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.O^vY&i m
Red Haired Penn3 T ,
THE UGLY HICK.
CHAPTER I.
‘Shoe the horse and shoe the mare,
But let i he little colt go bare.’
The old barn was a pleasant pltce, with the
red rajs of an October sunset streaming across
its broad floor, lightening op the heaps of red
apples and golden pumpkins and squashes and
hunting up all the cobwebs which the patient
spiders had been spinning, unmolested, for
years, on the dusty beams and rafters,and turn
ing them into threads of flame; finding Pene
lope’s hair, too, poor little Penelope’s red head,
which waB such a mortification to her,and mak
ing every hair glitter like spun gold.
Penelope was sitting on an inverted milk-pail
just inside Pegasus’ stall cutting up turnips.
There was a pleasant frosty tingle in the air
that blew through thegrtat doorway.
The docks came up in a procession from the
brook, all solemn and stately except the ‘crazy
one, who rushed frantically from side to side
attacking imaginary tots and pouncing upon
imaginary grasshoppers.
Along the. orchard wall thegreat gobbler came
strutting, hurrying his loiteriDg family with
angry gobblings.
A stranger might not have seen anvthing ve
ry attractive in this scene, but Penelope thought
it was delightful—ducks, turkeys and all.
It had been her home since she was seven
years old, and when she came to Sbaftsbury
Mills, she had lived in as many places as sht
was yea. s old.
•Oh, hew could I leave you, you dear old farm ?'
said she to herself, letting a tear or two fall on
the turnips. ‘The attic, with the funny old
spinning-wheel, and the big sitting-room fire
place, and this lovely old barn, with the big
beams to climb,and such peifectly elegani jump
on to the hay, 8nd the strawberry field, and thi
orchard, and oh! my dear Pegasus, and Cleopat
ra and Desdemona, and their bewitching calves
and my irszy duck, and even that hotrid old
gobler, and Priscilla,my beautiful white turkey!
But you don t want yeur turnips salted witl
tears, do you Pegasus, my dear? And we won’t
— we icon t go, unless we have to, will we, Pega
sus? But if we do have to, we‘ll remember
what Stephen Illsley says—‘whatever else you
do, don,t howl.*
•Het.r! hear! Noble sentiment by Pennyroyal!
cried a voice, and a young man of twenty-on<
or two, with an air ot city breeding, which was
not entirely due to his elegant attire, or his
dair ty cane, appears upon the scene.
‘A truly heroic motto, worthy to be engraved
upon the Wentworth coat of arms, gilt letters
upon an azure ground:‘Whatever else ycu do,
don‘t howl. “
Did 1 ray that aloud? I shouldn-t have if I
had known that anybody was within hearing
especially you,' said Penelope.
•Why especially I, little Pennyroyal?*
•Bicause I don't know ycu very well, for one
reason, and because you seem to think that 1
am very young,* said Penelope, drawing her
self up in a very dignified manner.
•Young? Not at all—on the contrary, you
strike me as beiDg very grandmotherly. I could
easily call yon Grandmother Pennyroyal, if you
like,* said the young man, teasingly, as he seat
ed himselt on a great yellow pumpkin, after
carefully dusting it with Lis handkerohief.
•My name is Penelope and I was sixteen last
June,* said Penelope, primly.
‘What in the world are you doing child? 1 in
quired the young man, suddenly attracted to
her occuia 1 ion, aLd utterly ignoring the prim
rebuke.
‘Outt ng up turnips for Pegasus* supper. H<
is very fond cf turnips, but be is getting old
now, and likes them cut very fine.*
But why don't Joel or Mrs. Bumpus do it?
It isn't suitable work for you. Don't you know
flat it will spoil your hands?*
‘Spoil my hands! Why wl at were hands made
for?’ said Penelope, with a gay laugh. Then
she dropped knife and turnip, and surveyed
her hands critically, as if struck by a new idea.
‘Mine look as if they were made to cut tur
nips, don't they?* she said, holding them up
for her com panion‘s inspection—a pair oi rather
large and bony hands,it must be acknowledged,
and somewhat romhened by labor.
‘Ah, young lady’s hands were made to play
the piano, and do fancy work, and whatever dis
plays them to the best possible advantage/ said
tbe'young man oracularly, try ing to bide the
expression of dismay that came into his face as
he looked at Penelepe‘8 hands. Seriously, Ms<
Ptnelope, I advise you to let Joel cut up the
turnips.*
•Bui Joel has the rheumatism and can't do it.
Besides, I like doing it. I am not pretty like
Gatty and Lilly, you know, so it doesn't signify
about my hands. Don't you—oh, don't you
think they are beautiful, Lilly and Gatty? I
am sure you don't see such pretty girls in the
city. Papa used to say that Gatty was a rose
and Lilly was a lilly. *
‘And you are only Pennyroyal! By the way,
G tty has been telliDg me why you are called
by that funny name which distresses my moth-
erso;btcause Mrs. Bumpus said that pennyroyal
was always where you could put jeur bands on
it when yon wanted it, and good for most every
thing. And they thought you deserved to be
named for it. 1 think it is a great compliment.'
■So do I, * said Pennyroyal, flashing to the
roots ot her red hair; ‘and 1 have proved to you
that I am good for cutting up turnips. Now I
iim going lor the cows. 1 would ask you to go
too. only I am afraid you would think it wasn’t
dignified.* She led Pegasus-a rather ancient,
hut well-fed, looking steed, out from his stall,
and sprang nimbly upon his back, with the aid
of the milk pail.
•You don’t mean that yon are going to ride
that horse without saddle or bridle?’ exclaimed
the young man, in apparent consternation.
For answer, PeBelcpe seized Pegasus’ mane
for a bridle and walked him briskly around the
barn.
‘•The elephant now goes round, goes round,
The hand begins to play,
The little boys under the monkey's cage
Had better get out of the way.”
she sung, saucily, riding Pegasus into very close
proximity with the young man's pumpkin seat;
and then they were off down the road at a pace
that could scarcely have been expected from one
of Pegasus’ years and staid appearance.
The young man sauntered ltzily to the door
and looked after her.
•What a child that is!’ he said to himself.
‘Bides ts if she had been trained in a circus,
upon my word. What an ugly little monkey
she looks,perched up there with that close crop
ped red hair of hers. I believe my mother is
right—she never could be civil:z?d.’
Then he sauntered towards the house, switch
ing eff the beads of the few gay asters which
had dtfied the frost, as he went.
In the sitting-room, a low, large room, which
might have seemed gloomy but for the posses
sion of an uDusual number cf windows with
crimson curtains, and deep, old fashioned seats,
he found the family gathered—that is the 'Rose*
and ‘Lilly,’who, with Penelope, constituted a
forlorn liltie family, and his mother, and their
aunt, Mrs. John Wentworth.
This latter body sat in state, in a large arm
chair before a little wood fire that flamed and
oraokled cheerily in the fireplaoe. Mrs John
Wentworth always had the air of setting in state,
if it were only in a horse-cart or on a door step.
Gatty, with a nice little smile, made a place for
the new-comer on the sofa beside her.
But I don't see how you can go on living here. I dare say we shall get along, in some
here—yon three girls alone/ Mrs. Wentworth
was sayiDg, with a look and tone that implied a
deep disgust with the doings of Providence in
the matter under consideration.
•It isn't quite alone, you know, aunt John/
said Gatty. ‘There is Joel and Mrs. Bumpus.*
Her tone was cheerful enough, but there was a
doubting, dispi i:ed look on her face—which
was very unusual for Gatty—and she looked
into the fire instead of at her aunt.
‘Yes, there are the servants/said Mrs. Went
worth, ‘but I can‘t see how you could afford to
keep tnem both, if you were to stay here. Of
course you wouldn't try to do anything with
the farm, and you would have to sell the cows
and horse and you would have no need of Joel.*
‘Sell the horse! Oh, how could we part with
Pegasus? We have had him so long and papa
thonght so much of him/ cried Gatty.
•My dear, I did hope that you were a little
practical. I knewtl at Lilly was visionary, like
her father, but I hoped that yon could assist me
in forming plans for your future with some
show of reason. Sentiment is very nice and
pretty, but, unfortunately, this world is so con-
stitute d that people cannot live upon it. I should
ihiukthat what you must have srffired from
your poor father's romantic, dreamy turn of
mind might have made you all practical/
•We have been very happy, aunt/
This came in a very mild, sweet voice from
Lilly's corner, which was near the western win
dow, that looked down into the valley.
Lilly had manifested no interest in the con
versation before, but tad sat silent, looking
dreamily at the flaming red and gold bars which
the sunset had spread over the dark sky. She
was more interested in that view, which she
had seen every night for nine years, than she
was in her own future, Gatty thought, impati
ently. Bat then,that was like Lilly ;one couldn't
expect her to be like other people.
‘Happy child! What an idea of happiness
yon must have., said Mrs. Wentworth, with an
air of supreme disgust. ‘Agatha, have you been
happy?'
Gatty was silent for a moment, but she wrink
led her brow, and gave her shoulders a little
shrug.
•Not quite, aunt/ she said at last, ‘but still—•
•To retuin to the poiat/ interrupted Mrs.
Wentworth, ‘You couldn't affoid to keep Joel,
and bis wife probably would not stay without
him. You would have to find another maid
servant—*
One couldn t do without Mrs. Bumpus/said
Gatty, decidedly. ‘Where could we find anothei
who would be so faithful and what should we
do tor fun without Mrs. Bumpus' freaks? Pen
ny would never consent to it/
‘There's Penelope!’ said Mrs. Wentworth
knitting her brows. ‘Penelope ib the difficulty !
Things might be arranged so nicely if it were
not for her.’
•I don’t know what we should do without Pen
ny,’ said Gatty, not without a little indignation
in her tone.
‘Oh, Penelope (what could have induced your
father to give his daughter such a name is more
than I can imagine 1) is a goed child, no doubt,
aDditisvery commendable in you to wish to
make the best of her.’ ,
She's a jolly little thing with lo's of go in
her,’ interrupted the young man, who had hith- ,
erto contented bimsalf with listening, and
stroking the fur of an impish-looking black
kitten the wrong way.
Please don’t interrupt me, Gale, or if you
must be so rude, make your remarks intelligi
ble ! I don’t know what go' meats. Is she
reallj sixteen ? Well, one would never think of
calling her anything but a child, with that ugly,
angulsr little figure, and these rough, awkward
ways ! As I was saying, Penelope is the diffi
culty. I could take you and Lily to town with
me for the winter/
Gatly’s eyes sparkled, aDd she erased to tap
the floor, restlessly, with her foot, as she had
been doing all through the conversation. Even
Lily turned from the window.
I should really be proud totskeyou into
society, for with ail your cc untry breeding, yon
are not in the least dowdy or awkward. You
are a beauty, Agaiha, and Lilly is very lovely
and intellectual ; she has a repose of manner,
too, that is aiistocratic and charming. I dare
say you would both make excellent matches! 1
You are viry kind, aunt, but we couldn’t go
into society much, you know,’ said Gatty, with
a glance at her black dress.
Oh, my dear ! I assure you it is not the fash
ion to seclude oneself ou account of mourning,
as it once was. And youlh is elastic and soon
throws off grief, especially among new scenes
and excitements. But you see, it » clearly im
possible for me to take Penelope, too. She is so
hopelessly ugly, and more than ugly, so coarse-
looking. She makes me think of stone- of
changelings that I used to read in fairy books!
Gatty s lace flushed, and Lily looked as if she
were slightly aroussd from her customary calm.
■Penny is certainly plain, but we never think
her rough or coarse. ’ said Gatty.
‘Ah, of course! sisterly pariialityl’ mur
mured Mrs. Wentworth, ‘and, as I remarked be
fore, it is very commendable in you to try to
make the best of her. But not rough or coarse !
My dear, I took a fancy to make the tour of
your little establishment an hour ago, and
where do you think I found Penelope ?—dig-
ding potatoes!’
Joel had an attack of rheumatism yesterday.
He can scarcely use his hands at all ; and there
were only a few potatoes left to dig.’
‘Bat such a work for a young lady ! And she
looked as unconcerned as if she were doing the
mest lady-like thing imaginable !
‘I don’t think it is just what Penny would
like to do unless there were some particular
need of it; but you know, aunt, those things
don’t look to us country-bred people as they do
to you. And Penny is an energetic little body ;
it is her v ay to be always doing something. It
is strange, since she is the youngest, but she
has seemed to take mother’s place in the house
hold ever since she died ; and she is such a
careful, shrewd, managing little housekeeper.’
•Such persons are very useful in families
where only incapable servants are Kept, but you
must see—I saw myself at the first glance—that
she would defy cultivation ; that nothing could
be ever made of her !’
Gatty’s eyes flished, but she bit her lips, and
said nothing To make Aunt John angry would
be the ruin of all her hopi s, thought Gatty.
But she flashed a look of appeal at Lily.
Somebody ought to stand up for Penny ! Bat it
was almost hopeless appeal, for Lily never got
angry, and Lilyjnever ‘stood up’ for anybody.
But she did look at Ga’.ty in a wondering
way, that made Gatty’s cheeks burn. And then
she said, in a listless way (Lily was always list
less J.
•I am not sure that we should want anything
made of har. I don't think we should like
to have her anything but just Penny.’
Though the tone was sooareless Gatty wanted
to hug her.
‘The question is, what is to be done with
her?’ Siid Mrs. Wentworth, impatiently. ‘She
might be sent away to school, I suppose, but
the state of my affairs is such jast now, and our
expenses are necessarily so large—’
‘We shouldn’t wish you to do so much for us,
aunt,’ said Lily. (Why was Gatty who usually
saved her the trouble of talking so strangely
silent? she wondered.) ‘And I don’t think
Penny would like to go away to school. She is
very fond of Shaftesbury. And I think, though
we thank you very much for your kindness, that
it would really be better for us to go on living
way
And still Gatty said nothing.
'llow could you get along? What would you
live upon ?' tsked Aunt John impatiently.
‘Gatty has her plscein the Academy ; she has
five hundred dollars a year, you know, and I
think, perhaps, I could get a few music scholars
over in Shafttsbury. •
‘Two hundred more, possibly. You can live
on seven hundred dcllars, I suppose ?• said
Mrs. Wentworth, contemptuously.
‘Yes, I think so ; can't we, Gatty? You know
we are used to being poor, aunt, we have beeD
so alt our lives. *
•Well, I have said all that I have to say. 1*11
leave you until to-morrow to think about it.
You understand that if anything can be done
with Penelope, I will take you both home with
me, and provide for yon until yon are married. *
At this moment Mrs. Bumpus appaared ia the
deor-way ; a tall, angular figure, clad in a gay-
ly-flowered calico dress, her head completely
shrouded in a black apron. Very little of her
face was visible, except the gleam of a pair of
little, bright, black, beady eyes.
‘Sich as it is, you might as well come and eat
it !• she announced. ‘I had dretfnl poor luck
with the sponge cake, and the toast is as hard
as Pharaoh‘s heart, but when folks goes to the
house of affliction and takes 'em unbeknown
besides —*
Mrs. Bumpu'sremarks here degenerated into
indis iact mutteringa, as she retreated kitchen-
ward.
•What is the matter with Mrs. Bumpus ?* said
Gatty. ’That apron is the flag of distress in
this house. She never puts it on her head un
less she is cross. *
What aD extraordinary servant !' said Mrs.
Wentworth, ts she sailed out to the dining
room,
complexion clear and rosy. Her industrious
example and the contagious energy of her spirit
inspired Gale and he threw off his dandy ways
and developed into a man . So that when three
years after, he married Penny, even her partial
neighbors had not much fault to find with the
match. Lily, swiet dreaming Lily, is now an
authoress of some note, and her beautiful, ideal
stories are praised and paid for by themagazines.
THAT BOY OF MINE!
ELEANOR KIRK.
CHAPIER II.
* jewels so fair I may twine in my hair.
And a lady I‘11 surely be/
Penelope was not at the supper table that
night, and nobody seemed to knew anything of
her whereabouts, unless it was Mrs. Bumpus,
who, being in an ‘apron mood/was not com
municative upon any subject.
Mrs. Wentworth retired early, and her son,
after remarking several times, that ‘this bind oi
living must be monstrous slow, yon know/ fol
lowed her example. So long as Gatty was mak
ing Lerseif agreeable to him, the young man
did not seem to feel the ‘slowness/ but on this
evening, Gatty was very silent and absent
minded.
As soon as the girls were left alor e, Gatty
ctied :
•Oh, how could you, Lily? how could you
talk to her as if we didn't want to go?*
‘Why, because I don't want to! She is so
strange ! She said as muoh as that we ought no!
to care for poor papa, because it wasn't the fash
ion ! And how she did talk about Penny—dear
little Pennyroyal 1 How could you hear it bo
calmly ?' said Lily, with unwonted energy.
•Because I wanted—because I didn't see that
there was anything to be said/ answered Gatty.
‘I w»s S9 disappointed in her. To think that
is the Aunt John we have talked and speculated
so much about! How did you venture to call
such a msjestio being Aunt John ? It is such a
ridiculous name. ‘
Gatty did not reply. She seemed to be some
what d'sturbed in temper. And what had oc
curred to disturb her temper, Lily did not
know.
Of course it is kind of her to ask us, and 1
don't mean to be ungrateful, Gatty,“ she said,
meekly.
‘And of course it would he a very nice ar
rangement for ns?-
There was do response for a moment, then
Lily said, languidly, ‘Why would it ba nioe for
Ur?‘
Gatty lost her patience entirely, then.
“It doss seem to me, Lily, that you are the
most stupid person that I ever saw ! I wish you
would open your eyes, once, at least enough to
see what is for your owa interest.
“But we can't go, Gatty. If I did want to go
what difference would it make ? We couldn't
leave Penny.
The door opened, so softly that neither of
them noticed it, before Lily's sentence was fin
ished.
‘You wouldn't stay for me, Lily? Oh, I
wouldn't have you do that." Penny's voice
was not quite steady, though she tried very
hard to make it so, and Ga.ty instantly per
ceived trac.s of tears about her eyes.
“Penny, where have you been? Why didn't
you come to supper ?“ she asked.
“Howling over my red hair again. Now don't
•cola ! I know I am a goose, but I can‘t help
caring about looks. And I dihn‘t know how
ugly I was, besides my hair, till I—indeed 1
didn't mean lo listen, until I heard what Aunt
John said about me, as I was coming in. I went
off and had a good howl, all bv myself, and now
I am all over it, “ said Penny, cheerfully.
“Fancy Mrs. Bnmpus trying to comfort me by
saying beauty was only skin deep ! as if people
expected ti be skinned. But do you really
want to go and live with Aunt John, both of
you?"
“I don't want to, but I think Gatty does."
“I—I never want to leave you, Pennyroyal,"
said Gatty, giving her a hug.
“But you do want to go, Gatty ! I can read
it in your eyes !“ said Penny, sitting down on
the hearth rug, with her head in Gatty‘s lap.
‘ And you wouldn't be so silly as to stay od my
account. Why, you and L.ly can both go, as
well as not, and I can stay with Joel and Mrs.
Bumpus, and oh ! we can live on such a little,
and in the spring ycu‘11 corns back, and how
nice it will b#, only won't you miss your poor
old Pennyroyal when you want your hair dune
awtuily nice, or when the buttons como eff your
boots when you-rein a hurry ?“
Penny was good ai her word. She and Lily
remained on the farm, kept Pegasus and old
Joel and went heart and soul into farming. At
least Penny did. She read and listened to all
practical hints on planting and cultivating.
She rose early and gave her individual attention
to the supervision of the farm, finding an able
and industrious ally in old Joel. But she man
aged to get an hour or two every evening for
mental improvement and recreation. Lily’s
sweet voice reading aloud to her, Lily’s love and
praises and ladylike gentlemss and tendern-.ss
were of great use to her. They refined her,
kept her f.om growing rough or coarse. She
developed too a splendid voice which Lily help
ed to train, and she learned to accompany her
self on the piano, so that they had nice evening
concerts.
Cousin Gale came to see them quite unex
pectedly and told them of Gatty’s briliiant tri
umphs in the City and her engagement to a
wealthy merchant. But Gatty’s bright, lively,
affectionate letters had told them all about it be
fore. That winter, Gatty married, and soon af
ter Mrs. Wentworth lost her property through
an unfortunate investment and her beautiful
home was sold. Penny and Lily wrote at once
and the mother and sen came to the plain,
brown farmhouse they had looked down on be
fore.
The girls made them heartily welcome, and
Mrs. Wentworth learned then to know the true
worth of helj ful, merry, loving Penny. And
Penny was no longer the ‘ugly duck.’ She had
grown really fine looking, Her features were
nobly chiseled by the noble, unselfish thoughts
within, her hair had darkened into anbnrn;
her figure was splendidly ronnded, and her
My gwacious !’ I listened a moment to hear if
anything more would be said, but the above ex
pletive was the beginning and ths end. My
son, not quite six years old, called by some ‘the
buccaneer,’ and by others, ‘boseen/ but whose
given name was Joseph, had been sent to the ad
joining apartment to meditate on his sins. In
the act of pnttiDg a patoh ou a pair of little
breeches, which had been rent from leg to waist
band in climbing a spiked, and on that acoonnt
not forbidden, fence, I was naturally too much
occupied to rise and discover the cause of the
prisoner's excitement. There had been no noise,
consequently there conld be no mischief. Oh,
fallacy of tallacies ! What could be more ridio-
ulous than such a conclusion from such a pre
mise ?
The buccaneer had five pairs of trousers, all
in the same or a like condition, and these were
h s Sunday ones. They had been worn once to
Ssbbath-school, once to the Park, aud once on a
visit to a spiked fence. They were Sunday pants
no longer. That morning I had bundled off all
his ragged clothes to be mended, and nothing
remained between the best ones and Joseph at
home in his night-gown all day. The last was a
contingency too dreadful fora moment's consid
eration—hence the patchicg.
‘Remember, my son, that these are your Sun
day trousers,’I had said with ail the impress
ment 1 could command, ‘and don’t climb any
where, and don't sit down in the dirt. Do you
hear me ?’
‘Yes ma'am.’
‘And remember, if you get into any trouble,
or pick a quarrel with any of the children, ot
strike one of them, I shall punish you severely.’
Oh ! the angel face that was lifted lo mine as
I finished the last sentence. Raphael never
painted a cherub that could approach it in in
nocence of expression.
‘Josie never fight no more,’ said he. 'Miss
Price’—Miss Price was the angel s Sabbath-
school teacher— says that it’s orful wicked to
fight, and great big bears, so high’—pointing to
the ceiling with his chubby forefinger—‘come
down from the great big high mountains and
eat boys what fight all up.’
The Bible stories were badly mixed, but there
S9emed a oartain safety in the mistake, and J let
it go for this time at least.
•Oh, my gwaciots ! came again from the sit-
tiDg-ioom, this time a little louder, and with a
touch of sorrow in the tone. ‘What are you do
ing, Joseph?’ I asked with some severity.
‘P'aying horse, mamma/
‘What are you playing horse with ?'
No reply. I repeated the question.
•With fings, mamma; don’t be faid !‘ came at
last in the wheedling manner I had grown ac
customed to when there was mischief on foot.
‘Do you hear me? What kind of things are
yon playing horse with? 1
‘Only spenders, mamma!'
A horrible thought flashed into my mind, and
at the same time a strong odor of kerosene in
vaded my nostrils. Patches and scissors
breeches and spools rolled out of my lap as I
flew across the room. What I saw was this:
How it had all been managed without the slight
est noise is only another conundrum which I as
a mother give up without the slightest attempt
at a solution. Joseph had screwed his fathtr's
desk-chair to the top notch, aud there he sat
with a piece of twine in each hand. These
strings were attached to his father's wedding
suspenders, which my own hands had embroid
ered. How little I dreamed when setting those
variegated s’.iches' that such a fate would over
take them. At that moment—if ‘twas wicked, I
am sorrry, but—I couldn't help wondering why
girls ever get married.
But te resume. The suspenders were skill
fully and destructively fastened to the student-
lamp, which the buccaneer 1 ad set on the floor,
minus the stale. Why minus the shade, is giv
en up with the rest of the juvenile
conundrums. An extra pull had upset the
lamp, flooded the carpet, completely saturated
one suspender and spotted and besmeared the
other. Ten minutes after, Joseph was sobbing
in his crib, and I had gene back to my patch.
My heart misgave me when I had again taken
up my needle. Had I not been unnecessarily
harsh with the dear little fellow ? Strange how
patbetio the little breeches had all at once be
come ! I thought of the half-worn shoes and
stockings and tiny pants like those tacked away
in drawers where none but grieving mothers
ever go, and, well the patch was finished, and I
would take a look at the darling whose sobbing
had almost ceased. Should I ever forgive my
self if—if—if what? Oh ! thought too dreadfal
to be endured a moment, and yet children die,
yes, children die, and mothers who love, even
as I love, live on without them.
Josie's hands were very grimy, and his face
not much better. With the borrowed dirt from
his bands, and the tears that had diluted with
out purifying it, the effect was somewhat ludi
crous. There wasn't a spot from chin to fore
head clean enough to kiss, so I pressed my o .eek
to the darling’s sunny curls, and left him to have
his nap out.
‘There's one of them rowdy boys wants to see
you a minit, ’ said the cook, a half hour after
wards, as I was beatiDg eggs in the kitchen.
‘Say, Miss Smith !' began the boy, as I stepped
to the door, ‘your Joe is down below here fight
ing like everj thing, and he aint got no clothes
on neither, he aint.’
My cherub down the street fighting? My
sleeping angel outdoors in his nightgown ? It did
seem, under the circumstanc s, a little hard to
believe, but having lived with my son five yta:s
and three-quarters, I ought to have been, and
generally was, prepared for anything. I fol
lowed the messenger the length cf the block,
and there, in the middle of the street, the centre
of an admiring and enthusiastic group of five
hundred or less boys, of all grades and nation
alities, sat the cherub in his robe de nuit, on the
breast of a young pugilist almost twice his size.
One grimy fist clung to the enemy’s top not, and
the other was poised jast in front of his nose,
ready to descend at the slightest provocation.
•Aint you ashamed to be licked by such a little
feller as that?' cried the spectatois; and then I
made my way through the crowd and took the
astonished buccaneer by the hand. It is possi
ble that Joseph might have walked a little faster
than was good for him, considered on strictly
hygenie principles.
‘You bad, naught”, wicked boy,’ I began, as
soon as I had pulled him into the house, -what
dc you mean by such behavior?’
‘I corned dowD a minit to the hall door, re
plied the small offender, ‘and that boy what I
licked called me names, and then I runned for
him, and I ketched him too, this way, mamma,’
and the buccaneer ran the length of the hall to
illustrate the manner of capture.
‘Where do you think the bears are that Miss
Price told you about, Joseph ?'
‘I aint faid no bears,' he replied, striking an
attitude which would have done credit to a ‘Be
nicia Boy.’ ‘I’d lick the bears too mamma, if
they corned round here calling me names, and
I wouldn't care if I didn’t have no clothes on
neither.’
Wbat did I do with him? Well, his father
entered at this oritioal juncture, and when I say
that Joe’s father is like all the rest of the fathers,
mothers will realize how difficult it would have
been for me to do anything,
‘Whip him !' I'd like to see anybody do that
with Mr. Smith around !
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EPILEPSY
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