Part 8

"Oh, that would be horrid when you are so kind!" said Rosie.

But what Rosie enjoyed most of all was that Miss Peters came out with her, and, calling Jacob, the old gardener, she went down to the lake and told him to get the boat ready, and then they went for a delightful row on the clear water. Rosie was happy then; she did not want Miss Peters to talk to her, and was very glad that the lady had brought a book, though she did not read much of it, for she was steering.

The only time Rosie did speak was when the great swan went gliding by, and, lifting his wings, began to hiss at the boat in a rather alarming manner. Then Rosie did touch Miss Peters's arm, asking, "Will he hurt us?"

"No, dear; but we will not go very near that bank, as he has a nest there, and might be angry if he thought we were going to disturb the hen, who is sitting." And Miss Peters steered away from that end of the lake.

Altogether Rosie passed a very happy day, and Miss Peters was so pleased with her that when, after they had had tea together in the delightful room that opened into the conservatory, she brought the child home, she kissed her, saying, "Remember, Rosie, you must come and see me again. I hope you have not been very unhappy at not being at the picnic!"

Rosie laughed and shook her head.

"I don't think I have been sorry at all," she said; "I have been very happy all the time, and I forgot about being disappointed."

A PICNIC OF SEVEN.

We are the Smiths, and there are four of us, and next door to us live the Browns, and there are three of them, so we are seven, and we are great friends. We liked being seven better than being eight, because it's like the poem; and I think that was why we never would let Jim Batson join our party. He and his dog Pincher were always wanting to make friends with us; but we told him there were enough of us without him, and then he would go away, but only to come back another day and try again.

When the spring weather came this year we made a delightful plan with the Browns that on Saturday we would go into the park, which was a mile off, and have games under the trees. When Saturday came it was a lovely day; so soon after breakfast we started out, all seven of us, with our dinners in our pockets. Willie Brown had the drum, and I had the trumpet, and a fine noise we made, almost frightening our little Sissy, who had to come because Mother was busy, and Bessie was minding Sissy, and we couldn't have any fun without Bessie. Charlie put on an old ragged coat, because Mother says he destroys everything; but Arthur and Patty Brown looked very nice, and we made Patty the queen, and we were her band playing to her.

Then all at once Jim Batson came out from among the trees with his dog (who was held by a string because of the game), and when we saw them we all shouted at Jim to go away. Bessie did ask me if it didn't seem unkind; but we wouldn't listen to her and sent him away, telling him not to sneak about near us. So he went off without a word.

We weren't very happy after that, for Arthur turned cross, and wouldn't speak to any one; but the worst of all was when Willie dropped one of the drumsticks into the river as we were crossing the plank. The river is very deep in parts, and none of us could swim, so we could only follow the stick as it floated along, and hope that it might catch in some weeds in a shallow part. But as we ran by the river we came on Jim and Pincher. Jim was sitting by the bank with his face hidden in his hands, and Pincher was just kissing him as hard as he could. Jim jumped up and began to move away when he saw us, but stopped to ask what was the matter when he saw Willie's face. As soon as he knew what it was, he took the string off Pincher's neck, and throwing a stone at the stick called, "Hie, Pincher! fetch it out!"

We did feel uncomfortable as we saw Pincher bring the drumstick to shore quite safely, but Bessie helped us out splendidly. She held out her hand to Jim, and said, "Thank you so much; we're all very sorry for being so unkind. Please don't make us more sorry by going away now."

ELSIE'S PARTY.

Yes, it was a very nice party! There were cakes, and games, and sweets, and crackers—crackers with caps in them! And little Elsie enjoyed it all, and felt very grand in her embroidered muslin frock, with a yellow paper cap out of one of the said crackers perched on the top of her curly brown head. If only Alfy had been there to enjoy it all with her!

Alfy was her twin brother, and they always did everything together. But to-day poor Alfy must stop at home: he is ill, very ill, with "inflammation of the tongue," Elsie says, but the doctor calls it "lungs." Anyway, there is nothing the matter with Elsie's tongue; it wags fast enough, and she tells everybody about Alfy, and how ill he is. "But he is better to-day, and I shall bring him my 'tracker.'"

Elsie goes home quite laden with "trackers" and toys for Alfy, and is far more pleased with these than with anything for herself.

But when she gets home a disappointment awaits her. Alfy is asleep, fast asleep, and must on no account be disturbed, for sleep is his best medicine.

"But I want so to give him these things," and Elsie clasps tightly her armful of treasures.

"You shall give them him to-morrow," Mother promises, and Elsie has to be content.

When to-morrow dawns, Elsie can hardly wait to be dressed, so anxious is she to go to Alfy and present the soldier doll and the rest of the things.

Nurse is so slow this morning, Elsie really cannot wait; and whilst Nurse turns to the drawer to pull out her clean frock, Elsie toddles quickly out of the nursery, and runs to Alfy's room. She can hardly reach the door, but manages somehow to stand on tip-toe and turn the handle.

"There, Alfy! See!" she cries gayly, as she runs up to his cot. "All these are for you!"

Alfy is better, and quite able to enjoy his presents, which are spread out on his white quilt, and Elsie stands by, quite satisfied with his pleasure.

"What have you got?" he asks at last, as, somewhat tired, he leans back on his pillows.

"Nothing," says Elsie promptly, "'cause I have the fun of giving, you know."

A simple answer, but one in which a great truth is hidden.

Are there not, in these hard times, some children who might learn the "fun," or rather the blessing, of giving?

EASTERN TRAVEL.

On we file in a winding Caravan, Caravan made of children and chairs. Bold Arabs are we, Adventurers free, The chairs are our Camels: dried figs are our wares.

Over the hot desert sands we are travelling, Travelling on to Cairo gates. Rugs gathered in lumps Give our Camels their humps, And our supper is made of a few dried dates.

Sparingly must we drink of the waterskin, Waterskin made of a nursery jug. For the water must last Till the desert is past We must measure it out in the doll's little mug.

Here's the Simoom, with the blast of a hurricane, Hurricane whirling the sand in drifts. We must lie down beside Our Camels, and hide Till the storm blows past, and the darkness lifts.

Look! Yonder afar are Cairo's Minarets, Minarets glittering gold in the sun. A few leagues more And our travels are o'er, And the journey of Camel and rider is done.

F. W. Home.

TEDDIE, THE HELPER.

"I'll give you two sovereigns for the five. It's a good price, but I mean it."

"I've told you I can't part with them," was Teddie Braham's reply to this offer of his schoolfellow, Gerald Keith, to buy his pet rabbits. "What, sell little Stripe, and Pickles, and old Brownie, and Spot, and Longears! I should be very badly off before I should do such a thing."

"Perhaps you think I haven't got the money. See for yourself," and Gerald displayed three glittering sovereigns.

"Are they all yours?" Teddie asked in amazement.

"Yes. It was my birthday yesterday; mother and father each gave me one, and Uncle Dick the other. You've only to say the word and two of them are yours. You have such a lot of pets, you won't miss your rabbits."

But Teddie was not to be tempted. He shook his head, smiling a little scornfully. Almost instantly, however, the smile changed into a look of alarm. One of the coins slipped from its owner's hand, rolled along the pathway, and before either of the boys could stop it, fell down the grating of a drain. For a moment Gerald, too, looked pale; then he broke into a laugh.

"It can't be helped," he said, "and there's plenty more where that came from. The worst of it is, mother told me not to carry the money about with me; but she'll give me another sovereign quick enough if I ask her. My father, you know, is one of the richest men about here."

He said it boastingly, and Teddy, having left his schoolfellow where the road branched off to their respective homes, went on his way, on that sunshiny June afternoon, thinking, rather seriously, how pleasant it must be to be as rich as Gerald. True, he had a great deal to make him happy; but, though comfortably off, his parents were not rich, and Teddie's mind dwelt longingly on the pony, the beautiful little tricycle, and handsome gold watch, of which Gerald was the proud possessor.

On reaching home, Teddie went straight to the drawing-room to find his mother. But a visitor was with her, and he had to wait before he could ask her to put on her hat and go out in the garden with him. He took up a book and sat down quietly. In a few minutes, however, his attention was caught by the conversation between the two ladies.

Mrs. Taylor, the visitor, told a sad story of a working-man, who, in consequence of an accident, had been unable to earn a penny for several weeks. His wife was also in bad health, and she and her seven young children were in great distress. Mrs. Taylor was trying to collect some money to relieve the poor woman till her husband was again able to work, and she asked Mrs. Braham for a subscription. To Teddy's surprise, she answered,—

"I am sorry that I cannot help you in the matter."

"But the smallest sum will be acceptable," said Mrs. Taylor; "five shillings, or even half-a-crown."

"I cannot even give you half-a-crown," and Teddy's quick ears heard his mother's voice falter as she said the words.

"Then," said Mrs. Taylor coldly, "I suppose it is no good to ask you to give your usual yearly donation towards the summer treat for the Sunday-school children?"

"It pains me to refuse you, but I must."

An uncomfortable silence followed. Mrs. Taylor rose to go, but Mrs. Braham motioned her to resume her seat.

"This must seem so strange to you," she said, "that I feel I must explain. My husband has had a sudden and very serious loss. He is now a comparatively poor man, and it would not be right for me to give, as I have hitherto been pleased and thankful to do."

Teddy could not bear to see tears in his mother's eyes. He went and stood by her side while Mrs. Taylor expressed her sympathy, and also her sorrow at having wounded Mrs. Braham's feelings. But Mrs. Braham said, with a smile, that no apology was needed; and then, having seen her visitor to the hall-door, she returned to the drawing-room, and took Teddie on her knee. He was eleven years old, but that was still his favorite seat. Very gently she put back the hair from his forehead and kissed him, and then suddenly she bent her head and burst into a fit of weeping. Wise Teddie only pressed his arms more closely round her neck, and said nothing till the tears began to stop. Then he whispered,—

"Won't you tell me all about it, mother?"

"Dear, this is the first real trouble you have known," she answered, "and I am so sorry that your young, happy life should be clouded. If we could keep the knowledge from you we would, but that is impossible."

Then she told him how his father had become surety for a friend, and explained that this meant a promise to pay a certain sum of money in place of the friend, if that friend should find himself unable to pay it. Mr. Braham had made a promise to pay a large amount on this condition, and it had fallen on him to fulfil his word.

"Is father quite poor now?" Teddie asked; "as poor as the people who live in the cottages in the lane?"

"No, dear; but we shall have to be very careful. I shall send Mary away and keep only one servant. In order to remain in the house we must let some of our rooms, and this year, at any rate, there will be no holiday for us at the seaside."

"I don't mind it for myself, mother," said Teddie lovingly, "I only mind it for you."

"But, darling, do you think you know what it means?" she asked. "No presents, no treats, very few pleasures of any kind. Can you meet all this patiently and bravely? If you do you will carry out Christ's command: 'Bear ye one another's burdens,' for you will be helping your father and me to bear our burden."

"I will try;" and though when Teddie raised his head from its resting-place his eyes were wet, his face still wore a look of brave resolve.

It was a promise which he at once began to carry out in deed. It would be hard to part with his rabbits, hard to go to Gerald and say he would accept his offer after the somewhat scornful way in which he had before refused it. But he did not know how much the sacrifice would cost until he opened the hutch, and out came the little animals for their evening meal. He took Stripe in his arms, and Brownie put her front paws on his knee, as if jealous of the caresses Stripe was getting. He felt he could not let them go. But the feeling only lasted a few minutes, and he hadn't a single regret when next day he placed two sovereigns in his mother's hand.

She could only kiss him and thank him. Not on any account would she have told him that had she known his intention she should not have allowed him to carry it out.

I am glad to say that in a few years Mr. Braham fully regained the money he had lost. But in better circumstances Teddie did not cease those loving acts of kindness and unselfishness which he tried so hard to practise for his mother and father's sake in their time of difficulty, and he still finds ways and means in which to obey that "law" of Christ: "Bear ye one another's burdens."

OUR BOAT.

Ferdy and I quarrel sometimes, but not always. We don't like quarrelling, and yet somehow we can't help it; and Ferdy will want everything his own way because he is the elder, and that isn't fair. I ought to have my way sometimes, I think.

Mother gave us a boat not long ago—a beautiful boat, with a sail and a dingy and everything complete, and it was to be between us. So we took off our shoes and stockings and went down by the quay to sail our boat. It sailed as nicely as any boat could, and we were so pleased with it, but in spite of that we began to quarrel. You see, Ferdy wanted to call the boat the "Amy," after Amy Stevens, a little girl we have met on the beach this summer. Ferdy thinks her as pretty as a fairy, but I don't, though she's very jolly sometimes, and can play at anything. Well, Ferdy would have the boat called "Amy," and I wanted it to be "Isabel," after mother, because she gave us the boat, and we love her better than any one else in the world. And then we quarrelled. I suppose we made a noise—quarrelling people generally do—for suddenly we found that Amy was watching and listening, and then Ferdy turned very red and did not say anything for some minutes.

"Look here, Alf," he said at last; "I'll give you my share of the boat, and then you shall call it what you like."

"Oh, no!" I said, "you must have half—and so you shall, for if you give me your share I'll give you mine."

So we settled it very nicely in that way, and called the boat "Isabel Amy;" and all the afternoon Amy Stevens played that she was the captain and we were the sailors.

"BLIND TOMMY."

What a funny name for a dog! But I will tell you how he happened to get it. Blind Charlie was his master, and he was the happiest old man I ever knew.

Charlie used to sit reading the blind people's Bible, beside a sheltering wall, at the Royal Academy in Edinburgh, Blind Tommy, with his little pitcher in his mouth, begging for pennies. I got to know them so well that, every time I passed, Charlie allowed the dog to put his pitcher down, while I fed him with a biscuit or bun. I made him a nice warm coat, too, for the cold days.

One day I missed them both, and I went at once to Charlie's lodgings. Here I found that on his way home one dark night, Charlie had been knocked down by a carriage, and had his leg broken. He had been carried home, and the neighbors had been very kind and had got him a doctor. "But, oh, ma'am," he said, "there's no nurse like Tommy! He sits close beside me, and seems to know everything I want. If I am thirsty, I say, 'Tommy, some water,' and off he goes with his little pitcher to the bucket, fills it, and carries it so carefully back to me."

THE GHOST IN THE GARDEN.

Harry Peters had to cross the common one evening in the dark, and, though his father had sent him to post a letter, he could not get on, for he saw a ghost, as he fancied, in the garden near the lane, and his hair stood almost on end. There it was, rising white and spectral before him with outstretched, slowly moving arms. Harry uttered a piercing shriek, for the boys at school had told him some dreadful ghost stories, and he quite expected to be carried off by those ghostly beckoning arms. His father was very vexed that he had lost the post, and would not believe he had seen a ghost.

"There are no such things," he said; "light the lantern and we'll drive your ghost away. Some silly boy has been frightening you."

Harry's big brother declared he would pay the boy out for shamming ghosthood, and so the three went together, followed by the dog, barking loudly.

And what do you think Harry's ghost turned out to be? The white shirt belonging to the cobbler, which his wife had hung up to dry in their back garden.

Harry has left off believing in ghosts now; and if ever he sees one again, he intends to go right up to it, and find out all about it, instead of running away.

THE ARTLESS ANGLERS.

I

Three little trots made up their minds That they would fishing go, For there were fish within the brook, Their brothers told them so. Some pins and thread and withes they took, Likewise a lump of dough.

II

The eldest of these little trots Was seven if a day, And deem'd herself a trusty guide Because she knew the way That led down to the waterside, Where fish for catching lay!

III

Each quickly into proper shape Bent up the fatal pin, And tied it carefully with thread Upon a withy thin. Then little Bell the eldest said: "We're ready to begin!"