Part 10

Everything passed as in a dream, until Dolly's class was mentioned, when Miss Danvers, the head mistress, in a short speech declared that the prize had been won, after a severe struggle, by Lucy Trevor. At the same time she was giving a special prize, because of the good conduct and perfect uprightness and truth of the unsuccessful competitor. This prize she awarded to Dolly Ferrars. She held up a beautiful Bible, bound in white vellum.

"This is the prize of honor," she said.

Dolly's heart stood still. She had forgotten her disappointment about the class prize in an overwhelming sense of shame.

"Go up, Dolly," said mother proudly.

"I can't," said Dolly. "I—I—"

"Go on, darling," said mother, gently pushing her. And Dolly went.

In silence she accepted the Bible, and laid it on her mother's knee.

"I am so tired," she said.

"We will go now," whispered mother. "The excitement has been too much for you."

They slipped quietly away and returned home.

"Mother!" cried Dolly, as they were alone. "Oh, mother dear, I can't take that prize, I don't deserve it. I have failed in truth and honor. I am so miserable!"

Mrs. Ferrars, bewildered at Dolly's words, soothed her while she poured out the story of her conduct on the ice.

"And I have no right to the prize," she said. "What shall I do?"

"We will return it to Miss Danvers," said mother, gently; "at least for a time." She looked very pale and sad. "But, darling," she added, as she folded Dolly in her arms, "if you are really sorry and have through repentance learned to conquer in the fight between right and wrong, you are still a winner of the true prize of honor!"

The WAVES.

A pert little wave by the sea-shore one day, Came dashing along in its impudent way; A wee little maiden was straying too near. Said the wavelet—I'll catch you my child, never fear, "I will carry you home to a bed in the sea, "I will rock you as snug as on Mother's own knee." But the child answered merrily, Mother is near, "So dash away, splash away, I do not fear "Dash away, splash away, back to the sea, "Mother is keeping her watch over me."

A cruel wave rolled o'er the night clouded sea, And the sailors were fearful as e're they could be, The vessel lay tossing, the north wind blew drear, Said the wave, "I will rock you to sleep, never fear," But a brave tar looked up, with a light in his eye, And a swift prayer was sent thro the threatening sky To his heart came the answer, in voice, sweet and clear, "Ye shall weather the tempest true heart, never fear." Splash away, dash away, danger is past, The vessel is anchored, in harbour at last.

M. I. H.

A LABOR OF LOVE.

"Oh, Claude, do look at that poor woman! Doesn't she look ill! I don't believe she can drag that great pail of salt water up the beach. There, she's let it drop! all the water is spilt, and she is leaning against the boat. I must go and see if I can help her."

So spoke kind-hearted little Elsie, but Claude pulled her back.

"Don't, Elsie! The woman will be all right directly, and we don't know anything about her."

"But she's in trouble," urged Elsie. "See how she trembles, and you know, Claude, what we heard on Sunday at the catechising."

Claude could not but remember, for it was only yesterday that the clergyman had told his little hearers to try and sympathize with any one in trouble. "Let them realize by your sympathy that you remember that we are all one great family—all one in Christ."

So he let go of Elsie's hand, and she went up to the half-fainting woman and asked her if she wanted anything.

"No, thank you," said the woman, looking gratefully at her little bare-legged questioner (Elsie was in her shore dress—or rather undress—and with tucked-up petticoats and huge sun-bonnet was supposed to be secure from any evil effects of either water or sun). "I shall be better presently," she continued; "it's only my side; it hurts me so when I fetch the salt water. It's for the little invalid boy at the Red House there. I'm his nurse, and the doctor has ordered a salt-water bath for him every day, and it hurts me to drag the water up this steep beach; only I don't want any one there to know it, as they might send me away as not strong enough, and I must earn money, for I've a sick mother at home."

"Oh, I know we can help you in that," cried Elsie. "You sit still, and let me carry your empty pail to the top of the beach; it's only a step from there to the Red House, and then we'll bring our little pails full of water and soon fill yours."

The nurse would have remonstrated, but Elsie had run off with the pail, and she really felt too ill to follow her.

The tide was low that morning, and the salt water lay beyond a good stretch of sand, so that Elsie had no light work before her; and after the sands, there was the steep beach to climb, and somehow when she was at the top her bucket seemed to have but little water in it. However, she toiled bravely to and fro, and Claude, who would not help at first, was touched by her industry. Of course, he would not own to such feelings, and indeed was too proud, saying to Elsie that she was spilling half her water! "Here, I'll show you how to carry a bucket!" And after that he worked with her, and with Claude's big bucket the pail was soon filled. By this time the nurse was better, and able to carry the pail across the road into the Red House.

"I'll never forget your kindness as long as I live," she gratefully declared. "I might have been your own sister by the way you've behaved to me."

"How funny of her to say that," whispered Elsie to her brother; "it seems as though she must have been at the catechising too. Perhaps she knows we ought to try to be all one in Christ."

And Claude, boy-like, only nodded his assent.

CHESTNUTS.

Ben was visiting his cousin Hugh in the country, and they had been having a glorious time getting chestnuts. They started early in the morning, taking their dinners with them that they might have all day in the woods. There had been a sharp frost the night before, and the boys had a merry time as the wind rattled the brown chestnuts down on their heads. Bags and pockets were soon full to overflowing, and after eating their lunch by the brook they started for home.

"Now for a feast of roast chestnuts," said Ben, as they sat down by the fireplace, after the good warm supper which Hugh's mother had ready for them. "I will roast them and you can pull off the shells when they are done."

What fun it was to see the nuts jump around in the shovel Ben was using for a roaster, till their brown shells burst open with the heat!

"We will roast a whole bagful," said Hugh, "then there will be some for sister Lucy."

To be sure, Hugh burnt his fingers, and Ben dropped some chestnuts into the fire, but they only laughed the merrier. Lucy joined them after she had finished helping her mother with the work, and together they ate the chestnuts and played games till bedtime came, when they all agreed it had been one of the happiest days of their lives.

A SPARROW STORY.

I and my little sisters are very fond of the sparrows who come to our garden to eat the crumbs that we throw out for them. We find our cat also likes them, but in a different way. We have been able to rescue several little ones from it, but have never been able to rear them, as they have generally died two or three days after. However, a little while ago we saved one poor little bird from pussy, and placed it in a cage and fed it, as it was too young to look after itself. The cage was placed in my bedroom, with the window open, and we suppose the chirrup of the little prisoner was heard by its parents, and we were pleased to see one of them fly into the room and carry it food. As they seemed so anxious, and we thought they knew better than we how to feed it, we placed the little thing on the window sill, watching near it to prevent it meeting with any accident, as it was too young to fly more than a few yards by itself. It had scarcely been there a few seconds before its mother flew down to it and chattered, as we thought scolding it, but we suppose she was only giving it directions, for the young one laid hold of the mother's tail with its little beak, and, with that assistance, was able to fly away.

We watched until it was out of sight, and were very glad to think that the parents had recovered their little one, about which they had shown such anxiety.

THE SHOWMAN'S DOG.

"Poor little chap!" the showman said, "Your day at last is done, No more you'll fly at Punch's head, Or cause the Clown to run, Poor little chap! you're weak, too weak To join the Peepshow fun!"

"Out of the road I picked you up, 'Tis years and years ago, Your leg was badly injured, pup, Run over as you know. I bound the limb, and took you home, And soon you join'd the Show."

"Many a mile we've tramped, old dog, And many a place we've seen, And you where'er our feet might jog, Have faithful ever been. And rarely a rough or angry word Has come our lives between."

"Toby I wish that you could speak, One word in answer say, No! e'en to bark you are too weak, Or you would still obey. I know not what the show will do When you have passed away!"

Lovingly then poor Toby crept Towards his master's side And licked his hand—the Showman wept! For less things men have cried! And there full grateful to the last His old companion died.

E. Oxenford.

TIDYING.

The children had played all through the long afternoon, and the room was turned topsy-turvy.

Toys were strewn all over the floor; furniture was pulled out of place; and the legs of the chairs were entangled with a long kite-tail that they had begun to make.

Presently Raymond said with a start, "Didn't you hear mother say, 'Put the room tidy'?"

"No," answered Ralph; "nobody spoke; it was only because you saw what a state the room was in that you thought you heard her; and it is very untidy; we had better put it straight."

"Yes, let us put it straight," said Raymond, "for I know I did hear mother tell us to."

So the two set to work and sorted the toys, and put them away in the cupboard; then they began to try to disentangle the twine of the kite-tail that was twisted round the chairs.

"Oh, dear! this is tiresome!" cried Raymond, as he bent his sunny head over the task.

"It does hurt my fingers!" said Ralph, knitting his dark brows.

Presently Raymond looked up with a beaming face.

"I know mother is looking at us all the time," he said; "I can feel she is smiling!"

Ralph looked round the room. "She is not here," he answered, "it is only the sunlight through the window."

"I know I can't see her," said Raymond again, "but I can feel she is smiling."

Then they were silent, and went on with their work.

"It is bedtime, little boys," said mother, coming in.

"But we have not finished," they cried together.

"Mother and nurse will do the rest," said mother. "You've both done very well."

"Mother, weren't you watching us all the time?" asked Raymond eagerly.

"Yes," she answered, smiling; "I was in the garden, and could see through the window my two little sons; Raymond was quick to obey when he heard my voice, and Ralph did what he knew I should wish, though he did not know I was able to see him."

And Mother put her arms round the children, and the sunny head and the dark head nestled softly on her bosom, and the eyelids drooped, for the day had been long and the sun had gone down.

"But I wish I had known you were there," murmured Ralph.

CHARLIE THE CHATTERBOX.

"Do be quiet, Charlie!" "Leave off talking!" "Silence, sir!" These words were addressed to Charlie in vain, whether at home or school. He talked at meals, at class, in church; his little tongue was always at work, and yet it never seemed weary. Even if his mother had a headache, Charlie rattled on; if his father wanted to read or write quietly he had to go apart from Charlie, for there was no peace in the presence of the chatterbox. Of course he was a dunce, for how could he chatter and learn as well? And you may be sure he made plenty of mischief, for tongues that are always on the move do not keep to the exact truth sometimes when repeating what the ears have heard.

One day Grandfather said, "I really must teach that little tongue a lesson. If you can be silent for half an hour, Charlie, I will give you half-a-dollar." "Half-a-dollar! I'll earn it, grandfather." Charlie watched the clock and thought of tops and balls and kites and sweets and apples, and all the wonderful things half-a-dollar would buy; he had to keep silence till the clock had struck twelve, and just as the hand approached the hour he grew so excited with his success that he cried out, "There, I've done it! Please give me the money, grandfather." But Charlie never got that half-dollar, and I do not think such a chatterbox deserved it. You have two ears and one tongue, children; listen quietly, pay attention, but do not always make your voice to be heard, else other people may grow just a little tired of the sound.

SILVIO AND FRANCESCO.

On the side of one of the vine-clad hills of Italy dwelt a poor man with a large family. Though he was a hard-working man, he could only earn enough to poorly support his children, and to give them an education was beyond his power. He was an intelligent man, and though he had grown up without even learning to read, he wanted his children to have the advantages of schools and books, and he decided to seek for them a home in America. He saved all the money he could from his meagre earnings to pay the expense of the voyage. It was a hard struggle, and there were many days of stern self-denial and stringent economy ere the required amount could be obtained. When one has an earnest purpose, and bends his energies to accomplish it, he is quite sure of success. It was thus with this Italian family. Both father and mother were united in carrying out one fixed purpose,—to give their four children the advantages of a land of free schools,—and though their struggles were hard, yet they were working for their loved ones, and love lightens heavy burdens. There always comes pleasure from what is done for the benefit of others.

When all was ready they embarked from Genoa one evening, as the sunset sent a radiant glow over mountain and valley.

Silvio and Francesco were the youngest of the four children. The two eldest boys, like their parents, were sad at leaving their youthful companions, and sat in the stern of the ship and watched the receding hills till the rosy light faded, and darkness shut out from view their native land forever.

Silvio was nine years old, and Francesco two years younger. They did not realize the journey which was before them, nor did they regret at leaving. They were charmed with the novelty of the scenes around them. They watched the sailors in their duties about the ship, and listened to the captain's stern orders. The harbor was gay with the lights of the many crafts, large and small, which were gliding about over the placid surface of the gulf. So quiet were the waters that one would never dream that they could ever be ruffled, or cause the voyager discomfort. As their ship glided out of the placid Gulf of Genoa into the Mediterranean Sea all on board were anticipating a quick and prosperous voyage, and a safe landing on the bright shores of America.

Alas, how uncertain is the future! A terrific storm arose when within a few days' sail of the American coast. The masts and rudder were carried away by the wind, and the hulk then drifted at the mercy of the waves. The captain and several of the crew were washed overboard in the first encounter with the gale, and the lifeboat, which many of the passengers took when it was believed the ship was sinking, was swamped, and all in it lost. A few others remained on the hulk, and stayed on deck in hopes to signal some passing vessel which had outridden the storm. One by one these were swept overboard, or died from exposure. Silvio and Francesco were so small that they were not allowed on deck. When the storm commenced they were sleeping in the forecastle, in the berth of a kind old sailor who had given them the use of it. His dog was their sleeping companion by night and playfellow by day. These three were secured below during the storm, and were forgotten during the excitement and distress on board. The parents of the boys were swept overboard on the first night of the storm, and their brothers were lost in the lifeboat, and their old sailor friend died from exposure and over-exertion on the second day of the storm. Thus they were bereft of both kindred and friend, and, though they were unconscious of their situation, they were drifting upon the ocean on a wave-tossed bark, with no living companion but the sailor's dog.

Three days thus they drifted on the merciless ocean, wondering why they were left alone in the forecastle; and when they called for help all the reply was the dashing of the waves against the shattered ship.

Fortunately, a large steamer which had withstood the storm saw the shattered hulk drifting upon the waves, and sent men on board to rescue any who might be found alive. All had been swept away, and desolation reigned on deck. To their surprise, on opening the forecastle they found the two boys and the sailor's dog.

These helpless and homeless ones they took to the ship. Sad indeed were they when they began to realize that their parents and brothers were lost. They had no kindred or friends, and knew not a word of the language of the Americans who were upon the steamer. They shed many sad tears when the feelings of their loneliness settled upon them, and they wished themselves in their own country, where a language was spoken which they could understand.

There is always sunshine behind the clouds, and their shadows were dispelled by a kind gentleman upon the steamer, who said he would care for them and give them a home.

He commenced to teach them to speak English while on the voyage, and amused them with various sports and games. Silvio, being the eldest, learned quicker than his little brother, but as soon as he had learned he taught Francesco.

When the steamer landed the kind gentleman sent them to board for a while with a family from their own country who could speak both English and Italian, where they soon learned to talk in both languages.

Silvio was a good object-teacher, and gave his little brother lessons.

He would introduce some game or sport as a means of communicating instruction. It was pleasing to see them together. They would sit by the fire in the Italian's cottage, with the old sailor's dog, which the gentleman who had befriended the children said should not be taken from them, and Silvio would teach his brother.

They learned to play "cratch cradle," and when they did this the names of every thing used were learned. When one is learning a new language it is word by word; so in this game they learned to count, and to name the words, such as hand, finger, string, cross, and others that suggested themselves in the course of the game. Some children call this game "cat's cradle," but it should be "cratch cradle." A cratch is a cross-legged crib from which cattle are fed. It is also the shape of a cradle, or child's sleeping-crib, and, as the strings take this shape upon the fingers, the game has received that name.