'
 
 HUNTING FOB FOUR-LEAVED CLOVERS.
 
 GRACE HOLBROOK 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES OF ENDEAVOR 
 AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 "PANSY" (MRS.^G. R. ALDEN) 
 
 Author of "MAKING FATE," " WHAT THEY COULDN'T, 
 " ESTER RIED," etc., etc. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 BOSTON 
 LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1896. 
 BY LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY. 
 
 PANSY 
 TRADE-MARK UEUISTEKED JUNE 4, 1895.
 
 URL 1 
 
 GRACE HOLBROOK, THE MARTYR, 
 
 TENNIE TALBOT was always hunting for 
 *-J four-leaved clovers. 
 
 " To be sure, I never find one," she said, with 
 a bright little laugh; "but then, I might, you 
 know, and it's kind of exciting to be always 
 looking." 
 
 Rene Holbrook leaned over the fence and 
 watched her, laughing at her for taking so much 
 trouble just for a four- leaved clover. "What 
 good would it do you to find one? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh ! no good, only they are so uncommon ; 
 I think I like things that are a little uncommon. 
 Then it is said to be good luck to find one, you 
 know, though of course I don't believe in luck." 
 
 "You believe in wasting your time," said 
 Grace Holbrook, appearing just then from the 
 side piazza. She was sixteen months older 
 than Jennie, and took it upon herself to lecture 
 her occasionally, though the two were seat-
 
 GRACE HOLE ROOK, THE MARTYR. 
 
 mates in school, and excellent friends. " I 
 should think you would both better be studying 
 your parts for the Review of Nations, instead 
 of fumbling among those green leaves after silly 
 little clovers. I don't believe either of you are 
 ready for rehearsal." 
 
 " I know some of my part," said Jennie, div- 
 ing in among the younger clovers, and looking 
 curiously at each one in the hope of being re- 
 warded by the sight of a f our- leaf ; "and I'm 
 going to study all the afternoon. I shall be 
 ready, but I don't like my quotations ; they 
 make me shiver. It seems dreadful to have to 
 say over all those terrible things." 
 
 "I don't think so," answered Grace, her 
 eyes glowing with excitement. "Your part 
 isn't half so bad as mine, and I like mine. I 
 glory in the courage of those men. Sometimes 
 I almost wish there were martyrs in these days, 
 so we would have a chance to show what we 
 are made of." 
 
 Timid little Jennie among the clovers shiv- 
 ered. "Oh! don't," she said, as though wish- 
 ing might possibly bring it to pass. " I think 
 it was terrible. I am so thankful that I did
 
 GRACE HOLE ROOK, THE MARTYR. 
 
 not live in those days that sometimes I could 
 cry for joy. I almost know I would have been 
 a coward." 
 
 " O, Jennie Talbot! you are a pretty girl to 
 have been chosen for that splendid verse you 
 recite about the man who felt the flames creep- 
 ing up around him. You recite it real well ; I 
 don't see how you can, if you feel so." 
 
 "It is just because I 'feel so' that I can put 
 feeling into it, I suppose. I can almost seem 
 to see those flames gathering strength, and it 
 makes me feel hot and cold both at once. I 
 am glad, as glad as I can be, that the man 
 could be so splendid ; but all the same, I know 
 just as well as I do that I am sitting here in 
 the grass, that I could never have been like 
 him in the world." 
 
 "Nonsense ! " said Grace loftily ; "I could ; 
 I feel it in me. I can imagine the whole scene 
 the trial, and the questions, and the way 
 I should hold up my head and answer, and 
 everything." 
 
 A low, chuckling laugh from Rene broke in 
 upon her eloquence. "Much you two know 
 about it," he said. "Just as though you could
 
 GRACE HOLHROOK, THE MARTYR. 
 
 settle it in these days how you should feel if 
 you were back in the times when it was danger- 
 ous to own that you had a Bible, or knew 
 anything about the Bible, or cared anything 
 about it." 
 
 Grace turned on him angrily. "Well, I 
 should hope we could, Rene Holbrook. I don't 
 say we can realize it as those people did ; but 
 if I couldn't know whether I would be true to 
 my principles and stand up for the Bible, and 
 for everything else that I bad promised to up- 
 hold, I should be ashamed of myself." 
 
 "Well," said Jennie, with a meek little sigh, 
 "I don't feel that way, and I can't. I think 
 I'm a good deal of a coward. I should want to 
 be true, and I think I should try to be ; but 
 honestly, I'm afraid I couldn't." 
 
 Rene laughed again, this time loud and long; 
 it was so funny to him to hear those girls dis- 
 cussing martyrdom with all the nervous excite- 
 ment of reality or of what they imagined was 
 reality that he could not help but laugh. Grace 
 told him she was ashamed of him, and went 
 away ; and soon after gentle little Jennie, who 
 feared that she had in some way offended her
 
 GRACE HOLE ROOK, THE MARTYR. 
 
 dear Grace, followed her example, and went to 
 her own home, which joined the Holbrook house, 
 and set herself about studying her part for the 
 great missionary exercise, which was to be a 
 Review of Nations, and in which exercise she 
 recited a brief descriptive poem concerning the 
 days of the Christian martyrs, with such depth 
 of feeling as to bring tears to the eyes of those 
 who were drilling her. Grace also recited with 
 remarkable power some of the brave, strong 
 answers of those grand men and w.omen, and 
 gloried in the portion of history which she was 
 to represent. 
 
 That very evening, at the rehearsal, some- 
 thing occurred which brought the talk in the 
 clover patch vividly back to the three who had 
 lingered there. Some of the little children were 
 being drilled to sing a verse of the old hymn, 
 "There is a Happy Land, Far, Far Away." 
 It was to be sung, during the progress of the 
 Review of Nations, in the Japanese language, 
 as it was sung in their Sabbath-school. Of 
 course much drilling was required to familiarize 
 the little singers with those queer-sounding 
 syllables which made them feel like laughing.
 
 GRACE HOLE ROOK, THE MARTYR. 
 
 Meantime the older ones, who were waiting 
 for their turn to rehearse, scattered in groups, 
 and amused themselves as best they could. In 
 one group of half a dozen boys, and more than 
 that number of girls, were Grace Holbrook and 
 her brother, and Jennie Talbot. Over and over 
 were the sweet, familiar strains of the old hymn 
 which every one of these had sung in childhood 
 repeated. 
 
 " I should think those chicks had had time 
 to learn a million verses of the thing," said one 
 of the boys at last, impatiently. "If they 
 would try our words it wouldn't take so long, 
 would it, Rene ? " 
 
 "What are your words ? " asked Grace. And 
 in reply Rene sang in undertone, to the tune of 
 "Happy Laud": 
 
 " There is a boarding-house, 
 
 Not far away, 
 Where they have ham and eggs 
 
 Three times a day." 
 
 Several of the girls, who had not heard this 
 remarkable parody before, were convulsed with 
 laughter. Grace Holbrook laughed with the
 
 GRACE HO L BROOK, THE MARTYR. 
 
 rest, though there was a little flush on her 
 cheek. The boys to whom the trash was 
 familiar looked on in smiling enjoyment, and 
 only little Jennie Talbot, her cheeks red, and 
 her heart beating fast because of the courage 
 it took, said timidly, though quite distinctly : 
 "Boys, I don't believe it is right to sing such 
 silly words to that hymn tune." 
 
 Rene opened his great brown eyes wider than 
 usual. 
 
 "Why not?" he asked. "Tunes aren't 
 sacred. What earthly harm can it do? " 
 
 ' ' Well, for one thing it will make people 
 think of those words the next time they hear 
 the tune, and then they will feel like laughing. 
 Then there are other reasons which I can feel, 
 but cannot tell. I don't believe it is quite 
 right; you never hear real good people do 
 it. Don't you believe you would be shocked 
 if Dr. Grierson should sing it that way, just 
 for fun?" 
 
 ' ' Oh ! I wouldn't have him do it in prayer 
 meeting," answered Rene loftily. 
 
 "No; I don't mean in prayer meeting; I 
 mean here at rehearsal. If he should come
 
 GRACE HOLBROOKE THE MARTYR. 
 
 along now singing ' Happy Laud,' and when 
 be came near enough we should find it was to 
 those words, would you think it was real nice?" 
 
 " Dr. Grierson is a minister," said Rene 
 shortly, " and I am not." Then he turned 
 away, looking cross. There was quite a little 
 discussion about the matter, but Jennie said no 
 more. As for Grace, her eyes had flashed a 
 good deal, but she did not say much until they 
 were walking home together, she and Rene and 
 Jennie Talbot. Then she began. 
 
 "I don't think it was very nice in you, Jennie 
 Talbot, to lecture those boys who are so much 
 older than you. Rene didn't mind it, of course ; 
 but there was John Moore, nearly three years 
 older than you ; he was singing, too, and he 
 looked ever so annoyed." 
 
 "I didn't mean to lecture," said Jennie 
 gently ; "I didn't want to say a word ; and at 
 first I thought I would laugh it off with the 
 rest ; but I truly think it is wrong, and it did 
 not seem right to keep still." 
 
 "Nonsense!" said Grace severely; "as if 
 it would have done any harm to laugh. I 
 didn't admire the stuff myself; but I don't
 
 GRACE HOLBROOK, THE MARTYR. 
 
 think it is necessary to set myself up above 
 other people and lecture them. My way is to 
 just laugh such things off and forget them, and 
 I don't believe " 
 
 "Oh! hold on now, Sis." It was Rene's 
 voice that interrupted. "I'm the fellow who 
 deserved the most of the scolding, so I have a 
 right to speak ; it was the gentlest little scold- 
 ing ever heard of, and made me feel ashamed 
 of myself. If it is any pleasure to Jennie to 
 know it, I quite agree with her ; ' Happy Land ' 
 has too many tender memories to be associated 
 with such trash as we were getting off to-night. 
 Moreover, I may as well tell you what I spe- 
 cially thought of ; that Jennie had gone back 
 to our morning's talk, and was living out some 
 of the ideas advanced. I've made up my mind 
 which of us three would have the courage to be 
 a martyr if the chance offered, and it wouldn't 
 be a person by the name of Holbrook, in my 
 opinion. Anybody could see it took a lot of 
 courage for you to speak up in the way you 
 did, Jennie. And as for John Moore, since 
 we are on the subject and talking plainly, I'll 
 tell you what he said :
 
 GRACE HOLBROOK, THE MARTYR. 
 
 " 'That's a first-class little heroine, isn't it? 
 I tell you what it is, she is going to stand up 
 for what she thinks is right every time, if it 
 does make her cheeks red.' " 
 
 And then, to Grace Holbrook's relief, they 
 reached her father's door, and she was not 
 obliged to make any reply to these astonishing 
 revelations.
 
 CELIA STUART'S TRUST. 
 
 SHE was a pretty girl when her face was 
 pleasant, but this morning it was all in 
 a frown. In vain Baby Frances made her pret- 
 tiest attempts at speech, Celia would not smile. 
 Something was the matter with one of the wheels 
 to Baby Frances' carriage, so the willow top had 
 been taken off and set on the floor, with Frances 
 in it, and Celia had been called to amuse her, 
 while the wheels went to the carriage maker's 
 to be repaired. As a general thing Celia was 
 ready to play with Baby Frances, but this 
 morning she was not. Carrie Wheelock, her 
 next-door neighbor, had company, two little 
 girls with curls and dollies ; they were out in 
 the yard at this moment having a party for 
 their dollies, and Celia had intended to take 
 her Amelia Jane and go and call upon them. 
 In her secret heart she believed that Amelia 
 Jane was better looking and better dressed
 
 CELIA STUART'S TRUST. 
 
 than any of the other dollies, but she could not 
 be quite sure until she had a nearer view. It 
 was very trying, just as she had Amelia Jane 
 dressed in her best, and was going out of the 
 door, to be called back to Frances. Celia could 
 never remember feeling so thoroughly out of 
 humor as she did when she slammed her dollie 
 on the floor, and told her sharply to ' ' lie still 
 and behave herself ! " and then sat down in a 
 sullen little heap in front of Frances. She was 
 half-frightened at the thoughts which floated 
 through her mind. "I'm sick and tired of 
 taking care of Frances ! I just wish she had 
 some wings and would fly away." I suppose 
 what made her think of this, was the fact that 
 two bright-winged birds at that moment flew 
 past the window and alighted on one of the 
 limbs of the great oak-tree. Celia reflected 
 that Frances would look very pretty in her 
 white dress, seated up there among the green 
 leaves. Frances, however, not being a bird, 
 wanted to be amused, and puckered her lip when 
 she found Celia was not going to amuse her. 
 
 "Hush up ! " said that young woman, speak- 
 ing sharply ; " it is bad enough to have to stay
 
 CELIA STUART'S TRUST. 
 
 in the house and take care of you, without 
 having you cry about it." 
 
 Just then she heard a shout of laughter from 
 the yard next door. Celia's curiosity got the 
 better of her. "I'll just run to the door and 
 see what they are laughing about," she said, 
 springing up ; " nothing can happen to Frances 
 in such a little minute as that." 
 
 "O, Celia!" called Carrie, the minute the 
 side door opened and Celia's head appeared, 
 "do come here and see what we found in the 
 china bowl in our playhouse." 
 
 "I can't," said Celia; "I have Baby to take 
 care of. What did you find ? " and she moved 
 three steps toward the next yard. She did not 
 mean to do it, but they held up something for 
 her to see, and she could not see it ; she took 
 three steps more, and at last was fairly inside 
 the yard, gazing at the curious flying bug with 
 great green wings, that had set up housekeep- 
 ing in the china bowl. After that it could do 
 no harm merely to glance at the dollies and see 
 if they were in any way superior to Amelia 
 Jane. In her own opinion she staid a very 
 short time indeed, then ran back as fast as she
 
 CELIA STUART'S TRUST. 
 
 could, expecting to hear Frances scream as 
 she neared the sitting-room. But no sound 
 reached her ears. She pushed open the door 
 in breathless haste. There lay Amelia Jane on 
 the floor where she had thrown her, but in the 
 willow carriage top sat Frisk and Whisk, look- 
 ing as full of mischief as their names suggested. 
 But where was Frances? I do not think poor 
 Celia ever forgot the feeling which came over 
 her as she saw the kittens in Baby's place, and 
 realized that Baby was gone. For a moment 
 it seemed to her as though her heart stopped 
 beating. The next, she gave a scream which 
 could have been heard away out at the stables. 
 
 " O, mamma ! what has become of Frances? " 
 
 Through the house she ran, screaming louder 
 with every step, until Ann caught hold of her 
 arm and spoke with authority. "For pity's 
 sake, Miss Celia, stop your yelling. You will 
 scare your mamma to pieces, and set the baby 
 into fits. Whatever is the matter?" 
 
 " The baby ! " screamed Celia. " Somebody 
 has carried her off." 
 
 "Why, what ails the child? The baby is 
 in her mamma's arms this minute going to
 
 CELIA STUART'S TRUST. 
 
 sleep, or trying to, if you don't scare her out 
 of it." 
 
 " O, Ann ! are you sure mamma has her? " 
 
 "Sure? of course I am. Didn't I just take 
 her up a glass of water? Sit down, child, and 
 get your breath ; you are all of a tremble. 
 What did you think had happened?" 
 
 "I didn't kuow," said Celia, and she dropped 
 in a little heap on the floor and began to cry. 
 
 "Mamma," said the little girl that evening, 
 after several things had been explained, "do 
 you think perhaps God had you take Frances 
 out of her carriage just then, and let Frisk and 
 Whisk come in her place to scare me and pun- 
 ish me ? He wouldn't do that, would he, when 
 he could see right into my heart, and knew I 
 did not mean it at all ; that I would not have 
 her fly away for anything in the world ? " 
 
 Mamma bent over her work-basket for a 
 moment to hide a smile. Celia's idea some way 
 sounded very odd. Presently she answered : 
 
 " I think, dear, that God may have let Frisk 
 and Whisk help to teach you a lesson. You 
 were given a trust, you know, and were not 
 faithful to it. Serious things might ha\e hap-
 
 CELIA STUART'S TRUST. 
 
 pened to Frances even in that short time, which 
 was not so short as 'it seemed to you. If the 
 fright you had has taught you to be faithful 
 when you are called to take a responsibility, you 
 will have reason to thank the kittens for their 
 share in the day's lesson, will you not? " 
 
 Celia smiled somewhat gravely ; but the next 
 moment she shivered as she said : " O, mamma ! 
 wouldn't it have been dreadful if He had given 
 her wings, and she had flown up in a tree, and 
 we could not get her down ? " 
 
 "Poor little girlie," said her mother, "your 
 nerves need resting. If I were you I would 
 go to bed, and to sleep. God will take care 
 of Frances, and you, and the birdies, and 
 everybody."
 
 POOR MAMIE. 
 
 IT came over her all at once while she was 
 dressing not by any means for the first 
 time, either. Nobody but she knew how many 
 tears she had shed over this trouble which had 
 come upon her ; but on this first of April morn- 
 ing, with the sun shining brightly outside, and 
 the birds singing their welcome to spring, it 
 seemed harder than ever. At the risk of rump- 
 ling her pretty hair, which she had arranged 
 neatly, Mamie threw herself in a disconsolate 
 heap on her bed, buried her head in the pillow, 
 and cried as though her heart would break. 
 
 What great trouble had come to Mamie? I 
 am sure you will not laugh when I tell you ; it 
 was no laughing matter. 
 
 An "April-fool party" had been in the air 
 for the past three weeks. Mamie's particular 
 friend, Estelle Burton, was to give it, and fifty 
 girls and boys were invited. Great prepara-
 
 POOR MAMIE. 
 
 tious had been made, for Estelle's father was 
 a rich man, and could afford to spend a good 
 deal of money to please his daughter. 
 
 "She is well worth pleasing," he used to 
 say, with a nod of his head, when he saw her 
 pretty figure skipping across the lawn. " She 
 is well worth pleasing, if she was born on 
 April-fool's Day." 
 
 Estelle was a year older than Mamie thir- 
 teen this April day. 
 
 Perhaps you do not know what an "April- 
 fool's party" is? 
 
 I suspect it is anything that the persons 
 planning choose to make it. Estelle's was to 
 be very interesting and delightful. Mamie was 
 in all the secrets, had been one of the helpers, 
 indeed, and knew just how charming it was to 
 be. To begin with, the elegant supper which 
 had been prepared was not to be served in the 
 dining-room. When the call to supper came, 
 and the guests filed out, they were to find noth- 
 ing in the dining-room but the ordinary furni- 
 ture ; the great dining-table, made as small as 
 possible, and strewn with books and papers, 
 instead of with good things to eat. The guests
 
 POOR MAMIE. 
 
 were to be informed that they would have to 
 hunt for their supper. Then the way they 
 would scamper over that great, handsome 
 house, after they had been given leave to 
 search in every room whose door was closed, 
 Mamie could readily imagine. They were to 
 be earnestly cautioned on no account to set 
 foot in a room whose door stood open every- 
 thing about that wonderful April-fool party 
 had been planned to go by contraries. At 
 last, on the third floor back, in a room which 
 had been used once as a nursery, the guests 
 would find the table set with elegance, and 
 covered with all sorts of delightful surprises. 
 
 The English walnuts were to be carefully 
 split open, their meats removed, and in their 
 places choice bits of French candies fitted ; 
 then the edges were to be touched with muci- 
 lage, and made to look as though the nuts were 
 not yet cracked. In the center of the table 
 was to be a huge dish piled high with potatoes 
 very much baked. Such a queer dish for a 
 birthday party ! But every guest was to be 
 urged by all means to take one, and very glad 
 would they be to have done so ; for they would
 
 POOR MAMIE. 
 
 find that the potato had been carefully scraped 
 out, and in its place there would be found a 
 pretty gift for each to carry home. Oh ! it was 
 to be as charming an April-fool party as had 
 ever been planned. 
 
 Mamie had enjoyed it all so much. It had 
 been so pleasant to be taken into the secrets, 
 and to be consulted as to this or that plan. It 
 had given her a position of importance among 
 the girls ; they had asked her as many ques- 
 tions as they had Estelle, and seemed to under- 
 stand that she was quite as well posted. What 
 was there in all this to land poor Mamie on her 
 bed and make her bury her head in the pillow? 
 
 The trouble was all about a dress. Every 
 girl in her class was to appear at the party in 
 a new spring dress, and Mamie's heart had 
 been set upon having one for the occasion. 
 Her mother had done what she could to make 
 her daughter think that the neat blue dress she 
 had worn for best all winter would be the most 
 suitable for a party so early in the season. 
 She had reminded her that it was too late to 
 buy a winter dress, and too early for a summer 
 one. At last they had compromised. Aunt
 
 POOR MAMIE. 
 
 Kate's pretty cashmere skirt, the front breadth 
 of which had been ruined by coffee, had been 
 presented to Mamie, and her mother had bought 
 silk enough to make it up with. This was al- 
 most as good as a new dress, though not quite, 
 for poor Mamie, who had not a great deal of 
 moral courage in some directions, could seem 
 to see Mabel Blair's great black eyes as she 
 examined the dress from head to foot, and 
 hear her high-keyed voice as she asked, "Is 
 your dress every speck new, or is it made over 
 from one of your mother's ? " For Mabel Blair 
 had not been well brought up, and did not know 
 that such questions were rude. 
 
 The bitter tears were being caused by the 
 fact that a message had come from the dress- 
 maker's but the evening before, that one of her 
 girls was ill, and another had been called home 
 to wait upon a sick mother, and therefore the 
 dress could not possibly be ready in time. I 
 am obliged to confess that for the next few 
 hours Mamie made every one around her un- 
 comfortable. She had half a dozen impracti- 
 cable schemes for finishing that dress, which 
 had to be discussed and abandoned one by one.
 
 POOR MAMIE. 
 
 Her mother was very patient aud sympathetic. 
 If her ' ' thimble finger " had not been sore 
 she would have sent for the dress and finished 
 it herself, despite all her other duties ; if Aunt 
 Kate hadn't gone to Boston by the early train 
 she would have finished it for her. If they 
 could afford to send it to Madame Raiusford 
 and pay her very high price possibly it might 
 be done ; but that was out of the question. 
 
 44 You know, Mamie dear," said the mother, 
 44 1 strained a point to get the silk, and father 
 has had heavy expenses this spring ; we must 
 not even think of Madame Rainsford. Try not 
 to care about it, little daughter; your blue 
 dress is very neat and appropriate." 
 
 But Mamie's face was all in a frown. "I 
 don't care a bit about the old dress now," she 
 said; "it doesn't make any difference if it is 
 never finished. If I can't have it for the party 
 I don't want it ever." 
 
 As a rule Mamie spoke the truth, but these 
 words she knew were not true. Sore as her 
 heart was, if she had thought that the pretty 
 dress would never be finished, it would have 
 been sorer still. As it was, she cried half a
 
 POOR MAMIE. 
 
 dozen times before the morning was over, and 
 began the new month in a shower of tears. It 
 was not that she did not consider her blue dress 
 quite respectable, although she had given it a 
 kick the night before and called it " that old 
 thing ; " it was simply the feeling that all the 
 other girls had new dresses to wear, and that 
 possibly Mabel Blair would say to her before 
 all the girls, "I thought you was going to have 
 a new dress for to-day. Didn't you hate to 
 come in the dress you have worn to church all 
 winter?" Mamie believed this would be "too 
 dreadful." 
 
 It took so much time to cry, and then to try 
 to remove the traces of tears, that the break- 
 fast-bell rang before she was ready, and she 
 had to go down without her daily Bible reading 
 and prayer. A bad beginning, certainly; no 
 wonder that Satan had the best of it all that 
 morning. 
 
 Her mother was very patient ; she was sorry 
 for the little red-eyed, foolish girl, and tried to 
 make life as endurable for her as she could. 
 
 But Mamie on her part made no such effort. 
 She said she did not want an egg for breakfast,
 
 POOR MAMIE. 
 
 she was tired of the sight of eggs ; and the 
 toast was scorched ; she did not see why they 
 always had to have scorched toast. Nobody 
 reminded her of the untruthfulness of this hint, 
 because everybody saw that it was not Mamie 
 who was speaking, but an evil spirit who for 
 the time being had possession of her. 
 
 It is surprising how many disagreeable things 
 one can find in life if one sets out to look for 
 them. Nothing was right in or about Mamie's 
 home. It was "the most tucked-up house" 
 she ever saw. She was sure she could not 
 clear up the sitting-room ; there were no places 
 to put things. John had his boxes on the 
 shelves where they did not belong, and Sarah 
 was so cross when she went to the kitchen for 
 something that she did not want to go again. 
 
 "Don't you want me to put some of this 
 lace in your dress, dear?" her mother asked, 
 as she took from her drawer a bit of choice old 
 lace that belonged to herself. 
 
 "No, ma'am," said Mamie drearily; "I 
 don't think I shall go to the party. I can't 
 wear that old dress when all the others will be 
 in new ones."
 
 POOR MAMIE. 
 
 " O, daughter!" said her mother; "I am 
 sorry you cannot rise above such unworthy 
 feelings, and be happy in spite of your 
 disappointment." 
 
 "O, now, mamma ! you don't know anything 
 about it; if you were a little girl you would 
 understand. I have real trying times all the 
 while. The girls I go with dress a great deal 
 nicer than I ; they have new, stylish things, 
 and I have to go looking like an old dowdy. 
 I'm tired of it ; I wish we had money enough 
 to do like other people, or else didn't have to 
 go with them. I wish we lived away out in 
 the woods, and never got invited to parties, 
 or anywhere." 
 
 "O, no, daughter! I don't think you really 
 wish that. Come to the window and see this 
 sweet-faced girl in the carriage across the street. 
 I have been looking at her for several minutes. 
 She is just about your age, and her face is as 
 sweet and quiet as a flower." 
 
 Mamie came to the window with the frown 
 still on her face. 
 
 "O, yes!" she said; "I know who that 
 girl is. No wonder she is sweet what has
 
 POOR MAMIE. 
 
 she got to make her anything else? They 
 are the Easterwoods, from Boston ; they board 
 at the hotel, and are just as rich as they can 
 be. They brought their own servants, and 
 horses, and carriage, and everything. . See 
 what a lovely carriage it is, and look how ele- 
 gantly the little girl is dressed. How would I 
 look sitting beside her in that old blue dress 
 that you think is so nice ? All she has to do is 
 to be prinked up like a doll, and ride around 
 in that splendid carriage with a coachman to 
 wait on her, and a servant to do just as she 
 says. They say she has a servant with her all 
 the time." 
 
 "So that is your idea of happiness, is it, 
 dear?" Mrs. Hood looked half-amused, half- 
 reproachful ; she hardly knew her daughter in 
 this mood, for though inclined to be a trifle 
 envious sometimes, Mamie seldom allowed her 
 evil thoughts to get the better of her as they 
 had this morning. 
 
 "I don't care!" she said, in answer to the 
 reproach in her mother's tone, " it would make 
 a difference; you know it would. Don't you 
 believe if I had such pretty things as that girl
 
 POOR MAMIE. 
 
 has, and could ride around in a carriage, I 
 sLould be happy? I know I should; I just 
 love beautiful things, and I hardly ever have 
 any. Mother, the carriage is stopping here ! " 
 
 This last sentence was spoken in a tone of 
 excitement, with all the fretful gone out of it. 
 
 "They are probably in search of some one 
 they cannot find," said Mrs. Hood. She went 
 at once to the door, Mamie following, and stand- 
 ing on the little porch, where she could hear the 
 conversation. Mrs. Easterwood wanted to ask 
 about a girl who had once worked for Mrs. 
 Hood, and the two ladies stood talking for 
 some minutes. 
 
 Mamie could not help observing that Mrs. 
 Easterwood was very courteous to her mother, 
 treating her as well as though she had been 
 dressed in silk, instead of a plain morning 
 gingham. The fact is, Mamie had yet to learn 
 that really refined people do not gauge their 
 treatment of others by the style of dress they 
 wear. 
 
 "Do you think the young woman would be 
 able to do plain sewing, like the repairing of 
 garments ? " the lady asked ; ' ' my daughter
 
 POOR MAMIE. 
 
 needs some work of that kind." And she 
 turned tender eyes upon the fair-faced girl at 
 her side. 
 
 "As to that," said Mrs. Hood, "I am not 
 prepared to answer. Perhaps you would like 
 to come in and see her? She is at my house 
 now ; her sister is helping me for a few days, 
 and she has come to spend the morning with 
 her ; you could perhaps judge better about her 
 by seeing her at her work. Meantime, would 
 your daughter like to take a walk around our 
 yard and look at some of the early spring 
 flowers ? " 
 
 "O, dear me ! " said Mamie, from the piazza, 
 ' what can mamma mean by asking that ele- 
 gant girl to walk around our little country yard? 
 J hope I sha'n't have to go and speak to her ; 
 I should be frightened out of my senses. I 
 wish mamma wouldn't." 
 
 But Mrs. Easterwood was speaking again, 
 the tender look in her eyes deepening as they 
 rested sadly on her daughter. "She would 
 like it above all things, dear madam ; but it is 
 quite out of her power. My daughter cannot 
 take a step. It is four years since she has
 
 POOR MAMIE. 
 
 even stood, without being carefully supported 
 on either side." 
 
 There followed earnest words of sympathy, 
 and a few tender questions were asked and 
 answered. 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Easterwood, laying her 
 hand lovingly on her daughter's arm, "Mamie 
 has been very patient through all these months 
 and years of suffering. I have never heard a 
 murmur from her lips ; it is truly wonderful 
 how she has been sustained." 
 
 A few minutes afterwards the carriage rolled 
 away, and Mrs. Hood came slowly up the walk, 
 her eyes on the ground, and they were dim 
 with tears. 
 
 Her daughter flew down the steps to meet 
 her, and Mrs. Hood put her arms about her 
 and smoothed the hair from her face, as she 
 said tenderly, " Poor Mamie ! " 
 
 "Which one, mamma dear?" asked Mamie 
 softly. 
 
 " Which one does my daughter think? " 
 
 "O, mamma, dear mamma! the other one. 
 I am so sorry for her. How can she be 
 patient? I never could. But O, mamma! I
 
 POOR MAMIE. 
 
 am so ashamed. I will never fret any more 
 about my dress, or anything ; I will be just as 
 grateful and glad as I can be. Only think of 
 not being able to take a step. 
 "Poor Mainie!"
 
 HOW KATIE "ENDEAVORED." 
 
 66 /^iOME on, Katie ! " called the girls who 
 
 ^^ were waiting at the gate. "What 
 does make you so slow? It's awfully hot 
 standing here in the sun." 
 
 Then Katie appeared at the door. " Go 
 on, girls, please, I can't come just yet ; I'll fol- 
 low you." 
 
 " Why, you'll miss the boat ! we have just 
 time to get there." 
 
 "Well, then, I shall," said Katie resolutely; 
 ' I'm not coming, now ; I've something to do." 
 
 It was a very warm day. Father had just 
 come in from the field ; he looked utterly tired 
 out as he sank into a chair and fanned himself 
 with his hat. "Whew!" he said, "this day 
 is a scorcher." 
 
 "You feel it more," said Katie's mother 
 anxiously, " because you ate almost nothing 
 for dinner ; I wish they knew how to fix some-
 
 HO IV KATIE "ENDEAVORED." 
 
 thing nourishing for you." Then she sighed. 
 She was lying on the couch, and knew that she 
 must lie there and not go into the kitchen on 
 any account. All this Katie heard, while she 
 was getting a clean handkerchief and making 
 ready for a ten-cent trip on the little lake 
 steamer with the girls, to "cool off." Then 
 she thought of something. It was that which 
 made her dart out to the girls and tell them to 
 go on without her. This they did, grumbling. 
 Katie went into the kitchen. From Norah she 
 got an egg, helped herself to a bowl, put in it 
 a teaspoouful of sugar and one of lemon juice ; 
 then she dropped in the yolk of the egg and 
 beat it to a foam. The white of the egg she 
 had put on a plate ; she added to it a pinch of 
 salt, then with the fine wire egg-beater made a 
 wonderful foam of it, and poured it over the 
 yolk. Now for a tumbler. The lovely foamy 
 liquid was lightly poured into it, and Katie 
 ran to her father with the glass. 
 
 " Here is something very good and nourish- 
 ing for you to drink," she said eagerly. And 
 while father tasted, and tasted, and sipped, 
 and smacked his lips, the mother looking on
 
 HOW KATIE "ENDEAVORED." 
 
 well pleased, said : " Where did you learn 
 to make it, dear? Why, I thought you were 
 going up the lake with the girls." 
 
 " It was in our cooking lesson this very 
 morning, mamma. I thought I wouldn't go to 
 the shore this time." 
 
 " I promised to do just what Jesus would 
 like to have me," said Katie to herself that 
 evening as the girls stopped to tell her what a 
 good time they had, " and I think he liked me 
 to help rest papa."
 
 A CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR PICNIC. 
 
 E little boats near at hand and the larger 
 boats in the distance danced and fluttered 
 like things of life on the clear sparkling water, 
 and tried in vain to arrest Dorothea's attention. 
 She had settled herself in on her camp stool in 
 her favorite position for watching the boats and 
 the sky, and she had a half-opened book in 
 hand as though she might be planning to read 
 when weary of watching ; but neither book nor 
 boat held her thoughts this morning. Some- 
 thing of more importance than either had her in 
 charge, and perplexed her not a little. There 
 was quite a large party of them gathered at the 
 one large boarding-house in the quiet country 
 town whose only apparent attraction was the 
 sea. People wondered how Dorothea Conklin 
 could interest herself in such a dull, sleepy old 
 place. But Dorothea had been here with her 
 auntie for two years, and liked to come ; and
 
 A CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR PICNIC. 
 
 this season she had brought down with her a 
 bevy of cousins, and friends of cousins, who 
 were making the old farm boarding-house merry 
 from morning to night. 
 
 They were doing more than that. Eurie 
 Shipley was among the number, and Eurie 
 never went anywhere without remembering that 
 she was a member of the Christian Endeavor 
 Society, and pledged to service. It was Eurie, 
 with the intelligent and persistent help of her 
 cousin Earle, who had planned the scheme which 
 was giving Dorothea perplexed thoughts. This 
 was no more nor less than to district the sleepy 
 little town in which they found themselves for 
 a six weeks' stay, apportioning a certain quar- 
 ter of the town to each Endeavorer, whose busi- 
 ness it would be to make the acquaintance of 
 all the young people they saw or heard of lying 
 within their district, and invite them cordially 
 to the Christian Endeavor meeting which was 
 to be held in the dining-room of the boarding- 
 house each Friday evening. Some of the En- 
 deavorers had exclaimed over the plan as being 
 not suited to the place they were in. 
 
 "It is not likely they ever heard of such a
 
 A CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR PICNIC. 
 
 creature as a Christian Endeavorer," Katie 
 Stuart had said; "they won't know what to 
 make of us." It was Dorothea who had an- 
 swered quickly, "So much the more need, 
 then, for your telling them what such a creature 
 is, and what she wants to accomplish." 
 
 Dorothea had approved of the plan from the 
 first; it was only this morning that she had 
 awakened to the fact that there were embar- 
 rassments connected with it. A little farther 
 up the beach she had stopped to watch the 
 strong arms of Farmer Hemple's daughter 
 Katrine skillfully push her boat through the 
 breakers to the shore, and admired the strength 
 and skill with which she managed it. Katrine's 
 boat was laden with all sorts of treasures, which 
 she was evidently going to try to sell to the 
 strangers in town, and so earn a little money, 
 perhaps, for herself. She was dressed in the 
 rough costume of a fisherman's daughter, and 
 it would have taken much wetting to have pene- 
 trated through her thick boots. Dorothea had 
 watched her before bring her boat safely through 
 those terrible breakers, and had thought only 
 of the strength she was developing, and about
 
 A CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR PICNIC. 
 
 what an honest, intelligent face she had. This 
 morning she thought, with a little start of dis- 
 may, that Katrine Hempel belonged to her 
 division. She knew just where the little old 
 weather-beaten cottage stood in which fisher- 
 man Hempel lived, and it was without doubt in 
 the district set apart to her. How was she to 
 invite a girl like Katrine to a Christian En- 
 deavor prayer meeting? The thing seemed so 
 incongruous, so almost ridiculous. She had 
 never spoken to the girl in her life, and to walk 
 up to her and ask her to come to the boarding- 
 house to a prayer meeting seemed almost im- 
 possible. Yet was not this what she was 
 pledged to do? 
 
 She had turned away from the beach and 
 gone toward the boarding-house, thinking her 
 perplexed thoughts, and had not found relief 
 by coming suddenly upon a group of three, 
 who had gathered under the trees for a visit. 
 Queer-looking creatures they were, judged by 
 Miss Dorothea's ideas of things. Two of them 
 had German faces, and were coarsely, even 
 oddly dressed. But one, with a little more 
 refinement of face and manner, had a large
 
 A CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR PICNIC. 
 
 magazine in her lap, and seemed to have been 
 reading something aloud ; for as Dorothea ap- 
 proached she heard the boy say in discontented 
 tones : "I don't know what it means, I am 
 sure ; something going on in the world, I sup- 
 pose, that we know nothing about. We never 
 get a chance to learn things, any of us." 
 
 "There are a good many strangers at the 
 farm," the reader had replied, and her voice 
 sounded wistful. "Perhaps we will have a 
 chance to find out some things from them." 
 
 But the boy shook his head. "They are 
 no good," he said; '.'they are stuck-ups, and 
 don't care anything about folks like us." 
 
 And Dorothea, just as he turned his head in 
 her direction, saw that he was Henry Myers, 
 the boy who often rowed around the point with 
 the mail ; one girl must be his sister, and the 
 other was doubtless the cousin of whom she 
 had heard her landlady speak the other day. 
 And then Dorothea felt the blood rolling in 
 waves into her face as she remembered that 
 the Myers were also in her district. She had 
 entirely forgotten their little house down by the 
 woods, and had told herself that she would have
 
 A CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR PICNIC. 
 
 an easy time in her division, because there were 
 so few houses, and almost no young people. 
 Here were several young people whom she did 
 not in the least know how to manage. It was 
 of no use to try to put them out of her mind, 
 for she had taken the pledge with the rest to 
 do her part, and had heartily sustained the 
 proposition from the first. Some plan between 
 this and Friday must be devised for making it 
 seem natural and sensible in her to invite these 
 young people whom she had met and passed 
 dozens of times and never spoken to, to attend 
 their prayer meeting. 
 
 She went at last to her sheltered spot where 
 we found her, but neither watched the boats 
 nor read her paper ; instead, she thought and 
 thought. 
 
 I don't know where the startling suggestion 
 came from, but it came. 
 
 The boarding-house party, who had occupied 
 themselves that morning with separate interests, 
 were to go in the afternoon to a certain wood 
 about a mile from the farmhouse in search of 
 ferns and mosses, and other wood treasures 
 with which to decorate the dining-room, ready
 
 A CHRISTIAN ENDEA VOR PICNIC. 
 
 for Friday evening. At least that was the 
 reason they talked about; perhaps the real 
 reason was that they wanted a frolic ; and they 
 had coaxed Mrs. Simms, the landlady, into 
 planning a choice supper for them, which was 
 to be eaten in the woods. 
 
 This was Dorothea's thought: "Why not 
 invite Katrine, and Henry, and the others to 
 go with us ? They are about our age, and are 
 almost the only young people around here who 
 are not busy with farm work just now. They 
 know the woods, of course, and could probably 
 show us the best places for finding nice things, 
 and perhaps they would enjoy spending an 
 afternoon with us and having supper together. 
 After that I think I should have the face to 
 invite them to prayer meeting." 
 
 The thought grew as she studied it, and 
 finally took such possession of her that she 
 went in search of Eurie Shipley and the others 
 to propose it. 
 
 She nearly took their breaths away. Even 
 Eurie Shipley seemed dismayed for a moment, 
 and Katie Stuart said: "What an idea! you 
 do go to such lengths, Dorothea."
 
 A CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR PICNIC. 
 
 There was a great deal of talking, and some 
 opposition, of course ; but it ended by Dorothea 
 doing just that thing. Four more astonished 
 young people than were those who received 
 their invitation at noon of that same day, could 
 hardly be imagined. 
 
 "The woods?" said Katrine, her strong 
 brown face growing a deep red as she spoke. 
 "Of course I know all about them; I'll go 
 and show you where to find the maiden-hair 
 ferns, but I couldn't stay to supper ; that would 
 be ridiculous." 
 
 "O, yes, indeed!" said Dorothea, and her 
 voice was eager. She was growing not only 
 willing to invite these strangers, but very anx- 
 ious to have them accept. "We must have 
 you stay; we want you very much; we are 
 just going to have a nice pleasant frolic, and 
 we know we shall enjoy it more if you will 
 come; it is just girls and boys, you know; 
 there is nobody to be afraid of." 
 
 Katrine laughed. She felt more afraid of 
 girls and boys who belonged to that charmed 
 world in which she did not live than of any 
 men and women she had ever seen. But Doro-
 
 A CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR PICNIC. 
 
 thea had a very coaxing way with her when 
 she chose, and it ended in Katrine's not only 
 promising to go, but to " make " the others do 
 the same. The girl was a power in her circle ; 
 but she had a harder time than Dorothea ever 
 knew anything about. At first Henry Myers 
 declared that he "couldn't," and "wouldn't," 
 and "nobody need ask him." However, he 
 did. 
 
 You want to know if the picnic was a suc- 
 cess? My dears, I want to know if you ever 
 heard of girls like Dorothea and Eurie Shipley 
 and two or three of the others putting their 
 minds and hearts to a project and not making 
 a success of it? 
 
 " Of course it is the way to do," Eurie Ship- 
 ley said, after her first gasp of astonishment 
 was over, and she had had time to think. "We 
 cannot expect these young people to be burning 
 with a desire to accept invitations to our prayer 
 meetings, when we ignore them all the rest of 
 the time. We ought to make the picnics, and 
 all the other things, help along the main object. 
 I vote to have Dorothea invite them heartily, 
 in the name of us all ; and I'm willing to give
 
 A CHRISTIAN ENDEA VOR PICNIC, 
 
 her a vote of thanks for being sweet enough to 
 think of it." 
 
 "I didn't think of it," said Dorothea, with 
 earnest gravity. "I well, to tell you the 
 truth, I was praying a little sentence, to ask to 
 be shown how to invite them to the prayer 
 meeting, and it just came to me as an answer, 
 you know." 
 
 Katie Stuart had her lips open to offer an- 
 other objection, but after that closed them. If 
 this really was an answer to Dorothea's prayer, 
 why then 
 
 And to these young people who believed in 
 answers to "prayer there really seemed nothing 
 more to be said. 
 
 Katrine Hempel wore a white dress which 
 was rather short and rather coarse, but it was 
 clean and neat; and her honest, sensible face 
 was wreathed with smiles when she found she 
 could tell the young people a great many in- 
 teresting things about mosses and ferns and 
 lichens ; and Henry Myers went off for a quiet 
 stroll with Robert Weston, and mustered cour- 
 age to ask a few questions about something he 
 had read in the paper, and received a flood of
 
 A CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR PICNIC. 
 
 light in return, and the promise of a book which, 
 would tell him the whole story ; and he prom- 
 ised to give Robert a lesson in surf-rowing the 
 next day. 
 
 I may as well own that Henry Myers, who 
 had heard of the plan of districting the neigh- 
 borhood, had said on Monday that he wouldn't 
 go to their prayer meeting if they went down 
 on their knees and begged him to ; that they 
 were "all a set of stuck-ups" with whom he 
 wanted nothing to do. And he said on Friday 
 morning, when he received his invitation, that 
 he would certainly come if he could. 
 
 And he could, and did. When the merry 
 party from the city completed their six weeks' 
 vacation and went home, they left a Christian 
 Endeavor Society in the quiet seaside village 
 fully organized, and Henry Myers and Katrine 
 Hempel are both on the lookout committee.
 
 WHEN I WAS A GIRL. 
 
 I REMEMBER the day distinctly. I can 
 seem to feel again how my head ached, 
 and how the veins about my temples throbbed 
 as I hurried home from school, rushed into the 
 house, made a dash for my mother's room, threw 
 myself on the floor beside her chair, and burying 
 my face in my hands, let the sobs which had 
 seemed to be almost choking me have full vent. 
 I can seem to feel the touch of my mother's 
 hand upon my head, and hear her gentle voice : 
 
 "Dear little girl! What has happened to 
 her? Tell mother all about it." 
 
 My mother's voice was the sweetest music 
 the world had for me. I have a picture of her 
 looking very much as she did that day, sitting 
 in the large old-fashioned high-backed chair, 
 her hair combed smoothly away from her fore- 
 head, and caught back with tortoise-shell side 
 combs. She wore a high back comb, also of
 
 WHEN I WAS A GIRL. 
 
 tortoise shell, which securely held the coil of 
 hair wound about it. Mother never was very 
 well or strong, and we girls generally found 
 her in her high-backed chair when we came 
 home. Every one of us was in the habit of 
 seeking her, to give the history of our joys 
 and sorrows. Poor mother ! how many stories 
 she must have had to hear, and how constantly 
 her sympathies were drawn upon. We did not 
 think of it in those days ; we took it as a mat- 
 ter of course. But this particular day stands 
 out vividly in my memory. I had had a harder 
 time than usual. I can tell the story straighter 
 now than I did to my mother, for then it was 
 constantly interrupted by sobs and fresh bursts 
 of tears. There was a girl at school who had 
 pretty yellow curls and a pretty doll face. She 
 was a favorite with some of the scholars, but not 
 with me. From the very first day I met her, 
 there seemed to be a conflict between us. Yet 
 we were in the same classes, and often thrown 
 together. The truth is, I suspect we were in 
 some ways rivals, which made us both uncom- 
 fortable. Of all the girls in our class, Phebe 
 and I were the only ones who liked to write
 
 WHEN I WAS A GIRL. 
 
 compositions ; the others groaned and sighed 
 over them, wished that the weeks were a mouth 
 long, so that every other Friday would not come 
 so often. But to Phebe and me those Friday 
 afternoons were looked forward with interest. 
 Up to the time of my coming into the school 
 Phebe had been altogether the best writer per- 
 haps that is not saying a great deal, for the 
 others disliked the work so much that they made 
 no effort to excel. Phebe had a vivid imagina- 
 tion, and knew a number of facts which she 
 delighted to weave into story form, and read as 
 compositions. Both girls and boys liked to lis- 
 ten to them much better than they did to papers 
 about "spring" and "flowers," such as the 
 others wrote. 
 
 Now it happened that I had been trained 
 almost from my babyhood to do this very 
 thing. "Make a story out of it for mother," 
 was a most familiar sentence. Before I could 
 write, I was encouraged to tell a story for 
 mother out of a picture which I brought to 
 show her, or perhaps out of two or three blocks, 
 or a few flowers. The consequence was that 
 when I was a girl of thirteen and began to go
 
 WHEN I WAS A GIRL. 
 
 to school, it was more natural for me to express 
 my thoughts on paper in story form than in any 
 other way. And naturally I became a power- 
 ful rival to Phebe, who had had no training, 
 and only followed her own fancies. I remem- 
 ber the first story I read before the assembled 
 scholars of a bright Friday afternoon ; and I 
 remember that Phebe was the only girl there 
 who did not seem to like it. The others flocked 
 about me and said it was "perfectly lovely," 
 and "just splendid," and all those words which 
 schoolgirls like to use ; but Phebe tossed her 
 yellow curls, and declared she did not think it 
 amounted to much. 
 
 It was on a Friday that my heart was broken. 
 I had been selected again to read ; not only 
 before the entire school, but in the presence of 
 the trustees as well, and of several other vis- 
 itors. There was always a selection made from 
 the pupils for this honor. Only six boys and 
 six girls, out of the several hundred which com- 
 posed our school, could be heard in the chapel 
 on Friday afternoons. I suspect it had been 
 the custom for some time to select Phebe when- 
 ever there was any prospect of company ; but
 
 WHEN I WAS A GIRL. 
 
 on this particular afternoon I was chosen, and 
 Phebe was not. I read my story, which was 
 really a very silly little thing ; for don't you 
 believe I came across a copy of it but a few 
 weeks ago, and laughed and cried over the 
 memories connected with it, and said between 
 the tears and the laughter, "The idea that I 
 ever could have supposed that there was any- 
 thing in this worth crying over." But it seemed 
 a very excellent thing to me then ; and many 
 of the girls and boys thought so, too. Well, I 
 read it thanks to my mother's training, I was 
 a fairly good reader. I had more compliments 
 than usual, and I suppose was somewhat puffed 
 up. I remember wondering, as I went to an- 
 swer a summons to Professor Barnard's room, 
 whether he might not be going to say to me 
 that he considered me an honor to the school, 
 or something of that sort. Professor Barnard 
 was our principal. We younger girls saw very 
 little of him, and had immense respect for him. 
 He looked very grave as I came in ; not at all 
 as if he were going to say anything compli- 
 mentary. It took him some time to explain 
 why I had been sent for. I was so bewildered
 
 WHEN I WAS A GIRL. 
 
 by his first words that it made me stupid. At 
 lust, however, I understood. That girl Phebe 
 had actually been to Professor Barnard with a 
 statement that my composition was not origi- 
 nal ; was, in fact, stolen ! She had declared to 
 him that she had a book at home in which was 
 every word in my composition. 
 
 This statement was repeated so earnestly, 
 Phebe even declaring that she was willing to 
 bring the book to school and show it to me, 
 that Professor Barnard was troubled. He had 
 known Phebe a long time, and had had no rea- 
 son to doubt her word ; and she was a bright 
 smart girl, and generally knew what she was 
 talking about ; it was only too evident that he 
 thought she must be right. How shall I de- 
 scribe to you the storm of passion into which 
 his words put me? I realize now how very 
 suspicious this must have seemed to Professor 
 Barnard. How he probably said to himself, 
 "If this little girl is innocent, why does she 
 not quietly and earnestly explain to me that 
 there is some mistake, and that she certainly 
 wrote her composition herself, without help 
 from any book, instead of getting into such a
 
 WHEN I WAS A GIRL. 
 
 rage, and talking so fast that I can hardly un- 
 derstand what she says, even stamping her 
 foot ? " Yes ; I remember I stamped my foot, 
 not at Professor Barnard, but at the very 
 thought of Phebe. I spent my breath in try- 
 ing to explain what I thought of such a dread- 
 ful, dreadful girl. At last Professor Barnard 
 interrupted with : "That will do, Isabella. Do 
 not speak another word. You are not in con- 
 dition to talk properly." 
 
 How well I remember his language. "This 
 is a very grave charge, and we must investigate 
 it fully. I think you know me well enough to 
 be sure that you will not be condemned without 
 positive proof. Unfortunately Phebe lives too 
 far away to be sent home for the book, and as 
 it is Friday afternoon we shall have to let the 
 matter rest until Monday. But I will direct 
 her to bring the book to me on Monday morn- 
 ing and show me the story which she thinks the 
 same as yours. If they are very much alike 
 you shall explain to me, if you can, how you 
 think it may have happened. It is possible, 
 that you may have read a story and forgotten 
 about it. Such things have occurred."
 
 WHEN I WAS A GIRL, 
 
 But at this I was so indignant that I was 
 very near stamping my foot again. " I never 
 did! "I said excitedly; "I never, never read 
 a story like mine." 
 
 "Hush! " said Professor Barnard, "you are 
 not to say another word about this matter in 
 the school building. Do not speak to the 
 scholars on the subject ; if I hear of your do- 
 ing so I shall be greatly displeased. And now, 
 as it is nearly time for closing, and you are 
 through with your work for the day, I will ex- 
 cuse you at once. I advise you to go directly 
 home. I am very sorry that you have allowed 
 yourself to get into such a passion. The mat- 
 ter is serious enough, without adding to it in 
 this way." 
 
 His words hurt me. Perhaps it is no wonder 
 that I remember them well. I had never been 
 reproved by Professor Barnard before. So 
 this is the story that I sobbed out to my 
 mother ; and all the while her gentle caressing 
 hand was on my head. 
 
 "Poor little girl ! " she said, "mother is very 
 sorry that you were angry." I staid my tears 
 to look up at her with astonishment.
 
 WHEN I WAS A GIRL. 
 
 "Why, mother," I said, "how could I help 
 being angry? You would have been angry 
 yourself. What do you mean, mother? Don't 
 you know that it is not true ? " 
 
 "Certainly, my daughter, mother knows, 
 and so does her little girl. Such being the 
 case, why should you become angry at a simple 
 mistake ? " 
 
 "Mistake!" I repeated indignantly, "there 
 is no mistake about it. It is just her mean 
 ugly way ; she is jealous of me, and took this 
 way to make me have a horrid time. I know 
 just what she will do, she will say that the book 
 is lost; that she cannot find it anywhere, or 
 that somebody who was visiting them from a 
 thousand miles away has carried it off. Oh ! I 
 know her ; she will slip out of it in some way, 
 and make everybody think that I stole my 
 story. The professor thinks so now ; I know 
 he does." Then I remember that I buried my 
 face again in my mother's lap, and cried harder 
 than ever. Oh ! what a time it was. And 
 what a dreadful Sunday we had. I think I 
 made everybody in the house miserable. Poor 
 mother was sick, and could not go to church,
 
 WHEN I WAS A GIRL. 
 
 and I staid with her ; but I gave her very little 
 peace. I remember I had moments of trying 
 to be submissive to my fate. I even made up 
 a story about a girl who rose above a like trial, 
 and showed such a beautiful spirit that in the 
 end she obliged everybody to see that she had 
 been a martyr. But it was easier to make a 
 story about it than it was to live it. The 
 greater portion of the time I was going over 
 every little detail of the trouble, trying to plan 
 what I should say the next morning. I re- 
 member that the day seemed a very long one. 
 I looked anxiously forward to Monday morn- 
 ing, and at the same time dreaded it. I went 
 to school armed with a letter from my mother, 
 carefully written, in her pretty delicate hand, 
 on the very prettiest note-paper she had. It 
 explained to Professor Barnard that I wrote 
 my composition sitting by her side, and that I 
 proposed and rejected several ways of finishing 
 the story, even writing one or two of them out 
 before I finally settled on the plan which suited 
 me. In proof of this she inclosed the first writ- 
 ing, on scraps of paper, just as I had scribbled 
 them. I might have been saved all my agony
 
 WHEN I WAS A GIRL. 
 
 and ill-temper if I bad remembered what strong 
 proofs these were of my truthfulness. Directly 
 after prayers I was summoned to Professor 
 Barnard's private room the place where 
 scholars always went to receive either special 
 praise or special scoldings. 
 
 Phebe was there, her curls looking more 
 golden than ever in the bright sunlight ; and I 
 thought her eyes danced wickedly. Professor 
 Barnard motioned us both to seats in front of 
 of him, and said: "Well, Phebe, you remem- 
 ber, I suppose, what I told you you must bring 
 me to-day. Are you ready to do so?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Phebe, very promptly; "I 
 brought it, and Isabella's story is in it word 
 for word, just as I said. It is on the shelf in 
 the hall; the book is so big that I could not 
 bring it into chapel with me. May I go and 
 get it? " 
 
 I could hardly believe my ears. The profes- 
 sor bowed his head, and Phebe tripped out, 
 coming back in a moment with a great book, 
 which she carried to the desk, my heart beating 
 so meantime that it seemed as though the pro- 
 fessor must hear it. I suppose it was only a
 
 WHEN I WAS A GIRL. 
 
 moment or two, but as I remember it, it seemed 
 to me at least an hour that he stared at those 
 pages, with a look on his face that I could not 
 understand. At last he raised his eyes, and 
 said, in a very peculiar tone, "Isabella, you 
 may come here and see if you recognize the 
 words that are in your story." I know that my 
 face was very pale, and I suppose I was as 
 near fainting as I ever reached in my girlhood. 
 I took hold of the molding which ran round 
 the side of the room, to steady me as I walked 
 toward the desk. What do you think I saw 
 lying on the professor's knee ? It was a copy of 
 Webster's Dictionary, Unabridged. Of course 
 there was a sense in which what Phebe said was 
 true ; every single word of my story was in it.
 
 A GLIMPSE INTO THE FUTURE. 
 
 were on their way to a May party. 
 - Not such a party as our grandmothers 
 tell about, when they dressed in white and wore 
 wreaths of flowers on their heads, and spent the 
 day in the woods, with a May queen on her 
 throne, and a May-pole to dance about. All 
 those good times, I am afraid, are gone. If we 
 undertook such a celebration as early as the first 
 of May, in most portions of our country, sore 
 throats and coughs would be the result. 
 
 Cassie Andrews and Eva Myers were much 
 too sensible young ladies to attempt any such 
 May party. The truth is, they were older at 
 fifteen than their grandmothers at the same age 
 thought of being. They were dressed in their 
 prettiest spring suits, and on their way to a 
 five-o'clock tea at the home of one of their 
 classmates. They had been sauntering along 
 chatting about the girls, and the lovely weather,
 
 A GLIMPSE INTO THE FUTURE. 
 
 and the next musicale, and wondering whether 
 Stella Roberts would get a chance to play a 
 duet with the new scholar, who played so mag- 
 nificently. Suddenly Eva said: " O, Cass, 
 look ! there conies crazy Sally. See ! she is 
 rigged up like a fortune teller to-day. Oh! 
 isn't she hideous? " 
 
 "I'm awfully afraid of her," said Cassie ; " I 
 wish we didn't have to meet her in this lonely 
 place. Doesn't she frighten you dreadfully? " 
 
 "Not a bit," said Eva, although her eyes 
 looked larger than usual, and she kept her gaze 
 fixed on the ugly-looking old woman who was 
 approaching from the opposite direction; "she 
 is quite harmless, you know ; never does any- 
 thing worse than to get angry and scold like a 
 tornado. I rather like to hear her go on. 
 When she takes a fancy to turn witch she is 
 too queer for anything. And she does tell 
 some very queer things. I never had my for- 
 tune told mamma isn't willing to have me 
 but when Kate Weston was visiting at our 
 house last winter you know what a wild girl 
 she is? well, she was determined to make 
 crazy Sally a visit. Mamma advised her not
 
 A GLIMPSE SATO THE FUTURE. 
 
 to, and papa said I couldn't go with her, be- 
 cause it was best to keep away from insane 
 people who lived alone in out-of-the-way places ; 
 he said one never knew what strange idea might 
 get possession of them ; but Kate was not to 
 be coaxed or advised from carrying out her 
 plans. When my brother Roger came home 
 for Christmas she got him to take her out there 
 one day, and she gave Sally a gold dollar to 
 tell her fortune. Kate has plenty of money, 
 you know, and doesn't understand how to take 
 care of it. Roger said Sally's eyes looked 
 larger than ever; he didn't suppose she had 
 ever before had so much money given her at 
 one time. She ought to have told Kate some- 
 thing pleasant to pay for if; but she didn't. 
 Kate's eyes showed when she came home that 
 she had been crying, and she cried two or three 
 times that night. She never told me the whole 
 of what Sally said ; but the part which made 
 her cry was about her mother. Sally said her 
 mother would not live to see the roses in her 
 front yard bloom ; and in just two weeks from 
 that day Kate was sent for to go home, and 
 her mother died within two hours after she
 
 A GLIMPSE INTO Tff FUTURE. 
 
 reached there. Wasn't that strange? How 
 do you suppose crazy Sally knew anything 
 about it?" 
 
 " She didn't, of course," said Cassie 
 promptly; "it was what our "Mental Philoso- 
 phy" calls a coincidence, you know; I am 
 sure it gives several instances more striking 
 than that. But it was sad for poor Kate. I 
 shouldn't like to hear such a thing as that 
 about my mother when I was away from her, 
 even though it came from only a crazy person." 
 
 "Well," said Eva, "I can't help wishing 
 mamma would let me try my fortune, just to 
 see what she would say. What harm could it 
 do? and it would be such fun to keep watch 
 and see if any of the things she predicted hap- 
 pened to you. Let us stop and speak to her, 
 Cassie. Sometimes she says the cutest things." 
 
 Cassie, half-fearful, yet unwilling to own to 
 fear about a person who was said to be harm- 
 less, could do no other than stop, as crazy Sally 
 came directly in front of them, nodded her head 
 several times, and held out her hand toward 
 Cassie, muttering as she did so : "Pretty missy, 
 very pretty missy indeed; got a hand that
 
 A GLIMPSE INTO THE FUTURE. 
 
 shows a fortune worth hearing. Give Sally 
 a piece of money large enough to cover her 
 thumb, and she will tell pretty missy something 
 that she will like to know." 
 
 Cassie allowed her hand to be held by the 
 strange-looking woman, partly because she was 
 afraid to take it away, and partly because there 
 was a fascination in the wild eyes into which 
 she could not help staring with her own great 
 brown ones. Eva nudged her arm. " O, 
 Cassie ! do let her, just for fun. Your mother 
 has never told you not to, has she? I should 
 just like to hear what she would say." 
 
 "Pretty missy need not be afraid," said 
 Sally; "she has a very pretty fortune, and it 
 is coming fast. I can tell her all about it." 
 
 "Oh! "said Cassie, "I can't; papa would 
 not like it, I know. Let us go on, Eva." 
 
 "I'm almost afraid to go on," said Eva, 
 "without giving her something, or letting her 
 do as she wants to ; it might make her angry, 
 and sometimes she chases people." 
 
 All this was spoken in undertone, while Sally 
 was muttering and mumbling over the hand 
 she held.
 
 A GLIMPSE INTO THE FUTURE. 
 
 "O, dear! " said Cassie, "I am frightened; 
 let us run." 
 
 "No," answered Eva decidedly, "we must 
 not do that ; she will be sure to chase us, and 
 there isn't a house within some distance, you 
 know. I forgot Sally had put up her tent this 
 spring, or we wouldn't have come this way." 
 
 " Good afternoon, young ladies," said a 
 pleasant voice just behind them, and to Cassie's 
 unutterable relief Professor Dickson appeared 
 in sight, and fixed his keen gray eyes on Sally 
 as he spoke ; ' ' what is all this ? " 
 
 "O, Professor Dickson!" said Cassie, "we 
 are so glad to see you. Sally wants to tell my 
 fortune, and I don't want it told." 
 
 "Not by her, I trust," said the professor 
 quickly. " Never mind, Sally," he added, 
 gently pushing her hand away from the girl's 
 trembling one ; ' ' the young lady does not want 
 to hear what you think of her future, and she 
 has no money for you. Stand aside, and let 
 us pass." 
 
 Crazy Sally looked angry ; but the professor's 
 voice was firm, and his gray eyes were looking 
 steadily at her. She obeyed, but muttered
 
 A GLIMPSE INTO THE FUTURE. 
 
 fierce threats against them all, as she moved 
 sullenly toward her tent, and the three walked 
 briskly away. 
 
 "I wouldn't have dared to speak sharply to 
 her," said Eva. "They say she never hurts 
 anybody, but she talks so dreadfully when she 
 is angry." 
 
 "I sometimes fear that poor Sally is more 
 wicked than crazy," said Professor Dickson. 
 "Undoubtedly she is not entirely responsible 
 for her acts, but this habit of giving her money 
 to tell them false things about their future is 
 injurious to her as well as to them." 
 
 Eva and Cassie exchanged glances, and 
 Cassie wondered if her friend remembered she 
 had urged her to do just that thing. She was 
 sure she would not like to own it to Professor 
 Dickson. All the girls liked the new profes- 
 sor, who was so young looking that at times it 
 seemed almost amusing to call him by his title. 
 Still he was very dignified, with a gentlemanly 
 dignity which fitted him, and he was polite even 
 to young girls like Eva and Cassie. He never 
 forgot to lift his hat to them, and he always 
 addressed them as "Miss Cassie" and "Miss
 
 A GLIMPSE INTO THE FUTURE- 
 
 Eva." Oh ! he was so different from the young 
 men who had grown up in the town, and whom 
 they had always known. Most of them were 
 in the- habit of nodding a careless "How d'ye 
 do, Eva," or "Cassie," and some of them who 
 had known her longest even said "Cass" occa- 
 sionally, an abbreviation which Cassie Andrews 
 hated. Certainly Professor Dickson was very 
 different, and both girls desired to have his 
 good opinion. 
 
 Eva, mindful perhaps of her advice to Cassie, 
 tried to uphold it. 
 
 "But Professor Dickson, she does say some 
 very strange things ; I have known several of 
 her predictions to come true." 
 
 " I do not doubt it in the least, Miss Eva. 
 If I should make a prediction that you would 
 be in school to-morrow ; that you would enter 
 the classroom just as the bell was ringing for 
 ten, and that you would be thoroughly prepared 
 with your lesson, I should not be surprised to 
 have it 'come true' in every particular." 
 
 Eva laughed. This was certainly a pleasant 
 way of ridiculing her statement. "Oh! but I 
 mean other things than those," she said ; and
 
 A GLIMPSE INTO THE FUTURE. 
 
 then abandoning her position as one which she 
 knew was foolish, she said : " Of course I know 
 things only happen to come to pass as she says ; 
 I do not believe in her fortune telling, but I can- 
 not help wishing there were some truth in it. 
 I was telling Cassie a few minutes ago what fun 
 I thought it would be if we could have our for- 
 tunes told by somebody who really knew about 
 the future. Then we could watch and see if 
 what had been foretold came to pass. I can- 
 not think of anything more interesting and 
 exciting." 
 
 Professor Dickson looked down at the eager 
 face of the young girl with a thoughtful smile, 
 and made no answer for several minutes. Then 
 he said : 
 
 "Young ladies, would you be surprised if I 
 should tell you that I was a sort of fortune teller 
 myself?" 
 
 "You?" exclaimed both girls in a breath; 
 and their incredulity and amazement were so 
 great that his smile broke into a laugh. 
 
 "Perhaps that is not the right way to phrase 
 it, but I really do mean that, given a careful 
 following of the conditions imposed, I can pre-
 
 A GLIMPSE INTO THE FUTURE. 
 
 diet with a great degree of certainty the future of 
 some persons ; for instance, you two friends." 
 
 Eva was the first to speak. " O, Professor 
 Dickson ! how perfectly splendid ! and will you 
 really do it for us ? " 
 
 "I said there were conditions, Miss Eva." 
 
 "Oh! we will meet the conditions; will we 
 not, Cassie? Crazy Sally has 'conditions,' 
 too," she added with a laugh. "She made 
 Helen Porter walk five times around the school- 
 room yard all alone after dark, and frightened 
 her nearly out of her senses." 
 
 " I do not think we need be afraid of any 
 conditions which Professor Dickson will pro- 
 pose," said Cassie. To which Eva assented. 
 
 "Very well," said Professor Dickson; "if 
 you are quite agreed as to that, I will prepare 
 each of you a paper containing the conditions, 
 or perhaps we would better call them the pre- 
 scriptions, which, if obeyed, will result to a 
 certainty in a very wonderful thing, a glimpse 
 or hint of which I will give you. I will have 
 the papers ready by to-morrow morning, and 
 will hand them to you in the history class." 
 
 This was certainly interesting. When to-
 
 A GLIMPSE INTO THE FUTURE. 
 
 gether they could talk of nothing else, although 
 they resolved to keep the matter a profound 
 secret for the present. 
 
 The next morning curious eyes were on the 
 two as they received each, with smiles and 
 blushes, an envelope addressed in Professor 
 Dickson's best style. "I have done my best, 
 young ladies," he said, as he turned away, 
 " and I am prepared to assure you that if you 
 meet the conditions the result is certain." 
 
 By mutual consent they waited until they had 
 reached the summer-house at the extreme end 
 of the grounds before they looked into their 
 magic papers. 
 
 "What do you suppose it is?" asked Cassie. 
 
 "I haven't the least idea," laughed Eva; "I 
 feel sort of creepy, don't you? The idea of 
 looking into a paper which will actually tell us 
 what will happen to us in the future ! But how 
 absurd that is ! What does Professor Dickson 
 know about the future, any more than we do?" 
 
 "I shall meet the conditions, if possible," 
 said Cassie, " and test his knowledge." 
 
 "Oh! so shall I, if only for the sake of 
 boasting over his failure." But to this Cassie
 
 A GLIMPSE INTO THE FUTURE. 
 
 made no reply ; her eyes were fixed upon the 
 sheet of note-paper spread out before her, and 
 the glow on her cheeks was deepening, as she 
 read in Professor Dickson's beautiful writing : 
 
 A REVELATION OF MISS CASSIE ANDREWS'S 
 FUTURE. 
 
 CONDITIONS. 
 
 "What doth the Lord require of thee but to do justly, and 
 to love mercy and to walk humbly with thy God." " Come 
 out from among them, and be ye separate." 
 
 " Seek ye the Lord while he may be found ; call ye upon 
 him while he is near." 
 
 THE REVELATION. 
 
 "And I will receive you; and I will be to you a father; 
 and ye shall be to me sons and daughters, saith the Lord 
 Almighty." 
 
 "The King's daughter within the palace is all glorious; her 
 clothing is inwrought with gold; she shall be led unto the 
 King in 'broidered work. Her companions that follow her 
 shall be brought unto thee; with gladness and rejoicing shall 
 they be led; they shall enter into the King's palace." 
 
 Three times did the girls read this ; read it at 
 last with eyes which were dimmed with tears. 
 They had no difficulty in understanding it. 
 They had been well taught, and they knew only 
 too well that up to this time they had passed by 
 the many invitations of this wonderful King
 
 A GLIMPSE INTO THE FUTURE. 
 
 unheeded. It had never seemed so strange a 
 thing as it did at this moment. 
 
 "Eva," said Cassie at last, speaking softly, 
 "we pledged ourselves to meet the conditions." 
 
 "I know it," said Eva. " O, Cassie! we 
 will keep our word. It is wonderful, but we 
 do know what our future may be, after all." 
 
 " Shall be," said Cassie, with quiet decision.
 
 THE TRAINED NURSE. 
 
 TT began when she was only ten ; and it grew 
 out of a remark made about her new cap. 
 She remembered the day vividly; it was her 
 birthday, and among her gifts was that one of a 
 soft white silk cap with a lovely pink ribbon 
 twisted carelessly about its front. A fancy 
 cap, of course, to be used in the entertainment 
 called "Costumes and Customs of all Nations," 
 which was being gotten up in Winnie's society. 
 Poor Winnie had been in anxiety for several 
 days lest her mother would think a white silk 
 cap with broad pink ribbon wound about it, 
 much too expensive an article for one enter- 
 tainment. She did say it was foolish, and that 
 white muslin and pink tarletan would do just 
 as well as silk and ribbon. But there was a 
 foolish auntie in the home who could not help 
 wanting Winnie to have everything that she 
 wanted, so the silk cap with its broad soft pink
 
 THE TRAINED NURSE. 
 
 ribbon was forthcoming on the birthday morn- 
 ing, and Winnie arrayed herself in it and 
 went to the sewing-room to exhibit. She was 
 greeted with bursts of laughter. 
 
 "A little Greek maiden," said Auntie Kate. 
 
 "An Irish girl," said cousin Tom, who was 
 loitering in the sewing-room snipping bits of 
 thread over his cousin Alice's dress. "See, 
 it brings out the Irish likeness that I have 
 always contended was hovering about in Aunt 
 Winifred's family." 
 
 "She looks like a little trained nurse," said 
 her mother. And this was the remark which 
 had arrested Winnie's thoughts. 
 
 ' ' A trained nurse ? " she repeated. ' ' Trained 
 for "what, mother?" 
 
 "Why, to take care of sick people, dear; 
 they go to schools established for the purpose, 
 and learn how to care for the sick how to 
 bathe and feed them, you know, and arrange 
 their pillows and do everything to make them 
 comfortable. They are great blessings to the 
 world." 
 
 " And do they wear white silk caps with 
 pink ribbons? "
 
 THE TRAINED NURSE. 
 
 u Hardly ; they are much more sensible. But 
 they wear pretty white caps of muslin or lawn, 
 nicely starched ; and they wear white aprons 
 and soft shoes which make no noise, and they 
 know just how warm the room should be kept, 
 and just what window to lower, and just how 
 to shade the light, and do everything to add to 
 one's comfort." 
 
 Now Winnie had had from her very baby- 
 hood a fondness for playing that she was a 
 famous doctor who could with a word and a 
 touch cure people who were thought to be 
 almost past cure. But she lived in a part of 
 the world and at a time when a lady physician 
 was almost a curiosity ; so as she grew older 
 she used often to think with a sigh that it must 
 all be play; that being a girl instead of a boy 
 she could not go to college and study medicine 
 and become the great doctor of her dreams. 
 Some women did ; she had heard of but never 
 seen one, and her mother she felt sure would 
 not like it. She must just give up playing 
 that, and put away her powders and phials. 
 On this birthday morning the mother's words 
 about trained nurses were a revelation. There
 
 THE TRAINED NURSE. 
 
 was a chance theii to distinguish herself in the 
 very line which she coveted. To be such a 
 trained nurse as her mother had described, to 
 know all those things, and to be called " a great 
 blessing " by such a woman as her mother, 
 AViunie judged was distinction enough for any 
 woman. She paid little heed to the merry talk 
 which went on about her cap, her mind being 
 full of the new thought ; and before the morn- 
 ing was over she had determined what she 
 would do in the world she would be a trained 
 nurse. 
 
 In the course of the next few days Winnie 
 contrived to get much further information from 
 her mother in regard to the matter. Particu- 
 larly she was interested in the kind of caps 
 the nurses wore, and being skillful with both 
 scissors and needle, in the course of the next 
 week she had fashioned some very creditable 
 caps of white lawn and adorned her choicest 
 dolls with them. From that time on Winifred 
 had a new ambition. The family were greatly 
 amused with it for a time, and called her 
 "Nurse," but after awhile they forgot all about 
 it ; not so Winnie. As she grew older her in-
 
 THE TRAINED NURSE. 
 
 terest in nurses and nursing increased rather 
 than diminished. She cut from the daily papers 
 every scrap which she saw on the subject ; she 
 listened attentively to the talk of Dr. Benson 
 when he called, in the hope that something 
 professional would creep in ; she brought from 
 the library popular works on health and dis- 
 ease, and not only read but studied them to 
 such purpose that after awhile she really became 
 an authority in the matter of slight bruises, 
 burns, and the like. "Ask Winnie what to 
 do for it," became a common sentence in the 
 household. Long after the white silk cap had 
 been made into dress trimmings, and the pink 
 ribbon had done duty as awillow basket or- 
 nament, the lesson which had been connected 
 with them staid by Winnie and grew with 
 her growth. It was almost a trial to her that 
 theirs was such a healthful household, that there 
 wasr eally no opportunity for practicing her 
 arts. It was not that she wished people to be 
 sick, but if they had to be at any time, she 
 could not help wishing it would come while she 
 was so ready and willing to serve. But the 
 years passed, and beyond a few toothaches
 
 THE TRAINED NURSE. 
 
 and a headache now and then, no one in the 
 family connection had suffered, save Winnie 
 herself; she, in the meantime, had measles 
 and scarlet fever; and being waited upon for 
 two days while her mother was resting, by 
 Betsey Hawkins from the kitchen, Winnie con- 
 fided to her mother that she had learned how 
 not to do a good many things. 
 
 It was when Winnie had passed her fourteenth 
 year and was grown a tall capable girl, and had 
 packed away all her dolls because there was 
 really no time to play with them, that her oppor- 
 tunity came. 
 
 Came in a most romantic manner, which 
 made it of still more interest ; for Winnie, I 
 am obliged to confess, had a touch of the 
 romantic about her. 
 
 A man on horseback was galloping by, and 
 came in contact with the steam fire-engine just 
 at the corner; the horse was frightened and 
 reared and plunged and finally threw the man, 
 who was past middle age and not much used to 
 horseback riding. He fell heavily, hitting his 
 head against the curbstone as he did so ; Wini- 
 fred's father was the first man at his side,
 
 THE TRAINED NURSE. 
 
 being just on his way home, and it naturally 
 followed that the wounded man was carried 
 to his own house. It was Winnie who ran 
 upstairs to open the spare chamber, and draw 
 down the shades, and make the bed ready for 
 its occupant. It was she who hovered about 
 Dr. Benson for the first few minutes after he 
 arrived, getting him water, and the scissors, 
 and several other things for which he called. 
 Her mother was out when the accident occurred, 
 and AVinnie was in the hall explaining matters 
 to her when Dr. Benson came out of the spare 
 room. 
 
 "We shall have to make a private hospital 
 of your house for a time, I fear," he said ; "the 
 man is a stranger in town, I fancy. He is not 
 able to speak, but I know most persons in or 
 about this region, and I have never seen him 
 before. He is quite badly hurt ; not fatally, I 
 think ; but he must not be moved for weeks ; 
 and will probably need a great deal of care." 
 
 Of course both Mr. and Mrs. Holden de- 
 clared themselves ready to do everything in 
 their power ; and the doctor went away to try 
 to find a professional nurse. Early the next
 
 THE TRAINED NURSE. 
 
 morning he encountered Winnie on the stairs 
 arrayed in a new fashion. A large white 
 apron very clean and neat covered her dress 
 in front entirely, the bib being fastened high 
 enough to show only the frill of her gingham 
 dress ; and on her head was a dainty little 
 lawn cap for all the world like the professional 
 ones. 
 
 The doctor stopped and surveyed her from 
 head to foot. 
 
 "A trained nurse, I declare ! " he said, with 
 a surprised little laugh; "I am extremely glad 
 to see you, for my patient is delirious this 
 morning, and has taken a dislike to the one I 
 have provided. Perhaps you can coax him to 
 fancy you. Even an insane man might do 
 that, I should think." 
 
 Winnie knew he was laughing at her, but 
 she kept her grave face. 
 
 "I thought I might be of use," she said with 
 dignity, " and I might as well put on my cap 
 and gown ; I have had them ready a long time, 
 and I know how to do a good many things for 
 sick people." 
 
 The doctor's words, spoken in jest, proved to
 
 THE TRAINED NURSE. 
 
 be more true than he had imagined. The sick 
 man, whose brain was full of all sorts of queer 
 couceits, took an instant fancy to the young, 
 fresh face looking gravely out at him from 
 under its quaint little cap. He accepted with 
 a gracious smile the soothing draught which 
 the doctor handed her to give him, notwith- 
 standing the fact that he had imperiously re- 
 fused to take it at the hands of either doctor 
 or professional nurse. For the next two weeks 
 Winnie certainly had a taste of genuine nurs- 
 ing. The delirious patient would have his 
 medicine and his nourishment at her hands and 
 none other. He would permit her to bathe his 
 head and cool his pillow, and do anything for 
 him indeed that she chose to do. 
 
 "A born nurse!" said Dr. Benson to her 
 mother, who was half-annoyed and half-amused 
 at the composed way in which Winnie had super- 
 seded the doctor's professional nurse, so that 
 she had little to do in the daytime. 
 
 "You ought to let her take a thorough course 
 of training. She would be invaluable in the 
 sick room ; she has just the gentle and yet 
 quick touch which a patient appreciates. Very
 
 THE TRAINED NUKSE. 
 
 slow movements often irritate a nervous per- 
 son, and not one nurse in twenty knows how 
 to be quick, and quiet, and gentle at the same 
 time. That little woman in cap and white 
 gown is a treasure." 
 
 So the invalid thought, as the weeks passed. 
 There came a day when he was quite himself, 
 but all the morning he appeared to be watching 
 for somebody, and at last he asked where the 
 little white-capped maid was, and Winnie was 
 summoned. From that hour they became warm 
 friends ; nobody could comb the threads of gray 
 hair on the man's head, or arrange the pillows 
 for it, or do any of those numberless small 
 things which sick people want, equal to Winnie. 
 
 Meantime, Winnie's thoughts had been very 
 busy during this time of responsibility. She 
 had other ambitions than merely to nurse 
 bodies. Was her dear gray-haired patient a 
 Christian? This was the question which daily 
 haunted her. There had been a time when she 
 was in terror lest he might die, and she never 
 know ; now she feared he might get well and 
 go away without her having discovered whether 
 he belonged to Christ. That, to Winnie's mind,
 
 THE TRAINED NURSE. 
 
 was very defective nursing ; yet the doctor had 
 given strict orders that his patient must not be 
 excited in any way. At last the day came 
 when the sick man wanted to be read to, and 
 Winnie was chosen as reader. After reading 
 for an hour in the daily papers, turning to what- 
 ever page or column was demanded, Winn'.e 
 asked : "May I read to you a little bit out of 
 the Bible now, sir? " 
 
 He turned a pair of great gray eyes upon her 
 and asked briefly, "Why?" 
 
 " Why, because you have been sick a long 
 time and must have missed it if you are used 
 to it, and if not" she stopped, but he was 
 still looking at her her. 
 
 "Well," he said after a minute, "and if not, 
 what then?" 
 
 "Why, then you have missed it without 
 knowing it, and that is worse." 
 
 He laughed A little over this ; said it was 
 "sharp," and after a moment asked if it would 
 give her any pleasure to read to him out of the 
 Bible ; if it would, he was willing to listen 
 simply to please her, for she had been a very 
 good friend to him ; indeed, he did not know
 
 THE TRAINED NURSE. 
 
 what he would have done without her ; but it 
 had been years since he had listened to the 
 Bible, except occasionally in church. 
 
 So the Bible readings were commenced, and 
 went on every evening ; Winnie being some- 
 times stopped abruptly and asked what she 
 thought such a verse meant, and if she knew 
 any people who acted as the Bible said they 
 must. It was this question in some form or 
 other which seemed most to trouble her patient. 
 At last one evening she said : "I know people 
 who try to do as the Bible wants them to, but 
 if I didn't know a single person it would make 
 no difference, so long as I knew Jesus. If 
 there was nobody trying to get rich, and yet 
 I knew there was money to be had, I think I 
 should try for it all the same." After that he 
 told her again that she was "pretty sharp," 
 and then he lay quite still and seemed to be 
 listening to the Bible words. 
 
 "I will tell you something," he said to Win- 
 nie one morning ; he was looking better than 
 he had before, and Winnie knew that the 
 doctor called him almost well; "something 
 that I thiuk will please you : a little maid like
 
 THE TRAINED NURSE. 
 
 you used to love to read and study her Bible ; 
 she was my little girl. I would not let her 
 read the Bible to me, but I made no objection 
 to her reading it herself ; she loved it and tried 
 to live by it. She was all I had ; one day she 
 died. I was angry about it, and said God was 
 cruel to take all I had, and that I would never 
 serve him. I lived without him for years, 
 though I knew it would hurt my little girl if 
 she were here. I got on as best I could until 
 he had pity on me and let me be thrown from 
 a horse in front of a home where was another 
 little woman like my daughter ; she has coaxed 
 me back to life and coaxed me back to God. 
 I have known how to serve him ever since I 
 was a child ; now I am going to do it ; and it 
 is my little trained nurse who has led me." 
 
 "Mother," said "Winnie, "I do truly think 
 God put the desire to take care of sick people 
 into my heart, so I could work for him in this 
 way. And to think he has given me my first 
 patient. Don't you believe he did it to encour- 
 age me in my life-work? " 
 
 Yes, it is her life-work. She is a trained 
 nurse now, and people when they have very
 
 THE TRAINED NURSE. 
 
 sick friends say : ' ' Oh ! if we can only get 
 Miss Winifred Holden to take care of her." 
 
 I am not sure that Mrs. Holdeu is even yet 
 quite reconciled to it; she very much wanted 
 Winnie to be a lady of leisure, and live in a 
 grand house, and do good with her money. 
 "But I brought it on myself," she said once, 
 half-laughing. "Winnie says it was a foolish 
 little remark which I made about a fancy cap 
 she had, which set her heart in that way. It 
 only shows how careful we ought to be of our 
 words. They accomplish, sometimes, things 
 which we had no idea of."
 
 AN ADAPTED COLLOQUY. 
 
 IT did not surprise any one that Edward 
 Parker and Annie Webster were chosen to 
 represent their grade in the coming prize contest. 
 They had agreed between themselves to choose 
 a colloquy for their recitation. "Something 
 which had real sound temperance argument in 
 it," Edward stipulated, "that would do people 
 good to listen to, even though they didn't enjoy 
 the way it was said. But then, Annie, if it 
 should happen that we should take the prize, 
 how would we manage? " 
 
 "Why, divide it," replied Annie. "The 
 money prize is a ten-dollar gold piece, and that 
 will make two fives ; but I haven't the least idea 
 that we will take the prize. Harvey Morrison 
 is going to try for it, you know, and you say 
 yourself that he is the best speaker among the 
 boys. And Doris Hanley is going to try, so 
 where is the chance for us ? "
 
 AN ADAPTED COLLOQUY. 
 
 " All right," said Edward, " all the more rea- 
 son why we should select first class material, 
 that will be well worth listening to." 
 
 They spent days in hunting for a colloquy on 
 temperance which satisfied them ; but at last 
 they chose a discussion between two young peo- 
 ple about the wisdom, or the folly, of signing 
 the pledge ; and having prepared their parts 
 with great care, they met on this first afternoon 
 to rehearse. They were old friends, these two, 
 were nearly of an age, and had been playmates 
 even in their babyhood. They were perfectly 
 frank in conversation, and good-naturedly told 
 each other some plain truths. For instance, 
 over one response which "Kent," a boy in the 
 colloquy, had made, Annie laughed merrily. 
 "If 'Kent' talked like that, Edward, I am not 
 surprised that the girl called him a ' noodle.' " 
 ("Emma" was the girl in the colloquy.) "It 
 may not have been very polite, but it was ex- 
 pressive. You don't say it the least bit like 
 yourself, Edward ; I shouldn't know it was 
 you talking. You don't even speak in a natu- 
 ral tone of voice. I'll tell you just how you 
 said it."
 
 AN ADAPTED COLLOQUY. 
 
 And she mimicked the rapid, slightly sing- 
 song, parrot-like style which Edward had used. 
 He joined in her laugh, although his cheeks 
 grew red. 
 
 " That's being pretty hard on a fellow, 
 Annie. I don't believe that girl in the collo- 
 quy ever talked so to Kent. I know I wasn't 
 natural ; I cannot be. I will tell you what the 
 trouble is ; it is not a natural sentence. Who 
 ever heard a fellow of my age getting off a 
 sentence like that, full of big words ? " and he 
 mimicked the supposed speaker. " 'The truth 
 is, my dear friend, we are compelled by exist- 
 ing circumstances to make constant practical 
 application of the pledge idea, in the complica- 
 tions of an ordinary business life.' I don't be- 
 lieve he ever said any such thing ! It doesn't 
 sound like a fellow who knew what he was talk- 
 ing about. Imagine me getting off such a sen- 
 tence as that to you ! If he knew enough, he 
 would say that every time a fellow offered a 
 banknote he had either accepted a pledge, or 
 else he was a scamp. ' Compelled by existing 
 circumstances ! ' Existing fiddlesticks ! Why 
 can't they put common sense into colloquys, I
 
 AN ADAPTED COLLOQUY. 
 
 wonder, and say things as boys and girls say 
 them, instead of making a boy of thirteen talk 
 like his grandfather? " 
 
 "And the girl is just as bad," said Annie; 
 " she talks like her great-aunt oftener than she 
 does like herself. I'll tell you what it is, Ed- 
 ward, I have an idea. Let us go over this 
 thing and strike out all the sentences which 
 sound unnatural unlike a girl and boy and 
 put in the words we believe we would have said 
 if we had been arguing about the pledge. To 
 be sure, you and I are both on the same side, 
 but then we can imagine how we would talk if 
 we weren't. I shouldn't wonder if we had as 
 much sense as this 'Kent' and 'Emma,' who- 
 ever they were ; and I'm sure we know how to 
 use smaller words than they. Then perhaps 
 we can both be natural. You did not criticise 
 me, Edward ; but you ought to have done so. 
 I felt all the time that I was not being natural ; 
 I could not help speaking some of those sen- 
 tences in a sort of affected grown-up tone, just 
 because they are 'grown-up' sentences, instead 
 of being such as a girl would use. I never 
 thought what the trouble was until you sug-
 
 AN ADAPTED COLLOQUY. 
 
 gested it. I propose that we make this col- 
 loquy over." 
 
 "All right," said Edward; "let's go in. I 
 always thought I should like to write something 
 to be printed. This is print, and if we make 
 it over we have the right to call ourselves the 
 authors, haven't we ? " 
 
 "We can do as they do with hymns that they 
 mend," said Annie, laughing, "A colloquy on 
 the pledge, ' adapted ' by Edward Parker and 
 Annie Webster." 
 
 There was a good deal more talk and laugh- 
 ter, but better than these, there was good work 
 done. The two were fair thinkers, and good 
 writers for their ages ; moreover, they knew 
 how girls and boys talked when they were to- 
 gether. They went over the colloquy sentence 
 by sentence, striking out all the long words, 
 re-arranging the involved sentences, making 
 them sound simple and natural. Some of the 
 sentences they omitted altogether, as unrea- 
 sonable, considering the supposed age of the 
 speakers. 
 
 " Now," said Annie, when an hour's work 
 had been done, "I believe this is going to be
 
 AN ADAPTED COLLOQUY. 
 
 a success. I feel less stiff already ; it seems 
 so much more natural to say, ' O, Kent ! I wish 
 you wouldn't talk such nonsense,' than to say, 
 as that dreadful little prig of an ' Emma' did, 
 ' I am very sorry indeed to hear you converse 
 upon these themes in such an unreasonable man- 
 ner.' Think of me getting that off, Edward," 
 and she laughed merrily. 
 
 "Well," said Edward, "it is so entirely 
 changed that it amounts to a new colloquy. 
 We will each have to go home and set to work 
 to learn it." 
 
 "It will be easily learned," said Annie, look- 
 it over with much satisfaction. " Some of the 
 sentences we shall remember, because we made 
 them word for word, and the others sound so 
 like us that we cannot help thinking of them. 
 I think it is a real splendid way of making a 
 colloquy. Take one that is all prinked up stiff 
 and prim, and as unlike yourself as possible, 
 but which has good thoughts which can be put 
 into the words you would use if you were going 
 to say them. Perhaps we have invented some- 
 thing new under the sun, Edward, and shall 
 get famous."
 
 AN ADAPTED COLLOQUY. 
 
 "If we get the prize I shall be satisfied," 
 said Edward, as he took his copy of the very 
 much interlined colloquy, and marched away. 
 They were gay and meaningless words ; neither 
 he nor Annie had, as they had said, the least 
 idea of securing the prize. Were there not 
 much older and wiser people than they on the 
 list of contestants? Nevertheless they were 
 deeply interested in what they called their re- 
 constructed colloquy ; and now that it sounded 
 natural, they talked it off to each other exactly 
 as though they were having a chat together. 
 
 " I never heard anything more naturally 
 done," said one of the teachers to them on the 
 evening of the contest, as Edward and Annie, 
 having given their colloquy, returned to their 
 seats near her side. " Part of the time I actu- 
 ally forgot that you were reciting a colloquy ; it 
 seemed just as though you were chatting to- 
 gether, and I happened to hear it. I don't un- 
 derstand how you managed to be so natural." 
 
 "Because we said natural things," answered 
 Annie, smiling and pleased ; this was a favorite 
 teacher, and her commendation was worth much 
 more. "It is just as Edward and I talk to-
 
 AN ADAPTED COLLOQUY. 
 
 gether, only he doesn't use such absurd argu- 
 ments as that ' Kent ' did ; but he would put 
 them into those words if he did. I hope Pro- 
 fessor Durand liked it. He said he was afraid 
 the younger ones who had no expectation of 
 getting the prize would not make much effort, 
 but Edward and I did our best. Didn't Doris 
 Hanley recite beautifully? Don't you believe 
 she will get it?" 
 
 This conversation was held while the band 
 was playing, and the audience was waiting for 
 the prize to be awarded. Presently all was 
 quiet, for the chairman of the committee of 
 award was on his feet. I think the only aston- 
 ished people in the room were Edward and Annie, 
 when their names were called. 
 
 "We actually got it," said Annie. 
 
 "We did that!" said Edward. "Let's 
 4 adapt ' something else sometime."
 
 HOW BARBARA HELPED. 
 
 MISS FANNIE FLETCHER'S dress 
 looked very cool and summery as she 
 ran down the steps to meet the boat which Peter 
 Dunlap was skillfully steering toward her, but 
 there was not a pleasant look on her face. 
 There were lines across her forehead and about 
 her mouth which told of a ruffled spirit. The 
 truth is, Miss Fannie had had anything but a 
 pleasant time that morning. The entire family 
 were in the country for the summer, and the fam- 
 ily was large. There were three or four little 
 Fletchers, and two grown-up sons, with only 
 one grown-up daughter, so there was, of course, 
 a great deal of work to be done in the country 
 home, and not very good help to depend upon. 
 Mrs. Fletcher had come into Fannie's room just 
 after breakfast, looking greatly worried. 
 
 " I don't know how to plan," she said. 
 "Jane has the ironing to finish which she left
 
 HOW BARBARA HELPED. 
 
 yesterday, you know, when company came ; 
 and Katie has hurt her foot, and cannot run 
 after Baby at all, and I must be upstairs with 
 Lucy most of the time, for she is not so well 
 to-day. Now, in addition to all the rest, comes 
 a note from Harry, saying he has met two of 
 his college friends, and will bring them out to 
 dinner." 
 
 " Dear me ! " said Fannie, hurrying into her 
 freshly-ironed white dress, "that is just like 
 Harry, always piling company on us whether it 
 is convenient or not. Why couldn't he have 
 let them get their dinner at the Lake House, 
 and make their call here afterward ? " 
 
 " I suppose he did not like to do that, since 
 they are strangers here," returned the mother, 
 and added hesitatingly : " Couldn't you plan in 
 some way to help Jane with the dinner? If 
 you could look after the dessert, and help a 
 little about the vegetables, she could manage 
 the rest." 
 
 "Why, mother, how could I? " asked Fannie, 
 stopping in the act of arranging her collar to 
 ask the question. "I am very late now; I 
 presume Peter has been waiting for me for
 
 HOW BARBARA HELPED. 
 
 some time, and we are not to come home until 
 just dinner time. I don't see how I can be 
 depended upon. If Katie hadn't been a sim- 
 pleton she would not have hurt her foot. It 
 seems to me we have the most accidents of any 
 family I ever heard of." 
 
 "Katie did not mean to be careless, dear; I 
 thought perhaps you could delay starting for 
 an hour or two, and help get things under way. 
 Or you might give up the idea of a picnic for 
 this time. It will be very warm in the glen 
 to-day. I should think it would be much pleas- 
 anter to go when there was more air stirring. 
 If you would just go for a little ride on the 
 lake, and stop at the glen for a few minutes, 
 then you could take Baby along ; he would en- 
 joy it wonderfully, and you could get back in 
 ample time for helping with the dinner." 
 
 But the frowns on her daughter's face only 
 deepened. 
 
 " The idea ! " she said. "How very strange 
 it is that you think I can overturn all my plans 
 for the sake of helping Jane get dinner. It 
 seems to me you forget that it is my Sunday- 
 school class, and that they have been invited
 
 HOW BARBARA HELPED. 
 
 by me to spend the day at the glen. I have to 
 keep my word, don't I? especially with girls 
 whom I am trying to help. I don't know an- 
 other young lady from town who has taken a 
 summer class in Sunday-school. When I am 
 trying to do all I can, I should think I might 
 have some encouragement." 
 
 "I know, dear," Mrs. Fletcher said sooth- 
 ingly; " you are very active. But the circum- 
 stances are peculiar, you know ; if Lucy were 
 well enough to be left alone I might manage, 
 or if it were not for Baby, perhaps I could. I 
 thought since there were only four girls, and 
 two of them from the same family, another day 
 might do as well for them, especially if you 
 explained to them how it was." 
 
 Miss Fannie was ready now, even to her 
 gloves and sun umbrella. 
 
 "I cannot think of such a thing," she said 
 decidedly. "I am sorry about it all, I am 
 sure ; and I don't think Harry need have been 
 so selfish; and Jane might have gotten the 
 ironing out of the way if she had tried very 
 hard. But there is no use in talking about my 
 putting off the picnic. It is chiefly gotten up
 
 HOW BARBARA HELPED. 
 
 for Barbara Duulap ; and she, you know, has 
 just come into the Sunday-school, and started 
 to be a Christian. What would she think 
 of me ? 
 
 " No, Baby, I cannot take you with me, and 
 there is no use in crying about it. Take him 
 back to the house, Katie ; you ought not to 
 have let him follow me. I cannot help it if 
 your foot does hurt ; you need not have been 
 so careless." 
 
 This last sentence was spoken after she 
 reached the landing, just as Peter Dunlap was 
 bringing his boat around. The frowns on Miss 
 Fannie's face had deepened. It certainly was 
 not pleasant to have Baby screaming after her. 
 He was two years and three months old, and 
 had excellent lungs, and was fond of boating. 
 
 " Such a fuss to get started," she said, with 
 a sigh of disgust. "It is enough to make one 
 shrink from trying to do anything. Be still, 
 Prince ! of course you can go when the boat 
 gets here, but there is no use in barking 
 about it." 
 
 "Uncle Joseph" was looking gloomily out 
 of the window at her. He was not her uncle,
 
 HOW BARBARA HELPED. 
 
 but everybody by force of habit called him 
 "uncle." He was the sick and miserable 
 brother of the woman who kept the Lake 
 House. Fannie had been talking with him but 
 the day before, trying to convince him that he 
 ought to be a Christian. 
 
 "There's your Christianity," he told himself 
 sneeringly. "She can take Prince and go off 
 for a day's pleasuring, and leave her baby 
 brother screaming after her, with no one but 
 that little lame girl to look after him, and the 
 mother with more work to do than she can 
 manage, I'll warrant. I heard her wondering 
 how it was all going to get done." 
 
 Just at that moment Miss Fannie discovered 
 that Peter Duulap was alone. "Why, where 
 are Barbara and Bess ? " she asked, stopping 
 half-way down the steps. "I do hope we have 
 not to be delayed by your going back after 
 them ; it is very late now." 
 
 "No, ma'am," said Peter; "they won't hin- 
 der you. Barbara sent word that she was very 
 sorry, but she could not go to-day ; and of 
 course little Bess could not go without her." 
 
 "Not go?" said Miss Fannie; "why, what
 
 HOW BARBARA HELPED. 
 
 does the child mean ? I was going for her sake 
 chiefly." 
 
 "Well, ma'am," said Peter, "I am very 
 sorry, and I think Barbara felt it more than 
 she would own ; but you see, ma'am, my wife 
 is bad off to-day with one of her headaches, 
 and Barbara she said she couldn't go and leave 
 her with the baby to look after. She is along 
 in years, you know, ma'am, and three children 
 to take care of is a good deal, though Barbara 
 is a little woman, and has been ever since her 
 mother died ; but the baby is mischievous, and 
 when his grandmother has the headache he is 
 hard on her. She urged Barbara to go, and 
 said she could get along. But Barbara wouldn't 
 hear a word to it. ' Grandmother,' says she, 
 ' Miss Fletcher would be ashamed of me if I 
 ran away to a picnic and shirked my duty.' 
 But to me she said, ' Grandfather, I couldn't 
 go, you know, because if I am a servant of 
 Jesus Christ I must try to please him in every- 
 thing, and he wouldn't be pleased to have me 
 leave Bobby with grandmother all day when 
 her head aches, would he ? ' and I couldn't make 
 no answer to that, so Barbara had her way."
 
 HOW BARBARA HELPED. 
 
 Miss Fannie had no answer to make, either, 
 for several minutes. She stood on the step, her 
 forehead still wrinkled, but her face growing 
 quieter and sweeter. At last she said, "Very 
 well, Peter, wait for me a few minutes." Then 
 running up the steps she looked down the road 
 leading to the house. In the distance was 
 Dick, the errand boy at the Lake House. She 
 motioned him to her. "Dick, just run to our 
 house and bring Baby to me, will you? Tell 
 mamma I am going to take him for a little 
 ride in the boat, and I will come back in time 
 to see to everything about dinner. And be as 
 quick as you can, that's a good boy." 
 
 "If I had any religion I should want it to be 
 Barbara's kind." 
 
 That was what Uncle Joseph muttered to 
 himself when he heard Peter Duiilap's story. 
 But as he watched the boat slip away at last, 
 with the happy "Baby" seated by his sister's 
 side, he was forced to add: "Perhaps Miss 
 Fannie's kind isn't bad to have, when she stops 
 to think about what she is doing."
 
 The Pansy Books 
 
 By MRS. G. R. ALDEN ("PANSY") 
 
 PANSY 
 
 Trade-mark registered June 4, 1895 
 
 $1.50 per volume 
 
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