, as a sudden thought 
 struck her, " I '11 get a mammoth sheet and 
 write it all full." 
 
 " Well," said her mother, " that '11 be nice; 
 he deserves it for such a letter as his." 
 
 So a big sheet of paper was bought, and the 
 next day letter- writing began. 
 
 In those far-off days letters were not so com- 
 mon as they are now. Postage was very high,
 
 200 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 twenty-five cents for each letter, no matter 
 what its size or weight. This postage was 
 paid by the one receiving the letter, so the 
 writer was careful to make it worth the money 
 it cost. It was customary in writing to a friend 
 to take what was called a "mammoth sheet" 
 almost as big as one page of our common 
 daily papers, and fill it at leisure, when it was 
 full folding and sealing it up envelopes 
 were not yet fastening it with sealing wax, 
 or a wafer if you were not very particular. 
 
 Barbara had a pretty seal which had come 
 to her in the famous birthday box in Minne- 
 sota. When it was pressed into the hot seal- 
 ing wax that held the letter, it showed a can- 
 dle in a candlestick, with the extinguisher on, 
 and under it the words " Good-night." 
 
 Filling a mammoth sheet might look like a 
 great undertaking to some of you, in these 
 days of much hasty writing, but to Barbara 
 it was a delight. She dearly loved to write 
 letters, and she had to be restrained from 
 sending many of the effusions she penned, 
 because of the uncertainty that her letters
 
 A LETTER FROM UNCLE KARL 201 
 
 would be thought worth the quarter they 
 would cost the receiver, for not only were let- 
 ters more scarce, but quarters were not so 
 plentiful and so common as now. 
 
 Thus it came to pass that Barbara wrote 
 many letters that were never sent, and all the 
 time she was in Minnesota she had kept the 
 family well informed of all their doings.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 "IMPROVING HER MIND" 
 
 ONE desire one wish was so much a part 
 of Barbara's very life that she could not re- 
 member when she had not cherished it as her 
 dearest hope, the thing for which she was 
 born. That was for writing for the life of 
 an author for exerting what influence there 
 might be in her through her pen. 
 
 As I have said several times, she was pain- 
 fully diffident ; she could never talk ; the pre- 
 sence of listeners always made her dumb ; 
 only with pen in hand in her solitary room 
 could she express what was in her. 
 
 To fit herself for this work that she felt was 
 hers she began early to recognize that she 
 ought to know more than she did ; that it was 
 not good for her to indulge in reading or 
 " making up " stories, in which she delighted ; 
 but that she ought to devote herself to " solid 
 reading." In a word, it was high time, in the
 
 IMPROVING HER MIND 203 
 
 language of the day, to set about "improving 
 her mind." 
 
 To this task she set herself soon after her 
 return from the west. How to do it she 
 learned from the wise men of those days 
 through their hooks. These were the rules : 
 
 "First. Do some solid reading every day. 
 
 " Second. Never leave a sentence until you 
 understand it. 
 
 " Third. At the bottom of each page, stop 
 and give a synopsis of the contents of the 
 page." 
 
 Under these directions she marked out a 
 plan for herself, and one morning she began 
 full of enthusiasm to carry it out. 
 
 She must have absolute quiet in order to 
 fix her mind on the book ; no one in the 
 house must know, so as to laugh at her or to 
 watch her. So she rose at five o'clock, and, 
 hastily throwing on her clothes, she betook 
 herself to the "spare room," a room re- 
 served for guests, where she was sure no one 
 would come, at least at that early hour, and 
 in the cold and gloomy morning opened the
 
 204 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 book she had chosen from the bookcase down- 
 stairs. 
 
 It was one of the largest and least interest- 
 ing-looking ; and was, she was sure, " solid " 
 enough on which to begin her labors. It was 
 called " Finney's Theology." 
 
 I will not dwell on her struggles over this 
 book on the many weary mornings she 
 plodded through sentences which were absolute 
 Greek to her, but which faithful to the 
 rule of reading a sentence over till she under- 
 stood it she read and re-read till her brain 
 was in a muddle, and she did not understand 
 at last any better than at first. 
 
 After some weeks of this fruitless work she 
 was forced to conclude that the task was too 
 great for her, without a teacher to explain. 
 Either she was stupid, or the book was too 
 " solid " to begin on. She replaced " Finney's 
 Theology " in the bookcase, and returned to 
 her dearest delight, making up stories. 
 
 It was very soon after this faithful attempt 
 and its dismal failure, and she had reached the 
 age of fifteen, when she discovered, quite by
 
 IMPROVING HER MIND 205 
 
 accident for of course she never thought of 
 asking any one for advice or help for herself 
 she discovered, as I said, by accident, that a 
 book could be interesting though not a story. 
 
 It was an epoch in her life; it opened a 
 new and delightf ul world to her. 
 
 Let me teh 1 you just a few of the things 
 that troubled Barbara at this point in her 
 troubled young life. It may look silly to older 
 folk who have forgotten the days of their 
 youth, but many young hearts will under- 
 stand. 
 
 Barbara's supreme desire was to look and 
 act and be just like other people, so as not to 
 be looked at or noticed in any way ; but she 
 was never able to accomplish it. Other girls' 
 hair, for instance, would stay flat down where 
 it was put, and very flat down was the 
 style at that time, while Barbara's had a wave 
 as unconquerable as a wave of the sea; her 
 dress was always too long or too short, and it 
 never set like other girls' dresses, it would 
 stick out where it should lie flat, and he flat 
 where it should stick out. Then, nature had
 
 206 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 blessed her with feet and hands bigger than 
 those described in the story books, and these 
 unlucky members she was always trying to 
 hide. She never would buy her own shoes or 
 gloves, because she was ashamed to have even 
 a shopman know the appalling size she wore ! 
 
 Then again her eyes were not the large, 
 liquid blue of the story maidens, which she 
 longed to possess, but moderate-sized dark 
 brown ones; and worse still, in her healthy 
 outdoor life she had shot up quite tall; at 
 fourteen she had reached her full height, and 
 so foolishly ashamed was she of this that 
 when standing up during the hymns in church, 
 she would bend her knees a little and stand in 
 that painful, crouching position, so as not to 
 tower above her shorter neighbors. 
 
 More real, though perhaps no harder to bear 
 at this age, were the troubles she found in 
 the books she read I might better say de- 
 voured. There were always allusions to things 
 of which she was ignorant, yet that evidently 
 every one was supposed to know, books it 
 was taken for granted every one had read,
 
 IMPROVING HER MIND 207 
 
 names quoted that were plainly familiar as 
 household words but all unknown to her. 
 Worst of all, she did not know where to look 
 or how to find out these things. She could 
 not even bear to ask Uncle Karl, dearly as she 
 loved him, and encyclopedias and other books 
 of reference this hungry, self-torturing soul 
 had never heard of. 
 
 The book that opened a new world to her 
 was strangely enough Macaulay's Essays. 
 How much she learned from it ! how many 
 allusions over which she had puzzled in her 
 reading were explained in this precious vol- 
 ume ! She devoured it from cover to cover, 
 and best of all she learned how to find out 
 things. It sent her to encyclopedias and spe- 
 cial dictionaries, and though there were none 
 in the bookcase at home, there were a few in 
 a library to which she had access.
 
 CHAPTER XXIH 
 
 BOARDING SCHOOL 
 
 A FEW weeks after the world was changed 
 to Barbara by the reading of a book there 
 came another epoch in her life. 
 
 Janet, now eighteen years old, was married, 
 and went away to live, taking her mother with 
 her. 
 
 This alone made Barbara very happy, but 
 it was not the end of changes. 
 
 " Barbara," said her mother to her, the 
 evening after the wedding and the departure, 
 "your father is obliged to go away on a long 
 trip of some months, and I have decided to go 
 with him." 
 
 " And take me ? " cried Barbara in a spasm 
 
 of joy. 
 
 " No ; we don't think that best this time ; 
 but you may choose where you will go. You 
 may go to stay with either of your aunts, or 
 you may go to boarding school."
 
 BOARDING SCHOOL 209 
 
 To go to Aunt Fanny, \vho lived on a farm, 
 was not very alluring, and she did not care to 
 go again to Aunt Betty so soon, but to go 
 to boarding school was one of her burning de- 
 sires, and the idea of that quite compensated 
 her for her brief disappointment about the 
 journey; she cried eagerly, 
 
 " Of course I '11 go to boarding school ! I 've 
 always wanted to ! Where shall I go ? " 
 
 " We must look about and see where it will 
 be best," said her mother. " I have n't made 
 any inquiries yet." 
 
 They did look about, they sent for circulars, 
 they consulted friends, and Barbara did not 
 let the subject rest till they had decided upon 
 a school, a famous one in a pretty New Eng- 
 land village. 
 
 Barbara was now the envied of all her 
 schoolmates, with one and all of whom " go- 
 ing to boarding school " was the height of 
 felicity. 
 
 Getting ready was almost as delightful as 
 any part of the new experience. Barbara's 
 mother was an unworldly woman, who did not
 
 210 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 give much thought to dress, her favorite motto 
 being that if a garment was whole and clean 
 it was suitable for any occasion. It is needless 
 to say that Barbara, like most of the world, 
 did not agree with her in this opinion, and 
 unfortunately it shook her confidence in her 
 mother's judgment of what was proper for 
 her. 
 
 Barbara herself was so decided in her tastes, 
 so full of notions about her clothes, and at the 
 same time so ignorant of the fashions, that 
 the village dressmaker was nearly worn out 
 mind and body before the last stitch was 
 taken. 
 
 Then came the delight of packing, second 
 only to the excitement of the journey, followed 
 by the half-day's ride in the stage, and the 
 introduction just at evening to the beautiful 
 grounds and the stately buildings of the 
 " Young Ladies' Seminary " which had been 
 chosen. 
 
 Arrangements had been made by letter, so 
 that Barbara was expected, and a room was 
 ready for her, but when she was shown to the
 
 BOARDING SCHOOL 211 
 
 room she was surprised to find it already 
 occupied, and to be told by the dignified 
 matron of the establishment that she was to 
 share the room with the young lady already 
 there, Miss Kate Reed, to whom she was at 
 once introduced. 
 
 " You will have two drawers in the bureau, 
 and half the clothes-press," said that lady 
 calmly, " and when you have unpacked your 
 trunk it will be placed in the trunk room at 
 the end of the hall, where you can have 
 access to it when you wish. Miss Reed will 
 tell you the hours for meals, and show you 
 where to go, and I hope you two will be very 
 happy together," and with this she turned 
 away, leaving the two girls to get acquainted 
 at their leisure. 
 
 Barbara, who had been used all her lif e to a 
 room alone, was so taken aback by having a 
 roommate thrust upon her that for a moment 
 she had a wild desire to turn and run out of 
 the house and back home. But she knew, of 
 course, that could not be, and she sank into 
 a chair, uncertain what to do or say.
 
 212 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 Meanwhile the girl, her new roommate, was 
 looking at her sharply, "taking her in," as 
 Barbara felt, from head to foot, and she felt 
 from that first moment a deep dislike to her. 
 At last Miss Reed spoke. 
 
 " You better take off your things," she said, 
 " the supper bell '11 ring in a minute." 
 
 "I I never had any one in the room 
 with me," stammered Barbara. " Can't any- 
 body have a room alone ? " 
 
 " No," said Kate crossly, for she resented 
 Barbara's unwillingness to room with her. 
 " Not unless she 's a nabob," she went on 
 scornfully. "If you're too grand to room 
 with anybody you better apply to Madam, 
 and perhaps she '11 give you a suite to your- 
 self on the drawing-room floor with a maid 
 to wait on you," and with this crushing sar- 
 casm she flounced out of the room to tell the 
 other girls about her new roommate. 
 
 Barbara's heart sank, and her grand ideas 
 of "boarding school" had a severe shock; but 
 she tried to console herself with the thought 
 that it would n't be for long, and anyway she
 
 BOARDING SCHOOL 213 
 
 must endure it. So she took off her things 
 and prepared for the call to supper. 
 
 Unfortunately this school that had been 
 chosen was a fashionable one, and Barbara's 
 quick eye saw at once that her wardrobe was 
 not up to the standard of the city girls, her 
 schoolmates. She was as quick to see it as 
 they were, and almost before they had, in 
 schoolgirl fashion, set her down as "coun- 
 tryfied," she had as positively dubbed them 
 "stuck-up," and in her usual way taken refuge 
 in a reserve which looked like haughtiness, 
 but was really extreme shyness. 
 
 This unhappy state of things might have 
 changed on better acquaintance, but it was, 
 on the contrary, strengthened by the fact 
 that Barbara had little opportunity for mak- 
 ing acquaintances, for, being left to choose 
 her own studies, she had chosen what she 
 liked, music, French, and German. With 
 these studies only, she was classed as a " spe- 
 cial student," and did not sit in the schoolroom 
 with the other girls, but studied in her room 
 and went to the recitation room only to recite.
 
 214 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 Thus her acquaintance was limited to the 
 girls who boarded in the house, and her natu- 
 ral diffidence, added to all the rest, resulted in 
 making her almost a hermit in her room. 
 
 She really knew but one girl well, and that 
 one was her roommate, who, unfortunately 
 for Barbara, was a great gossip, fond of tell- 
 ing big stories, and careless of the truth of 
 them. 
 
 Very soon Barbara found herself really 
 avoided by the girls, and, attributing it to her 
 plain dress, she shut herself up in a shell 
 of cold reserve. This gave her unscrupulous 
 roommate, who really had a genius for false- 
 hood, chance to make up as many stories 
 about her as she fancied. She did not fail to 
 take advantage of the opportunity, and enter- 
 'tained the girls day after day with all sorts 
 of imaginary tales about Barbara, her home, 
 her parents, their queer ways, and their posi- 
 tion in society, of which she was, of course, 
 entirely ignorant. 
 
 Barbara's shy keeping to herself made the 
 stories seem probable, and before long she
 
 BOARDING SCHOOL 215 
 
 noticed that all the girls looked askance at her, 
 and she was as much alone as if she were in a 
 foreign country where no one spoke her lan- 
 guage, and naturally very unhappy. 
 
 Now Barbara, being a " special student," 
 had privileges that the regular scholars had 
 not. One of these was liberty to go out of the 
 house whenever she liked, while the others 
 could go only on specified days. Her room- 
 mate took advantage of this to give Barbara 
 plenty of errands to do for her ; such as to 
 buy candy or cakes or something of that kind, 
 and smuggle it into the house under her cape, 
 so that the maid who opened the door should 
 not see them and report for this was against 
 the rules, though Barbara did not know it. 
 Barbara did not like these errands very much, 
 they seemed sneaky, and she hated anything 
 of that kind, but she disliked to refuse her 
 roommate, for she could be very disagreeable 
 when she chose. 
 
 One week there seemed no end to the pur- 
 chases she had to make for her. Every time 
 she went out it was something, cakes, candy,
 
 216 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 tarts, and finally a pie. This last got her into 
 serious trouble, for it greased through the 
 paper it was wrapped in, and as Barbara held 
 it up under her cape it greased her dress 
 waist so that she could n't wear it again. It 
 was her best one, too, a light blue merino, and 
 after that she had to wear one of her school 
 dresses when she went out, which annoyed 
 her very much.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE SECRET OUT 
 
 BARBARA soon found out what all these 
 mysterious purchases were for. The very next 
 day after the ruin of her dress was a special 
 anniversary in the school, which was always a 
 holiday and celebrated by an unusually fine 
 dinner in the Principal's private dining-room, 
 to which none but scholars in good standing 
 were invited. Each one considered worthy, 
 received, several days before the important 
 day, an engraved invitation in the highest 
 style of the art, and on the festive occasion 
 she put on her best gown and her finest 
 company manners, and was entertained as 
 though she were an honored guest, instead of 
 a boarding pupil. 
 
 By poor scholarship Kate Reed had for- 
 feited the right to partake of this festival, and 
 now appeared the reason for the supplies Bar- 
 bara had brought in for her.
 
 218 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 The school grounds were very large, and in 
 them was a small body of water called a lake. 
 This was a favorite place for boating, and 
 there were two small rowboats belonging to 
 the school which the girls were allowed to use. 
 In the middle of this lake was a tiny island, 
 the favorite resort of picnic parties, when the 
 girls had permission to have them, on holidays. 
 Early in the morning of the festive day Kate 
 had stolen out of the house with her numer- 
 ous packages, accompanied by two other girls 
 who were likewise debarred from the day's 
 pleasures. They rowed over to the island, 
 taking both boats so that no one could follow 
 them. There, in plain sight from the shore, 
 they had spread their feast, a clean towel for 
 a tablecloth and the grass for seats. 
 
 The island was so near that everything could 
 be seen, and though the dinner was not so fine 
 as that to which the fortunate ones were bid- 
 den, it consisted of things that schoolgirls 
 specially like cake, pie, candy, nuts, and 
 raisins ; not an inch of bread or any solid 
 thing. Hardly one of the girls who crowded
 
 THE SECRET OUT 219 
 
 the banks, looking across the water at the 
 culprits and calling them to send one of the 
 boats back so they could come over hardly 
 one, I say, but would have preferred the for- 
 bidden goodies, rapidly disappearing before 
 their eyes, to the rather formal and perfectly 
 proper dinner in the house. 
 
 Meanwhile Kate was triumphant. While she 
 had not absolutely broken the rules, she had suc- 
 ceeded in having a good time in spite of what 
 was intended as a punishment; and that all 
 the girls envied her her feast she well knew. 
 
 When the day was over, the viands all eaten, 
 and Kate and her party returned to the house, 
 she was called into the room of the Principal 
 and reproved. In reply to the question who 
 supplied her with the forbidden dainties, she 
 was mean enough to answer that Barbara did, 
 without explaining the circumstances, so that 
 Barbara was supposed to be an accomplice, 
 and in her turn was reproved and not allowed 
 to go out as freely as before. 
 
 All this trouble with her roommate came at 
 last to an end, in this way : Next to Barbara
 
 220 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 at the long dining-table sat a girl with whom 
 she had sometimes exchanged a few words, 
 and one day this neighbor Fanny Burt from 
 Minnesota being in a rage against some of 
 the girls who had asked her what she con- 
 sidered insulting questions about her home, 
 could not help pouring out her grievances 
 even in the ear of her silent neighbor. 
 
 " Because I live in Minnesota," she said 
 indignantly, " they think we are half civilized 
 out there. They asked me if I wasn't afraid 
 of Indians ! Indians ! " she added with scorn. 
 " There are n't any more Indians there than 
 here ! " 
 
 " I once knew a girl who lived in Minnea- 
 polis," said Barbara, after she had expressed 
 her sympathy. 
 
 " Who was it ? " asked Fanny, interested. 
 
 " It was Lily Wilson," said Barbara. " She 
 spent a winter in our town, with her aunt." 
 
 " Why, she 's my own cousin ! " cried Fanny, 
 " and my dearest friend ; and come to think 
 I believe I Ve heard her speak of you ! Is 
 your name Barbara Brainard ? "
 
 THE SECRET OUT 221 
 
 " Yes," said Barbara. 
 
 Fanny was thoughtful a moment ; then, be- 
 ing a very outspoken girl, she went on : 
 
 " Lily was very fond of you, and I don't 
 believe a word Kate Reed says about you and 
 your folks." 
 
 " What does she say ? " asked Barbara, 
 startled. " She does n't know anything about 
 them." 
 
 " Why, she tells awful stories," said Fanny, 
 " and that's why " she hesitated. 
 
 " Is that why the girls don't care to know 
 me ? " asked Barbara, a light breaking in upon 
 her. 
 
 " Yes," said Fanny. " Come into my room 
 after study hours and I '11 tell you. I believe 
 that girl 's been lying ; she 's an awful liar any- 
 way and it's a shame ! " she finished hotly. 
 
 Well, Barbara went, and heard stories of 
 herself and her home life which had been made 
 up by her roommate, all utterly false, of 
 course. These stories, and not her plain dress 
 it was, which had prejudiced every one against 
 her.
 
 222 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 For once, in her indignation Barbara forgot 
 her shyness and talked freely, convincing the 
 girls assembled there that they had been 
 grossly deceived. 
 
 Barbara, feeling outraged, by the advice 
 of the girls complained to the heads of the 
 school. This made a stir in the household; 
 Kate Reed was called to the room of the Prin- 
 cipal, and closely questioned as to her au- 
 thority for the statements she had made. 
 
 She denied some of the charges, tried to 
 justify others, and at last got confused, and 
 contradicted herself, and convinced her judges 
 that she had been guilty of falsehood and 
 slander. 
 
 She was severely reproved, and removed to 
 another room with an under teacher, who 
 would keep her in order, it was hoped. 
 
 After that affair Barbara got on better and 
 made some warm friends among her school- 
 mates ; but after all she was not of them, and 
 she grew more and more anxious for the time 
 when she could go home.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE END OF SCHOOL DAYS 
 
 IT was not long after Kate Reed had been re- 
 moved to another room that she finished her 
 career in that school, and was sent home in 
 disgrace. 
 
 It happened in this way. One Sunday even- 
 ing a group of the girls on the third floor, 
 where Barbara lived, were gathered in one of 
 the larger rooms, sitting in the twilight telling 
 stories. Sunday evening there was no study 
 hour, and they often passed it in this way. 
 
 After awhile, as it grew darker, the stories 
 gradually took on a sombre tone, and finally 
 they became mostly ghost stories. 
 
 When they had worked themselves into a 
 rather excitable state, Kate Reed, still smarting 
 from her disgrace, thought she would give them 
 a scare. She slipped quietly out of the room, 
 wrapped herself in a sheet from her bed, and 
 came back.
 
 224 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 The room was faintly lighted from a street 
 lamp outside, and when there suddenly ap- 
 peared in the open door the tall white figure, 
 it could be indistinctly seen. 
 
 One of the girls, naturally delicate, and some- 
 what superstitious besides, had by over-study 
 and too great ambition brought herself into 
 such a state of nervousness that not much was 
 needed to upset her. The excitement of the 
 hour and the stories had worked upon her so 
 that when she looked up and saw in the dim 
 light this figure, she uttered a piercing shriek 
 and fell on the floor in violent convulsions. 
 
 There was instant consternation in the 
 house, and during the confusion the guilty 
 figure vanished. 
 
 Teachers came at once, the room was 
 lighted, girls sent to their own rooms, and a 
 doctor called. It was hours before the victim 
 was restored to consciousness, and in fact 
 as was learned afterwards she never fully 
 recovered. 
 
 As soon as she was able, her friends took 
 her home, but the news was gradually whis-
 
 THE END OF SCHOOL DAYS 225 
 
 pered about among the girls that she would 
 never be the bright scholar she had been. 
 
 To discover the culprit was the teachers' 
 first care. The girls were all questioned, but 
 no one knew, and it was not until a search of 
 all the rooms on the floor brought to light a 
 hastily scrambled-together bed in Kate Reed's 
 room, and, on closer examination, a sheet 
 mussed and having a corner still pinned up 
 to form a cap, that the truth became known. 
 The search had been so sudden that she had 
 not had time to make the bed properly. 
 
 Added to these evidences, her conduct when 
 accused proved her guilty. She was removed 
 to a little room opening from one of the teach- 
 ers' rooms and kept there in confinement till her 
 parents could be informed and come to take 
 her away. None of the girls saw her again. 
 
 While all these things had been happening 
 the weeks had grown into months, and it was 
 spring, and near to the end of the school year. 
 
 Barbara's parents had returned from their 
 long trip, and one day she received a letter 
 containing great news. Her father had de-
 
 226 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 cided to go to the far West to live, and her 
 mother was already packing up for the move. 
 
 To go to new places and see new things 
 was next best to traveling all over the 
 world which was one of Barbara's great 
 desires. This plan, therefore, filled her with 
 delight. In fact, she was so elated by the news 
 that she could hardly keep her mind on her 
 studies at all. French verbs grew more and 
 more intricate; German genders took on new 
 mysteries, and when she tried to practice she 
 could play only the most joyous airs, in fact, 
 she wanted to shout with joy. 
 
 Staying stupidly at school while this jolly 
 thing was happening became, to her mind, 
 an impossibility. She wrote an urgent letter 
 to her mother, begging to be allowed to come 
 home at once, to help get ready, and to take 
 the long journey with them. The school year, 
 she urged, was nearly over, and the rest of the 
 time was mostly taken up by reviews and ex- 
 aminations, which, as she was not to come 
 back next year, were really not important to 
 her.
 
 THE END OF SCHOOL DAYS 227 
 
 This plan was approved at home, for her 
 father had arranged to take the trip in a way 
 very different from that in which Barbara and 
 Uncle Karl had made it the year before. 
 
 Thus it happened that within a week after 
 the tragic affair just related, Barbara bade 
 farewell to school, and went home to make 
 ready for her long journey. 
 
 When the stage drove up to the house to 
 let Barbara alight, a young man ran out of 
 the door to assist her. For an instant Barbara 
 did not recognize him, then she cried joyously : 
 
 "Why! Brother Ned! you here?" 
 
 For it was indeed her only brother, several 
 years older than herself, who had been for 
 many years all the time Barbara had been 
 living this story away from home, at school 
 and college, and the last two or three years 
 pursuing his studies abroad, so that he was 
 really almost a stranger to Barbara. 
 
 Now he had finished his studies and come 
 home before deciding upon his profession, and 
 he was to be of the family party on the jour- 
 ney which, as I said, was to be very differ-
 
 228 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 ent from, and far more delightful than the one 
 Barbara had already taken. 
 
 Her father had bought a fine pair of horses 
 and a large, comfortable carriage with a place 
 at the back for baggage. With this outfit he 
 proposed to drive leisurely through the coun- 
 try.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 ADVENTURES ON THE WAY 
 
 IT was a fine morning in May when, the 
 last bit of furniture being packed and nailed 
 up in its box, the last good-by said to friends, 
 the last baggage piled up on the back of the 
 carriage, the family took their seats and drove 
 away from their empty home. 
 
 Packing had been tiresome work, for every- 
 thing had to be boxed for the long journey 
 by canal boat, by lake steamer, and lastly by 
 teams. 
 
 To make the carriage load as light as pos- 
 sible the things they took with them to use on 
 the way were packed in traveling bags, queer, 
 old-fashioned things they were, such as you 
 young folks never saw unless you happened 
 to come across one in some grandmother's attic. 
 They were made of very heavy, gay-colored 
 striped stuff, long and narrow in shape, like 
 the mail bags used in Uncle Sam's post of-
 
 230 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 fices, and fastened at the top by a strap woven 
 in and out through holes made for it in the 
 heavy leather top of the bag and locked by a 
 small padlock. 
 
 One of these bags would hold as much as 
 a small trunk, and mussy enough everything 
 looked when it came out of one ! Two of these 
 great sacks held the baggage of the four trav- 
 elers, and were strapped on to the carriage, 
 as I said. 
 
 Barbara was in the highest spirits when 
 they started, and told Ned with great glee 
 about the famous luncheons presented to Uncle 
 Karl and herself when they started for the 
 West. They took no luncheon this time, for 
 they intended to stop at hotels and farm- 
 houses for their meals and to sleep. 
 
 The first few days were delightful, the 
 weather fine, the roads good, towns and vil- 
 lages convenient to stop at. The horses were 
 fresh, and trotted off gayly, and Barbara 
 thought she never heard of such a charming 
 way of traveling. 
 
 But this delightful state of things could
 
 ADVENTURES ON THE WAY 231 
 
 not last always. As they drew near the west- 
 ern part of the state towns were less frequent, 
 and roads not so good. Then the weather 
 changed, and one day there came on a steady 
 rain. There was no comfortable place where 
 they could stay till the storm was over, so they 
 had to drive on, all the time hoping to come 
 to a country inn or a good-looking farmhouse. 
 It seemed almost as if they had got into an 
 unsettled country, for nearly all day passed 
 without the sight of a house. The rain was 
 in their faces, so that in spite of the side cur- 
 tains they were very wet. 
 
 They made as merry as they could, Barbara 
 declaring that she loved to ride in the rain, 
 till brother Ned on the front seat, chancing to 
 look around at her, burst into a laugh. 
 
 " What is so very funny? " asked Barbara. 
 
 " Oh ! if I only had a looking-glass ! " cried 
 Ned between shouts of laughter. " Mother, 
 look at her ! Is n't she a sight ! " 
 
 Mrs. Brainard turned and looked at Barbara. 
 She could not help a smile, for Barbara's bon- 
 net, which was of some openwork fabric which
 
 232 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 had been stiffened into shape, had wilted under 
 the soaking, and the ribbon with which it was 
 trimmed had dripped bright green streams 
 over her forehead. 
 
 " She looks like an Indian in his war paint ! " 
 cried Ned. But it ceased to be funny when 
 Barbara snatched off the wreck of a bonnet, 
 covered her face, and began to cry. She 
 could n't bear to be laughed at, and the ruin of 
 her bonnet, and the thought of how she should 
 look to stop anywhere were too much for her. 
 
 "There there," said her father sooth- 
 ingly, though there was a quiver on his lips as 
 he glanced back at her, for she was indeed, as 
 Ned had declared, a sight, "don't take it so 
 hard, daughter. We '11 make it all right at the 
 first town we come to." 
 
 " Yes," said her mother. " You shall have a 
 new bonnet, dear." 
 
 " I can't go to a store to pick one out ! " 
 sobbed Barbara. 
 
 " Never mind, sis," said Ned, ashamed of 
 his rudeness. " I '11 pick it out myself, and it 
 shall be the prettiest in the shop, too."
 
 ADVENTURES ON THE WAY 233 
 
 Tears did not improve Barbara's looks, but 
 her mother with a wet cloth sponged the 
 streaks from her face, and taking off the drip- 
 ping ribbon doubled back the front of the 
 limp bonnet which was really a bonnet and 
 not a hat such as young folk wear nowadays 
 so that it looked like a close-fitting hood, 
 and was not so dreadful. 
 
 It was nearly dark when they came in sight 
 of a log house which had also a barn. A barn 
 was as important as a house to the travelers, 
 for the faithful Bill and Bob must be made 
 comfortable as well as the people. 
 
 They drove up to the house, and, handing 
 the reins to Ned, Mr. Brainard got out and 
 went towards the door, Barbara following. A 
 man came out. 
 
 " Can you give us supper and keep us all 
 night ? " asked Mr. Brainard. 
 
 The man looked blank. " Kein Inglis," he 
 said. 
 
 " Dear me ! " said Mr. Brainard, " what 
 shall we do now ! " then, turning to Barbara, 
 " Can't you ' parley vous ' him or whatever
 
 234 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 is the German for it? You know German, 
 don't you?" 
 
 " Y-e-s," said Barbara doubtfully. 
 
 " Well ; ask him if he can keep us," said 
 her father. Barbara cudgeled her brains. 
 
 " Ich kann kleine deutsch " she began, 
 when a light came into the man's dull face, 
 and he poured out such a torrent of German 
 that Barbara could n't understand a word. 
 
 " Wait ! wait ! " she cried, " nichts verstay ; " 
 then more slowly, " Wollen zie geben (dear 
 me ! what is supper !) " She began again : 
 " Wir wollen eat manger," she said des- 
 perately, " und schlafen (Oh, dear, why can't 
 I think !) alle nicht," she finished in despair, 
 hoping he would guess her meaning. But he did 
 not ; his face was a stupid blank, evidently he 
 had not a spark of imagination to aid him. 
 
 At this moment Ned came up, and it sud- 
 denly flashed upon Barbara that he had lived 
 two years in Berlin. She turned, seized his 
 arm, and gave him a violent shake, crying out, 
 " You bad boy ! Why did you let me make a 
 fool of myself ? "
 
 ADVENTURES ON THE WAY 235 
 
 " I wanted to see," said Ned with laughing 
 eyes, " how boarding school German would go." 
 
 " Well, I think it was real mean," said 
 Barbara, now thoroughly vexed, and turning 
 away from the door. Then Ned addressed the 
 man in his own language. He brightened up 
 at once, and they soon came to an understand- 
 ing. They could have supper and beds, " two 
 beds," the man said proudly. The horses 
 could be made comfortable in the barn, and 
 the carriage could go under the shed. 
 
 Barbara and her mother hurried into the 
 house, glad to see a big fire on the hearth and 
 to be met by a hospitable-looking frau, who, 
 though she could not talk to them, made them 
 comfortable in her own way. Meanwhile Ned 
 and his father with their host went to see to 
 the comfort of Bill and Bob. Soon they came 
 in, bearing the great traveling bags, which, 
 having been well covered, had not been wet by 
 the rain. 
 
 The room was kitchen, bedroom, and living- 
 room all in one, being, in fact, the whole of the 
 lower part of the house. Mrs. Brainard had
 
 236 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 looked around anxiously on the two beds in 
 the far corner, till she noticed steep stairs, 
 hardly more than a ladder, which evidently led 
 to rooms above. 
 
 " Oh, mother, is n't this a queer place ! " 
 whispered Barbara. " I wonder if we 've got to 
 sleep here ! " 
 
 " No, dear," said her mother. " Don't you 
 see the stairs? There must be something up 
 there." 
 
 Soon they were warm and dry, and inter- 
 ested in the preparations for supper which were 
 going on, while Ned was obliged to answer a 
 thousand questions about their journey. 
 
 When at last they were bidden to eat, they 
 found on the table fried salt pork swimming 
 in gravy, potatoes roasted before the fire, 
 sauerkraut, cold boiled beans, zwieback, and 
 pickles, with thick, black-looking coffee. 
 
 Barbara looked over the viands with dis- 
 may ; not a thing she could eat, she thought, 
 except the potatoes, which she didn't like 
 anyway. 
 
 But Ned, after his Berlin training, attacked
 
 ADVENTURES ON THE WAY 237 
 
 the sauerkraut and zwieback cheerfully, and 
 her father and mother, after draining off the 
 grease, managed to eat pork and beans and 
 potatoes, while Barbara began munching the 
 crisp zwieback, and found it so good that she 
 made her supper of it. 
 
 Ned tried to coax her to try the sauerkraut, 
 which he declared was really good when you 
 got used to it, but the odor of it was so un- 
 pleasant to her that she could n't bring her- 
 self to taste it. 
 
 While they had been eating, the woman of 
 the house had been busy up the stairs, and 
 when they had finished, she offered to show 
 them their beds. 
 
 Tired and sleepy, they all climbed the 
 ladder-like stairs, and found themselves in an 
 attic, all one room, with two beds, and dimly 
 lighted by one tallow candle. 
 
 Looks of dismay passed between the elders, 
 while Ned cried, " By George ! " and Barbara 
 burst out, "We can't sleep here, mother !" 
 
 Then her mother bethought herself that 
 she had noticed in the lower room a large,
 
 238 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 old-fashioned clothes-horse, and she instantly 
 thought she could divide the dreary attic into 
 two rooms with it. She hushed Barbara and 
 despatched Ned to ask for it. In a few 
 moments he appeared, carrying it with the 
 help of their host, whose face was filled with 
 wonder what they wanted it for. 
 
 The clothes-horse was about six feet high, 
 with three divisions or leaves. Spread out 
 before one of the beds, and hung with sur- 
 plus blankets from the same beds, it made a 
 very good screen. Mrs. Brainard said, " I '11 
 take Barbara, and you two boys may have 
 the other bed;" to which the "boys" laugh- 
 ingly consented. 
 
 The beds themselves were curiosities ; great 
 feather-beds with thinner feather-beds for 
 coverlids, and quilts and blankets enough to 
 smother a whole family. The first thing Mrs. 
 Brainard did was to drag off the feather 
 covers from both beds. 
 
 Barbara thought of Mrs. Blake's feather- 
 beds, and told her mother about them while she 
 was rummaging in one of the traveling bags.
 
 ADVENTURES ON THE WAY 239 
 
 Soon she brought to light a tin box, from 
 which she took a candle, a small candlestick 
 of brass that came apart with a screw so as to 
 be easily packed, and a box of matches. 
 
 The candle siie lighted and set on the floor; 
 there was not a table or chair in the whole attic ; 
 they were obliged to hang their clothes on the 
 bedposts, which were four or five feet high. 
 
 " I wonder where we '11 wash in the morn- 
 ing," said Barbara. 
 
 " Down at the pump, I presume," answered 
 her mother. 
 
 " Well ; it 's a good thing we each have our 
 own soap and towels and things," said Bar- 
 bara. 
 
 " Of course ; I never travel without them," 
 said her mother. 
 
 " What else have you got in that box, 
 mother?" asked Barbara. "I never saw it 
 before." 
 
 " Oh, you '11 see as we go on ; perhaps it '11 
 turn out to be like the famous bag of the 
 mother in the ( Swiss Family Robinson.' Do 
 you remember that, Barbara ? "
 
 240 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! " said Barbara, much inter- 
 ested, for she was very fond of that story. 
 " Let me take the box, mother ! " 
 
 " No, indeed ; there would n't be any mys- 
 tery about it if you pulled it over now. You 
 wait and see if I don't take out of it every 
 extra thing we need on the way." And now, 
 blowing out the light, she lay down and tried 
 to sleep. 
 
 "What shall we do if it rains to-morrow?" 
 Barbara whispered a few minutes later. "We 
 can't stay here ! " 
 
 "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof," 
 said Mrs. Brainard, quoting a favorite text. 
 " And now do go to sleep, Barbara."
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE MAGIC BOX 
 
 THE first thing the next morning, Barbara 
 took a look at the weather from the little win- 
 dow in the attic. 
 
 " Mother ! " she exclaimed, in despairing 
 tone, " it 's raining still ! " 
 
 "Well," said her mother, "then we'll have 
 to content ourselves here awhile longer." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! " cried Barbara. 
 
 That, too, was the decision of her father 
 when he came in from the barn, where he 
 and Ned had been caring for the horses. 
 
 Breakfast was a repetition of supper, with 
 the addition of hot corn bread. Finding that 
 their hosts were willing to keep them till the 
 storm was over, they settled themselves in the 
 big kitchen. Ned found an old German news- 
 paper from which he tried to extract amuse- 
 ment, but it didn't prove to be very funny, 
 and he soon threw it aside. Barbara fidgeted
 
 242 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 and went from one window to another, hop- 
 ing somewhere to see a break in the clouds, 
 and her father was almost as uneasy as she. 
 
 Mrs. Brainard meanwhile had taken from 
 her pocket a small package, which, as she 
 opened, showed a silk purse she was crochet- 
 ing, and, seating herself by a window, she 
 went busily to work on it. 
 
 " I think," she said a little later, observing 
 the restlessness of her family, " I really think 
 boys should be taught some light handicraft 
 knitting, for instance; if now you two rest- 
 less ' boys ' could occupy your hands in some 
 useful way, how much happier you would be ! " 
 
 A general laugh followed this suggestion, 
 which was not considered serious. 
 
 " But I am serious," she said ; " I really 
 think so." 
 
 "Can't somebody tell a story?" Barbara 
 broke in; "I love stories on rainy days !" 
 
 "And all other days, too, I guess," said 
 her mother. 
 
 " Well, yes ; I do," said Barbara. 
 
 At this moment a thought seemed to strike
 
 THE MAGIC BOX 243 
 
 Mrs. Brainard. " Ned," she said, " will you 
 bring me that traveling bag in the corner?" 
 pointing to the one she had packed upstairs, 
 ready for the start. 
 
 Ned brought it, saying, " What 's the little 
 mother going to do ? find some knitting for 
 1 us boys'?" 
 
 " You '11 see," said his mother, with a 
 knowing smile. " I 'm going to see if I can't 
 find some cure for all this discontent, in my 
 S. F. R. box." 
 
 "What box is that?" asked Ned. "What 
 do those mysterious letters mean?" 
 
 Mrs. Brainard was busily rummaging in the 
 bag, and Barbara answered, " They stand for 
 Swiss Family Robinson box; you've read 
 that book, haven't you, Ned?" 
 
 "Of course," said Ned scornfully; "every- 
 body has." 
 
 "Well, you remember the bag the mother 
 had, out of which she pulled everything they 
 wanted." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, mother has a box something like
 
 244 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 that, and she took out of it the candle and 
 matches we had last night; she wouldn't let 
 me see what was in it." 
 
 "I had to have a box," said his mother, 
 " partly because a bag would be crushed in 
 packing this way, and partly because I wanted 
 to lock it so that its treasures should not be 
 overhauled at once," with a smile at Barbara, 
 who blushed. 
 
 "That was very clever of you, wife," said 
 Mr. Brainard. 
 
 Mrs. Brainard, who had now found the box, 
 took a key from her pocket and opened it. 
 
 Barbara and Ned crowded around, but she 
 laughingly shielded it so that they could not 
 look in, while she drew out what appeared to 
 be several printed pages of a magazine. Then 
 she locked the box and returned the key to 
 her pocket. 
 
 "Speaking of stories she said, "re- 
 minded me that I had prepared, for such a 
 catastrophe as this storm, a story which I will 
 read if the company desire." 
 
 " Oh, do ! " cried Barbara and Ned in a
 
 THE MAGIC BOX 245 
 
 breath, and Mr. Brainard left the window and 
 seated himself to listen. 
 
 Mrs. Brainard began, " This is a Thanks- 
 giving story 
 
 " Oh ! oh ! " cried Barbara and Ned, while 
 their father laughed. 
 
 " And it begins in the poorhouse " went 
 on Mrs. Brainard calmly. 
 
 "Now, mother!" protested Barbara; while 
 Ned added, "Aren't we dismal enough here 
 without taking us into such a place ? " 
 
 Mrs. Brainard did not reply, but quietly 
 began to read : " Thanksgiving Cottage." 
 
 Her story was a long one, of a woman, 
 who, from being an inmate of a poorhouse, 
 came on a certain Thanksgiving Day to 
 have a home and a cottage of her own. 
 
 When the story was ended, Barbara, with 
 shining eyes, and the air of having made a dis- 
 covery, exclaimed, almost tragically, " Mother, 
 did you write that story?" 
 
 "No, my dear," said her mother, smiling; 
 "my daughter is the only story-maker in the 
 family."
 
 246 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 Barbara blushed, and Ned looked on with 
 interest. " What do you mean, mother ? does 
 sis write stories ? " 
 
 "Not yet, perhaps," said his mother, "but 
 I think she will some day." 
 
 "Good for you, sis!" said Ned warmly; 
 "but who did write the story, then?" 
 
 " It was written by one of my friends and 
 published in a magazine a good many years 
 ago, and I happen to know it was true." 
 
 Mr. Brainard, who had resumed his watch- 
 ing of the clouds, now announced cheerfully 
 that the rain was nearly over, and they would 
 soon be able to resume their journey. 
 
 " Wife," said Mr. Brainard, when at last 
 they had really started on their way, leaving 
 their hosts smiling on the steps, " what do 
 you suppose our good old Dutchman charged 
 for our entertainment ? " 
 
 "What did he?" asked she, with interest. 
 
 " Twenty-five cents for each of us four, and 
 ten cents for each horse." 
 
 "You don 't mean " said Mrs. Brainard,
 
 THE MAGIC BOX 247 
 
 astonished, " you don't really mean twenty- 
 five cents for supper, bed, and breakfast ! " 
 
 " I do, indeed ! " was the answer ; " and he 
 would n't take more, though I offered it, for I 
 was ashamed to give him so little." 
 
 " Well, I think that was enough ! " said 
 Barbara hotly; " such a place ! and such things 
 to eat ! " 
 
 " So do I, sis," said Ned. 
 
 " I hope we shall not find any worse place 
 than that," said the mother. " It was at least 
 clean, and we were welcome." 
 
 " How soon do you think we shall get to 
 Buffalo, father?" asked Barbara, who was 
 anxious to get that new bonnet before meet- 
 ing anybody. 
 
 " Sometime this afternoon, I hope, if the 
 roads are tolerable." 
 
 At Buffalo they were to take a steamer 
 around the lakes, and let the horses as well as 
 themselves have a rest, and Barbara knew they 
 would meet nice people on the boat; hence 
 her anxiety.
 
 CHAPTER XXVin 
 
 CAMPING OUT 
 
 LATE in the afternoon the little party reached 
 Buffalo, and after leaving the family and 
 horses at a hotel, Mr. Brainard went to see 
 about the steamer. He found that it would 
 not start until the next evening, so they took 
 rooms at the hotel for the night. 
 
 " Now, sis," said Ned, as soon as they were 
 settled, " let 's go after that bonnet." 
 
 " Oh, I can't go out with this thing on my 
 head," said Barbara, almost in tears. 
 
 " But I don't know how to pick out a bon- 
 net," said Ned, " and besides, I 'm afraid to go 
 into a bonnet shop alone ! " he added, with a 
 quizzical look. 
 
 " Mother, you go ! " coaxed Barbara. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Ned, "that '11 do nicely." 
 
 Mrs. Brainard paused in the act of taking 
 off her bonnet. " Perhaps that will be best," 
 she said, starting off at once with Ned.
 
 CAMPING OUT 249 
 
 " Be sure you get blue ribbons," was Bar- 
 bara's last charge, as they left the room. 
 
 The trip around the lakes was without spe- 
 cial interest ; Barbara, with her pretty new 
 bonnet, which happened to just suit her, was 
 happy, and enjoyed every minute. 
 
 One bright morning they arrived at Chi- 
 cago, and very different it was from the 
 Chicago of to-day. The oldest resident would 
 hardly recognize it, though he might remem- 
 ber it. 
 
 The first thing our travelers noticed was 
 old Fort Dearborn, standing near where they 
 landed from the steamer. It had been made 
 in Indian times, and looked like the pictures 
 one sees of block forts, the upper part project- 
 ing over the lower, so that the doors could be 
 defended. Ned and Barbara examined this 
 with great interest. 
 
 When the horses and carriage were safely 
 landed, the party started up toward the Tre- 
 mont House, where they were to stay while in 
 Chicago. 
 
 " Oh, what a funny street ! " cried Bar-
 
 250 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 bara, as they turned into the main thorough- 
 fare. 
 
 The street was paved if one may call it 
 so with planks across its whole width, and 
 the sidewalks, of planks also, were two or three 
 feet higher than the bed of the roadway, with 
 a flight of steps at each crossing. Between 
 the roadway and the sidewalk it was boarded 
 up, so that the street looked like a long, nar- 
 row wooden box. 
 
 As they drove along they saw the reason 
 for this peculiar arrangement, for under the 
 feet of the horses as well as under the wheels, 
 water spurted up between the planks, which 
 bent with their weight. It was plain that but 
 for the planks the street would be all under 
 water and impassable. 
 
 When they reached the Tremont House, 
 they were surprised to see it standing up on 
 stilts ; for it was being raised lifted bodily 
 out of the mud by hundreds of screws. As 
 they drew up before the door, Barbara cried 
 out, - 
 
 " Oh, father! you are n't going to stop here ! "
 
 CAMPING OUT 251 
 
 " Yes, my dear," said her father. 
 
 " But it must be very dangerous ! " she went 
 on anxiously; " suppose it should fall ! " 
 
 " How could it fall with all those screws 
 holding it up ? Don't be foolish, daughter ! 
 Don't you suppose they '11 take care to make 
 it safe?" 
 
 Barbara said no more, but she did not like 
 it, and with fear and trembling climbed the 
 temporary steps that led to the door. 
 
 When the carriage appeared at the door the 
 next morning, to continue their journey, Bar- 
 bara noticed more baggage on the back; a 
 great bundle, bigger than the traveling bags, 
 was strapped on behind them, and two pails 
 were hung below. 
 
 " Why, father ! " exclaimed Barbara, in sur- 
 prise. 
 
 Her father smiled. " I '11 tell you aU about 
 it when we get off," he said. 
 
 When they had left the city and were speed- 
 ing over the pleasant prairie roads, the horses 
 evidently glad to be on the earth after their 
 lake journey, and all the family happy also,
 
 252 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 Mr. Brainard turned to the two on the back 
 seat and said, - 
 
 " I had some talk with a man on the steamer 
 who had just come over this road, and he told 
 me there had been heavy rains lately, so we 
 might find it slow traveling ; and as there were 
 long distances between towns, he advised me 
 to be prepared to camp out if necessary." 
 
 " Camp out ! won't that be fun ! " cried Bar- 
 bara, delighted. 
 
 " Sure it will ! " said Ned, looking around ; 
 " greatest fun going ! " 
 
 Mrs. Brainard was not so elated ; she looked 
 concerned at the prospect. 
 
 " What did you bring ? " asked Barbara ex- 
 citedly. " I hope a kettle to hang over our fire 
 and a tent and " 
 
 " No, indeed ! " interrupted her father, " I did 
 not prepare for days and nights of camping, 
 only, possibly, for one night ; and I brought 
 only what will be indispensable, some blan- 
 kets for us, and feed for the horses. I hope we 
 shall not be obliged to use them," he went on. 
 
 " These great desolate prairies," said Mrs.
 
 CAMPING OUT 253 
 
 Brainard, "are dreary enough; are there no 
 wild animals to disturb us ? " 
 
 " I think not," said Mr. Brainard ; "possibly 
 a prairie wolf or two, but they are easily scared 
 off." 
 
 " Shall we have a fire ? " asked Barbara 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Of course," said her father. " Who ever 
 heard of camping without a fire? We must 
 look out for some trees or brush, if we have to 
 stop." 
 
 Barbara's idea of camping was taken from 
 stories she had read, of jolly parties around a 
 big fire, much talk and fun, and very little 
 sleep ; and all day she was hoping for bad roads 
 or an over-full river, which would oblige them 
 to stop for the night. 
 
 But the roads were good and they came to 
 no stream, but drew up just at dusk to a com- 
 fortable-looking little inn, where they stopped, 
 greatly to the relief of Barbara's mother, who 
 did not share her enthusiasm about camping. 
 
 The next day, however, things were a little 
 more promising for Barbara's hopes. The
 
 254 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 roads were heavy from late rains, and their 
 progress was slow, so that it was some time 
 after noon before they reached a farmhouse 
 where they could get dinner. The farmer told 
 a rather discouraging story about the roads 
 farther west, and especially about the flood in 
 the river they would have to cross. The bridge, 
 he had heard, was gone ; but there was a ford, 
 if the water was n't too high. Barbara's eyes 
 sparkled as she listened, and her father asked 
 about inns or farmhouses where they could 
 stop on the way. 
 
 Mrs. Brainard said nothing, but she had a 
 long interview in the pantry with the farmer's 
 wife, while the rest were gathered around the 
 great fireplace in the kitchen ; and after din- 
 ner, when the horses were brought to the door, 
 Barbara saw the farmer slip a large package 
 under the back seat. In her excitement, how- 
 ever, listening to the farmer's last directions 
 about the road, she forgot it, and did not think 
 of it again. 
 
 As they went on they found that their host 
 had not said too much about the roads. It
 
 CAMPING OUT 255 
 
 grew steadily worse from the moment they 
 left his fences behind. There were deep ruts 
 in which the wheels almost stuck ; holes in the 
 stiffened mud, in which the feet of the horses 
 slipped and nearly threw them down ; now and 
 then a puddle stretched across the way from 
 one side to the other, into which the horses 
 seemed afraid to venture, and which indeed 
 looked as if it might be very deep. 
 
 Worst of all were the frequent holes, into 
 which one wheel would slip up to the hub and 
 threaten to upset the carriage. Through all 
 this the horses went floundering, often just 
 saving themselves from a fall, while the car- 
 riage lunged this way and that, one moment 
 throwing the passengers in a heap towards 
 the front, and the next dashing their heads 
 against the side. 
 
 Ned had left the carriage at the beginning 
 of trouble, and was plodding along beside the 
 road, picking his way with great difficulty 
 through the mud. Barbara begged to be 
 allowed to walk, too, and even Mrs. Brainard 
 wanted to relieve the carriage of her weight,
 
 256 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 although there was no sign of a path or even 
 of a dry place to be seen. 
 
 Mr. Brainard would not consent to this. 
 " Look at Ned," he said ; " even he finds it very 
 hard ; how could you two get along in your 
 light shoes and dresses? No; we must do 
 the best we can, and hope it will not last very 
 long." 
 
 It did last, however, so long that it was 
 nearly dark when they reached the river they 
 had to cross, and found no bridge and the usu- 
 ally meek little stream a roaring torrent. 
 
 " It is plain we cannot cross to-night," said 
 Mr. Brainard. " We are fortunate in having a 
 little clump of trees and bushes here. I think, 
 daughter, you '11 have a chance to try camp- 
 ing out." 
 
 " Do you, father ? " said Barbara rather 
 ruefully; "but this isn't a nice place so 
 bare and open ! " 
 
 " What did you expect? " asked her father. 
 
 " Oh, woods ; thick trees and bushes to hide 
 us a little." 
 
 " Well, we '11 have to take it as we find it,"
 
 CAMPING OUT 257 
 
 said her father ; " the worst thing is we have n't 
 anything to eat, and I suppose you young- 
 sters are half starved." 
 
 Barbara's face fell, and Ned made up a wry 
 mouth. 
 
 "Mother," said Barbara, " where 's the 
 magic box the S. F. R. box, out of which is 
 to come everything?" 
 
 "I shall produce it all in good time," said 
 her mother, " when you get a good fire going." 
 
 Ned and Barbara hurried off to the bushes 
 to cut and break branches, while Mr. Brainard, 
 having driven a little one side out of the 
 road, unhitched and partly unharnessed the 
 weary horses, and placed before each a pail 
 containing his food. Bob and Bill looked al- 
 most as much surprised to discover their usual 
 supper in this unusual place as was Mrs. 
 Brainard, who said, 
 
 " I 'm so glad you thought of their comfort 
 - poor fellows ! they have had a hard day ! " 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Brainard, " it is far better 
 for us to go hungry than for them, though I 'm 
 sorry I did forget about luncheon for us."
 
 258 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 Mrs. Brainard smiled, and just then Barbara 
 came up and announced with triumph, 
 
 " Now, Mrs. S. F. R., we have the fire started 
 produce your magic box ! " 
 
 " You '11 find it under the back seat," said 
 her mother quietly. 
 
 Barbara looked for a minute as if she feared 
 her mother had lost her wits ; then in a flash 
 she remembered the farmer and the package, 
 and rushing to the carriage, she pulled out the 
 package, and brought it to her mother, while 
 they all gathered close around the fire. 
 
 It was soon opened and spread out on a 
 newspaper : several slices of cold boiled ham, 
 a small pan of baked beans, half a loaf of 
 bread, and " Oh, jolly ! " cried Ned a 
 dozen real home-made doughnuts. 
 
 " Truly, mother, you are a witch ! " cried 
 Ned with mouth full of bread. " Did it occur 
 to you, Madam S. F. R., that we 're not used 
 to eating beans with our fingers ? " 
 
 " It did, my son," she answered with a merry 
 gleam in her eye. " Get out the box and we '11 
 see what we can find ! "
 
 CAMPING OUT 259 
 
 Soon the magic box was in her hands, and 
 opening it she drew out a small package which 
 proved to be four teaspoons. 
 
 " Well, by jingo ! " exclaimed Ned. " You 
 surely must be a witch, mother." 
 
 On pieces of newspaper for plates the meal 
 was served, and ah 1 ate heartily, for the hard 
 ride had sharpened their appetites. 
 
 " You don't happen to have a silver goblet 
 or two secreted about you, Madam Witch?" 
 said Ned when he had finished his supper. " I 
 should like a drink from that flowing bowl out 
 there," pointing to the raging river. 
 
 " Well, no ; but let's search the box again." 
 
 " They must be of India-rubber if they 're 
 in there," said Ned, and his eyes opened wide 
 as she took out a small bunch of rings, which, 
 being stretched out, became a silver cup. Ned 
 seized it with glee, ran down to the stream, 
 and returned bearing it full to the brim. 
 
 " First drink to you, mother S. F. R.," he 
 cried gallantly. 
 
 When they had finished their picnic meal, 
 Ned brought out the bundle of blankets, and
 
 260 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 they began to think of bed. All this time Bar- 
 bara had been very still, and Ned observed 
 that she glanced around behind her now and 
 then. 
 
 " Don't find it so jolly as you expected, sis? ' 
 he began. 
 
 " It 's so awfully lonely," said Barbara, shud- 
 dering and glancing around. 
 
 "It mostly is lonely at night out in the 
 open," said Ned. " I hope there are no bears 
 around here," he added wickedly. 
 
 " Oh, Ned ! " Barbara cried, jumping to her 
 feet. 
 
 " Ned ! " said his father reprovingly, "don't 
 tease your sister. I told you, daughter" 
 turning to her "that there are no wild ani- 
 mals in this part of the country, except per- 
 haps a few coyotes, and they won't come near 
 a fire." 
 
 Just then there was a rustling sound, and a 
 loud " Whoo-o-o ! " almost over their heads. 
 Barbara screamed. 
 
 " An owl, by jingo ! " cried Ned; "if I only 
 had a gun ! Father, did n't you bring a pistol ? "
 
 CAMPING OUT 261 
 
 " I did ; but I shall not let you have it. 
 Why should you shoot a harmless owl ? " 
 
 " Because he frightens my little sister," said 
 Ned demurely. 
 
 " No," said Barbara, ashamed of her fright, 
 " don't hurt him ! I might have known what 
 it was ; but I never heard that kind ; around 
 Uncle Karl's we had screech owls, and I love 
 to hear them." 
 
 While this was going on, a level place close 
 to the fire had been selected, a few branches 
 spread down to keep the blankets from the 
 bare ground, and Mrs. Brainard and Barbara 
 invited to take each a blanket to wrap herself 
 in, while Ned and his father prepared more 
 wood to keep the fire going. 
 
 " Ned and I '11 take turns in watching and 
 keeping up the fire," said Mr. Brainard, " you 
 two try to get some sleep." 
 
 " I shall take my turn too," said Mrs. Brain- 
 ard. 
 
 "And I too," said Barbara rather feebly, 
 for she shuddered at the thought of sitting up 
 there in the black night alone.
 
 262 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 The father and mother exchanged glances, 
 for it had not escaped their notice that Bar- 
 bara was n't so enthusiastic about camping 
 out as she had been in the morning and by 
 daylight. 
 
 "I'll take the first watch if you don't 
 mind," said Ned. " I 'm used to sitting up late, 
 and shall not be sleepy for some time." 
 
 So it was settled ; the father arid mother 
 and Barbara, wrapped in blankets, looking like 
 so many mummies, stretched themselves on the 
 blanket beds and were quiet, but not asleep. 
 Barbara, crowded close to her mother, lay lis- 
 tening hearing strange rustling and other 
 sounds. Once some feathery object perhaps 
 the owl whose cry had startled her swept 
 over her so near that his wings fanned her, 
 and in a moment she heard the death squeak 
 of a mouse close by her. Then she heard 
 stealthy footsteps, and suddenly Ned, snatch- 
 ing a blazing stick from the fire, flung it far 
 oil, and the steps ran.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 A NIGHT SCARE 
 
 SLEEP did not come readily to the campers, 
 and they had not been long lying down when 
 they heard the far-off sound of wheels. Nearer 
 and nearer they came. Mr. Brainard was up, 
 listening and trying to see what was coming 
 along the dark road. 
 
 " It 's a heavy team," said Ned in a low 
 tone. 
 
 " Who can be traveling this dark night ? " 
 said Mr. Brainard. 
 
 In a few moments it came in sight, a " prai- 
 rie schooner," a big, white-covered lumber 
 wagon in which immigrants cross the plains or 
 move from one place to another, with all their 
 family possessions, from the great chests they 
 brought from the " old country " down to the 
 latest baby. 
 
 The big clumsy wagon was drawn by a 
 pair of tired-looking mules, and a man walked
 
 264 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 beside them. Near the fire he halted his team, 
 and now appeared, on the front seat, a girl 
 younger than Barbara. She jumped down as 
 the mules stopped, and with the man came to 
 the fire. Mr. Brainard was standing to meet 
 them, and now Barbara and her mother were 
 both sitting up. 
 
 " Wall, stranger," said the newcomer with 
 strong " down-East " twang, " you du seem 
 tol'ble comf't'ble here." 
 
 " It 's a strange hour to be traveling, 
 friend," said Mr. Brainard. 
 
 " So it is so it is ! " said the man good- 
 naturedly, warming his hands at the fire, " an' 
 I sh'd 'a' camped a piece back soon 's I 
 got out o' that dod-darndist bit o' road I ever 
 come acrost only Liddy here she seen 
 your fire an' wanted to come on ; an' it is more 
 sociable-like to be near folks in this lonesome 
 country. Say, stranger " with new interest 
 " did you ford them pot-holes back there V 
 not break anything ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Brainard, " we got through 
 safely."
 
 A NIGHT SCARE 265 
 
 " Wall, if you don't object we '11 stop right 
 here alongside ; I '11 help keep up the fire. It 's 
 kinder lonesome for Liddy off alone. Liddy 'n' 
 me 's all 'ts left now to take care o' the children 
 ma she died back there in Pennsylvany a 
 spell back." 
 
 " Children ! " cried Mrs. Brainard, now ris- 
 ing to her feet, " have you children here ? " 
 
 " Four on 'em, ma'am," said the man, " all 
 asleep in the wagon." 
 
 " My goodness ! " said Mrs. Brainard. "You 
 poor child ! " turning to the girl, who stood 
 by the fire, staring wide-eyed at the group, 
 "you have the care of four children? Why, 
 you 're only a child yourself ! " 
 
 " Liddy 's quite a little woman," broke in 
 the man, while the girl said meekly, " I 'm all 
 they has, ma'am, 'n I does the best I can." 
 
 " No doubt you do," said Mrs. Brainard. 
 " Will you come and sit by the fire? Here's 
 my daughter, not much older than you." 
 
 The two girls looked at each other, but 
 Lydia said quietly, " Thank you, ma'am, but I 
 must get into the wagon with the children."
 
 266 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 " Do you all sleep in the wagon ? " asked 
 
 Mrs. Brainard, amazed. 
 
 % 
 
 " All but pa," said Lydia, " he stays by 
 the mules." 
 
 " Have you had your supper? " asked Mrs. 
 Brainard, much interested in the little mother, 
 so much a child, yet so womanly. 
 
 " Oh, yes, ma'am ! we had it 'way back be- 
 fore the children went to bed," was her reply, 
 as she turned to go to the wagon. 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Brainard, as the man 
 came back from taking care of his mules, 
 " we '11 see more of you in the morning," and 
 she wrapped herself again in her blanket and 
 lay down. 
 
 Ned too flung himself onto his blankets, 
 but the two men sat by the fire talking in low 
 tones for some time. At last all except Mr. 
 Brainard, whose watch it was, were lying down 
 and at least trying to sleep. 
 
 For a long time everything was still except 
 the crackling of the fire, and Mr. Brainard 
 himself was nodding, when a gentle patter like 
 soft footsteps began to make itself heard by
 
 A NIGHT SCENE 267 
 
 those who were awake. Mrs. Brainard sat up, 
 but her husband, now wide awake, motioned 
 her to be silent. 
 
 Nearer came the sound ; it was evidently 
 made by soft footsteps, and as he listened Mr. 
 Brainard thought there were many of them. " A 
 pack of coyotes," he thought ; " a firebrand 
 will scare them." He carefully selected from 
 the fire a suitable stick all blazing at one end, 
 and when they seemed quite near, he hurled it 
 far off in the direction of the sound. There 
 was a cry and a scamper, and he smiled to 
 think how easily he had routed them. Mrs. 
 Brainard lay down again. 
 
 In a moment there arose from the opposite 
 direction long, quavering cries, sounds to 
 chill one's blood, and so loud that instantly 
 every one was up. It seemed to be from a 
 hundred throats. 
 
 " Oh, what 's that ? " cried Barbara and her 
 mother in the same breath. 
 
 " Only coyotes, I think," said Mr. Brainard, 
 to quiet them, though in his heart he had 
 doubts, especially as the horses showed uneas-
 
 268 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 iness, snorting and prancing around, appar- 
 ently trying to get away. He rose to go to 
 them, to quiet them, and found the Pennsylva- 
 nia man at his side. 
 
 " Them 's no kiotys," he whispered. " Got a 
 gun, mister? We won't scare the women if we 
 can help it, but we 'd best be ready." 
 
 "I have a pistol," said Mr. Brainard. 
 " What do you suppose they are ? " 
 
 "Them's mountain lions or I lose my 
 guess 'r maybe wildcats." 
 
 "I understood," said Mr. Brainard, "we had 
 only coyotes to fear." 
 
 The man shrugged his shoulders. "Much 
 they knows back there, snug in their own 
 houses, what 's prowling round in the night ! 
 Now I 've got a good gun, an' I guess with 
 your toy shooter we can give 'ein all they 
 want." So saying, he threw a pile of the 
 branches he had been gathering onto the fire. 
 " We 'd best have a good light ; fire 's about 
 the only thing they 're af eared on ! " he went 
 on. 
 
 By this time Barbara and her mother and
 
 A NIGHT SCENE 269 
 
 Lydia from the wagon were standing by the 
 men, terrified almost out of their wits. Ned 
 had armed himself with the stoutest stick he 
 could find in the pile of branches they had 
 brought for the fire, and there the little band 
 stood, waiting, while the horses and mules 
 were making a great commotion. 
 
 Soon the watchers could see dark forms 
 a thousand of them, as it seemed drawing 
 near. 
 
 " Wait till we can see their eyes," said Mr. 
 Brainard, "and, Ned, you pull out some fire- 
 brands; when I give the word all together 
 let fly at them, shouting at the same time." 
 
 Ned did as his father said, and Barbara 
 joined him, pulling out two blazing brands, 
 one for each hand, and Lydia, who had crept 
 up quite near, did the same. 
 
 Nearer and nearer came the enemy, till the 
 men could see the gleam of eyes. Then the 
 animals whatever they were came a little 
 slower, plainly did not like fire. 
 
 Then Mr. Brainard shouted, 
 
 "Fire all!"
 
 270 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 Instantly followed two shots and six burn- 
 ing brands hurled wildly towards the advan- 
 cing party, while savage yells from six vigor- 
 ous throats filled the air with hideous din. 
 
 This was too much ! No animal could stand 
 such an attack ! With cries of rage the band 
 wheeled and fled, and the little party of travel- 
 ers burst into an irrepressible laugh at the total 
 rout of the foe. 
 
 They returned to their blankets and their 
 fire, but there was not much sleep for them. 
 The two men reloaded their weapons and re- 
 plenished the fire, but they sat beside it and 
 talked the rest of the night.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 FORDING THE RIVER 
 
 "WELL, daughter," said Barbara's father, 
 when she rose from her hard bed, and threw 
 off her blanket just as the sun was rising, 
 " how do you like camping out ? " 
 
 " Not a bit !" she said emphatically. "I've 
 had enough to last all my life." 
 
 " Well, the next thing is to get across this 
 river," said he laughing. 
 
 " First," said Mrs. Brainard, " we better 
 eat what we have left over, by way of break- 
 fast. See " she added in lower tone, " our 
 neighbors are already up and doing." 
 
 Barbara looked over to where stood the 
 wagon of their fellow travelers ; a small fire 
 was burning, and over it hung a kettle held 
 by two forked stakes with a stick across them. 
 Around it on the ground sat four poorly clad 
 children, while Lydia was filling their bowls 
 from the kettle. The father was harnessing
 
 272 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 his mules, and evidently preparing for an 
 early start. 
 
 " We better follow his example," said Mr. 
 Brainard, "so that we can help each other 
 across the ford if help is needed." 
 
 Accordingly they hurriedly ate what was 
 left of the night's luncheon, and Ned and his 
 father brought the horses, while Barbara and 
 her mother rolled up the blankets. 
 
 " We must see that the fire is all out," said 
 Mrs. Brainard, " we don't want to start a fire 
 among these bushes." 
 
 A pail of water from the river finished the 
 last sparks of the fire, and before the sun was 
 far on his way overhead the two teams were 
 ready to attempt the dangerous-looking ford. 
 
 " I believe," said Ned to his father, " we 
 must have killed something last night ; I guess 
 I '11 go and see." 
 
 " Well, go," said his father ; " we 're not 
 quite ready to start." 
 
 Ned ran off in the direction of the affray. 
 He was gone some time, and returned with a 
 queer look on his face. His father looked his
 
 FORDING THE RIVER 273 
 
 question and Ned as he hurried past him 
 to take his place in the carriage whispered 
 only one word, 
 
 " Coyotes." 
 
 The rest of the party had decided that the 
 foe could only be mountain lions, and he let 
 them remain in their delusion. 
 
 The two teams were soon at the ford. The 
 water had gone down a good deal, and Mr. 
 Brainard thought it would be safe, though of 
 course he did not know how deep it was. At 
 any rate it must be passed, so he started his 
 horses down the bank. 
 
 " If the water comes up into the box," he 
 said to his wife, " you and Barbara get up on 
 the seat so as not to wet your feet." 
 
 " Oh dear ! I hope it won't," said Mrs. Brai- 
 nard, "for that will wet our baggage on the 
 rack." 
 
 Bob and Bill did n't much like wading into 
 this rapidly running water, and they hesitated 
 on the brink, looking very much as if they 
 meant to turn around and go the other way. 
 Then Ned sprang out and ran to their heads.
 
 274 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 I '11 lead them, father," he said, " and if I 
 go ahead we shall see how deep it is, and if it 
 is safe." 
 
 " But, Ned ! " cried his mother, " you '11 get 
 wet! " 
 
 "I'm afraid I shall," said Ned, laughing, 
 " one generally does in the water." 
 
 " And you may be swept away," she went 
 on anxiously, " it runs so fast." 
 
 " I can swim, mother," he said. " Don't 
 worry." 
 
 " Hold fast to the horses if you 're swept 
 off your feet, my boy," called Mr. Brainard, 
 " they can swim, you know." 
 
 They went on slowly, Barbara and her 
 mother looking on fearfully as Ned sank 
 deeper and deeper into the stream ; up to his 
 knees up to his waist but there it stopped 
 and began to lower. They had been so ab- 
 sorbed in their anxiety for him that they had 
 not noticed that the water had come into the 
 carriage box, and their feet and the lower part 
 of their clothes were soaking. When they 
 drew up safely on the other side they stopped
 
 FORDING THE RIVER 275 
 
 to see if the other team made the trip safely. 
 It followed close behind them, and all were 
 relieved when it came up beside them on dry 
 land. 
 
 Two roads led from this point, and the 
 emigrant said, "I guess we part company 
 here ; I 'm going to the south, and this is my 
 road," pointing to the left-hand one. 
 
 "Then we do part here," said Mr. Brainard, 
 " for my road is straight ahead." 
 
 Good-byes were exchanged, and the mule 
 team with its load of children and their little 
 mother passed out of sight. 
 
 " Now," said Mr. Brainard, when Ned started 
 running on ahead, saying he would dry him- 
 self so, " there 's an inn not very far from here. 
 We must hurry to get there and dry our- 
 selves." 
 
 The horses were urged, and within an hour 
 the travelers were comfortably warming them- 
 selves before a rousing fire at the Rock River 
 Tavern. 
 
 On this side of the river the roads were 
 much better, and after a few hours spent in
 
 276 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 getting dry and eating an early dinner they 
 set off for a farmhouse where they hoped to 
 spend the night. 
 
 As they drew up before the side door of a 
 neat-looking farmhouse they were greeted 
 from the step by a short, slim little woman 
 with a very bright face and cheery voice, in 
 the accents of " down East." 
 
 " Wall, now, I 'm real glad to see you ! Get 
 right out and come in by the fire ! you look 
 clean tuckered out, missis." 
 
 Such a warm welcome was in itself comfort- 
 ing, and the looks and manner of the hostess 
 added to the cheer. 
 
 In five minutes Barbara and her mother 
 were seated in the warmest corner of the great 
 open fireplace, while Mr. Brainard and Ned 
 were helping their host to make the horses as 
 comfortable as themselves. This was the kind 
 of place to make one glad he had come. 
 
 " Can you keep us all night and to break- 
 fast ? " asked Mrs. Brainard. 
 
 " To be sure ! " said the woman, bustling 
 in and out of the pantry; " I Ve only got two
 
 FORDING THE RIVER 277 
 
 beds; but I can make up the lounge for 
 missy." 
 
 " Two beds will do well enough," said Mrs. 
 Brainard ; " my daughter will sleep with me." 
 
 " Wall, then, I can fix you up snug as a bug 
 in a rug," said their hostess, " 'n' as for break- 
 fast ! my sakes ! I could feed forty like you ! " 
 and with a hearty laugh she pulled out a table 
 and began to set it for supper. 
 
 " Is there anything special you 'd like for 
 supper?" she asked. 
 
 " What can you give us ? " asked Mrs. 
 Brainard. 
 
 " Wall, hot biscuits and butter 'n' a first- 
 rate dish o* hash I had fixed for breakfast 
 but I c'n make something else for break- 
 fast 'n' tea 'n' doughnuts 'n' cake 'n' apple- 
 sassV " 
 
 " There ! there ! " interrupted Mrs. Brainard, 
 " that 's enough in all conscience ! We shall 
 be well satisfied with what you have men- 
 tioned." 
 
 Never was such a bustling little housekeeper ; 
 in about five minutes she had scrambled her
 
 278 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 flour and things together, and slapped a pan 
 of biscuits into a tin oven before the fire. In 
 two minutes more a dish of most appetizing- 
 looking hash was throwing out delicious odors 
 from a " bake-kettle " on the hearth, and run- 
 ning back and forth between pantry, fireplace, 
 and table was the cheery little hostess, keeping 
 up all the time a pleasant chatter as brisk as 
 herself. 
 
 It was certainly less than thirty minutes 
 after they came in when they sat down to a 
 homely but tempting meal. Even fastidious 
 Barbara, who had learned at boarding school 
 to despise " hash " even she sent back her 
 plate for a second helping. As for Ned, he 
 declared he had n't eaten anything so good as 
 that hash and doughnuts since he left home 
 in knee-breeches for his first school. 
 
 Breakfast, to which the little woman could 
 give more time, was a most elaborate meal. 
 In addition to the usual breakfast dishes of 
 cereal, meat and potatoes, hot bread, and dough- 
 nuts and coffee, were four kinds of cake, two 
 kinds made fresh that morning, apple and
 
 FORDING THE RIVER 279 
 
 mince pie, four kinds of preserves, and various 
 other things. 
 
 It was the sort of bill of fare most delect- 
 able to the youthful appetite, and though I 
 hesitate to say that Barbara tasted every kind 
 of cake and pie and preserve, I 'm sure she 
 paid little attention to the more solid articles 
 their host piled upon her plate. 
 
 " I 'd like to stay here a week," she whis- 
 pered to her mother, as they left the table. 
 
 "No doubt you would," said her mother 
 with a smile, " but I fear it would n't be good 
 for your health. Our little hostess is far too 
 generous a provider." 
 
 " I 'm downright sorry to see you go," said 
 the farmer's wife, as the carriage came up in 
 the morning. " I du get so lonesome out here 
 on the prairie, 'n' it 's good for sore eyes to see 
 such a pleasant party as you. I du hope you'll 
 come this way again." 
 
 " If we do, " said Mr. Brainard heartily, 
 " we '11 be sure to stop over with you." 
 
 " So do ! so do ! " said the farmer, as the 
 horses started off.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 THE "STAR" 
 
 THE far Western town where this pleasant 
 family journey came to an end was a village 
 of hard-working people with apparently no 
 thoughts above their daily labors. The mis- 
 representation which had induced Mr. Brain- 
 ard to bring his family to this place, expecting 
 to make it their permanent home, need not be 
 told here. It is enough to say that Barbara 
 and Ned found themselves very lonely. Bar- 
 bara, indeed, began to feel very homesick for 
 her old life and circle of friends, when a new 
 interest opened before her. 
 
 Ned having, as I said, finished his edu- 
 cation was hesitating about choosing a pro- 
 fession, when circumstances, as they often 
 do, decided it for him. 
 
 In this backwoods village was one newspa- 
 per, a weekly of the regular country newspa-
 
 THE STAR 281 
 
 per type. Into the office of that paper, and 
 acquaintance with its genial editor, Ned, with 
 nothing to do, soon drifted. To help his new 
 friend, the rather overworked editor, as well 
 as to amuse himself in the dull country town, 
 he learned the art of typesetting and printing, 
 and generally getting up a newspaper. 
 
 At the same time Barbara, feeling the keen- 
 est interest in everything connected with the 
 press, began to write little items which she 
 sent in anonymously, and was always pleased 
 to see in the next issue of the paper. 
 
 All this work which the brother and sister 
 did for their own amusement proved to be 
 really a training for a position in which they 
 found themselves a few weeks later. The 
 owner and editor of the " Weekly Star " (let us 
 call it) received one day an offer of a desirable 
 connection in one of the two large cities of 
 the state, and was anxious to accept it. To get 
 his little paper off his hands without really 
 stopping it before the year was out, he offered 
 to sell it to Ned, with the use of the type and 
 press, and all things necessary to print the
 
 282 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 paper till the end of the year, for which the 
 subscribers had paid. 
 
 Ned considered this offer with hesitation, 
 for, being a new hand, he feared he could not 
 manage the whole business of editor, composi- 
 tor, proofreader, press-worker, and office boy, 
 as the present editor had done. 
 
 But when Barbara heard his talk about it, she 
 at once fired up. " Oh, Ned ! " she cried with 
 sparkling eyes, " Do it ! do it ! I '11 help you ! " 
 
 " What can you do, sis," said Ned, " except 
 write sharp little items ? " 
 
 " Oh, I can learn to set type," said Barbara. 
 "I know I can it is n't so very hard and I 
 should love to do it ! I have nothing to do ; 
 Oh, do let me ! " 
 
 " That might do, " said her father, consid- 
 ering. "Barbara has plenty of grit, and she's 
 always mussing with ink look at her fingers 
 now." 
 
 Sure enough ; on the treacherous middle 
 finger of her right hand was an ink spot, which, 
 in her haste to fill her pen, Barbara generally 
 wore to show what she had been doing.
 
 THE STAR 283 
 
 Barbara blushed and laughed. 
 
 " Well, sis, if you '11 promise to stand by 
 me and learn to set type like any apprentice, 
 I think I '11 try it ; it will at least help to pass 
 away the time in this dull town ; but you 
 must n't back out when you find it hard, or 
 tiresome." 
 
 "Back out!" said Barbara scornfully. "Do 
 I ever back out of a promise, mother ? " turn- 
 ing to that lady, who was listening with inter- 
 est to the talk. Remembering with a pang 
 Barbara's experience with the paper basket 
 so long ago now which so nearly had a dis- 
 astrous ending, Mrs. Brainard said emphati- 
 cally, " Indeed, Ned, I am sure you can trust 
 Barbara to keep her promise, and more too, 
 and she '11 take to printer's ink like a duck to 
 water ; she always was daft over any kind of 
 ink." 
 
 With this endorsement Ned quickly decided 
 to take the paper, and the very next morning 
 work began. 
 
 Dressed in her warmest gown, for winter 
 had already arrived and winter in Minne-
 
 284 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 sota is no joke and protected by one of her 
 mother's big aprons from the printers' ink in 
 which she hoped to revel, Barbara betook her- 
 self directly after breakfast to the office of the 
 "Weekly Star," feeling several inches taller, 
 and many years older, than she did the day 
 before. 
 
 The office, composing-room, and everything 
 else of this unique newspaper was in one large 
 room in the basement of the village hotel, in 
 which the family had taken board for the win- 
 ter. The room was intended for a store, the 
 whole front being occupied by two large show 
 windows and a double glass door. 
 
 Having, however, missed its vocation as a 
 store, it had been a general receptacle for all 
 the rubbish and odds and ends of the hotel 
 above. Also its windows had been a target 
 for idle boys, and more than half the panes of 
 glass were broken or missing altogether. To 
 keep from freezing to death the editor had 
 closed these openings to the sharp Minnesota 
 air by newspapers pasted over, or old clothes 
 stuffed in, so that the front presented a dis-
 
 THE STAR 285 
 
 reputable appearance, looking, indeed, like a 
 rag shop or something worse. 
 
 Inside it was even less attractive ; the rub- 
 bish mentioned had been hastily shoved to the 
 back, to make room for the two cases of type 
 to be set up near the windows, but it still 
 stood there in all its ugliness. 
 
 The stove occupied the place of honor near 
 the type cases, while the pipe, which ran the 
 whole length of the room, was shakingly held 
 in place by numerous rusty wires, and disap- 
 peared into a hole near the ceiling. This 
 piece of furniture, on which their lives de- 
 pended, was a big structure standing on three 
 legs and a pile of bricks, and plainly had not 
 been blacked for ages if ever. It had a 
 large square door in front, with a capacity of 
 great logs of wood. 
 
 It had the capacity as I said and the 
 will to dispose of them ; all that was lacking 
 was proper fuel. Not a stick of dry wood 
 could be bought in that town at the begin- 
 ning of a Minnesota winter. Every family had 
 taken care to provide itself with this necessity
 
 286 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 of life, but no one had a stick to sell. Neither 
 money nor entreaties was able to secure any- 
 thing to feed that devouring monster, which 
 was expected to keep the lifeblood flowing in 
 the veins of the new editor and his assistant, 
 anything, at least, that was prepared to burn. 
 Green wood they could buy, and that they 
 had to put up with, with the result that more 
 than half the time of the two shivering work- 
 ers had to be passed in coaxing the wood to 
 render up its heat ; and never once in the va- 
 ried experiences of that winter was that barn 
 of a room really warm. 
 
 The brother and sister prepared for their 
 daily labors by putting on all the wraps they 
 possessed. Ned worked in heavy overcoat, long 
 leggings, thick woolen gloves with the tips of 
 the fingers cut off; and Barbara wrapped her- 
 self in every jacket and cloak she had, with 
 fur-lined overshoes, and gloves cut like her 
 brother's. Thus equipped, looking like a pair 
 of Arctic explorers, they went laughing at 
 their own grotesque appearance to their 
 dreary office, to their daily task of setting type.
 
 THE STAB 287 
 
 Barbara soon grew expert at the work, for 
 she loved it. To see the words she had written 
 grow into print in the little '"'composing stick" 
 in her hand, and then take their place in the 
 long column that was to appear in the "Star," 
 was a constant delight to her. After the work 
 of the day was over, and she went to her little 
 room in the hotel above, she busied herself in 
 writing sketches, editorials, magazine reviews, 
 and so forth, to fill the columns, leaving to her 
 brother who, lacking her enthusiasm, was 
 usually too tired to work only the political 
 and other news to write. Often she had to go 
 to bed to keep warm, for the hotel was not much 
 better supplied with dry wood than the office. 
 Even then she would wrap up her shoulders 
 and arms, and sit up and write hours after 
 every one else in the house had retired to the 
 only place where he could be really warm - 
 his bed.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 HAPPY AT LAST 
 
 IN spite of the cold, the hard work, and the 
 many discomforts, Barbara was now very 
 happy, happier than she had ever been in her 
 life. She had found the work that she loved, 
 and though you young folk won't believe 
 it yet that is the greatest happiness in life. 
 
 Her work, of course, was crude ; no editor, 
 except a brother hard pressed to fill his paper, 
 would have published it ; but she was learn- 
 ing she improved. Seeing her own words 
 in cold print showed her their faults, and she 
 set herself eagerly to correct them. She read 
 carefully other newspapers ; she modeled her 
 work upon the best of them, and before that 
 winter was over she had acquired a very tol- 
 erable journalistic style. 
 
 There was a sort of intoxication about the 
 situation in which these very young people 
 found themselves. Finding a certain power in
 
 HAPPY AT LAST 289 
 
 their hands with no older head to hold back, 
 they set out after the manner of youth 
 to make the old world over in the old foolish 
 way by force. 
 
 Selecting the ordinary failings of human 
 nature, especially as it shows in a small town 
 with few outside interests, they attacked them 
 with the eager enthusiasm of inexperience; 
 sharp, caustic remarks and even serious re- 
 proof appeared in the saucy one might say 
 impertinent "Star," which indeed changed 
 from a heavenly object to a very earthly one. 
 
 Before long that sleepy village awoke ; 
 people began to open their eyes and to wag 
 their tongues. The youthful editors did not 
 know the people well enough to be personal 
 had they desired to be so, but in attacking 
 human nature in general they could not fail 
 to hit some one, and every one so stung began 
 to sting back. Gossip, which had come in for 
 the hardest blows of the callow journal, was 
 turned against them ; strange stories began to 
 be whispered about. The young editors were 
 delighted. They were making a sensation ;
 
 290 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 they had escaped the fault of dullness 
 deadliest of faults in a newspaper. 
 
 In fact, the eager reformers were in a fair 
 way to bring a hornet's nest about their ears, 
 when a kind fate in the guise of a misfortune 
 came in to protect them. 
 
 One morning in the early spring a thunder- 
 bolt fell upon the modest " Star." The old ed- 
 itor appeared in the office and announced that 
 he had sold all the type and the press, and 
 should have to take them away in two days. 
 
 Consternation fell upon the pair. The pa- 
 per had three weeks more to run before the 
 new owner could collect what was due for ad- 
 vertising, which he depended upon to pay him 
 for his time and work. 
 
 This called for a council of war; the ques- 
 tion to settle was : what shall be done? 
 
 That evening in family conclave the matter 
 was discussed. After much talk and many 
 suggestions, such as that the paper should be 
 issued from the city nearest them, and so 
 forth, the bright thought came to Barbara, 
 who flashed out with, " I '11 tell you, Ned, let 's
 
 HAPPY AT LAST 291 
 
 run off the three numbers in the two days 
 we have, and send them out at the proper 
 time ! " 
 
 " We might do that," said Ned eagerly, " if 
 father will take Bill (the hired man) and run 
 the press. We can cut it down to a half sheet. 
 Keeping all the ads, and leaving out most of 
 the literature" (with a roguish glance at Bar- 
 bara), " you and I can keep up the matter, 
 and I really believe we could do it." 
 
 " I '11 give you my help," said their father, 
 " though I never ran a press." 
 
 " That's easy to learn," said Ned, " and Bill 
 has helped me, so he knows how." 
 
 So the thing was arranged ; the next morn- 
 ing very early saw the work begun. The 
 standing ads were rearranged in new, com- 
 pact shape, all useless matter cut out, and 
 only two or three columns left to be filled with 
 fresh matter for each day. 
 
 Barbara hunted scraps of sketches from her 
 desk, and wrote notices of the magazines which 
 were due during those three weeks. Ned wrote 
 leaders on general subjects which were always
 
 292 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 timely, and both worked from dawn till long 
 after dark at the composing cases, setting up 
 these various productions, and, after they were 
 printed, distributing the type to be used for 
 the next issue, while the hand press steadily 
 stamped them on the paper. 
 
 So by almost constant work all day and far 
 into the night the work was finished; and 
 three rolls of the diminished "Star" one for 
 each week were hidden away in a room up- 
 stairs, and the weary but triumphant pair took 
 some much-needed rest. 
 
 That was a small town, as I said, and after 
 the manner of the people in small towns, every 
 one knew his neighbor's business. There was 
 much talk when the "office" of the "Star" 
 was seen to depart, and many queries whether 
 that luminary would appear again, and the 
 advertisers should be asked to pay. 
 
 Much to their surprise, the next week saw 
 the " Star" again on their counters and tables, 
 with all its ads, and its sprightly spirits un- 
 diminished. 
 
 Wise heads assembled in the grocery, dis-
 
 HAPPY AT LAST 293 
 
 cussed the matter, and decided that it had been 
 run off in a hurry before the office left, but 
 one and all were sure it would not appear 
 again. 
 
 What was their surprise on the next Wed- 
 nesday to be greeted by the same old "Star," 
 with new matter. Guesses were plenty, but no 
 one hit upon the truth. The crowd at the gro- 
 cery decided that it had been printed at St. 
 Paul. 
 
 The third issue contained the valedictory of 
 each of the two editors for Barbara, by as- 
 suming the greater part of the original work, 
 had been accorded that distinction by her 
 grateful brother and the "Star" set, to rise 
 no more. 
 
 It had accomplished its work. It had de- 
 cided the lifework of the two, for Ned found 
 himself as much fascinated as Barbara with 
 journalism, and had no further doubts as to a 
 profession.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 THE END OF TROUBLES 
 
 WHEN the little country newspaper drew its 
 last breath, Barbara felt that she had made 
 good her claim to make writing her profes- 
 sion. She had learned a great deal, and to 
 her untrained sense her articles read very 
 much like those she found in the best maga- 
 zines and journals. 
 
 When her father learned that the Western 
 move was a mistake, and the next spring 
 moved bag and baggage back to civilization, 
 Barbara, who was now much happier at home 
 since Janet was no longer there, set herself 
 seriously to begin what she felt was her life- 
 work. 
 
 So many things she saw about her in the 
 world that needed reforming: so many mis- 
 takes made, so many blunders, so much need- 
 less unhappiness. She was burning with desire 
 to set them right; she was bursting with ad-
 
 THE END OF TROUBLES 295 
 
 vice and help. She could see so plainly where 
 the mistakes were made ; how mothers failed 
 in their duty to their children, wives to their 
 husbands, teachers to their pupils. If the world 
 would only listen ! 
 
 Alas ! the world did not seem to want to 
 be set right ; it preferred to go on in the old 
 stupid, blundering way. 
 
 Earnestly, and with her whole heart in the 
 work, Barbara sat in her quiet room and 
 wrote, wrote, wrote. Essay after essay flowed 
 from her pen, and, after due study and correc- 
 tion, in dainty yet business-like dress set out 
 on its mission of helpfulness. 
 
 Alas ! one after another, with marvelous 
 unanimity, every essay returned to her. 
 
 What did this mean ? had she not read in 
 stories of the wonderful success of the first 
 efforts of young writers ; how their effusions 
 met at once a generous response with eager 
 requests for more ? Were they so much bet- 
 ter than hers ? Many essays that she read in 
 magazines and papers read no better; some 
 were even stupid, in her opinion.
 
 296 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 But these unanimous returns ! Had she 
 indeed mistaken her vocation ? Had the world 
 no need of her ? Her courage and her hopes 
 sank to zero. She was beginning to feel that 
 she had no place in the world, and life looked 
 very black. If she could not write, she felt 
 that she could not live ; no other career but 
 that of author had the least charm for her. 
 
 These were very dark days for Barbara, but 
 into her gloom came at last a ray of light. It 
 came from what one might think a chance 
 conversation, if there were any such thing as 
 chance. 
 
 Barbara, as I have many times said, was a 
 devoted book-lover, and in her fresh grief and 
 misery she turned to books more and more for 
 comfort and consolation. Not far from her 
 home was a small private circulating library, 
 kept by a woman of much ability and experi- 
 ence. With this woman Barbara loved to talk, 
 when she went for books, and from her lips 
 fell the words that changed Barbara's life. 
 
 They were one day speaking of a mutual 
 acquaintance who was trying to win a place
 
 THE END OF TROUBLES 297 
 
 in the world of writers, but had met with no suc- 
 cess. 
 
 " It is easy to see why she fails," said Mrs. 
 Martin ; " she writes nothing but her sen- 
 timents and opinions. What do people care 
 for the sentiments of an unknown writer ? 
 The world is full of young scribblers who 
 think it their business to make over the blun- 
 dering old world ; they crop out as plentiful 
 as flowers in the spring." 
 
 Barbara was all eager attention now. Per- 
 haps the wise old woman, who knew human 
 nature, saw the hunger of her soul ; at any 
 rate she went on : 
 
 " If she would only tell stories, now " 
 
 Barbara shuddered : anybody could tell sto- 
 ries, she thought, she could reel them off 
 by the mile, she would not condescend to 
 write stories. 
 
 " Or," went on her sharp-sighted friend, 
 "or tell the world something it does not 
 know, or something it wants to know ; some 
 facts, told in a bright, fresh way. When she 
 gets a name that the world will recognize,
 
 298 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 then she can go into the reforming business; 
 then her sentiments and ideas will have some 
 weight." 
 
 With these wise words in her mind Barbara 
 went home ; the new thought had taken hold 
 of her; she felt new life; perhaps thai was 
 the way to begin. 
 
 But what did she know to tell the world; 
 Facts had not been in her thoughts ; senti- 
 ments, feelings, had filled her mind. 
 
 Pondering deeply on these things, she 
 reached home and went at once to her room 
 to think it over. The book she had taken 
 from the library was a bound volume of 
 Household Words, and while she was search- 
 ing her mind to find some bit of knowledge 
 that she might offer that world which re- 
 fused her sentiments, and so test her friend's 
 wisdom, she was turning over the leaves care- 
 lessly. Suddenly her eyes fell upon something 
 which attracted her. It was an account of a 
 visit to some famous china works in England, 
 and it gave, in a bright, simple way, the pro- 
 cess through which every bit of china passed.
 
 THE END OF TROUBLES 299 
 
 Barbara was so interested that she read it 
 through, and then like a flash came the 
 thought that changed the world for her. 
 
 Why not write this up? This is English; 
 why not see how it is done in America and 
 tell it for the children, for her failures had 
 made Barbara modest about instructing grown- 
 ups. 
 
 The thought worked like wild-fire; she 
 could not even wait to see how it was done in 
 America ; but, her mind filled with the in- 
 teresting details of the English process, she 
 seized her pencil and began her sketch. She 
 was full of her subject, and she never paused 
 till she had finished the article, and described 
 the whole process of making a dainty bit of 
 china, in language that was simple though 
 not babyish. 
 
 When she had copied it and sent it to the 
 Children's Department of a religious weekly 
 that came regularly to the house, she set her- 
 self with grim courage to wait the usual re- 
 turn of the manuscript. 
 
 But it did not return ; the very next num-
 
 300 WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA 
 
 ber of the paper had her " Tale of a Teacup " 
 in it, and in the mail came a letter Oh, joy 
 unspeakable ! with her first reward, a two- 
 dollar bill ! 
 
 The amount was nothing, but the promise 
 for the future was everything. From that 
 moment Barbara was the happiest girl on 
 earth. She had found her work ! she had 
 proved that she could do it ! She had not 
 been mistaken in her instincts; she needed 
 only time and experience to make her own 
 place in the world of her love and longing. 
 
 It is needless to say that the wild enthusi- 
 asm of that hour of first success was not 
 entirely fulfilled. Barbara did win a place for 
 herself in the world of letters a modest one, 
 to be sure but one that made her life hap- 
 pier. 
 
 The first little success was not followed by 
 the triumphant career she pictured; articles 
 came back, editors were not always eager as 
 she pushed out into more ambitious fields ; she 
 met the usual failures, but she met also with 
 many successes, enough to make the happiness
 
 THE END OF TROUBLES 301 
 
 of a life which had many vicissitudes after the 
 days of this book. 
 
 She learned also to have more respect for 
 the story, and even sometimes to write one 
 herself when one came to her so vividly that 
 she could n't help it. 
 
 So we will leave her, a happy Barbara, with 
 her lifework plain before her.
 
 CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
 U . S A
 
 THE OPENED SHUTTERS 
 
 By CLARA LOUISE BURNHAM 
 
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 " The love story of Sylvia and her rescuer is a very 
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 " Mrs. Burnham has written the book in her hap- 
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 With frontispiece in color by HARRISON FISHER 
 
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