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 $ /raranin itnrtf. 
 
 BY JACOB ABBOTT, 
 
 AUTHOR OF THE “YOUNG CHRISTIAN,” ILLUSTRATED 
 HISTORIES, ETC. ETC. 
 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 T. J. ALLMAN, 42, HOLBOHN HILL. 
 
Billing, Printer and Stereotyper, Guildford, Surrey, 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The development of the moral sentiments in the 
 human heart, in early life,—and every thing, in 
 fact, which relates to the formation of character,— 
 is determined in a far greater degree by sympathy, 
 and by the influence of example, than by formal 
 precepts and didactic instruction. If a boy hears 
 his father speaking kindly to a robin in the spring, 
 —welcoming its coming, and offering it food,— 
 there arises at once in his own mind a feeling of 
 kindness toward the bird, and toward all the 
 animal creation, which is produced by a sort of 
 sympathetic action, a power somewhat similar to 
 what in physical philosophy is called induction. 
 On the other hand, if the father, instead of feed¬ 
 ing the bird, goes eagerly for a gun, in order that 
 he may shoot it, the boy will sympathize in that 
 desire, and growing up under such an influence, 
 there will be gradually formed within him, through 
 the mysterious tendency of the youthful heart to 
 vibrate in unison with hearts that are near, a dis- 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 position to kill and destroy all helpless beings 
 that come within his power. There is no need of 
 any formal instruction in either case. Of a 
 thousand children brought up under the former 
 of the above-described influences, nearly every 
 one, when he sees a bird, will wish to go and get 
 crumbs to feed it, while in the latter case, nearly 
 every one will just as certainly look for a stone. 
 Thus the growing up in the right atmosphere, 
 rather than the receiving of the right instruction, 
 is the condition which it is most important to 
 secure, in plans for forming the characters of 
 children. 
 
 It is in accordance with this philosophy that 
 these stories, though written mainly with a view 
 to their moral influence on the hearts and dis¬ 
 position of the readers, contain very little formal 
 exhortation and instruction. They present quiet 
 and peaceful pictures of happy domestic life, 
 pourtraying generally such conduct, and express¬ 
 ing such sentiments and feelings, as it is desirable 
 to exhibit and express in the presence of children. 
 
 The books, however, will be found, perhaps, 
 after all, to be useful mainly in entertaining and 
 amusing the youthful readers who may peruse 
 them, as the writing of them has been the amuse¬ 
 ment and recreation of the author in the intervals 
 of more serious pursuits. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 - 0 - 
 
 CHAPTER PAGB 
 
 I.—Jemmy.7 
 
 II. —The Bride. 24 
 
 III. —Maey Eeskine’s Visitors . . . 42 
 
 IV. —Calamity. 62 
 
 V. —Consultations. 82 
 
 VI. —Mary Bell in the Woods . . 101 
 
 VII. —House-Keeping. 119 
 
 VIII. —The School. 137 
 
 IX. —Good Management . . . . 156 
 
 X. —The Visit to Mary Erskine’s . 174 
 
SCENE OF THE STORY. 
 
 The country in the vicinity of Franconia, at the North. 
 
 PRINCIPAL PERSONS. 
 
 Mary Erskine. 
 
 Albert. 
 
 Phonny and Malleville, cousins, residing at the house 
 of Phonny’s mother. 
 
 Mrs. Henry, Phonny’s mother. 
 
 Antonio Bianchinette, a French boy, residing at Mrs. 
 
 Henry’s ; commonly called Beechnut. 
 
 Mrs. Bell, a widow lady, living in the vicinity of Mrs. 
 Henry’s. 
 
 Mary Bell, her daughter. 
 
Cjjnjitrr tijc /irsf. 
 
 JEMMY. 
 
 ALLEVILLE and her cousin 
 Phonny generally played together 
 at Franconia a great part of the 
 day, and at night they slept in 
 two separate recesses which 
 opened out of the same room. These recesses 
 were deep and large, and they were divided from 
 the room by curtains, so that they formed as it 
 were separate chambers : and yet the children 
 could speak to each other from them in the 
 morning, before they got up, since the curtains 
 did not intercept the sound of their voices. They 
 might have talked in the same manner at night, 
 after they had gone to bed, but this was against 
 Mrs. Henry’s rules. 
 
8 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 One morning, Malleville, after lying awake a 
 few minutes, listening to the birds that were 
 singing in the yard, and wishing that the window 
 was open, so that she could hear them more dis¬ 
 tinctly, heard Phonny’s voice calling to her. 
 
 “ Malleville,” said he, “ are you awake ?” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Malleville : “ are you ?” 
 
 “Yes,” said Phonny, “ I’m awake—but what 
 a cold morning it is !” 
 
 It was indeed a cold morning, or at least a very 
 cool one. This was somewhat remarkable, as it 
 was in the month of June. But the country 
 about Franconia was cold in winter, and cool in 
 summer. Phonny and Malleville rose and dressed 
 themselves, and then went down stairs. Ihey 
 hoped to find a fire in the sitting-room, but there 
 was none. 
 
 “ How sorry I am,” said Phonny. “ But 
 
 hark, I hear a roaring.” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Malleville; “ it is the oven ; they 
 are going to bake.” 
 
 The back of the oven was so near to the par¬ 
 tition wall which formed one side of the sitting-^ 
 room, that the sound of the fire could be heard© 
 through it. The mouth of the oven, however,** 
 opened into another small room connected with 
 the kitchen, which was called the baking-room. 
 
JEMMY. 
 
 9 
 
 The children went out into the baking-room, to 
 warm themselves by the oven fire. 
 
 “ I am very glad that it is a cool day,” said 
 Phonny, “ for perhaps mother will let us go to 
 Mary Erskine’s. Should not you like to go ?” 
 
 “Yes,” said Malleville, “ very much. Where 
 is it ?” 
 
 The readers who have perused the preceding 
 volumes of this series will have observed that 
 Mary Bell, who lived with her mother in the 
 pleasant little farm-house at a short distance from 
 the village, was always called by her full name, 
 Mary Bell, and not ever, or scarcely ever, merely 
 Mary. People had acquired the habit of speaking 
 of her in this way, in order to distinguish her 
 from another Mary who lived with Mrs. Bell for 
 several years. This other Mary was Mary 
 Erskine. Mary Erskine did not now live at Mrs. 
 Bell’s, but at another house, which was situated 
 nearly two miles from Mrs. Henry’s, and the way 
 to it was by a very wild and unfrequented road. 
 The children were frequently accustomed to go 
 and make Mary Erskine a visit; but it was so 
 long a walk, that Mrs. Henry never allowed them 
 to go unless on a very cold day. 
 
 At breakfast that morning, Phonny asked his 
 mother if that would not be a good day for them 
 
10 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 to go and see Mary Erskine. Mrs. Henry said 
 that it would be an excellent day, and that she 
 should be very glad to have them go, for there 
 were some things there to be brought home. 
 Besides, Beechnut was going to mill, and he 
 could carry them as far as Kater’s corner. 
 
 Kater’s corner was a place where a sort of cart 
 path, branching off from the main road, led 
 through the woods to the house where Mary 
 Erskine lived. It took its name from a farmer, 
 whose name was Kater, and whose house was 
 at the corner where the roads diverged. The 
 main road itself was very rough and wild, and 
 the cart path which led from the corner was 
 almost impassable in summer, even for a waggon, 
 though it was a very romantic and beautiful road 
 for travellers on horseback or on foot. In the 
 winter the road was excellent: for the snow 
 buried all the roughnesses of the way two or 
 three feet deep, and the teams which went back 
 and forth into the woods, made a smooth and 
 beautiful track for every thing on runners, upon 
 the top of it. 
 
 Malleville and Phonny were very much pleased 
 with the prospect of riding a part of the way to 
 Mary Erskine’s, with Beechnut, in the waggon. 
 They made themselves ready immediately after 
 
JEMMY. 
 
 11 
 
 breakfast, and then went and sat down upon the 
 step of the door, waiting for Beechnut to appear. 
 Beechnut was in the barn, harnessing the horse 
 into the waggon. 
 
 Malleville sat down quietly upon the step while 
 waiting for Beechnut. Phonny began to amuse 
 himself by climbing up the railing of the ban¬ 
 nisters, at the side of the stairs. He was trying 
 to poise himself upon the top of the railing, and 
 then to work himself up the ascent by pulling 
 and pushing with his hands and feet against the 
 bannisters themselves below. 
 
 “ I wish you would not do that," said Malle¬ 
 ville ; “ I think it is very foolish, for you may 
 fall and hurt yourself." 
 
 “ No," said Phonny, “ it is not foolish : it is 
 very useful for me to learn to climb." So saying, 
 he went on scrambling up the railing of the 
 bannister as before. 
 
 Just then Beechnut came along through the 
 yard, towards the house. He was coming for 
 the whip. 
 
 “ Beechnut," said Malleville, “I wish that you 
 would speak to Phonny." 
 
 “ Is it foolish forme to learn to climb ?" asked 
 Phonny. In order to see Beechnut while he 
 asked this question, Phonny had to twist his 
 
12 
 
 MARY ERSXINE, 
 
 head round in a very unusual position, and look 
 out under his arm. It was obvious that in doing 
 this he was in imminent danger of falling, so 
 unstable was the equilibrium in which he was 
 poised upon the rail. 
 
 “ Is not he foolish r” asked Malleville. 
 
 Beechnut looked at him a moment, and then 
 said, as he resumed his walk through the entry— 
 
 “ Not very ;—that is for a boy. I have known 
 boys sometimes to do foolisher things than that.” 
 
 “ What did they do r” asked Phonny. 
 
 “ Why once,” said Beechnut, “ I knew a boy 
 who put his. nose into the crack of the door, and 
 then took hold of the latch and pulled the door 
 to, and pinched his nose to death. That was a 
 little more foolish, though not much.” 
 
 So saying, Beechnut passed through the door 
 and disappeared. 
 
 Phonny was seized with so violent a convul¬ 
 sion of laughter at the idea of such absurd folly 
 as Beechnut had described, that he tumbled off 
 the bannisters, but fortunately he fell in, towards 
 the stairs, and was very little hurt. He came 
 down the stairs to Malleville, and as Beechnut 
 returned in a few minutes with the whip, they 
 all went out towards the barn together. 
 
 Beechnut had already put the bags of grain 
 
JEMMY. 
 
 13 
 
 into the waggon behind, and now he assisted 
 Phonny and Malleville to get in. He gave them 
 the whole of the seat, in order that they might 
 have plenty of room, and also that they might 
 be high up, where they could see. He had a 
 small bench which was made to fit in, in front, 
 and which he was accustomed to use for himself, 
 as a sort of driver’s seat, whenever the waggon 
 was full. He placed this bench in its place in 
 front, and taking his seat upon it, he drove away. 
 
 When the party had thus fairly set out, and 
 Phonny and Malleville had in some measure 
 finished uttering the multitude of exclamations of 
 delight with which they usually commenced a ride, 
 they began to wish that Beechnut would tell them 
 a story. Now Beechnut was a boy of boundless 
 fertility of imagination, and he was almost always 
 ready to tell a story. His stories were usually 
 invented on the spot, and were often extremely 
 wild and extravagant, both in the incidents in¬ 
 volved in them, and in the personages whom he 
 introduced as actors. The extravagance of these 
 tales was, however, usually no objection to them 
 in Phonny’s and Malleville’s estimation. In fact, 
 Beechnut observed that the more extravagant 
 his stories were, the better pleased his auditors 
 generally appeared to be in listening to them. 
 
 B 
 
14 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 He therefore did not spare invention, or restrict 
 himself by any rules either of truth or probability 
 in his narratives. Nor did he usually require any 
 time for preparation, but commenced at once with 
 whatever came into his head, pronouncing the 
 first sentence of his story very often without any 
 idea of what he was to say next. 
 
 On this occasion Beechnut began as follows : 
 
 “ Once there was a girl about three years old, 
 and she had a large black cat. The cat was of 
 a jet black colour, and her fur was very soft and 
 glossy. It was as soft as silk. 
 
 “ This cat was very mischievous and very sly. 
 She was very sly: very indeed. In fact, she 
 used to go about the house so very slily, getting 
 into all sorts of mischief which the people could 
 never find out till afterwards, that they gave her 
 the name of Sligo. Some people said that the 
 reason why she had that name was because she 
 came from a place called Sligo, in Ireland. But 
 that was not the reason. It was veritably and 
 truly because she was so sly.” 
 
 Beechnut pronounced this decision in respect 
 to the etymological import of the pussy’s name 
 in the most grave and serious manner, and Mal- 
 leville and Phonny listened with profound at¬ 
 tention. 
 
JEMMY. 
 
 15 
 
 “ What was the girl’s name ?” asked Malleville. 
 
 “ The girl’s ?” repeated Beechnut. “ Oh, her 
 name was—Arabella.” 
 
 “ Well, go on,” said Malleville. 
 
 “ One day,” continued Beechnut, “ Sligo was 
 walking about the house, trying to find some¬ 
 thing to do. She came into the parlour. There 
 was nobody there. She looked about a little, and 
 presently she saw a work-basket upon the corner 
 of a table, where Arabella’s mother had been at 
 work. Sligo began to look at the basket, think¬ 
 ing that it would make a good nest for her to 
 sleep in, if she could only get it under the clock. 
 The clock stood in a corner of the room. 
 
 “ Sligo accordingly jumped up into a chair, 
 and from the chair to the table, and then pushing 
 the basket along nearer and nearer to the edge 
 of the table, she at last made it fall over, and all 
 the sewing and knitting work, and the balls, and 
 needles, and spools, fell out upon the floor. 
 Sligo then jumped down and pushed the basket 
 along toward the clock. She finally got it under 
 the clock, crept into it, curled herself round into 
 the form of a semicircle inside, so as just to fill 
 the basket, and went to sleep. 
 
 “ Presently Arabella came in, and seeing the 
 spools and balls upon the floor, began to play 
 
 jb 2 
 
1G 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 with them. In a few minutes more, Arabella’s 
 mother came in, and when she saw Arabella 
 playing with these things upon the floor, she 
 supposed that Arabella herself was the rogue that 
 had thrown the basket off the table. Arabella 
 could not talk much. When her mother accused 
 her of doing this mischief, she could only say 
 “ No “ no but her mother did not believe 
 her. So she made her go and stand up in the 
 corner of the room, for punishment, while Sligo 
 peeped out from under the clock to see.” 
 
 “ But you said that Sligo was asleep,” said 
 Phonny. 
 
 “ Yes, she went to sleep,” replied Beechnut, 
 “but she waked up when Arabella’s mother came 
 into the room.” 
 
 Beechnut here paused a moment to consider 
 what he should say next, when suddenly he began 
 to point forward to a little distance before them 
 in the road, where a boy was to be seen at the 
 side of the road, sitting upon a stone. 
 
 “ I verily believe it is Jemmy,” said he. 
 
 As the waggon approached the place where 
 Jemmy was sitting, they found that he was 
 bending down over his foot, and moaning with 
 pain. Beechnut asked him what was the matter. 
 He said that he had sprained his foot dreadfully. 
 
JEMMY. 
 
 17 
 
 Beechnut stopped the horse, and giving the reins 
 to Phonny, he got out to see. Phonny imme¬ 
 diately gave them to Malleville, and followed. 
 
 “Are you much hurt ?” asked Beechnut. 
 
 “ Oh, yes,” said Jemmy, moaning and groan¬ 
 ing ; “ oh dear me !” 
 
 Beechnut then went back to the horse, and 
 taking him by the bridle, he led him a little way 
 out of the road, toward a small tree, where he 
 thought he would stand, and then taking Malle¬ 
 ville out, so that she might not be in any danger 
 if the horse should chance to start, he went back 
 to Jemmy. 
 
 “ You see,” said Jemmy, “ I was going to 
 mill, and I was riding along here, and the horse 
 pranced about and threw me off and sprained my 
 foot. Oh dear me ! what shall I do ?” 
 
 “ Where is the/ horse ?” asked Beechnut. 
 
 “ There he is,” said Jemmy, “ somewhere out 
 there. He has gone along the road. And the 
 bags have fallen off too. Oh dear me !” 
 
 Phonny ran out into the road, and looked for¬ 
 ward. He could see the horse standing by the 
 side of the road at some distance, quietly eating 
 the grass. A little this side of the place where 
 the horse stood, the bags were lying upon the 
 ground, not very far from each other. 
 
 b 3 
 
18 
 
 MARY ERSKINE, 
 
 The story which Jemmy told was not strictly 
 true. He was one of the boys of the village, and 
 was of a wild and reckless character. This was, 
 however, partly his father’s fault, who never gave 
 him any kind and friendly instruction, and always 
 treated him with a great degree of sternness and 
 seveirty. 
 
 A circus company had visited Franconia a few 
 weeks before the time of this accident, and 
 Jemmy had peeped through the cracks of the 
 fence that formed their enclosure, and had seen 
 the performers ride around the ring, standing 
 upon the backs of the horses. He was imme, 
 diately inspired with the ambition to imitate this 
 feat, and the next time that he mounted his 
 father’s horse, he made the attempt to perform it. 
 His father, when he found it out, was very angry 
 with him, and sternly forbade him ever to do such 
 a thing again. He declared positively that if he 
 did, he would whip him to death, as he said. 
 Jemmy was silent, but he secretly resolved that 
 he would ride standing again, the very first op¬ 
 portunity. 
 
 Accordingly, when his father put the two bags 
 of grain upon the horse, and ordered Jemmy to 
 go to mill with them, Jemmy thought that the 
 opportunity had come. He had observed that 
 
JEMMY. 
 
 19 
 
 the circus riders, instead of a saddle, used upon 
 the backs of their horses a sort of flat pad, which 
 afforded a much more convenient footing than 
 any saddle ; and as to standing on the naked back 
 of a horse, it was manifestly impossible for any 
 body but a rope-dancer. When, however, Jemmy 
 saw his father placing the bags of grain upon the 
 horse, he perceived at once that a good broad and 
 level surface was produced by them, which was 
 much more extended and level even than the 
 pads of the circus-riders. He instantly resolved, 
 that the moment he got completely away from 
 the village, he would mount upon the bags and 
 ride standing—and ride so, too, just as long as 
 he pleased. 
 
 Accordingly, as soon as he had passed the 
 house where Phonny lived, which was the last 
 house in that direction for some distance, he 
 looked round in order to be sure that his father 
 was not by any accident behind him, and then 
 climbing up first upon his knees, and afterward 
 upon his feet, he drew up the reins cautiously, 
 and then chirruped to the horse to go on. The 
 horse began to move slowly along. Jemmy was 
 surprised and delighted to find how firm his foot¬ 
 ing was on the broad surface of the bags. Grow¬ 
 ing more and more bold and confident as he be- 
 
20 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 came accustomed to his situation, he began pre¬ 
 sently to dance about, or rather to perform certain 
 awkward antics, which he considered dancing, 
 looking round continually, with a mingled ex¬ 
 pression of guilt, pleasure, and fear, in his coun¬ 
 tenance, in order to be sure that his father was 
 not coming. Finally, he undertook to make his 
 horse trot a little. The horse, however, by this 
 time began to grow somewhat impatient at the 
 unusual sensations which he experienced — the 
 weight of the rider being concentrated upon one 
 single point, directly on his back, and resting 
 very unsteadily and interruptedly there,—and the 
 bridle-reins passing up almost perpendicularly 
 into the air, instead of declining backwards, as 
 they ought to do in any proper position of the 
 horseman. He began to trot forward faster and 
 faster. Jemmy soon found that it would be pru¬ 
 dent to restrain him, but, in his upright position, 
 he had no control over the horse by pulling the 
 reins. He only pulled the horse’s head upwards, 
 and made him more uneasy and impatient than 
 before. He then attempted to get down into a 
 sitting posture again, but in doing so, he fell off 
 upon the hard road and sprained his ancle. The 
 horse trotted rapidly on, until the bags fell off, 
 first one and then the other. Finding himself 
 
JEMMY. 
 
 21 
 
 thus wholly at liberty, he stopped and began to 
 eat the grass at the road-side, wholly unconcerned 
 at the mischief that had been done. 
 
 Jemmy’s distress was owing much more to his 
 alarm and his sense of guilt, than to the actual 
 pain of the injury which he had suffered. He 
 was, however, entirely disabled by the sprain. 
 
 “It is rather a hard case,” said Beechnut, “no 
 doubt, but never mind it, Jemmy. A man may 
 break his leg, and yet live to dance many a horn¬ 
 pipe afterwards. You’ll get over all this, and 
 laugh about it one day. Come, I’ll carry you 
 home in my waggon.” 
 
 “ But I am afraid to go home,” said Jemmy. 
 
 “ What are you afraid of?” asked Beechnut. 
 
 “ Of my father,” said Jemmy. 
 
 “ Oh no,” said Beechnut. “ The horse is not 
 hurt, and as for the grist, I’ll carry it to mill with 
 mine. So there is no harm done. Come, let me 
 put you into the waggon.” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Phonny, “ and I will go and catch 
 the horse.” 
 
 While Beechnut was putting Jemmy into the 
 waggon, Phonny ran along the road toward the 
 horse. The horse, hearing footsteps, and sup¬ 
 posing from the sound that somebody might be 
 coming to catch him, was at first disposed to set 
 
22 
 
 MARY ERSKTNE. 
 
 off and gallop away ; but looking round and see¬ 
 ing that it was nobody but Phonny, he went on 
 eating as before. When Phonny got pretty near 
 to the horse, he began to walk up slowly towards 
 him, putting out his hand as if to take hold of 
 the bridle, and saying, “Whoa—Dobbin,—whoa.” 
 The horse raised his head a little from the grass, 
 shook it very expressively at Phonny, walked on 
 a few steps, and then began to feed upon the 
 grass as before. He seemed to know precisely 
 how much resistance was necessary to avoid the 
 recapture with which he was threatened. 
 
 “ Whoa, Jack! whoa!” said Phonny, advancing 
 again. The horse, however, moved on, shaking 
 his head as before. He seemed to be no more 
 disposed to recognize the name of Jack than 
 Dobbin. 
 
 “ Jemmy,” said Phonny, turning back and call¬ 
 ing out aloud, “ Jemmy ! what’s his name ?” 
 
 Jemmy did not answer. He was fully occupied 
 in getting into the waggon. 
 
 Beechnut called Phonny back, and asked him 
 to hold Ahorse, while he went to catch Jemmy’s. 
 He did it by opening one of the bags and taking 
 out a little grain, and by means of it enticing the 
 stray horse near enough to enable him to take 
 hold of the bridle. He then fastened him behind 
 
JEMMY. 
 
 23 
 
 the waggon, and putting Jemmy’s two bags in, 
 he turned round and went back to carry Jemmy- 
 home, leaving Malleville and Phonny to walk the 
 rest of the way to Mary Erskine’s. Besides their 
 ride, they lost the remainder of the story of Sxigo, 
 if that can be said to be lost which never existed. 
 For at the time when Beechnut paused in his nar¬ 
 ration, he had told the story as far as he had in¬ 
 vented it. He had not thought of another word. 
 
 \ 
 
Cjjnpttr tj)t Imnir. 
 
 THE BRIDE. 
 
 ARY ERSKINE was an or¬ 
 phan. Her mother died when 
 she was about twelve years old. 
 Her father had died long before, 
 and after her father’s death her 
 mother was very poor, and lived in so secluded 
 and solitary a place, that Mary had no opportu¬ 
 nity then to go to school. She began to work 
 too as soon as she was able to do any thing, and 
 it was necessary from that day forward for her to 
 work all the time ; and this would have prevented 
 her from going to school, if there had been one 
 near. Thus when her mother died, although 
 she was an intelligent and very sensible girl, she 
 could neither read nor write a word. She told 
 Mrs. Bell the day that she went to live with her, 
 
THE BRIDE. 
 
 25 
 
 that she did not even know any of the letters, 
 except the round one and the crooked one. The 
 round one she said she always knew, and as for 
 S, she learned that, because it stood for Erkine. 
 This shows how little she knew about spelling. 
 
 Mrs. Bell wanted Mary Erskine to help her in 
 taking care of her own daughter Mary, who was 
 then an infant. As both the girls were named 
 Mary, the people of the family and the neighbours 
 gradually fell into the habit of calling each of 
 them by their full name, in order to distinguish 
 them from each other. Thus the baby was 
 never called Mary, but always Mary Bell, and 
 the little nursery maid was always known as 
 Mary Erskine. 
 
 Mary Erskine became a great favourite at Mrs. 
 Bell’s. She was of a very light-hearted and joyous 
 disposition, always contented and happy, singing 
 like a nightingale at her work all the day long, 
 when she was alone, and cheering and enlivening 
 all around her by her buoyant spirits when she 
 was in company. When Mary Bell became old 
 enough to run about and play, Mary Erskine 
 became her playmate and companion, as well as 
 her protector. There was no distinction of rank 
 to separate them. If Mary Bell had been as old 
 as Mary Erskine, and had had a younger sister, 
 
 c 
 
26 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 her duties in the household would have been ex¬ 
 actly the same as Mary Erskine’s were. In fact, 
 Mary Erskine’s position was altogether that of 
 an older sister ; and strangers visiting the family 
 would have supposed that the two girls were 
 really sisters, had they not both been named 
 Mary. 
 
 Mary Erskine was about twelve years older 
 than Mary Bell, so that when Mary Bell began 
 to go to school, which was when she was about 
 five years old, Mary Erskine was about seventeen. 
 Mrs. Bell had proposed, when Mary Erskine 
 first came to her house, that she should go to 
 school and learn to read and write; but Mary 
 had been very much disinclined to do so. In 
 connection with the amiableness and gentleness 
 of her character and her natural good sense, 
 she had a great deal of pride and independence 
 of spirit; and she was very unwilling to go to 
 school—being, as she was, almost in her teens 
 —and begin there to learn her letters with the 
 little children. Mrs. Bell ought to have required 
 her to go, notwithstanding her reluctance, or else 
 to have made some other proper arrangement 
 for teaching her to read and write. Mrs. Bell 
 was aware of this, in fact, and frequently resolved 
 that she would do so. But she postponed the 
 
THE BRIDE. 
 
 27 
 
 performance of her resolution from month to 
 month and year to year, and finally it was not 
 performed at all. Mary Erskine was so very 
 useful at home, that a convenient time for 
 sparing her never came. And then, besides, she 
 was so kind, and so tractable, and so intent 
 upon complying with all Mrs. Bell’s wishes in 
 every respect, that Mrs. Bell was extremely 
 averse to require anything of her, which would 
 mortify her or give her pain. 
 
 When Mary Erskine was about eighteen years 
 old, she was walking home one evening from the 
 village, where she had been to do some shopping 
 for Mrs. Bell, and as she came to a solitary part 
 of the road, after having left the last house 
 which belonged to the village, she saw a young 
 man coming out of the woods at a little distance 
 before her. She recognized him, immediately, 
 as a young man whom she called Albert, who 
 had often been employed by Mrs. Bell at work 
 about the farm and garden. Albert was a very 
 sedate and industrious young man, of frank and 
 open and manly countenance, and of an erect and 
 athletic form. Mary Erskine liked Albert very 
 well, and yet the first impulse was, when she 
 saw him coming, to cross over to the other side 
 of the road, and thus pass him at a little distance. 
 
28 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 She did, in fact, take one or two steps in that 
 direction, but thinking almost immediately that 
 it would be foolish to do so, she returned to the 
 same side of the road, and walked on. Albert 
 walked slowly along towards Mary Erskine, until 
 at length they met. 
 
 “ Good evening, Mary Erskine,” said Albert. 
 
 “ Good evening, Albert,” said Mary Erskine. 
 
 Albert turned and began to walk along slowly, 
 by Mary Erskine’s side. 
 
 “ I have been waiting here for you more than 
 two hours,” said Albert. 
 
 “ Have you ?” said Mary Erskine. Her heart 
 began to beat, and she was afraid to say anything 
 more, for fear that her voice would tremble. 
 
 “ Yes,” said Albert. “ I saw you go to the 
 village, and I wanted to speak to you when you 
 came back.” 
 
 Mary Erskine walked along, but did not 
 speak. 
 
 “ And I have been waiting and watching two 
 months for you to go to the village,” continued 
 Albert. 
 
 “ I have not been much to the village, lately,” 
 said Mary. 
 
 Here there was a pause of a few minutes, when 
 Albert said again, 
 
THE BRIDE. 
 
 29 
 
 “ Have you any objection to my walking along 
 with you here a little way, Mary ?” 
 
 “ No,” said Mary, “ not at all.” 
 
 “ Mary,” said Albert, after another short pause, 
 * I have got twenty-five pounds and my axe,— 
 and this right arm. I am thinking of buying a 
 lot of land, about a mile beyond Eater’s corner. 
 If I do so, and build a small house of one room 
 there, will you come and be my wife ? It will 
 have to be a log house at first.” 
 
 Mary Erskine related subsequently to Mary 
 Bell what took place at this interview, thus far, 
 but she would never tell the rest. 
 
 It was evident, however, that Mary Erskine 
 was inclined to accept this proposal, from a con¬ 
 versation which took place between her and 
 Mrs. Bell the next evening. It was after tea. 
 The sun had gone down, and the evening was 
 beautiful. Mrs. Bell was sitting in a low rocking- 
 chair, on a little covered platform, near the door, 
 which they called the stoop. There were two 
 seats, one on each side of the stoop, and there 
 was a vine climbing over it. Mrs. Bell was knit¬ 
 ting. Mary Bell, who was then about six years 
 old, was playing about the yard, watching the 
 butterflies and gathering flowers. 
 
 “You may stay here and play a little while,” 
 
80 
 
 MA.it Y ERSKINE. 
 
 said Mary Erskine to Mary Bell. “ I am going 
 to talk with your mother a little; but I shall be 
 back again pretty soon.” 
 
 Mary Erskine accordingly went to the stoop 
 where Mrs. Bell was sitting, and took a seat 
 upon the bench at the side of Mrs. Bell, though 
 rather behind than before her. There was a 
 railing along behind the seat, at the edge of the 
 stoop, and a large white rose-bush, covered with 
 roses, upon the other side. 
 
 Mrs. Bell perceived from Mary Erskine’s air 
 and manner that she had something to say to her ; 
 so after remarking that it was a very pleasant 
 evening, she went on knitting, waiting for Mary 
 Erskine to begin. 
 
 “ Mrs. Bell,” said Mary. 
 
 “ Well,” said Mrs. Bell. 
 
 The trouble was, that Mary Erskine did not 
 know exactly how to begin. 
 
 She paused a moment longer, and then making 
 a great effort she said, 
 
 “ Albert wants me to go and live with him.” 
 
 “ Does he ?” said Mrs. Bell. “ And where 
 does he want you to go and live ?” 
 
 “ He is thinking of buying a farm,” said Mary 
 
 skine. 
 
 ‘ Where ?” said Mrs. Bell. 
 
THE BRIDE. 
 
 31 
 
 “ I believe the land is about a mile from Kater’s 
 Corner.” 
 
 Mrs. Bell was silent for a few minutes. She 
 was pondering the thought now for the first time 
 fairly before her mind, that the little helpless 
 orphan child that she had taken under her care 
 so many years ago, had really grown to be a 
 woman, and must soon, if not then, begin to form 
 her own independent plans of life. She looked 
 at little Mary Bell too, playing upon the grass, 
 and wondered what she would do when Mary 
 Erskine was gone. 
 
 After a short pause, spent in reflections like 
 these, Mrs. Bell resumed the conversation by 
 saying, 
 
 '-S»- 
 
 “ Well, Mary,—and what do you think of the 
 plan ?” 
 
 “ Why—-I don’t know,” said Mary Erskine, 
 timidly and doubtfully. 
 
 “ You are very young,” said Mrs. Bell. 
 
 “Yes,” said Mary Erskine, “I always was 
 very young. I was very young when my father 
 died; and afterwards, when my mother died, 
 I was very young to be left all alone, and to go 
 out to work and earn my living. And now I am 
 very young, I know. But then I am eighteen.” 
 
 “ Are you eighteen ?” asked Mrs. Bell. 
 
3 ( 2 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 “ Yes,” said Mary Erskine, “ I was eighteen 
 the day before yesterday.” 
 
 “ It is a lonesome place,—out beyond Rater’s 
 Corner,” said Mrs Bell, after another pause. 
 
 “ Yes,” said Mary Erskine, “ but I am not 
 afraid of lonesomeness. I never cared about 
 seeing a great many people.” 
 
 “ And you will have to work very hard,” con¬ 
 tinued Mrs. Bell. 
 
 “ I know that,” replied Mary ; “ but then I am 
 not afraid of work any more than I am of lone¬ 
 someness. I began to work when I was five 
 years old, and I have worked ever since,—and I 
 like it.” 
 
 “Then, besides,” said Mrs. Bell, “I don’t 
 know what I shall do with my Mary when you 
 have gone away. You have had the care of her 
 ever since she was born.” 
 
 Mary Erskine did not reply to this. She 
 turned her head away farther and farther from 
 Mrs. Bell, looking over the railing of the stoop 
 toward the white roses. In a minute or two she 
 got up suddenly from her seat, and still keeping 
 her face averted from Mrs. Bell, she went in by 
 the stoop door into the house, and disappeared. 
 In about ten minutes she came round the corner 
 of the house, at the place where Mary Bell was 
 
THE BRIDE. 
 
 33 
 
 playing, and with a radiant and happy face, and 
 tones as joyous as ever, she told her little charge 
 that they would have one game of hide and go 
 seek, in the asparagus, and that then it would he 
 time for her to go to bed. 
 
 Two days after this, Albert closed the bargain 
 for his land, and began his work upon it. The 
 farm, or rather the lot, for the farm was yet to be 
 made, consisted of a hundred and sixty acres of 
 land, all in forest. A great deal of the land was 
 mountainous and rocky, fit only for woodland and 
 pasturage. There were, however, a great many 
 fertile vales and dells, and at one place along the 
 bank of a stream, there was a broad tract which 
 Albert thought would make, when the trees were 
 felled and it w r as brought into grass, a “ beautiful 
 piece of intervale.” 
 
 Albert commenced his operations by felling 
 several acres of trees, on a part of his lot which 
 was nearest the corner. A road, which had been 
 laid out through the woods, led across his land 
 near this place. The trees and bushes had been 
 cut away, so as to open a space wide enough for 
 a sled road in winter. In summer there was no¬ 
 thing but a wild path, winding among rocks, 
 stumps, trunks of fallen trees, and other forest 
 obstructions. A person on foot could get along 
 
34 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 very well, and even a horse with a rider upon 
 his back, but there was no chance for any thing 
 on wheels. Albert said that it would not be 
 possible to get even a wheelbarrow in. 
 
 Albert, however, took great pleasure in going 
 back and forth over this road, morning and even¬ 
 ing, with his axe upon his shoulder, and a pack 
 upon his back containing his dinner, while felling 
 his trees. When they were all down, he left 
 them for some weeks drying in the sun, and then 
 set them on fire. He chose for the burning, the 
 afternoon of a hot and sultry day, when a fresh 
 breeze was blowing from the west, which he 
 knew would fan the flames and increase the con¬ 
 flagration. It was important to do this, as the 
 amount of subsequent labour which he would 
 have to perform, would depend upon how com¬ 
 pletely the trees were consumed. His fire suc¬ 
 ceeded beyond his most sanguine expectations, 
 and the next day he brought Mary Erskine in to 
 see what a “ splendid burn ” he had had, and to 
 choose a spot for the log house which he was 
 going to build for her. 
 
 Mary Erskine was extremely pleased with the 
 appearance of Albert’s clearing. The area which 
 had been opened ascended a little from the road, 
 and presented a gently undulating surface, which 
 
THE BRIDE. 
 
 35 
 
 Mary Erskine thought would make very beautiful 
 fields. It was now, however, one vast expanse 
 of blackened and smoking ruins. 
 
 Albert conducted Mary Erskine and Mary Bell 
 —for Mary Bell had come in with them to see 
 the fire,—to a little eminence, from which they 
 could survey the whole scene. 
 
 “ Look,” said he, “ is not that beautiful ? Did 
 you ever see a better burn ?” 
 
 “ I don’t know much about burns,” said Mary 
 Erskine, “ but I can see that it will be a beautiful 
 place for a farm. Why, we can see the pond,” 
 she added, pointing toward the south. 
 
 This was true. The falling of the trees had 
 opened up a fine view of the pond, which was 
 distant about a mile from the clearing. There 
 was a broad stream which flowed swiftly over a 
 gravelly bed along the lower part of the ground, 
 and a wild brook which came tumbling down 
 from the mountains, and then, after running across 
 the road, fell into the larger stream, not far from 
 the corner of the farm. The brook and the stream 
 formed two sides of the clearing. Beyond them, 
 and along the other two sides of the clearing, the 
 tall trees of those parts of the forests which had 
 not been disturbed, rose like a wall, and hemmed 
 the opening closely in. 
 
MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 56 
 
 Albert and Mary Erskine walked along the 
 road through the whole length of the clearing, 
 looking out for the best place to build their 
 house. 
 
 “ Perhaps it will be lonesome here this winter, 
 Mary,” said Albert. “ I don’t know but that 
 you would rather wait till next spring.” 
 
 Mary Erskine hesitated about her reply. She 
 did, in fact, wish to come to her new home that 
 fall, and she thought it was proper that she 
 should express the cordial interest which she felt 
 in Albert’s plans ;—but then, on the other hand, 
 she did not like to say any thing which might 
 seem to indicate a wish on her part to hasten the 
 time of their marriage. So she said doubtfully, 
 —“ I don’t know ;—I don’t think that it would 
 be lonesome.” 
 
 “ What do you mean, Albert,” said Mary Bell, 
 “about Mary Erskine’s coming to live here? She 
 can’t come and live here, among all these black 
 stumps and logs.” 
 
 Albert and Mary Erskine were too intent upon, 
 their own thoughts and plans to pay any attention 
 to Mary Bell’s questions. So they walked along 
 without answering her. 
 
 “ What could we have to do this fall and win¬ 
 ter?" asked Mary Erskine. She wished to ascer- 
 
THE BRIDE. 
 
 37 
 
 tain whether she could do any good by coming 
 at once, or whether it would be better, for Albert’s 
 plans, to wait until the spring. 
 
 “ Oh, there will be plenty to do,” said Albert. 
 “ I shall have to work a great deal, while the 
 ground continues open, in clearing up the land, 
 and getting it ready for sowing in the spring ; 
 and it will be a great deal better for me to live 
 nere, in order to save my travelling back and 
 forth, so far, every night and morning. Then 
 this winter I shall have my tools to make,—and 
 to finish the inside of the house, and make the 
 furniture ; and if you have any leisure time, you 
 can spin. But, after all, it will not be very com¬ 
 fortable for you, and perhaps you would rather 
 wait until spring.” 
 
 “ No,” said Mary Erskine. “ I would rather 
 come this fall.” 
 
 “ Well,” rejoined Albert, speaking in a tone of 
 great satisfaction. “ Then I will get the house 
 up next week, and we will be married very soon 
 after.” 
 
 There were very few young men whose pros¬ 
 pects in commencing life were so fair and favour¬ 
 able as those of Albert. In the first place, he 
 was not obliged to incur any debt on account of 
 his land, as most young farmers necessarily do. 
 
 D 
 
38 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 His land was five shillings an acre. He had 
 twenty-five pounds of his own, and enough be¬ 
 sides to buy a winter stock of provisions for his 
 house. He had expected to have gone in debt 
 for the fifteen pounds, the whole price of the land 
 being forty pounds ; but, to his great surprise and 
 pleasure, Mary Erskine told him, as they were 
 coming home from seeing the land after the burn, 
 that she had twenty pounds of her own, besides 
 interest; and that she should like to have fifteen 
 pounds of that sum go toward paying for the 
 land. The five pounds that would be left, she 
 said, would be enough to buy the furniture. 
 
 “ I don’t think that will be quite enough,” said 
 Albert. 
 
 “ Yes,” said Mary Erskine. “ We shall not 
 want a great deal. We shall want a table and 
 two chairs, and some things to cook with.” 
 
 “ And a bed,” said Albert. 
 
 “ Yes,” said Mary Erskine, “ but I can make 
 that myself. The cloth will not cost much, and 
 you can get some straw for me. Next summer 
 we can keep some geese, and so have a feather 
 bed some day.” 
 
 “We shall want some knives and forks, and 
 plates,” said Albert. 
 
 “ Yes,” said Mary Erskine, “ but they will not 
 
THE BRIDE. 
 
 39 
 
 cost much. I think five pounds will get us all 
 we need. Besides, there is more than five pounds, 
 for there is the interest.’ , 
 
 The money had been put out at interest in the 
 village. 
 
 “Well,” said Albert, “and I can make the rest 
 of the furniture that we shall need, this winter. 
 I shall have a shop near the house. I have got 
 the tools already.” 
 
 Thus all was arranged. Albert built his house 
 on the spot which Mary Erskine thought would 
 be the most pleasant for it, the week after het 
 visit to the land. Three young men from the 
 neighbourhood assisted him, as is usual in such 
 cases, on the understanding that Albert was to 
 help each of them as many days about their work 
 as they worked for him. This plan is often 
 adopted by farmers in doing work which abso¬ 
 lutely requires several men at a time, as, for ex¬ 
 ample, the raising of heavy logs one upon another, 
 to form the walls of a house. In order to obtain 
 logs for the building, Albert and his helpers cut 
 down fresh trees from the forest, as the blackened 
 and half-burned trunks, which lay about his 
 clearing, were, of course, unsuitable for such a 
 work. They selected the tallest and straightest 
 trees, and after felling them and cutting them to 
 
 d 2 
 
40 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 the proper length, they hauled them to the spot 
 by means of oxen. The ground served for a floor 
 and the fire-place was made of stones. The roof 
 was formed of sheets of hemlock bark, laid like 
 slates upon rafters made of the stems of slender 
 trees. Albert promised Mary Erskine that, as 
 soon as the snow came, in the winter, to make 
 a road, so that he could get through the woods 
 with a load of boards upon a sled, he would make 
 her a floor. 
 
 From this time forward, although Mary Erskine 
 was more diligent and faithful than ever in per¬ 
 forming all her duties at Mrs. Bell’s, her imag¬ 
 ination was incessantly occupied with pictures 
 and images of the new scenes into which she 
 was about to be ushered as the mistress of her 
 own independent household and home. She 
 made out lists, mentally, for she could not write, 
 of the articles which it would be best to purchase. 
 She formed and matured in her own mind all 
 her housekeeping plans. She pictured to herself 
 the scene which the interior of her dwelling would 
 present in cold and stormy winter evenings, while 
 she was knitting at one side of the fire, and Al¬ 
 bert was busy at some ingenious workmanship 
 on the other ; or thought of the beautiful pros¬ 
 pect which she should enjoy in the spring and 
 
THE BRIDE. 
 
 41 
 
 summer following ; when fields of waving grain, 
 rich with promises of plenty and of wealth, 
 would extend in every direction around her 
 dwelling. She cherished, in a word, the brightest 
 anticipations of happiness. 
 
 The house at length was finished. The neces¬ 
 sary furniture which Albert contrived in some 
 way to get moved to it, was put in ; and early in 
 August Mary Erskine was married. She was 
 married in the morning, and a party of the vil¬ 
 lagers escorted her on horseback to her new 
 home. 
 
 i) 3 
 
Cjinpttr tljt (£l)iil 
 
 MARY ERSKINJi’s VISITORS. 
 
 ARY ERSKINE S anticipations 
 of happiness in being the mis¬ 
 tress of her own independenthome 
 were very high, but they were 
 more than realized. 
 
 The place which had been chosen for the 
 house was not only a suitable one in respect to 
 convenience, but it was a very pleasant one. It 
 was near the brook which, as has already been 
 said, came cascading down from among the fo¬ 
 rests and mountains, and passing along near one 
 side of Albert’s clearing, flowed across the road, 
 and finally emptied into the great stream. The 
 house was placed near the brook, in order that 
 Albert might have a watering-place at hand for 
 his horses and cattle when he should Jhave stocked 
 
MARY ERSKINK'S VISITORS. 
 
 43 
 
 Lis farm. In felling the forest Albert left a fringe 
 of trees along the banks of the brook, that it 
 might be cool and shady there when the cattle 
 went down to drink. There was a spring of pure 
 cold water boiling up from beneath some rocks 
 not far from the brook, on the side towards the 
 clearing. The water from this spring flowed 
 down along a little mossy dell, until it reached 
 the brook. The bed over which this little rivulet 
 flowed was stony, and yet no stones w'ere to be 
 seen. They all had the appearance of rounded 
 tufts of soft green moss, so completely were they 
 all covered and hidden by the beautiful verdure. 
 
 Albert was very much pleased when he dis¬ 
 covered this spring, and traced its little mossy 
 rivulet down to the brook. He thought that 
 Mary Erskine would like it. So he avoided cut¬ 
 ting down any of the trees from the dell, or 
 from around the spring, and in cutting down those 
 which grew near it, he took care to make them 
 fall away from the dell, so that in burning they 
 should not injure the trees which he wished to save. 
 Thus that part of the wood which shaded and 
 sheltered the spring and the dell, escaped the fire. 
 
 The house was placed in such a position that 
 this spring was directly behind it, and Albert 
 made a smooth and pretty path leading down to 
 
44 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 it; or rather he made the path smooth, and na¬ 
 ture made it pretty. For no sooner had he com¬ 
 pleted his work upon it than nature began to 
 adorn it by a profusion of the richest and green¬ 
 est grass and flowers, which she caused to spring 
 up on either side. It was so, in fact, in all Albert’s 
 operations upon his farm. Almost every thing 
 that he did was for some purpose of convenience 
 and utility, and he himself undertook nothing 
 more than was necessary to secure the useful end. 
 But his kind and playful co-operator, nature, 
 would always take up the work where he left 
 it, and begin at once to beautify it with her rich 
 and luxuriant verdure. For example, as soon as 
 the fires went out over the clearing, she began, 
 with her sun and rain, to blanch the blackened 
 stumps, and to gnaw at their foundations with 
 her tooth of decay''. If Albert made a road or a 
 path, she rounded its angles, softened away all 
 the roughness that his plough or hoe had left in it, 
 and fringed it with grass and flowers. The soli¬ 
 tary and slender trees which had been left stand¬ 
 ing here and there around the clearing, having 
 escaped the fire, she took under her special care 
 —throwing out new and thrifty branches from 
 them, in every direction, and thus giving them 
 massive and luxuriant forms, to beautify the land- 
 
MARY F.RSKINE’S VISITORS. 
 
 45 
 
 scape, and to form shady retreats for the flocks 
 and herds which might in subsequent years graze 
 upon the ground. Thus while Albert devoted 
 himself to the substantial and useful improve¬ 
 ments which were required upon his farm, with a 
 view simply to profit, nature took the work of 
 ornamenting it under her own special and par¬ 
 ticular charge. 
 
 The sphere of Mary Erskine’s duties and 
 pleasures was within doors. Her conveniences 
 for housekeeping were somewhat limited at first, 
 but Albert, who kept himself busy at work on 
 his land all day, spent the evenings in his shanty 
 shop, making various household implements and 
 articles of furniture for her. Mary sat with him, 
 usually, at such times, knitting by the side of the 
 great blazing fire, made partly for the sake of 
 the light that it afforded, and partly for the 
 warmth, which was required to temper the cool¬ 
 ness of the autumnal evenings. Mary took a 
 very special interest in the progress of Albert’s 
 work, every thing which he made being for her. 
 Each new acquisition, as one article after another 
 was completed and delivered into her possession, 
 gave her fresh pleasure : and she deposited it in 
 its proper place in her house with a feeling of 
 great satisfaction and pride. ‘ 
 
46 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 “ Mary Erskine,” said Albert, one evening— 
 for though she was married, and her name thus 
 really changed, Albert himself, as well as every 
 body else, went on calling her Mary Erskine just 
 as before—“ it is rather hard to make you wait so 
 long for these conveniences, especially as there is 
 no necessity for it. We need not have paid for 
 our land this three years. I might have taken 
 the money and built a handsome house, and fur¬ 
 nished it for you at once.” 
 
 “ And so have been in debt for the land,” said 
 Mary. 
 
 “ Yes,” said Albert. “ I could have paid off 
 that debt by the profits of the farming. I can lay 
 up twenty-five pounds a year, certainly.” 
 
 “ No,” said Mary Erskine. “ I like this plan 
 the best. We will pay as we go along. It will 
 be a great deal better to have the seventy-five 
 pounds for something else than to pay old debts 
 with. We will build a better house than this if 
 we want one, one of these years, when we get 
 the money. But I like this house very much as 
 it is. Perhaps, however, it is only because it is 
 my own.” 
 
 It was not altogether the idea that it was her 
 own that made Mary Erskine like her house. The 
 interior of it was very pleasant indeed, especially 
 
MARY ERSR1NE S YISTTORS. 
 
 47 
 
 after Albert had completed the furnishing of it, 
 and had laid the floor. It contained but one 
 room, it is true, but that was a very spacious one. 
 There were, in fact, two apartments enclosed by 
 the walls and the roof, though only one of them 
 could strictly be called a room. The other was 
 rather a shed, or stoop, and it was entered from 
 the front by a wide opening, like a great shed 
 door. The entrance to the house proper was by 
 a door opening from this stoop, so as to be shel¬ 
 tered from the storms in winter. There was a 
 very large fire-place made of stones in the middle 
 of one side of the room, with a large flat stone 
 for a hearth in front of it. This hearth stone 
 was very smooth, and Mary Erskine kept it al¬ 
 ways very bright and clean. On one side of the 
 fire was what they called a settle, which was 
 a long wooden seat, with a very high back. It 
 was placed on the side of the fire toward the 
 door, so that it answered the purpose of a screen 
 to keep off any cold currents of air, which might 
 come in on blustering winter nights, around the 
 door. On the other side of the fire w r as a small 
 and very elegant mahogany work table. This 
 was a present to Mary Erskine from Mrs. Bell, on 
 the day of her marriage. There were drawers 
 in this table, containing sundry conveniences. 
 
48 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 The upper drawer was made to answer the pur¬ 
 pose of a desk, and it had an inkstand in a small 
 division in one corner. Mrs. Bell had thought 
 of taking this inkstand out, and putting in some 
 spools, or something else which Mary Erskine 
 would be able to use. But Mary herself would 
 not allow her to make such a change. She said 
 it was true that she could not write, but that 
 was no reason why she should not have an 
 inkstand, so she filled the inkstand with ink, 
 and furnished the desk completely in other 
 respects, by putting in six sheets of paper, a 
 pen, and several wafers. The truth was, she 
 thought it possible that an occasion might arise, 
 some time or other, at which Albert might wish 
 to write a letter ; and if such a case should occur, 
 it would give her great pleasure to have him write 
 his letter at her desk. 
 
 Beyond the work table, on one of the sides of 
 the room, was a cupboard, and next to the cup¬ 
 board a large window. This was the only window 
 in the house, and it had a sash which would rise 
 and fall. Mary Erskine had made white curtains 
 tor this window, which could be parted in the 
 middle, and hung up upon nails driven into the 
 logs which formed the wall of the house, one on 
 each side. Of what use these curtains could be 
 
MARY EBSKIKE’S VISITORS. 
 
 49 
 
 except to make the room look more snug and 
 pleasant within, it would be difficult to say ; for 
 there was only one vast expanse of forests and 
 mountains on that side of the house, so that there 
 was nobody to look in. 
 
 On the back side of the room, in one corner, 
 was the bed. It was supported upon a bedstead 
 which Albert had made. The bedstead had high 
 posts, and was covered, like the window, with 
 curtains. In the other corner was the place for 
 the loom, with the spinning-wheel between the 
 loom and the bed. When Mary Erskine was 
 using the spinning-wheel, she brought it out into 
 the centre of the room. The loom was not yet 
 finished. Albert was building it, working upon 
 it from time to time as he had opportunity. The 
 frame of it was up, and some of the machinery 
 was made. 
 
 Mary Erskine kept most of her clothes in a 
 trunk; but Albert was making her a bureau. 
 
 Instead of finding it lonesome at her new home, 
 as Mrs. Bell had predicted, Mary Erskine had 
 plenty of company. The girls from the village, 
 whom she used to know, were very fond of coming 
 out to see her. Many of them were much younger 
 than she was, and they loved to ramble about in the 
 woods around Mary Erskine’s house, and to play 
 
 E 
 
50 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 along the bank of the brook. Mary used to show 
 them too, every time they came, the new articles 
 which Albert had made for her, and to explain 
 to them the gradual progress of the improve¬ 
 ments. Mary Bell herself was very fond of going 
 to see Mary Erskine,—though she was, of course, 
 at that time too young to go alone. Sometimes, 
 however, Mrs. Bell would send her out in the 
 morning and let her remain all day, playing, very 
 happily, around the door and down by the spring. 
 She used to play all day among the logs and 
 stumps, and upon the sandy beach by the side of 
 the brook, and yet when she went home at night 
 she always looked as nice, and her clothes were 
 as neat and as clean as when she went in the 
 morning. Mrs Bell wondered at this, and on 
 observing that it continued to be so, repeatedly, 
 after several visits, she asked Mary Bell how it 
 happened that Mary Erskine kept her so nice. 
 
 “ Oh,” said Mary Bell, “ I always put on my 
 working frock when I go out to Mary Erskine’s.” 
 
 The working frock was a plain, loose woollen 
 dress, which Mary Erskine made for Mary Bell, 
 and which Mary Bell always put on in the morn¬ 
 ing, whenever she came to the farm. Her own 
 dress was taken off and laid carefully away upon 
 the bed, under the curtains. Her shoes and 
 
MARY ERSKINE’S VISITORS. 
 
 51 
 
 stockings were taken off too, so that she might 
 play in the brook if she pleased, though Mary 
 Erskine told her it was not best to remain in the 
 water long enough to have her feet get very cold. 
 
 When Mary Bell was dressed thus in her 
 working frock, she was allowed to play wherever 
 she pleased, so that she enjoyed almost an ab¬ 
 solute and unbounded liberty. And yet there 
 were some restrictions. She must not go across 
 the brook, for fear that she might get lost in the 
 woods, nor go out of sight of the house in any 
 direction. She might build fires upon any of the 
 stumps or logs, but not within certain limits of 
 distance from the house, lest she should set the 
 house on fire. And she must not touch the axe, 
 for fear that she might cut herself, nor climb 
 upon the wood-pile, for fear that it might fall 
 down upon her. With some such restrictions as 
 these, she could do whatever she pleased. 
 
 She was very much delighted, one morning in 
 September, when she was playing around the 
 house in her working frock, at finding a great 
 hole or hollow under a stump, which she imme¬ 
 diately resolved to have for her oven. She was 
 sitting down upon the ground by the side of it, 
 and she began to call out as loud as she could, 
 
 “ Mary Erskine ! Mary Erskine !” 
 
 e 2 
 
52 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 But Mary Erskine did not answer. Mary Bell 
 could hear the sound of the spinning-wheel in 
 the house, and she wondered why the spinner 
 could not hear her, when she called so loud. 
 
 She listened, watching for the pauses in the 
 buzzing sound of the wheel, and endeavoured to 
 call out in the pauses,—but with no better success 
 than before. At last she got up and walked 
 along toward the house, swinging in her hand a 
 small wooden shovel, which Albert had made for 
 her to dig wells with in the sand, on the margin 
 of the brook. 
 
 “ Mary Erskine!” said she, when she got to 
 the door of the house ; “ didn’t you hear me 
 calling for you ?” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Mary Erskine, 
 
 “ Then why did not you come ?” said Mary 
 Bell. 
 
 “ Because I was disobedient,” said Mary Er¬ 
 skine; “ and now I suppose I must be punished?” 
 
 “Well,” said Mary Bell. The expression of 
 dissatisfaction and reproof upon Mary Bell’s 
 countenance was changed immediately into one 
 of surprise and pleasure, at the idea of Mary 
 Erskine’s being punished for disobeying her. 
 So she said, 
 
 “ Well. And what shall your punishment be ?” 
 
MARY ERSKINe’s VISITORS. 
 
 53 
 
 “ What did you want me for?” asked Mary 
 Erskine. 
 
 “ I wanted you to see my oven.” 
 
 “ Have you got an oven ?” asked Mary Erskine. 
 
 “ Yes,” said Mary Bell ; “ it is under a stump. 
 I have got some wood, and now I want some fire.” 
 
 “Very well,” said Mary Erskine, “get your 
 fire-pan.” 
 
 Mary Bell’s fire-pan was an old tin dipper with 
 a long handle. It had been worn out as a dipper, 
 and so they used to let Mary Bell have it to carry 
 her fire in. There were several small holes in 
 the bottom of the dipper, so completely was it 
 worn out: but this made it all the better for a 
 fire-pan, since the air which came up through 
 the holes, fanned the coals and kept them alive. 
 This dipper was very valuable, too, for another 
 purpose. Mary Bell was accustomed, sometimes, 
 to go down to the brook and dip up water with 
 it, in order to see the water stream down into 
 the brook again, through these holes, in a sort 
 of a shower. 
 
 Mary Bell went, accordingly, for her fire-pan, 
 which she found in its place in the open stoop 
 or shed. She came into the house, and Mary 
 Erskine, raking open the ashes in the fire-place, 
 took out two large coals with the tongs, and 
 
 e 3 
 
54 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 dropped them in fro the dipper. Mary Bell held 
 the dipper at arm’s length before her, and began 
 to walk along. 
 
 “ Hold it out upon one side,” said Mary 
 Erskine, “ and then if you fall down, you will 
 not fall upon your fire.” 
 
 Mary Bell, obeying this injunction, went out 
 to her oven and put the coals in at the mouth of 
 it. Then she began to gather sticks, and little 
 branches, and strips of birch bark, and other 
 silvan combustibles, which she found scattered 
 about the ground, and put them upon the coals 
 to make the fire. She stopped now and then a 
 minute or two to rest and to listen to the sound 
 of Mary Erskine’s spinning. At last some sud¬ 
 den thought seemed to come into her head, and 
 throwing down upon the ground a handful of 
 sticks which she had in her hand, and was just 
 ready to put upon the fire, she got up and walked 
 toward the house. 
 
 “ Mary Erskine,” said she, “ I almost forgot 
 about your punishment.” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Mary Erskine, “ I hoped that you 
 had forgot about it, altogether.” 
 
 “ Why ?” asKed Mary Bell. 
 
 “ Because,” said Mary Erskine, “ I don’t like 
 to be punished.” 
 
MATY F.RSKIJsE’s VISITORS. 
 
 65 
 
 “ But you must be punished,” said Mary Bell, 
 very positively ; “ and what shall your punish¬ 
 ment be ?” 
 
 “ How would it do,” said Mary Erskine, going 
 on, however, all the time with her spinning, “ for 
 me to have to give you two potatoes to roast in 
 your oven ?—or one ? One potato will be enough 
 punishment for such a little disobedience.” 
 
 ‘*No; two,” said Mary Bell. 
 
 “ Well, two,” said Mary Erskine. “You may 
 go and get them in a pail out in the stoop. But 
 you must wash them first, before you put them 
 in the oven. You can wash them down at the 
 brook.” 
 
 “ I am afraid that I shall get my fingers smutty,” 
 said Mary Bell, “ at my oven, for the stump is 
 pretty black.” 
 
 “ No matter if you do,” said Mary Erskine. 
 “You can go down and wash them at the brook.” 
 
 “ And my frock, too,” said Mary Bell. 
 
 “No matter for that either,” said Mary Erskine; 
 “ only keep it as clean as you can.” 
 
 So Mary Bell took the two potatoes and went 
 down to the brook to wash them. She found, 
 however, when she reached the brook, that there 
 was a square piece of bark lying upon the margin 
 of the water, and she determined to push it in 
 
56 
 
 MARY ER.SKINE. 
 
 and sail it, for her ship, putting the two potatoes 
 on -for cargo. After sailing the potatoes about 
 for some time, her eye chanced to fall upon a 
 smooth spot in the sand, which she thought would 
 make a good place for a garden. So she deter¬ 
 mined to plant her potatoes instead of roasting 
 them. 
 
 She accordingly dug a hole in the sand with 
 her fingers, and put the potatoes in, and then, 
 after covering them over with the sand, she went 
 to the oven to get her fire-pan for her watering- 
 pot, in order to water her garden. 
 
 The holes in the bottom of the dipper made it 
 an excellent watering-pot, provided the garden to 
 be watered was not too far from the brook : for 
 the shower would always begin to fall the instant 
 the dipper was lifted out of the water. 
 
 After watering her garden again and again, 
 Mary Bell concluded on the whole not to wait 
 for her potatoes to grow, but dug them up and 
 began to wash them in the brook, to make them 
 ready for the roasting. Her little feet sank into 
 the sand at the margin of the water, while she 
 held the potatoes in the stream, one in each hand, 
 and watched the current as it swept swiftly by 
 them. After a while she took them out, and put 
 them in the sun upon a flat stone to dry, and 
 
MARY ERSKINE’S VISITORS. 
 
 57 
 
 when they were dry she carried them to her 
 oven, and buried them in the hot embers there. 
 
 Thus Mary Bell would amuse herself, hour 
 after hour of the long day, when she went to 
 visit Mary Erskine, with an endless variety of 
 childish imaginings. Her working-frock became, 
 in fact, in her mind, the emblem of complete and 
 perfect liberty and happiness, unbounded and un¬ 
 alloyed. 
 
 The other children of the village, too, were ac¬ 
 customed to come out and see Mary Erskine, 
 and sometimes older and more ceremonious com¬ 
 pany still. There was one young lady, named 
 Anne Sophia, who, having been a near neighbour 
 of Mrs. Bell’s, was considerably acquainted with 
 Mary Erskine, though, as the two young ladies 
 had very different tastes and habits of mind, 
 they never became very intimate friends. Anne 
 Sophia was fond of dress and of company. Her 
 thoughts were always running upon village sub¬ 
 jects and village people, and her highest am¬ 
 bition was to live there. She had been, while 
 Mary Erskine had lived at Mrs. Bell’s, very 
 much interested in a young man named Gordon. 
 He was a clerk in a store in the village. He 
 was a very agreeable young man, and much more 
 genteel and polished in his persona 1 appearance 
 
58 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 than Albert. He had great influence among the 
 young men of the village, being the leader in all 
 the excursions and parties of pleasure which 
 were formed among them. Anne Sophia knew 
 very well .that Mr. Gordon liked to see young 
 ladies handsomely dressed when they appeared 
 in public, and partly to please him, and partly to 
 gratify that very proper feeling of pleasure which 
 all young ladies have in appearing well, she 
 spent a large part of her earnings in dress. She 
 was not particularly extravagant, nor did she get 
 into debt; but she did not, like Mary Erskine, 
 attempt to lay up any of her wages. She often 
 endeavoured to persuade Mary Erskine to follow 
 her example. “ It is of no use,” said she, “ for 
 girls like you and me to try to lay up money. If 
 we are ever married, we shall make our husbands 
 take care of us ; and if we are not married, we 
 shall not want our savings, for we can always 
 earn what we need as we go along.” 
 
 Mary Erskine had no reply at hand to make 
 to this reasoning, but she was not convinced by 
 it, so she went on pursuing her own course, while 
 Anne Sophia pursued hers. Anne Sophia was 
 a very capable and intelligent girl, and as Mr. 
 Gordon thought, would do credit to any society 
 in which she might be called to move. He be- 
 
MARY ERSKINE’S VISITORS. 
 
 59 
 
 came more and more interested in her, and it 
 happened that they formed an engagement to be 
 married just about the time that Albert made 
 his proposal to Mary Erskine. 
 
 Mr. Gordon was a very promising business 
 man, and had had an offer from the merchant 
 with whom he was employed as clerk, to enter 
 into partnership with him, just before the time 
 of his engagement. He declined this offer, de¬ 
 termining rather to go into business independ¬ 
 ently. He had laid up about as much money as 
 Albert had, and by means of this, and the excel¬ 
 lent letters of recommendation which he obtained 
 from the village people, he obtained a large stock 
 of goods, on credit, in the city. When buying 
 his goods, he also bought a small quantity of 
 handsome furniture, on the same terms. He 
 hired a store. He also hired a small white 
 house, with green trees around it, and a pretty 
 garden behind. He was married nearly at the 
 same time with Albert, and Anne Sophia, in taking 
 possession of her genteel and beautiful village 
 home, was as happy as Mary Erskine was in her 
 sylvan solitude. Mr. Gordon told her that he 
 had made a calculation, and he thought there 
 was no doubt that, if business was tolerably 
 good that winter, he should be able to clear 
 
60 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 \ 
 
 enough to pay all his expenses, and to pay for his 
 furniture. 
 
 His calculations proved to be correct. Busi¬ 
 ness was very good. He paid for his furniture, 
 and bought as much more on a new credit in the 
 spring. 
 
 Anne Sophia came out to make a call upon 
 Mary Erskine, about a month after she had got 
 established in her new home. She came in the 
 morning. Mr. Gordon brought her in a chaise 
 as far as the corner, and she walked the rest 
 of the way. She was dressed very handsomely, 
 and yet in pretty good taste. It was not wholly 
 a call of ceremony, for Anne Sophia felt really a 
 strong attachment to Mary Erskine, and had a 
 great desire to see her in her new home. 
 
 When she rose to take her leave, after her call 
 was ended, she asked Mary Erskine to come to 
 the village and see her as soon as she could. 
 “ I meant to have called upon you long before 
 this,” said she, “ but I have been so busy, and 
 we have had so much company. But I want to 
 see you very much indeed. We have a beautiful 
 house, and I have a great desire to show it to 
 you. I think you have got a beautiful place here 
 for a farm, one of these days ; but you ought to 
 make your husband build you a better house. 
 
MARY ERSKINE’s VISITORS. 
 
 61 
 
 He is as able to do it as my husband is to get me 
 one, I have no doubt.” 
 
 Mary Erskine had no doubt either. She did 
 not say so, however, but only replied that she 
 liked her house very well. The real reason why 
 she liked it so much was one that Anne Sophia 
 did not consider. The reason was that it was 
 her own. Whereas Anne Sophia lived in a house 
 which, pretty as it was, belonged to other people. 
 
 All these things, it must be remembered, took 
 place eight or ten years before the time when 
 Malleville and Phonny went to visit Mary Erskine, 
 and when Mary Bell was only four or five years 
 old. Phonny and Malleville, as well as a great 
 many other children, had grown up from infancy 
 since that time. In fact, the Jemmy who fell 
 from his horse and sprained his ankle the day 
 they came, was Jemmy Gordon, Anne Sophia’s 
 oldest son. 
 
 
Cjjnpitr ijjB /nnrtli. 
 
 CALAMITY. 
 
 OTH Mary Erskine and Anne 
 Sophia went on very pleasantly 
 and prosperously, each in her 
 own way, for several years. Every 
 spring Albert cut down more 
 trees, and made new openings and clearings. 
 He built barns and sheds about his house, and 
 gradually accumulated quite a stock of animals. 
 With the money that he obtained by selling the 
 grain and the grass seed which he raised upon 
 his land, he bought oxen and, sheep, and cows. 
 These animals fed in his pastures in the summer, 
 and in the winter he gave them hay from his 
 barn. 
 
 Mary Erskine used to take the greatest plea¬ 
 sure in getting up early in the cold winter 
 
CALAMITY. 
 
 63 
 
 mornings, and going out with her husband to see 
 him feed the animals. She always brought in a 
 large pile of wood every night, the last thing 
 before going to bed, and laid it upon the hearth 
 where it would be ready at hand for the morning 
 fire. She also had a pail of water ready, from 
 the spring, and tho tea-kettle by the side of it, 
 ready to be filled. The potatoes, too, which 
 were to be roasted for breakfast, were always 
 prepared the night before, and placed in an 
 earthen pan, in front of the fire. Mary Erskine, 
 infact, was always very earnestto make every pos¬ 
 sible preparation over night, for the work of the 
 morning. This arose partly from an instinctive 
 impulse, which made her always wish, as she ex¬ 
 pressed it, “ to do every duty as soon as it came 
 in sight,” and partly from the pleasure which she 
 derived from a morning visit to the animals in 
 the barn. She knew them all by name. She 
 imagined that they all knew her, and were glad 
 to see her by the light of her lantern in the 
 morning. It gave her the utmost satisfaction to 
 see them rise, one after another, from their straw, 
 and begin eagerly to eat the hay which Albert 
 pitched down to them from the scaffold, while 
 she, standing below upon the barn floor, held 
 the lantern so that he could see. She was 
 
64 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 always very careful to hold it so that the cows 
 and the oxen could see too. 
 
 One day, when Albert came home from the 
 village, he told Mary Erskine that he had an offer 
 of a loan of a hundred pounds, from Mr. Keep. 
 Mr. Keep was an elderly gentleman of the village, 
 —of a mild and gentle expression of countenance, 
 and white hair. He was a man of large property, 
 and often had money to lend at interest. He 
 had an office, where he used to do his business. 
 This office was in a wing of his house, which 
 was a large and handsome house in the centre of 
 the village. Mr. Keep had a son who was a 
 physician, and he used often to ask his son’s 
 opinion and advice about his affairs. One day, 
 when Mr. Keep was sitting in his office, Mr. 
 Gordon came in and told him that he had some 
 plans for enlarging his business a little, and wished 
 to know if Mr. Keep had a hundred or a hundred 
 and fifty pounds that he would like to lend for six 
 months. Mr. Keep, who, though he was a very 
 benevolent and a very honourable man, was very 
 careful in all his money dealings, said that he 
 would look a little into his accounts, and see how 
 much he had to spare, and let Mr. Gordon know 
 the next day. 
 
 That night Mr. Keep asked his son what be 
 
CALAMITY. 
 
 65 
 
 thought of lending Mr. Gordon a hundred or a 
 hundred and fifty pounds. His son said, doubt¬ 
 fully, that he did not know. He was somewhat 
 uncertain about it. Mr. Gordon was doing very 
 well, he believed, but then his expenses were 
 very heavy, and it was not quite certain how it 
 would turn with him. Mr. Keep then said that 
 he had a hundred or a hundred and fifty pounds 
 on hand, which he must dispose of in some way 
 or other, and he asked his son what he should do 
 with it. His son recommended that he should 
 offer it to Albert. Albert formerly lived at Mr. 
 Keep’s, as a hired man, so that Mr. Keep knew 
 him very well. 
 
 “ He is going on quite prosperously in his farm, 
 I understand,” said the doctor. “ His land is 
 all paid for, and he is getting quite a stock of 
 cattle, and very comfortable buildings. I think 
 it very likely that he can buy more stock with 
 the money, and do well with it. And, at all 
 events, you could not put the money in safer 
 hands.” 
 
 “ I will propose it to him,” said Mr. Keep. 
 
 He did propose it to him that very afternoon, 
 for it happened that Albert went to the village 
 that day. Albert told Mr. Keep that he was 
 very much obliged to him for the offer of the 
 
 v 3 
 
66 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 money, and that he would consider whether it 
 would be best for him to take it or not, and let 
 him know in the morning. So he told Mary 
 Erskine of the offer that he had had, as soon as 
 he got home. 
 
 “ I am very glad to get such an offer,” said 
 Albert. 
 
 “ Shall you take the money ?” said his wife. 
 
 “I don’t know,” replied Albert. “ I rather 
 think not.” 
 
 “ Then why are you glad to get the offer ?” 
 asked Mary Erskine. 
 
 “ Oh, it shows that my credit is good in the vil¬ 
 lage. It must be very good, indeed, to lead such 
 a man as Mr. Keep to offer to lend me money, 
 of his own accord. It is a considerable comfort 
 to know that I can get money, whenever I want 
 it,even if I never take it.” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Mary Erskine, “ so it is.” 
 
 “ And it is all owing to you,” said Albert. 
 
 “ To me ?” said Mary Erskine. 
 
 “ Yes,” said he ; “ to your prudence and eco- 
 r.omy, and to your contented and happy disposi¬ 
 tion. That is one thing that I always liked you 
 for. It is so easy to make you happy. There 
 is many a wife, in your situation, who could not 
 have been happy unless their husband would 
 
CALAMITY. 
 
 67 
 
 build them a handsome house and fill it with 
 handsome furniture—even if he had to go in debt 
 for his land to pay for it.” 
 
 Mary Erskine did not reply, though it grati¬ 
 fied her very much to hear her husband com¬ 
 mend her. 
 
 “ Well,” said she at length, “ I am very glad 
 that you have got good credit. What should 
 you do with the money, if you borrowed it ?” 
 
 “ Why, one thing that I could do,” said Albert, 
 “ would be to build a new house.” 
 
 “ No,” said Mary Erskine, “ I like this house 
 very much. I don’t want any other—certainly 
 not until we can build one with our own money.” 
 
 “ Then,” said Albert, “ I can buy more stock, 
 and perhaps hire some help, and get more land 
 cleared this fall, so as to have greater crops next 
 spring, and then sell the stock when it has grown 
 and increased, and also the crops, and so get 
 money enough to pay back the debt and have 
 something over.” 
 
 “ Should you have much over ?” asked Mary. 
 
 “ Why, that would depend upon how my busi¬ 
 ness turned out,—and that would depend upon 
 the weather, and the markets, and other things 
 which we can not now foresee. I think it pro¬ 
 bable that we should have a good deal over. 
 
68 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 “ Well,” said Mary Erskine, “ then I would 
 take the money.” 
 
 “ But then, on the other hand,” said Albert, 
 “ I should run some risk of embarrassing myself, 
 if things did not turn out well. If I were to be 
 sick, so that I could not attend to so much busi¬ 
 ness, or if I should lose any of my stock, or if 
 the crops should not do well, then I might not 
 get enough to pay back the debt.” 
 
 “ And what should you do then ?” asked Mary 
 Erskine. 
 
 “ Why, then,” replied Albert, “ I should have 
 to make up the deficiency in some other way. I 
 might ask Mr. Keep to put off the payment of 
 the note, or I might borrow the money of some¬ 
 body else to pay him, or I might sell some of my 
 other stock. I could do any of these things well 
 enough, but it would perhaps cause me some 
 trouble and anxiety.” 
 
 “ Then I would not take the money,” said 
 Mary Erskine. “ I don’t like anxiety. I can 
 bear any thing else better than anxiety.” 
 
 “ However, I don’t know any thing about it,” 
 continued Mary Erskine, after a short pause. 
 “You can judge best.” 
 
 They conversed on the subject some time 
 longer, Albert being quite at a loss to know what 
 
CALAMITY. 
 
 69 
 
 it was best to do. Mary Erskine, for her part, 
 seemed perfectly willing that he should borrow 
 the money to buy more stock, as she liked the 
 idea of having more oxen, sheep, and cows. But 
 she seemed decidedly opposed to using borrowed 
 money to build a new house, or to buy new fur¬ 
 niture. Her head would ache, she said, to lie 
 on a pillow of feathers that was not paid for. 
 
 Albert finally concluded not to borrow the 
 money, and so Mr. Keep lent it to Mr. Gordon. 
 
 Things went on in this way for about three or 
 four years, and then Albertbegan to think seriously 
 of building another house. He had now money 
 enough of his own to build it with. His stock 
 had become so large that he had not sufficient 
 barn room for his hay, and he did not wish to 
 build larger barns where he then lived, for in the 
 course of his clearings he had found a much 
 better place for a house than the one which they 
 had at first selected. Then his house \Vo,» begin¬ 
 ning to be too small for his family, for Mary 
 Erskine had, now, two children, One was an 
 infant, and the other was about two years old. 
 These children slept in a trundle-bed, which was 
 pushed under the great bed in the daytime, but 
 still the room became rather crowded. So Albert 
 determined to build another house. 
 
70 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 Mary Erskine was very much interested in 
 this plan. She would like to live in a handsome 
 house as well as any other lady, only she pre¬ 
 ferred to wait until she could have one of her 
 own. Now that that time had arrived, she was 
 greatly pleased with the prospect of having her 
 kitchen, her sitting-room, and her bed-room, in 
 three separate rooms, instead of having them, as 
 heretofore, all in one. Then the barns and barn¬ 
 yards, and the pens and sheds for the sheep and 
 cattle, were all going to be much more convenient 
 than they had been ; so that Albert could take 
 care of a greater amount of stock than before, 
 with the same labour. The new house, too, was 
 going to be built in a much more pleasant situation 
 than the old one, and the road from it to the 
 corner was to be improved, so that they could go 
 in and out with a waggon. In a word, Mary 
 Erskine’s heart was tilled with new hopes and 
 anticipations, as she saw before her means and 
 sources of happiness, higher and more extended 
 than she had ever before enjoyed. 
 
 When the time approached for moving into jthe 
 new house Mary Erskine occupied herself, when¬ 
 ever she had any leisure time, in packing up such 
 articles as were not in use. One afternoon while 
 she was engaged in this occupation Albert came 
 
CALAMITY. 
 
 71 
 
 home from the field much earlier than usual. 
 Mary Erskine was very glad to see him, as she 
 wished him to nail up the box in which she had 
 been packing her cups and saucers. She was at 
 work on the stoop, very near the door, so that 
 she could watch the children. The baby was in 
 the cradle. The other child, whose name was 
 Bella, was playing about the floor. 
 
 Albert stopped a moment to look at Mary 
 Erskine’s packing, and then went in and took his 
 seat upon the settle. 
 
 “ Tell me when your box is ready,” said he,. 
 “ and I will come and nail it for you.” 
 
 Bella walked along toward her father—for she 
 had just learned to walk—and attempted to climb 
 up into his lap. 
 
 “ Run away, Bella,” said Albert. 
 
 Mary Erskine was surprised to hear Albert tell 
 Bella to run away, for he was usually very glad 
 to have his daughter come to him when he got 
 home from his work. She looked up to see what 
 was the matter. He was sitting upon the settle, 
 and leaning his head upon his hand. 
 
 Mary Erskine left her work and went to him. 
 
 “ Are you not well, Albert ?” said she. 
 
 “ My head aches a little. It ached in the field, 
 and that was the reason why I thought I would 
 
72 
 
 MARY ERSKINR. 
 
 come home. But it is better now. Are you ready 
 for me to come and nail the box ?” 
 
 “No,” said Mary, “not quite; and besides, it 
 is no matter about it to-night. I will get you some 
 tea.” 
 
 “No,” said Albert, “ finish your packing first, 
 and I will come and nail it. Then we can put it 
 out of the way.” 
 
 Mary Erskine accordingly finished her packing 
 and Albert went to it, to nail the cover on. He 
 drove one or two nails, and then he put the 
 hammer down, and sat down himself upon the 
 box, saying that he could not finish the nailing 
 after all. He was too unwell. He went into the 
 room, Mary Erskine leading and supporting him. 
 She conducted him to the bed and opened the 
 curtains so as to let him lie down. She helped 
 him to undress himself, and then left him, a few 
 minutes while she began to get some tea. She 
 moved the box, which she had been packing, 
 away from the stoop door, and put it in a corner. 
 She drew out the trundle-bed, and made it ready 
 for Bella. She sat down and gave Bella some 
 supper, and then put her into the trundle-bed, 
 directing her to shut up her eyes and go to sleep. 
 Bella obeyed. 
 
 Mary Erskine then went to the fire and made 
 
CALAMITY. 
 
 **- <r% 
 
 i 
 
 some tea and toast for Albert, doing every thing 
 in as quiet and noiseless a manner as possible. 
 When the tea and toast were ready she put them 
 upon a small waiter, and then moving her little 
 work-table up to the side of the bed, she put the 
 waiter upon it. When every thing was thus ready 
 she opened the curtains. Albert was asleep. 
 
 He seemed however to be uneasy and restless, 
 and he moaned now and then as if in pain. Mary 
 Erskine stood leaning over him for some time, 
 with a countenance filled with anxiety and con¬ 
 cern. She then turned away, saying to herself, 
 “ If Albert is going to be sick and to die, what 
 will become of me ?” She kneeled down upon 
 the floor at the foot of the bed, crossed her arms 
 before her, laid them down very quietly upon 
 the counterpane, and reclined her forehead* upon 
 them. She remained in that position for some 
 time without speaking a word. 
 
 Presently she rose and took the tea and toast 
 upon the waiter, and set them down by the fire 
 in order to keep them warm. She next went to 
 look at the children, to see if they were properly 
 covered. Then she opened the bed-curtains a 
 little way, in order that she might see Albert in 
 case he should wake or move, and having adjusted 
 them as she wished, she went to the stoop door 
 
 Q 
 
74 
 
 MAKS' ERSKINE. 
 
 and took her seat there, with her knitting-work 
 in her hand, in a position from which, on one 
 side she could look into the room and observe 
 every thing which took place there, and on the 
 other side, watch the road and see if any one 
 went by. She thought it probable that some of 
 the workmen, who had been employed at the 
 new house, might be going home about that time, 
 and she wished to send into the village by them 
 to ask Dr. Keep to come. 
 
 Mary Erskine succeeded in her design of send¬ 
 ing into the village by one of the workmen, and 
 Dr. Keep came about nine o’clock. He pre¬ 
 scribed for Albert, and prepared, and left, some 
 medicine for him. He said he hoped that he 
 was not going to be very sick, but he could tell 
 bettef in the morning, when he would come again. 
 
 “ But you ought not to be here alone,” said he 
 to Mary Erskine. “ You ought to have some one 
 with you.” 
 
 “ No,” said Mary Erskine, “ I can get along 
 very well, alone, to-night,—and I think he will 
 be better in the morning.” 
 
 Stories of sickness and suffering are painful to 
 read, as the reality is painful to witness. We 
 will therefore shorten the tale of Mary Erskine’ 
 anxiety and distress, by saying at once that 
 
CALAMITY. 
 
 75 
 
 Albert grew worse instead of better, every day 
 for a fortnight, and then died. 
 
 During his sickness Mrs. Bell spent a great 
 deal of time at Mary Erskine’s house, and other 
 persons, from the village, came every day to 
 watch with Albert, and to help take care of the 
 children. There was a young man also, named 
 Thomas, whom Mary Erskine employed to come 
 and stay there all day, to take the necessary care 
 of the cattle and of the farm. They made a bed 
 for Thomas in the scaffold in the barn. They 
 also made up a bed in the stoop, in a corner which 
 they divided off by means of a curtain. This 
 bed was for the watchers, and for Mary Erskine 
 herself, when she or they wished to lie down. 
 Mary Erskine went to it herself very seldom. 
 She remained at her husband’s bedside almost all 
 the time day and night. Albert suffered very 
 little pain, and seemed to sleep most of the time, 
 ffe revived a little the afternoon before he died, 
 and appeared as if he were going to be better. 
 He looked up into Mary Erskine’s face and smiled. 
 It was plain, however, that he was very feeble. 
 
 There was nobody but Mrs. Bell in the house, 
 at that time, besides Mary Erskine and the baby. 
 Bella had gone to Mrs. Bell’s house, and Mary 
 Bell was taking care of her. Albert beckoned 
 
 g 2 
 
76 
 
 MA.RY ERSKINE. 
 
 his wife to come to him, and said to her, in a 
 faint and feeble voice, that he wished Mrs. Bell 
 to write something for him. Mary Erskine im¬ 
 mediately brought her work table up to the bed¬ 
 side, opened the drawer, took out one of the sheets 
 of paper and a pen, opened the inkstand, and thus 
 made every thing ready for writing. Mrs. Bell 
 took her seat by the table, in such a manner that 
 her head was near to Albert’s as it lay upon the 
 pillow. 
 
 “ I am ready now,” said Mrs. Bell. 
 
 “ I bequeath all my property,”—said Albert. 
 
 Mrs. Bell wrote these words upon the paper, 
 and then said, 
 
 “ Well: I have written that.” 
 
 “ To Mary Erskine my wife,” said Albert. 
 
 “ I have written that,” said Mrs. Bell, a minute 
 afterwards. 
 
 “ Now hand it to me to sign,” said Albert. 
 
 They put the paper upon a book, and raising 
 Albert up in the bed, they put the pen into his 
 hand. He wrote his name at the bottom of the 
 writing at the right hand. Then moving his hand 
 to the left, he wrote the word ‘ witness ’ under the 
 writing on that side. His hand trembled, but he 
 wrote the word pretty plain. As he finished 
 writing it he told Mrs. Bell that she must sign her 
 
CALAMITY. 
 
 77 
 
 name as witness. When this had been done he 
 gave back the paper and the pen into Mary 
 Erskine’s hand, and said that she must take good 
 care of that paper, for it was very important. 
 He then laid his head down again upon the pillow 
 and shut his eyes. He died that night. 
 
 Mary Erskine was entirely overwhelmed with 
 grief, when she found that all was over. In a 
 few hours, however, she became comparatively 
 calm, and the next day she began to help Mrs. 
 Bell in making preparations for the funeral. She 
 sent for Bella to come home immediately. Mrs 
 Bell urged her very earnestly to take both the 
 children, and go with her to her house, after the 
 funeral, and stay there for a few days at least, 
 till she could determine what to do. 
 
 “ No,” said Mary Erskine. “ It will be better 
 for me to come back here.” 
 
 “ What do you think you shall do ?” said Mrs. 
 Bell. 
 
 “ I don’t know,” said Mary Erskine. “ I can’t 
 even begin to think now. I am going to wait a 
 week before I try to think about it at all.” 
 
 “ And in the mean time you are going to stay 
 in this house.” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Mary Erskine, “ I think that is 
 best.” 
 
78 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 “ But you must not stay here alone,” said Mrs, 
 Bell. “ I will come back with you and stay with 
 you, at least one night.” 
 
 “ No,” said Mary Erskine. “ I have got to 
 learn to be alone now, and I may as well begin 
 at once. I am very much obliged to you for all 
 your—” 
 
 Here Mary Erskine’s voice faltered, and she 
 suddenly stopped. Mrs. Bell pitied her with all 
 her heart, but she said no more. She remained 
 at the house while the funeral procession was 
 gone to the grave; and some friends came back 
 with Mary Erskine, after the funeral. They all, 
 however, went away about sunset, leaving Mary 
 Erskine alone with the children. 
 
 As soon as her friends had gone, Mary Erskine 
 took the children and sat down in a rocking-chair 
 before the fire, holding them both in her lap, the 
 baby upon one side and Bella upon the other, and 
 began to rock backwards and forwards with great 
 rapidity. She kissed the children again and 
 again, with many tears, and sometimes she 
 groaned aloud, in the excess of her anguish. 
 .She remained sitting thus for half an hour. The 
 twilight gradually faded away. The flickering 
 flame, which rose from the fire in the fire-place, 
 seemed to grow brighter as the daylight disap* 
 
CALAMITY. 
 
 79 
 
 peared, and to illuminate the whole interior of 
 the room, so as to give it a genial and cheerful 
 expression. Mary Erskine gradually became 
 calm. The children, first the baby, and then 
 Bella, fell asleep. Finally, Mary Erskine her¬ 
 self, who was by this time entirely exhausted 
 with watching, care, and sorrow, fell asleep too. 
 Mary Erskine slept sweetly for two full hours, 
 and then was awaked by the nestling of the 
 baby. 
 
 When Mary Erskine awoke, she was astonished 
 to find her mind perfectly calm, tranquil, and 
 happy. She looked down upon her children— 
 Bella asleep and the baby just awaking—with a 
 heart full of maternal joy and pleasure. Her 
 room, it seemed to her, never appeared so bright, 
 *'■ and cheerful, and happy as then. She carried 
 Bella to the bed, and laid her gently down in 
 Albert’s place, and then, going back to the fire, 
 she gave the baby the food which it required, 
 and rocked it to sleep. Her heart was resigned, 
 and tranquil, and happy. She put the baby, 
 at length, into the cradle, and then, kneeling 
 down, she thanked God with her whole soul 
 for having heard her prayer, and granted her the 
 spirit of resignation and peace. She then pushed 
 open the curtains, and reclined herself upon the 
 
80 
 
 MARY ERSKFXE. 
 
 bed, where she lay for some time, with a peaceful 
 smile upon her countenance, watching the flash¬ 
 ing of a little tongue of flame, which broke out 
 at intervals from the end of a brand in the fire. 
 After lying quietly thus for a little while, she 
 closed her eyes, and gradually fell asleep again. 
 
 She slept very profoundly. It was a summer 
 night, although, as usual, Mary Erskine had a 
 fire. Clouds rose in the west, bringing with 
 them gusts of wind and rain. The wind and the 
 rain beat against the window, but they did not 
 wake her. It thundered. The thunder did not 
 wake her. The shower passed over, and the sky 
 became serene again, while Mary Erskine slept 
 tranquilly on. At. length the baby began to 
 move in the cradle. Mary Erskine heard the 
 first sound that its nestling made, and raised 
 herself up suddenly. The fire had nearly gone 
 out. There was no flame, and the room was 
 lighted only by the glow of the burning embers. 
 Mary Erskine was frightened to find herself 
 alone. The tranquillity and happiness which she 
 had experienced a few hours ago were all gone, 
 and her mind was filled, instead, with an unde¬ 
 fined and mysterious distress and terror. She 
 went to the fire-place and built a new fire, for 
 the sake of its company. She took the baby 
 
CALAMITY. 
 
 81 
 
 from the cradle, and sat down in the rocking- 
 chair, determining not to go to bed again till 
 morning. She went to the window, and. looked 
 out at the stars, to see if she could tell by them 
 how long it would be before the morning would 
 come. She felt afraid, though she knew not 
 why, and holding the baby in her arms, with its 
 head upon her shoulder, she walked back and 
 forth across the room, in great distress and an¬ 
 guish, longing for the morning to come. Such 
 is the capriciousness of grief. 
 
 a 
 
(Clmptor tljE /iftjj. 
 
 CONSULTATIONS. 
 
 RS. BELL went home on the 
 evening of the funeral, very much 
 exhausted and fatigued under the 
 combined effects of watching, 
 anxiety, and exertion. She went 
 to bed, and slept very soundly until nearly mid¬ 
 night. The thunder awoke her. 
 
 She felt solitary and afraid. Mary Bell, who 
 was then about nine years old, was asleep in a 
 crib, in a corner of the room. There was a little 
 night lamp burning dimly on the table, and it 
 shed a faint and dismal gleam upon the objects 
 around it. Every few minutes, however, the 
 lightning would flash into the windows, and glare 
 a moment upon the walls, and then leave the 
 room in deeper darkness than ever. The little 
 
CONSULTATIONS. 
 
 83 
 
 night lamp, whose feeble beam had been for the 
 moment entirely overpowered, would then gra¬ 
 dually come out to view again, to diffuse once 
 more its faint illumination, until another flash of 
 lightning came to extinguish it as before. 
 
 Mrs. Bell rose from her bed, and went to the 
 crib to see if Mary Bell was safe. She found 
 her sleeping quietly. Mrs. Bell drew the crib 
 out a little way from the wall, supposing that 
 she should thus put it into a somewhat safer 
 position. Then she lighted a large lamp. Then 
 she closed all the shutters of the room, in order 
 to shut out the lightning. Then she went to bed 
 again, and tried to go to sleep. But she could 
 not. She was thinking of Mary Erskine, and 
 endeavouring to form some plan for her future 
 life. She could not, however, determine what it 
 was best for her'to do. 
 
 In the morning, after breakfast, she sat down 
 at the window, with her knitting work in her 
 hand, looking very thoughtful and sad. Presently 
 she laid her work down in her lap, and seemed 
 lost in some melancholy reverie. 
 
 Mary Bell, who had been playing about the 
 floor for some time, came up to her mother, and 
 seeing her look so thoughtful and sorrowful, she 
 said, 
 
81 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 “ Mother, what is the matter with you ?” 
 
 “ Why, Mary,” said Mrs. Bell, in a melan¬ 
 choly tone, “ I was thinking of poor Mary Er- 
 skine.” 
 
 “ Well, mother,” said Mary Bell, “ could not 
 you give her a little money, if she is poor ? I 
 will give her my sixpence.” 
 
 Mary Bell had a silver sixpence, which she 
 kept in a little box, in her mother's room, up 
 stairs. 
 
 “ Oh, she is not poor for want of money,” said 
 Mrs. Bell. “ Her husband made his will, before 
 he died, and left her all his property.” 
 
 “ Though I told Mr. Keep about it last night,” 
 continued Mrs. Bell, talking half to herself and 
 half to Mary, ‘ and he said the will was not 
 good.” 
 
 “ Not good ?” said Mary ; “ I think it is a very 
 good will indeed. 1 am sure Mary Erskine 
 ought to have it all. Who should have it, if not 
 she ?” • 
 
 “ The children, 1 suppose,” said her mother. 
 
 “ The children!” exclaimed Mary Bell. “Hoh ! 
 They are not half big enough. They are only 
 two babies ; a great baby and a little one.” 
 
 Mrs. Bell did not answer this, nor did she 
 seem to take much notice of it, but took up her 
 
CONSULTATIONS. 
 
 85 
 
 knitting again, and went on musing as before. 
 Mary Bell did not understand very well about 
 the will. The case was this : 
 
 The law, in the state where Mary Erskine 
 lived, provided that when a man died, as Albert 
 had done, leaving a wife and children, and a 
 farm, and also stock, and furniture, and other 
 such moveable property, if he made no will, the 
 wife was to have a part of the property, and the 
 rest must be saved for the children, in order to 
 be delivered to them, when they should grow up, 
 and be ready to receive it and use it. The farm, 
 when there was a farm, was to be kept until the 
 children should grow up, only their mother was 
 to have one third of the benefit of it,—that is, 
 one third of the rent of it, if they could let it— 
 until the children became of age. The amount 
 of the other two thirds was to be kept for them. 
 In respect to all moveable property, such as stock 
 and tools, and furniture, and other things of that 
 kind, since they could not very conveniently be 
 kept till the children were old enough to use 
 them, they were to be sold, and the wife was to 
 have half the value, and the children the other 
 half. 
 
 In respect to the children’s part of all the 
 property, they were not themselves to have the 
 
 H 
 
86 
 
 MART ERSKINE. 
 
 care of it, but some person was to be appointed 
 to be their guardian. This guardian was to have 
 the care of all their share of the property, until 
 they were of age, when it was to be paid over 
 into their hands. 
 
 If, however, the husband, before his death, 
 was disposed to do so, he might make a will, and 
 give all the property to whomsoever he pleased. 
 If he decided, as Albert had done, to give it all 
 to his wife, then it would come wholly under her 
 control at once. She would be under no ob¬ 
 ligation to keep any separate account of the 
 children’s share, but might expend it all herself, 
 or, if she were so inclined, she might keep it 
 safely, and perhaps add to it by the proceeds of 
 her own industry, and then, when the children 
 should grow up, she might give them as much as 
 her maternal affection should dictate. 
 
 In order that the property of men who die, 
 should be disposed of properly, according to law, 
 or according to the will, if any will be made, it 
 is required that soon after the death of any 
 person takes place, the state of the case should 
 be reported at a certain public office, instituted to 
 attend to this business. There is such an office 
 in every county in the New England states. It 
 is called the Probate office. The officer who 
 
CONSULTATIONS. 
 
 87 
 
 has this business in charge, is called the Judge 
 of Probate. There is a similar system in force 
 in all the other states of the Union, though the 
 officers are sometimes called by different names 
 from those which they receive in New England. 
 
 Now, while Albert was lying sick upon his 
 bed, he was occupied a great deal of the time, 
 while they thought that he was asleep, in think¬ 
 ing what was to become of his wife and children 
 in case he should die. He knew very well that 
 in case he died without making any will, his 
 property must be divided, under the direction of 
 the Judge of Probate, and one part of it be kept 
 for the children, while Mary Erskine would have 
 the control only of the other part. This is a 
 very excellent arrangement in all ordinary cases, 
 so that the law, in itself, is a very good law. 
 There are, however, some cases which are ex¬ 
 ceptions, and Albert thought that Mary Erskine’s 
 case was one. It was owing, in a great measure, 
 to her prudence and economy, to her efficient 
 industry, and to her contented and happy dispo¬ 
 sition, that he had been able to acquire any 
 property, instead of spending all that he earned, 
 like Mr. Gordon, as fast as he earned it. Then, 
 besides, he knew that Mary Erskine would act 
 as conscientiously and faithfully for the benefit 
 
88 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 of the children, if the property was all her own, 
 as she would if a part of it was theirs, and only 
 held by herself, for safe keeping, as their guar¬ 
 dian. Whereas, if this last arrangement went 
 into effect, he feared that it would make her 
 great trouble to keep the accounts, as she could 
 not write, not even to sign her name. He de¬ 
 termined, therefore, to make a will, and give all 
 his property, of every kind, absolutely to her. 
 This he did, in the manner described in the last 
 chapter. 
 
 The law invests every man with a very abso¬ 
 lute power in respect to his property, authorizing 
 him to make any disposition of it whatever, and 
 carrying faithfully into effect, after his death, any 
 wish that he may have expressed in regard to it, 
 as his deliberate and final intention. It insists, 
 however, that there should be evidence that the 
 wish, so expressed, is really a deliberate and final 
 act. It is not enough that the man should say 
 in words what his wishes are. The will must 
 be in writing, and it must be signed; or if the 
 sick man can not write, he must make some mark 
 with the pen, at the bottom of the paper, to 
 stand instead of a signature, and to show that he 
 considers the act which he is performing, as a 
 solemn and binding transaction. Nor will it do 
 
CONSULTATIONS. 
 
 89 
 
 to have the will executed in the presence of only 
 one witness; for if that were allowed, designing 
 persons would sometimes persuade a sick man, 
 who was rich, to sign a will which they them¬ 
 selves had written, telling him, perhaps, that it 
 was only a receipt, or some other unimportant 
 paper, and thus inducing him to convey his pro¬ 
 perty in a way that he did not intend. The truth 
 is, that there is a necessity for a much greater 
 degree of precautionary form in the execution of 
 a will, than in almost any other transaction; for 
 as the man himself will be dead and gone when 
 the time comes for carrying the will into effect, 
 —and so can not give any explanation of his 
 designs,—it is necessary to make them absolutely 
 clear and certain, independently of him. It was, 
 accordingly, the law, in the state where Mary 
 Erskine lived, that there should be three wit¬ 
 nesses present, when any person signed a will; 
 and also that when signing the paper, the man 
 should say that he knew that it was his will. If 
 three credible persons thus attested the reality 
 and honesty of the transaction, it was thought 
 sufficient, in all ordinary cases, to make it sure. 
 
 Albert, it seems, was not aware how many 
 witnesses were required. When he requested 
 Mrs. Bell to sign his will, as witness, he thought 
 
 H 3 
 
90 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 that he was doing all that was necessary to make 
 it valid. When, however, Mrs. Bell, afterwards, 
 in going home, met Mr. Keep, and related to him 
 the transaction : he said that he was afraid that 
 the will was not good, meaning that it would not 
 stand in law. 
 
 The thought that the will was probably not 
 valid, caused Mrs. Bell a considerable degree of 
 anxiety and concern, as she imagined that its 
 failure would probably cause Mary Erskine a 
 considerable degree of trouble and embarrass¬ 
 ment, though she did not know precisely how. 
 She supposed that the children’s share of the 
 property must necessarily be kept separate and 
 untouched until they grew up, and that in the 
 mean time their mother would have to work very 
 hard in order to maintain herself and them too. 
 But this is not the law. The guardian of chil¬ 
 dren, in such cases, is authorized to expend, 
 from the children’s share of property, as much 
 as is necessary for their maintenance while they 
 are children ; and it is only the surplus, if there 
 is any, which it is required of her to pay over to 
 them when they come of age. It would be ob¬ 
 viously unjust, in cases where children themselves 
 have property left them by legacy, or falling to 
 them by inheritance, to compel their father or 
 
CONSULTATIONS. 
 
 91 
 
 mother to toil ten or twelve years to feed and 
 clothe them, in order that they might have their 
 property, whole and untouched, when they come 
 of age. All that the law requires is, that the 
 property bequeathed to children, or falling to 
 them by inheritance, shall always be exactly 
 ascertained, and an account of it put upon record 
 in the Probate office: and then, that a guardian 
 shall be appointed, who shall expend only so 
 much of it, while the children are young, as is 
 necessary for their comfortable support and proper 
 education ; and then, when they come of age, if 
 there is any surplus left, that it shall be paid 
 over to them. In Mary Erskine’s case, these 
 accounts would, of course, cause her some trouble, 
 but it would make but little difference in the 
 end. 
 
 Mrs. Bell spent a great deal of time, during 
 the day, in trying to think what it would be best 
 for Mary Erskine to do, and also in trying to 
 think what she could herself do for her. She, 
 however, made very little progress in respect to 
 either of those points. It seemed to her that 
 Mary Erskine could not move into the new 
 house, and attempt to carry on the farm, and, on 
 the other hand, it appeared equally out of the 
 question for her to remain where she was, in her 
 
92 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 lonesome log cabin. She might move into the 
 village, or to some house nearer the village, but 
 what should she do in that case for a livelihood ? 
 In a word, the more that Mrs. Bell reflected upon 
 the subject, the greater was the difficulty she ex¬ 
 perienced. 
 
 She determined to go and see Mary Erskine 
 after dinner, again, as the visit would at least be 
 a token of kindness and sympathy, even if it 
 should do no other good. She arrived at the 
 house about the middle of the afternoon. She 
 found Mary Erskine busily at work, putting the 
 house in order, and rectifying the many derange¬ 
 ments which sickness and death always occasion. 
 Mary Erskine received Mrs. Bell at first with a 
 cheerful smile, and seemed, to all appearance, as 
 contented and happy as usual. The sight of 
 Mrs. Bell, however, recalled forcibly to her mind 
 her irremediable loss, and overwhelmed her heart, 
 again, with bitter grief. She went to the win¬ 
 dow, where her little work-table had been placed, 
 and throwing herself down in a chair before it, 
 she crossed her arms upon the table, laid her 
 forehead down upon them in an attitude of despair, 
 and burst into tears. 
 
 Mrs. Bell drew up toward her and stood by 
 her side in silence. She pitied her with all her 
 
CONSULTATIONS. 
 
 93 
 
 heart, but she did not know what to say to com¬ 
 fort her. 
 
 Just then, little Bella came climbing up the 
 steps, from the stoop, with some flowers in her 
 hand, which she had gathered in the yard. As 
 soon as she had got up into the room, she stood 
 upon her feet, and went dancing along toward 
 the baby, who was playing upon the floor, sing¬ 
 ing as she danced. She gave the baby the 
 flowers, and then, seeing that her mother was in 
 trouble, she came up toward the place and stood 
 still a moment, with a countenance expressive 
 of great concern. She put her arm around her 
 mother’s neck, saying in a very gentle and sooth¬ 
 ing tone, 
 
 “ Mother ! what is the matter, mother ?” 
 
 Mary Erskine liberated one of her arms, and 
 clasped Bella with it fondly, but did not raise 
 her head, or answer. 
 
 “ Go and get some flowers for your mother,” 
 said Mrs. Bell, “ like those which you got for trie 
 baby.” 
 
 64 Well,” said Bella, “ I will.” So she turned 
 away, and went singing and dancing out of the 
 room. 
 
 “ Mary,” said Mrs Bell, “ I wish that you 
 would shut up this house and take the children 
 
94 
 
 MAttY EESKINE. 
 
 and come to my house, at least for a while, until 
 you can determine what to do.” 
 
 Mary Erskine shook her head, but did not 
 reply. She seemed, however, to be regaining 
 her composure. Presently she raised her head, 
 smoothed down her hair, which was very soft 
 and beautiful, readjusted her dress, and sat up, 
 looking out at the window. 
 
 “ If you stay here,” continued Mrs. Bell, “ you 
 will only spend your time in useless and hope¬ 
 less grief.” 
 
 “ No,” said Mary Erskine, “ I am not going to 
 do any such thing.” 
 
 “ Have you begun to think at all what you 
 shall do ?” asked Mrs. Bell. 
 
 “ No,” said Mary Erskine. “ When any 
 great thing happens, I always have to wait a 
 little while, till I get accustomed to knowing that 
 it has happened, before I can determine what to 
 do about it. It seems as if I did not more than 
 half know yet, that Albert is dead. Every time the 
 door opens, I almost expect to see him come in.” 
 
 “ Do you think that you shall move to the new 
 house ?” asked Mrs. Bell. 
 
 “ No,” said Mary Erskine, “ I see that I can’t 
 do that. I don’t wish to move there, either, now.” 
 
 “ There’s one thing,” continued Mrs. Bell, 
 
CONSULTATIONS. 
 
 95 
 
 after a moment’s pause, “ that perhaps I ought 
 to tell you, though it is rather bad news for you. 
 Mr. Keep says that he is afraid that the will 
 which Albert made is not good in law.” 
 
 “ Not good ! Why not ?” asked Mary Erskine. 
 
 “ Why, because there is only one witness. 
 The law requires that there should be three wit¬ 
 nesses, so as to be sure that Albert really signed 
 the will.” 
 
 “ Oh no,” said Mary Erskine. “ One witness 
 is enough, I am sure. The Judge of Probate 
 knows you, and he will believe you as certainly 
 as he would a dozen witnesses.” 
 
 “ But I suppose,” said Mrs. Bell, “ that it does 
 not depend upon the Judge of Probate. It de¬ 
 pends upon the law.” 
 
 Mary Erskine was silent. Presently she 
 opened her drawer and took out the will, and 
 looked at it mysteriously. She could not read a 
 word of it. 
 
 “ Read it to me, Mrs. Bell,” said she, handing 
 the paper to her. 
 
 Mrs. Bell read as follows : 
 
 “ I bequeath all my property to my wife Mary 
 Erskine. Albert Forester- 
 
 Witness, Mary Bell.” 
 
96 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 “ I am sure that is all right,” said Mary Er- 
 skine. “ It is very plain, and one witness is 
 enough. Besides, Albert would know how it 
 ought to be done.” 
 
 “ But then,” she continued, after a moment’s 
 pause,” he was very sick and feeble. Perhaps 
 he did not think. I am sure I shall be very 
 sorry if it is not a good will, for if I do not have 
 the farm and the stock, I don’t know what I 
 shall do with my poor children.” 
 
 Mary Erskine had a vague idea that if the 
 will should prove invalid, she and her children 
 would lose the property, in some way or other, 
 entirely,—though she did not know precisely 
 how. After musing upon this melancholy pros¬ 
 pect a moment, she asked, 
 
 “ Should not I have any of the property, if 
 the will proves not to be good ?” 
 
 “ Oh yes,” said Mrs. Bell, “ you will have a 
 considerable part of it, at any rate.” 
 
 “How much?” asked Mary Erskine. 
 
 “Why, about half, I believe,” replied Mrs. 
 Bell. 
 
 “ Oh,” said Mary Erskine, apparently very 
 much relieved. “ That will do very well. Half 
 will be enough. There is a great deal of pro¬ 
 perty. Albert told me that the farm and the new* 
 
CONSULTATIONS. 
 
 97 
 
 house are worth two hundred pounds, and the 
 stock is worth full one hundred more. And Al¬ 
 bert does not owe any thing at all.” 
 
 “ Well,” said Mrs. Bell. “ You will have 
 half. Either half or a third—I forget exactly 
 which.” 
 
 “ And what becomes of the rest ?” asked Mary 
 Erskine. 
 
 “ Why the rest goes to the children,” said 
 Mrs. Bell. 
 
 “ To the children!” repeated Mary Erskine. 
 
 “Yes,” said she, “ you will have to be ap¬ 
 pointed guardian, and take care of it for them, 
 and carry in your account now and then, to the 
 Judge of Probate.” 
 
 “ Oh,” said Mary Erskine, her countenance 
 brightening up with an expression of great re¬ 
 lief and satisfaction. “ That is just the same 
 thing. If it is to go to the children and I am to 
 take care of it for them, it is just the same thing. I 
 don’t care any thing about the will at all.” 
 
 So saying, she threw the paper down upon the 
 table, as if it was of no value whatever. 
 
 “ But there’s one thing,” she said again, after 
 pausing a few minutes. “ I can’t keep any ac¬ 
 counts. I cannot even write my name.” 
 
 “ That is no matter,” said Mrs. Bell. “ There 
 
 i 
 
98 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 will be but little to do about the accounts, and it 
 is easy to get somebody to do that for you.” 
 
 “ I wish I had learned to write,” said Mary 
 Erskine. 
 
 Mrs Bell said nothing, but in her heart she 
 wished so too. 
 
 “ Do you think that I could possibly learn 
 now ?” asked Mary Erskine. 
 
 “ Why,—I don’t know, perhaps, if you had 
 any one to teach you.” 
 
 “ Thomas might teach me, perhaps,” said Mary 
 Erskine, doubtfully. Then, in a moment she 
 added again, in a desponding tone,—“ But I don’t 
 know how long he will stay here.” 
 
 “ Then you don’t know at all yet,” said Mrs. 
 Bell, after a short pause, “ what you shall con¬ 
 clude to do.” 
 
 “ No,” replied Mary Erskine, “ not at all. I 
 am going on, just as I am now, for some days, 
 without perplexing myself at all about it. And 
 I am not going to mourn and make myself miser¬ 
 able. I am going to make myself as contented 
 and happy as I can, with my work and my 
 children.” 
 
 Here Mary Erskine suddenly laid her head 
 down upon her arms again, on the little work table 
 before her, and burst into tears. After sobbing 
 
CONSULTATIONS. 
 
 99 
 
 convulsively afewminutes,she rose,hastily brushed 
 the tears away with her handkerchief, and went 
 toward the door. She then took the water pail, 
 which stood upon a bench near the door, and 
 said that she was going to get some water, at the 
 spring, for tea, and that she would be back in a 
 moment. She returned very soon, with a coun¬ 
 tenance entirely serene. 
 
 “ I have been trying all day,” said Mrs. Bell, 
 “ to think of something that I could do for you, 
 to help you or to relieve you in some way or other 
 but I cannot think of any thing at all that I can 
 do.” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Mary Erskine, “ there is one thing 
 that you could do for me, that would be a very 
 great kindness, a very great kindness indeed.” 
 
 “ What is it r” asked Mrs. Bell. 
 
 “ I am afraid that you will think it is too much 
 for me to ask.” 
 
 “ No,” said Mrs. Bell, “ what is it 
 
 Mary Erskine hesitated a moment, and then 
 said, 
 
 “To let Mary Bell come and stay here with 
 me, a few days.” 
 
 “ Do you mean all night, too ?” asked Mrs. 
 Bell. 
 
 “ Yes,” said Mary Erskine, “ all the time.” 
 
 i 2 
 
 i 
 
100 
 
 MARY ERSK1NE. 
 
 “ Why, you have got two children to take care 
 now,” replied Mrs. Bell, “ and nobody to help 
 you. I should have thought that you would have 
 sooner asked me to take Bella home with me.” 
 
 “No,” said Mary Erskine. “ I should like to 
 have Mary Bell here, very much, for a few days.” 
 
 “ Well,” said Mrs. Bell, “ she shall certainly 
 come. I will send her, to-morrow morning.” 
 

 (Cljnfitfr tju liitji. 
 
 i 
 
 J 
 
 MARY BELL IN THE WOODS. 
 
 ARY ERSKINE had a Bible in 
 her house, although she could not 
 read it. When Albert was alive 
 he was accustomed to read a 
 chapter every evening, just be¬ 
 fore bed-time, and then he and Mary Erskine 
 would kneel down together, by the settle which 
 stood in the corner, while he repeated his evening 
 prayer. This short season of devotion was al¬ 
 ways a great source of enjoyment to Mary Ers¬ 
 kine. If she was tired and troubled, it soothed 
 and quieted her mind. If she was sorrowful, it 
 comforted her. If she was happy, it seemed to 
 make her happiness more deep and unalloyed. 
 
 Mary Erskine could not read the Bible, but she 
 could repeat a considerable number of texts and 
 
 i 3 
 
102 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 verses from it, and she knew, too, the prayer, 
 which Albert had been accustomed to offer, al¬ 
 most by heart. So after Mrs. Bell had gone 
 home, as described in the last chapter, and after 
 she herself had undressed the children and put 
 them to bed, and had finished all the other labours 
 and duties of the day, she took the Bible down 
 from its shelf, and seating herself upon the settle 
 so as to see by the light of the fire, as Albert had 
 been accustomed to do, she opened the book, and 
 then began to repeat such verses as she could re¬ 
 member. At length she closed the book, and 
 .aying it down upon the seat of the settle, in 
 imitation of Albert’s custom, she kneeled down 
 before it, and repeated the prayer. The use of 
 the Bible itself, in this service, was, of course, a 
 mere form:—but there is sometimes a great deal 
 of spiritual good to be derived from a form, when 
 the heart is in it, to give it meaning and life. 
 Mary Erskine went to bed comforted and happy • 
 and she slept peacefully through each one of the 
 three periods of repose, into which the care of 
 an infant by a mother usually divides the night. 
 
 In the morning the first thought which came 
 into her mind was, that Mary Bell was coming to 
 see her. She anticipated the visit from her for¬ 
 mer charge with great pleasure. She had had 
 
MARY BELL IN THE WOODS. 
 
 103 
 
 Mary Bell under her charge from early infancy, 
 and she loved her, accordingly, almost as much 
 as if she were her own child. Besides, as Mary 
 Bell had grown up she had become a very attrac¬ 
 tive and beautiful child, so kind to all, so con¬ 
 siderate, so gentle, so active and intelligent, and 
 at the same time so docile and so quiet, that she 
 was a universal favourite wherever she went. 
 Mary Erskine was full of joy at the idea of having 
 her come and spend several days, and nights too, 
 at her house, and she was impatient for the time 
 to arrive when she might begin to expect her. 
 At eight o’clock she began to go often to the 
 door to look down the road. At nine she began 
 to feel uneasy. At ten she put on her hood and 
 went down the road, almost to the corner, to 
 meet her—looking forward intensely all the way, 
 hoping at every turn to see her expected visitor 
 advancing along the path. She went on thus until 
 she came in sight of the corner, without seeing 
 or hearing any thing of Mary Bell; and then she 
 was compelled to return home alone, disappointed 
 and sad. She waited dinner from twelve until 
 one, but no Mary Bell appeared. Mary Erskine 
 then concluded that something had happened to 
 detain her expected visitor at home, and that she 
 might be disappointed of the visit altogether. 
 
104 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 Still she could not but hope that Mary would 
 come in the course of the afternoon. The hours 
 of the afternoon, however, passed tediously away, 
 and the sun began to decline toward the west; 
 still there was no Mary Bell. The cause of her 
 detention will now be explained. 
 
 When Mary Bell came down to breakfast, on 
 the morning after her mother’s visit to Mary 
 Erskine, her mother told her, as she came into the 
 room, that she had an invitation for her to go out 
 to Mary Erskine’s that day. 
 
 “ And may I go ?” asked Mary Bell. 
 
 “ Yes,” said her mother, “ I think I shall let 
 you go.” 
 
 “ I am so glad!” said Mary Bell, clapping her 
 hands. 
 
 “ Mary Ersltine wishes to have you stay there 
 several days,” continued her mother. 
 
 Mary Bell began to look a little sober again. 
 She was not quite sure that she should be willing 
 to be absent from her mother for so many days. 
 
 “ Could not I come home every night ?” said 
 she. 
 
 “ Why, she wishes,” answered Mrs. Bell, “ to 
 have you stay there all the time, day and night, 
 for several days. It is an opportunity for you to 
 
MARY BELT, IX THE WOODS. 
 
 105 
 
 do some good. You could not do Mary Erskine 
 any good by giving her your money, for she has 
 got plenty of money; nor by carrying her any 
 thing good to eat, for her house is full of abun¬ 
 dance, and she knows as well how to make good 
 things as any body in town. But you can do her 
 a great deal of good by going and staying with 
 her, and keeping her company. Perhaps you can 
 help her a little, in taking care of the children.’' 
 
 “ Well,” said Mary Bell, “ I should like to go.” 
 
 So Mrs. Bell dressed Mary neatly, for the walk, 
 gave her a very small tin pail, with two oranges 
 in it for Mary Erskine’s children, and then sent 
 out word to the hired man, whose name was 
 Joseph, to harness the horse into the waggon. 
 When the waggon was ready, she directed Joseph 
 to carry Mary to the corner and see that she set 
 out upon the right road there, toward Mary Er- 
 skine’s house. It was only about half a mile 
 from the corner to the house, and the road, though 
 crooked, stony, and rough, was very plain, and 
 Mary Bell had often walked over it alone. 
 
 There was, in fact, only one place where there 
 could be any danger of Mary Bell’s losing her 
 way, and that was at a point about midway be¬ 
 tween the corner and Mary Erskine’s house, where 
 a. road branched off to the right, and led into the 
 
106 
 
 MAliY ERSKINE. 
 
 woods. There was a large pine-tree at this point, 
 which Mary Bell remembered well; and she knew 
 that she must take the left-hand road when she 
 reached this tree. There were various little paths 
 at other places, but none that could mislead her. 
 
 When Joseph, at length, set Mary Bell down 
 in the path at the corner, she stood still, upon a 
 flat rock by the side of the road, to see him turn 
 the waggon and set out upon his return. 
 
 “ Good bye, Joseph,” said she. “ I am going 
 to be gone several days.” 
 
 “ Good bye,” said Joseph, turning to look 
 round at Mary Bell, as the waggon slowly moved 
 away. 
 
 “ Bid mother good bye,” said Mary Bell,—» 
 “and, Joseph, don’t you forget to water my ge¬ 
 ranium.” 
 
 “ No,” said Joseph, “ and don’t you forget to 
 take the left-hand road.” 
 
 “ No,” said Mary Bell. 
 
 She felt a slight sensation of lonesomeness, to 
 be left there in solitude at the entrance of a dark 
 and sombre wood, especially when she reflected 
 that it was to be several days before she should 
 see her mother again. But then, calling up to 
 her mind a vivid picture of Mary Erskine’s house, 
 and of the pleasure that she should enjoy there, 
 
MARY BELL IN THE WOODS. 
 
 107 
 
 in playing with Bella and the baby, she turned 
 toward the pathway into the woods, and walked 
 resolutely forward, swinging her pail in her hand 
 and singing a song. 
 
 There were a great many birds in the woods ; 
 some were hopping about upon the rocks and 
 bushes by the road-side. Others were singing 
 in solitary places, upon the tops of tall trees in 
 the depths of the forest, their notes being heard 
 at intervals, in various directions, as if one was 
 answering another, to beguile the solemn lone¬ 
 liness of the woods. The trees were very tall, 
 and Mary Bell, as she looked up from her deep 
 and narrow pathway, and saw the lofty tops 
 rocking to and fro with a very slow and gentle 
 motion, as they were waved by the wind, it 
 seemed to her that they actually touched the 
 skv. 
 
 J 
 
 At one time she heard the leaves rustling, by 
 the side of the road, and looking in under the 
 trees, she saw a gray squirrel, just in the act of 
 leaping up from the leaves upon the ground to 
 the end of a log. As soon as he had gained this 
 footing, he stopped and looked round at Mary 
 Bell. Mary Bell stopped too ; each looked at 
 die other for several seconds in silence,—the child 
 xith an expression of curiosity and pleasure 
 
108 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 upon her countenance, and the squirrel with one 
 of w r onder and fear upon his. Mary Bell made 
 a sudden motion toward him with her hand, to 
 frighten him a little. It did frighten him. He 
 turned off and ran along the log as fast as he 
 could go, until he reached the end of it, and dis¬ 
 appeared. 
 
 “ Poor Bobbin,” said Mary Bell, “ I am sorry 
 that I frightened you away.” 
 
 A few steps farther on in her walk, Mary Bell 
 came to a place where a great number of yellow 
 butterflies had settled down together in the path. 
 Most of them were still, but a few were fluttering 
 about, to find good places. 
 
 “ Oh, what pretty butterflies !” said Mary Bell. 
 “They have been flying about, I suppose, till they 
 have got tired, and have stopped to rest. But if 
 I were a butterfly, 1 would rest upon flowers, and 
 not upon the ground.” 
 
 Mary Bell paused and looked upon the butter¬ 
 flies a moment, and then said, 
 
 “ And now how shall I get by ? I am sure I 
 don’t want to tread upon those butterflies. I will, 
 sit down here myself, on a stone, and wait till 
 they get rested and fly away. Besides, I am tired 
 myself, and I shall get rested too.” 
 
 Just as she took her seat, she saw that there 
 
MARY BELL IN THE WOODS. 
 
 109 
 
 was a little path, which diverged here from the 
 main road, and turned into the woods a little way, 
 seeming to come back again after a short distance. 
 There were many such little paths, here and 
 there, running parallel to the main road. They 
 were made by the cows in the spring of the year, 
 when the roads were wet, to avoid the swampy 
 places. These places were now all dry, and the 
 bye-paths were consequently of no use, though 
 traces of them remained. 
 
 “ No,” said Mary Bell. “ I will not stop to 
 rest; I am not very tired ; so I will go round by 
 this little path. It will come into the road again 
 very soon.” 
 
 Mary Bell’s opinion would have been just, in 
 respect to any other path but this one ; but it so 
 happened, very unfortunately for her, that now, 
 although not aware of it, she was, in fact, very 
 near the great pine-tree, where the road into the 
 woods branched off, and the path which she was 
 determining to take, though it commenced in the 
 main road leading to Mary Erskine’s, did not 
 return to it again, but after passing, by a cir¬ 
 cuitous and devious course, through the bushes a 
 little way, ended in the branch road which led 
 into the woods, at a short distance beyond the 
 pine tree. 
 
 K 
 
110 MARY ERSKIXE. 
 
 Mary Bell was not aware of this state of tilings, 
 but supposed, without doubt, that the path would 
 come out again into the same road that it left, 
 and that she could pass round through it, and so 
 avoid disturbing the butterflies. She thought, 
 indeed, it might possibly be that the path would 
 not come back at all, but would lose itself in the 
 woods; and to guard against this danger, she 
 determined that after going on for a very short 
 distance, if she found that it did not come out 
 into the road again, she would come directly 
 back. The idea of its coming out into a wrong 
 road did not occur to her mind as a possibility. 
 
 She accordingly entered the path, and after 
 proceeding in it a little way, she was quite pleased 
 to see it coming out again into what she supposed 
 was the main road. Dismissing now all care 
 and concern, she walked forward in a very light¬ 
 hearted and happy manner. The road was very 
 similar in its character to the one which she 
 ought to have taken, so that there was nothing 
 in the appearances around her to lead her to sup¬ 
 pose that she was wrong. She had, moreover, 
 very little idea of measures of time, and still less 
 of distance, and thus she went on for more than 
 an hour, before she began to wonder why she did 
 not get to Mary Erskine’s. 
 
MARY BELL IN THE WOODS. 
 
 Ill 
 
 She began to suspect, then, that she had in 
 some way or other lost the right road. She, 
 however, went on, looking anxiously about for 
 indications of an approach to the farm, until at 
 length she saw signs of an opening in the woods, 
 at some distance before her. She concluded to 
 go on until she came to this opening, and if she 
 could not tell where she was by the appearance 
 of the country there, she would go back again 
 by the road she came. 
 
 The opening, when she reached it, appeared to 
 consist of a sort of pasture land, undulating in 
 its surface, and having thickets of trees and 
 bushes scattered over it, here and there. There 
 was a small elevation in the land, at a little dis¬ 
 tance from the place where Mary Bell came out, 
 and she thought that she would go to the top of 
 this elevation, and look for Mary Erskine’s house 
 all around. She accordingly did so, but neither 
 Mary Erskine’s house, nor any other human 
 habitation, was anywhere to be seen. 
 
 She sat down upon a smooth stone, which was 
 near her, feeling tired and thirsty, and beginning 
 to be somewhat anxious in respect to her situa¬ 
 tion. She thought, however, that there was no 
 great danger, for her mother would certainly send 
 Joseph out into the woods to find her, as soon as 
 
 k 2 
 
112 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 she heard that she was lost. She concluded, at 
 first, to wait where she was until Joseph should 
 come; but on second'thoughts, she concluded to 
 go back by the road which had led her to the 
 opening, and so, perhaps, meet him on the way. 
 She was very thirsty, and wished very much that 
 one of the oranges in the pail belonged to her, 
 for she would have liked to eat one very much 
 indeed. But they were not either of them hers. 
 One belonged to Bella, and the. other to the 
 baby. 
 
 She walked back again to the woods, intend¬ 
 ing to return toward the corner, by the road in 
 which she came, but now she could not find 
 the entrance to it. She wandered for some time, 
 this way and that, along the margin of the wood, 
 but could find no road. She, however, at length 
 found something which she liked better. It 
 was a beautiful spring of cool water, bubbling 
 up from between the rocks on the side of a 
 little hill. She sat down bv the side of this 
 spring, took off the cover from her little pail, 
 took out the oranges and laid them down care¬ 
 fully in a little nook where they would not roll 
 away, and then using the pail for a dipper, she 
 dipped up some water, and had an excellent 
 drink, 
 
MARY BELL IN THE WOODS. 113 
 
 “ What a good spring this is!” said she to 
 herself. “ It is as good as Mary Erskine’s.” 
 
 It was the time of year in which raspberries 
 were ripe, and Mary Bell, in looking around her 
 from her seat near the spring, saw at a distance 
 a place which appeared as if there were rasp¬ 
 berry bushes growing there. 
 
 “ I verily believe that there are some rasp¬ 
 berries,” said she. “ I will go and see ; if I 
 could only find plenty of raspberries, it would be 
 all that I should want.” 
 
 The bushes proved to be raspberry bushes, 
 as Mary had supposed, and she found them 
 loaded with fruit. She ate of them abundantly, 
 and was very much refreshed. She would have 
 filled her pail besides, so as to have some to take 
 along with her, but she had no place to put the 
 oranges, except within the pail. 
 
 It was now about noon ; the sun was hot, 
 and Mary Bell began to be pretty tired. She 
 wished that they would come for her. She 
 climbed up upon a large log which lay among the 
 bushes, and called as loud as she could, 
 
 “ Mary Erskine ! Mary Erskine !" 
 
 Then, after pausing a moment, and listening 
 in vain for an answer, she renewed her call, 
 
 “ Thom—as ! Thom—as /” 
 
 k 3 
 
114 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 Then again, after another pause, 
 
 “ Jo—seph ! Jo—seph /” 
 
 She listened a long time, but heard nothing 
 except the singing of the birds, and the sighing 
 of the wind upon the tops of the trees in the 
 neighbouring forests. 
 
 She began to feel very anxious and very 
 lonely. She descended from the log and walked 
 along till she got out of the bushes. She came 
 to a place where there were rocks, with smooth 
 surfaces of moss and grass among them. She 
 found a shady place among these rocks, and 
 sat down upon the moss. She laid her head 
 down upon her arm, and began to weep bitterly. 
 
 Presently she raised her head again, and endea¬ 
 voured to compose herself, saying, 
 
 “ But I must not cry. I must be patient, and 
 wait till they come. I am very tired, but I 
 must not go to sleep, for then I shall not hear 
 them when they come. I will lay my head down, 
 but I will keep my eyes open.” 
 
 She laid her head down accordingly upon a 
 mossy mound, and notwithstanding her resolu¬ 
 tion to keep her eyes open, in ten minutes she 
 was fast asleep. 
 
 She slept very soundly for more than two hours. 
 She was a little frightened when she awoke, to 
 
MATIY BELL IN TIIE WOODS. 
 
 115 
 
 find that she had been sleeping, and she started 
 up and climbed along upon a rock which was 
 near by, until she gained a projecting elevation, 
 and here she began to listen again. 
 
 She heard the distant tinkling of a bell. 
 
 “ Hark,” said she. “ I hear a bell. It is out 
 that way. I wonder what it is. I will go there 
 and see.” 
 
 So, taking up her pail very carefully, she 
 walked along in the direction where she had 
 heard the bell. She stopped frequently to listen. 
 Sometimes she could hear it, and sometimes 
 she could not. She, however, steadily persevered, 
 though she encountered a great many obstacles 
 on the way. Sometimes there were wet places, 
 which it was very hard to get round. At other 
 times, there were dense thickets, which she had 
 to scramble through, or rocks over which she 
 had to climb, either up or down. The sound, how¬ 
 ever, of the bell came nearer and nearer. 
 
 “ I verily believe,” said she at length, “ that 
 it is Queen Bess.” 
 
 Queen Bess was one of Mary Erskine’s cows. 
 
 The idea that the sound which she was follow¬ 
 ing might possibly be Queen Bess’s bell gave 
 her great courage. She was well acquainted 
 with Queen Bess, having often gone out to see 
 
116 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 Mary Erskine milk her, with other cows. 
 She had even tried many times to milk her her¬ 
 self, Mary Erskine having frequently allowed 
 her to milk enough, in a mug, to provide herself 
 with a drink. 
 
 “ I hope it is Queen Bess,” said Mary Bell, 
 “ She knows me, and she will give me a drink of 
 her milk, I am sure.” 
 
 Mary Bell proved to be right in her conjecture. 
 It was Queen Bess. She was feeding very quietly, 
 Mary Erskine’s other cows being near, some 
 cropping the grass and some browsing upon 
 the bushes. Queen Bess raised her head and 
 looked at Mary Bell with a momentary feeling 
 of astonishment, wondering how she came there, 
 and then put down her head again and resumed 
 her feeding. 
 
 “ Now,” said Mary Bell, “ I shall certainly 
 get home again, for I shall stay with you until 
 Thomas comes up after the cows. He will 
 find you by your bell. And now I am going to 
 put these oranges down upon the grass, and 
 milk some milk into this pail.” 
 
 So Mary Bell put the oranges in a safe place 
 upon the grass, and then went cautiously up to 
 the side of the cow, and attempted to milk her. 
 But it is very difficult to milk a cow while she 
 
AdLarcL 8c Palmer Sc. L 2 .dga.Te TTiTl 
 
 MOT BELA AKD QUEEN LESS- 
 
 . O JZo 
 
 
MARY BELL IN THE WOODS. 
 
 117 
 
 is grazing in a pasture. She is not inclined to 
 stand still, but advances all the time, slowly, step 
 by step, making it very difficult to do anything 
 at milking. Mary Bell, however, succeeded 
 very well. She was so thirsty that she did not 
 wait to get a great deal at a time, but as soon as 
 she had two or three spoonfuls in the pail, she 
 stopped to drink it. In this manner, by dint of 
 a great deal of labour and pains, she succeeded, 
 in about a quarter of an hour, in getting as much 
 as she wanted. 
 
 She remained in company with the cows all 
 the afternoon. Sometimes she would wander 
 from them a little way to gather raspberries, and 
 then she would creep up cautiously to Queen Bess, 
 and get another drink of milk. When she had 
 thus had as many raspberries, and as much milk, 
 as she wished, she amused herself for some time 
 in gathering a bouquet of wild flowers to give to 
 Mary Erskine on her return. The time being 
 thus filled up with useful occupation, passed 
 pleasantly and rapidly along, and at length, when 
 the sun was nearly ready to go down, she heard 
 a distant voice shouting to the cows. It was 
 Thomas, coming to drive them home. 
 
 Thomas was, of course, greatly astonished to 
 find Mary Bell in the woods, and his astonish- 
 
118 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 ment was not at all diminished at hearing her 
 story. He offered to carry her, in going home, 
 —but she said that she was not tired, and could 
 walk very well. So they went down together, the 
 cows running along before them in the paths. 
 When they reached the house, Thomas went to 
 turn the cows into the yard, while Mary Bell 
 went into the house to Mary Erskine, with her 
 little pail in one hand, and her bouquet of flowers 
 in the other. 
 
Cliajittr tjir linrntji. 
 
 HOUSEKEEPING. 
 
 NE of the greatest pleasures which 
 Mary Bell enjoyed in her visits 
 at Mary Erskine’s, at this period, 
 was to assist in the housekeeping. 
 She was particularly pleased with 
 being allowed to help in getting breakfast or tea, 
 and in setting the table. 
 
 She arose accordingly very early on the morn¬ 
 ing after her arrival there from the woods, as 
 described in the last chapter, and put on the 
 working-dress which Mary Erskine had made 
 for her, and which was always kept at the farm. 
 This was not the working-dress which was de¬ 
 scribed in a preceding chapter, as the one which 
 Mary Bell used to play in, when out among the 
 stumps. Her playing among the stumps was two 
 
120 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 or three years before the period which we are 
 now describing. During these two or three years, 
 Mary Bell had wholly outgrown her first working- 
 dress, and her mind had become improved and 
 enlarged, apd her tastes matured more rapidly 
 even than her body had grown. She now no 
 longer took any pleasure in dabbling in the brook 
 or planting potatoes in the sand,—or in heating 
 sham ovens in stumps and hollow trees. She 
 had begun to like realities. To bake a real cake 
 for breakfast or tea, to set a real table with real 
 cups and saucers for a real and useful purpose, 
 or to assist Mary Erskine in the care of the chil¬ 
 dren, or in making the morning arrangements in 
 the room, gave her more pleasure than any species 
 of child’s play could possibly do. When she 
 went out now, she liked to be dressed neatly, and 
 take pleasant walks, to see the views or to gather 
 flowers. In a word, though she was still, in fact, 
 a child, she began to have in some degree the 
 tastes and feelings of a woman. 
 
 “ What are you going to have for breakfast ?** 
 said Mary Bell to Mary Erskine, while they were 
 getting up. 
 
 “ What should you like ?” asked Mary Erskine. 
 
 “ Why I should like some roast potatoes, and 
 a spider cake,” said Mary Bell. 
 
HOUSEKEEPING. 
 
 121 
 
 The spider cake received its name from being 
 baked before the fire in a flat iron vessel, called 
 a spider. The spider was so called, probably, be¬ 
 cause, like the animal of that name, it had several 
 legs and a great round body. The iron spider, 
 however, unlike its living namesake, had a long 
 straight tail, which, extending out behind, served 
 for a handle. 
 
 The spider cake being very tender and nice, 
 and coming, as it usually did, hot upon the table, 
 made a most excellent breakfast,—though this 
 was not the principal reason which led Mary Bell 
 to ask for it. She liked to make the spider cake ; 
 for Mary Erskine, after mixing and preparing the 
 material, used to allow Mary Bell to roll it out 
 to its proper form, and put it into the spider. 
 Then, more than all the rest, Mary Bell liked to 
 bake a spider cake. She used to take great 
 pleasure in carrying the cake in her two hands to 
 the fireplace, and laying it carefully in its place 
 in the spider, and then setting it up before the 
 fire to bake, lifting the spider by the end of the 
 tail. She also took great satisfaction afterward 
 in watching it, as the surface which was presented 
 toward the fire became browned by the heat. 
 When it was sufficiently baked upon one side it 
 had to be turned, and then set up before the fire 
 
122 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 again, to be baked on the other side ; and every 
 part of the long operation was always watched by 
 Mary Bell with great interest and pleasure. 
 
 Mary Erskine consented to Mary Bell’s pro¬ 
 posal in respect to breakfast, and for an hour 
 Mary Bell was diligently employed in making the 
 preparations. 
 
 She put the potatoes in the bed which Mary 
 Erskine opened for them in the ashes. She rolled 
 out the spider cake, and put it into the spider ; 
 she spread the cloth upon the table, and took down 
 the plates, and the cups and saucers from the 
 cupboard, and set them in order on the table. 
 She went down into the little cellar to bring up 
 the butter. She skimmed a pan of milk to get 
 the cream, she measured out the tea; and at last, 
 when all else was ready, she took a pitcher and 
 went down to the spring to bring up some cool 
 water. In all these operations Bella accom¬ 
 panied her, always eager to help, and Mary Bell, 
 knowing that it gave Bella great pleasure to have 
 something to do, called upon her continually for 
 her aid, and allowed her to do every thing that 
 it was safe to intrust to her. Thus they went on 
 very happily together. 
 
 At length, when the breakfast was ready, they 
 all sat down around the table to eat it, except 
 
HOUSEKEEPING. 
 
 123 
 
 the baby. He remained in the trundle - bed, 
 playing with bis play-things. His play-things 
 consisted of three or four smooth pebble stones 
 of different, colours, each being of about the size 
 of an egg, which his mother had chosen for him 
 out of the brook, and also of a short piece of 
 bright iron chain. The chain was originally a 
 part of a harness, but the harness had become 
 worn out, and Albert had brought in the chain 
 and given it to the baby. The baby liked these 
 play-things very much indeed,—both the pebbles 
 and the chain. When he was well, and neither 
 hungry nor sleepy, he was never tired of playing 
 with them,— trying to bite them, and jingling 
 them together. 
 
 “ Now,” said Mary Erskine to the children, 
 as they were sitting at the table, at the close of 
 the breakfast, and after Thomas had gone away, 
 “ you may go out and play for an hour, while 
 I finish my morning work, and put the baby to 
 sleep, and then I want you to come in and have 
 a school.” 
 
 “ Who ’shall be the teacher ?” asked Mary 
 
 Bell. 
 
 “ You shall be owe,” said Mary Erskine. 
 
 “ Are you going to have two teachers ?” asked 
 Mary Bell. “ If you do, then we can't have 
 
 l 2 
 
124 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 1 
 
 any scholars ;—for the baby is not old enough to 
 go to school.” 
 
 “ I know it,” said Mary Erskine, “ but we can 
 have three scholars without him.” 
 
 “ Who shall they be asked Mary Bell. 
 
 “ You and I, and Bella,” answered Mary Er¬ 
 skine. “ I will tell you what my plan is. I ex¬ 
 pect that I shall conclude to stay here, and live 
 in this house alone for some years to come, and 
 the children cannot go to school, for there is 
 now nobody to take them, and it is too far for 
 them to go alone. I must teach them myself 
 at home, or else they cannot learn. I am very 
 sorry indeed that I did not learn to read and 
 write when I was a child: for that would have 
 saved me the time and trouble of learning now. 
 But I think I can learn now. Don’t you think 
 I can, Mary ?” 
 
 “ Oh, yes, indeed,” said Mary Bell, “ I am 
 sure you can. It is very easy to read.” 
 
 “ I am going to try,” continued Mary Er¬ 
 skine, “ and so I want you to teach me. And 
 while you are teaching me, Bella may as well 
 begin at the same time. So that you will have 
 two scholars.” 
 
 “ Three—you said three scholars,” rejoined 
 Mary Bell. 
 
HOUSEKEEPING. 
 
 125 
 
 “ Yes,” said Mary Erskine. “ You shall be 
 the third scholar. I am going to teach you to 
 draw.” 
 
 “ Do you know how to draw ?” asked Mary 
 Bell, surprised. 
 
 “ No,” said Mary Erskine, “ hut I can show 
 you how to learn.” 
 
 “ Well,” said Mary Bell, “ I should like to 
 learn to draw very much indeed, Though I don't 
 see how any body can teach a thing unless they 
 can do it themselves.” 
 
 “ Sometimes they can,” said Mary Erskine. 
 “ A man may teach a horse to canter, without 
 being able to canter himself.” 
 
 Mary Bell laughed at the idea of a man at¬ 
 tempting to canter, and said that she should be 
 very glad to try to learn to draw. Mary Erskine 
 then said that after they had finished their 
 breakfast the children might go out an hour to 
 walk and play, and that then, when they should 
 come in, they would find everything ready for 
 the school. 
 
 Mary Bell concluded to take a walk about the 
 farm during the time which they were allowed 
 to spend in play, before the school was to begin. 
 So she and Bella put on their bonnets, and 
 
 bidding Mary Erskine good morning, they sallied 
 
 l 3 
 
126 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 forth. As they came out at the great stoop 
 door, their attention was arrested by the sound 
 of a cow-bell. The sound seemed to come from 
 the barn-yard. 
 
 “ Ah,” said Mary Bell, “ there is Queen Bess 
 going to pasture this morning. How glad I was 
 to see her yesterday in the woods ! Let us go 
 and see her now.” 
 
 So saying, she led the way around the corner 
 of the house, by a pleasant path, through the 
 high grass that was growing in the yard, toward 
 the barns. Bella followed her. They passed 
 through a gate, then across a little lane, then 
 through a gate on the other side of the lane, 
 which led into the barn-yards. The barns, like 
 the house, were built of logs, but they were very 
 neatly made, and the yards around them were 
 at this season of the year dry and green. 
 
 Mary and Bella walked on across the barn¬ 
 yard until they got to the back of the barn, 
 when they found Thomas turning the cows into 
 a little green lane which led to the pasture. It 
 was not very far to the pasture bars, and so 
 Mary Bell proposed that they should go and 
 help Thomas to drive the cows. They accordingly 
 went on, but they had not gone far before they 
 came to a brook, which here flowed across the 
 
HOUSE KEEPING. 
 
 127 
 
 lane. The cows walked directly through the 
 brook, while Thomas got across it by stepping 
 Dver some stones at one side. Mary Bell thought 
 that the spaces were a little too wide for Bella 
 to jump over, so she concluded not to go any 
 farther in that direction. 
 
 Bella then proposed that they should go and 
 see the new house. This Mary Bell thought 
 would be an excellent plan if Bella’s mother 
 would give them leave. They accordingly went 
 in to ask her. They found her in the back 
 stoop, employed in straining the milk which 
 Thomas had brought in. She was straining it 
 into great pans. She said that she should like 
 to have the children go and see the new house 
 very much indeed, and she gave them the key, 
 so that they might go into it. The children 
 took the key and went across the fields by a 
 winding path until they came out into the main 
 road again, near the new house. The house 
 was in a very pleasant place indeed. There was 
 a green yard in front of it, and a place for a 
 garden at one side. At the other side was a 
 wide yard open to the road, so that persons could 
 ride up to the door without the trouble of open¬ 
 ing any gate. The children walked up this open 
 yard. 
 
123 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 They went to the door, intending to unlock 
 it with their key, but they were surprised to 
 find that there was not any key hole. Mary 
 Bell said that she supposed the key hole was 
 not made yet. They tried to open the door, 
 but they could not succeed. It was obviously 
 fastened on the inside. 
 
 “ Now, how can we get in ?” said Bella. 
 
 “ I don’t see,” replied Mary Bell, “ and I 
 can’t think how they locked the door without any 
 key-hole.” 
 
 “ Could not we climb in at one of the win¬ 
 dows ?” said Mary Bell,—“ only they are so 
 high up!” 
 
 The children looked around at the windows. 
 They were all too high from the ground for them 
 to reach. There was, however, a heap of short 
 blocks and boards which the carpenters had left 
 in the yard near the house, and Mary Bell said 
 that perhaps they could build up a “ climbing 
 pile” with them, so as to get in at the window. 
 She accordingly went to this heap, and by means 
 of considerable exertion and toil she rolled two 
 large blocks—the ends of sticks of timber which 
 the carpenters had sawed off in framing the 
 house —- up under the nearest window. She 
 placed these blocks, which were about two feet 
 
HOUSEKEEPING. 
 
 129 
 
 long, at a little distance apart under the window, 
 with one end of each block against the house. 
 She then, with Bella’s help, got some short boards 
 from the pile, and placed them across these 
 blocks from one to the other, making a sort of 
 flooring. 
 
 “ There,” said Mary Bell, looking at the work 
 with great satisfaction, “ that is one story.” 
 
 Then she brought two more blocks, and laid 
 them upon the flooring over the first two, placing 
 the second pair of blocks, like the first, at right 
 angles to the house, and with the ends close 
 against it to keep them steady. On these blocks 
 she laid a second flooring of short boards, which 
 made the second story. She then stepped up 
 upon the staging which she had thus built, to see 
 if it was steady. It was very steady indeed. 
 
 “ Let me get up on it,” said Bella. 
 
 Bella accordingly climbed up, and she and 
 Mary Bell danced upon it together in great glee 
 for some time, to show how steady it was. 
 
 Mary Bell then attempted to open the window. 
 She found that she could open it a little way, 
 but not far enough to get in. So she said that 
 she must make one more “ story.” They then 
 both went back to the pile and got two more 
 blocks and another board to lay across upon the 
 
130 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 top of them for a flooring, and when these were 
 placed, Mary Bell found that she could raise 
 the window very high. She got a long stick 
 to put under it to hold it up, and then tried to 
 climb in. 
 
 She found, however, that the window-sill over 
 which she was to climb was still rather too high; 
 but, at length, after various consultations and 
 experiments, Bella succeeded in getting up by 
 means of the help which Mary Bell, who was 
 large and strong, gave her, by “ boosting her,” 
 as she called it, that is, pushing her up from 
 below while she climbed by means of her arms 
 clasped over the window-sill above. Bella being 
 thus in the house, took the key, which Mary Bell 
 handed her for the purpose, and went along to 
 the entry to unlock the door, while Mary Bell, 
 stepping down from the scaffolding, went to the 
 door on the outside, ready to enter when it should 
 be opened. The children had no doubt that 
 there was a keyhole in the lock on the inside, 
 although there was none made in the door on the 
 outside. 
 
 When, however, Bella reached the door on 
 the inside, she called out to Mary Bell, through 
 the door, to say that she could not find any key¬ 
 hole. 
 
HOUSEKEEPING. 
 
 131 
 
 “ It is in the lock,” said Mary Bell. 
 
 “ But there is not any lock,” said Bella. 
 
 “ Is not there any thing ?” asked Mary Bell. 
 
 “ Yes,” said Bella, “ there is a bolt.” 
 
 “ Oh, very well, then, open the bolt,” replied 
 Mary Bell. 
 
 After a great deal of tugging and pushing at 
 the bolt, Bella succeeded in getting it back, but 
 even then the door would not come open. It 
 was new, and it fitted very tight. Bella said 
 that Mary Bell must push from the outside, 
 while she held up the latch. Mary Bell accord¬ 
 ingly pushed with all her force, and at length 
 the door flew open, and to their great joy they 
 found themselves both fairly admitted to the 
 house. 
 
 They rambled about for some time, looking at 
 the different rooms, and at the various con¬ 
 veniences for housekeeping which Albert had 
 planned, and which were all just ready for use 
 when Albert had died. There was a sink in the 
 kitchen, with a little spout leading into it, from 
 which the water was running in a constant stream f 
 It came from an aqueduct of logs brought under¬ 
 ground. There was a tin dipper there upon the 
 top of the post which the water-spout came out 
 of, and Mary Bell and Bella had an excellent 
 
132 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 drink from it the first thing. The kitchen floor 
 was covered with shavings, and the children 
 played in them for some time, until they were 
 tired. Then they went and got another drink. 
 
 When they at last got tired of the kitchen, 
 they went to a window at the back side of the 
 sitting-room, which looked out toward the gar¬ 
 den, and commanded also a beautiful prospect 
 beyond. They opened this window in order to 
 see the garden better. A fresh and delightful 
 breeze came in immediately, which the children 
 enjoyed very much. The breeze, however, in 
 drawing through the house, shut all the doors 
 which the children had left open, with a loud 
 noise, and then, having no longer any egress, it 
 ceased to come in. The air seemed suddenly to 
 become calm; the children stood for some time 
 at the window, looking out at the garden, and at 
 the pond, and the mountains beyond. 
 
 At length they shut the window again, and 
 went to the door at which they had entered, and 
 found it shut fast. They could not open it, for 
 there was now no one to push upon the outside. 
 Mary Bell laughed. Bella looked very much 
 frightened. 
 
 “What shall we do?” said she. “We can’t 
 get out.” 
 
HOUSEKEEPING. 
 
 133 
 
 “Oh, don't be afraid,” said Mary Bell, “we 
 will get out some way or other.” 
 
 She then tried again to open the door, exerting 
 all her strength in pulling upon the latch, but all 
 in vain. They were finally obliged to give up 
 the attempt as utterly hopeless. 
 
 Mary Bell then led the way to the window 
 where Bella had got in, and looked out upon the 
 little scaffolding. It looked as if the window 
 was too high above the scaffolding for them to 
 get down there safely. One of them might, per¬ 
 haps, have succeeded in descending, if the other 
 had been outside to help her down; but as it 
 was, Mary Bell herself did not dare to make the 
 attempt. 
 
 “I will tell you what we will do,” said Mary 
 Bell. “ We will go to another window, where 
 there are no blocks below, and throw all the sha¬ 
 vings out from the kitchen. That will make a 
 soft bed for us to jump upon.” 
 
 “ Well,” said Bella, “ let us do that.” 
 
 So they went to the kitchen, and opening one 
 of the windows, they began to gather up the 
 shavings in their arms from off the floor, and to 
 throw them out. They worked very industriously 
 at this undertaking for a long time, until the 
 kitchen floor was entirely cleared. They picked 
 
 M 
 
134 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 out carefully all the sticks, and blocks, and pieces 
 of board which were mixed with the shavings, 
 before throwing them out, in order that there 
 might be nothing hard in the heap which they 
 were to jump upon. When the work was com¬ 
 pleted, and all the shavings were out, they went 
 to the window, and leaning over the sill, they 
 looked down. 
 
 “ I wish we had some more shavings,” said 
 Mary Bell. 
 
 “ Yes,” said Bella, “ that is too far to jump 
 down. We can’t get out any way at all.” So 
 saying, she began to cry. 
 
 “ Don’t cry, Bella,” said Mary Bell, in a sooth¬ 
 ing tone. “ It is no matter if we can’t get out, 
 for your mother knows that we came here, and if 
 we don’t come home in an hour, she will come 
 for us, and let us out.” 
 
 “ But perhaps there is a ladder somewhere,” 
 added Mary Bell, after a short pause. “ Perhaps 
 we can find a ladder that the carpenters have left 
 somewhere about. If there is, we can put it out 
 the window, and then climb down upon it. Let 
 us go and look.” 
 
 “ Well,” said Bella, “ so we will.” 
 
 The two children accordingly set off on an ex¬ 
 ploring tour to find a ladder. Mary Bell went 
 
HOUSEKEEPING. 
 
 135 
 
 toward the front part of the house, and Bella into 
 the back kitchen. They looked not only in the 
 rooms, but also in the passage-ways and closets, 
 and in every corner where a ladder could possibly 
 be hid. At length, just as Mary Bell was going 
 up the stairs, in order to look into the little attic 
 chambers, she heard Bella calling out from the 
 back part of the house, in a tone of voice expres¬ 
 sive of great exultation and joy. 
 
 “ She has found the ladder,” said Mary Bell, 
 and leaving the stairs she went to meet her. 
 
 She found Bella running through the kitchen 
 toward the entry where Mary Bell was, calling 
 out with great appearance of delight, 
 
 “ I’ve found the key-hole, Mary Bell! I’ve 
 found the key-hole!” 
 
 This was indeed true. The lock to which the 
 key that Mary Erskine had given the children 
 belonged, was upon the back door, the principal 
 door of the house being fastened by a bolt. 
 Mary Bell went to the back door, and easily 
 opened it by means of the key. Glad to dis¬ 
 cover this mode of escape from their thraldom, 
 the children ran out, and capered about upon 
 the back stoop in great glee. Presently they 
 went in again and shut all the windows which 
 they had opened, and then came out, locking ths 
 
 m 2 
 
136 
 
 MA.RY ERSKINE. 
 
 door after them, and set out on their return 
 home. 
 
 When they arrived, they found that Mary 
 Erskine had got every thing ready for the 
 school. 
 
<tjjnptor ttje iigtitlj. 
 
 tg ; ' 
 
 THE SCHOOL, 
 
 OOD teachers and proper con¬ 
 veniences for study, tend very 
 much, it is true, to facilitate the 
 progress of pupils in all attempts 
 for the acquisition of knowledge. 
 But where these advantages cannot be enjoyed, 
 it is astonishing how far a little ingenuity, and 
 resolution, and earnestness, on the part of the 
 pupil, will atone for the deficiency. No child 
 need ever be deterred from undertaking any study 
 adapted to his years and previous attainments, 
 for want of the necessary implements or apparatus, 
 or the requisite means of instruction. The means 
 of supplying the want of these things are always 
 at the command of those who are intelligent, 
 resolute, and determined. It is only the irreso- 
 
 m 3 
 
138 MARY ERSKINE, 
 
 lute, the incompetent, and the feeble-minded that 
 are dependent for their progress on having a 
 teacher, to show them, and to urge them onward, 
 every step of the way. 
 
 When Mary Bell and Bella returned home, 
 they found that Mary Erskine had made all the 
 preparations necessary for the commencement of 
 the school. She had made a desk for the two 
 children by means of the ironing-board, which 
 was a long and wide board, made very smooth on 
 both sides. This board Mary Erskine placed 
 across two chairs, having previously laid two 
 blocks of wood upon the chairs in a line with the 
 back side of the board, in such a manner as to 
 raise that side and to cause the board to slope 
 forward like a desk. She had placed two stools 
 in front of this desk for seats. 
 
 Upon this desk, at one end of it, the end, 
 namely, at which Bella was to sit, Mary Erskine 
 had placed a small thin board which she found in 
 the shop, and by the side of it a piece of chalk. 
 This small board and piece of chalk were to be 
 used instead of a slate and pencil. 
 
 At Mary Bell’s end of the desk there was a 
 piece of paper and a pen, which Mary Erskine 
 had taken out of her work-table. By the side of 
 the paper and pen was Bella’s picture-book. This 
 
ttitc school. 
 
 139 
 
 picture-book was a small but very pretty picture- 
 book, which Mary Bell had given to Bella for a 
 present on her birth-day, the year before. The 
 picture-book looked, as it lay upon the desk, as 
 if it were perfectly new. Mary Erskine had kept 
 it very carefully in her work-table drawer, as it 
 was the only picture-book that Bella had. She was 
 accustomed to take it out sometimes in the even¬ 
 ing, and show the pictures to Bella, one by one, 
 explaining them at the same time, so far as she 
 could guess at the story from the picture itself, 
 for neither she herself, nor Bella, could under¬ 
 stand a word of the reading. On these occasions 
 Mary Erskine never allowed Bella to touch the 
 book, but always turned over the leaves herself, 
 and that too in a very careful manner, so as to 
 preserve it in its original condition, smooth, fresh, 
 and unsullied. 
 
 Mary Bell and Bella looked at the desk which 
 Mary Erskine had prepared for them, and liked it 
 very much indeed. 
 
 “ But where are you going to study ?” asked 
 Mary Bell. 
 
 “ I shall study at my work-table, but not now. 
 I can’t study until the evening. I have my work 
 to do, all the day, and so I shall not begin my 
 studies until the evening, when you children are 
 
140 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 all gone to bed. And besides, there is only one 
 pen.” 
 
 “ Oh, but you will not want the pen,” said 
 Mary Bell. “ You are going to learn to read.” 
 
 “ No,” said Mary Erskine. “ I am going to 
 learn to write first.” 
 
 “ Not first ,’ 1 said Mary Bell. “ We always 
 learn to read , before we learn to write.” 
 
 “ But I am going to learn to write first,” said 
 Mary Erskine. “ I have been thinking about it, 
 and I think that will be best. I have got the plan 
 all formed. I shall want you to set me a copy, 
 and then this evening I shall write it.” 
 
 “ Well,” said Mary Bell, “ I will. The first 
 copy must be straight marks.” 
 
 “ No,” said Mary Erskine, “ the first thing is 
 to learn to write my name. I shall never have 
 my occasion to write straight marks, but I shall 
 want to write my name a great many times.” 
 
 “ Oh, but you can’t begin with writing your 
 name,” said Mary Bell. 
 
 “ Yes,” said Mary Erskine, “ I am going to 
 begin with Mary : only Mary. I want you to 
 write me two copies, one with the letters all sepa¬ 
 rate, and the other with the letters together.” 
 
 “Well,” said Mary Bell, “I will. So she sat 
 down to her desk, and taking up her pen, she 
 
THE SCHOOL. 
 
 141 
 
 dipped it into the ink-stand. The ink-stand had 
 been placed into the chair which Mary Bell’s end 
 of the ironing-board rested upon. It could not 
 stand safely on the board itself, as that was 
 sloping. 
 
 Mary Bell wrote the letters M — A — R —F, in 
 a large plain hand, upon the top of the paper, and 
 then in the same line she wrote them again, join¬ 
 ing them together in a word. Mary Erskine stood 
 by while she wrote, examining very attentively 
 her method of doing the work, and especially 
 her way of holding the pen. When the copy 
 was finished, Mary Erskine cut it off from the 
 top of the paper and pinned it up against the side 
 of the room, where she could look at it, and study 
 the names of the letters, in the intervals of her 
 work during the day. 
 
 “ There,” said she, in a tone of satisfaction, 
 when this was done, “ I have got my work before 
 me. The next thing is to give Bella hers.” 
 
 It was decided that Bella should pursue a dif¬ 
 ferent method from her mother. She was to 
 learn the letters of the alphabet in regular order, 
 taking the first two, a and b f for her first lesson. 
 Mary Bell made copies of those two letters for 
 her, with the chalk, upon the top of the board. 
 She made these letters in the form of printed and 
 
142 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 not written characters, because the object was to 
 teach Bella to read printed books. 
 
 “ Now,” said Mary Erskine to Bella, “ you 
 must study a and b for half an hour. I shall tell 
 you when I think the half hour is out. If you 
 get tired of sitting at your desk, you may take 
 your board and your chalk out to the door, and 
 sit upon the step. You must spend all the time 
 in making the letters on the board, and you may 
 say a and b while you are making the letters, but, 
 besides that, you must not speak a word. For 
 every time that you speak, except to say a and b, 
 after I tell you to begin, you will have to pick 
 up a basket of chips.” 
 
 Picking up baskets of chips was the common 
 punishment that Bella was subjected to for her 
 childish misdemeanours. There was a bin in the 
 stoop, where she used to put them, and a small 
 basket hanging up by the side of it. The chip- 
 yard was behind the house, and there was always 
 an abundant supply of chips in it, from Albert’s 
 cutting. The basket, it is true, was quite small, 
 and to fill it once with chips, was but a slight 
 punishment; but slight punishments are always 
 sufficient for sustaining any just and equitable 
 government, provided they are certain to follow 
 transgression, and are strictly and faithfully en- 
 
THE SCHOOL. 
 
 143 
 
 forced. Bella was a very obedient and submissive 
 child, though she had scarcely ever been sub¬ 
 jected to any heavier punishment than picking up 
 chips. 
 
 “ Shall I begin now ?” said Bella. 
 
 “ No,” replied her mother, “ wait, if you like, 
 till Mary Bell has taken her lesson.” 
 
 “ I don’t see how I am going to draw,” said 
 Mary Bell, “ without any pencil.” 
 
 “ You will have to draw with the pen,” said 
 Mary Erskine. “ I am very sorry that I have not 
 got any pencil for you.” 
 
 So saying, Mary Erskine took up the picture- 
 book, and began turning over the leaves, to find, 
 as she said, the picture of a house. She should 
 think, she said, that the picture of a house would 
 be a good thing to begin with. 
 
 She found a view of a house in the third picture 
 in the book. There' was a great deal in the 
 picture besides the house, but Mary Erskine said 
 that the house alone should be the lesson. There 
 was a pond near it, with a shore, and ducks and 
 geese swimming in the water. Then there was 
 a fence and a gate, and a boy coming through the 
 gate, and some trees. There was one large tree 
 with a swing hanging from one of the branches. 
 
 “ Now, Mary,” said Mary Erskine, speaking 
 
1 44 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 to Mary Bell, “ you may take the house alone. 
 First you must look at it carefully, and examine 
 all the little lines and marks, and see exactly how 
 they are made. There is the chimney, for ex¬ 
 ample. See first what the shape of the outline 
 of it is, and look at all those little lines, and those 
 and those” continued Mary Erskine, pointing to 
 the different parts of the chimney. “ You must 
 examine in the same way all the other lines, in 
 all the other parts of the picture, and see exactly 
 how fine they are, and how near together they 
 are, so that you can imitate them exactly. Then 
 you must make some little dots upon your paper 
 to mark the length and breadth of the house, so 
 as to get it of the right shape ; and then draw 
 the lines and finish it all exactly as it is in the 
 book.” 
 
 Bella looked over very attentively, while her 
 mother was explaining these things to Mary Bell, 
 and then said that she would rather draw a house 
 than make letters. 
 
 “ No,” said her mother, “ you must make let¬ 
 ters.” 
 
 “ But it is harder to make letters than it is to 
 make a house,” said Bella. 
 
 “ Yes,” said her mother, I think it is.” 
 
 “ And I think,” said Bella, “ that the least 
 
THE SCHOOL. 
 
 145 
 
 scholar ought to have the easiest things to 
 do.” 
 
 Mary Erskine laughed, and said, that in schools 
 those things were not done that seemed best to 
 the.scholars, but those that seemed best to the 
 teachers. 
 
 “ Then,” said Mary Bell, “ why must not you 
 write marks ?” 
 
 Mary Erskine laughed still more at this, and 
 said she acknowledged that the children had got 
 her penned up in a corner. 
 
 “ Now,” said Mary Erskine, “ are you ready 
 to begin ? because when you once begin, you must 
 not speak a word till the half hour is out.” 
 
 “ Yes,” said the children, “ we are ready.” 
 
 “ Then begin” said Mary Erskine. 
 
 The children began with great gravity and 
 silence, each at her separate task, while Mary 
 Erskine went on with her own regular employ¬ 
 ment. The silence continued unbroken for about 
 five minutes, when Bella laid down her chalk in 
 a despairing manner, saying— 
 
 “ O dear me ! I can’t make an a.” 
 
 “ There’s one basket of chips,” said Mary 
 Erskine. 
 
 “ Why, I really can’t,” said Bella ; “ I have 
 tried three times.” 
 
 N 
 
146 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 “ Two baskets of chips,” said her mother. 
 “ Make two marks on the corner of your board,” 
 she continued, “ and every time you speak put 
 down another, so that we can remember how 
 many baskets of chips you have to pick up.” 
 
 Bella looked rather disconsolate at receiving 
 this direction. She knew, however, that she must 
 obey. She was also well aware that she would 
 certainly have to pick up as many baskets of chips 
 as should be indicated by the line of chalk marks. 
 She, therefore, resumed her work, inwardly re¬ 
 solving that she would not speak another word. 
 All this time Mary Bell went on with her draw¬ 
 ing, without apparently paying any attention to 
 the conversation between Bella and her mother. 
 
 Bella went on, too, herself, after this, very at¬ 
 tentively, making the letters which had been as¬ 
 signed her for her lesson, and calling the names 
 of them as she made them, but not speaking any 
 words. 
 
 At length Mary Erskine told the children that 
 the half hour had expired, and that they were at 
 liberty. Bella jumped up and ran away to play. 
 Mary Bell wished to remain and finish her house. 
 Mary Erskine went to look at it. She compared 
 it very attentively with the original in the picture- 
 book, and observed several places in which Mary 
 
THE SCHOOL. 
 
 14 / 
 
 Bell had deviated from her pattern. She did not, 
 however, point out any of these faults to Mary 
 Bell, but simply said that she had done her work 
 very well indeed. She had made a very pretty 
 house. Mary Bell said that it was not quite 
 finished, and she wished to remain at her desk a 
 little longer to complete it. Mary Erskine gave 
 her leave to do so. 
 
 Bella, who had gone away at first, dancing to 
 the door, pleased to be released from her confine¬ 
 ment, came back to see Mary Bell’s picture, while 
 her mother was examining it. She seemed very 
 much pleased with it indeed. Then she asked 
 her mother to look at her letters upon the board. 
 Mary Erskine and Mary Bell both looked at them 
 one by one, very attentively, and compared them 
 with the letters which Mary Bell had made for 
 patterns, and also with specimens of the letters 
 in the books. Bella took great interest in look¬ 
 ing for the letters in the book, much pleased to 
 find that she knew them wherever she saw them. 
 Her mother, too, learned a and b very effectually 
 by this examination of Bella’s work. Mary Er¬ 
 skine selected the two best letters which Bella 
 had made, one of each kind, and rubbed out all 
 the rest with a cloth. She then put up the board 
 in a conspicuous place upon a shelf, where the 
 
 n 2 
 
148 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 two good letters could be seen by all in the room. 
 Bella was much pleased at this, and she came in 
 from her play several times in the course of the 
 day, to look at her letters and to call them by 
 name. 
 
 When Bella’s board had thus been put up in 
 its conspicuous position, Mary Bell sat down to 
 finish her drawing, while Bella went out to pick 
 up her two baskets of chips. Mary Bell worked 
 upon her house for nearly the whole of another 
 half hour. When it was finished she cut the 
 part of the paper which it was drawn upon off 
 from the rest, and ruled around it a neat margin 
 of double black lines. She obtained a narrow 
 strip of wood from the shop, which served her 
 as a ruler. She said that she meant to have all 
 her drawing lessons of the same size, and to put 
 the same margin around them. She marked her 
 house No. 1, writing the numbering in a small 
 but plain hand on one corner. She wrote the 
 initials of her name, M. B., in the same small 
 hand, on the opposite corner. 
 
 Mary Erskine did not attempt her lesson until 
 the evening. She finished her work about the 
 house a little after eight o’clock, and then she 
 undressed the children and put them to bed. 
 By this time it was nearly nine o’clock. The 
 
149 
 
 THE SCHOOL. 
 
 day liad been warm and pleasant, but the nights 
 at this season of the year were cool, and Mary 
 Erskin§ put two or three dry sticks upon the 
 fire, before she commenced her work, partly for 
 the warmth, and partly for the cheerfulness of 
 the blaze. 
 
 She lighted her lamp, and sat down at her 
 work-table, with Mary Bell’s copy, and her pen, 
 ink, and paper, before her. The copy had been 
 pinned up in sight all the day, and she had very 
 often examined it, when passing it, in going to 
 and fro at her work. She had thus learned the 
 names of all the letters in the word Mary, and 
 had made herself considerably familiar with the 
 forms of them j so that she not only knew ex¬ 
 actly what she had to do in writing the letters, 
 but she felt a strong interest in doing it. She, 
 however, made extremely awkward work in her 
 first attempts at writing the letters. She, never¬ 
 theless, steadily persevered. She wrote the 
 words, first in separate letters, and then after¬ 
 wards in a joined hand, again and again, going 
 down the paper. She found that she could write 
 a little more easily, if not better, as she pro¬ 
 ceeded,—but still the work was very hard. At 
 ten o’clock, her paper was covered with what she 
 thought were miserable scrawls, and her wrist 
 
 n 3 
 
150 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 and her fingers ached excessively. She put her 
 work away, and prepared to go to bed. 
 
 “ Perhaps I shall have to give it up after all,” 
 said she. “ But I will not give up till I am 
 beaten. I will write an hour every day for six 
 months, and then if I cannot write my name so 
 that people can read it, I will stop,” 
 
 The next day, about an hour after breakfast^ 
 Mary Erskine had another school for the children. 
 Bella took the two next letters, c and d, for her 
 lesson, while Mary Bell took the swing hanging 
 from the branch of the tree in the picture-book, 
 for the subject of her second drawing. Before 
 beginning her work, she studied all the touches 
 by which the drawing was made in the book, 
 with great attention and care, in order that she 
 might imitate them as precisely as possible. She 
 succeeded very well indeed in this second attempt. 
 The swing made even a prettier picture than the 
 house. When it was finished, she cut the paper 
 out, of the same size with the other, drew a bor¬ 
 der round it, and marked it No. 2. She went 
 on in this manner every day, as long as she re¬ 
 mained at Mary Erskine’s, drawing a new picture 
 every day. At last, when she went home, Mary 
 Erskine put all her drawings up together, and 
 Mary Bell carried them home, to show them to 
 
THE SCHOOL. 
 
 151 
 
 her mother. This was the beginning of Mary 
 Bell’s drawing. 
 
 As for Mary Erskine, her second lesson was 
 the word Erskine , which she found a great deal 
 harder to write than Mary. There was one 
 thing, however, that pleased her in it, which was, 
 that there was one letter which she knew already, 
 having learned it in Mary : that was the r. All 
 the rest of the letters, however, were new, and 
 she had to practise writing the word two evenings 
 before she could write it well, without looking at 
 the copy. She then thought that probably by 
 that time she had forgotten Mary ; but on trying 
 to write that word, she was very much pleased 
 to find that she could write it much more easily 
 than she could before. This encouraged her, and 
 she accordingly took Forester for her third lesson, 
 without any fear of forgetting the Mary and the 
 Erskine. 
 
 The Forester lesson proved to be a very easy 
 one. There were only three new letters in it, 
 and those three were very easy to write. In fine, 
 at the end of the four days, when Mary Bell was 
 to go home, Mary Erskine could read, write, and 
 spell her name tolerably well. 
 
 Mrs. Bell came herself for Mary when the time 
 of her visit expired. She was very much pleased 
 
152 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 to learn how good a girl and how useful her 
 daughter had been. She was particularly pleased 
 with her drawings. She said that she had been 
 very desirous to have Mary learn to draw, but 
 that she did not know it was possible to make so 
 good a beginning without a teacher. 
 
 “ Why, I had a teacher,” said Mary Bell. “ 1 
 think that Mary Erskine is a teacher ; and a very 
 good one besides.” 
 
 “ I think so too,” said Mrs. Bell. 
 
 The children went out to get some wild flowers 
 for Mary Bell to carry home, and Mrs. Bell then 
 asked Mary if she had begun to consider what it 
 was best for her to do. 
 
 “Yes,” said Mary Erskine. “I think it will 
 be best for me to sell the farm, and the new 
 house, and all the stock, and live here in this 
 house with my children.” 
 
 Mrs. Bell did not answer, but seemed to be 
 thinking whether this would be the best plan or 
 not. 
 
 “ The children cannot go to school from here,” 
 said Mrs. Bell. 
 
 “ No,” said Mary Erskine, “ but I can teach 
 them myself, I think, till they are old enough to 
 walk to the school-house. I find that I can learn 
 the letters faster than Bella can, and that without 
 
THE SCHOOL. 
 
 153 
 
 interfering with my work; and Mary Bell will 
 come out here now and then, and tell us what we 
 don’t know.” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Mrs. Bell, “ I shall be glad to 
 have her come as often as you wish. But it 
 seems to me that you had better move into the 
 village. Half the money that the farm and the 
 stock will sell for, will buy you a very pleasant 
 house in the village, and the interest on the other 
 half, together with what you can earn, will sup¬ 
 port you comfortably.” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Mary Erskine, “ but then I should 
 be growing poorer, rather than richer, all the 
 time ; and when my children grow older, and I 
 want the money for them, I shall find that I have 
 spent it all. Now if I stay here in this house, I 
 shall have no rent to pay, nor shall I lose the 
 interest of a part of my money, as I should if I 
 were to buy a house in the village with it, to live 
 in myself. I can earn enough here too by knit¬ 
 ting, and by spinning and weaving, for all that 
 we shall want while the children are young. I 
 can keep a little land with this house, and let 
 Thomas, or some other such boy, live with me, 
 and raise such things as we want to eat; and so 
 I think I can get along very well, and put out 
 all the money which I get from the farm and the 
 
154 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 stock, at interest. In ten or fifteen years it will 
 be five hundred pounds. Then I shall be rich, 
 and can move into the village without any dan¬ 
 ger. 
 
 “ Not five hundred pounds !” said Mrs. Bell. 
 
 “ Yes,” said Mary Erskine, “ if I have calcu¬ 
 lated it right.” 
 
 “ Why, how much do you think the farm and 
 stock will sell for ?” asked Mrs. Bell. 
 
 “ About two hundred pounds,” said Mary Er¬ 
 skine. “ That put out at interest will double in 
 about twelve years.” 
 
 “Very well,” rejoined Mrs. Bell, “but that 
 makes only four hundred pounds.” 
 
 “ But then I think that I can lay up half a 
 crown a week of my own earnings, especially 
 when Bella gets a little bigger, so as to help me 
 about the house,” said Mary Erskine. 
 
 “ Well,” said Mrs. Bell. 
 
 “ That,” continued Mary Erskine, “ will be 
 six pounds ten shillings a year, which will be 
 at least seventy-eight pounds in twelve years.” 
 
 “ Very well,” said Mrs. Bell, “ that makes four 
 hundred and seventy-eight pounds.” 
 
 “ Then,” continued Mary Erskine, “ I thought 
 that at the end of the twelve years I should bo 
 able to sell this house and the land around it for 
 
THE SCHOOL* 
 
 155 
 
 twenty-two pounds, especially if I take good care 
 of the buildings in the mean while.” 
 
 “And that makes your five hundred pounds,” 
 said Mrs. Bell. 
 
 “ Yes,” replied Mary Erskine.. 
 
 “ But suppose you are sick.” 
 
 “ Oh, if I am sick, or if I die,” rejoined Mary 
 Erskine, “ of course that breaks up all my plans. 
 I know I can’t plan against calamities.” 
 
 “Well,” said Mrs. Bell, rising from her seat 
 with a smile of satisfaction upon her countenance, 
 “ I can’t advise you. But if ever I get into any 
 serious trouble, I shall come to you to advise 
 
 me 
 
 So bidding Mary Erskine good-bye, Mrs. Bell 
 called her daughter, and they went together to¬ 
 ward their home. 
 
Cjjnptir tjji j®int{r. 
 
 GOOD MANAGEMENT. 
 
 HENEVER any person dies, 
 leaving property to be divided 
 among his heirs, and not leaving 
 any valid will to determine the 
 mode of division, the property, as 
 has already been said, must be divided on certain 
 principles, established by the law of the land, and 
 under the direction of the Judge of Probate, who 
 has jurisdiction over the county in which the 
 property is situated. The Judge of Probate ap¬ 
 points a person to take charge of the property 
 and divide it among the heirs. This person is 
 called the administrator, or, if a woman, the ad¬ 
 ministratrix. The Judge gives the administrator 
 or the administratrix a paper, which authorises 
 him or her to take charge of the property, which 
 
GOOD MANAGEMENT. 
 
 157 
 
 paper is called “ Letters of Administration.” 
 The letters of administration are usually granted 
 to the wife of the deceased, or to his oldest son, 
 or, if there is no wife or son, to the nearest heir 
 who is of proper age and discretion to manage 
 the trust. The person who receives administra¬ 
 tion is obliged to take a solemn oath before the 
 Judge of Probate, that he will report to the Judge 
 a full account of all the property that belonged to 
 the deceased which shall come to his knowledge. 
 The Judge also appoints three persons to go and 
 examine the property, and make an inventory of 
 it, and appraise every article, so as to know, as 
 nearly as possible, how much and what property 
 there is. These persons are called appraisers. 
 The inventory which they make out is lodged in 
 the office of the Judge of Probate, where any 
 person who has an interest in the estate can see 
 it at any time. The administrator usually keeps 
 a copy of the inventory besides. 
 
 If among the property left by a person de¬ 
 ceased, which is to go in part to children, there 
 are any houses and lands,—a kind of property 
 which is called in law real estate, to distinguish 
 it from moveable property, which is called per¬ 
 sonal estate ,—such real estate cannot be sold, in 
 
 ordinary cases, by the administrator, without 
 
 o 
 
158 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 leave frcm the Judge of Probate. This leave 
 the Judge of Probate will give, in eases where 
 it is clearly best for the children that the pro¬ 
 perty shouldbe so sold, and the avails of it kept for 
 them, rather than the property itself. All these 
 things Mrs. Bell explained to Mary Erskine, 
 having learned about them herself some years 
 before, when her own husband died. 
 
 Accordingly, a few weeks after Albert’s de¬ 
 cease, Mary Erskine went one day in a waggon, 
 taking the baby with her, and Thomas to drive, 
 to the county town, where the Probate court was 
 held. 
 
 At the Probate court Mary Erskine made all 
 the arrangements necessary in respect to the 
 estate. She had to go twice, in fact, before all 
 these arrangements were completed. She ex¬ 
 pected to have a great deal of trouble and em¬ 
 barrassment in doing this business, but she did 
 not find that there was any trouble at all. The 
 Judge of Probate told her exactly what to do. 
 She was required to sign her name once or 
 twice to papers. This she did with great trepi¬ 
 dation, and after writing her name, on the first 
 occasion which occurred requiring her signature, 
 she apologized for not being able to write any 
 better. The Judge of Probate said that very 
 
GOOD MANAGEMENT. 
 
 159 
 
 few of the papers that he received were signed 
 so well. 
 
 Mary Erskine was appointed administratrix, 
 and the Judge gave her a paper, which he said 
 was her “ Letters of Administration.” What the 
 Judge gave to her seemed to be only one paper, 
 but she thought it probable, as the Judge said 
 “ Letters,” that there was another inside. When 
 she got home, however, and opened the paper, she 
 found that there was only one. She could not 
 read it herself, her studies having yet extended 
 no farther than to the writing of her name. The 
 first time, however, that Mary Bell came to see 
 her, after she received this document, she asked 
 Mary Bell to read it to her. Mary Bell did so, 
 but after she had got through, Mary Erskine said 
 that she could not understand one word of it, 
 from beginning to end. Mary Bell said that 
 it was not strange, for she believed that lawyers’ 
 papers were only meant for lawyers to under¬ 
 stand. 
 
 The appraisers came about this time to make 
 an inventory of the property. They went all 
 over the house and barns, and took a complete 
 account of every thing that they found. They 
 made a list of all the oxen, sheep, cows, horses, 
 and other animals, putting down opposite to each 
 
160 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 one their estimate of its value. They did the 
 same with the vehicles, and farming implements, 
 and utensils, and also with all the household fur¬ 
 niture, and the provisions and stores. When 
 they had completed the appraisement, they added 
 up the amount, and found that the total was a little 
 over one hundred pounds. Mary Erskine was very 
 much surprised to find that there was so much. 
 
 The appraisers then told Mary Erskine that 
 half of that property was hers, and the other half 
 belonged to the children; and that as much of 
 their half as was necessary for their support could 
 be used for that purpose, and the rest must be 
 paid over to them when they became of age. They 
 said also, that she or some one else must be ap¬ 
 pointed their guardian, to take care of their part 
 of the property; and that the guardian could 
 either keep the property as it was, or sell it and 
 keep the money, as she thought would be most for 
 the interest of the children; and that she had the 
 same power in respect to her own share. 
 
 Mary Erskine said that she thought it would 
 be best for her to sell the stock and farming 
 tools, because she could not take care of them 
 nor use them, and she might put the money out 
 at interest. The appraisers said they thought 
 so too. 
 
GOOD MANAGEMENT. 
 
 161 
 
 In the end, Mary Erskine was appointed 
 guardian. The idea appeared strange to her at 
 first of being appointed guardian to her own 
 children, as it seemed to her that a mother na¬ 
 turally and necessarily held that relation to her 
 offspring. But the meaning of the law, in making 
 a mother the guardian of her children by ap¬ 
 pointment, in such a case as this, is simply to 
 authorize her to take care of property left to 
 them, or descending to them. It is obvious that 
 cares must frequently occur in which a mother, 
 though the natural guardian of her children so 
 far as the personal care of them is concerned, 
 would not be properly qualified to take charge 
 of any considerable amount of property coming 
 to them. When the mother is qualified to take 
 this charge, she can be duly authorized to do it; 
 and this is the appointment to the guardianship— 
 meaning the guardianship of the property to 
 which the appointment refers. 
 
 Mary Erskine was accordingly appointed guar¬ 
 dian of the children, and she obtained leave to 
 sell the farm. She decided that it would be 
 best to sell it, as she thought, after making dili¬ 
 gent enquiry, that she could not depend on re¬ 
 ceiving any considerable annual rent for it, if 
 she were to attempt to let it. She accordingly 
 
 o 3 
 
162 
 
 MAllY ERSKINE. 
 
 sold the farm, with the new house, and all the 
 stock,—excepting that she reserved from the farm 
 ten acres of land around her own house, and 
 one cow, one horse, two pigs, and all the poul¬ 
 try. She also reserved all a the household furni¬ 
 ture. These things she took as a part of her 
 portion. The purchase money for all the rest 
 amounted to two hundred and forty pounds. 
 This sum was considerably more than Mary 
 Erskine had expected to receive. 
 
 The question now was, what should be done 
 with this money? There are various modes 
 which are adopted for investing such sums so 
 as to get an annual income from them. The 
 money may be lent to some person who will 
 take it and pay interest for it. A house may 
 be bought and let to some one who wishes to 
 hire it; or shares in a rail-road, or a bank, or a 
 bridge, may be taken. Such kinds of property 
 as those are managed by directors, who take 
 care of all the profits that are made, and twice a 
 year divide the money among the persons that 
 own the shares. 
 
 Mary Erskine had a great deal of time for 
 enquiry and reflection in respect to the proper 
 mode of investing her money, for the man who 
 purchased the farm and the stock was not to 
 
GOOD MANAGEMENT. 
 
 163 
 
 pay the money immediately. The price agreed 
 upon for the farm, including, of course, the new 
 house, was one hundred and twenty-five pounds. 
 The stock, farming utensils, &c., which he 
 took with it, came to ninety pounds. The 
 purchaser was to pay, of this money, one hun¬ 
 dred pounds in three months, and the balance in 
 six months. Mary Erskine, therefore, had to 
 make provision for investing the one hundred 
 pounds first. 
 
 She determined, after a great deal of conside¬ 
 ration and inquiry, to lay out this money in 
 buying four shares in the Franconian bridge. 
 These shares were originally twenty-five pounds 
 each, but the bridge had become so profitable, on 
 account of the number of persons that passed 
 it, and the amount of money which was conse¬ 
 quently collected for tolls, that the shares would 
 sell for twenty-seven pounds ten shilings each. 
 This two pounds ten shillings advance over the 
 original price of the shares is called premium. 
 Upon the four shares which Mary Erskine was 
 going to buy, the premium would be, of course, 
 ten pounds. This money Mary Erskine con¬ 
 cluded to borrow. Mr. Keep said that he 
 would very gladly lend it to her. Her plan was 
 to pay the borrowed money bank out of the divi- 
 
1G4 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 dends which she would receive from her bridge 
 shares. The dividend was usually five per centum, 
 or, as they commonly called it, five per cent., that 
 is, five pounds on every share of a hundred 
 pounds every six months. 1 * The dividend on 
 the four shares would, of course, be five pounds, 
 so that it would take two dividends to pay off the 
 ten pound debt to Mr. Keep, besides a little 
 interest. When this was done, Mary Erskine would 
 have property in the bridge worth one hundred 
 and ten pounds, without having used any more 
 than one hundred pounds of her k farm money, 
 and she would continue to have ten pounds a 
 year from it, as long as she kept it in her pos¬ 
 session. 
 
 When the rest of the money for the farm was 
 paid, Mary Erskine resolved on purchasing a 
 certain small, but very pleasant house, with it. 
 This house was in the village, and she found, on 
 inquiry, that it could be let to a family for twelve 
 pounds ten shillings a year. It is true that a 
 part of this twelve pounds ten shillings would 
 have to be expended every year in making 
 repairs upon the house, so as to keep it in good 
 order: such as painting it from time to time, and 
 
 * Per is a Latin word, meaning for, and centum another 
 meaning a hundred. 
 
GOOD MANAGEMENT. 
 
 165 
 
 renewing the roof when the shingles began to 
 decay, and other similar things. But, then, Mary 
 Erskine found, on making a careful examination, 
 that after expending as much of the money which 
 she should receive for the rent of her house, as 
 should be necessary for the repairs, she should 
 still have rather more than she would receive 
 from the money to be invested, if it was put out at 
 interest by lending it to some person who wanted 
 to borrow it. So she decided to buy the house in 
 preference to adopting any other plan. 
 
 It happened that the house which Mary Ers¬ 
 kine f hus determined to buy, was the very one 
 that Mr. Gordon lived in. The owner of the 
 house wished to sell it, and offered it first to 
 Mr. Gordon; but he said that he was not able 
 to buy it. He had been doing very well in his 
 business, but his expenses were so great, he 
 said, that he had not any ready money at com¬ 
 mand. He was very sorry, he added, that the 
 owner wished to sell the house, for whoever 
 should buv it, would want to come and live in 
 it, he supposed, and he should be obliged to 
 move away. The owner said that he was sorry, 
 b T it that he could not help it. 
 
 A few days after this, Mr. Gordon came home 
 one evening, and told Anne Sophia, with a coun- 
 
166 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 tenance expressive of great surprise and some 
 little vexation, that her old friend, Mrs. Forester, 
 had bought their house, and was going to move 
 into it. Anne Sophia was amazed at this in¬ 
 telligence, and both she and her husband were 
 thrown into a state of great perplexity and 
 trouble. The next morning Anne Sophia went 
 out to see Mary Erskine about it. Mary Erskine 
 received her in a very kind and cordial manner. 
 
 “ I am very glad to see you,” said Mary Ers¬ 
 kine. “ I was coming to your house myself 
 in a day or two, about some business, if you had 
 not come here.” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Anne Sophia. “ I understand 
 that you have been buying our house away 
 from over our heads, and are going to turn us 
 out of house and home.” 
 
 “ Oh, no,” said Mary Erskine, smiling, “ not 
 at all. In the first place, I have not really bought 
 the house yet, but am only talking about it; 
 and in the second place, if I buy it, I shall not 
 want it myself, but shall wish to have you live 
 in it just as you have done.” 
 
 “ You will not want it yourself!” exclaimed 
 Anne Sophia, astonished. 
 
 “ No,” said Mary Erskine, “ I am only going 
 to buy it as an investment.” 
 
GOOD MANAGEMENT. 
 
 167 
 
 There were so many things to be astonished 
 at in this statement, that Anne Sophia hardly 
 knew where to begin with her wonder. First, 
 she was surprised to learn that Mary Erskine 
 had so much money. When she heard that she 
 had bought the house, she supposed, of course, 
 that she had bought it on credit, for the sake of 
 having a house in the village to live in. Then 
 she was amazed at the idea of any person con¬ 
 tinuing to live in a log house in the woods, when 
 she had a pretty house of her own in the middle 
 of the village. She could not for some time be 
 satisfied that Mary Erskine was in earnest in 
 what she said. But when she found that it was 
 really so, she went away greatly relieved. Mary 
 Erskine told her that she had postponed giving 
 her final answer about buying the house, in 
 order first to see Mr. Gordon, to know whether 
 he had any objection to the change of owner¬ 
 ship. She knew, of course, that Mr. Gordon 
 would have no right to object, but she rightly 
 supposed that he would be gratified at having 
 her ask him the question. 
 
 Mary Erskine went on after this for two or 
 three years very prosperously in all her affairs. 
 Thomas continued to live with her, in her log- 
 house, and to cultivate the land which she had 
 
168 
 
 MARY ERSXINE. 
 
 retained. In the fall and winter, when there 
 was nothing to he done in the fields or garden, 
 he was accustomed to work in the shop, making 
 improvements for the house, such as finishing 
 off the stoop into another room, to be used for 
 a kitchen, making new windows to the house, 
 and a regular front door, and in preparing fences 
 and gates to be put up around the house. He 
 made an aqueduct, too, to conduct the water 
 from a new spring which he discovered at a 
 place higher than the house, and so brought a 
 constant stream of water into the kitchen which 
 he had made in the stoop. The stumps, too, 
 in the fields around the house, gradually de¬ 
 cayed, so that Thomas could root them out and 
 smooth over the ground where they had stood. 
 Mary Erskine’s ten acres thus became very 
 smooth and beautiful. It was divided by fences 
 into very pleasant fields, with green lanes shaded 
 by trees, leading from one place to another. The 
 brook flowed through this land along a very 
 beautiful valley, and there were groves and 
 thickets here and there, both along the margin 
 of the brook and in the corners of the fields, 
 which gave to the grounds a very sheltered, as 
 well as a very picturesque expression. 
 
 Mary Erskine also caused trees and shrubbery 
 
GOOD MANAGEMENT. 
 
 169 
 
 to be planted near the house, and trained honey¬ 
 suckles and wild roses upon a trellis over the 
 front door. 
 
 All these improvements were made in a very 
 plain and simple manner, and at very little ex¬ 
 pense, and yet there was so much taste exer¬ 
 cised in the arrangement of them all, that the 
 effect was very agreeable in the end. The house 
 and all about it formed, in time, an enchanting 
 picture of rural beauty. 
 
 It was, however, only a few occasional hours 
 of recreation that Mary Erskine devoted to or¬ 
 namenting her dwelling. The main portion of 
 her time and attention was devoted to such in¬ 
 dustrial pursuits as were most available in bring¬ 
 ing in the means of support for herself and her 
 children, so as to leave untouched the income 
 from her house and her bridge shares. This 
 income, as fast as it was paid in, she deposited 
 with Mr. Kemp, to be let out on interest, until 
 a sufficient sum was thus accumulated to make 
 a new investment of a permanent character. 
 When the sum at length amounted to fifty-five 
 pounds, she bought two more bridge shares with 
 it, and from that time forward she received 
 dividends on six shares instead of four; that 
 is, she received seven pounds ten shillings 
 
 p 
 
170 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 every six months, instead of five pounds, as be¬ 
 fore. 
 
 One reason why Mary Erskine' invested her 
 money in a house and in a bridge, instead of 
 lending it out at interest, was, that by so doing, 
 her property was before her in a visible form, 
 and she could take a constant pleasure in seeing 
 it. Whenever she went to the village she en¬ 
 joyed seeing her house, which she kept in a 
 complete state of repair, and which she had 
 ornamented with shrubbery and trees, so that 
 it was a very agreeable object to look upon of 
 itself, independently of the pleasure of owner¬ 
 ship. In the same manner she liked to see the 
 bridge, and think when teams and people were 
 passing over it, that a part of all the toll which 
 they paid, would, in the end, come to her. She 
 thus took the same kind of pleasure in having 
 purchased a house, and shares in a bridge, that 
 any lady in a city would take in an expensive 
 new carpet, or a rosewood piano, which would 
 cost about the same sum; and then she had all 
 the profit, in the shape of the annual income, 
 besides. 
 
 There was one great advantage, too, which 
 Mary Erskine derived from owning this pro¬ 
 perty, which, though she did not think of it at 
 
I 
 
 GOOD MANAGEMENT, 
 
 171 
 
 all when she commenced her prudent and eco¬ 
 nomical course at the time of her marriage, 
 proved in the end to be of inestimable value to 
 her. This advantage was the high degree of 
 respectability which it gave her in the public 
 estimation. The people of the village gradually 
 found out how she managed, and how fast her 
 property was increasing, and they entertained 
 for her a great deal of that kind of respect 
 which worldly prosperity always commands. 
 The storekeepers were anxious to have her cus¬ 
 tom. Those who had money to lend were al¬ 
 ways very readj to let her have it, if at any 
 time she wished to make up a sum for a new 
 investment: and all the ladies of the village 
 were willing that their daughters should go out 
 to her little farm to visit Bella, and to have 
 Bella visit them in return. Thus Mary Erskine 
 found that she was becoming quite an important 
 personage. 
 
 Her plan of teaching herself and her children 
 succeeded perfectly. By the time that she had 
 thoroughly learned to write her own name, she 
 knew half of the letters of the alphabet, for her 
 name contained nearly that number. She next 
 learned to write her children’s names, Bella 
 Forester and Albert Forester. After that, she 
 
172 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 learned to write the names of all the months, 
 and to read them when she had written them. 
 She chose the names of the months, next after 
 the names of her own family, so that she might 
 be able to date her letters, if she should ever have 
 occasion to write any. 
 
 Mary Bell set copies for her, when she came 
 out to see her, and Mary Erskine went on so 
 much faster than Bella, that she could teach her 
 very well. She required Bella to spend an hour 
 at her studies every day. Thomas made a little 
 desk for her, and her mother bought her a slate 
 and a pencil, and in process of time an arith¬ 
 metic, and other books. As soon as Mary 
 Erskine could read fluently, Mary Bell used to 
 bring out books to her, containing entertaining 
 stories. 
 
 At first Mary Bell would read these stories 
 distinctly to her once, while she was at her work, 
 and then Mary Erskine, having heard Mary 
 Bell read them, could read them herself in the 
 evening without much difficulty. At length 
 she made such progress that she could read the 
 stories herself alone, the first time, with very 
 little trouble. 
 
 Thus things went on in a very pleasant and 
 prosperous manner; and this was the condition 
 
GOOD MANAGEMENT. 
 
 173 
 
 of Mary Erskine and of her affairs, at the time 
 when Malleville and Phonny went to pay tier 
 their visit, as described in the first chapter of 
 this volume. 
 
 p 
 
 3 
 
Cjjnptir tjii totlj. 
 
 THE YISIT TO MARY ERSKINE’S. 
 
 ALLEYILLE and Phonny arrived 
 
 at Mary Erskine’s about an hour 
 
 after Beechnut left them. They • 
 
 met with no special adventures b y 
 the way, except that when they 
 
 reached the great pine-tree, Phonny proposed to 
 climb up, for the purpose of examining a small 
 bunch which he saw upon one of the branches, 
 which he thought was a bird’s nest. It was the 
 same pine-tree that marked the place at which a 
 road branched off into the woods, where Mary 
 Bell had lost her way, several years before. 
 Malleville was very unwilling to have Phonny 
 climb up upon such a high tree, but Phonny him¬ 
 self was very desirous to make the attempt. 
 There was a log fence at the foot of the tree, and 
 
THE VISIT. 
 
 175 
 
 the distance was not very great from the upper¬ 
 most log of the fence to the lowermost branch 
 of the tree. So Phonny thought that he could 
 get up without any difficulty. 
 
 Malleville was afraid to have him try, and she 
 said that if he did, he would be acting just as 
 foolish as the boy that Beechnut had told them 
 about, who nipped his own nose; and that she 
 should not stop to see him do any such foolish¬ 
 ness. So she walked along as fast as she could 
 go. 
 
 Phonny unfortunately was rendered only the 
 more determined to climb the tree by Malleville’s 
 opposition. He accordingly mounted up to the 
 top of the fence, and thence reaching the lower 
 branches of the tree, he succeeded at length, by 
 dint of much scrambling and struggling, in lift¬ 
 ing himself up among them. He climbed out to 
 the limb where he had seen the appearances of 
 a bird’s nest, but found, to his disappointment, 
 that there was no bird’s nest there. The bunch 
 was only a little tuft of twigs growing out to¬ 
 gether. 
 
 Phonny then began to shout out for Malleville 
 to wait for him. 
 
 “ Mal : —le—ville ! Mai—le—ville !” said he. 
 
 “ Wait a minute for me. I am coming down.” 
 
176 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 He did not like to be left there all alone, in the 
 gloomy and solitary forest. So he made all the 
 haste possible in descending. There are a great 
 many accidents which may befall a boy in coming 
 down a tree. The one which Phonny was fated 
 to incur, in this instance, was to catch his trousers, 
 near the knee, in a small sharp twig which pro¬ 
 jected from a branch, and tear them. 
 
 When he reached the ground he looked at the 
 rent in dismay. He was generally nice and par¬ 
 ticular about his clothes, and he was very unwil¬ 
 ling to go to Mary Erskine’s, and let her and Bella 
 see him in such a plight. He was equally un¬ 
 willing to go home again, and to lose his visit. 
 
 “ Provoking !” said he. “ That comes from 
 Malleville’s hurrying me so. It is all her fault.” 
 Then starting off suddenly, he began to run, 
 shouting out, “ Malleville ! Malleville !” 
 
 At length, when he got pretty near her, he 
 called out for her to stop and see what she had 
 made him do. 
 
 “ Did I make you do that ?” said Malleville, 
 looking at the rent, while Phonny stood with his 
 foot extended, and pointing at it with his 
 finger. 
 
 “ Yes,” said Phonny,—“ because you hurried 
 me.” . 
 
THE VISIT. 
 
 177 
 
 “Well, I’m sorry,” said Malleville, looking 
 very much concerned. 
 
 Phonny was put quite to a nonplus by this un¬ 
 expected answer. He had expected to hear 
 Malleville deny that it was her fault that he had 
 torn his clothes, and was prepared to insist stren¬ 
 uously that it was ; but this unlooked-for gentle¬ 
 ness seemed to leave him not a word to say. So 
 he walked along by the side of Malleville in 
 silence. 
 
 “ Was it a pretty bird's-nest ?” said Malleville 
 in a conciliatory tone, after a moment’s pause. 
 
 “ No,” said Phonny. “ It was not any bird’s 
 nest at all.” 
 
 When the children reached the farm, as they 
 called it, Mary Erskine seated Phonny on the 
 bed, and then drawing up her chair near to him, 
 she took his foot in her lap and mended the rent 
 so neatly, that there was afterwards no sign of it 
 to be seen. 
 
 Little Albert was at this time about three years 
 old, and Bella was seven. Phonny, while Mary 
 Erskine was mending his clothes, asked where 
 the children were. Mary Erskine said that they 
 had gone out into the fields with Thomas, to 
 make hay. So Phonny and Malleville, after 
 getting proper directions in respect to the way 
 
178 
 
 MA.ltY ERSKINE. 
 
 that they were to go, set off in pursuit of 
 them. 
 
 They went out at a back-door which led to a 
 beautiful walk under a long trellis-, which was 
 covered with honey-suckles and roses. Malle- 
 ville stopped to get a rose, and Phonny to admire 
 two humming-birds that were playing about the 
 honey-suckles. He wished very much that he 
 could catch one of them, but he could not even 
 get near them. From the end of the trellis 
 walk the children entered a garden, and at the 
 back of the garden they went through a narrow 
 place between two posts into a field. They 
 walked along the side of this field, by a very 
 pleasant path with high green grass and flowers 
 on one side, and a wall with a great many rasp¬ 
 berry bushes growing by it, and now and then 
 little thickets of trees on the other. The bushes 
 and trees made the walk that they were going in 
 very cool and shady. There were plenty of rasp¬ 
 berries upon the bushes, but they were not yet 
 ripe. Phonny said that when the raspberries 
 were ripe he meant to come out to Mary Erskine’s 
 again and get some. 
 
 Presently the children turned a sort of a corner 
 which was formed by a group of trees, and then 
 they came in sight of the hay-making party. 
 
THE VISIT. 
 
 179 
 
 “ Oh, they have got the horse and cart,” said 
 Phonny. So saying, he set off as fast as he could 
 run, toward the hay-makers, Malleville following 
 him. 
 
 The horse and cart were standing in the middle 
 of the field, among the numerous cocks of hay. 
 The two children of Mrs. Forester, Bella and 
 Albert, were in the cart, treading down the hay 
 as fast as Thomas pitched it up. As soon as 
 Phonny and Malleville reached the place, Malle¬ 
 ville stood still with her hands behind her, look¬ 
 ing at the scene with great interest and pleasure. 
 Phonny wanted to know if Thomas had not got 
 another pitch-fork, so that he might help him 
 to pitch up the hay. 
 
 Thomas said, no. He, however, told Phonny 
 that he might get into the cart if he pleased, and 
 drive the horse along, when it was time to go to 
 a new place. Phonny was extremely pleased 
 with this plan. He climbed into the cart, Bella 
 helping him up by a prodigious lift which she 
 gave him, seizing him by the shoulder as he came 
 up. Malleville was afraid to get into the cart at 
 all, but preferred walking along the field and 
 playing among the haycocks. 
 
 Phonny drove along from place to place as 
 Thomas directed him, until at length the cart was 
 
180 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 so full that it was no longer safe for the children 
 to remain upon the top. They then slid down 
 the hay to the ground, Thomas receiving them, 
 so as to prevent any violent fall. Thomas then 
 forked up as much more hay as he could make 
 stay upon the top of his load, and when this was 
 done he set out to go to the barn. The children 
 accompanied him, walking behind the cart. 
 
 When the party reached the barn, the childrerj 
 went inside to a place which Phonny called the 
 bay. Thomas drove his cart up near the side of 
 the barn without, and began to pitch the hay in 
 through a great square window quite high up. The 
 window opened into the bay, so that the hay, 
 when Thomas pitched it in, fell down into the 
 place where the children were standing. They 
 jumped upon it, when it came down, with great 
 glee. As every new forkful which Thomas 
 pitched in, came without any warning except the 
 momentary darkening of the window, it some¬ 
 times fell upon the children’s heads and half- 
 buried them, each new accident of this kind, 
 awakening, as it occurred, loud and long con¬ 
 tinued bursts of laughter. 
 
 After getting in two or three loads of hay in 
 this manner, dinner time came, and the whole 
 party went in to dinner. They found when they 
 
THE VISIT. 
 
 181 
 
 entered the house that Mary Erskine had been 
 frying nut-cakes and apple turn-overs for them. 
 There was a large earthen pan full of such things, 
 and there were more over the fire. There were 
 also around the table four bowls full of very rich 
 looking milk, with a spoon in each bowl, and a 
 large supply of bread, cut into very small pieces, 
 upon a plate near the bowls. The children were 
 all hungry and thirsty, and they gathered around 
 the table to eat the excellent dinner which Mary 
 Erskine had provided for them, with an air of 
 great eagerness and delight. 
 
 After their dinner was over, Mary Erskine 
 said that they might go out and play for half an 
 hour, and that then she would go with them into 
 the fields, and see if they could not find some 
 strawberries. Accordingly, when the time ar¬ 
 rived, they all assembled at the door, and Mary 
 Erskine came out, bringing mugs and baskets to 
 put the strawberries in. There were four mugs 
 made of tin; such as were there called dippers. 
 There were two pretty large baskets besides, both 
 covered. Mary Erskine< gave to each of the 
 children a dipper, and carried the baskets herself. 
 She seemed to carry them very carefully, and 
 they appeared to be heavy, as if there might be 
 something inside. Phonny wanted very much to 
 
 o 
 
182 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 know what there was in those baskets. Mary 
 Erskine said he must guess. 
 
 “ Some cake,” said Phonny. 
 
 “ Guess again,” said Mary Erskine. 
 
 “ Apples,” said Phonny. 
 
 “ Guess again,” said Mary Erskine. 
 
 “ Why, have not I guessed right yet ?” asked 
 Phonny. 
 
 “ I can’t tell you,” replied Mary Erskine. 
 “ Only you may guess as much as you please.” 
 
 Phonny of course gave up guessing, since he 
 was not to be told whether he guessed right or 
 not; though he said he was sure that it was cake, 
 or else, perhaps, some of the turn-overs. The 
 party walked along by very pleasant paths until 
 they came to a field by the side of the brook. 
 There were trees along the banks of the brook, 
 under which, and near the water, there were a 
 great many cool and shady places that were very 
 pleasant. 
 
 Mary Erskine led the way down to one of 
 these places where there was a large flat stone 
 near the water. She hid her two baskets in the 
 bushes, and then directed the children to go up 
 into the field with her and get the strawberries. 
 
 The strawberries were not only very abundant, 
 but also very large and ripe. Mary Erskine said 
 
thy. stbawbekrt party 
 
 Piu-t 18 P 
 
THE VISIT. 
 
 183 
 
 that they might all eat ten, but no more. All that 
 they got, except ten, they must put into their 
 dippers, until the dippers were full. She herself 
 went busily at work, finding strawberries, and 
 putting them into the dippers of the children, 
 sometimes into one, and sometimes into another. 
 In a short time the dippers were full. 
 
 The whole party then went back to the brook 
 and sat down upon the great flat stone, with 
 their dippers before them. Mary Erskine then 
 brought out one of her baskets, and lifting up 
 the cover, she took out five saucers and five 
 spoons. 
 
 “ There,” said she, “ I brought you some sau¬ 
 cers and spoons to eat your strawberries with. 
 Now take up the bunches from your dippers, and 
 pull off the strawberries from the stems, and put 
 them in the saucers.” 
 
 While the children were all busily engaged in 
 doing this, Mary Erskine opened the other basket, 
 and took out a pitcher of very rich-looking 
 cream. The sight of this treasure of course 
 awakened in all the party the utmost enthusiasm 
 and delight. They went on hulling their straw¬ 
 berries very industriously, and were soon ready, 
 one after another, to have the cream poured 
 over them, which Mary Erskine proceeded to 
 
184 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 do, giving to each one of the children a very 
 abundant supply. 
 
 Phonny finished his strawberries first, and 
 then went to the margin of the brook to look 
 into the water, in order, as he said, “ to see if he 
 could see any fishes.” He did see several, and 
 became greatly excited in consequence, calling 
 eagerly upon the rest of the party to come down 
 and look. He said that he wished very much 
 that he had a fishing-line. Mary Erskine said 
 that Thomas had a fishing-line, which he would 
 lend him, she had no doubt; and away Phonny 
 went, accordingly, to find Thomas, and to get 
 the line. 
 
 This procedure was not quite right on Phon- 
 ny’s part. It is not right to abandon one’s party 
 under such circumstances as these, for the sake 
 of some new pleasure accidentally coming into 
 view, which the whole party cannot share. 
 Besides, Phonny left his dipper for Mary Ers¬ 
 kine or Malleville to carry up, instead of taking 
 care of it himself. Mary Erskine, however, said 
 that this was of no consequence, as she could 
 carry it just as well as not. 
 
 Mary Erskine and the three remaining children 
 then went back to the house, where Bella and 
 Malleville amused themselves for half an hour in 
 
THE VISIT. 
 
 185 
 
 "building houses with the blocks in Thomas’s 
 shop, when all at once Malleville was surprised 
 to see Beechnut coming in. Beechnut was re¬ 
 turning from the mill, and as the children had had 
 to walk nearly all the way to Mary Erskine’s, he 
 thought it very probable that they would be too 
 tired to walk back again. So he had left his 
 horse and waggon at the corner, and had walked 
 out to the farm to take the children home with 
 him, if they were ready to go. 
 
 “ I am not ready to go,” said Malleville, after 
 having heard this story, “ but I will go, for the 
 sake of the ride. I am too tired to w r alk all the 
 way. But Phonny is not here. He has gone 
 a-fishing.” 
 
 “ Whither has he gone ?” inquired Beech¬ 
 nut. 
 
 “ Down to the brook,” replied Malleville. 
 
 “ I will go and find him,” said Beechnut. 
 
 So saying, Beechnut left the shop, went out 
 into the yard, and began to walk down the path 
 which led toward the brook. Very soon he saw 
 Phonny coming out from among the bushes with 
 his pole over his shoulder, and walking along 
 with quite a disconsolate air. Beechnut sat down 
 upon a log by the side of the road to wait for 
 him. 
 
186 
 
 MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 “ Did you catch any fishes ?” said Beechnut, 
 as Phormy approached him. 
 
 “No,” said Phonny, despondingly. 
 
 “ I am glad of that,” said Beechnut. 
 
 “ Glad ! ” said Phonny, looking up surprised, 
 and somewhat displeased. “ What are you glad 
 for ?” 
 
 “ For the sake of the fishes,” said Beechnut. 
 
 “ Hoh !” said Phonny. “ And the other day, 
 when I did catch some, you said you were glad 
 of that.” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Beechnut, “ then I was glad for 
 your sake. There is always a chance to be glad 
 for some sake or other, happen what may.” 
 
 This, though very good philosophy, did not 
 appear to be just at that time at all satisfactory 
 to Phonny. 
 
 “ I have had nothing but ill-luck all this after¬ 
 noon,” said Phonny, in a pettish tone. “ That 
 great ugly black horse of Thomas’s trod on my 
 foot.” 
 
 “ Did he ?” said Beechnut; his countenance 
 brightening up at the same time, as if Phonny 
 had told him some good news. 
 
 “ Yes,” said Phonny, “ Thomas came along 
 near where I was fishing, and I laid down my 
 fishing-line, and went up to the horse, and was 
 
THE VISIT. 
 
 187 
 
 standing by his head, and he trod on my foot 
 dreadfully.” 
 
 “ Did he ?” said Beechnut; “ I am very glad of 
 that.” 
 
 “ Glad of that!” repeated Phonny. “ I don’t 
 see whose sake you can be glad of that for. I 
 am sure it did not do the horse any good.” 
 
 “ I am glad, of that for your sake,” said Beech¬ 
 nut. “ There never was a boy that grew up to 
 be a man, that did not have his foot trod upon at 
 some time or other by a horse. There is no 
 other possible way for them to learn that when 
 a horse takes up his foot, he will put it down 
 again wherever it happens, and if a boy’s foot 
 is under it, it will get trod upon, There is no 
 possible way for boys to learn that but by expe¬ 
 riencing it. The only difference is, that some 
 boys take the treading light, and others get it 
 heavy. You have got it light. So if you have 
 only learned the lesson, you have learned it very 
 easily, and so I am glad.” 
 
 “ No, it was not light,” said Phonny. “ It 
 was very heavy. What makes you think it was 
 light?” 
 
 “ By your walking,” replied Beechnut. “ I 
 have known some boys that, when they took 
 their lesson in keeping out of the way of horses’ 
 
188 
 
 MARY ER3KINE. 
 
 fore-feet, could not stand for a week after it. 
 You have had most excellent luck, you may de¬ 
 pend.” 
 
 By the time that Beechnut and Phonny reached 
 the house, Malleville had put on her bonnet, and 
 was ready to go. Mary Erskine said that she 
 would go with them a little way. Bella and 
 Albert then wanted to go too. Their mother said 
 that she had no objection, and so they all went 
 along together. 
 
 “ Did you know that we were going to have 
 a new road?” said Mary Erskine to Beech¬ 
 nut. 
 
 “ Are you ?” asked Phonny, eagerly. 
 
 “ Yes,” said Mary Erskine. “ They have laid 
 out a new road to the corner, and are going to 
 make it very soon. It will be a very good wag¬ 
 gon road, and when it is made you can ride all 
 the way. But then it will not be done in time 
 for my raspberry party.” 
 
 “ Your raspberry party ?” repeated Phonny, 
 “ what is that ?” 
 
 “ Did not I tell you about it ? I am going tc 
 invite you and all the children in the village 
 that I know, to come here some day wdien the 
 raspberries are ripe, and have a raspberry party, 
 —like the strawberry party that we had to- 
 
THE VISIT. 
 
 189 
 
 day. There are a great many raspberries on my 
 place.” 
 
 “ I’m very glad,” said Malleville. “ When are 
 you going to invite us ?” 
 
 “ Oh, in a week or two,” said Mary Erskine. 
 “ But then the new road will not be done until 
 the fall. They have just begun it. We can 
 hear them working upon it in one place, pretty 
 soon.” 
 
 The party soon came to the place which Mary. 
 Erskine had referred to. It was a point Avhere 
 the new road came near the line of the old one, 
 and a party of men and oxen were at work, 
 making a causeway, across a low wet place. As 
 the children passed along, they could hear the 
 sound of axes, and the voices of men shouting to 
 oxen. Phonny wished very much to go and see. 
 So Mary Erskine led the way through the woods 
 a short distance, till they came in sight of the 
 men at work. They were engaged in felling 
 trees, pulling out rocks and old logs which were 
 sunken in the mire, by means of oxen and chains, 
 and in other similar works, making all the time 
 loud and continual vociferations, which resounded 
 and echoed through the forest in a very impressive 
 manner. 
 
 What interested Phonny most in these opera- 
 
MARY ERSKINE. 
 
 lyu 
 
 tions, was to see how patiently the oxen bore 
 being driven about in the deep mire, and the pro¬ 
 digious strength which they exerted in pulling 
 out the logs. One of the workmen would take a 
 strong iron chain, and while two others would 
 pry up the end of a log with crow-bars or levers, 
 he would pass the chain under the end so raised, 
 and then hook it together above. Another man 
 would then back up a pair of oxen to the place, 
 and sometimes two pairs, in order that they 
 might be hooked to the chain which passed 
 around the log. When all was ready, the oxen 
 were started forward, and though they went very 
 slowly, step by step, yet they exerted such pro¬ 
 digious strength, as to tear the log out of its bed, 
 and drag it off, roots, branches, and all, entirely 
 out of the way. 
 
 Monstrous rocks were lifted up and dragged 
 out of the line of the road in much the same 
 manner. 
 
 After looking at this scene for some time, the 
 party returned to the old road again, and there 
 Mary Erskine said that she would bid her visitors 
 good-bye, and telling them that she would not 
 forget to invite them to her raspberry party, she 
 took leave of them, and went back toward her 
 own home. 
 
THE VISIT. 
 
 1D1 
 
 “ If all the children of the village that Mary 
 Erskine knows, are invited to that party,” said 
 Phonny, “ what a great raspberry party it will 
 be !” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Beechnut, “ it will be a raspberry 
 
 • )) 
 jam. 
 
 THE EKD.