[.]

A BRAVE GIRL.

ST. NICHOLAS.

VOL. V. JUNE, 1878. No. 8.

[Copyright, 1878, by Scribner & Co.]

[Transcriber's Note: The Original had no Table of Contents;
I have added one for ease of navigation.
The main Title is the Link.]

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

A [TRIUMPH].

BY CELIA THAXTER.

Little Roger up the long slope rushing
Through the rustling corn,
Showers of dewdrops from the broad leaves brushing
In the early morn,
At his sturdy little shoulder bearing
For a banner gay,
Stem of fir with one long shaving flaring
In the wind away!
Up he goes, the summer sunshine flushing
O'er him in his race,
Sweeter dawn of rosy childhood blushing
On his radiant face.
If he can but set his standard glorious
On the hill-top low,
Ere the sun climbs the clear sky victorious,
All the world aglow!
So he presses on with childish ardor,
Almost at the top!
Hasten, Roger! Does the way grow harder?
Wherefore do you stop?
From below the corn-stalks tall and slender
Comes a plaintive cry—
Turns he for an instant from the splendor
Of the crimson sky,
Wavers, then goes flying toward the hollow,
Calling loud and clear:
"Coming, Jenny! Oh, why did you follow?
Don't you cry, my dear!"
Small Janet sits weeping 'mid the daisies;[Page 514]
"Little sister sweet,
Must you follow Roger?" Then he raises
Baby on her feet,
Guides her tiny steps with kindness tender,
Cheerfully and gay,
All his courage and his strength would lend her
Up the uneven way,
Till they front the blazing East together;
But the sun has rolled
Up the sky in the still Summer weather,
Flooding them with gold.
All forgotten is the boy's ambition,
Low the standard lies,
Still they stand, and gaze—a sweeter vision
Ne'er met mortal eyes.
That was splendid; Roger, that was glorious,
Thus to help the weak;
Better than to plant your flag victorious
On earth's highest peak!

ONE [SATURDAY]

BY SARAH WINTER KELLOGG.

It was an autumn day in the Indian summer time,—that one Saturday. The Grammar Room class of Budville were going nutting; that is, eight of them were going,—"our set," as they styled themselves. Besides the eight of "our set," Bob Trotter was going along as driver, to take care of the horses and spring wagon on arrival at the woods, while the eight were taking care of the nutting and other fun. Bob was fourteen and three months, but he was well-grown. Beside, he was very handy at all kinds of work, as he ought to have been, considering that he had been kept at work since his earliest recollection, to the detriment of his schooling.

It had been agreed that the boys were to pay for the team, while the girls were to furnish the lunch. In order to economize space, it was arranged that all the contributions to the lunch should be sent on Friday to Mrs. Hooks, Clara of that surname undertaking to pack it all into one large basket.

It was a trifle past seven o'clock Saturday morning when Bob Trotter drove up to Mr. Hooks's to take in Clara, she being the picnicker nearest his starting point. He did not know that she was a put off-er. She was just trimming a hat for the ride when Bob's wagon was announced. She hadn't begun her breakfast, though all the rest of the family had finished the meal, while the lunch which should have been basketed the previous night was scattered over the house from the parlor center-table to the wood-shed.

Clara opened a window and called to Bob that she would be ready in a minute. Then she appealed to everybody to help her. There was a hurly-burly, to be sure. She asked mamma to braid her hair; little brother to bring her blue hair-ribbon from her bureau drawer; little Lucy to bring a basket for the prospective nuts; big brother to get the inevitable light shawl which mamma would be sure to make her take along. She begged papa to butter some bread for her, and cut her steak into mouthfuls to facilitate her breakfast, while the maid was put to collecting the widely scattered lunch. Mamma put baby, whom she was feeding, off her lap—he began to scream;[Page 515] little brother left his doughnut on a chair—the cat began to eat it; little Lucy left her doll on the floor—big brother stepped on its face, for he did not leave his book, but tried to read as he went to get the light shawl; papa laid down his cigar to prepare the put-offer's breakfast—it went out; the maid dropped the broom—the wind blew the trash from the dust-pan over the swept floor. Clara continued to trim the hat. As she was putting in the last pin, mamma reached the tip end of the hair, and called for the ribbon to tie the braid. "Here 'tis," said little brother. "Mercy!" cried Clara, "he's got my new blue sash, stringing it along through all the dust. Goose! do you think I could wear that great long wide thing on my hair?" Little brother said "Scat!" and rushed to the rescue of his doughnut, while Lucy came in dragging the clothes-basket, and big brother entered with mamma's black lace shawl.

"Well, you told me to get a light one," he replied to Clara's impatient remonstrance, while Lucy whimpered that they wouldn't have enough nuts if the clothes-basket wasn't taken along.

However, when Bob Trotter had secured Clara Hooks, the other girls were quickly picked up, and so were the four boys, for Bob was brisk and so were his horses. Dick Hart was the last called for. He had been ready since quarter past six, and with his forehandedness had worried his friends as effectually as the put-offer had hers. When the wagon at last appeared with its load of fun and laughter, he felt too ill-humored to return the merry greetings.

"A pretty time to be coming around!" he grumbled, climbing to his seat. "I've been waiting three hours."

"You houghtn't to 'ave begun to wait so hearly," said Bob, who had some peculiarities of pronunciation derived from his English parentage.

"It would be better for you to keep quiet," Dick retorted. "You ought to have your wages cut, coming around here after nine o'clock. We ought to be out to the woods this minute."

"'Taint no fault of mine that we haint," said Bob, touching up his horses.

"Whose fault is it, if it isn't yours?" Dick asked.

Clara Hooks was blushing.

"Let the sparrer tell who killed Cock Robin," was Bob's enigmatical reply.

"What's he talking about?" said Julius Zink.

"I dunno, and he don't either," replied Dick.

"He doesn't know that or anything else," said Sarah Ketchum.

It was not possible for Sarah to hear a dispute and not become an open partisan.

"I know a lady when I see 'er," said Bob.

"You don't," said Dick, warmly. "You can't parse horse. I heard you try at school once."

"I can curry him," said Bob.

"You said horse was an article."

"So he is, and a very useful harticle."

One of the girls nudged her neighbor, and in a loud whisper intimated her opinion that Bob was getting the better of Dick. At this Dick grew warmer and more boisterous, maintaining that the boys ought not to pay Bob the stipulated price since they were so late in starting.

"Hif folks haint ready I can't 'elp it," said Bob.

"Who wasn't ready?" demanded Constance Faber. "You didn't wait for me, I know."

"And you didn't wait for me or Mat Snead," added Sarah Ketchum, "because we walked down to meet the wagon."

Clara Hooks's face had grown redder and redder during the investigation; but if Clara was a put-offer, she was not a coward or a sneak.

"He waited for me," she now said, "but I think it's mean to tell it wherever he goes."

"I haint told it nowheres."

"You just the same as told; you hinted."

"Wouldn't 'ave 'inted ef they hadn't kept slappin' at me," was Bob's defense, which did not go far toward soothing the mortified Clara.

Not all of this party were pert talkers. Two were modest: Valentine Duke and Mat Snead. These sat together, forming what the others called the Quaker settlement, from the silence which prevailed in it. The silence was now broken by a remark from Valentine Duke irrelevant to any preceding.

"Nuts are plentier at Hawley's Grove than at Crow Roost," he jerked, out, and then locked up again.

"Say we go there, then," said Kit Pott.

"Let's take the vote on it. Those in favor of Hawley's say aye."

The ayes came storming out, as though each was bound to be the first and loudest.

"Contrary, no," continued the self-made president; and Bob Trotter voted solidly "No!"

"We didn't ask you to vote," said Dick, returning to his quarrel.

Dick was constitutionally and habitually pugnacious, but he had such a cordial way of forgiving everybody he injured that people couldn't stay mad with him. Indeed, he was quite a favorite.

"I'm the other side of the 'ouse," Bob answered Dick. "You can't carry this hidee through without my 'elp."

"We hired you to take us to the woods."

"You 'ired me and my wagin and them harticles—whoa!" (Bob's "harticles" stopped)—"to take you to Crow Roost. You didn't 'ire me for 'Awley's, and I haint goin' ther' without a new contract."

"What difference is it to you where we go?"[Page 516] Dick demanded. "You belong to us for the day."

"Four miles further and back,—height miles makes a difference to the harticles."

Murmurs of disapproval rendered Dick bold.

"Suppose we say you've got to take us to Hawley's," he said, warmly.

"Suppose you do," said Bob, coolly.

"I'd like to know what you'd say about it," said Dick, warmly.

"Say it and I'll let you know," said Bob, coolly,—so very coolly that Dick was cooled.

A timely prudence enforced a momentary silence. He forebore taking a position he might not be able to hold. "Say, boys, shall we make him take us to the grove?"

Bob smiled. Val Duke smiled, too, in his unobtrusive way, and suggested modestly, "We ought to pay extra for extra work."

"Pay him another quarter and be done with it," said Kit Pott.

Beside being good-natured, Kit didn't enjoy the stopping there in the middle of the road.

"It's mighty easy to pay out other people's money," sneered Dick, resenting it that Kit seemed going over to the enemy.

Kit's face was aflame. His father had refused him any money to contribute toward the picnic expenses, and here was Dick taunting him with it before all the girls.

"You boys teased me to come along because you didn't know where to find the nuts," said Kit.

The girls began to nudge each other, making whimpered explanations and commentaries, agreeing that is was mean in Dick to mind Kit, and Clara Hooks spoke up boldly;

"I wanted Kit to come along because he's pleasant and isn't forever quarreling."

"Oh!" Dick sneered more moderately, "we all know you like Kit Pott. You and he had better get hitched; then, you'd be pot-hooks."

This set everybody to laughing, even Dirk's adversary, Bob Trotter.

"Pretty bright!" said Julius Zink.

"Bright, but not pretty," said Mat Snead, blushing at the sound of her voice.

"Hurrah! Mat's waked up," said Julius.

"It's the first time she's spoken since we started," said Sarah Ketchum.

"This isn't the first time you've spoken," Mat quietly retorted, blushing over again.

Everybody laughed again, even Sarah Ketchum.

"Sarah always puts in her oar when there's any water," said Constance Faber.

"I want to know how long we're to sit here, standing in the middle of the road," said Julius.

Again everybody laughed. When grammar-school boys and girls are on a picnic, a thing needn't be very witty or very funny to make them laugh. From the ease with which this party exploded into laughter, it may be perceived that in spite of the high words and the pop-gun firing, there was no deep-seated ill-humor among them.

"To Crow Roost and be done with it!" said Dick.

"All right," assented several voices.

"Crow Roost, Bob, by the lightning express," said Dick, with enthusiasm.

"But, as you were so particular," said Sarah to Bob, "we're going to be, too. We aint going to give you any lunch unless you pay for it."

"Not a mouthful," said Clara.

"Not even a crumb," said Constance.

Nobody saw any dismay in Bob's face.

I don't intend to tell you about all the sayings and all the laughter of those boys and girls on their way to Crow Roost. They wouldn't like to have me, and you wouldn't. Bob Trotter ran over a good many grubs and way-side stumps, and at every jolt Constance screamed, and Dick scolded and then laughed. Mat Snead spoke three words. She and Valentine had been sitting as though in profound meditation for some forty minutes, when he said: "Quite a ride!"

"Very; no, quite," she answered, in confusion.

Sarah Ketchum said everything that Mat didn't say. She was Mat's counterpart.

All grew enthusiastic as they approached the woods, and when the wagon stopped they poured over the side in an excited way.

"What shall we do with the lunch-basket?"

"Leave it in the wagon," said Sarah Ketchum, whose counsel, Kit said, was as free as the waters of the school pump.

Clara objected to leaving it. Bob would eat everything up. "Let's take it along."

"Why, no," said Julius.

He was the largest of the boys, and, according to the knightly code, he remembered the carrying of the basket would devolve upon him.

"Yes, we must carry it along," Sarah Ketchum insisted. "Bob sha'n't have a chance at that basket if I have to carry it around on my back."

Constance, too, said, "Take it along."

"It's easy enough for you girls to insist on having the basket toted around," said Dick, "because girls can't carry anything when there are boys along; but suppose you were a poor little fellow like Jule."

"I wont have to climb the trees with it on my back, will I?" said Julius. "I'll tell you," he continued, lowering his tone—Bob had heard all the preceding remarks—"we'll hang our basket on a hickory limb. It will be safe from hogs, and the leaves will hide it from Bob."

This proposition was approved, and the basket[Page 517] was carried off a short distance and slyly swung into a sapling. Then the eight went scurrying through the woods, leaving Bob with the horses. Wherever they saw a lemon-tinted tree-top against the sky or crowded into one of those fine autumn bouquets a clump of trees can make, there rushed a squad of boys, each with his basket, followed by a squad of girls, each with her basket.

But in a very short time the girls were tired and the boys hungry. All agreed to go back to the lunch. So back they hurried, the nuts rolling about over the bottoms of the baskets. Julius had the most nuts; he had eleven. Mat had the smallest number; she had one.

"I hope you girls brought along lots of goodies," said Dick. "Seems to me I never was so hungry in my life."

"I believe boys are always hungry," said Sarah Ketchum.

Val Duke was leading the party. He got along faster than the others, because he wasn't turning around every minute to say something. He made an electrifying announcement:

"A cow's in the basket!"

"Gee-whiz!" said Dick, rushing at the cow. "Thunder!" said Julius, and he gathered a handful of dried leaves and hurled them at the beast. Kit said "Ruination!" and threw his cap. Clara said "Begone!" and flapped her handkerchief in a scaring way. Sarah Ketchum said, "Shew! Scat!" and pitched a small tree-top. It hit Dick and Valentine. Constance said "Wretch!" and didn't throw anything. Mat didn't say anything and threw her hickory-nut. Val threw his basket, and hung it on the cow's horn. She shook it off walked away a few yards, then turned and stared at the party.

"Lunch is gone, every smitch of it!" said Kit.

"Hope it'll kill her dead!" said Sarah Ketchum.

"We'd better have left it in the wagon. Bob couldn't have eaten it all," said Clara.

"I wish Jule had taken it along," said Dick.

"I wish Dick had taken it along," said Julius.

"But what're we going to do?" said Constance.

"We might buy something if anybody lived about here."

"There isn't any money."

"Dick might give his note, with the rest of us as indorsers," said Julius.

"We might play tramps and beg something."[Page 518]

"But nobody lives around here."

"Hurrah!" said Dick, who had been prowling about among the slain. "Here's a biscuit, and here's a half loaf of bread."

"But they're all mussed and dirty," said Sarah.

"You might pare them," Mat suggested.

"Yes, peel them like potatoes," said Julius.

"But what are these among so many? The days of miracles are past."

"What shall we do?" said one and another.

"Milk the cow," said Mat.

Boys and girls clapped their hands with enthusiasm, and cried "Splendid!" "Capital!" etc.

"I'll milk her," said Dick. "Hand me that cup. I'm obliged to the cow for not eating it."

The cow happened to be a gentle animal, so she did not run away at Dick's approach, yet she seemed determined that he should not get into milking position. She kept her broad, white-starred face toward him, and her large, liquid eyes on his, turning, turning, turning, as he tried over and over to approach her flanks, while the others stood watching in mute expectancy.

"Give her some feed," said Mat.

"Feed! I shouldn't think she could bear the sight of anything more after all that lunch," said Dick. "Beside, there isn't any feed about here."

Somebody suggested that Bob Trotter had brought some hay and corn for his horses. Dick proposed that Julius should go for some. Julius proposed that Dick should go. Valentine offered to bring it, and brought it—some corn in a basket.

"Suke! Suke, Bossy! Suke, Bossy! Suke!" Dick yelled as though the cow had been two hundred feet off instead of ten. He held out the basket. She came forward, sniffed at the corn, threw up her lip and took a bite. Dick set the basket under her nose and hastened to put himself in milking position. But that was the end of it. He could not milk a drop.

"I can't get the hang of the thing," he said.

"Let me try," said Kit.

Dick gave way, and Kit pulled and squeezed and tugged and twisted, while the others shouted with [laughter].

'I BELIEVE SHE'S GONE DRY,' SAID KIT.

"I believe she's gone dry," said Kit, very red in the face. At this the laughers laughed anew.

"Some of you who are so good at laughing had better try."

Kit set the cup on a stump and retired.

Sarah Ketchum tried to persuade everybody else to try, but the other boys were afraid of failure and the girls were afraid of the cow. Sarah said if somebody would hold the animal's head so that it couldn't hook, she'd milk—she knew she could. But nobody offered to take the cow by the horns; so everything came to a stand-still except Sarah's talking and the cow's eating. Then Bob Trotter came in sight, all his pockets standing out with nuts. They called him. Sarah Ketchum explained the situation and asked him if he could milk.

"I do the milkin' at 'ome," Bob replied.

"Wont you please milk this cow for us? We don't know how, and we want the milk for dinner."

There came a comical look into Bob's face, but he said nothing. The eight knew what his thoughts must be.

"We oughtn't to have said that you couldn't have any of our lunch," said Sarah Ketchum.

"We didn't really mean it," said Clara. "When lunch-time came we would have given you lots of good things."

"That's so," said Dick. "Sarah told us an hour ago that she meant to give you her snow-ball cake because she felt compuncted."

By this time Bob had approached the cow. He spoke some kind words close to her broad ear, and gently stroked her back and flanks. Then he set to work in the proper way, forcing the milk in streams into the cup, the boys watching with admiration Bob's ease and expertness, Dick wondering why he couldn't do what seemed so easy. In a few seconds the cup was filled.

"Now, what're you going to do?" said Bob. "This wont be a taste around."

"You might milk into our hats," said Julius.

"I've got a thimble in my pocket," said Sarah Ketchum.

"Do stop your nonsense," said Constance; "it's a very serious question—a life and death matter. We're a company of Crusoes."

But the boys couldn't stop their nonsense immediately. Dick remarked that if the cow had not licked out the jelly-bowl and then kicked it to pieces it might have been utilized. Then some one remembered a tin water-pail at the wagon. This was brought, and Bob soon had it two-thirds filled with milk. Then the question arose as to how they were all to be served with just that quart-cup and two spoons. They were to take turns, two eating at a time.

"I don't want to eat with Jule," Dick said. "He eats too fast."

The young people paired off, leaving out Bob. Then they all looked at him in a shame-faced, apologetic way.

"You needn't mind me," said Bob, interpreting their glances. "I don't want to heat with none of you. I've got some wittals down to the wagon."

"Why, what have you got?" said Sarah Ketchum. She felt cheap, and so did the others.

"Some boiled heggs and some happles and some raw turnups," said Bob.

Eight mouths watered at this catalogue. Sarah [Page 519] Ketchum whispered:

"For a generous slice of turnip, I'd lay me down and die."

"I don't keer for nothing but a hegg and a happle, myself," said Bob. "May be you folks would heat the hother things. There's a good lot of happles."

The eight protested that they could do with the milk and bread, but urged the milk on Bob.

"No, I thank you," he said.

"He's mad at us yet," Mat whispered.

"Look here," said Sarah Ketchum to Bob, "if you don't eat some of this milk, none of us will. We'll give it to the cow."

"No, we won't do that," Julius said: "we'll hold you and make you drink it. If you have more apples than you wish, we'll be glad of some; but we aren't going to take them unless you'll take your share of the milk."

"And we'll get mad at you again," said Clara.

"I'll drink hall the milk necessary to a make-hup," said Bob.

When the lunch was eaten, Mat said she didn't think they ought to have milked the cow. The folks would be so disappointed when they came to milk her at night. May be a lot of poor children were depending on the milking for their supper. Val, too, showed that his conscience was disturbed.

"You needn't worry," said Dick. "They'll get this milk back from the lunch she stole."

"But they couldn't help her stealing."

"And I couldn't help milking her," said Dick.

At this there was a burst of laughter. Then Mat wrote on a scrap of paper: "This cow has been milked to save some boys and girls from starvation. The owner can get pay for the milk by calling at Mr. Snead's, Poplar street, Budville."

"Who'll tie it on her tail?" asked Mat.

"I will," said Val, promptly, glad to ease his conscience.

And this he did with a piece of blue ribbon from Mat Snead's hat.

MRS. PETER PIPER'S [PICKLES].

BY E. MÜLLER.

HERE'S nothing in that bush," said one old crow to another old crow, as they flew slowly along the beach.

"No, nothing worth looking at," answered the other old crow, and then they alighted on a dead tree and complained that the egg season was over.

That was because they were fond of sandpipers' eggs, and there were none in that bush. No eggs were there, to be sure, but there sat Mrs. Peter Sandpiper, talking to two fine young sandpipers, just hatched.

"Nothing worth looking at!" said she, indignantly. "Well, anything but a crow would have more sense! Nothing in this bush, indeed! Pe-tweet, pe-tweet!"

And truly she might well be angry at any one snubbing those young ones of hers. Their eyes were so bright, their legs were so slim, and their beaks so sharp that it was delightful to see them. And they turned out their toes so gracefully that, the first time they went to the sea to bathe, everyone said Mrs. Peter Sandpiper had reason to be proud of her children. But just as soon as they could run they got into all sorts of troubles, and[Page 520] vexed Mrs. Sandpiper out of her wits.

"THEY TURNED OUT THEIR TOES SO GRACEFULLY."

"Such a pair of young pickles I never hatched before!" said she to Mrs. Kingfisher, who came to gossip one day.

"Well, well, my dear," said Mrs. Kingfisher, "boys will be boys; by the time they are grown up they will be all right. Now, my dear Pinlegs was just [such]—"

TANGLED IN THE LONG GRASS

But Mrs. Sandpiper had to fly off, to see what Pipsy Sandpiper was doing, and keep Nipsy Sandpiper from swallowing a June beetle twice too big for him. They were great trials. They were always eating the wrong kind of bugs, and having indigestion and headaches. They were forever getting their legs tangled up in long wet grass, and screaming for Mrs. Peter Sandpiper to come help them out, and at night they chirped in their sleep and disturbed Mrs. Sandpiper dreadfully by kicking each other. At last she said she could stand it no longer; they must take care of themselves. So she cried "Pe-tweet, good-by," and then she flew away, leaving Pipsy and Nipsy alone by the sea to take care of themselves.

[Page 521]

It was quite a trouble at first, for Mamma Sandpiper had always helped them to bugs and worms, one apiece, turn about, so all was fair. But now Pipsy always wanted the best of everything, and Nipsy, being good tempered, had to eat what his brother left. One day bugs were very scarce, and both little Sandpipers were so hungry that they could have eaten a whole starfish—if he had come out of his shelter. Suddenly Nipsy, who was a trifle near sighted, said he saw a large beetle coming along the beach. They ran quickly to meet it. But what in the world was it! It had legs; oh, such legs! They were larger than Pipsy's and Nipsy's put together. Its back was like a huge shell, and its eyes were dreadful. The little sandpipers looked at each other in terror.

But a mild little voice from the creature relieved [Page 522] them.

"I beg your pardon," said he. "Let me introduce myself. C. Crab, Esq., of Oyster Bay."

"Oh, ah! Indeed!" said Pipsy. "Glad to know you, I'm sure."

"I think I must have lost my way," said C. Crab, Esq. "Could you oblige me by telling me if you see any boys near?"

"Any boys?" said Pipsy and Nipsy, looking at each other. "Never saw one in my life. What do they look like? Have they many legs? Are they fat? Are they good to eat?" asked both the hungry little sandpipers.

"They are creatures," said the crab, with a groan,—"creatures a thousand times larger than we are. They have strings. They tie up legs and pull. They throw stones. If you ever see a boy, run for your life."

"Good gracious me!" cried both the little sandpipers. "How very dreadful!"

But there were no boys in sight; so C. Crab grew sociable, and offered to show them a place where bugs were plenty. "Just get on my back," said he, "and I'll have you there in no [time]."

"OH, MY! HE'S GOING BACKWARDS!"

So they got on his back. It was very wet and slippery, but they held on with their toes, while C. Crab gave himself a heave and started.

"Oh, my!" exclaimed Nipsy. "He's going backward!"

"He actually is!" cried Pipsy. "At this rate we'll get there day before yesterday, wont we?"

"Surely," said Nipsy. "How very horrid of him when we are so hungry! What a slow coach!"

"Let's jump off quick, or he'll take us clear into last week!" cried the silly sandpipers, and then they skipped off and ran down the beach in the opposite direction. C. Crab called to them, but it was no use, so he went on his way. But as for the sandpipers, they went on getting into trouble. The day was hot, and after they had run some distance, they stepped into the water to cool off. Nipsy stepped in first, but the water was up to his breast and it frightened him, so he stepped out again.

"Pooh!" said Pipsy. "You're afraid, YOU are! Look at me!"

Then he jumped in, and only his head stuck [out].

"THIS IS TWICE AS DEEP AS YOU WERE IN."

"This is twice as deep as you were in!" he cried, turning up his bill, and rolling his eyes.

"You're sitting down, you are!" cried Nipsy, in scorn.

"I'm not," said Pipsy.

"You are. I can see your toes all doubled up, even if the water is muddy," said Nipsy, and rushed at him to punish him for bragging.

They both rolled under the water, and then out on the shore, dripping wet and very angry with each other.

Pipsy went home to the old bush and was very miserable. He wanted something to eat, and did not know where to find anything. Nipsy went high up the beach, and found a lot of young hedge-crickets. But he did not half enjoy them. They were fat and smooth, and he was hungry, but crickets had no flavor without Pipsy to help eat them. But he was angry at him yet.

"He must come to me," he said, sternly, to the cricket he was [eating].

"THERE, IN THE TWILIGHT, HE SAW A LONELY FIGURE STANDING ON ONE LEG."

The cricket said nothing, being half-way down his throat, and pretty soon Nipsy could stand his feelings no longer. Catching up the largest, smoothest, softest cricket, he ran down to the shore as fast as his legs could carry him. There, in the twilight, he saw a lonely figure standing on one leg.

"Pipsy!" he cried.

"Nipsy!" cried Pipsy.

And they flew to each other.

"Here's a glorious fat cricket for you."

"Forgive me, Nipsy," said his brother.

And then they were happy.

[Page 523]

UNDER THE [LILACS].

BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT.

CHAPTER XIV.

SOMEBODY GETS LOST.

Putting all care behind them, the young folks ran down the hill, with a very lively dog gamboling beside them, and took a delightfully tantalizing survey of the external charms of the big tent. But people were beginning to go in, and it was impossible to delay when they came round to the entrance.

Ben felt that now "his foot was on his native heath," and the superb air of indifference with which he threw down his dollar at the ticket-office, carelessly swept up the change, and strolled into the tent with his hands in his pockets, was so impressive that even big Sam repressed his excitement and meekly followed their leader, as he led them from cage to cage, doing the honors as if he owned the whole concern. Bab held tight to the tail of his jacket, staring about her with round eyes, and listening with little gasps of astonishment or delight to the roaring of lions, the snarling of tigers, the chatter of the monkeys, the groaning of camels, and the music of the very brass band shut up in a red bin.

Five elephants were tossing their hay about in the middle of the menagerie, and Billy's legs shook under him as he looked up at the big beasts whose long noses and small, sagacious eyes filled him with awe. Sam was so tickled by the droll monkeys that they left him before the cage and went on to see the zebra, "striped just like Ma's muslin gown," Bab declared. But the next minute she forgot all about him in her raptures over the ponies and their tiny colts, especially one mite of a thing who lay asleep on the hay, such a miniature copy of its little mouse-colored mamma that one could hardly believe it was alive.

"Oh, Ben, I must feel of it!—the cunning baby horse!" and down went Bab inside the rope to pat and admire the pretty creature, while its mother smelt suspiciously at the brown hat, and baby lazily opened one eye to see what was going on.

"Come out of that, it isn't allowed!" commanded Ben, longing to do the same thing, but mindful of the proprieties and his own dignity.

Bab reluctantly tore herself away to find consolation in watching the young lions, who looked so like big puppies, and the tigers washing their faces just as puss did.

"If I stroked 'em, wouldn't they purr?" she asked, bent on enjoying herself, while Ben held her skirts lest she should try the experiment.

"You'd better not go to patting them, or you'll get your hands clawed up. Tigers do purr like fun when they are happy, but these fellers never are, and you'll only see 'em spit and snarl," said Ben, leading the way to the humpy camels, who were peacefully chewing their cud and longing for the desert, with a dreamy, far-away look in their mournful eyes.

Here, leaning on the rope, and scientifically chewing a straw while he talked, Ben played showman to his heart's content till the neigh of a horse from the circus tent beyond reminded him of the joys to come.

"We'd better hurry along and get good seats before folks begin to crowd. I want to sit near the curtain and see if any of Smithers's lot are 'round."

"I aint going way off there; you can't see half so well, and that big drum makes such a noise you can't hear yourself think," said Sam, who had rejoined them.

So they settled in good places where they could see and hear all that went on in the ring and still catch glimpses of white horses, bright colors, and the glitter of helmets beyond the dingy red curtains. Ben treated Bab to peanuts and pop-corn like an indulgent parent, and she murmured protestations of undying gratitude with her mouth full, as she sat blissfully between him and the congenial Billy.

Sancho, meantime, had been much excited by the familiar sights and sounds, and now was greatly exercised in his doggish mind at the unusual proceeding of his master; for he was sure that they ought to be within there, putting on their costumes, ready to take their turn. He looked anxiously at Ben, sniffed disdainfully at the strap as if to remind him that a scarlet ribbon ought to take its place, and poked peanut shells about with his paw as if searching for the letters with which to spell his famous name.

"I know, old boy, I know; but it can't be done. We've quit the business and must just look on. No larks for us this time, Sanch, so keep quiet and behave," whispered Ben, tucking the dog away under the seat with a sympathetic cuddle of the curly head that peeped out from between his feet.

"He wants to go and cut up, don't he?" said Billy, "and so do you, I guess. Wish you were going to. Wouldn't it be fun to see Ben showing off in there?"

"I'd be afraid to have him go up on a pile of[Page 524] elephants and jump through hoops like these folks," answered Bab, poring over her pictured play-bill with unabated relish.

"Done it a hundred times, and I'd just like to show you what I can do. They don't seem to have any boys in this lot; shouldn't wonder if they'd take me if I asked 'em," said Ben, moving uneasily on his seat and casting wistful glances toward the inner tent where he knew he would feel more at home than in his present [place].

"AT THE CIRCUS"

"I heard some men say that it's against the law to have small boys now; it's so dangerous and not good for them, this kind of thing. If that's so, you're done for. Ben," observed Sam, with his most grown-up air, remembering Ben's remarks on "fat boys."

"Don't believe a word of it, and Sanch and I could go this minute and get taken on, I'll bet. We are a valuable couple, and I could prove it if I chose to," began Ben, getting excited and boastful.

"Oh, see, they're coming!—gold carriages and lovely horses, and flags and elephants, and everything!" cried Bab, giving a clutch at Ben's arm as the opening procession appeared headed by the band, tooting and banging till their faces were as red as their uniforms.

Round and round they went till every one had seen their fill, then the riders alone were left caracoling about the ring with feathers flying, horses prancing, and performers looking as tired and indifferent as if they would all like to go to sleep then and there.

"How splendid!" sighed Bab, as they went dashing out, to tumble off almost before the horses stopped.

"That's nothing! You wait till you see the bare-back riding and the 'acrobatic exercises,'" said Ben, quoting from the play-bill, with the air of one who knew all about the feats to come, and could never be surprised any more.

"What are 'crowbackic exercises?'" asked Billy, thirsting for information.

"Leaping and climbing and tumbling; you'll see—George! what a stunning horse!" and Ben forgot everything else to feast his eyes on the handsome creature who now came pacing in to dance, upset and replace chairs, kneel, bow, and perform many wonderful or graceful feats, ending with a swift gallop while the rider sat in a chair on its back fanning himself, with his legs crossed, as comfortably as you please.

"That, now, is something like," and Ben's eyes shone with admiration and envy as the pair vanished, and the pink and silver acrobats came leaping into the ring.

The boys were especially interested in this part, and well they might be; for strength and agility are manly attributes which lads appreciate, and these lively fellows flew about like India rubber balls, each trying to outdo the other, till the leader of the acrobats capped the climax by turning a double somersault over five elephants standing side by side.

"There, sir, how's that for a jump?" asked Ben, rubbing his hands with satisfaction as his friends clapped till their palms tingled.

"We'll rig up a spring-board and try it," said Billy, fired with emulation.

"Where'll you get your elephants?" asked Sam,[Page 525] scornfully, for gymnastics were not in his line.

"You'll do for one," retorted Ben, and Billy and Bab joined in his laugh so heartily that a rough-looking man who sat behind them, hearing all they said, pronounced them a "jolly set," and kept his eye on Sancho, who now showed signs of insubordination.

"Hullo, that wasn't on the bill!" cried Ben, as a parti-colored clown came in, followed by half a dozen dogs.

"I'm so glad; now Sancho will like it. There's a poodle that might be his ownty donty brother—the one with the blue ribbon," said Bab, beaming with delight as the dogs took their seats in the chairs arranged for them.

Sancho did like it only too well, for he scrambled out from under the seat in a great hurry to go and greet his friends, and, being sharply checked, set up and begged so piteously that Ben found it very hard to refuse and order him down. He subsided for a moment, but when the black spaniel, who acted the canine clown, did something funny and was applauded, Sancho made a dart as if bent on leaping into the ring to outdo his rival, and Ben was forced to box his ears and put his feet on the poor beast, fearing he would be ordered out if he made any disturbance.

Too well trained to rebel again, Sancho lay meditating on his wrongs till the dog act was over, carefully abstaining from any further sign of interest in their tricks, and only giving a sidelong glance at the two little poodles who came out of a basket to run up and down stairs on their fore paws, dance jigs on their hind legs, and play various pretty pranks to the great delight of all the children in the audience. If ever a dog expressed by look and attitude, "Pooh! I could do much better than that, and astonish you all, if I was only allowed to," that dog was Sancho, as he curled himself up and affected to turn his back on an unappreciative world.

"It's too bad, when he knows more than all those chaps put together. I'd give anything if I could show him off as I used to. Folks always liked it, and I was ever so proud of him. He's mad now because I had to cuff him, and wont take any notice of me till I make up," said Ben, regretfully eyeing his offended friend, but not daring to beg pardon yet.

More riding followed, and Bab was kept in a breathless state by the marvelous agility and skill of the gauzy lady who drove four horses at once, leaped through hoops, over banners and bars, sprang off and on at full speed, and seemed to enjoy it all so much it was impossible to believe that there could be any danger or exertion in it.

Then two girls flew about on the trapeze, and walked on a tight rope, causing Bab to feel that she had at last found her sphere, for, young as she was, her mother often said:

"I really don't know what this child is fit for, except mischief, like a monkey."

"I'll fix the clothes-line when I get home, and show Ma how nice it is. Then, may be, she'll let me wear red and gold trousers, and climb round like these girls," thought the busy little brain, much excited by all it saw on that memorable day.

Nothing short of a pyramid of elephants with a glittering gentleman in a turban and top boots on the summit would have made her forget this new and charming plan. But that astonishing spectacle and the prospect of a cage of Bengal tigers with a man among them, in imminent danger of being eaten before her eyes, entirely absorbed her thoughts till, just as the big animals went lumbering out, a peal of thunder caused considerable commotion in the audience. Men on the highest seats popped their heads through the openings in the tent-cover and reported that a heavy shower was coming up. Anxious mothers began to collect their flocks of children as hens do their chickens at sunset; timid people told cheerful stories of tents blown over in gales, cages upset and wild beasts let loose. Many left in haste, and the performers hurried to finish as soon as possible.

"I'm going now before the crowd comes, so I can get a lift home. I see two or three folks I know, so I'm off;" and, climbing hastily down, Sam vanished without further ceremony.

"Better wait till the shower is over. We can go and see the animals again, and get home all dry, just as well as not," observed Ben, encouragingly, as Billy looked anxiously at the billowing canvas over his head, the swaying posts before him, and heard the quick patter of drops outside, not to mention the melancholy roar of the lion which sounded rather awful through the sudden gloom which filled the strange place.

"I wouldn't miss the tigers for anything. See, they are pulling in the cart now, and the shiny man is all ready with his gun. Will he shoot any of them, Ben?" asked Bab, nestling nearer with a little shiver of apprehension, for the sharp crack of a rifle startled her more than the loudest thunder-clap she ever heard.

"Bless you, no, child; it's only powder to make a noise and scare 'em. I wouldn't like to be in his place, though; father says you can never trust tigers as you can lions, no matter how tame they are. Sly fellers, like cats, and when they scratch it's no joke, I tell you," answered Ben, with a knowing wag of the head, as the sides of the cage rattled down, and the poor, fierce creatures were seen leaping and snarling as if they resented this[Page 526] display of their captivity.

Bab curled up her feet and winked fast with excitement as she watched the "shiny man" fondle the great cats, lie down among them, pull open their red mouths, and make them leap over him or crouch at his feet as he snapped the long whip. When he fired the gun and they all fell as if dead, she with difficulty suppressed a small scream and clapped her hands over her ears; but poor Billy never minded it a bit, for he was pale and quaking with the fear of "heaven's artillery" thundering over head, and as a bright flash of lightning seemed to run down the tall tent-poles he hid his eyes and wished with all his heart that he was safe with mother.

"'Fraid of thunder, Bill?" asked Ben, trying to speak stoutly, while a sense of his own responsibilities began to worry him, for how was Bab to be got home in such a pouring rain.

"It makes me sick; always did. Wish I hadn't come," sighed Billy, feeling, all too late, that lemonade and "lozengers" were not the fittest food for man, or a stifling tent the best place to be in on a hot July day, especially in a thunder-storm.

"I didn't ask you to come; you asked me; so it isn't my fault," said Ben, rather gruffly, as people crowded by without pausing to hear the comic song the clown was singing in spite of the confusion.

"Oh, I'm so tired," groaned Bab, getting up with a long stretch of arms and legs.

"You'll be tireder before you get home, I guess. Nobody asked you to come, anyway;" and Ben gazed dolefully round him wishing he could see a familiar face or find a wiser head than his own to help him out of the scrape he was in.