The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Pansy Magazine, May 1886, by Various This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Pansy Magazine, May 1886 Author: Various Editor: Pansy Isabella Alden Release Date: April 16, 2014 [EBook #45407] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PANSY MAGAZINE, MAY 1886 *** Produced by Emmy, Juliet Sutherland and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net cover THE PANSY EDITED BY "PANSY" MRS. G. R. ALDEN. Transcriber's Note: Many of the advertising images are linked to larger copies to enable the reading of the fine print and details. CANDY! Send $1, $2, $3, or $5 for retail box by Express of the best Candies in America, put up in elegant boxes, and strictly pure. 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Y.—By Mail 10c. Beware of Imitations, some of which are Dangerous. WE WANT AN AGENT In every town in the U. S. to represent our publications. Liberal commissions. It will pay you. Address for particulars, D. LOTHROP & CO., BOSTON. FOR 10 CENTS. The St. Louis Magazine, edited by Alexander N. de Menil, now in its fifteenth year, is brilliantly illustrated, purely Western in make-up, replete with stories, poems, timely reading and humor. Sample copy and a set of gold-colored picture cards sent for ten cents. Address T. J. GILMORE, 213 North Eighth Street, St. Louis. The Pansy and St. Louis Magazine sent one year for $1.75. GOOD NEWS TO LADIES. Greatest inducements ever offered. Now's your time to get up orders for our celebrated Teas and Coffees and secure a beautiful Gold Band or Moss Rose China Tea Set, or Handsome Decorated Gold Band Moss Rose Dinner Set, or Gold Band Moss Decorated Toilet Set. For full particulars address THE GREAT AMERICAN TEA CO., P. O. 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The thumb screw is made long, to permit the "Assistant" to be attached to tables of different thicknesses. Each "Assistant" is nicely packed in a strong paper box. Price 35 cents. D. LOTHROP & CO., Boston. SAMPLE COPIES FREE. A sample copy of either Babyland for Babies; Our Little Men and Women for Youngest Readers; The Pansy for Boys and girls, will be mailed to any one who will send for it, mentioning this periodical. Address D. Lothrop & Co., Boston. Volume 13, Number 26. Copyright, 1886, by D. Lothrop & Co. May 1, 1886. THE PANSY. [201] chickens in shed HOWARD'S HENS. "DILIGENT IN BUSINESS." IF there ever was a boy who needed to turn over a new leaf and write at the top as a motto, "Diligent in business," that boy was Howard Grinnell. If his mother asked him to do anything, he always replied, "I will in a minute." He said this so often that I wonder he was not called "in a minute" by everybody. It would have been a very appropriate name. Howard had the charge of the hens, at least that was the way they put it, but I think that Mrs. Grinnell was the one upon whom the burden rested. Every morning after breakfast she found it necessary to ask, "Howard, have you fed the hens?" "Not yet, but I am going to." "Well, go right away, or you will forget it." "No, I will not forget, I am going in a minute; I just want to look at the weather report." Half an hour later Howard appears from the direction of the east meadow with his hands full of meadow lilies which he presents to his mother, saying: "The very first! Put them in the antique vase, please. And set it under the mantle, will you, mamma?" "Thank you, dear, they are beautiful! I will arrange them at once." Then as she turned away, "The hens?" "O, I forgot! I'll go now." "Seems to me," said Mr. Grinnell one morning, "that you have carried that on your shoulders about long enough. Howard should attend to his business without prompting. It did very well at first, but the time has come when he must be held responsible for the prompt discharge of the duty, else take away the privilege. Howard!" "Sir?" responded the boy, turning back on his way to the barn. "After this you are not to be reminded of your work, and if the hens are not cared for before breakfast, I will do it myself, and you will not have any benefit from the eggs, either in money or as food; it will be some little extra trouble for your mother, but you will be provided with food prepared without eggs unless you are faithful to your trust." "Yes, sir." And Howard went on his way. I do not think he made any resolutions; he thought it would be easy [202] I enough to attend to the duty as required, and gave himself up to the examination of a weed which had sprung up in the yard and which was a new one to him. The next morning he remembered the hens, but the second morning though remembering he thought of something he wished to hunt up in the cyclopædia, and stopped in the library until the breakfast bell rang. For breakfast there was ham and eggs, and corn muffins. Howard was a little surprised when his father passed him a plate with only a potato on it. He was about to remonstrate, when he caught the significant look on his mother's face, and remembered the compact. He wisely made the best of it and decided that he would try a bowl of bread and milk. After breakfast Mr. Grinnell fed the hens, and at night he brought in the eggs, saying to his wife: "I would like some boiled eggs for supper; as Bridget is away, we can get along very well with bread and butter and eggs. Didn't I see you making a sponge cake this morning?" "Yes." Then they both laughed, but Mr. Grinnell sobered immediately and said: "It is rather hard on the boy when he is so fond of eggs, but it is quite time he had a lesson. His dilatory habits will be a hindrance to his success as long as he lives unless he is cured." Now, privately, I do not believe that Mr. or Mrs. Grinnell enjoyed their supper of boiled eggs and sponge cake. I know the mother would much rather have eaten dry bread and given the boy her supper, but she and her husband chatted over the meal as if everything were quite as usual. Howard ate his bread and butter, missing the canned fruit which Mrs. Grinnell remarked she thought they could do without as they had the extra indulgence of boiled eggs. Now I do not suppose any of you boys are surprised to hear that Howard, after asking to be excused some time before his father and mother were through with their supper, banged the door slightly as he left the room. However, the next morning the hens received attention at the proper time. And so far as that one duty was concerned he did not need another lesson, but he was not yet made over into the prompt boy which his father desired him to be. That woodbox! O, boys! Do you shrug your shoulders and say, "I don't blame him?" The woodbox is a dread to boys, I well know. Howard Grinnell did not particularly dislike the work of filling the box, but he was never quite ready to do it. He was always putting it off until he had finished reading the morning paper, or been the rounds of the garden and meadows to see if there were any new flowers out or any new birds' nests, and at length the school bell would ring and he would go off to school having forgotten that there was such a thing in the wide world as a woodbox. One morning Mrs. Grinnell said, "Howard, Bridget will need a box full of wood to-day; she has a large ironing." "Yes, ma'am," said Howard dreamily from the depths of an arm-chair where he had established himself with a new orchid and a botany. Mrs. Grinnell was busy, and gave the matter no farther attention until two hours later Bridget announced that the wood was out. "Dear me!" said Mrs. Grinnell, "that boy went off without filling the box, after all!" After a moment's thought she said: "Well, Bridget, Howard cannot expect his clothes to be ironed with cold irons. You may hang all his things upon the bars without ironing, and he will have to wear them so. Perhaps you and I can get wood enough for the rest." Bridget thought it a good joke to play upon Master Howard, and her good nature returned in view of the sport she would have at the boy's expense. You may imagine that Howard did not enjoy wearing his rough-dried garments, but he was forced to do so. And as he was a somewhat fastidious boy, it was quite a trial to go to school in that plight. It was by such lessons as this that Mr. and Mrs. Grinnell sought to cure Howard of his fault; and one day when Mrs. Grinnell was looking over same mottoes, she discovered one handsomely illuminated which struck her as being just the one for her son's room. It was this: "Diligent in business, serving the Lord!" Faye Huntington. HOW IT BECAME POSSIBLE. "THAT is impossible!" and Mrs. Frazee turned away to hide the tears that were ready to fall. The doctor had just said, "I must tell you plainly, she has no chance for life here; she can never get through the spring months in this stifled air. If you take her into the country at once I have not the slightest doubt of complete recovery; she is sure to rally with fresh air and country living. She ought to go at once." And to this Mrs. Frazee had made answer, "It is impossible!" and indeed it did seem impossible. Where was the money to come from for a journey? Annie Frazee had been ill all winter; first it was the measles, then later the whooping-cough. How that cough did hang on! Day after day the child seemed to grow weaker, though they kept hoping for improvement. They were too [203] T cottage with flower pots on sill outside ANNIE'S WINDOW. poor to have constant medical attendance, but a kind-hearted physician who had been consulted when the cough had proved too obstinate to yield to the mother's nursing, had fallen into the habit of dropping in for a moment whenever he was in the neighborhood. It was one of those bright mornings of early spring. Doctor Emmons had been called to prescribe for Mrs. Murphy's baby. Mrs. Murphy lived away up at the top of the tall tenement house of which the Frazees occupied two rooms on the second floor. The doctor stopped for a few moments on his way down, and his quick professional eye noted immediately the change in Annie since his last call, and he made the plain statement which so distressed the poor mother. "If it could be," she said over and over when Doctor Emmons had gone on his busy way, "but it is impossible!" Suddenly as she was going sadly about taking up the work she must do, and repeating the sorrowful sentence, "It is impossible!" she seemed to hear a voice saying, "The things which are impossible with men, are possible with God." The voice seemed far away, and though Mrs. Frazee was startled she soon realized that it was a memory of words she had read long ago, and as she reflected she knew that they were the words of Christ himself. Away back in her girlhood Mrs. Frazee had professed to be a follower of Jesus. The good seed sown in her heart in the Sunday-school seemed to promise to bring forth fruit; but presently the pleasures of life, and afterwards the cares, crowded in upon her Christian life, until it seemed to have withered away. Dropping Christian duties one by one, putting away the privileges of a servant of God, she had for a long time been living away from Christ, struggling under her sorrows without aid from above. And that morning along with the memory of the words, "With God all things are possible," came the thought, "But this is not for me! I cannot claim anything from God; I have so long wandered from Christ, so long denied my Master that I have no right to come in his name asking for help!" Then after a little while thoughts of the prodigal came to her, and then by and by, stepping softly so as not to disturb Annie who had fallen into a light sleep, and saying in a whisper so faint that only the ear of the Infinite could hear, "I will arise and go to my Father," she passed into the other room, and, closing the door, knelt down alone with God to confess her sin and to plead for forgiveness. When did Christ ever turn away from a weary, burdened and repentant soul? When Mrs. Frazee came back to the room where Annie was still sleeping, and looked into the pale face, she murmured, "If it be thy will, dear Father, spare my child." The possibility of bringing about a removal of her darling into the country seemed as remote as ever. Yet now and then there came the thought, "With God all things are possible!" In a pleasant home in the upper part of the city a cheerful group sat at breakfast. "If I go home with uncle Ben, I have ever so much to do to-day," said Ethel Miller, a bright young girl of fifteen. "You girls always have so much to do," replied her brother John, two years younger. "I could get ready to go into the country for a few days in five minutes, but I suppose you will have to spend half a day deciding what to take, and the other half in packing two or three trunks!" he added with a smile. "You are quite mistaken; I am not going to take even one trunk. But I have some calls to make." "Calls!" said uncle Ben, arching his eyebrows. "I supposed that as you were a schoolgirl yet, you were exempt from that form of fashionable nonsense." "Oh! I do not mean fashionable calls," replied Ethel; "but you see I am on the lookout committee, and Mr. Myers told me yesterday that the Frazee girl who has been sick all winter seems to be failing, and I ought to go there before I go away. And there are one or two more on my list who live down that way, so I may as well call on them all while I am about it." "What will you do this morning, Benjamin?" asked Mr. William Miller, Ethel's father. "If Ethel will take me along, I think I will go with her, and on the way back I will drop in at the store and go to lunch [204] [205] S with you. And this afternoon I propose to give myself over to John." This arrangement gave general satisfaction, only Mrs. Miller suggested that she, being left out of the plans, should claim the evening for herself. Several things happened to delay Ethel and uncle Ben, so that it was quite a little after noon when they reached the home of the Frazees. Ethel in her new spring suit, with her dainty ways and bright face, was a pleasant sight to the invalid, and uncle Ben seemed to Mrs. Frazee to bring in a whiff of that country air which she had been longing for. It all came about naturally enough. Ethel's inquiries brought out the information that Annie was not gaining and that the doctor had recommended country air. And Mrs. Frazee said, "We have not had time to plan yet, but I hope a way will be opened for her to go, though it seems just now to be impossible." Uncle Ben listened, meantime taking in the barenness of the room as to its furnishings. Presently he asked a few questions, not in any sense obtrusive, but such as a sympathetic stranger might ask if he knew how, and uncle Ben did know how. Then he said, turning to Ethel: "Suppose we take your friend here home with us? There's room enough out there, and your aunt would not let her want for care." Ethel's eyes beamed. "That would be just the thing! May we take her, Mrs. Frazee?" Then Ethel explained that uncle Ben lived about forty miles away in the country, that she was going home with him for a week, and that Annie would be a very welcome guest if she could go. "You see," said Mr. Benjamin Miller, "if it agrees with her out there she can stay on after Ethel comes back to school; Ethel being with her for the first few days will help her to get used to the place." Mrs. Frazee was too much overcome to express her joy at this unexpected turn of affairs. She tried to say it was too much, that they were strangers to him, and could not expect such kindness; but uncle Ben said: "It's all right! This seems to be the next bit of work that the Lord has set for me to do, and it is not an unpleasant task, I'm thinking. Someway he gives me pleasant things to do, mostly!" So it was settled, and a week later Mrs. Frazee's heart was cheered by a letter from Annie herself. She wrote: My Dear Mamma: I am getting stronger every day. It is lovely here. The house is the prettiest I ever saw, and my room is just as cunning as it can be. A pair of birds are building a nest under the eaves close to my window. Mrs. Miller brought up some plants in pots for my window. Before Miss Ethel went away she went down the river to where the pussy willows grow and brought me some catkins. Mr. Miller is going to take me out for a ride this afternoon. I have all the milk I can drink, and I do not cough at all nights. I wiped the dishes for Mrs. Miller this morning. So you may know I am better. Annie. Mrs. Frazee dropped the letter in her lap, and clasping her hands said, "My God, I thank thee!" Presently Doctor Emmons tapped at the door, and entering, looked about in surprise. "What have you done with my patient?" "O doctor! didn't you know? She has gone into the country and I have a letter here from her. She is getting well!" "Of course she is! But how did it happen?" And then Mrs. Frazee had to tell the story to the wondering doctor. As she ended she added, "And I have found out that 'all things are possible with God.'" Faye Huntington. OME little folks are apt so say, When asked their task to touch, "I'll put it off, at least, to-day; It cannot matter much." Time is always on the wing; You cannot stop its flight; Then do at once your little tasks; You'll happier be at night. But little duties still put off Will end in "Never done;" And "By-and-by is time enough" Has ruined many a one.—Well Spring. I SIX O'CLOCK IN THE EVENING. God is a Spirit: and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth. One soweth and another reapeth. Jesus saith unto him, Go thy way, thy son liveth. Wilt thou be made whole? Jesus said unto them, I am the bread of life. N came the children, one evening when they were to have a story, and Rollo laid the verses in Grandma Burton's lap. The room looked very pretty that evening. There was a bright coal fire burning in the grate, which lighted everything beautifully, and Grandma herself was the prettiest object in it. So the children thought, anyway. "Yes," she said, "I know a story about that last one. It happened a great many years ago, as the most of my stories do. Are you all ready?" The hassock and chairs were by this time fixed in their accustomed places, and the silence kept by all the children showed that they were ready for the story, without Harold's announcement to that effect. So Grandma began: "It was one day in November, just before Thanksgiving, when I was about twelve years old, that my brother Fred and I received a note from a lady who lived out in the country a mile or two, which said that she wanted us to come and spend Thanksgiving with her. We were both very fond of Mrs. Watson, and were delighted when father said we might go. "So that afternoon he harnessed Old Gray to the sleigh, and took us around to Mrs. Watson's. It was quite cold, I remember, and father said he guessed there would be a big snowstorm in the night. The house we were going to was a little low one, that was old-fashioned even then, and with only one story. "Mrs. Watson came to the gate to meet us, and showed us into her warm kitchen, while father said good-by, and hurried home. We had some nice fresh milk and bread for supper, and went to bed early. I was very tired, and didn't waken till I heard the big clock strike six, so I hurried up, and dressed very fast, all the time wondering what made the room so dark. I couldn't see out of doors, because of the curtain at the little window. "When I came into the other room, I saw my brother up on a chair at the window, looking over what seemed to be a white sheet tacked to it, and Mrs. Watson watching him. 'You can't see anything but snow,' he said presently, 'for the little hill hides the road.' 'Why, what is the matter?' I asked, surprising them so that Fred nearly fell off his chair. And how frightened I was when I found the snow had drifted against the house, so that we could neither see out of the windows, nor get out of the door! "My!" said Sarah. "Why, we never see so much snow as that here, Grandma." "I know, dear," said Grandma Burton, "but where I lived when I was a little girl was much farther North than we are now, you know, and I remember that in the winters we often used to go out sleighriding, and ride over the tops of the fences, not being able to see them at all." "What fun! Now go on, Grandma." "Well, we tried to make a way through the drift, but didn't succeed. My brother said he thought he could shovel a path, but Mrs. Watson told him she had lent her big shovel to Mr. Smith the day before, while his was getting mended, and had only a little one for the fire. So all there was to do was to get breakfast, and wait for some one to come and dig as out of the drift, or rather, dig the drift away from us. "We did pretty well for breakfast, only we hadn't any bread. 'I was out of flour,' said Mrs. Watson, 'before I knew it, and Mr. Jones was to bring me another barrel this morning, but I don't suppose he will come, now that there is so much snow.' The turkey was there in the pantry, so were the cranberries; Mrs. Watson let Fred and me help cook them for dinner, and we tried to make the best of our condition, and think as little as possible of the great wall of snow outside the house. But it was hard work; every little while the tears would come into my eyes, to think of my dear father and mother at home, not knowing how we were snowed up in the little red farmhouse. "A little while after breakfast we all sat down to have family worship, and Mrs. Watson, taking down her big old Bible, read part of the sixth chapter of John. I remember it now, just as well as I did years ago, how she read about Jesus' feeding that great multitude, when they had nothing to eat. And then how he told his disciples afterward what was the best bread to have, and said, 'I am the bread of life: he that cometh to me shall never hunger; and he that believeth on me shall never thirst.' "'Children,' said Mrs. Watson, when she had finished reading, 'Jesus can give us the bread we eat, and the bread of life, just as well now as he could then. Let us ask him for the two kinds.' And then we knelt down, and she prayed very earnestly that God would not only give us the bread that we needed then to eat, but would also give us the blessed bread of life. And I am sure Fred and I prayed too. [206] [207] "The dinner was a pretty good one, with the turkey and all, but we missed the bread again. It is wonderful how much you do need that, no matter what else you have. I had often thought, before that Thanksgiving, that I could get along just as well without bread as with it, if I had plenty of other things, but I saw, in just that one day, how necessary it was. "We had a pretty lonely afternoon. Nearly always, when we went to see Mrs. Watson, we had a very good time, but with that great wall of snow outside the house, and the weather growing colder and colder, so that it couldn't melt, it was impossible to be very happy, no matter how much we tried. It seemed awful to go to bed feeling so badly, though I knew that father would be after us in the morning. Every little while, all the afternoon, I would flatten my nose against the window, and after looking at the snow a minute, I would shut my eyes tight, and pray to God that he would have somebody come and help us soon. And I really thought he would answer. "When supper time came, and the clock struck six, we were all real glad, I guess, for we hadn't eaten so very much for dinner, and were pretty hungry; besides, supper would give us something to do. But there wasn't much of it—no bread, and no milk—only a little cold turkey for each of us, for the coal was all gone, and we couldn't cook anything. The room was growing cold. I put mother's shawl around me, and Fred put on his overcoat, while Mrs. Watson got her shawl too. We had to light a candle long before supper time, it got dark so early, when only a little bit of light could come in at the windows. "So there we sat, in the cold kitchen. Once or twice Mrs. Watson suggested that my brother and I should go to bed, but he was sure he didn't want to—neither did I. So she got out an old game of checkers, and we played awhile, till we grew sleepy in spite of ourselves, and I dropped off into dreamland with my head on Mrs. Watson's lap, and Fred with his on the table. I didn't waken till the clock struck ten, and then I sat up and looked about me in surprise. I could hardly remember where I was, when suddenly I heard a dull thud, which made all of us jump. "We opened the front door wide. Just as we did so, a great mass of snow came into our faces, soon a snow-shovel appeared, and next—the face of my father! O, how glad we were! He stepped into the room, and threw his arms about Fred and me, covering us with a coating of snow. Two or three more men came in then, one of them with a basket which had been sent by my mother, and as Mrs. Watson took off the cover, I spied a huge piece of bread and butter, and contented myself with that. You can't think how good it was to have some bread again! It seemed a year since I had had any! "That's about all there is to tell, except that in the morning father drove Fred and me home in the sleigh, just as we had come. The reason the verse made me think of that Thanksgiving was that I had never before realized how valuable and necessary bread was, and why Jesus called himself 'the bread of life.' "My brother told me, a great many years later, that he believed that day was the first time he ever really made up his mind to come to the 'Bread of life,' and never hunger again." "Why didn't they come sooner?" asked Rollo. "They didn't know Mrs. Watson's house was snowed up so. It was out in the country, you know, and the snow hadn't drifted so badly in the town. But they missed us from meeting in the morning, and in the afternoon a man came into town, and told them he had seen the house with the wall of snow all around it. So they got their shovels, and came right out to help us." "I think it was dreadful!" said Marion. "But God was taking care of us, dearie," said Grandma, "and he heard and answered our prayers." Paranete. [208] woman with baby on her shoulder OUR BABY. Volume 13, Number 27. Copyright, 1886, by D. Lothrop & Co. May 8, 1886. THE PANSY. [209] Girl picking flowers GOING A-MAYING. REACHING OUT. (A further Account of Nettie Decker and her Friends.) By Pansy. CHAPTER VII. "YOU see," said Jerry, as Nettie came, protesting as she walked that she could stay but a few minutes, because there was Norm's collar, and she had four nice apples out of which she was going to make some splendid apple dumplings for dinner, "you see we must contrive something to keep a young fellow like Norm busy, if we are going to hold him after he is caught. It doesn't do to catch a fish and leave him on the edge of the bank near enough to flounce himself back into the water. Norm ought to be set to work to help along the plans, and kept so busy that he wouldn't have time to get tired of them." "But how could that be done?" Nettie said in wondering tones, which nevertheless had a note of admiration in them. Jerry went so deeply into things, it almost took her breath away to follow him. "Just so; that's the problem which ought to be thought out. I can think of things enough; but the room, and the tools to begin with, are the trouble." "What have you thought of? What would you do if you could?" "O my!" said Jerry, with a little laugh; "don't ask me that question, or your folks will have no apple dumplings to-day. I don't believe there is any end to the things which I would do if I could. But the first beginnings of them are like this: suppose we had a few dollars capital, and a room." "You might as well suppose we had a palace, and a million dollars," said Nettie, with a long-drawn sigh. "No, because I don't expect either of those things; but I do mean to have a room and a few dollars in capital for this thing some day; only, you see, I don't want to wait for them." "Well, go on; what then?" "Why, then we would start an eating-house, you and I, on a little bit of a scale, you know. We would have bread [210] Y with some kind of meat between, and coffee, in cold weather, and lemonade in hot, and a few apples, and now and then some nuts, and a good deal of gingerbread—soft, like what auntie Smith makes—and some ginger-snaps like those Mrs. Dix sent us from the country, and, well, you know the names of things better than I do. Real good things, I mean, but which don't cost much. Such as you, and Sarah Ann, and a good many bright girls learn how to make, without using a great deal of money. Those things are all rather cheap, which I have mentioned, because we have them at our house quite often, and the Smiths are poor, you know. But they are made so nice that they are just capital. Well, I would have them for sale, just as cheap as could possibly be afforded; a great deal cheaper than beer, or cigars, and I would have the room bright and cheery; warm in winter, and as cool as I could make it in summer; then I would have slips of paper scattered about the town, inviting young folks to come in and get a lunch; then when they came, I would have picture papers if I could, for them to look at, and games to play, real nice jolly games, and some kind of music going on now and then. I'd run opposition to that old grocery around the corner from Crossman's, with its fiddle and its whiskey. That's the beginning of what I would do. Just what I told you about, that first night we talked it over. The fellows, lots of them, have nowhere to go; it keeps growing in my mind, the need for doing something of the sort. I never pass that mean grocery without thinking of it." You should have seen Nettie's eyes! The little touch of discouragement was gone out of them, and they were full of intense thought. "I can see," she said at last, "just how splendid it might grow to be. But what did you mean about Norm? there isn't any work for him in such a plan. At least, I mean, not until he was interested to help for the sake of others." "Yes, there is, plenty of business for him. Don't you see? I would have this room open evenings, after the work was done, and I would have Norm head manager. He should wait on customers, and keep accounts. When the thing got going he would be as busy as a bee; and he is just the sort of fellow to do that kind of thing well, and like it too," he added. "O Jerry," said Nettie, and her hands were clasped so closely that the blood flowed back into her wrists, "was there ever a nicer thought than that in the world! I know it would succeed; and Norm would like it so much. Norm likes to do things for others, if he only had the chance." "I know it; and he likes to do things in a business way, and keep everything straight. Oh! he would be just the one. If we only had a room, there is nothing to hinder our beginning in a very small way. Those chickens are growing as fast as they can, and by Thanksgiving there will be a couple of them ready to broil; then the little old grandmothers did so well." "I know it; who would have supposed that almost four dollars could be made out of some daisy grandmothers! Miss Sherrill gave me one dollar and ninety-five cents which she said was just half of what they had earned. I do think it was so nice in her to give us that chance! She couldn't have known how much we wanted the money. Jerry, why couldn't we begin, just with that? It would start us, and then if the things sold, why, the money from them would keep us started until we found a way to earn more. Why can't we?" "Room," said Jerry, with commendable brevity. "Why, we have a room; there's the front one that we just put in such nice order. Why not? It is large enough for now, and maybe when our business grew we could get another one somehow." Jerry stopped fitting the toe of his boot to a hole which he had made in the ground, and looked at the eager young woman of business before him. "Do you mean your mother would let us have the room, and the chance in the kitchen, to go into such business?" "Mother would do anything," said Nettie emphatically, "anything in the world which might possibly keep Norm in the house evenings; you don't know how dreadfully she feels about Norm. She thinks father," and there Nettie stopped. How could a daughter put it into words that her mother was afraid her father would lead his son astray? "I know," said Jerry. "See here, Nettie, what is the matter with your father? I never saw him look so still, and—well, queer, in some way. Mr. Smith says he doesn't think he is drinking a drop; but he looks unlike himself, somehow, and I can't decide how." "I don't know," said Nettie, in a low voice. "We don't know what to think of him. He hasn't been so long without drinking, mother says, in four years. But he doesn't act right; or, I mean, natural. He isn't cross, as drinking beer makes him, but he isn't pleasant, as he was for a day or two. He is real sober; hardly speaks at all, nor notices the things I make; and I try just as hard to please him! He eats everything, but he does it as though he didn't know he was eating. Mother thinks he is in some trouble, but she can't tell what. He can't be afraid of losing his place—because mother says he was threatened that two or three times when he was drinking so hard, and he didn't seem to mind it at all; and why should he be discharged now, when he works hard every day? Last Saturday night he brought home more money than he has in years. Mother cried when she saw what there was, but she had debts to pay, so we didn't get much start out of it after all. Then we spend a good deal in coffee; we have it three times a day, hot and strong; I can see father seems to need it; and I have heard that it helped men who were trying not to drink. When I told mother that, she said he should have it if she had to beg for it on her knees. But I don't know what is the matter with father now. Sometimes mother is afraid there is a disease coming on him such as men have who drink; she says he doesn't sleep very well nights, and he groans some, when he is asleep. Mother tries hard," said Nettie, in a closing burst of confidence, "and she [211] man working on window box looking back at woman and baby THE BURT COTTAGE. does have such a hard time! If we could only save Norm for her." "I'll tell you who your mother looks like, or would look like if she were dressed up, you know. Did you ever see Mrs. Burt?" "The woman who lives in the cottage where the vines climb all around the front, and who has birds, and a baby? I saw her yesterday. You don't think mother looks like her!" "She would," said Jerry, positively, "if she had on a pink and white dress and a white fold about her neck. I passed there last night, while Mrs. Burt was sitting out by that window garden of hers, with her baby in her arms; Mr. Burt sat on one of the steps, and they were talking and laughing together. I could not help noticing how much like your mother she looked when she turned her side face. Oh! she is younger, of course; she looks almost as though she might be your mother's daughter. I was thinking what fun it would be if she were, and we could go and visit her, and get her to help us about all sorts of things. Mr. Burt knows how to do every kind of work about building a house, or fixing up a room." "He is a nice man, isn't he?" "Why, yes, nice enough; he is steady and works hard. Mr. Smith thinks he is quite a pattern; he has bought that little house where he lives, and fixed it all up with vines and things; but I should like him better if he didn't puff tobacco smoke into his wife's face when he talked with her. He doesn't begin to be so good a workman as your father, nor to know so much in a hundred ways. I think your father is a very nice-looking man when he is dressed up. He looks smart, and he is smart. Mr. Smith says there isn't a man in town who can do the sort of work that he can at the shop, and that he could get very high wages and be promoted and all that, if"— Jerry stopped suddenly, and Nettie finished the sentence with a sigh. She too had passed the Burt cottage and admired its beauty and neatness. To think that Mr. Burt owned it, and was a younger man by fifteen years at least than her father—and was not so good a workman! then see how well he dressed his wife; and little Bobby Burt looked as neat and pretty in Sunday-school as the best of them. It was very hard that there must be such a difference in homes. If she could only live in a house like the Burt cottage, and have things nice about her as they did, and have her father and mother sit together and talk, as Mr. and Mrs. Burt did, she should be perfectly happy, Nettie told herself. Then she sprang up from the log and declared that she must not waste another minute of time; but that Jerry's plan was the best one she had ever heard, and she believed they could begin it. With this thought still in mind, after the dinner dishes were carefully cleared away, and her mother, returned from the day's ironing, had been treated to a piece of the apple dumpling warmed over for her, and had said it was as nice a bit as she ever tasted, Nettie began on the subject which had been in her thoughts all day: "What would you think of us young folks going into business?" "Going into business!" "Yes'm. Jerry and Norm and me. Jerry has a plan; he has been telling me about it this morning. It is nice if we can only carry it out; and I shouldn't wonder if we could. That is, if you think well of it." "I begin to think there isn't much that you and Jerry can't do, with Norm, or with anybody else, if you try; and you both appear to be ready to try to do all you can for everybody." Mrs. Decker's tone was so hearty and pleased, that you would not have known her for the same woman who looked forward dismally but a few weeks ago to Nettie's home-coming. Her heart had so warmed to the girl in her efforts for father and brother, that she was almost ready to agree to anything which she could have to propose. So Nettie, well pleased with this beginning, unfolded with great clearness and detail, Jerry's wonderful plan for not only catching Norm, but setting him up in business. Mrs. Decker listened, and questioned and cross-questioned, sewing swiftly the while on Norm's jacket which had been torn, and which was being skilfully darned in view of the evening to be spent at the parsonage. "Well," she said at last, "it looks wild to me, I own; I should as soon try to fly, as of making anything like that work in [212] [213]