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Jack and Jill

by Louisa May Alcott · English · Gutenberg #2786 · 517,186 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Jack and Jill

Author: Louisa May Alcott


        
Release date: August 1, 2001 [eBook #2786]
                Most recently updated: March 10, 2018

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2786

Credits: Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JACK AND JILL ***




Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer





JACK AND JILL

By Louisa May Alcott



   To the schoolmates of ELLSWORTH DEVENS,
   Whose lovely character will not soon be forgotten,
   This Village Story is affectionately inscribed by their friend,

   L.M.A.
   1880



Contents

     Chapter I      The Catastrophe
     Chapter II     Two Penitents
     Chapter III    Ward No. I
     Chapter IV     Ward No. 2
     Chapter V      Secrets
     Chapter VI     Surprises
     Chapter VII    Jill's Mission
     Chapter VIII   Merry and Molly
     Chapter IX     The Debating Club
     Chapter X      The Dramatic Club
     Chapter XI     “Down Brakes”
      Chapter XII    The Twenty-second of February
     Chapter XIII   Jack Has a Mystery
     Chapter XIV    And Jill Finds it out
     Chapter XV     Saint Lucy
     Chapter XVI    Up at Merry's
     Chapter XVII   Down at Molly's
     Chapter XVIII  May Baskets
     Chapter XIX    Good Templars
     Chapter XX     A Sweet Memory
     Chapter XXI    Pebbly Beach
     Chapter XXII   A Happy Day
     Chapter XXIII  Cattle Show
     Chapter XXIV   Down the River





JACK AND JILL


    Jack and Jill went up the hill
    To coast with fun and laughter;
    Jack fell down and broke his crown,
    And Jill came tumbling after.




Chapter I. The Catastrophe


“Clear the lulla!” was the general cry on a bright December afternoon,
when all the boys and girls of Harmony Village were out enjoying the
first good snow of the season. Up and down three long coasts they went
as fast as legs and sleds could carry them. One smooth path led into the
meadow, and here the little folk congregated; one swept across the pond,
where skaters were darting about like water-bugs; and the third, from
the very top of the steep hill, ended abruptly at a rail fence on the
high bank above the road. There was a group of lads and lasses sitting
or leaning on this fence to rest after an exciting race, and, as they
reposed, they amused themselves with criticising their mates, still
absorbed in this most delightful of out-door sports.

“Here comes Frank Minot, looking as solemn as a judge,” cried one, as
a tall fellow of sixteen spun by, with a set look about the mouth and
a keen sparkle of the eyes, fixed on the distant goal with a do-or-die
expression.

  “Here's Molly Loo
  And little Boo!”

sang out another; and down came a girl with flying hair, carrying a
small boy behind her, so fat that his short legs stuck out from the
sides, and his round face looked over her shoulder like a full moon.

“There's Gus Burton; doesn't he go it?” and such a very long boy whizzed
by, that it looked almost as if his heels were at the top of the hill
when his head was at the bottom!

“Hurrah for Ed Devlin!” and a general shout greeted a sweet-faced lad,
with a laugh on his lips, a fine color on his brown cheek, and a gay
word for every girl he passed.

“Laura and Lotty keep to the safe coast into the meadow, and Molly Loo
is the only girl that dares to try this long one to the pond. I wouldn't
for the world; the ice can't be strong yet, though it is cold enough to
freeze one's nose off,” said a timid damsel, who sat hugging a post and
screaming whenever a mischievous lad shook the fence.

“No, she isn't; here's Jack and Jill going like fury.”

  “Clear the track
  For jolly Jack!”

sang the boys, who had rhymes and nicknames for nearly every one.

Down came a gay red sled, bearing a boy who seemed all smile and
sunshine, so white were his teeth, so golden was his hair, so bright
and happy his whole air. Behind him clung a little gypsy of a girl, with
black eyes and hair, cheeks as red as her hood, and a face full of fun
and sparkle, as she waved Jack's blue tippet like a banner with one
hand, and held on with the other.

“Jill goes wherever Jack does, and he lets her. He's such a good-natured
chap, he can't say 'No.'”

“To a girl,” slyly added one of the boys, who had wished to borrow the
red sled, and had been politely refused because Jill wanted it.

“He's the nicest boy in the world, for he never gets mad,” said the
timid young lady, recalling the many times Jack had shielded her from
the terrors which beset her path to school, in the shape of cows, dogs,
and boys who made faces and called her “'Fraid-cat.”

“He doesn't dare to get mad with Jill, for she'd take his head off
in two minutes if he did,” growled Joe Flint, still smarting from the
rebuke Jill had given him for robbing the little ones of their safe
coast because he fancied it.

“She wouldn't! she's a dear! _You_ needn't sniff at her because she is
poor. She's ever so much brighter than you are, or she wouldn't always
be at the head of your class, old Joe,” cried the girls, standing by
their friend with a unanimity which proved what a favorite she was.

Joe subsided with as scornful a curl to his nose as its chilly state
permitted, and Merry Grant introduced a subject of general interest by
asking abruptly,--

“Who is going to the candy-scrape to-night?”

“All of us. Frank invited the whole set, and we shall have a tip-top
time. We always do at the Minots',” cried Sue, the timid trembler.

“Jack said there was a barrel of molasses in the house, so there would
be enough for all to eat and some to carry away. They know how to do
things handsomely;” and the speaker licked his lips, as if already
tasting the feast in store for him.

“Mrs. Minot is a mother worth having,” said Molly Loo, coming up with
Boo on the sled; and she knew what it was to need a mother, for she had
none, and tried to care for the little brother with maternal love and
patience.

“She is just as sweet as she can be!” declared Merry, enthusiastically.

“Especially when she has a candy-scrape,” said Joe, trying to be
amiable, lest he should be left out of the party.

Whereat they all laughed, and went gayly away for a farewell frolic, as
the sun was setting and the keen wind nipped fingers and toes as well as
noses.

Down they went, one after another, on the various coasts,--solemn Frank,
long Gus, gallant Ed, fly-away Molly Loo, pretty Laura and Lotty, grumpy
Joe, sweet-faced Merry with Sue shrieking wildly behind her, gay Jack
and gypsy Jill, always together,--one and all bubbling over with the
innocent jollity born of healthful exercise. People passing in the road
below looked up and smiled involuntarily at the red-cheeked lads and
lasses, filling the frosty air with peals of laughter and cries of
triumph as they flew by in every conceivable attitude; for the fun was
at its height now, and the oldest and gravest observers felt a glow of
pleasure as they looked, remembering their own young days.

“Jack, take me down that coast. Joe said I wouldn't dare to do it, so I
must,” commanded Jill, as they paused for breath after the long trudge
up hill. Jill, of course, was not her real name, but had been given
because of her friendship with Jack, who so admired Janey Pecq's spirit
and fun.

“I guess I wouldn't. It is very bumpy and ends in a big drift; not half
so nice as this one. Hop on and we'll have a good spin across the
pond;” and Jack brought “Thunderbolt” round with a skilful swing and an
engaging air that would have won obedience from anybody but wilful Jill.

“It is very nice, but I won't be told I don't 'dare' by any boy in the
world. If you are afraid, I'll go alone.” And, before he could speak,
she had snatched the rope from his hand, thrown herself upon the sled,
and was off, helter-skelter, down the most dangerous coast on the
hill-side.

She did not get far, however; for, starting in a hurry, she did not
guide her steed with care, and the red charger landed her in the snow
half-way down, where she lay laughing till Jack came to pick her up.

“If you _will_ go, I'll take you down all right. I'm not afraid, for
I've done it a dozen times with the other fellows; but we gave it up
because it is short and bad,” he said, still good-natured, though a
little hurt at the charge of cowardice; for Jack was as brave as a
little lion, and with the best sort of bravery,--the courage to do
right.

“So it is; but I _must_ do it a few times, or Joe will plague me and
spoil my fun to-night,” answered Jill, shaking her skirts and rubbing
her blue hands, wet and cold with the snow.

“Here, put these on; I never use them. Keep them if they fit; I only
carry them to please mother.” And Jack pulled out a pair of red mittens
with the air of a boy used to giving away.

“They are lovely warm, and they do fit. Must be too small for your paws,
so I'll knit you a new pair for Christmas, and make you wear them, too,”
 said Jill, putting on the mittens with a nod of thanks, and ending her
speech with a stamp of her rubber boots to enforce her threat.

Jack laughed, and up they trudged to the spot whence the three coasts
diverged.

“Now, which will you have?” he asked, with a warning look in the honest
blue eyes which often unconsciously controlled naughty Jill against her
will.

“That one!” and the red mitten pointed firmly to the perilous path just
tried.

“You will do it?”

“I will!”

“Come on, then, and hold tight.”

Jack's smile was gone now, and he waited without a word while Jill
tucked herself up, then took his place in front, and off they went on
the brief, breathless trip straight into the drift by the fence below.

“I don't see anything very awful in that. Come up and have another.
Joe is watching us, and I'd like to show him that _we_ aren't afraid of
anything,” said Jill, with a defiant glance at a distant boy, who had
paused to watch the descent.

“It is a regular 'go-bang,' if that is what you like,” answered Jack, as
they plowed their way up again.

“It is. You boys think girls like little mean coasts without any fun or
danger in them, as if we couldn't be brave and strong as well as you.
Give me three go-bangs and then we'll stop. My tumble doesn't count, so
give me two more and then I'll be good.”

Jill took her seat as she spoke, and looked up with such a rosy,
pleading face that Jack gave in at once, and down they went again,
raising a cloud of glittering snow-dust as they reined up in fine style
with their feet on the fence.

“It's just splendid! Now, one more!” cried Jill, excited by the cheers
of a sleighing party passing below.

Proud of his skill, Jack marched back, resolved to make the third “go”
 the crowning achievement of the afternoon, while Jill pranced after him
as lightly as if the big boots were the famous seven-leagued ones, and
chattering about the candy-scrape and whether there would be nuts or
not.

So full were they of this important question, that they piled on
hap-hazard, and started off still talking so busily that Jill forgot to
hold tight and Jack to steer carefully. Alas, for the candy-scrape that
never was to be! Alas, for poor “Thunderbolt” blindly setting forth
on the last trip he ever made! And oh, alas, for Jack and Jill, who
wilfully chose the wrong road and ended their fun for the winter! No
one knew how it happened, but instead of landing in the drift, or at the
fence, there was a great crash against the bars, a dreadful plunge off
the steep bank, a sudden scattering of girl, boy, sled, fence, earth,
and snow, all about the road, two cries, and then silence.

“I knew they'd do it!” and, standing on the post where he had perched,
Joe waved his arms and shouted: “Smash-up! Smash-up! Run! Run!” like a
raven croaking over a battlefield when the fight was done.

Down rushed boys and girls ready to laugh or cry, as the case might be,
for accidents will happen on the best-regulated coasting-grounds. They
found Jack sitting up looking about him with a queer, dazed expression,
while an ugly cut on the forehead was bleeding in a way which sobered
the boys and frightened the girls half out of their wits.

“He's killed! He's killed!” wailed Sue, hiding her face and beginning to
cry.

“No, I'm not. I'll be all right when I get my breath. Where's Jill?”
 asked Jack, stoutly, though still too giddy to see straight.

The group about him opened, and his comrade in misfortune was discovered
lying quietly in the snow with all the pretty color shocked out of her
face by the fall, and winking rapidly, as if half stunned. But no wounds
appeared, and when asked if she was dead, she answered in a vague sort
of way,--

“I guess not. Is Jack hurt?”

“Broken his head,” croaked Joe, stepping aside, that she might behold
the fallen hero vainly trying to look calm and cheerful with red drops
running down his cheek and a lump on his forehead.

Jill shut her eyes and waved the girls away, saying, faintly,--

“Never mind me. Go and see to him.”

“Don't! I'm all right,” and Jack tried to get up in order to prove that
headers off a bank were mere trifles to him; but at the first movement
of the left leg he uttered a sharp cry of pain, and would have fallen if
Gus had not caught and gently laid him down.

“What is it, old chap?” asked Frank, kneeling beside him, really alarmed
now, the hurts seeming worse than mere bumps, which were common affairs
among baseball players, and not worth much notice.

“I lit on my head, but I guess I've broken my leg. Don't frighten
mother,” and Jack held fast to Frank's arm as he looked into the anxious
face bent over him; for, though the elder tyrannized over the younger,
the brothers loved one another dearly.

“Lift his head, Frank, while I tie my handkerchief round to stop the
bleeding,” said a quiet voice, as Ed Devlin laid a handful of soft snow
on the wound; and Jack's face brightened as he turned to thank the one
big boy who never was rough with the small ones.

“Better get him right home,” advised Gus, who stood by looking on, with
his little sisters Laura and Lotty clinging to him.

“Take Jill, too, for it's my opinion she has broken her back. She can't
stir one bit,” announced Molly Loo, with a droll air of triumph, as if
rather pleased than otherwise to have her patient hurt the worse; for
Jack's wound was very effective, and Molly had a taste for the tragic.

This cheerful statement was greeted with a wail from Susan and howls
from Boo, who had earned that name from the ease with which, on all
occasions, he could burst into a dismal roar without shedding a tear,
and stop as suddenly as he began.

“Oh, I am so sorry! It was my fault; I shouldn't have let her do it,”
 said Jack, distressfully.

“It was all _my_ fault; I made him. If I'd broken every bone I've got,
it would serve me right. Don't help me, anybody; I'm a wicked thing, and
I deserve to lie here and freeze and starve and die!” cried Jill, piling
up punishments in her remorseful anguish of mind and body.

“But we want to help you, and we can settle about blame by and by,”
 whispered Merry with a kiss; for she adored dashing Jill, and never
would own that she did wrong.

“Here come the wood-sleds just in time. I'll cut away and tell one of
them to hurry up.” And, freeing himself from his sisters, Gus went off
at a great pace, proving that the long legs carried a sensible head as
well as a kind heart.

As the first sled approached, an air of relief pervaded the agitated
party, for it was driven by Mr. Grant, a big, benevolent-looking farmer,
who surveyed the scene with the sympathetic interest of a man and a
father.

“Had a little accident, have you? Well, that's a pretty likely place for
a spill. Tried it once myself and broke the bridge of my nose,” he said,
tapping that massive feature with a laugh which showed that fifty years
of farming had not taken all the boy out of him. “Now then, let's see
about this little chore, and lively, too, for it's late, and these
parties ought to be housed,” he added, throwing down his whip, pushing
back his cap, and nodding at the wounded with a reassuring smile.

“Jill first, please, sir,” said Ed, the gentle squire of dames,
spreading his overcoat on the sled as eagerly as ever Raleigh laid down
his velvet cloak for a queen to walk upon.

“All right. Just lay easy, my dear, and I won't hurt you a mite if I can
help it.”

Careful as Mr. Grant was, Jill could have screamed with pain as he
lifted her; but she set her lips and bore it with the courage of a
little Indian; for all the lads were looking on, and Jill was proud to
show that a girl could bear as much as a boy. She hid her face in the
coat as soon as she was settled, to hide the tears that would come, and
by the time Jack was placed beside her, she had quite a little cistern
of salt water stored up in Ed's coat-pocket.

Then the mournful procession set forth, Mr. Grant driving the oxen, the
girls clustering about the interesting invalids on the sled, while the
boys came behind like a guard of honor, leaving the hill deserted by
all but Joe, who had returned to hover about the fatal fence, and poor
“Thunderbolt,” split asunder, lying on the bank to mark the spot where
the great catastrophe occurred.




Chapter II. Two Penitents


Jack and Jill never cared to say much about the night which followed
the first coasting party of the season, for it was the saddest and the
hardest their short lives had ever known. Jack suffered most in body;
for the setting of the broken leg was such a painful job, that it wrung
several sharp cries from him, and made Frank, who helped, quite weak
and white with sympathy, when it was over. The wounded head ached
dreadfully, and the poor boy felt as if bruised all over, for he had the
worst of the fall. Dr. Whiting spoke cheerfully of the case, and made so
light of broken legs, that Jack innocently asked if he should not be up
in a week or so.

“Well, no; it usually takes twenty-one days for bones to knit, and young
ones make quick work of it,” answered the doctor, with a last scientific
tuck to the various bandages, which made Jack feel like a hapless
chicken trussed for the spit.

“Twenty-one days! Three whole weeks in bed! I shouldn't call that quick
work,” groaned the dismayed patient, whose experience of illness had
been limited.

“It is a forty days' job, young man, and you must make up your mind to
bear it like a hero. We will do our best; but next time, look before
you leap, and save your bones. Good-night; you'll feel better in the
morning. No jigs, remember;” and off went the busy doctor for another
look at Jill, who had been ordered to bed and left to rest till the
other case was attended to.

Any one would have thought Jack's plight much the worse, but the
doctor looked more sober over Jill's hurt back than the boy's compound
fractures; and the poor little girl had a very bad quarter of an hour
while he was trying to discover the extent of the injury.

“Keep her quiet, and time will show how much damage is done,” was all
he said in her hearing; but if she had known that he told Mrs. Pecq he
feared serious consequences, she would not have wondered why her mother
cried as she rubbed the numb limbs and placed the pillows so tenderly.

Jill suffered most in her mind; for only a sharp stab of pain now and
then reminded her of her body; but her remorseful little soul gave her
no peace for thinking of Jack, whose bruises and breakages her lively
fancy painted in the darkest colors.

“Oh, don't be good to me, Mammy; I made him go, and now he's hurt
dreadfully, and may die; and it is all my fault, and everybody ought to
hate me,” sobbed poor Jill, as a neighbor left the room after reporting
in a minute manner how Jack screamed when his leg was set, and how Frank
was found white as a sheet, with his head under the pump, while Gus
restored the tone of his friend's nerves, by pumping as if the house was
on fire.

“Whist, my lass, and go to sleep. Take a sup of the good wine Mrs. Minot
sent, for you are as cold as a clod, and it breaks my heart to see my
Janey so.”

“I can't go to sleep; I don't see how Jack's mother could send me
anything when I've half killed him. I want to be cold and ache and have
horrid things done to me. Oh, if I ever get out of this bed I'll be the
best girl in the world, to pay for this. See if I ain't!” and Jill
gave such a decided nod that her tears flew all about the pillow like a
shower.

“You'd better begin at once, for you won't get out of that bed for a
long while, I'm afraid, my lamb,” sighed her mother, unable to conceal
the anxiety that lay so heavy on her heart.

“Am I hurt badly, Mammy?”

“I fear it, lass.”

“I'm _glad_ of it; I ought to be worse than Jack, and I hope I am. I'll
bear it well, and be good right away. Sing, Mammy, and I'll try to go to
sleep to please you.”

Jill shut her eyes with sudden and unusual meekness, and before her
mother had crooned half a dozen verses of an old ballad, the little
black head lay still upon the pillow, and repentant Jill was fast asleep
with a red mitten in her hand.

Mrs. Pecq was an Englishwoman who had left Montreal at the death of her
husband, a French Canadian, and had come to live in the tiny cottage
which stood near Mrs. Minot's big house, separated only by an
arbor-vitae hedge. A sad, silent person, who had seen better days, but
said nothing about them, and earned her bread by sewing, nursing, work
in the factory, or anything that came in her way, being anxious to
educate her little girl. Now, as she sat beside the bed in the small,
poor room, that hope almost died within her, for here was the child
laid up for months, probably, and the one ambition and pleasure of the
solitary woman's life was to see Janey Pecq's name over all the high
marks in the school-reports she proudly brought home.

“She'll win through, please Heaven, and I'll see my lass a gentlewoman
yet, thanks to the good friend in yonder, who will never let her want
for care,” thought the poor soul, looking out into the gloom where a
long ray of light streamed from the great house warm and comfortable
upon the cottage, like the spirit of kindness which made the inmates
friends and neighbors.

Meantime, that other mother sat by her boy's bed as anxious but with
better hope, for Mrs. Minot made trouble sweet and helpful by the way in
which she bore it; and her boys were learning of her how to find silver
linings to the clouds that must come into the bluest skies.

Jack lay wide awake, with hot cheeks, and throbbing head, and all sorts
of queer sensations in the broken leg. The soothing potion he had
taken did not affect him yet, and he tried to beguile the weary time by
wondering who came and went below. Gentle rings at the front door, and
mysterious tappings at the back, had been going on all the evening; for
the report of the accident had grown astonishingly in its travels, and
at eight o'clock the general belief was that Jack had broken both legs,
fractured his skull, and lay at the point of death, while Jill had
dislocated one shoulder, and was bruised black and blue from top to
toe. Such being the case, it is no wonder that anxious playmates and
neighbors haunted the doorsteps of the two houses, and that offers of
help poured in.

Frank, having tied up the bell and put a notice in the lighted
side-window, saying, “Go to the back door,” sat in the parlor, supported
by his chum, Gus, while Ed played softly on the piano, hoping to lull
Jack to sleep. It did soothe him, for a very sweet friendship existed
between the tall youth and the lad of thirteen. Ed went with the
big fellows, but always had a kind word for the smaller boys; and
affectionate Jack, never ashamed to show his love, was often seen with
his arm round Ed's shoulder, as they sat together in the pleasant red
parlors, where all the young people were welcome and Frank was king.

“Is the pain any easier, my darling?” asked Mrs. Minot, leaning over the
pillow, where the golden head lay quiet for a moment.

“Not much. I forget it listening to the music. Dear old Ed is playing
all my favorite tunes, and it is very nice. I guess he feels pretty
sorry about me.”

“They all do. Frank could not talk of it. Gus wouldn't go home to tea,
he was so anxious to do something for us. Joe brought back the bits of
your poor sled, because he didn't like to leave them lying round for any
one to carry off, he said, and you might like them to remember your fall
by.”

Jack tried to laugh, but it was rather a failure, though he managed to
say, cheerfully,--

“That was good of old Joe. I wouldn't lend him 'Thunderbolt' for fear
he'd hurt it. Couldn't have smashed it up better than I did, could he?
Don't think I want any pieces to remind me of _that_ fall. I just wish
you'd seen us, mother! It must have been a splendid spill to look at,
any way.”

“No, thank you; I'd rather not even try to imagine my precious boy going
heels over head down that dreadful hill. No more pranks of that sort for
some time, Jacky;” and Mrs. Minot looked rather pleased on the whole to
have her venturesome bird safe under her maternal wing.

“No coasting till some time in January. What a fool I was to do it!
Go-bangs always are dangerous, and that's the fun of the thing. Oh
dear!”

Jack threw his arms about and frowned darkly, but never said a word of
the wilful little baggage who had led him into mischief; he was too much
of a gentleman to tell on a girl, though it cost him an effort to hold
his tongue, because Mamma's good opinion was very precious to him, and
he longed to explain. She knew all about it, however, for Jill had been
carried into the house reviling herself for the mishap, and even in the
midst of her own anxiety for her boy, Mrs. Minot understood the state of
the case without more words. So she now set his mind at rest by saying,
quietly.

“Foolish fun, as you see, dear. Another time, stand firm and help Jill
to control her headstrong will. When you learn to yield less and she
more, there will be no scrapes like this to try us all.”

“I'll remember, mother. I hate not to be obliging, but I guess it would
have saved us lots of trouble if I'd said No in the beginning. I tried
to, but she _would_ go. Poor Jill! I'll take better care of her next
time. Is she very ill, Mamma?”

“I can tell you better to-morrow. She does not suffer much, and we hope
there is no great harm done.”

“I wish she had a nice place like this to be sick in. It must be very
poky in those little rooms,” said Jack, as his eye roved round the large
chamber where he lay so cosey, warm, and pleasant, with the gay chintz
curtains draping doors and windows, the rosy carpet, comfortable chairs,
and a fire glowing in the grate.

“I shall see that she suffers for nothing, so don't trouble your kind
heart about her to-night, but try to sleep; that's what you need,”
 answered his mother, wetting the bandage on his forehead, and putting a
cool hand on the flushed cheeks.

Jack obediently closed his eyes and listened while the boys sang “The
Sweet By and By,” softening their rough young voices for his sake till
the music was as soft as a lullaby. He lay so still his mother thought
he was off, but presently a tear slipped out and rolled down the red
cheek, wetting her hand as it passed.

“My blessed boy, what is it?” she whispered, with a touch and a tone
that only mothers have.

The blue eyes opened wide, and Jack's own sunshiny smile broke through
the tears that filled them as he said with a sniff,--

“Everybody is so good to me I can't help making a noodle of myself.

“You are not a noodle!” cried Mamma, resenting the epithet. “One of the
sweet things about pain and sorrow is that they show us how well we are
loved, how much kindness there is in the world, and how easily we can
make others happy in the same way when they need help and sympathy.
Don't forget that, little son.”

“Don't see how I can, with you to show me how nice it is. Kiss me
good-night, and then 'I'll be good,' as Jill says.”

Nestling his head upon his mother's arm, Jack lay quiet till, lulled by
the music of his mates, he drowsed away into the dreamless sleep which
is Nurse Nature's healthiest soothing sirup for weary souls and bodies.




Chapter III. Ward No. 1


For some days, nothing was seen and little was heard of the “dear
sufferers,” as the old ladies called them. But they were not forgotten;
the first words uttered when any of the young people met were: “How is
Jack?” “Seen Jill yet?” and all waited with impatience for the moment
when they could be admitted to their favorite mates, more than ever
objects of interest now.

Meantime, the captives spent the first few days in sleep, pain, and
trying to accept the hard fact that school and play were done with for
months perhaps. But young spirits are wonderfully elastic and soon cheer
up, and healthy young bodies heal fast, or easily adapt themselves to
new conditions. So our invalids began to mend on the fourth day, and
to drive their nurses distracted with efforts to amuse them, before the
first week was over.

The most successful attempt originated in Ward No. 1, as Mrs. Minot
called Jack's apartment, and we will give our sympathizing readers some
idea of this place, which became the stage whereon were enacted many
varied and remarkable scenes.

Each of the Minot boys had his own room, and there collected his own
treasures and trophies, arranged to suit his convenience and taste.
Frank's was full of books, maps, machinery, chemical messes, and
geometrical drawings, which adorned the walls like intricate cobwebs.
A big chair, where he read and studied with his heels higher than his
head, a basket of apples for refreshment at all hours of the day or
night, and an immense inkstand, in which several pens were always
apparently bathing their feet, were the principal ornaments of his
scholastic retreat.

Jack's hobby was athletic sports, for he was bent on having a strong and
active body for his happy little soul to live and enjoy itself in. So a
severe simplicity reigned in his apartment; in summer, especially, for
then his floor was bare, his windows were uncurtained, and the chairs
uncushioned, the bed being as narrow and hard as Napoleon's. The only
ornaments were dumbbells, whips, bats, rods, skates, boxing-gloves, a
big bath-pan and a small library, consisting chiefly of books on games,
horses, health, hunting, and travels. In winter his mother made things
more comfortable by introducing rugs, curtains, and a fire. Jack,
also, relented slightly in the severity of his training, occasionally
indulging in the national buckwheat cake, instead of the prescribed
oatmeal porridge, for breakfast, omitting his cold bath when the
thermometer was below zero, and dancing at night, instead of running a
given distance by day.

Now, however, he was a helpless captive, given over to all sorts of
coddling, laziness, and luxury, and there was a droll mixture of mirth
and melancholy in his face, as he lay trussed up in bed, watching the
comforts which had suddenly robbed his room of its Spartan simplicity.
A delicious couch was there, with Frank reposing in its depths, half
hidden under several folios which he was consulting for a history of the
steam-engine, the subject of his next composition.

A white-covered table stood near, with all manner of dainties set forth
in a way to tempt the sternest principles. Vases of flowers bloomed on
the chimney-piece,--gifts from anxious young ladies, left with their
love. Frivolous story-books and picture-papers strewed the bed, now
shrouded in effeminate chintz curtains, beneath which Jack lay like
a wounded warrior in his tent. But the saddest sight for our crippled
athlete was a glimpse, through a half-opened door, at the beloved
dumb-bells, bats, balls, boxing-gloves, and snow-shoes, all piled
ignominiously away in the bath-pan, mournfully recalling the fact that
their day was over, now, at least for some time.

He was about to groan dismally, when his eye fell on a sight which made
him swallow the groan, and cough instead, as if it choked him a little.
The sight was his mother's face, as she sat in a low chair rolling
bandages, with a basket beside her in which were piles of old linen,
lint, plaster, and other matters, needed for the dressing of wounds. As
he looked, Jack remembered how steadily and tenderly she had stood by
him all through the hard times just past, and how carefully she had
bathed and dressed his wound each day in spite of the effort it cost her
to give him pain or even see him suffer.

“That's a better sort of strength than swinging twenty-pound dumb-bells
or running races; I guess I'll try for that kind, too, and not howl or
let her see me squirm when the doctor hurts,” thought the boy, as he saw
that gentle face so pale and tired with much watching and anxiety, yet
so patient, serene, and cheerful, that it was like sunshine.

“Lie down and take a good nap, mother dear, I feel first-rate, and Frank
can see to me if I want anything. Do, now,” he added, with a persuasive
nod toward the couch, and a boyish relish in stirring up his lazy
brother.

After some urging, Mamma consented to go to her room for forty winks,
leaving Jack in the care of Frank, begging him to be as quiet as
possible if the dear boy wished to sleep, and to amuse him if he did
not.

Being worn out, Mrs. Minot lengthened her forty winks into a three
hours' nap, and as the “dear boy” scorned repose, Mr. Frank had his
hands full while on guard.

“I'll read to you. Here's Watt, Arkwright, Fulton, and a lot of capital
fellows, with pictures that will do your heart good. Have a bit, will
you?” asked the new nurse, flapping the leaves invitingly.--for Frank
had a passion for such things, and drew steam-engines all over his
slate, as Tommy Traddles drew hosts of skeletons when low in his
spirits.

“I don't want any of your old boilers and stokers and whirligigs. I'm
tired of reading, and want something regularly jolly,” answered Jack,
who had been chasing white buffaloes with “The Hunters of the West,”
 till he was a trifle tired and fractious.

“Play cribbage, euchre, anything you like;” and Frank obligingly
disinterred himself from under the folios, feeling that it _was_ hard
for a fellow to lie flat a whole week.

“No fun; just two of us. Wish school was over, so the boys would come
in; doctor said I might see them now.”

“They'll be along by and by, and I'll hail them. Till then, what shall
we do? I'm your man for anything, only put a name to it.”

“Just wish I had a telegraph or a telephone, so I could talk to Jill.
Wouldn't it be fun to pipe across and get an answer!”

“I'll make either you say;” and Frank looked as if trifles of that sort
were to be had for the asking.

“Could you, really?”

“We'll start the telegraph first, then you can send things over if you
like,” said Frank, prudently proposing the surest experiment.

“Go ahead, then. I'd like that, and so would Jill, for I know she wants
to hear from me.”

“There's one trouble, though; I shall have to leave you alone for a few
minutes while I rig up the ropes;” and Frank looked sober, for he was a
faithful boy, and did not want to desert his post.

“Oh, never mind; I won't want anything. If I do, I can pound for Ann.”

“And wake mother. I'll fix you a better way than that;” and, full
of inventive genius, our young Edison spliced the poker to part of a
fishing-rod in a jiffy, making a long-handled hook which reached across
the room.

“There's an arm for you; now hook away, and let's see how it works,”
 he said, handing over the instrument to Jack, who proceeded to show its
unexpected capabilities by hooking the cloth off the table in attempting
to get his handkerchief, catching Frank by the hair when fishing for a
book, and breaking a pane of glass in trying to draw down the curtain.

“It's so everlasting long, I can't manage it,” laughed Jack, as it
finally caught in his bed-hangings, and nearly pulled them, ring and
all, down upon his head.

“Let it alone, unless you need something very much, and don't bother
about the glass. It's just what we want for the telegraph wire or
rope to go through. Keep still, and I'll have the thing running in ten
minutes;” and, delighted with the job, Frank hurried away, leaving Jack
to compose a message to send as soon as it was possible.

“What in the world is that flying across the Minots' yard,--a brown hen
or a boy's kite?” exclaimed old Miss Hopkins, peering out of her window
at the singular performances going on in her opposite neighbor's garden.

First, Frank appeared with a hatchet and chopped a clear space in the
hedge between his own house and the cottage; next, a clothes line was
passed through this aperture and fastened somewhere on the other side;
lastly, a small covered basket, slung on this rope, was seen hitching
along, drawn either way by a set of strings; then, as if satisfied with
his job, Frank retired, whistling “Hail Columbia.”

“It's those children at their pranks again. I thought broken bones
wouldn't keep them out of mischief long,” said the old lady, watching
with great interest the mysterious basket travelling up and down the
rope from the big house to the cottage.

If she had seen what came and went over the wires of the “Great
International Telegraph,” she would have laughed till her spectacles
flew off her Roman nose. A letter from Jack, with a large orange, went
first, explaining the new enterprise:--

“Dear Jill,--It's too bad you can't come over to see me. I am pretty
well, but awful tired of keeping still. I want to see you ever so much.
Frank has fixed us a telegraph, so we can write and send things. Won't
it be jolly! I can't look out to see him do it; but, when you pull your
string, my little bell rings, and I know a message is coming. I send you
an orange. Do you like _gorver_ jelly? People send in lots of goodies,
and we will go halves. Good-by.

“Jack”

Away went the basket, and in fifteen minutes it came back from the
cottage with nothing in it but the orange.

“Hullo! Is she mad?” asked Jack, as Frank brought the despatch for him
to examine.

But, at the first touch, the hollow peel opened, and out fell a letter,
two gum-drops, and an owl made of a peanut, with round eyes drawn at the
end where the stem formed a funny beak. Two bits of straw were the legs,
and the face looked so like Dr. Whiting that both boys laughed at the
sight.

“That's so like Jill; she'd make fun if she was half dead. Let's see
what she says;” and Jack read the little note, which showed a sad
neglect of the spelling-book:--

“Dear Jacky,--I can't stir and it's horrid. The telly graf is very nice
and we will have fun with it. I never ate any _gorver_ jelly. The orange
was first rate. Send me a book to read. All about bears and ships
and crockydiles. The doctor was coming to see you, so I sent him the
quickest way. Molly Loo says it is dreadful lonesome at school without
us. Yours truly,

“Jill”

Jack immediately despatched the book and a sample of guava jelly, which
unfortunately upset on the way, to the great detriment of “The Wild
Beasts of Asia and Africa.” Jill promptly responded with the loan of a
tiny black kitten, who emerged spitting and scratching, to Jack's great
delight; and he was cudgelling his brains as to how a fat white rabbit
could be transported, when a shrill whistle from without saved Jill from
that inconvenient offering.

“It's the fellows; do you want to see them?” asked Frank, gazing down
with calm superiority upon the three eager faces which looked up at him.

“Guess I do!” and Jack promptly threw the kitten overboard, scorning to
be seen by any manly eye amusing himself with such girlish toys.

Bang! went the front door; tramp, tramp, tramp, came six booted feet up
the stairs; and, as Frank threw wide the door, three large beings
paused on the threshold to deliver the courteous “Hullo!” which is the
established greeting among boys on all social occasions.

“Come along, old fellows; I'm ever so glad to see you!” cried the
invalid, with such energetic demonstrations of the arms that he looked
as if about to fly or crow, like an excited young cockerel.

“How are you, Major?”

“Does the leg ache much, Jack?”

“Mr. Phipps says you'll have to pay for the new rails.”

With these characteristic greetings, the gentlemen cast away their hats
and sat down, all grinning cheerfully, and all with eyes irresistibly
fixed upon the dainties, which proved too much for the politeness of
ever-hungry boys.

“Help yourselves,” said Jack, with a hospitable wave. “All the dear old
ladies in town have been sending in nice things, and I can't begin to
eat them up. Lend a hand and clear away this lot, or we shall have to
throw them out of the window. Bring on the doughnuts and the tarts and
the shaky stuff in the entry closet, Frank, and let's have a lark.”

No sooner said than done. Gus took the tarts, Joe the doughnuts, Ed the
jelly, and Frank suggested “spoons all round” for the Italian cream. A
few trifles in the way of custard, fruit, and wafer biscuits were not
worth mentioning; but every dish was soon emptied, and Jack said, as he
surveyed the scene of devastation with great satisfaction,--

“Call again to-morrow, gentlemen, and we will have another bout. Free
lunches at 5 P.M. till further notice. Now tell me all the news.”

For half an hour, five tongues went like mill clappers, and there is no
knowing when they would have stopped if the little bell had not suddenly
rung with a violence that made them jump.

“That's Jill; see what she wants, Frank;” and while his brother sent off
the basket, Jack told about the new invention, and invited his mates to
examine and admire.

They did so, and shouted with merriment when the next despatch from Jill
arrived. A pasteboard jumping-jack, with one leg done up in cotton-wool
to preserve the likeness, and a great lump of molasses candy in a brown
paper, with accompanying note:--

“Dear Sir,--I saw the boys go in, and know you are having a nice time,
so I send over the candy Molly Loo and Merry brought me. Mammy says I
can't eat it, and it will all melt away if I keep it. Also a picture of
Jack Minot, who will dance on one leg and waggle the other, and make you
laugh. I wish I could come, too. Don't you hate grewel? I do.--In haste,

“J.P.”

“Let's all send her a letter,” proposed Jack, and out came pens,
ink, paper, and the lamp, and every one fell to scribbling. A droll
collection was the result, for Frank drew a picture of the fatal fall
with broken rails flying in every direction, Jack with his head swollen
to the size of a balloon, and Jill in two pieces, while the various boys
and girls were hit off with a sly skill that gave Gus legs like a stork,
Molly Loo hair several yards long, and Boo a series of visible howls
coming out of an immense mouth in the shape of o's. The oxen were
particularly good, for their horns branched like those of the moose, and
Mr. Grant had a patriarchal beard which waved in the breeze as he bore
the wounded girl to a sled very like a funeral pyre, the stakes being
crowned with big mittens like torches.

“You ought to be an artist. I never saw such a dabster as you are.
That's the very moral of Joe, all in a bunch on the fence, with a blot
to show how purple his nose was,” said Gus, holding up the sketch for
general criticism and admiration.

“I'd rather have a red nose than legs like a grasshopper; so you needn't
twit, Daddy,” growled Joe, quite unconscious that a blot actually did
adorn his nose, as he labored over a brief despatch.

The boys enjoyed the joke, and one after the other read out his message
to the captive lady:--

“Dear Jill,--Sorry you ain't here. Great fun. Jack pretty lively. Laura
and Lot would send love if they knew of the chance. Fly round and get
well.

“Gus”

“Dear Gilliflower,--Hope you are pretty comfortable in your 'dungeon
cell.' Would you like a serenade when the moon comes? Hope you will soon
be up again, for we miss you very much. Shall be very happy to help in
any way I can. Love to your mother. Your true friend,

“E.D.”

“Miss Pecq.

“_Dear Madam_,--I am happy to tell you that we are all well, and hope
you are the same. I gave Jem Cox a licking because he went to your desk.
You had better send for your books. You won't have to pay for the sled
or the fence. Jack says he will see to it. We have been having a spread
over here. First-rate things. I wouldn't mind breaking a leg, if I
had such good grub and no chores to do. No more now, from yours, with
esteem,

“Joseph P. Flint”

Joe thought that an elegant epistle, having copied portions of it from
the “Letter Writer,” and proudly read it off to the boys, who assured
him that Jill would be much impressed.

“Now, Jack, hurry up and let us send the lot off, for we must go,”
 said Gus, as Frank put the letters in the basket, and the clatter of
tea-things was heard below.

“I'm not going to show mine. It's private and you mustn't look,”
 answered Jack, patting down an envelope with such care that no one had a
chance to peep.

But Joe had seen the little note copied, and while the others were at
the window working the telegraph he caught up the original, carelessly
thrust by Jack under the pillow, and read it aloud before any one knew
what he was about.

“My Dear,--I wish I could send you some of my good times. As I can't, I
send you much love, and I hope you will try and be patient as I am going
to, for it was our fault, and we must not make a fuss now. Ain't mothers
sweet? Mine is coming over to-morrow to see you and tell me how you are.
This round thing is a kiss for good-night.

“Your Jack”

“Isn't that spoony? You'd better hide your face, I think. He's getting
to be a regular mollycoddle, isn't he?” jeered Joe, as the boys laughed,
and then grew sober, seeing Jack's head buried in the bedclothes, after
sending a pillow at his tormentor.

It nearly hit Mrs. Minot, coming in with her patient's tea on a tray,
and at sight of her the guests hurriedly took leave, Joe nearly tumbling
downstairs to escape from Frank, who would have followed, if his mother
had not said quickly, “Stay, and tell me what is the matter.”

“Only teasing Jack a bit. Don't be mad, old boy, Joe didn't mean any
harm, and it _was_ rather soft, now wasn't it?” asked Frank, trying to
appease the wounded feelings of his brother.

“I charged you not to worry him. Those boys were too much for the poor
dear, and I ought not to have left him,” said Mamma, as she vainly
endeavored to find and caress the yellow head burrowed so far out of
sight that nothing but one red ear was visible.

“He liked it, and we got on capitally till Joe roughed him about Jill.
Ah, Joe's getting it now! I thought Gus and Ed would do that little
job for me,” added Frank, running to the window as the sound of stifled
cries and laughter reached him.

The red ear heard also, and Jack popped up his head to ask, with
interest,--

“What are they doing to him?”

“Rolling him in the snow, and he's howling like fun.”

“Serves him right,” muttered Jack, with a frown. Then, as a wail arose
suggestive of an unpleasant mixture of snow in the mouth and thumps on
the back, he burst out laughing, and said, good-naturedly, “Go and stop
them, Frank; I won't mind, only tell him it was a mean trick. Hurry! Gus
is so strong he doesn't know how his pounding hurts.”

Off ran Frank, and Jack told his wrongs to his mother. She sympathized
heartily, and saw no harm in the affectionate little note, which would
please Jill, and help her to bear her trials patiently.

“It isn't silly to be fond of her, is it? She is so nice and funny, and
tries to be good, and likes me, and I won't be ashamed of my friends, if
folks do laugh,” protested Jack, with a rap of his teaspoon.

“No, dear, it is quite kind and proper, and I'd rather have you play
with a merry little girl than with rough boys till you are big enough
to hold your own,” answered Mamma, putting the cup to his lips that the
reclining lad might take his broma without spilling.

“Pooh! I don't mean that; I'm strong enough now to take care of myself,”
 cried Jack, stoutly. “I can thrash Joe any day, if I like. Just look
at my arm; there's muscle for you!” and up went a sleeve, to the great
danger of overturning the tray, as the boy proudly displayed his biceps
and expanded his chest, both of which were very fine for a lad of his
years. “If I'd been on my legs, he wouldn't have dared to insult me, and
it was cowardly to hit a fellow when he was down.”

Mrs. Minot wanted to laugh at Jack's indignation, but the bell rang, and
she had to go and pull in the basket, much amused at the new game.

Burning to distinguish herself in the eyes of the big boys, Jill had
sent over a tall, red flannel night-cap, which she had been making for
some proposed Christmas plays, and added the following verse, for she
was considered a gifted rhymester at the game parties:--

  “When it comes night,
  We put out the light.
  Some blow with a puff,
  Some turn down and snuff;
  But neat folks prefer
  A nice extinguis_her_.
  So here I send you back
  One to put on Mr. Jack.”

“Now, I call that regularly smart; not one of us could do it, and I just
wish Joe was here to see it. I want to send once more, something good
for tea; she hates gruel so;” and the last despatch which the Great
International Telegraph carried that day was a baked apple and a warm
muffin, with “J. M.'s best regards.”




Chapter IV. Ward No. 2.


Things were not so gay in Ward No. 2, for Mrs. Pecq was very busy, and
Jill had nothing to amuse her but flying visits from the girls, and such
little plays as she could invent for herself in bed. Fortunately, she
had a lively fancy, and so got on pretty well, till keeping still grew
unbearable, and the active child ached in every limb to be up and out.
That, however, was impossible, for the least attempt to sit or stand
brought on the pain that took her breath away and made her glad to lie
flat again. The doctor spoke cheerfully, but looked sober, and Mrs. Pecq
began to fear that Janey was to be a cripple for life. She said nothing,
but Jill's quick eyes saw an added trouble in the always anxious face,
and it depressed her spirits, though she never guessed half the mischief
the fall had done.

The telegraph was a great comfort, and the two invalids kept up a lively
correspondence, not to say traffic in light articles, for the Great
International was the only aerial express in existence. But even this
amusement flagged after a time; neither had much to tell, and when the
daily health bulletins had been exchanged, messages gave out, and the
basket's travels grew more and more infrequent. Neither could read all
the time, games were soon used up, their mates were at school most of
the day, and after a week or two the poor children began to get pale and
fractious with the confinement, always so irksome to young people.

“I do believe the child will fret herself into a fever, mem, and I'm
clean distraught to know what to do for her. She never used to mind
trifles, but now she frets about the oddest things, and I can't change
them. This wall-paper is well enough, but she has taken a fancy that the
spots on it look like spiders, and it makes her nervous. I've no other
warm place to put her, and no money for a new paper. Poor lass! There
are hard times before her, I'm fearing.”

Mrs. Pecq said this in a low voice to Mrs. Minot, who came in as often
as she could, to see what her neighbor needed; for both mothers were
anxious, and sympathy drew them to one another. While one woman talked,
the other looked about the little room, not wondering in the least that
Jill found it hard to be contented there. It was very neat, but so plain
that there was not even a picture on the walls, nor an ornament upon the
mantel, except the necessary clock, lamp, and match-box. The paper _was_
ugly, being a deep buff with a brown figure that did look very like
spiders sprawling over it, and might well make one nervous to look at
day after day.

Jill was asleep in the folding chair Dr. Whiting had sent, with a
mattress to make it soft. The back could be raised or lowered at will;
but only a few inches had been gained as yet, and the thin hair pillow
was all she could bear. She looked very pretty as she lay, with dark
lashes against the feverish cheeks, lips apart, and a cloud of curly
black locks all about the face pillowed on one arm. She seemed like a
brilliant little flower in that dull place,--for the French blood in her
veins gave her a color, warmth, and grace which were very charming. Her
natural love of beauty showed itself in many ways: a red ribbon had
tied up her hair, a gay but faded shawl was thrown over the bed, and the
gifts sent her were arranged with care upon the table by her side among
her own few toys and treasures. There was something pathetic in this
childish attempt to beautify the poor place, and Mrs. Minot's eyes were
full as she looked at the tired woman, whose one joy and comfort lay
there in such sad plight.

“My dear soul, cheer up, and we will help one another through the hard
times,” she said, with a soft hand on the rough one, and a look that
promised much.

“Please God, we will, mem! With such good friends, I never should
complain. I try not to do it, but it breaks my heart to see my little
lass spoiled for life, most like;” and Mrs. Pecq pressed the kind hand
with a despondent sigh.

“We won't say, or even think, that, yet. Everything is possible to youth
and health like Janey's. We must keep her happy, and time will do the
rest, I'm sure. Let us begin at once, and have a surprise for her when
she wakes.”

As she spoke, Mrs. Minot moved quietly about the room, pinning the pages
of several illustrated papers against the wall at the foot of the bed,
and placing to the best advantage the other comforts she had brought.

“Keep up your heart, neighbor. I have an idea in my head which I think
will help us all, if I can carry it out,” she said, cheerily, as she
went, leaving Mrs. Pecq to sew on Jack's new night-gowns, with swift
fingers, and the grateful wish that she might work for these good
friends forever.

As if the whispering and rustling had disturbed her, Jill soon began to
stir, and slowly opened the eyes which had closed so wearily on the
dull December afternoon. The bare wall with its brown spiders no longer
confronted her, but the colored print of a little girl dancing to the
tune her father was playing on a guitar, while a stately lady, with
satin dress, ruff, and powder, stood looking on, well pleased. The
quaint figure, in its belaced frock, quilted petticoat, and red-heeled
shoes, seemed to come tripping toward her in such a life-like way,
that she almost saw the curls blow back, heard the rustle of the rich
brocade, and caught the sparkle of the little maid's bright eyes.

“Oh, how pretty! Who sent them?” asked Jill, eagerly, as her eye glanced
along the wall, seeing other new and interesting things beyond: an
elephant-hunt, a ship in full sail, a horse-race, and a ball-room.

“The good fairy who never comes empty-handed. Look round a bit and you
will see more pretties all for you, my dearie;” and her mother pointed
to a bunch of purple grapes in a green leaf plate, a knot of bright
flowers pinned on the white curtain, and a gay little double gown across
the foot of the bed.

Jill clapped her hands, and was enjoying her new pleasures, when in came
Merry and Molly Loo, with Boo, of course, trotting after her like a fat
and amiable puppy. Then the good times began; the gown was put on, the
fruit tasted, and the pictures were studied like famous works of art.

“It's a splendid plan to cover up that hateful wall. I'd stick pictures
all round and have a gallery. That reminds me! Up in the garret at our
house is a box full of old fashion-books my aunt left. I often look at
them on rainy days, and they are very funny. I'll go this minute and
get every one. We can pin them up, or make paper dolls;” and away rushed
Molly Loo, with the small brother waddling behind, for, when he lost
sight of her, he was desolate indeed.

The girls had fits of laughter over the queer costumes of years gone
by, and put up a splendid procession of ladies in full skirts, towering
hats, pointed slippers, powdered hair, simpering faces, and impossible
waists.

“I do think this bride is perfectly splendid, the long train and veil
are _so_ sweet,” said Jill, revelling in fine clothes as she turned from
one plate to another.

“I like the elephants best, and I'd give anything to go on a hunt like
that!” cried Molly Loo, who rode cows, drove any horse she could get,
had nine cats, and was not afraid of the biggest dog that ever barked.

“I fancy 'The Dancing Lesson;' it is so sort of splendid, with the great
windows, gold chairs, and fine folks. Oh, I would like to live in
a castle with a father and mother like that,” said Merry, who was
romantic, and found the old farmhouse on the hill a sad trial to her
high-flown ideas of elegance.

“Now, that ship, setting out for some far-away place, is more to my
mind. I weary for home now and then, and mean to see it again some
day;” and Mrs. Pecq looked longingly at the English ship, though it was
evidently outward bound. Then, as if reproaching herself for discontent,
she added: “It looks like those I used to see going off to India with a
load of missionaries. I came near going myself once, with a lady bound
for Siam; but I went to Canada with her sister, and here I am.”

“I'd like to be a missionary and go where folks throw their babies to
the crocodiles. I'd watch and fish them out, and have a school, and
bring them up, and convert all the people till they knew better,” said
warm-hearted Molly Loo, who befriended every abused animal and forlorn
child she met.

“We needn't go to Africa to be missionaries; they have 'em nearer home
and need 'em, too. In all the big cities there are a many, and they have
their hands full with the poor, the wicked, and the helpless. One can
find that sort of work anywhere, if one has a mind,” said Mrs. Pecq.

“I wish we had some to do here. I'd so like to go round with baskets
of tea and rice, and give out tracts and talk to people. Wouldn't you,
girls?” asked Molly, much taken with the new idea.

“It would be rather nice to have a society all to ourselves, and have
meetings and resolutions and things,” answered Merry, who was fond of
little ceremonies, and always went to the sewing circle with her mother.

“We wouldn't let the boys come in. We'd have it a secret society, as
they do their temperance lodge, and we'd have badges and pass-words
and grips. It would be fun if we can only get some heathen to work at!”
 cried Jill, ready for fresh enterprises of every sort.

“I can tell you someone to begin on right away,” said her mother,
nodding at her. “As wild a little savage as I'd wish to see. Take her
in hand, and make a pretty-mannered lady of her. Begin at home, my lass,
and you'll find missionary work enough for a while.”

“Now, Mammy, you mean me! Well, I will begin; and I'll be so good, folks
won't know me. Being sick makes naughty children behave in story-books,
I'll see if live ones can't;” and Jill put on such a sanctified face
that the girls laughed and asked for their missions also, thinking they
would be the same.

“You, Merry, might do a deal at home helping mother, and setting the big
brothers a good example. One little girl in a house can do pretty much
as she will, especially if she has a mind to make plain things nice and
comfortable, and not long for castles before she knows how to do her own
tasks well,” was the first unexpected reply.

Merry colored, but took the reproof sweetly, resolving to do what she
could, and surprised to find how many ways seemed open to her after a
few minutes' thought.

“Where shall I begin? I'm not afraid of a dozen crocodiles after Miss
Bat;” and Molly Loo looked about her with a fierce air, having had
practice in battles with the old lady who kept her father's house.

“Well, dear, you haven't far to look for as nice a little heathen as
you'd wish;” and Mrs. Pecq glanced at Boo, who sat on the floor staring
hard at them, attracted by the dread word “crocodile.” He had a cold and
no handkerchief, his little hands were red with chilblains, his clothes
shabby, he had untidy darns in the knees of his stockings, and a head of
tight curls that evidently had not been combed for some time.

“Yes, I know he is, and I try to keep him decent, but I forget, and he
hates to be fixed, and Miss Bat doesn't care, and father laughs when I
talk about it.”

Poor Molly Loo looked much ashamed as she made excuses, trying at the
same time to mend matters by seizing Boo and dusting him all over with
her handkerchief, giving a pull at his hair as if ringing bells, and
then dumping him down again with the despairing exclamation: “Yes, we're
a pair of heathens, and there's no one to save us if I don't.”

That was true enough; for Molly's father was a busy man, careless of
everything but his mills, Miss Bat was old and lazy, and felt as if
she might take life easy after serving the motherless children for many
years as well as she knew how. Molly was beginning to see how much amiss
things were at home, and old enough to feel mortified, though, as yet,
she had done nothing to mend the matter except be kind to the little
boy.

“You will, my dear,” answered Mrs. Pecq, encouragingly, for she knew all
about it. “Now you've each got a mission, let us see how well you will
get on. Keep it secret, if you like, and report once a week. I'll be a
member, and we'll do great things yet.”

“We won't begin till after Christmas; there is so much to do, we never
shall have time for any more. Don't tell, and we'll start fair at New
Year's, if not before,” said Jill, taking the lead as usual. Then they
went on with the gay ladies, who certainly were heathen enough in dress
to be in sad need of conversion,--to common-sense at least.

“I feel as if I was at a party,” said Jill, after a pause occupied
in surveying her gallery with great satisfaction, for dress was her
delight, and here she had every conceivable style and color.

“Talking of parties, isn't it too bad that we must give up our Christmas
fun? Can't get on without you and Jack, so we are not going to do a
thing, but just have our presents,” said Merry, sadly, as they began to
fit different heads and bodies together, to try droll effects.

“I shall be all well in a fortnight, I know; but Jack won't, for it will
take more than a month to mend his poor leg. May be they will have a
dance in the boys' big room, and he can look on,” suggested Jill, with
a glance at the dancing damsel on the wall, for she dearly loved it, and
never guessed how long it would be before her light feet would keep time
to music again.

“You'd better give Jack a hint about the party. Send over some smart
ladies, and say they have come to his Christmas ball,” proposed
audacious Molly Loo, always ready for fun.

So they put a preposterous green bonnet, top-heavy with plumes, on a
little lady in yellow, who sat in a carriage; the lady beside her, in
winter costume of velvet pelisse and ermine boa, was fitted to a bride's
head with its orange flowers and veil, and these works of art were sent
over to Jack, labelled “Miss Laura and Lotty Burton going to the Minots'
Christmas ball,”--a piece of naughtiness on Jill's part, for she knew
Jack liked the pretty sisters, whose gentle manners made her own wild
ways seem all the more blamable.

No answer came for a long time, and the girls had almost forgotten their
joke in a game of Letters, when “Tingle, tangle!” went the bell, and the
basket came in heavily laden. A roll of colored papers was tied outside,
and within was a box that rattled, a green and silver horn, a roll of
narrow ribbons, a spool of strong thread, some large needles, and a note
from Mrs. Minot:--

“Dear Jill,--I think of having a Christmas tree so that our invalids can
enjoy it, and all your elegant friends are cordially invited. Knowing
that you would like to help, I send some paper for sugar-plum horns and
some beads for necklaces. They will brighten the tree and please
the girls for themselves or their dolls. Jack sends you a horn for a
pattern, and will you make a ladder-necklace to show him how? Let me
know if you need anything.

“Yours in haste,

“Anna Minot”

“She knew what the child would like, bless her kind heart,” said Mrs.
Pecq to herself, and something brighter than the most silvery bead shone
on Jack's shirt-sleeve, as she saw the rapture of Jill over the new work
and the promised pleasure.

Joyful cries greeted the opening of the box, for bunches of splendid
large bugles appeared in all colors, and a lively discussion went on as
to the best contrasts. Jill could not refuse to let her friends share
the pretty work, and soon three necklaces glittered on three necks, as
each admired her own choice.

“I'd be willing to hurt my back dreadfully, if I could lie and do such
lovely things all day,” said Merry, as she reluctantly put down her
needle at last, for home duties waited to be done, and looked more than
ever distasteful after this new pleasure.

“So would I! Oh, do you think Mrs. Minot will let you fill the horns
when they are done? I'd love to help you then. Be sure you send for
me!” cried Molly Loo, arching her neck like a proud pigeon to watch the
glitter of her purple and gold necklace on her brown gown.

“I'm afraid you couldn't be trusted, you love sweeties so, and I'm sure
Boo couldn't. But I'll see about it,” replied Jill, with a responsible
air.

The mention of the boy recalled him to their minds, and looking round
they found him peacefully absorbed in polishing up the floor with
Molly's pocket-handkerchief and oil from the little machine-can. Being
torn from this congenial labor, he was carried off shining with grease
and roaring lustily.

But Jill did not mind her loneliness now, and sang like a happy canary
while she threaded her sparkling beads, or hung the gay horns to dry,
ready for their cargoes of sweets. So Mrs. Minot's recipe for sunshine
proved successful, and mother-wit made the wintry day a bright and happy
one for both the little prisoners.




Chapter V. Secrets


There were a great many clubs in Harmony Village, but as we intend to
interest ourselves with the affairs of the young folks only, we need
not dwell upon the intellectual amusements of the elders. In summer, the
boys devoted themselves to baseball, the girls to boating, and all got
rosy, stout, and strong, in these healthful exercises. In winter,
the lads had their debating club, the lasses a dramatic ditto. At
the former, astonishing bursts of oratory were heard; at the latter,
everything was boldly attempted, from Romeo and Juliet to Mother Goose's
immortal melodies. The two clubs frequently met and mingled their
attractions in a really entertaining manner, for the speakers made good
actors, and the young actresses were most appreciative listeners to the
eloquence of each budding Demosthenes.

Great plans had been afoot for Christmas or New Year, but when the grand
catastrophe put an end to the career of one of the best “spouters,” and
caused the retirement of the favorite “singing chambermaid,” the affair
was postponed till February, when Washington's birthday was always
celebrated by the patriotic town, where the father of his country once
put on his nightcap, or took off his boots, as that ubiquitous hero
appears to have done in every part of the United States.

Meantime the boys were studying Revolutionary characters, and the girls
rehearsing such dramatic scenes as they thought most appropriate and
effective for the 22d. In both of these attempts they were much helped
by the sense and spirit of Ralph Evans, a youth of nineteen, who was
a great favorite with the young folks, not only because he was a good,
industrious fellow, who supported his grandmother, but also full of
talent, fun, and ingenuity. It was no wonder every one who really knew
him liked him, for he could turn his hand to anything, and loved to do
it. If the girls were in despair about a fire-place when acting “The
Cricket on the Hearth,” he painted one, and put a gas-log in it that
made the kettle really boil, to their great delight. If the boys found
the interest of their club flagging, Ralph would convulse them by
imitations of the “Member from Cranberry Centre,” or fire them with
speeches of famous statesmen. Charity fairs could not get on without
him, and in the store where he worked he did many an ingenious job,
which made him valued for his mechanical skill, as well as for his
energy and integrity.

Mrs. Minot liked to have him with her sons, because they also were to
paddle their own canoes by and by, and she believed that, rich or poor,
boys make better men for learning to use the talents they possess, not
merely as ornaments, but tools with which to carve their own fortunes;
and the best help toward this end is an example of faithful work, high
aims, and honest living. So Ralph came often, and in times of trouble
was a real rainy-day friend. Jack grew very fond of him during
his imprisonment, for the good youth ran in every evening to get
commissions, amuse the boy with droll accounts of the day's adventures,
or invent lifts, bed-tables, and foot-rests for the impatient invalid.
Frank found him a sure guide through the mechanical mysteries which he
loved, and spent many a useful half-hour discussing cylinders, pistons,
valves, and balance-wheels. Jill also came in for her share of care and
comfort; the poor little back lay all the easier for the air-cushion
Ralph got her, and the weary headaches found relief from the spray
atomizer, which softly distilled its scented dew on the hot forehead
till she fell asleep.

Round the beds of Jack and Jill met and mingled the schoolmates of whom
our story treats. Never, probably, did invalids have gayer times than
our two, after a week of solitary confinement; for school gossip crept
in, games could not be prevented, and Christmas secrets were concocted
in those rooms till they were regular conspirators' dens, when they were
not little Bedlams.

After the horn and bead labors were over, the stringing of pop-corn on
red, and cranberries on white, threads, came next, and Jack and Jill
often looked like a new kind of spider in the pretty webs hung about
them, till reeled off to bide their time in the Christmas closet. Paper
flowers followed, and gay garlands and bouquets blossomed, regardless of
the snow and frost without. Then there was a great scribbling of names,
verses, and notes to accompany the steadily increasing store of odd
parcels which were collected at the Minots', for gifts from every one
were to ornament the tree, and contributions poured in as the day drew
near.

But the secret which most excited the young people was the deep mystery
of certain proceedings at the Minot house. No one but Frank, Ralph,
and Mamma knew what it was, and the two boys nearly drove the others
distracted by the tantalizing way in which they hinted at joys to come,
talked strangely about birds, went measuring round with foot-rules, and
shut themselves up in the Boys' Den, as a certain large room was called.
This seemed to be the centre of operations, but beyond the fact of
the promised tree no ray of light was permitted to pass the jealously
guarded doors. Strange men with paste-pots and ladders went in,
furniture was dragged about, and all sorts of boyish lumber was sent
up garret and down cellar. Mrs. Minot was seen pondering over heaps
of green stuff, hammering was heard, singular bundles were smuggled
upstairs, flowering plants betrayed their presence by whiffs of
fragrance when the door was opened, and Mrs. Pecq was caught smiling all
by herself in a back bedroom, which usually was shut up in winter.

“They are going to have a play, after all, and that green stuff was the
curtain,” said Molly Loo, as the girls talked it over one day, when they
sat with their backs turned to one another, putting last stitches in
certain bits of work which had to be concealed from all eyes, though
it was found convenient to ask one another's taste as to the color,
materials, and sizes of these mysterious articles.

“I think it is going to be a dance. I heard the boys doing their steps
when I went in last evening to find out whether Jack liked blue or
yellow best, so I could put the bow on his pen-wiper,” declared Merry,
knitting briskly away at the last of the pair of pretty white bed-socks
she was making for Jill right under her inquisitive little nose.

“They wouldn't have a party of that kind without Jack and me. It is only
an extra nice tree, you see if it isn't,” answered Jill from behind the
pillows which made a temporary screen to hide the toilet mats she was
preparing for all her friends.

“Every one of you is wrong, and you'd better rest easy, for you won't
find out the best part of it, try as you may.” And Mrs. Pecq actually
chuckled as she, too, worked away at some bits of muslin, with her back
turned to the very unsocial-looking group.

“Well, I don't care, we've got a secret all our own, and won't ever
tell, will we?” cried Jill, falling back on the Home Missionary Society,
though it was not yet begun.

“Never!” answered the girls, and all took great comfort in the idea that
one mystery would not be cleared up, even at Christmas.

Jack gave up guessing, in despair, after he had suggested a new
dining-room where he could eat with the family, a private school
in which his lessons might go on with a tutor, or a theatre for the
production of the farces in which he delighted.

“It is going to be used to keep something in that you are very fond of,”
 said Mamma, taking pity on him at last.

“Ducks?” asked Jack, with a half pleased, half puzzled air, not quite
seeing where the water was to come from.

Frank exploded at the idea, and added to the mystification by saying,--

“There will be one little duck and one great donkey in it.” Then,
fearing he had told the secret, he ran off, quacking and braying
derisively.

“It is to be used for creatures that I, too, am fond of, and you know
neither donkeys nor ducks are favorites of mine,” said Mamma, with a
demure expression, as she sat turning over old clothes for the bundles
that always went to poor neighbors, with a little store of goodies, at
this time of the year.

“I know! I know! It is to be a new ward for more sick folks, isn't it,
now?” cried Jack, with what he thought a great proof of shrewdness.

“I don't see how I could attend to many more patients till this one is
off my hands,” answered Mamma, with a queer smile, adding quickly, as if
she too was afraid of letting the cat out of the bag: “That reminds me
of a Christmas I once spent among the hospitals and poor-houses of
a great city with a good lady who, for thirty years, had made it her
mission to see that these poor little souls had one merry day. We gave
away two hundred dolls, several great boxes of candy and toys, besides
gay pictures, and new clothes to orphan children, sick babies, and
half-grown innocents. Ah, my boy, that was a day to remember all my
life, to make me doubly grateful for my blessings, and very glad to
serve the helpless and afflicted, as that dear woman did.”

The look and tone with which the last words were uttered effectually
turned Jack's thoughts from the great secret, and started another small
one, for he fell to planning what he would buy with his pocket-money to
surprise the little Pats and Biddies who were to have no Christmas tree.




Chapter VI. Surprises


“Is it pleasant?” was the question Jill asked before she was fairly
awake on Christmas morning.

“Yes, dear; as bright as heart could wish. Now eat a bit, and then I'll
make you nice for the day's pleasure. I only hope it won't be too much
for you,” answered Mrs. Pecq, bustling about, happy, yet anxious,
for Jill was to be carried over to Mrs. Minot's, and it was her first
attempt at going out since the accident.

It seemed as if nine o'clock would never come, and Jill, with wraps all
ready, lay waiting in a fever of impatience for the doctor's visit,
as he wished to superintend the moving. At last he came, found all
promising, and having bundled up his small patient, carried her, with
Frank's help, in her chair-bed to the ox-sled, which was drawn to the
next door, and Miss Jill landed in the Boys' Den before she had time to
get either cold or tired. Mrs. Minot took her things off with a cordial
welcome, but Jill never said a word, for, after one exclamation, she lay
staring about her, dumb with surprise and delight at what she saw.

The great room was entirely changed; for now it looked like a garden, or
one of the fairy scenes children love, where in-doors and out-of-doors
are pleasantly combined. The ceiling was pale blue, like the sky; the
walls were covered with a paper like a rustic trellis, up which climbed
morning-glories so naturally that the many-colored bells seemed dancing
in the wind. Birds and butterflies flew among them, and here and there,
through arches in the trellis, one seemed to look into a sunny summer
world, contrasting curiously with the wintry landscape lying beyond the
real windows, festooned with evergreen garlands, and curtained only by
stands of living flowers. A green drugget covered the floor like grass,
rustic chairs from the garden stood about, and in the middle of the room
a handsome hemlock waited for its pretty burden. A Yule-log blazed on
the wide hearth, and over the chimney-piece, framed in holly, shone the
words that set all hearts to dancing, “Merry Christmas!”

“Do you like it, dear? This is our surprise for you and Jack, and here
we mean to have good times together,” said Mrs. Minot, who had stood
quietly enjoying the effect of her work.

“Oh, it is so lovely I don't know what to say!” and Jill put up both
arms, as words failed her, and grateful kisses were all she had to
offer.

“Can you suggest anything more to add to the pleasantness?” asked the
gentle lady, holding the small hands in her own, and feeling well repaid
by the child's delight.

“Only Jack;” and Jill's laugh was good to hear, as she glanced up with
merry, yet wistful eyes.

“You are right. We'll have him in at once, or he will come hopping on
one leg;” and away hurried his mother, laughing, too, for whistles,
shouts, thumps, and violent demonstrations of all kinds had been heard
from the room where Jack was raging with impatience, while he waited for
his share of the surprise.

Jill could hardly lie still when she heard the roll of another chair-bed
coming down the hall, its passage enlivened with cries of “Starboard!
Port! Easy now! Pull away!” from Ralph and Frank, as they steered the
recumbent Columbus on his first voyage of discovery.

“Well, I call that handsome!” was Jack's exclamation, when the full
beauty of the scene burst upon his view. Then he forgot all about it and
gave a whoop of pleasure, for there beside the fire was an eager face,
two hands beckoning, and Jill's voice crying, joyfully,--

“I'm here! I'm here! Oh, do come, quick!” Down the long room rattled the
chair, Jack cheering all the way, and brought up beside the other one,
as the long-parted friends exclaimed, with one accord,--

“Isn't this jolly!”

It certainly did look so, for Ralph and Frank danced a wild sort of
fandango round the tree, Dr. Whiting stood and laughed, while the two
mothers beamed from the door-way, and the children, not knowing whether
to laugh or to cry, compromised the matter by clapping their hands and
shouting, “Merry Christmas to everybody!” like a pair of little maniacs.

Then they all sobered down, and the busy ones went off to the various
duties of the day, leaving the young invalids to repose and enjoy
themselves together.

“How nice you look,” said Jill, when they had duly admired the pretty
room.

“So do you,” gallantly returned Jack, as he surveyed her with unusual
interest.

They did look very nice, though happiness was the principal beautifier.
Jill wore a red wrapper, with the most brilliant of all the necklaces
sparkling at her throat, over a nicely crimped frill her mother had made
in honor of the day. All the curly black hair was gathered into a red
net, and a pair of smart little moccasins covered the feet that had not
stepped for many a weary day. Jack was not so gay, but had made himself
as fine as circumstances would permit. A gray dressing-gown, with blue
cuffs and collar, was very becoming to the blonde youth; an immaculate
shirt, best studs, sleeve-buttons, blue tie, and handkerchief wet with
cologne sticking out of the breast-pocket, gave an air of elegance in
spite of the afghan spread over the lower portions of his manly form.
The yellow hair was brushed till it shone, and being parted in the
middle, to hide the black patch, made two engaging little “quirls” on
his forehead. The summer tan had faded from his cheeks, but his eyes
were as blue as the wintry sky, and nearly every white tooth was visible
as he smiled on his partner in misfortune, saying cheerily,--

“I'm ever so glad to see you again; guess we are over the worst of
it now, and can have good times. Won't it be fun to stay here all the
while, and amuse one another?”

“Yes, indeed; but one day is so short! It will be stupider than ever
when I go home to-night,” answered Jill, looking about her with longing
eyes.

“But you are not going home to-night; you are to stay ever so long.
Didn't Mamma tell you?”

“No. Oh, how splendid! Am I really? Where will I sleep? What will Mammy
do without me?” and Jill almost sat up, she was so delighted with the
new surprise.

“That room in there is all fixed for you. I made Frank tell me so much.
Mamma said I might tell you, but I didn't think she would be able to
hold in if she saw you first. Your mother is coming, too, and we are all
going to have larks together till we are well.”

The splendor of this arrangement took Jill's breath away, and before
she got it again, in came Frank and Ralph with two clothes-baskets of
treasures to be hung upon the tree. While they wired on the candles the
children asked questions, and found out all they wanted to know about
the new plans and pleasures.

“Who fixed all this?”

“Mamma thought of it, and Ralph and I did it. He's the man for this sort
of thing, you know. He proposed cutting out the arches and sticking on
birds and butterflies just where they looked best. I put those canaries
over there, they looked so well against the blue;” and Frank proudly
pointed out some queer orange-colored fowls, looking as if they were
having fits in the air, but very effective, nevertheless.

“Your mother said you might call this the Bird Room. We caught a
scarlet-tanager for you to begin with, didn't we, Jack?” and Ralph threw
a _bon-bon_ at Jill, who looked very like a bright little bird in a warm
nest.

“Good for you! Yes, and we are going to keep her in this pretty cage
till we can both fly off together. I say, Jill, where shall we be in our
classes when we do get back?” and Jack's merry face fell at the thought.

“At the foot, if we don't study and keep up. Doctor said I might study
sometimes, if I'd lie still as long as he thought best, and Molly
brought home my books, and Merry says she will come in every day and
tell me where the lessons are. I don't mean to fall behind, if my
backbone is cracked,” said Jill, with a decided nod that made several
black rings fly out of the net to dance on her forehead.

“Frank said he'd pull me along in my Latin, but I've been lazy and
haven't done a thing. Let's go at it and start fair for New Year,”
 proposed Jack, who did not love study as the bright girl did, but was
ashamed to fall behind her in anything.

“All right. They've been reviewing, so we can keep up when they begin,
if we work next week, while the rest have a holiday. Oh, dear, I do miss
school dreadfully;” and Jill sighed for the old desk, every blot and
notch of which was dear to her.

“There come our things, and pretty nice they look, too,” said Jack; and
his mother began to dress the tree, hanging up the gay horns, the gilded
nuts, red and yellow apples and oranges, and festooning long strings
of pop-corn and scarlet cranberries from bough to bough, with the
glittering necklaces hung where the light would show their colors best.

“I never saw such a splendid tree before. I'm glad we could help, though
we were ill. Is it all done now?” asked Jill, when the last parcel was
tied on and everybody stood back to admire the pretty sight.

“One thing more. Hand me that box, Frank, and be very careful that you
fasten this up firmly, Ralph,” answered Mrs. Minot, as she took from its
wrappings the waxen figure of a little child. The rosy limbs were very
life-like, so was the smiling face under the locks of shining hair. Both
plump arms were outspread as if to scatter blessings over all, and downy
wings seemed to flutter from the dimpled shoulders, making an angel of
the baby.

“Is it St. Nicholas?” asked Jill, who had never seen that famous
personage, and knew but little of Christmas festivities.

“It is the Christ-child, whose birthday we are celebrating. I got the
best I could find, for I like the idea better than old Santa Claus;
though we _may_ have him, too,” said Mamma, holding the little image so
that both could see it well.

“It looks like a real baby;” and Jack touched the rosy foot with the tip
of his finger, as if expecting a crow from the half-open lips.

“It reminds me of the saints in the chapel of the Sacred Heart in
Montreal. One little St. John looked like this, only he had a lamb
instead of wings,” said Jill, stroking the flaxen hair, and wishing she
dared ask for it to play with.

“He is the children's saint to pray to, love, and imitate, for he never
forgot them, but blessed and healed and taught them all his life. This
is only a poor image of the holiest baby ever born, but I hope it will
keep his memory in your minds all day, because this is the day for good
resolutions, happy thoughts, and humble prayers, as well as play and
gifts and feasting.”

While she spoke, Mrs. Minot, touching the little figure as tenderly as
if it were alive, had tied a broad white ribbon round it, and, handing
it to Ralph, bade him fasten it to the hook above the tree-top, where it
seemed to float as if the downy wings supported it.

Jack and Jill lay silently watching, with a sweet sort of soberness in
their young faces, and for a moment the room was very still as all eyes
looked up at the Blessed Child. The sunshine seemed to grow more
golden as it flickered on the little head, the flames glanced about
the glittering tree as if trying to climb and kiss the baby feet, and,
without, a chime of bells rang sweetly, calling people to hear again the
lovely story of the life begun on Christmas Day.

Only a minute, but it did them good, and presently, when the pleasant
work was over, and the workers gone, the boys to church, and Mamma to
see about lunch for the invalids, Jack said, gravely, to Jill,--

“I think we ought to be extra good, every one is so kind to us, and we
are getting well, and going to have such capital times. Don't see how we
can do anything else to show we are grateful.”

“It isn't easy to be good when one is sick,” said Jill, thoughtfully.
“I fret dreadfully, I get so tired of being still. I want to scream
sometimes, but I don't, because it would scare Mammy, so I cry. Do you
cry, Jack?”

“Men never do. I want to tramp round when things bother me; but I can't,
so I kick and say, 'Hang it!' and when I get very bad I pitch into
Frank, and he lets me. I tell you, Jill, he's a good brother!” and Jack
privately resolved then and there to invite Frank to take it out of him
in any form he pleased as soon as health would permit.

“I rather think we _shall_ grow good in this pretty place, for I don't
see how we can be bad if we want to, it is all so nice and sort of pious
here,” said Jill, with her eyes on the angel over the tree.

“A fellow can be awfully hungry, I know that. I didn't half eat
breakfast, I was in such a hurry to see you, and know all about the
secrets. Frank kept saying I couldn't guess, that you had come, and I
never would be ready, till finally I got mad and fired an egg at him,
and made no end of a mess.”

Jack and Jill went off into a gale of laughter at the idea of dignified
Frank dodging the egg that smashed on the wall, leaving an indelible
mark of Jack's besetting sin, impatience.

Just then Mrs. Minot came in, well pleased to hear such pleasant sounds,
and to see two merry faces, where usually one listless one met her
anxious eyes.

“The new medicine works well, neighbor,” she said to Mrs. Pecq, who
followed with the lunch tray.

“Indeed it does, mem. I feel as if I'd taken a sup myself, I'm that easy
in my mind.”

And she looked so, too, for she seemed to have left all her cares in the
little house when she locked the door behind her, and now stood smiling
with a clean apron on, so fresh and cheerful, that Jill hardly knew her
own mother.

“Things taste better when you have someone to eat with you,” observed
Jack, as they devoured sandwiches, and drank milk out of little mugs
with rosebuds on them.

“Don't eat too much, or you won't be ready for the next surprise,” said
his mother, when the plates were empty, and the last drop gone down
throats dry with much chatter.

“More surprises! Oh, what fun!” cried Jill. And all the rest of the
morning, in the intervals of talk and play, they tried to guess what it
could be.

At two o'clock they found out, for dinner was served in the Bird Room,
and the children revelled in the simple feast prepared for them. The
two mothers kept the little bed-tables well supplied, and fed their
nurslings like maternal birds, while Frank presided over the feast with
great dignity, and ate a dinner which would have astonished Mamma, if
she had not been too busy to observe how fast the mince pie vanished.

“The girls said Christmas was spoiled because of us; but I don't think
so, and they won't either, when they see this splendid place and know
all about our nice plans,” said Jill, luxuriously eating the nut-meats
Jack picked out for her, as they lay in Eastern style at the festive
board.

“I call this broken bones made easy. I never had a better Christmas.
Have a raisin? Here's a good fat one.” And Jack made a long arm to
Jill's mouth, which began to sing “Little Jack Horner” as an appropriate
return.

“It would have been a lonesome one to all of us, I'm thinking, but
for your mother, boys. My duty and hearty thanks to you, mem,” put in
grateful Mrs. Pecq, bowing over her coffee-cup as she had seen ladies
bow over their wine-glasses at dinner parties in Old England.

“I rise to propose a health, Our Mothers.” And Frank stood up with a
goblet of water, for not even at Christmas time was wine seen on that
table.

“Hip, hip, hurrah!” called Jack, baptizing himself with a good sprinkle,
as he waved his glass and drank the toast with a look that made his
mother's eyes fill with happy tears.

Jill threw her mother a kiss, feeling very grown up and elegant to be
dining out in such style. Then they drank every one's health with much
merriment, till Frank declared that Jack would float off on the deluge
of water he splashed about in his enthusiasm, and Mamma proposed a rest
after the merry-making.

“Now the best fun is coming, and we have not long to wait,” said the
boy, when naps and rides about the room had whiled away the brief
interval between dinner and dusk, for the evening entertainment was to
be an early one, to suit the invalids' bedtime.

“I hope the girls will like their things. I helped to choose them, and
each has a nice present. I don't know mine, though, and I'm in a twitter
to see it,” said Jill, as they lay waiting for the fun to begin.

“I do; I chose it, so I know you will like one of them, any way.”

“Have I got more than one?”

“I guess you'll think so when they are handed down. The bell was going
all day yesterday, and the girls kept bringing in bundles for you; I
see seven now,” and Jack rolled his eyes from one mysterious parcel to
another hanging on the laden boughs.

“I know something, too. That square bundle is what you want ever so
much. I told Frank, and he got it for his present. It is all red and
gold outside, and every sort of color inside; you'll hurrah when you see
it. That roundish one is yours too; I made them,” cried Jill, pointing
to a flat package tied to the stem of the tree, and a neat little roll
in which were the blue mittens that she had knit for him.

“I can wait;” but the boy's eyes shone with eagerness, and he could not
resist firing two or three pop-corns at it to see whether it was hard or
soft.

“That barking dog is for Boo, and the little yellow sled, so Molly can
drag him to school, he always tumbles down so when it is slippery,”
 continued Jill, proud of her superior knowledge, as she showed a small
spotted animal hanging by its tail, with a red tongue displayed as if
about to taste the sweeties in the horn below.

“Don't talk about sleds, for mercy's sake! I never want to see another,
and you wouldn't, either, if you had to lie with a flat-iron tied to
your ankle, as I do,” said Jack, with a kick of the well leg and an
ireful glance at the weight attached to the other that it might not
contract while healing.

“Well, I think plasters, and liniment, and rubbing, as bad as flat-irons
any day. I don't believe you have ached half so much as I have, though
it sounds worse to break legs than to sprain your back,” protested Jill,
eager to prove herself the greater sufferer, as invalids are apt to be.

“I guess you wouldn't think so if you'd been pulled round as I was when
they set my leg. Caesar, how it did hurt!” and Jack squirmed at the
recollection of it.

“You didn't faint away as I did when the doctor was finding out if my
_vertebrums_ were hurt, so now!” cried Jill, bound to carry her point,
though not at all clear what vertebrae were.

“Pooh! Girls always faint. Men are braver, and I didn't faint a bit in
spite of all that horrid agony.”

“You howled; Frank told me so. Doctor said _I_ was a brave girl, so
you needn't brag, for you'll have to go on a crutch for a while. I know
that.”

“You may have to use two of them for years, may be. I heard the doctor
tell my mother so. I shall be up and about long before you will. Now
then!”

Both children were getting excited, for the various pleasures of the
day had been rather too much for them, and there is no knowing but they
would have added the sad surprise of a quarrel to the pleasant ones of
the day, if a cheerful whistle had not been heard, as Ralph came in to
light the candles and give the last artistic touches to the room.

“Well, young folks, how goes it? Had a merry time so far?” he asked, as
he fixed the steps and ran up with a lighted match in his hand.

“Very nice, thank you,” answered a prim little voice from the dusk
below, for only the glow of the fire filled the room just then.

Jack said nothing, and two red sulky faces were hidden in the dark,
watching candle after candle sputter, brighten, and twinkle, till the
trembling shadows began to flit away like imps afraid of the light.

“Now he will see my face, and I know it is cross,” thought Jill, as
Ralph went round the last circle, leaving another line of sparks among
the hemlock boughs.

Jack thought the same, and had just got the frown smoothed out of his
forehead, when Frank brought a fresh log, and a glorious blaze sprung
up, filling every corner of the room, and dancing over the figures in
the long chairs till they had to brighten whether they liked it or not.
Presently the bell began to ring and gay voices to sound below: then
Jill smiled in spite of herself as Molly Loo's usual cry of “Oh, dear,
where _is_ that child?” reached her, and Jack could not help keeping
time to the march Ed played, while Frank and Gus marshalled the
procession.

“Ready!” cried Mrs. Minot, at last, and up came the troop of eager lads
and lasses, brave in holiday suits, with faces to match. A unanimous “O,
o, o!” burst from twenty tongues, as the full splendor of the tree, the
room, and its inmates, dawned upon them; for not only did the pretty
Christ-child hover above, but Santa Claus himself stood below, fur-clad,
white-bearded, and powdered with snow from the dredging-box.

Ralph was a good actor, and, when the first raptures were over he
distributed the presents with such droll speeches, jokes, and gambols,
that the room rang with merriment, and passers-by paused to listen, sure
that here, at least, Christmas was merry. It would be impossible to
tell about all the gifts or the joy of the receivers, but every one
was satisfied, and the king and queen of the revels so overwhelmed with
little tokens of good-will, that their beds looked like booths at a
fair. Jack beamed over the handsome postage-stamp book which had long
been the desire of his heart, and Jill felt like a millionaire, with a
silver fruit-knife, a pretty work-basket, and oh!--coals of fire on her
head!--a ring from Jack.

A simple little thing enough, with one tiny turquoise forget-me-not, but
something like a dew-drop fell on it when no one was looking, and she
longed to say, “I'm sorry I was cross; forgive me, Jack.” But it could
not be done then, so she turned to admire Merry's bed-shoes, the pots of
pansies, hyacinths, and geranium which Gus and his sisters sent for her
window garden, Molly's queer Christmas pie, and the zither Ed promised
to teach her how to play upon.

The tree was soon stripped, and pop-corns strewed the floor as the
children stood about picking them off the red threads when candy gave
out, with an occasional cranberry by way of relish. Boo insisted on
trying the new sled at once, and enlivened the trip by the squeaking
of the spotted dog, the toot of a tin trumpet, and shouts of joy at the
splendor of the turn-out.

The girls all put on their necklaces, and danced about like fine ladies
at a ball. The boys fell to comparing skates, balls, and cuff-buttons
on the spot, while the little ones devoted all their energies to eating
everything eatable they could lay their hands on.

Games were played till nine o'clock, and then the party broke up, after
they had taken hands round the tree and sung a song written by one whom
you all know,--so faithfully and beautifully does she love and labor for
children the world over.

THE BLESSED DAY

  “What shall little children bring
    On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day?
  What shall little children bring
    On Christmas Day in the morning?
  This shall little children bring
    On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
  Love and joy to Christ their king,
    On Christmas Day in the morning!

  “What shall little children sing
    On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day?
  What shall little children sing
    On Christmas Day in the morning?
  The grand old carols shall they sing
    On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
  With all their hearts, their offerings bring
    On Christmas Day in the morning.”

Jack was carried off to bed in such haste that he had only time to call
out, “Good-night!” before he was rolled away, gaping as he went. Jill
soon found herself tucked up in the great white bed she was to share
with her mother, and lay looking about the pleasant chamber, while Mrs.
Pecq ran home for a minute to see that all was safe there for the night.

After the merry din the house seemed very still, with only a light
step now and then, the murmur of voices not far away, or the jingle of
sleigh-bells from without, and the little girl rested easily among the
pillows, thinking over the pleasures of the day, too wide-awake for
sleep. There was no lamp in the chamber, but she could look into the
pretty Bird Room, where the fire-light still shone on flowery walls,
deserted tree, and Christ-child floating above the green. Jill's eyes
wandered there and lingered till they were full of regretful tears,
because the sight of the little angel recalled the words spoken when it
was hung up, the good resolution she had taken then, and how soon it was
broken.

“I said I couldn't be bad in that lovely place, and I was a cross,
ungrateful girl after all they've done for Mammy and me. Poor Jack _was_
hurt the worst, and he _was_ brave, though he did scream. I wish I could
go and tell him so, and hear him say, 'All right.' Oh, me, I've spoiled
the day!”

A great sob choked more words, and Jill was about to have a comfortable
cry, when someone entered the other room, and she saw Frank doing
something with a long cord and a thing that looked like a tiny drum.
Quiet as a bright-eyed mouse, Jill peeped out wondering what it was, and
suspecting mischief, for the boy was laughing to himself as he stretched
the cord, and now and then bent over the little object in his hand,
touching it with great care.

“May be it's a torpedo to blow up and scare me; Jack likes to play
tricks. Well, I'll scream loud when it goes off, so he will be satisfied
that I'm dreadfully frightened,” thought Jill, little dreaming what the
last surprise of the day was to be.

Presently a voice whispered,--

“I say! Are you awake?”

“Yes.”

“Any one there but you?”

“No.”

“Catch this, then. Hold it to your ear and see what you'll get.”

The little drum came flying in, and, catching it, Jill, with some
hesitation, obeyed Frank's order. Judge of her amazement when she caught
in broken whispers these touching words:--

“Sorry I was cross. Forgive and forget. Start fair to-morrow. All right.
Jack.”

Jill was so delighted with this handsome apology, that she could not
reply for a moment, then steadied her voice, and answered back in her
sweetest tone,--

“I'm sorry, too. Never, never, will again. Feel much better now.
Good-night, you dear old thing.”

Satisfied with the success of his telephone, Frank twitched back the
drum and vanished, leaving Jill to lay her cheek upon the hand that
wore the little ring and fall asleep, saying to herself, with a farewell
glance at the children's saint, dimly seen in the soft gloom, “I will
not forget. I will be good!”




Chapter VII. Jill's Mission


The good times began immediately, and very little studying was done that
week in spite of the virtuous resolutions made by certain young persons
on Christmas Day. But, dear me, how was it possible to settle down to
lessons in the delightful Bird Room, with not only its own charms to
distract one, but all the new gifts to enjoy, and a dozen calls a day to
occupy one's time?

“I guess we'd better wait till the others are at school, and just go in
for fun this week,” said Jack, who was in great spirits at the prospect
of getting up, for the splints were off, and he hoped to be promoted to
crutches very soon.

“_I_ shall keep my Speller by me and take a look at it every day, for
that is what I'm most backward in. But I intend to devote myself to you,
Jack, and be real kind and useful. I've made a plan to do it, and I
mean to carry it out, any way,” answered Jill, who had begun to be a
missionary, and felt that this was a field of labor where she could
distinguish herself.

“Here's a home mission all ready for you, and you can be paying your
debts beside doing yourself good,” Mrs. Pecq said to her in private,
having found plenty to do herself.

Now Jill made one great mistake at the outset--she forgot that she was
the one to be converted to good manners and gentleness, and devoted
her efforts to looking after Jack, finding it much easier to cure other
people's faults than her own. Jack was a most engaging heathen, and
needed very little instruction; therefore Jill thought her task would
be an easy one. But three or four weeks of petting and play had rather
demoralized both children, so Jill's Speller, though tucked under the
sofa pillow every day, was seldom looked at, and Jack shirked his Latin
shamefully. Both read all the story-books they could get, held daily
levees in the Bird Room, and all their spare minutes were spent in
teaching Snowdrop, the great Angora cat, to bring the ball when they
dropped it in their game. So Saturday came, and both were rather the
worse for so much idleness, since daily duties and studies are the
wholesome bread which feeds the mind better than the dyspeptic plum-cake
of sensational reading, or the unsubstantial _bon-bons_ of frivolous
amusement.

It was a stormy day, so they had few callers, and devoted themselves to
arranging the album; for these books were all the rage just then, and
boys met to compare, discuss, buy, sell, and “swap” stamps with as much
interest as men on 'Change gamble in stocks. Jack had a nice little
collection, and had been saving up pocket-money to buy a book in which
to preserve his treasures. Now, thanks to Jill's timely suggestion,
Frank had given him a fine one, and several friends had contributed a
number of rare stamps to grace the large, inviting pages. Jill wielded
the gum-brush and fitted on the little flaps, as her fingers were
skilful at this nice work, and Jack put each stamp in its proper place
with great rustling of leaves and comparing of marks. Returning, after a
brief absence, Mrs. Minot beheld the countenances of the workers adorned
with gay stamps, giving them a very curious appearance.

“My dears! what new play have you got now? Are you wild Indians?
or letters that have gone round the world before finding the right
address?” she asked, laughing at the ridiculous sight, for both were as
sober as judges and deeply absorbed in some doubtful specimen.

“Oh, we just stuck them there to keep them safe; they get lost if we
leave them lying round. It's very handy, for I can see in a minute what
I want on Jill's face and she on mine, and put our fingers on the
right chap at once,” answered Jack, adding, with an anxious gaze at his
friend's variegated countenance, “Where the dickens _is_ my New Granada?
It's rare, and I wouldn't lose it for a dollar.”

“Why, there it is on your own nose. Don't you remember you put it there
because you said mine was not big enough to hold it?” laughed Jill,
tweaking a large orange square off the round nose of her neighbor,
causing it to wrinkle up in a droll way, as the gum made the operation
slightly painful.

“So I did, and gave you Little Bolivar on yours. Now I'll have Alsace
and Lorraine, 1870. There are seven of them, so hold still and see how
you like it,” returned Jack, picking the large, pale stamps one by one
from Jill's forehead, which they crossed like a band.

She bore it without flinching, saying to herself with a secret smile, as
she glanced at the hot fire, which scorched her if she kept near enough
to Jack to help him, “This really is being like a missionary, with a
tattooed savage to look after. I have to suffer a little, as the good
folks did who got speared and roasted sometimes; but I won't complain a
bit, though my forehead smarts, my arms are tired, and one cheek is as
red as fire.”

“The Roman States make a handsome page, don't they?” asked Jack, little
dreaming of the part he was playing in Jill's mind. “Oh, I say, isn't
Corea a beauty? I'm ever so proud of that;” and he gazed fondly on a big
blue stamp, the sole ornament of one page.

“I don't see why the Cape of Good Hope has pyramids. They ought to go in
Egypt. The Sandwich Islands are all right, with heads of the black kings
and queens on them,” said Jill, feeling that they were very appropriate
to her private play.

“Turkey has crescents, Australia swans, and Spain women's heads, with
black bars across them. Frank says it is because they keep women shut
up so; but that was only his fun. I'd rather have a good, honest green
United States, with Washington on it, or a blue one-center with old
Franklin, than all their eagles and lions and kings and queens put
together,” added the democratic boy, with a disrespectful slap on a
crowned head as he settled Heligoland in its place.

“Why does Austria have Mercury on the stamp, I wonder? Do they wear
helmets like that?” asked Jill, with the brush-handle in her mouth as
she cut a fresh batch of flaps.

“May be he was postman to the gods, so he is put on stamps now. The
Prussians wear helmets, but they have spikes like the old Roman fellows.
I like Prussians ever so much; they fight splendidly, and always beat.
Austrians have a handsome uniform, though.”

“Talking of Romans reminds me that I have not heard your Latin for two
days. Come, lazybones, brace up, and let us have it now. I've done my
compo, and shall have just time before I go out for a tramp with Gus,”
 said Frank, putting by a neat page to dry, for he studied every day like
a conscientious lad as he was.

“Don't know it. Not going to try till next week. Grind away over your
old Greek as much as you like, but don't bother me,” answered Jack,
frowning at the mere thought of the detested lesson.

But Frank adored his Xenophon, and would not see his old friend,
Caesar, neglected without an effort to defend him; so he confiscated the
gum-pot, and effectually stopped the stamp business by whisking away at
one fell swoop all that lay on Jill's table.

“Now then, young man, you will quit this sort of nonsense and do your
lesson, or you won't see these fellows again in a hurry. You asked me to
hear you, and I'm going to do it; here's the book.”

Frank's tone was the dictatorial one, which Jack hated and always found
hard to obey, especially when he knew he ought to do it. Usually, when
his patience was tried, he strode about the room, or ran off for a race
round the garden, coming back breathless, but good-tempered. Now both
these vents for irritation were denied him, and he had fallen into
the way of throwing things about in a pet. He longed to send Caesar
to perpetual banishment in the fire blazing close by, but resisted the
temptation, and answered honestly, though gruffly: “I know I did, but I
don't see any use in pouncing on a fellow when he isn't ready. I haven't
got my lesson, and don't mean to worry about it; so you may just give me
back my things and go about your business.”

“I'll give you back a stamp for every perfect lesson you get, and you
won't see them on any other terms;” and, thrusting the treasures into
his pocket, Frank caught up his rubber boots, and went off swinging them
like a pair of clubs, feeling that he would give a trifle to be able to
use them on his lazy brother.

At this high-handed proceeding, and the threat which accompanied it,
Jack's patience gave out, and catching up Caesar, as he thought, sent
him flying after the retreating tyrant with the defiant declaration,--

“Keep them, then, and your old book, too! I won't look at it till you
give all my stamps back and say you are sorry. So now!”

It was all over before Mamma could interfere, or Jill do more than
clutch and cling to the gum-brush. Frank vanished unharmed, but the poor
book dashed against the wall to fall half open on the floor, its gay
cover loosened, and its smooth leaves crushed by the blow.

“It's the album! O Jack, how could you?” cried Jill, dismayed at sight
of the precious book so maltreated by the owner.

“Thought it was the other. Guess it isn't hurt much. Didn't mean to
hit him, any way. He does provoke me so,” muttered Jack, very red and
shamefaced as his mother picked up the book and laid it silently on
the table before him. He did not know what to do with himself, and was
thankful for the stamps still left him, finding great relief in making
faces as he plucked them one by one from his mortified countenance. Jill
looked on, half glad, half sorry that her savage showed such signs of
unconverted ferocity, and Mrs. Minot went on writing letters, wearing
the grave look her sons found harder to bear than another person's
scolding. No one spoke for a moment, and the silence was becoming
awkward when Gus appeared in a rubber suit, bringing a book to Jack from
Laura and a note to Jill from Lotty.

“Look here, you just trundle me into my den, please, I'm going to have a
nap, it's so dull to-day I don't feel like doing much,” said Jack, when
Gus had done his errands, trying to look as if he knew nothing about the
fracas.

Jack folded his arms and departed like a warrior borne from the
battle-field, to be chaffed unmercifully for a “pepper-pot,” while Gus
made him comfortable in his own room.

“I heard once of a boy who threw a fork at his brother and put his eye
out. But he didn't mean to, and the brother forgave him, and he never
did so any more,” observed Jill, in a pensive tone, wishing to show that
she felt all the dangers of impatience, but was sorry for the culprit.

“Did the boy ever forgive himself?” asked Mrs. Minot.

“No, 'm; I suppose not. But Jack didn't hit Frank, and feels real sorry,
I know.”

“He might have, and hurt him very much. Our actions are in our own
hands, but the consequences of them are not. Remember that, my dear, and
think twice before you do anything.”

“Yes, 'm, I will;” and Jill composed herself to consider what
missionaries usually did when the natives hurled tomahawks and
boomerangs at one another, and defied the rulers of the land.

Mrs. Minot wrote one page of a new letter, then stopped, pushed her
papers about, thought a little, and finally got up, saying, as if she
found it impossible to resist the yearning of her heart for the naughty
boy,--

“I am going to see if Jack is covered up, he is so helpless, and liable
to take cold. Don't stir till I come back.”

“No, 'm, I won't.”

Away went the tender parent to find her son studying Caesar for dear
life, and all the more amiable for the little gust which had blown away
the temporary irritability. The brothers were often called “Thunder
and Lightning,” because Frank lowered and growled and was a good while
clearing up, while Jack's temper came and went like a flash, and the air
was all the clearer for the escape of dangerous electricity. Of course
Mamma had to stop and deliver a little lecture, illustrated by sad tales
of petulant boys, and punctuated with kisses which took off the edge of
these afflicting narratives.

Jill meantime meditated morally on the superiority of her own good
temper over the hasty one of her dear playmate, and just when she was
feeling unusually uplifted and secure, alas! like so many of us, she
fell, in the most deplorable manner.

Glancing about the room for something to do, she saw a sheet of paper
lying exactly out of reach, where it had fluttered from the table
unperceived. At first her eye rested on it as carelessly as it did on
the stray stamp Frank had dropped; then, as if one thing suggested the
other, she took it into her head that the paper was Frank's composition,
or, better still, a note to Annette, for the two corresponded when
absence or weather prevented the daily meeting at school.

“Wouldn't it be fun to keep it till he gives back Jack's stamps? It
would plague him so if it was a note, and I do believe it is, for
compo's don't begin with two words on one side. I'll get it, and Jack
and I will plan some way to pay him off, cross thing!”

Forgetting her promise not to stir, also how dishonorable it was to read
other people's letters, Jill caught up the long-handled hook, often in
use now, and tried to pull the paper nearer. It would not come at once,
for a seam in the carpet held it, and Jill feared to tear or crumple it
if she was not very careful. The hook was rather heavy and long for
her to manage, and Jack usually did the fishing, so she was not very
skilful; and just as she was giving a particularly quick jerk, she lost
her balance, fell off the sofa, and dropped the pole with a bang.

“Oh, my back!” was all she could think or say as she felt the jar all
through her little body, and a corresponding fear in her guilty little
mind that someone would come and find out the double mischief she had
been at. For a moment she lay quite still to recover from the shock,
then as the pain passed she began to wonder how she should get back, and
looked about her to see if she could do it alone. She thought she could,
as the sofa was near and she had improved so much that she could sit
up a little if the doctor would have let her. She was gathering herself
together for the effort, when, within arm's reach now, she saw the
tempting paper, and seized it with glee, for in spite of her predicament
she did want to tease Frank. A glance showed that it was not the
composition nor a note, but the beginning of a letter from Mrs. Minot to
her sister, and Jill was about to lay it down when her own name caught
her eye, and she could not resist reading it. Hard words to write of one
so young, doubly hard to read, and impossible to forget.

“Dear Lizzie,--Jack continues to do very well, and will soon be up
again. But we begin to fear that the little girl is permanently injured
in the back. She is here, and we do our best for her; but I never
look at her without thinking of Lucinda Snow, who, you remember, was
bedridden for twenty years, owing to a fall at fifteen. Poor little
Janey does not know yet, and I hope”--There it ended, and “poor little
Janey's” punishment for disobedience began that instant. She thought she
was getting well because she did not suffer all the time, and every one
spoke cheerfully about “by and by.” Now she knew the truth, and shut her
eyes with a shiver as she said, low, to herself,--

“Twenty years! I couldn't bear it; oh, I couldn't bear it!”

A very miserable Jill lay on the floor, and for a while did not care who
came and found her; then the last words of the letter--“I hope”--seemed
to shine across the blackness of the dreadful “twenty years” and cheer
her up a bit, for despair never lives long in young hearts, and Jill was
a brave child.

“That is why Mammy sighs so when she dresses me, and every one is so
good to me. Perhaps Mrs. Minot doesn't really know, after all. She was
dreadfully scared about Jack, and he is getting well. I'd like to ask
Doctor, but he might find out about the letter. Oh, dear, why didn't I
keep still and let the horrid thing alone!”

As she thought that, Jill pushed the paper away, pulled herself up, and
with much painful effort managed to get back to her sofa, where she laid
herself down with a groan, feeling as if the twenty years had already
passed over her since she tumbled off.

“I've told a lie, for I said I wouldn't stir. I've hurt my back, I've
done a mean thing, and I've got paid for it. A nice missionary I am;
I'd better begin at home, as Mammy told me to;” and Jill groaned again,
remembering her mother's words. “Now I've got another secret to keep all
alone, for I'd be ashamed to tell the girls. I guess I'll turn round and
study my spelling; then no one will see my face.”

Jill looked the picture of a good, industrious child as she lay with her
back to the large table, her book held so that nothing was to be seen
but one cheek and a pair of lips moving busily. Fortunately, it is
difficult for little sinners to act a part, and, even if the face is
hidden, something in the body seems to betray the internal remorse and
shame. Usually, Jill lay flat and still; now her back was bent in a
peculiar way as she leaned over her book, and one foot wagged nervously,
while on the visible cheek was a Spanish stamp with a woman's face
looking through the black bars, very suggestively, if she had known it.
How long the minutes seemed till some one came, and what a queer little
jump her heart gave when Mrs. Minot's voice said, cheerfully, “Jack
is all right, and, I declare, so is Jill. I really believe there is a
telegraph still working somewhere between you two, and each knows what
the other is about without words.”

“I didn't have any other book handy, so I thought I'd study awhile,”
 answered Jill, feeling that she deserved no praise for her seeming
industry.

She cast a sidelong glance as she spoke, and seeing that Mrs. Minot was
looking for the letter, hid her face and lay so still she could hear the
rustle of the paper as it was taken from the floor. It was well she did
not also see the quick look the lady gave her as she turned the letter
and found a red stamp sticking to the under side, for this unlucky
little witness told the story.

Mrs. Minot remembered having seen the stamp lying close to the sofa when
she left the room, for she had had half a mind to take it to Jack, but
did not, thinking Frank's plan had some advantages. She also recollected
that a paper flew off the table, but being in haste she had not stopped
to see what it was. Now, the stamp and the letter could hardly have come
together without hands, for they lay a yard apart, and here, also, on
the unwritten portion of the page, was the mark of a small green thumb.
Jill had been winding wool for a stripe in her new afghan, and the green
ball lay on her sofa. These signs suggested and confirmed what Mrs.
Minot did not want to believe; so did the voice, attitude, and air of
Jill, all very unlike her usual open, alert ways.

The kind lady could easily forgive the reading of her letter since the
girl had found such sad news there, but the dangers of disobedience were
serious in her case, and a glance showed that she was suffering either
in mind or body--perhaps both.

“I will wait for her to tell me. She is an honest child, and the truth
will soon come out,” thought Mrs. Minot, as she took a clean sheet, and
Jill tried to study.

“Shall I hear your lesson, dear? Jack means to recite his like a good
boy, so suppose you follow his example,” she said, presently.

“I don't know as I can say it, but I'll try.”

Jill did try, and got on bravely till she came to the word “permanent;”
 there she hesitated, remembering where she saw it last.

“Do you know what that means?” asked her teacher, thinking to help her
on by defining the word.

“Always--for a great while--or something like that; doesn't it?”
 faltered Jill, with a tight feeling in her throat, and the color coming
up, as she tried to speak easily, yet felt so shame-stricken she could
not.

“Are you in pain, my child? Never mind the lesson; tell me, and I'll do
something for you.”

The kind words, the soft hand on her hot cheek, and the pity in the eyes
that looked at her, were too much for Jill. A sob came first, and then
the truth, told with hidden face and tears that washed the blush away,
and set free the honest little soul that could not hide its fault from
such a friend.

“I knew it all before, and was sure you would tell me, else you would
not be the child I love and like to help so well.”

Then, while she soothed Jill's trouble, Mrs. Minot told her story and
showed the letter, wishing to lessen, if possible, some part of the pain
it had given.

“Sly old stamp! To go and tell on me when I meant to own up, and get
some credit if I could, after being so mean and bad,” said Jill, smiling
through her tears when she saw the tell-tale witnesses against her.

“You had better stick it in your book to remind you of the bad
consequences of disobedience, then perhaps _this_ lesson will leave a
'permanent' impression on your mind and memory,” answered Mrs. Minot,
glad to see her natural gayety coming back, and hoping that she had
forgotten the contents of the unfortunate letter. But she had not; and
presently, when the sad affair had been talked over and forgiven, Jill
asked, slowly, as she tried to put on a brave look,--

“Please tell me about Lucinda Snow. If I am to be like her, I might as
well know how she managed to bear it so long.”

“I'm sorry you ever heard of her, and yet perhaps it may help you to
bear your trial, dear, which I hope will never be as heavy a one as
hers. This Lucinda I knew for years, and though at first I thought her
fate the saddest that could be, I came at last to see how happy she was
in spite of her affliction, how good and useful and beloved.”

“Why, how could she be? What did she do?” cried Jill, forgetting her own
troubles to look up with an open, eager face again.

“She was so patient, other people were ashamed to complain of their
small worries; so cheerful, that her own great one grew lighter; so
industrious, that she made both money and friends by pretty things she
worked and sold to her many visitors. And, best of all, so wise and
sweet that she seemed to get good out of everything, and make her poor
room a sort of chapel where people went for comfort, counsel, and an
example of a pious life. So, you see, Lucinda was not so very miserable
after all.”

“Well, if I could not be as I was, I'd like to be a woman like that.
Only, I hope I shall not!” answered Jill, thoughtfully at first, then
coming out so decidedly with the last words that it was evident the life
of a bedridden saint was not at all to her mind.

“So do I; and I mean to believe that you will not. Meantime, we can try
to make the waiting as useful and pleasant as possible. This painful
little back will be a sort of conscience to remind you of what you ought
to do and leave undone, and so you can be learning obedience. Then,
when the body is strong, it will have formed a good habit to make duty
easier; and my Lucinda can be a sweet example, even while lying here, if
she chooses.”

“Can I?” and Jill's eyes were full of softer tears as the comfortable,
cheering words sank into her heart, to blossom slowly by and by into her
life, for this was to be a long lesson, hard to learn, but very useful
in the years to come.

When the boys returned, after the Latin was recited and peace restored,
Jack showed her a recovered stamp promptly paid by Frank, who was as
just as he was severe, and Jill asked for the old red one, though
she did not tell why she wanted it, nor show it put away in the
spelling-book, a little seal upon a promise made to be kept.




Chapter VIII. Merry and Molly


Now let us see how the other missionaries got on with their tasks.

Farmer Grant was a thrifty, well-to-do man, anxious to give his children
greater advantages than he had enjoyed, and to improve the fine place
of which he was justly proud. Mrs. Grant was a notable housewife, as
ambitious and industrious as her husband, but too busy to spend any time
on the elegancies of life, though always ready to help the poor and sick
like a good neighbor and Christian woman. The three sons--Tom, Dick,
and Harry--were big fellows of seventeen, nineteen, and twenty-one;
the first two on the farm, and the elder in a store just setting up for
himself. Kind-hearted but rough-mannered youths, who loved Merry very
much, but teased her sadly about her “fine lady airs,” as they called
her dainty ways and love of beauty.

Merry was a thoughtful girl, full of innocent fancies, refined tastes,
and romantic dreams, in which no one sympathized at home, though she was
the pet of the family. It did seem, to an outsider, as if the delicate
little creature had got there by mistake, for she looked very like a
tea-rose in a field of clover and dandelions, whose highest aim in life
was to feed cows and help make root beer.

When the girls talked over the new society, it pleased Merry very much,
and she decided not only to try and love work better, but to convert
her family to a liking for pretty things, as she called her own more
cultivated tastes.

“I will begin at once, and show them that I don't mean to shirk my duty,
though I do want to be nice,” thought she, as she sat at supper one
night and looked about her, planning her first move.

Not a very cheering prospect for a lover of the beautiful, certainly,
for the big kitchen, though as neat as wax, had nothing lovely in it,
except a red geranium blooming at the window. Nor were the people all
that could be desired, in some respects, as they sat about the table
shovelling in pork and beans with their knives, drinking tea from their
saucers, and laughing out with a hearty “Haw, haw,” when anything amused
them. Yet the boys were handsome, strong specimens, the farmer a hale,
benevolent-looking man, the housewife a pleasant, sharp-eyed matron, who
seemed to find comfort in looking often at the bright face at her elbow,
with the broad forehead, clear eyes, sweet mouth, and quiet voice that
came like music in among the loud masculine ones, or the quick, nervous
tones of a woman always in a hurry.

Merry's face was so thoughtful that evening that her father observed it,
for, when at home, he watched her as one watches a kitten, glad to see
anything so pretty, young, and happy, at its play.

“Little daughter has got something on her mind, I mistrust. Come and
tell father all about it,” he said, with a sounding slap on his broad
knee as he turned his chair from the table to the ugly stove, where
three pairs of wet boots steamed underneath, and a great kettle of cider
apple-sauce simmered above.

“When I've helped clear up, I'll come and talk. Now, mother, you sit
down and rest; Roxy and I can do everything,” answered Merry, patting
the old rocking-chair so invitingly that the tired woman could not
resist, especially as watching the kettle gave her an excuse for
obeying.

“Well, I don't care if I do, for I've been on my feet since five
o'clock. Be sure you cover things up, and shut the buttery door, and put
the cat down cellar, and sift your meal. I'll see to the buckwheats last
thing before I go to bed.”

Mrs. Grant subsided with her knitting, for her hands were never idle;
Tom tilted his chair back against the wall and picked his teeth with
his pen-knife; Dick got out a little pot of grease, to make the boots
water-tight; and Harry sat down at the small table to look over his
accounts, with an important air,--for every one occupied this room, and
the work was done in the out-kitchen behind.

Merry hated clearing up, but dutifully did every distasteful task, and
kept her eye on careless Roxy till all was in order; then she gladly
went to perch on her father's knee, seeing in all the faces about her
the silent welcome they always wore for the “little one.”

“Yes, I do want something, but I know you will say it is silly,” she
began, as her father pinched her blooming cheek, with the wish that his
peaches would ever look half as well.

“Shouldn't wonder if it was a doll now;” and Mr. Grant stroked her head
with an indulgent smile, as if she was about six instead of fifteen.

“Why, father, you know I don't! I haven't played with dollies for years
and years. No; I want to fix up my room pretty, like Jill's. I'll do it
all myself, and only want a few things, for I don't expect it to look as
nice as hers.”

Indignation gave Merry courage to state her wishes boldly, though she
knew the boys would laugh. They did, and her mother said in a tone of
surprise,--

“Why, child, what more can you want? I'm sure your room is always as
neat as a new pin, thanks to your bringing up, and I told you to have a
fire there whenever you wanted to.”

“Let me have some old things out of the garret, and I'll show you what
I want. It _is_ neat, but so bare and ugly I hate to be there. I do so
love something pretty to look at!” and Merry gave a little shiver of
disgust as she turned her eyes away from the large greasy boot Dick was
holding up to be sure it was well lubricated all round.

“So do I, and that's a fact. I couldn't get on without my pretty girl
here, any way. Why, she touches up the old place better than a dozen
flower-pots in full blow,” said the farmer, as his eye went from the
scarlet geranium to the bright young face so near his own.

“I wish I had a dozen in the sitting-room window. Mother says they are
not tidy, but I'd keep them neat, and I know you'd like it,” broke in
Merry, glad of the chance to get one of the long-desired wishes of her
heart fulfilled.

“I'll fetch you some next time I go over to Ballad's. Tell me what you
want, and we'll have a posy bed somewhere round, see if we don't,” said
her father, dimly understanding what she wanted.

“Now, if mother says I may fix my room, I shall be satisfied, and I'll
do my chores without a bit of fuss, to show how grateful I am,” said
the girl, thanking her father with a kiss, and smiling at her mother so
wistfully that the good woman could not refuse.

“You may have anything you like out of the blue chest. There's a lot of
things there that the moths got at after Grandma died, and I couldn't
bear to throw or give 'em away. Trim up your room as you like, and mind
you don't forget your part of the bargain,” answered Mrs. Grant, seeing
profit in the plan.

“I won't; I'll work all the morning to-morrow, and in the afternoon I'll
get ready to show you what I call a nice, pretty room,” answered Merry,
looking so pleased it seemed as if another flower had blossomed in the
large bare kitchen.

She kept her word, and the very stormy afternoon when Jill got into
trouble, Merry was working busily at her little bower. In the blue chest
she found a variety of treasures, and ignoring the moth holes, used them
to the best advantage, trying to imitate the simple comfort with a touch
of elegance which prevailed in Mrs. Minot's back bedroom.

Three faded red-moreen curtains went up at the windows over the chilly
paper shades, giving a pleasant glow to the bare walls. A red quilt with
white stars, rather the worse for many washings, covered the bed, and a
gay cloth the table, where a judicious arrangement of books and baskets
concealed the spots. The little air-tight stove was banished, and a pair
of ancient andirons shone in the fire-light. Grandma's last and largest
braided rug lay on the hearth, and her brass candlesticks adorned the
bureau, over the mirror of which was festooned a white muslin skirt,
tied up with Merry's red sash. This piece of elegance gave the last
touch to her room, she thought, and she was very proud of it, setting
forth all her small store of trinkets in a large shell, with an empty
scent bottle, and a clean tidy over the pincushion. On the walls she
hung three old-fashioned pictures, which she ventured to borrow from
the garret till better could be found. One a mourning piece, with a very
tall lady weeping on an urn in a grove of willows, and two small boys in
knee breeches and funny little square tails to their coats, looking like
cherubs in large frills. The other was as good as a bonfire, being an
eruption of Vesuvius, and very lurid indeed, for the Bay of Naples was
boiling like a pot, the red sky raining rocks, and a few distracted
people lying flat upon the shore. The third was a really pretty scene
of children dancing round a May-pole, for though nearly a hundred years
old, the little maids smiled and the boys pranced as gayly as if the
flowers they carried were still alive and sweet.

“Now I'll call them all to see, and say that it is pretty. Then I'll
enjoy it, and come here when things look dismal and bare everywhere
else,” said Merry, when at last it was done. She had worked all the
afternoon, and only finished at supper time, so the candles had to be
lighted that the toilette might look its best, and impress the beholders
with an idea of true elegance. Unfortunately, the fire smoked a little,
and a window was set ajar to clear the room; an evil-disposed gust blew
in, wafting the thin drapery within reach of the light, and when Merry
threw open the door proudly thinking to display her success, she was
horrified to find the room in a blaze, and half her labor all in vain.

The conflagration was over in a minute, however, for the boys tore down
the muslin and stamped out the fire with much laughter, while Mrs. Grant
bewailed the damage to her carpet, and poor Merry took refuge in
her father's arms, refusing to be comforted in spite of his kind
commendation of “Grandma's fixins.”

The third little missionary had the hardest time of all, and her first
efforts were not much more satisfactory nor successful than the others.
Her father was away from morning till night, and then had his paper to
read, books to keep, or “a man to see down town,” so that, after a hasty
word at tea, he saw no more of the children till another evening, as
they were seldom up at his early breakfast. He thought they were well
taken care of, for Miss Bathsheba Dawes was an energetic, middle-aged
spinster when she came into the family, and had been there fifteen
years, so he did not observe, what a woman would have seen at once, that
Miss Bat was getting old and careless, and everything about the house
was at sixes and sevens. She took good care of him, and thought she had
done her duty if she got three comfortable meals, nursed the children
when they were ill, and saw that the house did not burn up. So Maria
Louisa and Napoleon Bonaparte got on as they could, without the tender
cares of a mother. Molly had been a happy-go-lucky child, contented
with her pets, her freedom, and little Boo to love; but now she was just
beginning to see that they were not like other children, and to feel
ashamed of it.

“Papa is busy, but Miss Bat ought to see to us; she is paid for it,
and goodness knows she has an easy time now, for if I ask her to do
anything, she groans over her bones, and tells me young folks should
wait on themselves. I take all the care of Boo off her hands, but I
can't wash my own things, and he hasn't a decent trouser to his blessed
little legs. I'd tell papa, but it wouldn't do any good; he'd only say,
'Yes, child, yes, I'll attend to it,' and never do a thing.”

This used to be Molly's lament, when some especially trying event
occurred, and if the girls were not there to condole with her, she would
retire to the shed-chamber, call her nine cats about her, and, sitting
in the old bushel basket, pull her hair about her ears, and scold all
alone. The cats learned to understand this habit, and nobly did their
best to dispel the gloom which now and then obscured the sunshine of
their little mistress. Some of them would creep into her lap and purr
till the comfortable sound soothed her irritation; the sedate elders sat
at her feet blinking with such wise and sympathetic faces, that she felt
as if half a dozen Solomons were giving her the sagest advice; while the
kittens frisked about, cutting up their drollest capers till she laughed
in spite of herself. When the laugh came, the worst of the fit was over,
and she soon cheered up, dismissing the consolers with a pat all round,
a feast of good things from Miss Bat's larder, and the usual speech:--

“Well, dears, it's of no use to worry. I guess we shall get along
somehow, if we don't fret.”

With which wise resolution, Molly would leave her retreat and freshen
up her spirits by a row on the river or a romp with Boo, which always
finished the case. Now, however, she was bound to try the new plan and
do something toward reforming not only the boy's condition, but the
disorder and discomfort of home.

“I'll play it is Siam, and this the house of a native, and I'm come to
show the folks how to live nicely. Miss Bat won't know what to make of
it, and I can't tell her, so I shall get some fun out of it, any way,”
 thought Molly, as she surveyed the dining-room the day her mission
began.

The prospect was not cheering; and, if the natives of Siam live in such
confusion, it is high time they were attended to. The breakfast-table
still stood as it was left, with slops of coffee on the cloth; bits of
bread, egg-shells, and potato-skins lay about, and one lonely sausage
was cast away in the middle of a large platter. The furniture was dusty,
stove untidy, and the carpet looked as if crumbs had been scattered to
chickens who declined their breakfast. Boo was sitting on the sofa, with
his arm through a hole in the cover, hunting for some lost treasure
put away there for safe keeping, like a little magpie as he was. Molly
fancied she washed and dressed him well enough; but to-day she seemed to
see more clearly, and sighed as she thought of the hard job in store for
her if she gave him the thorough washing he needed, and combed out that
curly mop of hair.

“I'll clear up first and do that by and by. I ought to have a nice
little tub and good towels, like Mrs. Minot, and I will, too, if I buy
them myself,” she said, piling up cups with an energy that threatened
destruction to handles.

Miss Bat, who was trailing about the kitchen, with her head pinned up
in a little plaid shawl, was so surprised by the demand for a pan of
hot water and four clean towels, that she nearly dropped her snuff-box,
chief comfort of her lazy soul.

“What new whimsey now? Generally, the dishes stand round till I have
time to pick 'em up, and you are off coasting or careering somewhere.
Well, this tidy fit won't last long, so I may as well make the most of
it,” said Miss Bat, as she handed out the required articles, and then
pushed her spectacles from the tip of her sharp nose to her sharper
black eyes for a good look at the girl who stood primly before her, with
a clean apron on and her hair braided up instead of flying wildly about
her shoulders.

“Umph!” was all the comment that Miss Bat made on this unusual neatness,
and she went on scraping her saucepans, while Molly returned to her
work, very well pleased with the effect of her first step, for she felt
that the bewilderment of Miss Bat would be a constant inspiration to
fresh efforts.

An hour of hard work produced an agreeable change in the abode of
the native, for the table was cleared, room swept and dusted, fire
brightened, and the holes in the sofa-covering were pinned up till time
could be found to mend them. To be sure, rolls of lint lay in corners,
smears of ashes were on the stove hearth, and dust still lurked on
chair rounds and table legs. But too much must not be expected of a
new convert, so the young missionary sat down to rest, well pleased and
ready for another attempt as soon as she could decide in what direction
it should be made. She quailed before Boo as she looked at the
unconscious innocent peacefully playing with the spotted dog, now bereft
of his tail, and the lone sausage with which he was attempting to feed
the hungry animal, whose red mouth always gaped for more.

“It will be an awful job, and he is so happy I won't plague him yet.
Guess I'll go and put my room to rights first, and pick up some clean
clothes to put on him, if he is alive after I get through with him,”
 thought Molly, foreseeing a stormy passage for the boy, who hated a bath
as much as some people hate a trip across the Atlantic.

Up she went, and finding the fire out felt discouraged, thought she
would rest a little more, so retired under the blankets to read one of
the Christmas books. The dinner-bell rang while she was still wandering
happily in “Nelly's Silver Mine,” and she ran down to find that Boo had
laid out a railroad all across her neat room, using bits of coal for
sleepers and books for rails, over which he was dragging the yellow sled
laden with a dismayed kitten, the tailless dog, and the remains of the
sausage, evidently on its way to the tomb, for Boo took bites at it now
and then, no other lunch being offered him.

“Oh dear! why can't boys play without making such a mess,” sighed Molly,
picking up the feathers from the duster with which Boo had been trying
to make a “cocky-doo” of the hapless dog. “I'll wash him right after
dinner, and that will keep him out of mischief for a while,” she
thought, as the young engineer unsuspiciously proceeded to ornament his
already crocky countenance with squash, cranberry sauce, and gravy, till
he looked more like a Fiji chief in full war-paint than a Christian boy.

“I want two pails of hot water, please, Miss Bat, and the big tub,” said
Molly, as the ancient handmaid emptied her fourth cup of tea, for she
dined with the family, and enjoyed her own good cooking in its prime.

“What are you going to wash now?”

“Boo--I'm sure he needs it enough;” and Molly could not help laughing as
the victim added to his brilliant appearance by smearing the colors
all together with a rub of two grimy hands, making a fine “Turner” of
himself.

“Now, Maria Louisa Bemis, you ain't going to cut up no capers with that
child! The idea of a hot bath in the middle of the day, and him full
of dinner, and croupy into the bargain! Wet a corner of a towel at the
kettle-spout and polish him off if you like, but you won't risk his life
in no bath-tubs this cold day.”

Miss Bat's word was law in some things, so Molly had to submit, and took
Boo away, saying, loftily, as she left the room,--

“I shall ask father, and do it to-night, for I will _not_ have my
brother look like a pig.”

“My patience! how the Siamese do leave their things round,” she
exclaimed, as she surveyed her room after making up the fire and
polishing off Boo. “I'll put things in order, and then mend up my rags,
if I can find my thimble. Now, let me see;” and she went to exploring
her closet, bureau, and table, finding such disorder everywhere that her
courage nearly gave out.

She had clothes enough, but all needed care; even her best dress had two
buttons off, and her Sunday hat but one string. Shoes, skirts, books,
and toys lay about, and her drawers were a perfect chaos of soiled
ruffles, odd gloves, old ribbons, boot lacings, and bits of paper.

“Oh, my heart, what a muddle! Mrs. Minot wouldn't think much of me if
she could see that,” said Molly, recalling how that lady once said she
could judge a good deal of a little girl's character and habits by a
peep at her top drawer, and went on, with great success, to guess how
each of the school-mates kept her drawer.

“Come, missionary, clear up, and don't let me find such a glory-hole
again, or I'll report you to the society,” said Molly, tipping the whole
drawer-full out upon the bed, and beguiling the tiresome job by keeping
up the new play.

Twilight came before it was done, and a great pile of things loomed up
on her table, with no visible means of repair,--for Molly's work-basket
was full of nuts, and her thimble down a hole in the shed-floor, where
the cats had dropped it in their play.

“I'll ask Bat for hooks and tape, and papa for some money to buy
scissors and things, for I don't know where mine are. Glad I can't do
any more now! Being neat is such hard work!” and Molly threw herself
down on the rug beside the old wooden cradle in which Boo was blissfully
rocking, with a cargo of toys aboard.

She watched her time, and as soon as her father had done supper, she
hastened to say, before he got to his desk,--

“Please, papa, I want a dollar to get some brass buttons and things to
fix Boo's clothes with. He wore a hole in his new trousers coasting
down the Kembles' steps. And can't I wash him? He needs it, and Miss Bat
won't let me have a tub.”

“Certainly, child, certainly; do what you like, only don't keep me. I
must be off, or I shall miss Jackson, and he's the man I want;” and,
throwing down two dollars instead of one, Mr. Bemis hurried away, with a
vague impression that Boo had swallowed a dozen brass buttons, and Miss
Bat had been coasting somewhere in a bath-pan; but catching Jackson was
important, so he did not stop to investigate.

Armed with the paternal permission, Molly carried her point, and oh,
what a dreadful evening poor Boo spent! First, he was decoyed upstairs
an hour too soon, then put in a tub by main force and sternly scrubbed,
in spite of shrieks that brought Miss Bat to the locked door to condole
with the sufferer, scold the scrubber, and depart, darkly prophesying
croup before morning.

“He always howls when he is washed; but I shall do it, since you
won't, and he must get used to it. I will not have people tell me he's
neglected, if I can help it,” cried Molly, working away with tears in
her eyes--for it was as hard for her as for Boo; but she meant to be
thorough for once in her life, no matter what happened.

When the worst was over, she coaxed him with candy and stories till the
long task of combing out the curls was safely done; then, in the clean
night-gown with a blue button newly sewed on, she laid him in bed, worn
out, but sweet as a rose.

“Now, say your prayers, darling, and go to sleep with the nice red
blanket all tucked round so you won't get cold,” said Molly, rather
doubtful of the effect of the wet head.

“No, I won't! Going to sleep _now!_” and Boo shut his eyes wearily,
feeling that his late trials had not left him in a prayerful mood.

“Then you'll be a real little heathen, as Mrs. Pecq called you, and
I don't know what I shall do with you,” said Molly, longing to cuddle
rather than scold the little fellow, whose soul needed looking after as
well as his body.

“No, no; I won't be a heevin! I don't want to be frowed to the
trockindiles. I will say my prayers! oh, I will!” and, rising in
his bed, Boo did so, with the devotion of an infant Samuel, for he
remembered the talk when the society was formed.

Molly thought her labors were over for that night, and soon went to bed,
tired with her first attempts. But toward morning she was wakened by the
hoarse breathing of the boy, and was forced to patter away to Miss Bat's
room, humbly asking for the squills, and confessing that the prophecy
had come to pass.

“I knew it! Bring the child to me, and don't fret. I'll see to him, and
next time you do as I say,” was the consoling welcome she received as
the old lady popped up a sleepy but anxious face in a large flannel cap,
and shook the bottle with the air of a general who had routed the foe
before and meant to do it again.

Leaving her little responsibility in Miss Bat's arms, Molly retired
to wet her pillow with a few remorseful tears, and to fall asleep,
wondering if real missionaries ever killed their pupils in the process
of conversion.

So the girls all failed in the beginning; but they did not give up, and
succeeded better next time, as we shall see.




Chapter IX. The Debating Club


“Look here, old man, we ought to have a meeting. Holidays are over, and
we must brace up and attend to business,” said Frank to Gus, as they
strolled out of the schoolyard one afternoon in January, apparently
absorbed in conversation, but in reality waiting for a blue cloud and a
scarlet feather to appear on the steps.

“All right. When, where, and what?” asked Gus, who was a man of few
words.

“To-night, our house, subject, 'Shall girls go to college with us?'
Mother said we had better be making up our minds, because every one is
talking about it, and we shall have to be on one side or the other,
so we may as well settle it now,” answered Frank, for there was an
impression among the members that all vexed questions would be much
helped by the united eloquence and wisdom of the club.

“Very good; I'll pass the word and be there. Hullo, Neddy! The D.C.
meets to-night, at Minot's, seven sharp. Co-ed, &c.,” added Gus, losing
no time, as a third boy came briskly round the corner, with a little bag
in his hand.

“I'll come. Got home an hour earlier to-night, and thought I'd look
you up as I went by,” responded Ed Devlin, as he took possession of the
third post, with a glance toward the schoolhouse to see if a seal-skin
cap, with a long, yellow braid depending therefrom, was anywhere in
sight.

“Very good of you, I'm sure,” said Gus, ironically, not a bit deceived
by this polite attention.

“The longest way round is sometimes the shortest way home, hey, Ed?” and
Frank gave him a playful poke that nearly sent him off his perch.

Then they all laughed at some joke of their own, and Gus added, “No
girls coming to hear us to-night. Don't think it, my son.

“More's the pity,” and Ed shook his head regretfully over the downfall
of his hopes.

“Can't help it; the other fellows say they spoil the fun, so we have
to give in, sometimes, for the sake of peace and quietness. Don't
mind having them a bit myself,” said Frank, in such a tone of cheerful
resignation that they laughed again, for the “Triangle,” as the three
chums were called, always made merry music.

“We must have a game party next week. The girls like that, and so do
I,” candidly observed Gus, whose pleasant parlors were the scene of many
such frolics.

“And so do your sisters and your cousins and your aunts,” hummed Ed,
for Gus was often called Admiral because he really did possess three
sisters, two cousins, and four aunts, besides mother and grandmother,
all living in the big house together.

The boys promptly joined in the popular chorus, and other voices all
about the yard took it up, for the “Pinafore” epidemic raged fearfully
in Harmony Village that winter.

“How's business?” asked Gus, when the song ended, for Ed had not
returned to school in the autumn, but had gone into a store in the city.

“Dull; things will look up toward spring, they say. I get on well
enough, but I miss you fellows dreadfully;” and Ed put a hand on the
broad shoulder of each friend, as if he longed to be a school-boy again.

“Better give it up and go to college with me next year,” said Frank, who
was preparing for Boston University, while Gus fitted for Harvard.

“No; I've chosen business, and I mean to stick to it, so don't you
unsettle my mind. Have you practised that March?” asked Ed, turning to a
gayer subject, for he had his little troubles, but always looked on the
bright side of things.

“Skating is so good, I don't get much time. Come early, and we'll have a
turn at it.”

“I will. Must run home now.”

“Pretty cold loafing here.”

“Mail is in by this time.”

And with these artless excuses the three boys leaped off the posts, as
if one spring moved them, as a group of girls came chattering down the
path. The blue cloud floated away beside Frank, the scarlet feather
marched off with the Admiral, while the fur cap nodded to the gray hat
as two happy faces smiled at each other.

The same thing often happened, for twice a-day the streets were full
of young couples walking to and from school together, smiled at by the
elders, and laughed at by the less susceptible boys and girls, who went
alone or trooped along in noisy groups. The prudent mothers had tried to
stop this guileless custom, but found it very difficult, as the fathers
usually sympathized with their sons, and dismissed the matter with the
comfortable phrase, “Never mind; boys will be boys.” “Not forever,”
 returned the anxious mammas, seeing the tall lads daily grow more manly,
and the pretty daughters fast learning to look demure when certain names
were mentioned.

It could not be stopped without great parental sternness and the danger
of deceit, for co-education will go on outside of school if not inside,
and the safest way is to let sentiment and study go hand in hand, with
teachers and parents to direct and explain the great lesson all are
the better for learning soon or late. So the elders had to give in,
acknowledging that this sudden readiness to go to school was a comfort,
that the new sort of gentle emulation worked wonders in lazy girls and
boys, and that watching these “primrose friendships” bud, blossom,
and die painless deaths, gave a little touch of romance to their own
work-a-day lives.

“On the whole I'd rather have my sons walking, playing, and studying
with bright, well-mannered girls, than always knocking about with rough
boys,” said Mrs. Minot at one of the Mothers' Meetings, where the good
ladies met to talk over their children, and help one another to do their
duty by them.

“I find that Gus is more gentle with his sisters since Juliet took him
in hand, for he wants to stand well with her, and they report him if he
troubles them. I really see no harm in the little friendship, though I
never had any such when I was a girl,” said Mrs. Burton, who adored her
one boy and was his confidante.

“My Merry seems to be contented with her brothers so far, but I
shouldn't wonder if I had my hands full by and by,” added Mrs. Grant,
who already foresaw that her sweet little daughter would be sought after
as soon as she should lengthen her skirts and turn up her bonny brown
hair.

Molly Loo had no mother to say a word for her, but she settled matters
for herself by holding fast to Merry, and declaring that she would have
no escort but faithful Boo.

It is necessary to dwell a moment upon this new amusement, because it
was not peculiar to Harmony Village, but appears everywhere as naturally
as the game parties and croquet which have taken the place of the
husking frolics and apple-bees of olden times, and it is impossible to
dodge the subject if one attempts to write of boys and girls as they
really are nowadays.

“Here, my hero, see how you like this. If it suits, you will be ready to
march as soon as the doctor gives the word,” said Ralph, coming into the
Bird Room that evening with a neat little crutch under his arm.

“Ha, ha, that looks fine! I'd like to try it right off, but I won't till
I get leave. Did you make it yourself, Ral?” asked Jack, handling it
with delight, as he sat bolt upright, with his leg on a rest, for he was
getting on capitally now.

“Mostly. Rather a neat job, I flatter myself.”

“I should say so. What a clever fellow you are! Any new inventions
lately?” asked Frank, coming up to examine and admire.

“Only an anti-snoring machine and an elbow-pad,” answered Ralph, with a
twinkle in his eye, as if reminded of something funny.

“Go on, and tell about them. I never heard of an anti-snorer. Jack
better have one,” said Frank, interested at once.

“Well, a rich old lady kept her family awake with that lively music, so
she sent to Shirtman and Codleff for something to stop it. They thought
it was a good joke, and told me to see what I could do. I thought it
over, and got up the nicest little affair you ever saw. It went over the
mouth, and had a tube to fit the ear, so when the lady snored she woke
herself up and stopped it. It suited exactly. I think of taking out a
patent,” concluded Ralph, joining in the boys' laugh at the droll idea.

“What was the pad?” asked Frank, returning to the small model of an
engine he was making.

“Oh, that was a mere trifle for a man who had a tender elbow-joint and
wanted something to protect it. I made a little pad to fit on, and his
crazy-bone was safe.”

“I planned to have you make me a new leg if this one was spoilt,” said
Jack, sure that his friend could invent anything under the sun.

“I'd do my best for you. I made a hand for a fellow once, and that
got me my place, you know,” answered Ralph, who thought little of such
mechanical trifles, and longed to be painting portraits or modelling
busts, being an artist as well as an inventor.

Here Gus, Ed, and several other boys came in, and the conversation
became general. Grif, Chick, and Brickbat were three young gentlemen
whose own respectable names were usually ignored, and they cheerfully
answered to these nicknames.

As the clock struck seven, Frank, who ruled the club with a rod of iron
when Chairman, took his place behind the study table. Seats stood about
it, and a large, shabby book lay before Gus, who was Secretary, and kept
the records with a lavish expenditure of ink, to judge by the blots. The
members took their seats, and nearly all tilted back their chairs and
put their hands in their pockets, to keep them out of mischief; for, as
every one knows, it is impossible for two lads to be near each other
and refrain from tickling or pinching. Frank gave three raps with an old
croquet-mallet set on a short handle, and with much dignity opened the
meeting.

“Gentlemen, the business of the club will be attended to, and then
we will discuss the question, 'Shall girls go to our colleges?' The
Secretary will now read the report of the last meeting.”

Clearing his throat, Gus read the following brief and elegant report:--

“Club met, December 18th, at the house of G. Burton, Esq. Subject: 'Is
summer or winter best fun?' A lively pow-wow. About evenly divided.
J. Flint fined five cents for disrespect to the Chair. A collection of
forty cents taken up to pay for breaking a pane of glass during a free
fight of the members on the door-step. E. Devlin was chosen Secretary
for the coming year, and a new book contributed by the Chairman.”

“That's all.”

“Is there any other business before the meeting?” asked Frank, as the
reader closed the old book with a slam and shoved the new one across the
table.

Ed rose, and glancing about him with an appealing look, said, as if sure
his proposition would not be well received, “I wish to propose the name
of a new member. Bob Walker wants to join, and I think we ought to let
him. He is trying to behave well, and I am sure we could help him. Can't
we?”

All the boys looked sober, and Joe, otherwise Brickbat, said, bluntly,
“I won't. He's a bad lot, and we don't want any such here. Let him go
with chaps of his own sort.”

“That is just what I want to keep him from! He's a good-hearted boy
enough, only no one looks after him; so he gets into scrapes, as we
should, if we were in his place, I dare say. He wants to come here, and
would be so proud if he was let in, I know he'd behave. Come now, let's
give him a chance,” and Ed looked at Gus and Frank, sure that if they
stood by him he should carry his point.

But Gus shook his head, as if doubtful of the wisdom of the plan, and
Frank said gravely: “You know we made the rule that the number should
never be over eight, and we cannot break it.”

“You needn't. I can't be here half the time, so I will resign and let
Bob have my place,” began Ed, but he was silenced by shouts of “No, no,
you shan't!” “We won't let you off!” “Club would go to smash, if you
back out!”

“Let him have my place; I'm the youngest, and you won't miss me,” cried
Jack, bound to stand by Ed at all costs.

“We might do that,” said Frank, who did object to small boys, though
willing to admit this particular one.

“Better make a new rule to have ten members, and admit both Bob and Tom
Grant,” said Ralph, whereat Grif grinned and Joe scowled, for one lad
liked Merry's big brother and the other did not.

“That's a good idea! Put it to vote,” said Gus, too kind-hearted to shut
the door on any one.

“First I want to ask if all you fellows are ready to stand by Bob, out
of the club as well as in, for it won't do much good to be kind to him
here and cut him at school and in the street,” said Ed, heartily in
earnest about the matter.

“I will!” cried Jack, ready to follow where his beloved friend led, and
the others nodded, unwilling to be outdone by the youngest member.

“Good! With all of us to lend a hand, we can do a great deal; and I tell
you, boys, it is time, if we want to keep poor Bob straight. We all turn
our backs on him, so he loafs round the tavern, and goes with fellows
we don't care to know. But he isn't bad yet, and we can keep him up, I'm
sure, if we just try. I hope to get him into the Lodge, and that will be
half the battle, won't it, Frank?” added Ed, sure that this suggestion
would have weight with the honorable Chairman.

“Bring him along; I'm with you!” answered Frank, making up his mind at
once, for he had joined the Temperance Lodge four years ago, and already
six boys had followed his example.

“He is learning to smoke, but we'll make him drop it before it leads
to worse. You can help him there, Admiral, if you only will,” added Ed,
giving a grateful look at one friend, and turning to the other.

“I'm your man;” and Gus looked as if he knew what he promised, for he
had given up smoking to oblige his father, and kept his word like a
hero.

“You other fellows can do a good deal by just being kind and not
twitting him with old scrapes, and I'll do anything I can for you all
to pay for this;” and Ed sat down with a beaming smile, feeling that his
cause was won.

The vote was taken, and all hands went up, for even surly Joe gave in;
so Bob and Tom were duly elected, and proved their gratitude for the
honor done them by becoming worthy members of the club. It was only
boys' play now, but the kind heart and pure instincts of one lad showed
the others how to lend a helping hand to a comrade in danger, and win
him away from temptation to the safer pastimes of their more guarded
lives.

Well pleased with themselves--for every genuine act or word, no matter
how trifling it seems, leaves a sweet and strengthening influence
behind--the members settled down to the debate, which was never very
long, and often only an excuse for fun of all sorts.

“Ralph, Gus, and Ed are for, and Brickbat, Grif, and Chick against, I
suppose?” said Frank, surveying his company like a general preparing for
battle.

“No, sir! I believe in co-everything!” cried Chick, a mild youth, who
loyally escorted a chosen damsel home from school every day.

A laugh greeted this bold declaration, and Chick sat down, red but firm.

“I'll speak for two since the Chairman can't, and Jack won't go against
those who pet him most to death,” said Joe, who, not being a favorite
with the girls, considered them a nuisance and lost no opportunity of
telling them so.

“Fire away, then, since you are up;” commanded Frank.

“Well,” began Joe, feeling too late how much he had undertaken, “I don't
know a great deal about it, and I don't care, but I do _not_ believe in
having girls at college. They don't belong there, nobody wants 'em, and
they'd better be at home darning their stockings.”

“Yours, too,” put in Ralph, who had heard that argument so often he was
tired of it.

“Of course; that's what girls are for. I don't mind 'em at school,
but I'd just as soon they had a room to themselves. We should get on
better.”

“_You_ would if Mabel wasn't in your class and always ahead of you,”
 observed Ed, whose friend was a fine scholar, and he very proud of the
fact.

“Look here, if you fellows keep interrupting, I won't sit down for half
an hour,” said Joe, well knowing that eloquence was not his gift, but
bound to have his say out.

Deep silence reigned, for that threat quelled the most impatient member,
and Joe prosed on, using all the arguments he had ever heard, and
paying off several old scores by sly hits of a personal nature, as older
orators often do.

“It is clear to my mind that boys would get on better without any
girls fooling round. As for their being as smart as we are, it is all
nonsense, for some of 'em cry over their lessons every day, or go home
with headaches, or get mad and scold all recess, because something
'isn't fair.' No, sir; girls ain't meant to know much, and they can't.
Wise folks say so and I believe 'em. Haven't got any sisters myself, and
I don't want any, for they don't seem to amount to much, according to
those who do have 'em.”

Groans from Gus and Ed greeted the closing remarks of the ungallant Joe,
who sat down, feeling that he had made somebody squirm. Up jumped Grif,
the delight of whose life was practical jokes, which amiable weakness
made him the terror of the girls, though they had no other fault to find
with the merry lad.

“Mr. Chairman, the ground I take is this: girls have not the strength to
go to college with us. They couldn't row a race, go on a lark, or take
care of themselves, as we do. They are all well enough at home, and I
like them at parties, but for real fun and go I wouldn't give a cent for
them,” began Grif, whose views of a collegiate life were confined to the
enjoyments rather than the studies of that festive period. “I have tried
them, and they can't stand anything. They scream if you tell them there
is a mouse in the room, and run if they see a big dog. I just put a
cockroach in Molly's desk one day, and when she opened it she jumped as
if she was shot.”

So did the gentlemen of the club, for at that moment half-a-dozen
fire-crackers exploded under the chair Grif had left, and flew wildly
about the room. Order was with difficulty restored, the mischievous
party summarily chastised and commanded to hold his tongue, under
penalty of ejectment from the room if he spoke again. Firmly grasping
that red and unruly member, Grif composed himself to listen, with his
nose in the air and his eyes shining like black beads.

Ed was always the peace-maker, and now, when he rose with his engaging
smile, his voice fell like oil upon the troubled waters, and his bright
face was full of the becoming bashfulness which afflicts youths of
seventeen when touching upon such subjects of newly acquired interest as
girls and their pleasant but perplexing ways.

“It seems to me we have hardly considered the matter enough to be able
to say much. But I think that school would be awfully dry and dismal
without--ahem!--any young ladies to make it nice. I wouldn't give a pin
to go if there was only a crowd of fellows, though I like a good game
as well as any man. I pity any boy who has no sisters,” continued Ed,
warming up as he thought of his own, who loved him dearly, as well they
might, for a better brother never lived. “Home wouldn't be worth having
without them to look after a fellow, to keep him out of scrapes, help
him with his lessons, and make things jolly for his friends. I tell you
we can't do without girls, and I'm not ashamed to say that I think the
more we see of them, and try to be like them in many ways, the better
men we shall be by and by.”

“Hear! hear!” cried Frank, in his deepest tone, for he heartily agreed
to that, having talked the matter over with his mother, and received
much light upon things which should always be set right in young heads
and hearts. And who can do this so wisely and well as mothers, if they
only will?

Feeling that his sentiments had been approved, and he need not be
ashamed of the honest color in his cheeks, Ed sat down amid the applause
of his side, especially of Jack, who pounded so vigorously with his
crutch that Mrs. Pecq popped in her head to see if anything was wanted.

“No, thank you, ma'am, we were only cheering Ed,” said Gus, now upon
his legs, and rather at a loss what to say till Mrs. Pecq's appearance
suggested an idea, and he seized upon it.

“My honored friend has spoken so well that I have little to add. I agree
with him, and if you want an example of what girls _can_ do, why, look
at Jill. She's young, I know, but a first-rate scholar for her age. As
for pluck, she is as brave as a boy, and almost as smart at running,
rowing, and so on. Of course, she can't play ball--no girl can; their
arms are not made right to throw--but she can catch remarkably well.
I'll say that for her. Now, if she and Mabel--and--and--some others I
could name, are so clever and strong at the beginning, I don't see why
they shouldn't keep up and go along with us all through. I'm willing,
and will do what I can to help other fellows' sisters as I'd like to
have them help mine. And I'll punch their heads if they don't;” and Gus
subsided, assured, by a burst of applause, that his manly way of stating
the case met with general approval.

“We shall be happy to hear from our senior member if he will honor us
with a few remarks,” said Frank, with a bow to Ralph.

No one ever knew whom he would choose to personate, for he never spoke
in his own character. Now he rose slowly, put one hand in his bosom, and
fixing his eye sternly on Grif, who was doing something suspicious with
a pin, gave them a touch of Sergeant Buzfuz, from the Pickwick trial,
thinking that the debate was not likely to throw much light on the
subject under discussion. In the midst of this appeal to “Me lud and
gentlemen of the jury,” he suddenly paused, smoothed his hair down upon
his forehead, rolled up his eyes, and folding his hands, droned out Mr.
Chadband's sermon on Peace, delivered over poor Jo, and ending with the
famous lines:--

  “Oh, running stream of sparkling joy,
  To be a glorious human boy!”

Then, setting his hair erect with one comprehensive sweep, he caught up
his coat-skirts over his arm, and, assuming a parliamentary attitude,
burst into a comical medley, composed of extracts from Jefferson Brick's
and Lafayette Kettle's speeches, and Elijah Pogram's Defiance, from
“Martin Chuzzlewit.” Gazing at Gus, who was convulsed with suppressed
merriment, he thundered forth:--

“In the name of our common country, sir, in the name of that righteous
cause in which we are jined, and in the name of the star-spangled
banner, I thank you for your eloquent and categorical remarks. You, sir,
are a model of a man fresh from Natur's mould. A true-born child of
this free hemisphere; verdant as the mountains of our land; bright and
flowin' as our mineral Licks; unspiled by fashion as air our boundless
perearers. Rough you may be; so air our Barrs. Wild you may be; so air
our Buffalers. But, sir, you air a Child of Freedom, and your proud
answer to the Tyrant is, that your bright home is in the Settin' Sun.
And, sir, if any man denies this fact, though it be the British Lion
himself, I defy him. Let me have him here!”--smiting the table, and
causing the inkstand to skip--“here, upon this sacred altar! Here, upon
the ancestral ashes cemented with the glorious blood poured out like
water on the plains of Chickabiddy Lick. Alone I dare that Lion, and
tell him that Freedom's hand once twisted in his mane, he rolls a corse
before me, and the Eagles of the Great Republic scream, Ha, ha!”

By this time the boys were rolling about in fits of laughter; even sober
Frank was red and breathless, and Jack lay back, feebly squealing, as he
could laugh no more. In a moment Ralph was as meek as a Quaker, and
sat looking about him with a mildly astonished air, as if inquiring the
cause of such unseemly mirth. A knock at the door produced a lull, and
in came a maid with apples.

“Time's up; fall to and make yourselves comfortable,” was the summary
way in which the club was released from its sterner duties and permitted
to unbend its mighty mind for a social half-hour, chiefly devoted to
whist, with an Indian war-dance as a closing ceremony.




Chapter X. The Dramatic Club


While Jack was hopping gayly about on his crutches, poor Jill was
feeling the effects of her second fall, and instead of sitting up, as
she hoped to do after six weeks of rest, she was ordered to lie on a
board for two hours each day. Not an easy penance, by any means, for the
board was very hard, and she could do nothing while she lay there, as it
did not slope enough to permit her to read without great fatigue of both
eyes and hands. So the little martyr spent her first hour of trial in
sobbing, the second in singing, for just as her mother and Mrs. Minot
were deciding in despair that neither she nor they could bear it, Jill
suddenly broke out into a merry chorus she used to hear her father
sing:--

  “Faut jouer le mirliton,
  Faut jouer le mirlitir,
  Faut jouer le mirliter,
  Mir--li--ton.”

The sound of the brave little voice was very comforting to the two
mothers hovering about her, and Jack said, with a look of mingled pity
and admiration, as he brandished his crutch over the imaginary foes,--

“That's right! Sing away, and we'll play you are an Indian captive being
tormented by your enemies, and too proud to complain. I'll watch the
clock, and the minute time is up I'll rush in and rescue you.”

Jill laughed, but the fancy pleased her, and she straightened herself
out under the gay afghan, while she sang, in a plaintive voice, another
little French song her father taught her:--

  “J'avais une colombe blanche,
  J'avais un blanc petit pigeon,
  Tous deux volaient, de branche en branche,
  Jusqu'au faîte de mon dongeon:
  Mais comme un coup de vent d'automne,
  S'est abattu là, l'épervier,
  Et ma colombe si mignonne
  Ne revient plus au colombier.”

“My poor Jean had a fine voice, and always hoped the child would take
after him. It would break his heart to see her lying there trying to
cheer her pain with the songs he used to sing her to sleep with,” said
Mrs. Pecq, sadly.

“She really has a great deal of talent, and when she is able she shall
have some lessons, for music is a comfort and a pleasure, sick or well,”
 answered Mrs. Minot, who had often admired the fresh voice, with its
pretty accent.

Here Jill began the Canadian boat-song, with great vigor, as if bound to
play her part of Indian victim with spirit, and not disgrace herself by
any more crying. All knew the air, and joined in, especially Jack, who
came out strong on the “Row, brothers, row,” but ended in a squeak on a
high note, so drolly, that the rest broke down. So the hour that began
with tears ended with music and laughter, and a new pleasure to think of
for the future.

After that day Jill exerted all her fortitude, for she liked to have the
boys call her brave and admire the cheerful way in which she endured two
hours of discomfort. She found she could use her zither as it lay upon
her breast, and every day the pretty music began at a certain hour, and
all in the house soon learned to love and listen for it. Even the old
cook set open her kitchen door, saying pitifully, “Poor darlint, hear
how purty she's singin', wid the pain, on that crewel boord. It's a
little saint, she is. May her bed above be aisy!”

Frank would lift her gently on and off, with a kind word that comforted
her immensely, and gentle Ed would come and teach her new bits of music,
while the other fellows were frolicking below. Ralph added his share to
her amusement, for he asked leave to model her head in clay, and set up
his work in a corner, coming to pat, scrape, and mould whenever he had
a spare minute, amusing her by his lively chat, and showing her how to
shape birds, rabbits, and queer faces in the soft clay, when the songs
were all sung and her fingers tired of the zither.

The girls sympathized very heartily with her new trial, and brought
all manner of gifts to cheer her captivity. Merry and Molly made a
gay screen by pasting pictures on the black cambric which covered the
folding frame that stood before her to keep the draughts from her as she
lay on her board. Bright birds and flowers, figures and animals, covered
one side, and on the other they put mottoes, bits of poetry, anecdotes,
and short stories, so that Jill could lie and look or read without the
trouble of holding a book. It was not all done at once, but grew slowly,
and was a source of instruction as well as amusement to them all, as
they read carefully, that they might make good selections.

But the thing that pleased Jill most was something Jack did, for he gave
up going to school, and stayed at home nearly a fortnight after he might
have gone, all for her sake. The day the doctor said he might try it
if he would be very careful, he was in great spirits, and limped about,
looking up his books, and planning how he would astonish his mates by
the rapidity of his recovery. When he sat down to rest he remembered
Jill, who had been lying quietly behind the screen, while he talked with
his mother, busy putting fresh covers on the books.

“She is so still, I guess she is asleep,” thought Jack, peeping round
the corner.

No, not asleep, but lying with her eyes fixed on the sunny window,
beyond which the bright winter world sparkled after a fresh snow-fall.
The jingle of sleigh-bells could be heard, the laughter of boys and
girls on their way to school, all the pleasant stir of a new day of
happy work and play for the rest of the world, more lonely, quiet, and
wearisome than ever to her since her friend and fellow-prisoner was set
free and going to leave her.

Jack understood that patient, wistful look, and, without a word, went
back to his seat, staring at the fire so soberly, that his mother
presently asked: “What are you thinking of so busily, with that pucker
in your forehead?”

“I've about made up my mind that I won't go to school just yet,”
 answered Jack, slowly lifting his head, for it cost him something to
give up the long-expected pleasure.

“Why not?” and Mrs. Minot looked much surprised, till Jack pointed to
the screen, and, making a sad face to express Jill's anguish, answered
in a cheerful tone, “Well, I'm not sure that it is best. Doctor did not
want me to go, but said I might because I teased. I shall be sure to
come to grief, and then every one will say, 'I told you so,' and that is
so provoking. I'd rather keep still a week longer. Hadn't I better?”

His mother smiled and nodded as she said, sewing away at much-abused old
Caesar, as if she loved him, “Do as you think best, dear. I always want
you at home, but I don't wonder you are rather tired of it after this
long confinement.”

“I say, Jill, should I be in your way if I didn't go to school till the
first of February?” called Jack, laughing to himself at the absurdity of
the question.

“Not much!” answered a glad voice from behind the screen, and he knew
the sorrowful eyes were shining with delight, though he could not see
them.

“Well, I guess I may as well, and get quite firm on my legs before I
start. Another week or so will bring me up if I study hard, so I shall
not lose my time. I'll tackle my Latin as soon as it's ready, mother.”

Jack got a hearty kiss with the neatly covered book, and Mamma loved him
for the little sacrifice more than if he had won a prize at school. He
did get a reward, for, in five minutes from the time he decided, Jill
was singing like a bobolink, and such a medley of merry music came from
behind the screen, that it was a regular morning concert. She did not
know then that he stayed for her sake, but she found it out soon after,
and when the time came did as much for him, as we shall see.

It proved a wise decision, for the last part of January was so stormy
Jack could not have gone half the time. So, while the snow drifted, and
bitter winds raged, he sat snugly at home amusing Jill, and getting on
bravely with his lessons, for Frank took great pains with him to show
his approbation of the little kindness, and, somehow, the memory of it
seemed to make even the detested Latin easier.

With February fair weather set in, and Jack marched happily away to
school, with Jill's new mittens on his hands, Mamma nodding from the
door-step, and Frank ready to give him a lift on the new sled, if the
way proved too long or too rough.

“I shall not have time to miss him now, for we are to be very busy
getting ready for the Twenty-second. The Dramatic Club meets to-night,
and would like to come here, if they may, so I can help?” said Jill, as
Mrs. Minot came up, expecting to find her rather low in her mind.

“Certainly; and I have a basket of old finery I looked up for the club
when I was rummaging out bits of silk for your blue quilt,” answered
the good lady, who had set up a new employment to beguile the hours of
Jack's absence.

When the girls arrived, that evening, they found Mrs. Chairwoman
surrounded by a strew of theatrical properties, enjoying herself very
much. All brought such contributions as they could muster, and all were
eager about a certain tableau which was to be the gem of the whole, they
thought. Jill, of course, was not expected to take any part, but her
taste was good, so all consulted her as they showed their old silks,
laces, and flowers, asking who should be this, and who that. All wanted
to be the “Sleeping Beauty,” for that was the chosen scene, with the
slumbering court about the princess, and the prince in the act of
awakening her. Jack was to be the hero, brave in his mother's velvet
cape, red boots, and a real sword, while the other boys were to have
parts of more or less splendor.

“Mabel should be the Beauty, because her hair is so lovely,” said
Juliet, who was quite satisfied with her own part of the Queen.

“No, Merry ought to have it, as she is the prettiest, and has that
splendid veil to wear,” answered Molly, who was to be the maid of honor,
cuffing the little page, Boo.

“I don't care a bit, but my feather would be fine for the Princess, and
I don't know as Emma would like to have me lend it to any one else,”
 said Annette, waving a long white plume over her head, with girlish
delight in its grace.

“I should think the white silk dress, the veil, and the feather ought to
go together, with the scarlet crape shawl and these pearls. That would
be sweet, and just what princesses really wear,” advised Jill, who was
stringing a quantity of old Roman pearls.

“We all want to wear the nice things, so let us draw lots. Wouldn't
that be the fairest way?” asked Merry, looking like a rosy little bride,
under a great piece of illusion, which had done duty in many plays.

“The Prince is light, so the Princess must be darkish. We ought to
choose the girl who will look best, as it is a picture. I heard Miss
Delano say so, when the ladies got up the tableaux, last winter, and
every one wanted to be Cleopatra,” said Jill decidedly.

“You choose, and then if we can't agree we will draw lots,” proposed
Susy, who, being plain, knew there was little hope of her getting a
chance in any other way.

So all stood in a row, and Jill, from her sofa, surveyed them
critically, feeling that the one Jack would really prefer was not among
the number.

“I choose that one, for Juliet wants to be Queen, Molly would make
faces, and the others are too big or too light,” pronounced Jill,
pointing to Merry, who looked pleased, while Mabel's face darkened, and
Susy gave a disdainful sniff.

“You'd better draw lots, and then there will be no fuss. Ju and I
are out of the fight, but you three can try, and let this settle the
matter,” said Molly, handing Jill a long strip of paper.

All agreed to let it be so, and when the bits were ready drew in turn.
This time fate was evidently on Merry's side, and no one grumbled when
she showed the longest paper.

“Go and dress, then come back, and we'll plan how we are to be placed
before we call up the boys,” commanded Jill, who was manager, since she
could be nothing else.

The girls retired to the bedroom and began to “rig up,” as they called
it; but discontent still lurked among them, and showed itself in sharp
words, envious looks, and disobliging acts.

“Am I to have the white silk and the feather?” asked Merry, delighted
with the silvery shimmer of the one and the graceful droop of the other,
though both were rather shabby.

“You can use your own dress. I don't see why you should have
everything,” answered Susy, who was at the mirror, putting a wreath of
scarlet flowers on her red head, bound to be gay since she could not be
pretty.

“I think I'd better keep the plume, as I haven't anything else that is
nice, and I'm afraid Emma wouldn't like me to lend it,” added Annette,
who was disappointed that Mabel was not to be the Beauty.

“_I_ don't intend to act at all!” declared Mabel, beginning to braid up
her hair with a jerk, out of humor with the whole affair.

“_I_ think you are a set of cross, selfish girls to back out and keep
your nice things just because you can't _all_ have the best part.
I'm ashamed of you!” scolded Molly, standing by Merry, who was sadly
surveying her mother's old purple silk, which looked like brown in the
evening.

“I'm going to have Miss Delano's red brocade for the Queen, and I shall
ask her for the yellow-satin dress for Merry when I go to get mine, and
tell her how mean you are,” said Juliet, frowning under her gilt-paper
crown as she swept about in a red table-cloth for train till the brocade
arrived.

“Perhaps you'd like to have Mabel cut her hair off, so Merry can have
that, too?” cried Susy, with whom hair was a tender point.

“Light hair isn't wanted, so Ju will have to give hers, or you'd better
borrow Miss Bat's frisette,” added Mabel, with a scornful laugh.

“I just wish Miss Bat was here to give you girls a good shaking. Do let
someone else have a chance at the glass, you peacock!” exclaimed Molly
Loo, pushing Susy aside to arrange her own blue turban, out of which she
plucked the pink pompon to give Merry.

“Don't quarrel about me. I shall do well enough, and the scarlet shawl
will hide my ugly dress,” said Merry, from the corner, where she sat
waiting for her turn at the mirror.

As she spoke of the shawl her eye went in search of it, and something
that she saw in the other room put her own disappointment out of her
head. Jill lay there all alone, rather tired with the lively chatter,
and the effort it cost her not to repine at being shut out from the
great delight of dressing up and acting.

Her eyes were closed, her net was off, and all the pretty black curls
lay about her shoulders as one hand idly pulled them out, while the
other rested on the red shawl, as if she loved its glowing color and
soft texture. She was humming to herself the little song of the dove and
the donjon, and something in the plaintive voice, the solitary figure,
went straight to Merry's gentle heart.

“Poor Jilly can't have any of the fun,” was the first thought; then came
a second, that made Merry start and smile, and in a minute whisper
so that all but Jill could hear her, “Girls, I'm not going to be the
Princess. But I've thought of a splendid one!”

“Who?” asked the rest, staring at one another, much surprised by this
sudden announcement.

“Hush! Speak low, or you will spoil it all. Look in the Bird Room, and
tell me if that isn't a prettier Princess than I could make?”

They all looked, but no one spoke, and Merry added, with sweet
eagerness, “It is the only thing poor Jill can be, and it would make
her so happy; Jack would like it, and it would please every one, I know.
Perhaps she will never walk again, so we ought to be very good to her,
poor dear.”

The last words, whispered with a little quiver in the voice, settled
the matter better than hours of talking, for girls are tender-hearted
creatures, and not one of these but would have gladly given all the
pretty things she owned to see Jill dancing about well and strong again.
Like a ray of sunshine the kind thought touched and brightened every
face; envy, impatience, vanity, and discontent flew away like imps at
the coming of the good fairy, and with one accord they all cried,--

“It will be lovely; let us go and tell her!”

Forgetting their own adornment, out they trooped after Merry, who ran
to the sofa, saying, with a smile which was reflected in all the other
faces, “Jill, dear, we have chosen another Princess, and I know you'll
like her.”

“Who is it?” asked Jill, languidly, opening her eyes without the least
suspicion of the truth.

“I'll show you;” and taking the cherished veil from her own head, Merry
dropped it like a soft cloud over Jill; Annette added the long plume,
Susy laid the white silk dress about her, while Juliet and Mabel lifted
the scarlet shawl to spread it over the foot of the sofa, and Molly tore
the last ornament from her turban, a silver star, to shine on Jill's
breast. Then they all took hands and danced round the couch, singing, as
they laughed at her astonishment, “There she is! There she is! Princess
Jill as fine as you please!

“Do you really mean it? But can I? Is it fair? How sweet of you! Come
here and let me hug you all!” cried Jill, in a rapture at the surprise,
and the pretty way in which it was done.

The grand scene on the Twenty-second was very fine, indeed; but the
little tableau of that minute was infinitely better, though no one saw
it, as Jill tried to gather them all in her arms, for that nosegay of
girlish faces was the sweeter, because each one had sacrificed her own
little vanity to please a friend, and her joy was reflected in the eyes
that sparkled round the happy Princess.

“Oh, you dear, kind things, to think of me and give me all your best
clothes! I never shall forget it, and I'll do anything for you. Yes!
I'll write and ask Mrs. Piper to lend us her ermine cloak for the king.
See if I don't!”

Shrieks of delight hailed this noble offer, for no one had dared to
borrow the much-coveted mantle, but all agreed that the old lady would
not refuse Jill. It was astonishing how smoothly everything went
after this, for each was eager to help, admire, and suggest, in the
friendliest way; and when all were dressed, the boys found a party
of very gay ladies waiting for them round the couch, where lay the
brightest little Princess ever seen.

“Oh, Jack, I'm to act! Wasn't it dear of the girls to choose me? Don't
they look lovely? Aren't you glad?” cried Jill, as the lads stared and
the lasses blushed and smiled, well pleased at the frank admiration the
boyish faces showed.

“I guess I am! You are a set of trumps, and we'll give you a first-class
spread after the play to pay for it. Won't we, fellows?” answered
Jack, much gratified, and feeling that now he could act his own part
capitally.

“We will. It was a handsome thing to do, and we think well of you for
it. Hey, Gus?” and Frank nodded approvingly at all, though he looked
only at Annette.

“As king of this crowd, I call it to order,” said Gus, retiring to the
throne, where Juliet sat laughing in her red table-cloth.

“We'll have 'The Fair One with Golden Locks' next time; I promise you
that,” whispered Ed to Mabel, whose shining hair streamed over her blue
dress like a mantle of gold-colored silk.

“Girls are pretty nice things, aren't they? Kind of 'em to take Jill
in. Don't Molly look fine, though?” and Grif's black eyes twinkled as he
planned to pin her skirts to Merry's at the first opportunity.

“Susy looks as gay as a feather-duster. I like her. She never snubs a
fellow,” said Joe, much impressed with the splendor of the court ladies.

The boys' costumes were not yet ready, but they posed well, and all had
a merry time, ending with a game of blind-man's-buff, in which every one
caught the right person in the most singular way, and all agreed as they
went home in the moonlight that it had been an unusually jolly meeting.

So the fairy play woke the sleeping beauty that lies in all of us, and
makes us lovely when we rouse it with a kiss of unselfish good-will,
for, though the girls did not know it then, they had adorned themselves
with pearls more precious than the waxen ones they decked their Princess
in.




Chapter XI. “Down Brakes”


The greatest people have their weak points, and the best-behaved boys
now and then yield to temptation and get into trouble, as everybody
knows. Frank was considered a remarkably well-bred and proper lad, and
rather prided himself on his good reputation, for he never got into
scrapes like the other fellows. Well, hardly ever, for we must confess
that at rare intervals his besetting sin overcame his prudence, and he
proved himself an erring, human boy. Steam-engines had been his idols
for years, and they alone could lure him from the path of virtue. Once,
in trying to investigate the mechanism of a toy specimen, which had its
little boiler and ran about whistling and puffing in the most delightful
way, he nearly set the house afire by the sparks that dropped on the
straw carpet. Another time, in trying experiments with the kitchen
tea-kettle, he blew himself up, and the scars of that explosion he still
carried on his hands.

He was long past such childish amusements now, but his favorite haunt
was the engine-house of the new railroad, where he observed the habits
of his pets with never-failing interest, and cultivated the good-will
of stokers and brakemen till they allowed him many liberties, and were
rather flattered by the admiration expressed for their iron horses by a
young gentleman who liked them better even than his Greek and Latin.

There was not much business doing on this road as yet, and the two
cars of the passenger-trains were often nearly empty, though full
freight-trains rolled from the factory to the main road, of which this
was only a branch. So things went on in a leisurely manner, which gave
Frank many opportunities of pursuing his favorite pastime. He soon knew
all about No. 11, his pet engine, and had several rides on it with Bill,
the engineer, so that he felt at home there, and privately resolved that
when he was a rich man he would have a road of his own, and run trains
as often as he liked.

Gus took less interest than his friend in the study of steam, but
usually accompanied him when he went over after school to disport
himself in the engine-house, interview the stoker, or see if there was
anything new in the way of brakes.

One afternoon they found No. 11 on the side-track, puffing away as if
enjoying a quiet smoke before starting. No cars were attached, and no
driver was to be seen, for Bill was off with the other men behind the
station-house, helping the expressman, whose horse had backed down a
bank and upset the wagon.

“Good chance for a look at the old lady,” said Frank, speaking of the
engine as Bill did, and jumping aboard with great satisfaction, followed
by Gus.

“I'd give ten dollars if I could run her up to the bend and back,” he
added, fondly touching the bright brass knobs and glancing at the fire
with a critical eye.

“You couldn't do it alone,” answered Gus, sitting down on the grimy
little perch, willing to indulge his mate's amiable weakness.

“Give me leave to try? Steam is up, and I could do it as easy as not;”
 and Frank put his hand on the throttle-valve, as if daring Gus to give
the word.

“Fire up and make her hum!” laughed Gus, quoting Bill's frequent order
to his mate, but with no idea of being obeyed.

“All right; I'll just roll her up to the switch and back again.
I've often done it with Bill;” and Frank cautiously opened the
throttle-valve, threw back the lever, and the great thing moved with a
throb and a puff.

“Steady, old fellow, or you'll come to grief. Here, don't open that!”
 shouted Gus, for just at that moment Joe appeared at the switch, looking
ready for mischief.

“Wish he would; no train for twenty minutes, and we could run up to
the bend as well as not,” said Frank, getting excited with the sense of
power, as the monster obeyed his hand so entirely that it was impossible
to resist prolonging the delight.

“By George, he has! Stop her! Back her! Hold on, Frank!” cried Gus, as
Joe, only catching the words “Open that!” obeyed, without the least idea
that they would dare to leave the siding.

But they did, for Frank rather lost his head for a minute, and out upon
the main track rolled No. 11 as quietly as a well-trained horse taking a
familiar road.

“Now you've done it! I'll give you a good thrashing when I get back!”
 roared Gus, shaking his fist at Joe, who stood staring, half-pleased,
half-scared, at what he had done.

“Are you really going to try it?” asked Gus, as they glided on with
increasing speed, and he, too, felt the charm of such a novel adventure,
though the consequences bid fair to be serious.

“Yes, I am,” answered Frank, with the grim look he always wore when his
strong will got the upper hand. “Bill will give it to us, any way, so we
may as well have our fun out. If you are afraid, I'll slow down and you
can jump off,” and his brown eyes sparkled with the double delight of
getting his heart's desire and astonishing his friend at the same time
by his skill and coolness.

“Go ahead. I'll jump when you do;” and Gus calmly sat down again,
bound in honor to stand by his mate till the smash came, though rather
dismayed at the audacity of the prank.

“Don't you call this just splendid?” exclaimed Frank, as they rolled
along over the crossing, past the bridge, toward the curve, a mile from
the station.

“Not bad. They are yelling like mad after us. Better go back, if you
can,” said Gus, who was anxiously peering out, and, in spite of his
efforts to seem at ease, not enjoying the trip a particle.

“Let them yell. I started to go to the curve, and I'll do it if it costs
me a hundred dollars. No danger; there's no train under twenty minutes,
I tell you,” and Frank pulled out his watch. But the sun was in his
eyes, and he did not see clearly, or he would have discovered that it
was later than he thought.

On they went, and were just rounding the bend when a shrill wh

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