OTH6R. 
 
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 ONLY, and is subject to a fine of FIVE 
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LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 TITTLE LORD 
 
 FAUNTLEROY. 
 
 SQUARE 8vo, $2.00. 
 
 » V\ "fn 'Little Lord 
 Fauntleroy ' we gain 
 another charming child 
 to add to our gallery of 
 juvenile heroes and heroines ; one 
 \<who teaches a great lesson with such 
 truth and sweetness, that we part with 
 flint with real regret when the episode 
 is over." — Louisa M. Alcott. 
 
 s 
 
 ARA CREWE. 
 
 SQUARE 8vo, $1.00. 
 
 ' ' Everybody was in 
 love with ' Little Lord 
 Fautitleroy ,' and I 
 think all the world 
 and the rest of man- 
 kind will be in love 
 •with ' Sara Crewe.' 
 The tale is so tender, 
 so ■wise, so human, 
 that I wish every girl 
 in America could read it, for I thi?ik every one 
 would be made better by it." 
 
 — Louise Chandler Moulton. 
 
 Illustrated by REGINALD C B. "BIRCH. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/littlesaintelizaburnett 
 
IT WAS AUNT CLOTILDE, WHO HAD SUNK FORWARD WHILE KNEELING AT PRAYER. (Page 23.) 
 
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH 
 
 OTHER STORIES 
 
 FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY REGINALD B. BIRCH 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 1890 
 
Copyright, 1890, by 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS. 
 
 [All rights reserved.'] 
 
 Press of J. J. Little & Co., 
 Astor Place, New York. 
 
to 
 
 * 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. Page 15 
 
 THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRY FOOT— 
 
 Part I. ........ "- 59 
 
 Part II. "79 
 
 Part III. "91 
 
 THE PROUD LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT. . . " 103 
 
 "BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK. . . . . . " 125 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 FROM DRA WINGS B Y REGINALD B. BIRCH. 
 
 It was Aunt Clotilde, who had sunk forward while kneeling 
 
 at prayer, Frontispiece 
 
 " There she is," they would cry, 
 
 The villagers did not stand in awe of her, .... 
 
 " Uncle Bertrand," said the child, clasping her hands, . 
 
 " Why is it that you cry ? " she asked gently , 
 
 Her strength deserted her — she fell upon her knees in the snow, . 
 
 " Why," exclaimed Fairy foot, " I'm surprised," 
 
 " What' s the matter with the swine ?" he asked, . 
 
 Almost immediately they found themselves in a beautiful little 
 dell, . 
 
 Fairyfoot loved her in a moment, and he knelt on one knee, 
 
 " There' s the cake," he said, 
 
 "Eh I Eh!" he said. "What! What I Who' s this, Toot- 
 
 sicums?" . " /_?5 
 
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 45 
 
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 65 
 
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 75 
 
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 95 
 
 
 119 
 
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 
 
THERE SHE IS,'' THEY WOULD CRY. 
 
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 
 
 SHE had not been brought up in America at all. She had 
 been born in France, in a beautiful ch&teau, and she 
 had been born heiress to a great fortune, but, neverthe- 
 less, just now she felt as if she was very poor, indeed. And 
 yet her home was in one of the most splendid houses in New 
 York. She had a lovely suite of apartments of her own, 
 though she was only eleven years old. She had had her own 
 carriage and a saddle horse, a train of masters, and govern- 
 esses, and servants, and was regarded by all the children of 
 the neighborhood as a sort of grand and mysterious little 
 princess, whose incomings and outgoings were to be watched 
 with the greatest interest. 
 
 "There she is," they would cry, flying to their windows to 
 look at her. " She is going out in her carriage." " She is 
 dressed all in black velvet and splendid fur." " That is her 
 own, own, carriage." " She has millions of money ; and she 
 can have anything she wants- — Jane says so ! " " She is very 
 pretty, too ; but she is so pale and has such big, sorrowful, 
 black eyes. I should not be sorrowful if I were in her place ; 
 
1 6 LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 
 
 but Jane says the servants say she is always quiet and looks 
 sad." " Her maid says she lived with her aunt, and her aunt 
 made her too religious." 
 
 She rarely lifted her large dark eyes to look at them with 
 any curiosity. She was not accustomed to the society of 
 children. She had never had a child companion in her life, 
 and these little Americans, who were so very rosy and gay, and 
 who went out to walk or drive with groups of brothers and 
 sisters, and even ran in the street, laughing and playing and 
 squabbling healthily — these children amazed her. 
 
 Poor little Saint Elizabeth ! She had not lived a very 
 natural or healthy life herself, and she knew absolutely 
 nothing of real childish pleasures. You see, it had occurred 
 in this way : When she was a baby of two years her young 
 father and mother died, within a week of each other, of a 
 terrible fever, and the only near relatives the little one had 
 were her Aunt Clotilde and Uncle Bertrand. Her Aunt 
 Clotilde lived in Normandy — her Uncle Bertrand in New 
 York. As these two were her only guardians, and as Ber- 
 trand de Rochemont was a gay bachelor, fond of pleasure 
 and knowing nothing of babies, it was natural that he should 
 be very willing that his elder sister should undertake the 
 rearing and education of the child. 
 
 " Only," he wrote to Mademoiselle de Rochemont, " don't 
 end by training her for an abbess, my dear Clotilde." 
 
 There was a very great difference between these two peo* 
 pie — the distance between the gray stone chateau in Normandy 
 
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 17 
 
 and the brown stone mansion in New York was not nearly so 
 great as the distance and difference between the two lives. 
 And yet it was said that in her first youth Mademoiselle de 
 Rochemont had been as gay and fond of pleasure as either of 
 her brothers. And then, when her life was at its brightest 
 and gayest — when she was a beautiful and brilliant young 
 woman — she had had a great and bitter sorrow, which had 
 changed her for ever. From that time she had never left the 
 house in which she had been born, and had lived the life of a 
 nun in everything but being enclosed in convent walls. At 
 first she had had her parents to take care of, but when they 
 died she had been left entirely alone in the great chateau, 
 and devoted herself to prayer and works of charity among 
 the villagers and country people. 
 
 "Ah ! she is good — she is a saint Mademoiselle," the poor 
 people always said when speaking of her ; but they also 
 always looked a little awe-stricken when she appeared, and 
 never were sorry when she left them. 
 
 She was a tall woman, with a pale, rigid, handsome face, 
 which never smiled. She did nothing but good deeds, but 
 however grateful her pensioners might be, nobody would ever 
 have dared to dream of loving her. She was just and cold 
 and severe. She wore always a straight black serge gown, 
 broad bands of white linen, and a rosary and crucifix at her 
 waist. She read nothing but religious works and legends of 
 the saints and martyrs, and adjoining her private apartments 
 was a little stone chapel, where the servants said she used to 
 
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 
 
 kneel on the cold floor before the altar and pray for hours in 
 the middle of the night. 
 
 The little cure of the village, who was plump and comfort- 
 able, and who had the kindest heart and the most cheerful 
 soul in the world, used to remonstrate with her, always in a 
 roundabout way, however, never quite as if he were referring 
 directly to herself. 
 
 "One must not let one's self become the stone image of 
 goodness," he said once. " Since one is really of flesh and 
 blood, and lives among flesh and blood, that is not best. 
 No, no ; it is not best." 
 
 But Mademoiselle de Rochemont never seemed exactly of 
 flesh and blood — she was more like a marble female saint 
 who had descended from her pedestal to walk upon the earth. 
 
 And she did not change, even when the baby Elizabeth 
 was brought to her. She attended strictly to the child's 
 comfort and prayed many prayers for her innocent soul, but 
 it can be scarcely said that her manner was any softer or 
 that she smiled more. At first Elizabeth used to scream at 
 the sight of the black, nun-like dress and the rigid, hand- 
 some face, but in course of time she became accustomed to 
 them, and, through living in an atmosphere so silent and 
 without brightness, a few months changed her from a laugh- 
 ing, romping baby into a pale, quiet child, who rarely made 
 any childish noise at all. 
 
 In this quiet way she became fond of her aunt. She saw 
 little of anyone but the servants, who were all trained to quiet- 
 
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 19 
 
 ness also. As soon as she was old enough her aunt began her 
 religious training. Before she could speak plainly she heard 
 legends of saints and stories of martyrs. She was taken into 
 the little chapel and taught to pray there. She believed in 
 miracles, and would not have been surprised at any moment 
 if she had met the Child Jesus or the Virgin in the beautiful 
 rambling gardens which surrounded the chateau. She was a 
 sensitive, imaginative child, and the sacred romances she 
 heard filled all her mind and made up her little life. She 
 wished to be a saint herself, and spent hours in wandering in 
 the terraced rose gardens wondering if such a thing was pos- 
 sible in modern days, and what she must do to obtain such 
 holy victory. Her chief sorrow was that she knew herself to 
 be delicate and very timid — so timid that she often suffered 
 when people did not suspect it — and she was afraid that she 
 was not brave enough to be a martyr. Once, poor little one ! 
 when she was alone in her room, she held her hand over a 
 burning wax candle, but the pain was so terrible that she 
 could not keep it there. Indeed, she fell back white and faint, 
 and sank upon her chair, breathless and in tears, because she 
 felt sure that she could not chant holy songs if she were being 
 burned at the stake. She had been vowed to the Virgin in 
 her babyhood, and was always dressed in white and blue, but 
 her little dress was a small conventual robe, straight and nar- 
 row cut, of white woollen stuff, and banded plainly with blue 
 at the waist. She did not look like other children, but she 
 was very sweet and gentle, and her pure little pale face and 
 
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 
 
 large, dark eyes had a lovely dreamy look. When she was 
 old enough to visit the poor with her Aunt Clotilde — and she 
 was hardly seven years old when it was considered proper 
 that she should begin — the villagers did not stand in awe 
 of her. They began to adore her, almost to worship her, 
 as if she had, indeed, been a sacred child. The little ones 
 delighted to look at her, to draw near her sometimes and 
 touch her soft white and blue robe. And, when they did so, 
 she always returned their looks with such a tender, sympa- 
 thetic smile, and spoke to them in so gentle a voice, that 
 they were in ecstasies. They used to talk her over, tell sto- 
 ries about her when they were playing together afterwards. 
 
 "The little Mademoiselle," they said, "she is a child saint. 
 I have heard them say so. Sometimes there is a little light 
 round her head. One day her little white robe will begin to 
 shine too, and her long sleeves will be wings, and she will 
 spread them and ascend through the blue sky to Paradise. 
 You will see if it is not so." 
 
 So, in this secluded world in the gray old chateau, with no 
 companion but her aunt, with no occupation but her studies 
 and her charities, with no thoughts but those of saints and 
 religious exercises, Elizabeth lived until she was eleven years 
 old. Then a great grief befell her. One morning, Made- 
 moiselle de Rochemont did not leave her room at the regular 
 hour. As she never broke a rule she had made for herself 
 and her household, this occasioned great wonder. Her old 
 maid servant waited half an hour — went to her door, and 
 
THE VILLAGERS DID NOT STAND IN AWE OF HER. 
 
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 23 
 
 took the liberty of listening to hear if she was up and moving 
 about her room. There was no sound. Old Alice returned, 
 looking quite agitated. " Would Mademoiselle Elizabeth 
 mind entering to see if all was well ? Mademoiselle her aunt 
 might be in the chapel." 
 
 Elizabeth went. Her aunt was not in her room. Then 
 she must be in the chapel. The child entered the sacred little 
 place. The morning sun was streaming in through the stained- 
 glass windows above the altar — a broad ray of mingled brilliant 
 colors slanted to the stone floor and warmly touched a dark 
 figure lying there. It was Aunt Clotilde, who had sunk for- 
 ward while kneeling at prayer and had died in the night. 
 
 That was what the doctors said when they were sent for. 
 She had been dead some hours — she had died of disease of 
 the heart, and apparently without any pain or knowledge of 
 the change coming to her. Her face was serene and beauti- 
 ful, and the rigid look had melted awav. Someone said she 
 looked like little Mademoiselle Elizabeth ; and her old ser- 
 vant Alice wept very much, and said, "Yes — yes — it was so 
 when she was young, before her unhappiness came. She had 
 the same beautiful little face, but she was more gay, more of 
 the world. Yes, they were much alike then." 
 
 Less than two months from that time Elizabeth was living 
 in the home of her Uncle Bertrand, in New York. He had 
 come to Normandy for her himself, and taken her back with 
 him across the Atlantic. She was richer than ever now, as a 
 great deal of her Aunt Clotilde's money had been left to her, 
 
24 LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 
 
 and Uncle Bertrand was her guardian. He was a handsome, 
 elegant, clever man, who, having lived long in America and 
 being fond of American life, did not appear very much like a 
 Frenchman — at least he did not appear so to Elizabeth, who 
 had only seen the cure and the doctor of the village. Secretly 
 he was very much embarrassed at the prospect of taking care 
 of a little girl, but family pride, and the fact that such a very 
 little girl, who was also such a very great heiress, must be 
 taken care of sustained him. But when he first saw Eliza- 
 beth he could not restrain an exclamation of consternation. 
 
 She entered the room, when she was sent for, clad in a 
 strange little nun-like robe of black serge, made as like her 
 dead aunt's as possible. At her small waist were the rosary 
 and crucifix, and in her hand she held a missal she had for- 
 gotten in her agitation to lay down 
 
 " But, my dear child," exclaimed Uncle Bertrand, staring 
 at her aghast. 
 
 He managed to recover himself very quickly, and was, in 
 his way, very kind to her ; but the first thing he did was to 
 send to Paris for a fashionable maid and fashionable mourn- 
 ing. 
 
 " Because, as you will see," he remarked to Alice, " we 
 cannot travel as we are. It is a costume for a convent or the 
 stage." 
 
 Before she took off her little conventual robe, Elizabeth 
 went to the village to visit all her poor. The cure went with 
 her and shed tears himself when the people wept and kissed 
 
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 
 
 her little hand. When the child returned, she went into the 
 chapel and remained there for a long time. 
 
 She felt as if she was living in a dream when all the old 
 life was left behind and she found herself in the big luxurious 
 house in the gay New York street. Nothing that could be 
 done for her comfort had been left undone. She had sev- 
 eral beautiful rooms, a wonderful governess, different masters 
 to teach her, her own retinue of servants as, indeed, has been 
 already said. 
 
 But, secretly, she felt bewildered and almost terrified, 
 everything was so new, so strange, so noisy, and so brilliant. 
 The dress she wore made her feel unlike herself ; the books 
 they gave her were full of pictures and stories of worldly 
 things of which she knew nothing. Her carriage was brought 
 to the door and she went out with her governess, driving 
 round and round the park with scores of other people who 
 looked at her curiously, she did not know why. The truth 
 was that her refined little face was very beautiful indeed, and 
 her soft dark eyes still wore the dreamy spiritual look which 
 made her unlike the rest of the world. 
 
 " She looks like a little princess," she heard her uncle say 
 one day. " She will be some day a beautiful, an enchanting 
 woman — her mother was so when she died at twenty, but she 
 had been brought up differently. This one is a little devotee. 
 I am afraid of her. Her governess tells me she rises in the 
 night to pray." He said it with light laughter to some of his 
 gay friends by whom he had wished the child to be seen. He 
 
26 LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 
 
 did not know that his gayety filled her with fear and pain. 
 She had been taught to believe gayety worldly and sinful, and 
 his whole life was filled with it. He had brilliant parties — 
 he did not go to church — he had no pensioners — he seemed 
 to think of nothing but pleasure. Poor little Saint Elizabeth 
 prayed for his soul many an hour when he was asleep after a 
 grand dinner or supper party. 
 
 He could not possibly have dreamed that there was no 
 one of whom she stood in such dread ; her timidity increased 
 ten fold in his presence. When he sent for her and she went 
 into the library to find him luxurious in his arm chair, a novel 
 on his knee, a cigar in his white hand, a tolerant, half cynical 
 smile on his handsome mouth, she could scarcely answer his 
 questions, and could never find courage to tell what she 
 so earnestly desired. She had found out early that Aunt 
 Clotilde and the cure, and the life they had led, had only 
 aroused in his mind a half-pitying amusement. It seemed to 
 her that he did not understand and had strange sacrilegious 
 thoughts about them — he did not believe in miracles — he 
 smiled when she spoke of saints. How could she tell him 
 that she wished to spend all her money in building churches 
 and giving alms to the poor ? That was what she wished to 
 tell him — that she wanted money to send back to the village, 
 that she wanted to give it to the poor people she saw in the 
 streets, to those who lived in the miserable places. 
 
 But when she found herself face to face with him and he 
 said some witty thing to her and seemed to find her only amus- 
 
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 27 
 
 ing, all her courage failed her. Sometimes she thought she 
 would throw herself upon her knees before him and beg him 
 to send her back to Normandy — to let her live alone in the 
 chateatt, as her Aunt Clotilde had done. 
 
 One morning she arose very early, and knelt a long time 
 before the little altar she had made for herself in her dressing 
 room. It was only a table with some black velvet thrown over 
 it, a crucifix, a saintly image, and some flowers standing upon 
 it. She had put on, when she got up, the quaint black serge 
 robe, because she felt more at home in it, and her heart was 
 full of determination. The nigrht before she had received a 
 letter from the cure and it had contained sad news. A fever 
 had broken out in her beloved village, the vines had done 
 badly, there was sickness among the cattle, there was already 
 beginning to be suffering, and if something were not done for 
 the people they would not know how to face the winter. In 
 the time of Mademoiselle de Rochemont they had always 
 been made comfortable and happy at Christmas. What was 
 to be done ? The cure ventured to write to Mademoiselle 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 The poor child had scarcely slept at all. Her dear vil- 
 lage ! Her dear people ! The children would be hungry ; the 
 cows would die ; there would be no fires to warm those who 
 were old. 
 
 " I must go to uncle," she said, pale and trembling. " I 
 must ask him to give me money. I am afraid, but it is right 
 to mortify the spirit. The martyrs went to the stake. The 
 
28 LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 
 
 holy Saint Elizabeth was ready to endure anything that she 
 might do her duty and help the poor." 
 
 Because she had been called Elizabeth she had thought and 
 read a great deal of the saint whose namesake she was — the 
 saintly Elizabeth whose husband was so wicked and cruel, 
 and who wished to prevent her from doing good deeds. And 
 oftenest of all she had read the legend which told that one 
 day as Elizabeth went out with a basket of food to give to the 
 poor and hungry, she had met her savage husband, who had 
 demanded that she should tell him what she was carrying, and 
 when she replied " Roses," and he tore the cover from the 
 basket to see if she spoke the truth, a miracle had been per- 
 formed, and the basket was filled with roses, so that she had 
 been saved from her husband's cruelty, and also from telling 
 an untruth. To little Elizabeth this legend had been beauti- 
 ful and quite real — -it proved that if one were doing good, 
 the saints would take care of one. Since she had been in 
 her new home, she had, half consciously, compared her Uncle 
 Bertrand with the wicked Landgrave, though she was too 
 gentle and just to think he was really cruel, as Saint Eliza- 
 beth's husband had been, only he did not care for the poor, 
 and loved only the world — and surely that was wicked. She 
 had been taught that to care for the world at all was a fatal sin. 
 
 She did not eat any breakfast. She thought she would 
 fast until she had done what she intended to do. It had been 
 her Aunt Clotilde's habit to fast very often. 
 
 She waited anxiously to hear that her Uncle Bertrand had 
 
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 29 
 
 left his room. He always rose late, and this morning he was 
 later than usual as he had had a long gay dinner party the 
 night before. 
 
 It was nearly twelve before she heard his door open. 
 Then she went quickly to the staircase. Her heart was beat- 
 ing so fast that she put her little hand to her side and 
 waited a moment to regain her breath. She felt quite cold. 
 
 " Perhaps I must wait until he has eaten his breakfast," 
 she said. " Perhaps I must not disturb him yet. It would 
 make him displeased. I will wait — yes, for a little while." 
 
 She did not return to her room, but waited upon the stairs. 
 It seemed to be a long time. It appeared that a friend break- 
 fasted with him. She heard a gentleman come in and recog- 
 nized his voice, which she had heard before. She did not 
 know what the gentleman's name was, but she had met him 
 going in and out with her uncle once or twice, and had thought 
 he had a kind face and kind eyes. He had looked at her in 
 an interested way when he spoke to her — even as if he were 
 a little curious, and she had wondered why he did so. 
 
 When the door of the breakfast room opened and shut 
 as the servants went in, she could hear the two laughing 
 and talking. They seemed to be enjoying themselves very 
 much. Once she heard an order given for the mail phaeton. 
 They were evidently going out as soon as the meal was over. 
 
 At last the door opened and they were coming out. Eliza- 
 beth ran down the stairs and stood in a small reception room. 
 Her heart began to beat faster than ever. 
 
So LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH, 
 
 " The blessed martyrs were not afraid," she whispered to 
 herself. 
 
 "Uncle Bertrand!" she said, as he approached, and she 
 scarcely knew her own faint voice. " Uncle Bertrand " 
 
 He turned, and seeing her, started, and exclaimed, rather 
 impatiently — evidently he was at once amazed and displeased 
 to see her. He was in a hurry to get out, and the sight of her 
 odd little figure, standing in its straight black robe between 
 the portieres, the slender hands clasped on the breast, the 
 small pale face and great dark eyes uplifted, was certainly a 
 surprise to him. 
 
 " Elizabeth !" he said, "what do you wish ? Why do you 
 come downstairs ? And that impossible dress ! Why do you 
 wear it again ? It is not suitable." 
 
 " Uncle Bertrand," said the child, clasping her hands still 
 more tightly, her eyes growing larger in her excitement and 
 terror under his displeasure, " it is that I want money — a great 
 deal. I beg your pardon if I derange you. It is for the 
 poor. Moreover, the curt has written the people of the vil- 
 lage are ill — the vineyards did not yield well. They must 
 have money. I must send them some." 
 
 Uncle Bertrand shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " That is the message of monsieur le cure, is it ? " he said. 
 " He wants money ! My dear Elizabeth, I must inquire 
 further. You have a fortune, but I cannot permit you to 
 throw it away. You are a child, and do not understand " 
 
 " But," cried Elizabeth, trembling with agitation, " they are 
 
UNCLE BERTRAND, SAID THE CHILD, CLASPING HER HANDS. 
 
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 33 
 
 so poor when one does not help them ; their vineyards are so 
 little, and if the year is bad they must starve. Aunt Clotilde 
 gave to them every year — even in the good years. She said 
 they must be cared for like children." 
 
 " That was your Aunt Clotilde's charity," replied her uncle. 
 " Sometimes she was not so wise as she was devout. I must 
 know more of this. I have no time at present. I am going 
 out of town. In a few days I will reflect upon it. Tell your 
 maid to give that hideous garment away. Go out to drive — 
 amuse yourself — you are too pale." 
 
 Elizabeth looked at his handsome, careless face in utter 
 helplessness. This was a matter of life and death to her ; to 
 him it meant nothing. 
 
 "But it is winter," she panted, breathlessly; "there is 
 snow. Soon it will be Christmas, and they will have nothing 
 — no candles for the church, no little manger for the holy 
 child, nothing for the poorest ones. And the children " 
 
 " It shall be thought of later," said Uncle Bertrand. " I 
 am too busy now. Be reasonable, my child, and run away. 
 You detain me." 
 
 He left her with a slight impatient shrug of his shoulders 
 and the slight amused smile on his lips. She heard him 
 speak to his friend. 
 
 " She was brought up by one who had renounced the 
 world," he said, " and she has already renounced it herself — 
 pauvre petite enfant / At eleven years she wishes to devote 
 her fortune to the poor and herself to the Church." 
 
34 LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 
 
 Elizabeth shrank back into the shadow of the portieres. 
 Great burning tears filled her eyes and slipped down her 
 cheeks, falling upon her breast. 
 
 " He does not care," she said ; " he does not know. And 
 I do no one g-ood — no one." And she covered her face 
 with her hands and stood sobbing all alone. 
 
 When she returned to her room she was so pale that her 
 maid looked at her anxiously, and spoke of it afterwards to 
 the other servants. They were all fond of Mademoiselle 
 Elizabeth. She was always kind and gentle to everybody. 
 
 Nearly all the day she sat, poor little saint ! by her window 
 looking out at the passers-by in the snowy street. But she 
 scarcely saw the people at all, her thoughts were far away, in 
 the little village where she had always spent her Christmas 
 before. Her Aunt Clotilde had allowed her at such times to 
 do so much. There had not been a house she had not 
 carried some gift to ; not a child who had been forgotten. 
 And the church on Christmas mornine had been so beautiful 
 with flowers from the hot-houses of the chateau. It was for 
 the church, indeed, that the conservatories were chiefly kept 
 up. Mademoiselle de Rochemont would scarcely have per- 
 mitted herself such luxuries. 
 
 But there would not be flowers this year, the chateau was 
 closed ; there were no longer gardeners at work, the church 
 would be bare and cold, the people would have no gifts, there 
 would be no pleasure in the little peasants' faces. Little 
 Saint Elizabeth wrung her slight hands together in her lap. 
 
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 35 
 
 " Oh," she cried, " what can I do ? And then there is the 
 poor here — so many. And I do nothing. The Saints will be 
 angry ; they will not intercede for me. I shall be lost ! " 
 
 It was not alone the poor she had left in her village who 
 were a grief to her. As she drove through the streets she 
 saw now and then haggard faces ; and when she had ques- 
 tioned a servant who had one day come to her to ask for 
 charity for a poor child at the door, she had found that in 
 parts of this great, bright city which she had not seen, there 
 was said to be cruel want and suffering, as in all great cities. 
 
 "And it is so cold now," she thought, "with the snow on 
 the ground." 
 
 The lamps in the street were just beginning to be lighted 
 when her Uncle Bertrand returned. It appeared that he had 
 brought back with him the gentleman with the kind face. 
 They were to dine together, and Uncle Bertrand desired that 
 Mademoiselle Elizabeth should join them. Evidently the 
 journey out of town had been delayed for a day at least. 
 There came also another message : Monsieur de Rochemont 
 wished Mademoiselle to send to him by her maid a certain 
 box of antique ornaments which had been given to her by 
 her Aunt Clotilde. Elizabeth had known less of the value 
 of these jewels than of their beauty. She knew they were 
 beautiful, and that they had belonged to her Aunt Clotilde in 
 the gay days of her triumphs as a beauty and a brilliant and 
 adored young woman, but it seemed that they were also very 
 curious, and Monsieur de Rochemont wished his friend to see 
 
36 LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 
 
 them. When Elizabeth went downstairs she found them 
 examining them together. 
 
 " They must be put somewhere for safe keeping," Uncle 
 Bertrand was saying. " It should have been done before. I 
 will attend to it." 
 
 The gentleman with the kind eyes looked at Elizabeth 
 with an interested expression as she came into the room. 
 Her slender little figure in its black velvet dress, her delicate 
 little face with its large soft sad eyes, the gentle gravity of 
 her manner made her seem quite unlike other children. 
 
 He did not seem simply to find her amusing, as her Uncle 
 Bertrand did. She was always conscious that behind Uncle 
 Bertrand's most serious expression there was lurking a faint 
 smile as he watched her, but this visitor looked at her in a 
 different way. He was a doctor, she discovered. Dr. Norris, 
 her uncle called him, and Elizabeth wondered if perhaps his 
 profession had not made him quick of sight and kind. 
 
 She felt that it must be so when she heard him talk at 
 dinner. She found that he did a great deal of work among 
 the very poor — that he had a hospital, where he received 
 little children who were ill — who had perhaps met with 
 accidents, and could not be taken care of in their wretched 
 homes. He spoke most frequently of terrible quarters, which 
 he called Five Points ; the greatest poverty and suffering 
 was there. And he spoke of it with such eloquent sympathy, 
 that even Uncle Bertrand beoran to listen with interest. 
 
 " Come," he said, " you are a rich, idle fellow, De Roche- 
 
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 37 
 
 mont, and we want rich, idle fellows to come and look into 
 all this and do something for us. You must let me take you 
 with me some day." 
 
 " It would disturb me too much, my good Norris," said 
 Uncle Bertrand, with a slight shudder. " I should not enjoy 
 my dinner after it." 
 
 " Then go without your dinner," said Dr. Norris. " These 
 people do. You have too many dinners. Give up one." 
 
 Uncle Bertrand shrugged his shoulders and smiled. 
 
 " It is Elizabeth who fasts," he said. " Myself, I prefer to 
 dine. And yet, some day, I may have the fancy to visit this 
 place with you." 
 
 Elizabeth could scarcely have been said to dine this even- 
 ing. She could not eat. She sat with her large, sad eyes 
 fixed upon Dr. Norris' face as he talked. Every word he 
 uttered sank deep into her heart. The want and suffering of 
 which he spoke were more terrible than anything she had 
 ever heard of — it had been nothing like this in the village. 
 Oh ! no, no. As she thought of it there was such a look in 
 her dark eyes as almost startled Dr. Norris several times 
 when he glanced at her, but as he did not know the par- 
 ticulars of her life with her aunt and the strange training she 
 had had, he could not possibly have guessed what was going 
 on in her mind, and how much effect his stories were having. 
 The beautiful little face touched him very much, and the 
 pretty French accent with which the child spoke seemed 
 very musical to him, and added a great charm to the gentle, 
 
3 8 LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 
 
 serious answers she made to the remarks he addressed to her. 
 He could not help seeing that something had made little 
 Mademoiselle Elizabeth a pathetic and singular little creat- 
 ure, and he continually wondered what it was. 
 
 " Do you think she is a happy child ?" he asked Monsieur 
 de Rochemont when they were alone together over their 
 cigars and wine. 
 
 "Happy?" said Uncle Bertrand, with his light smile. 
 " She has been taught, my friend, that to be happy upon 
 earth is a crime. That was my good sister's creed. One 
 must devote one's self, not to happiness, but entirely to good 
 works. I think I have told you that she, this little one, 
 desires to give all her fortune to the poor. Having heard you 
 this evening, she will wish to bestow it upon your Five Points." 
 
 When, having retired from the room with a grave and 
 stately little obeisance to her uncle and his guest, Elizabeth 
 had gone upstairs, it had not been with the intention of going 
 to bed. She sent her maid away and knelt before her altar 
 for a long time. 
 
 " The Saints will tell me what to do," she said. " The 
 good Saints, who are always gracious, they will vouchsafe to 
 me some thought which will instruct me if I remain long 
 enough at prayer." 
 
 She remained at prayer a long time. When at last she 
 arose from her knees it was long past midnight, and she was 
 tired and weak, but the thought had not been given to her. 
 
 But just as she laid her head upon her pillow it came. 
 
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 39 
 
 The ornaments given to her by her Aunt Clotilde somebody 
 would buy them. They were her own — it would be right to 
 sell them — to what better use could they be put ? Was it not 
 what Aunt Clotilde would have desired ? Had she not told 
 her stories of the good and charitable who had sold the 
 clothes from their bodies that the miserable might be helped ? 
 Yes, it was right. These things must be done. All else was 
 vain and useless and of the world. But it would require 
 courage — great courage. To go out alone to find a place 
 where the people would buy the jewels — perhaps there might 
 be some who would not want them. And then when they 
 were sold to find this poor and unhappy quarter of which 
 her uncle's guest had spoken, and to give to those who 
 needed — all by herself. Ah ! what courage it would require. 
 And then Uncle Bertrand, some day he would ask about the 
 ornaments, and discover all, and his anger might be terrible. 
 No one had ever been angry with her ; how could she bear 
 it. But had not the Saints and Martyrs borne everything ? 
 had they not gone to the stake and the rack with smiles ? 
 She thought of Saint Elizabeth and the cruel Landgrave. 
 It could not be even so bad as that — but whatever the result 
 was it must be borne. 
 
 So at last she slept, and there was upon her gentle little 
 face so sweetly sad a look that when her maid came to waken 
 her in the morning she stood by the bedside for some moments 
 looking down upon her pityingly. 
 
 The day seemed very long and sorrowful to the poor child. 
 
4 o LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 
 
 It was full of anxious thoughts and plannings. She was so 
 innocent and inexperienced, so ignorant of all practical things. 
 She had decided that it would be best to wait until evening 
 before going out, and then to take the jewels and try to sell 
 them to some jeweller. She did not understand the diffi- 
 culties that would lie in her way, but she felt very timid. 
 
 Her maid had asked permission to go out for the even- 
 ing and Monsieur de Rochemont was to dine out, so that 
 she found it possible to leave the house without attracting 
 attention. 
 
 As soon as the streets were lighted she took the case of 
 ornaments, and going downstairs very quietly, let herself out. 
 The servants were dining, and she was seen by none of 
 them. 
 
 When she found herself in the snowy street she felt 
 strangely bewildered. She had never been out unattended 
 before, and she knew nothing of the great busy city. When 
 she turned into the more crowded thoroughfares, she saw 
 several times that the passers-by glanced at her curiously. 
 Her timid look, her foreign air and richly furred dress, and the 
 fact that she was a child and alone at such an hour, could not 
 fail to attract attention ; but though she felt confused and 
 troubled she went bravely on. It was some time before she 
 found a jeweller's shop, and when she entered it the men 
 behind the counter looked at her in amazement. But she 
 went to the one nearest to her and laid the case of jewels on 
 the counter before him. 
 
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 41 
 
 " I wish," she said, in her soft low voice, and with the 
 pretty accent, " I wish that you should buy these." 
 
 The man stared at her, and at the ornaments, and then at 
 her again. 
 
 " I beg pardon, miss," he said. 
 
 Elizabeth repeated her request. 
 
 " I will speak to Mr. Moetyler," he said, after a moment of 
 hesitation. 
 
 He went to the other end of the shop to an elderly man 
 who sat behind a desk. After he had spoken a few words, 
 the elderly man looked up as if surprised ; then he glanced at 
 Elizabeth ; then, after speaking a few more words, he came 
 forward. 
 
 " You wish to sell these ? " he said, looking at the case of 
 jewels with a puzzled expression. 
 
 " Yes," Elizabeth answered. 
 
 He bent over the case and took up one ornament after the 
 other and examined them closely. After he had done this he 
 looked at the little girl's innocent, trustful face, seeming more 
 puzzled than before. 
 
 " Are they your own ? " he inquired. 
 
 V Yes, they are mine," she replied, timidly. 
 
 " Do you know how much they are worth ? " 
 
 " I know that they are worth much money," said Elizabeth. 
 " I have heard it said so." 
 
 " Do your friends know that you are going to sell 
 them ? " 
 
42 LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 
 
 " No," Elizabeth said, a faint color rising in her delicate 
 face. " But it is right that I should do it." 
 
 The man spent a few moments in examining them again 
 and, having done so, spoke hesitatingly. 
 
 " I am afraid we cannot buy them," he said. " It would be 
 impossible, unless your friends first gave their permission." 
 
 " Impossible !" said Elizabeth, and tears rose in her eyes, 
 making them look softer and more wistful than ever. 
 
 " We could not do it," said the jeweller. " It is out of the 
 question under the circumstances." 
 
 " Do you think," faltered the poor little saint, " do you 
 think that nobody will buy them ? " 
 
 " I am afraid not," was the reply. " No respectable firm 
 who would pay their real value. If you'll take my advice, 
 young lady, you will take them home and consult your 
 
 friends." 
 
 He spoke kindly, but Elizabeth was overwhelmed with 
 disappointment. She did not know enough of the world to 
 understand that a richly dressed little girl who offered valu- 
 able jewels for sale at night must be a strange and unusual 
 sight. 
 
 When she found herself on the street again, her long 
 lashes were heavy with tears. 
 
 " If no one will buy them," she said, "what shall I do?" 
 
 She walked a long way — so long that she was very tired — 
 and offered them at several places, but as she chanced to 
 enter only respectable shops, the same thing happened each 
 
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 43 
 
 time. She was looked at curiously and questioned, but no 
 one would buy. 
 
 " They are mine," she would say. " It is right that I should 
 sell them." But everyone stared and seemed puzzled, and in 
 the end refused. 
 
 At last, after much wandering, she found herself in a 
 poorer quarter of the city; the streets were narrower and 
 dirtier, and the people began to look squalid and wretchedly 
 dressed ; there were smaller shops and dingy houses. She 
 saw unkempt men and women and uncared for little children. 
 The poverty of the poor she had seen in her own village 
 seemed comfort and luxury by contrast. She had never 
 dreamed of anything like this. Now and then she felt faint 
 with pain and horror. But she went on. 
 
 "They have no vineyards," she said to herself. " No trees 
 and flowers — it is all dreadful — there is nothing. They need 
 help more than the others. To let them suffer so, and not to 
 give them charity, would be a great crime." 
 
 She was so full of grief and excitement that she had ceased 
 to notice how everyone looked at her — she saw only the 
 wretchedness, and dirt and misery. She did not know, poor 
 child ! that she was surrounded by danger — that she was not 
 only in the midst of misery, but of dishonesty and crime. She 
 had even forgotten her timidity — that it was growing late, 
 and that she was far from home, and would not know how to 
 return — she did not realize that she had walked so far that 
 she was almost exhausted with fatigue. 
 
44 LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 
 
 She had brought with her all the money she possessed. If 
 she could not sell the jewels she could, at least, give some- 
 thing to someone in want. But she did not know to whom 
 she must eive first. When she had lived with her Aunt 
 Clotilde it had been their habit to visit the peasants in their 
 houses. Must she enter one of these houses — these dreadful 
 places with the dark passages, from which she heard many 
 times riotous voices, and even cries, issuing? 
 
 " But those who do good must feel no fear," she thought. 
 " It is only to have courage." At length something happened 
 which caused her to pause before one of those places. She 
 heard sounds of pitiful moans and sobbing from something 
 crouched upon the broken steps. It seemed like a heap of 
 rags, but as she drew near she saw by the light of the street 
 lamp opposite that it was a woman with her head in her 
 knees, and a wretched child on each side of her. The children 
 were shivering with cold and making low cries as if they were 
 frightened. 
 
 Elizabeth stopped and then ascended the steps. 
 
 "Why is it that you cry ?" she asked gently. " Tell me." 
 
 The woman did not answer at first, but when Elizabeth 
 spoke again she lifted her head, and as soon as she saw the 
 slender figure in its velvet and furs, and the pale, refined 
 little face, she gave a great start. 
 
 " Lord have mercy on yez ! " she said in a hoarse voice 
 which sounded almost terrified. " Who are yez, an' what 
 bees ye dow' in a place the loike o' this?" 
 
" WHY IS IT THAT YOU CRY ? " SHE ASKED GENTLY. 
 
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 47 
 
 " I came," said Elizabeth, ''to see those who are poor. I 
 wish to help them. I have great sorrow for them. It is 
 right that the rich should help those who want. Tell me why 
 you cry, and why your little children sit in the cold." Every- 
 body had shown surprise to whom Elizabeth had spoken to- 
 night, but no one had stared as this woman did. 
 
 " It's no place for the loike o' yez," she said. " An' it 
 black noight, an' men and women wild in the drink ; an' Pat 
 Harrigan insoide bloind an' mad in liquor, an' it's turned me 
 an' the children out he has to shlape in the snow — an' not 
 the furst toime either. An' it's starvin' we are — starvin' 
 an' no other," and she dropped her wretched head on her 
 knees and began to moan again, and the children joined 
 her. 
 
 " Don't let yez daddy hear yez," she said to them. " Whisht 
 now — it's come out an' kill yez he will." 
 
 Elizabeth began to feel tremulous and faint. 
 
 " Is it that they have hunger?" she asked. 
 
 " Not a bite or sup have they had this day, nor yesterday," 
 was the answer. " The good Saints have pity on us." 
 
 " Yes," said Elizabeth, "the good Saints have always pity. 
 I will go and get some food — poor little ones." 
 
 She had seen a shop only a few yards away — she remem- 
 bered passing it. Before the woman could speak again she 
 was gone. 
 
 "Yes," she said, " I was sent to them — it is the answer to 
 my prayer — it was not in vain that I asked so long." 
 
4 8 LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 
 
 When she entered the shop the few people who were in it 
 stopped what they were doing to stare at her as others had 
 done — but she scarcely saw that it was so. 
 
 " Give to me a basket," she said to the owner of the place. 
 " Put in it some bread and wine — some of the things which 
 are ready to eat. It is for a poor woman and her little ones 
 who starve." 
 
 There was in the shop among others a red-faced woman 
 with a cunning look in her eyes. She sidled out of the place 
 and was waiting for Elizabeth when she came out. 
 
 " I'm starvin' too, little lady," she said. "There's many of 
 us that way, an' it's not often them with money care about it. 
 Give me something too," in a wheedling voice. 
 
 Elizabeth looked up at her, her pure ignorant eyes full of 
 pity. 
 
 " I have great sorrows for you," she said. "Perhaps the 
 poor woman will share her food with you." 
 
 " It's the money I need," said the woman. 
 
 " I have none left," answered Elizabeth. " I will come 
 again." 
 
 " It's now I want it," the woman persisted. Then she 
 looked covetously at Elizabeth's velvet fur-lined and trimmed 
 cloak. " That's a pretty cloak you've on," she said. " You've 
 got another, I daresay." 
 
 Suddenly she gave the cloak a pull, but the fastening did 
 not give way as she had thought it would. 
 
 " Is it because you are cold that you want it?" said Eliza- 
 
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 49 
 
 beth, in her gentle, innocent way. " I will give it to you. 
 Take it." 
 
 Had not the holy ones in the legends given their gar- 
 ments to the poor? Why should she not give her cloak? 
 
 In an instant it was unclapsed and snatched away, and the 
 woman was gone. She did not even stay long enough to give 
 thanks for the gift, and something in her haste and rough- 
 ness made Elizabeth wonder and gave her a moment of 
 tremor. 
 
 She made her way back to the place where the other woman 
 and her children had been sitting ; the cold wind made her 
 shiver, and the basket was very heavy for her slender arm. 
 Her strength seemed to be giving way. 
 
 As she turned the corner, a great, fierce gust of wind 
 swept round it, and caught her breath and made her stagger. 
 She thought she was going to fall ; indeed, she would have 
 fallen but that one of the tall men who were passing put out 
 his arm and caught her. He was a well dressed man, in a 
 heavy overcoat ; he had gloves on. Elizabeth spoke in a 
 faint tone. 
 
 " I thank you," she began, when the second man uttered a 
 wild exclamation and sprang forward. 
 
 "Elizabeth ! " he said, " Elizabeth ! " 
 
 Elizabeth looked up and uttered a cry herself. It was her 
 Uncle Bertrand who stood before her, and his companion, who 
 had saved her from falling, was Dr. Norris. 
 
 For a moment it seemed as if they were almost struck 
 
5 o LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 
 
 dumb with horror ; and then her Uncle Bertrand seized her 
 by the arm in such agitation that he scarcely seemed himself — 
 the light, satirical, jesting Uncle Bertrand she had known at 
 all. 
 
 "What does it mean ?" he cried. "What are you doing 
 here, in this horrible place alone ? Do you know where it is 
 you have come ? What have you in your basket ? Explain ! 
 explain ! " 
 
 The moment of trial had come, and it seemed even more 
 terrible than the poor child had imagined. The long strain 
 and exertion had been too much for her delicate body. She 
 felt that she could bear no more ; the cold seemed to have 
 struck to her very heart. She looked up at Monsieur de 
 Rochemont's pale, excited face, and trembled from head to 
 foot. A strange thought flashed into her mind. Saint Eliza- 
 beth, of Thuringia — the cruel Landgrave. Perhaps the Saints 
 would help her, too, since she was trying to do their bidding. 
 Surely, surely it must be so ! 
 
 " Speak !" repeated Monsieur de Rochemont. "Why is 
 this ? The basket — what have you in it ? " 
 
 " Roses," said Elizabeth, " Roses." And then her strength 
 deserted her — she fell upon her knees in the snow — the 
 basket slipped from her arm, and the first thing which fell 
 from it was— no, not roses, — there had been no miracle 
 wrought — not roses, but the case of jewels which she had laid 
 on the top of the other things that it might be the more 
 easily carried. 
 
mm 
 
 \42*f^ ' t > ' 
 
 
 illllllliliMflli^f^ 
 
 HER STRENGTH DESERTED HER — SHE FELL UPON HER KNEES IN THE SNOW. 
 
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 53 
 
 " Roses ! " cried Uncle Bertrand. " Is it that the child is 
 mad ? They are the jewels of my sister Clotilde." 
 
 Elizabeth clasped her hands and leaned towards Dr. Norris, 
 the tears streaming from her uplifted eyes. 
 
 "Ah! monsieur," she sobbed, "you will understand. It 
 was for the poor — they suffer so much. If we do not help 
 them our souls will be lost. I did not mean to speak falsely. 
 
 I thought the Saints — the Saints " But her sobs filled 
 
 her throat, and she could not finish. Dr. Norris stopped, and 
 took her in his strong arms as if she had been a baby. 
 
 " Quick !" he said, imperatively ; "we must return to the 
 carriage, De Rochemont. This is a serious matter." 
 
 Elizabeth clung to him with trembling hands. 
 
 "But the poor woman who starves?" she cried. "The 
 little children — they sit up on the step quite near — the food 
 was for them ! I pray you give it to them." 
 
 "Yes, they shall have it," said the Doctor. "Take the 
 basket, De Rochemont — only a few doors below. And it 
 appeared that there was something in his voice which seemed 
 to render obedience necessary, for Monsieur de Rochemont 
 actually did as he was told. 
 
 For a moment Dr. Norris put Elizabeth on her feet again, 
 but it was only while he removed his overcoat and wrapped 
 it about her slight shivering body. 
 
 "You are chilled through, poor child," he said ; "and you 
 are not strong enough to walk just now. You must let me 
 carry you." 
 
54. LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 
 
 It was true that a sudden faintness had come upon her, 
 and she could not restrain the shudder which shook her. It 
 still shook her when she was placed in the carriage which the 
 two gentlemen had thought it wiser to leave in one of the 
 more respectable streets when they went to explore the worse 
 ones together. 
 
 " What might not have occurred if we had not arrived at 
 that instant ! " said Uncle Bertrand when he got into the 
 carriage. " As it is who knows what illness " 
 
 " It will be better to say as little as possible now," said Dr. 
 Norris. 
 
 " It was for the poor," said Elizabeth, trembling. " I had 
 prayed to the Saints to tell me what was best. I thought I 
 must go. I did not mean to do wrong. It was for the 
 poor." 
 
 And while her Uncle Bertrand regarded her with a 
 strangely agitated look, and Dr. Norris held her hand be- 
 tween his strong and warm ones, the tears rolled down her 
 pure, pale little face, 
 
 She did not know until some time after what danger she 
 had been in, that the part of the city into which she had 
 wandered was the lowest and worst, and was in some quarters 
 the home of thieves and criminals of every class. As her 
 Uncle Bertrand had said, it was impossible to say what 
 terrible thing might have happened if they had not met her 
 so soon. It was Dr. Norris who explained it all to her as 
 gently and kindly as was possible. She had always been 
 
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. 55 
 
 fragile, and she had caught a severe cold which caused her 
 an illness of some weeks. It was Dr. Norris who took care 
 of her, and it was not long before her timidity was forgotten 
 in her tender and trusting affection for him. She learned to 
 watch for his coming, and to feel that she was no longer 
 lonely. It was through him that her uncle permitted her to 
 send to the cure a sum of money large enough to do all that 
 was necessary. It was through him that the poor woman 
 and her children were clothed and fed and protected. When 
 she was well enough, he had promised that she should help 
 him among his own poor. And through him — though she 
 lost none of her sweet sympathy for those who suffered — she 
 learned to live a more natural and child-like life, and to find 
 that there were innocent, natural pleasures to be enjoyed in 
 the world. In time she even ceased to be afraid of her Uncle 
 Bertrand, and to be quite happy in the great beautiful house. 
 And as for Uncle Bertrand himself, he became very fond of 
 her, and sometimes even helped her to dispense her charities. 
 He had a light, gay nature, but he was kind at heart, and 
 always disliked to see or think of suffering. Now and then 
 he would give more lavishly than wisely, and then he would 
 say, with his habitual graceful shrug of the shoulders — 
 
 " Yes, it appears I am not discreet. Finally, I think I 
 must leave my charities to you, my good Norris — to you and 
 Little Saint Elizabeth." 
 
THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT. 
 
PREFATORY NOTE. 
 
 " The Story of Prince Fairyfoot " was originally intended to be 
 the first of a series, under the general title of " Stories from the Lost Fairy- 
 Book, Re-told by the Child Who Read Them," concerning which Mrs. 
 Burnett relates : 
 
 "When I was a child of six or seven, I had given to me a book of fairy-stories, of 
 which I was very fond. Before it had been in my possession many months, it disappeared, 
 and, though since then I have tried repeatedly, both in England and America, to find a 
 copy of it, I have never been able to do so. I asked a friend in the Congressional Library 
 at Washington — a man whose knowledge of books is almost unlimited — to try to learn 
 something about it for me. But even he could find no trace of it ; and so we concluded 
 it must have been out of print some time. I always remembered the impression the 
 stories had made on me, and, though most of them had become very faint recollections, I 
 frequently told them to children, with additions of my own. The story of Fairyfoot I had 
 promised to tell a little girl ; and, in accordance with the promise, I developed the outline 
 I remembered, introduced new characters and conversation, wrote it upon note paper, 
 inclosed it in a decorated satin cover, and sent it to her. In the first place, it was 
 re-written merely for her, with no intention of publication ; but she was so delighted with 
 it, and read and re-read it so untiringly, that it occurred to me other children might like to 
 hear it also. So I made the plan of developing and re-writing the other stories in like 
 manner, and having them published under the title of ' Stories from the Lost Fairy-Book, 
 Re-told by the Child Who Read Them.' " 
 
 The little volume in question Mrs. Burnett afterwards discovered to be 
 entitled " Granny's Wonderful Chair and the Tales it Told." 
 
THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT. 
 
 i 
 
 PART I. 
 
 ONCE upon a time, in the days of the fairies, there was 
 in the far west country a kingdom which was called 
 by the name of Stumpinghame. It was a rather cu- 
 rious country in several ways. In the first place, the people 
 who lived there thought that Stumpinghame was all the 
 world ; they thought there was no world at all outside 
 Stumpinghame. And they thought that the people of Stump- 
 inghame knew everything that could possibly be known, and 
 that what they did not know was of no consequence at all. 
 
 One idea common in Stumpinghame was really very 
 unusual indeed. It was a peculiar taste in the matter of feet. 
 In Stumpinghame, the larger a person's feet were, the more 
 beautiful and elegant he or she was considered ; and the more 
 aristocratic and nobly born a man was, the more immense 
 were his feet. Only the very lowest and most vulgar persons 
 were ever known to have small feet. The King's feet were 
 simply huge ; so were the Queen's ; so were those of the young 
 princes and princesses. It had never occurred to anyone that 
 a member of such a royal family could possibly disgrace him- 
 self by being born with small feet. Well, you may imagine, 
 
5o THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT 
 
 then, what a terrible and humiliating state of affairs arose 
 when there was born into that royal family a little son, a 
 prince, whose feet were so very small and slender and delicate 
 that they would have been considered small even in other 
 places than Stumpinghame. Grief and confusion seized the 
 entire nation. The Queen fainted six times a day ; the King 
 had black rosettes fastened upon his crown ; all the flags were 
 at half-mast ; and the court went into the deepest mourn- 
 ing. There had been born to Stumpinghame a royal prince 
 with small feet, and nobody knew how the country could 
 survive it! 
 
 Yet the disgraceful little prince survived it, and did not 
 seem to mind at all. He was the prettiest and best tempered 
 baby the royal nurse had ever seen. But for his small feet, 
 he would have been the flower of the family. The royal 
 nurse said to herself, and privately told his little royal 
 highness's chief bottle-washer that she " never see a hinfant 
 as took notice so, and sneezed as hintelligent." But, of course, 
 the King and Queen could see nothing but his little feet, and 
 very soon they made up their minds to send him away. So 
 one day they had him bundled up and carried where they 
 thought he might be quite forgotten. They sent him to the 
 hut of a swineherd who lived deep, deep in a great forest 
 which seemed to end nowhere. 
 
 They gave the swineherd some money, and some clothes 
 for Fairyfoot, and told him, that if he would take care of the 
 child, they would send money and clothes every year. As for 
 
THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT 61 
 
 themselves, they only wished to be sure of never seeing 
 Fairyfoot again. 
 
 This pleased the swineherd well enough. He was poor, 
 and he had a wife and ten children, and hundreds of swine to 
 take care of, and he knew he could use the little Prince's 
 money and clothes for his own family, and no one would find 
 it out. So he let his wife take the little fellow, and as soon 
 as the King's messengers had gone, the woman took the royal 
 clothes off the Prince and put on him a coarse little night- 
 gown, and gave all his things to her own children. But the 
 baby Prince did not seem to mind that — he did not seem to 
 mind anything, even though he had no name but Prince 
 Fairyfoot, which had been given him in contempt by the 
 disgusted courtiers. He grew prettier and prettier everyday, 
 and long before the time when other children begin to walk, 
 he could run about on his fairy feet. 
 
 The swineherd and his wife did not like him at all ; in fact, 
 they disliked him because he was so much prettier and so 
 much brighter than their own clumsy children. And the 
 children did not like him, because they were ill natured and 
 only liked themselves. 
 
 So as he grew older year by year, the poor little Prince was 
 more and more lonely. He had no one to play with, and was 
 obliged to be always by himself. He dressed only in the 
 coarsest and roughest clothes; he seldom had enough to eat, 
 and he slept on straw in a loft under the roof of the swine- 
 herd's hut. But all this did not prevent his being strong and 
 
62 THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT 
 
 rosy and active. He was as fleet as the wind, and he had a 
 voice as sweet as a bird's ; he had lovely sparkling eyes, and 
 bright golden hair ; and he had so kind a heart that he would 
 not have done a wrong- or cruel thing- for the world. As soon 
 as he was big enough, the swineherd made him go out into 
 the forest every day to take care of the swine. He was 
 obliged to keep them together in one place, and if any of them 
 ran away into the forest, Prince Fairyfoot was beaten. And 
 as the swine were very wild and unruly, he was very often 
 beaten, because it was almost impossible to keep them from 
 wandering off ; and when they ran away, they ran so fast, and 
 through places so tangled, that it was almost impossible to 
 follow them. 
 
 The forest in which he had to spend the long days was a 
 very beautiful one, however, and he could take pleasure in 
 that. It was a forest so great that it was like a world in itself. 
 There were in it strange, splendid trees, the branches of which 
 interlocked overhead, and when their many leaves moved and 
 rustled, it seemed as if they were whispering secrets. There 
 were bright, swift, strange birds, that flew about in the deep 
 golden sunshine, and when they rested on the boughs, they, 
 too, seemed telling one another secrets. There was a bright, 
 clear brook, with water as sparkling and pure as crystal, and 
 with shining shells and pebbles of all colours lying in the 
 gold and silver sand at the bottom. Prince Fairyfoot always 
 thought the brook knew the forest's secret also, and sang it 
 softly to the flowers as it ran along. And as for the flowers, 
 
THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT 63 
 
 they were beautiful ; they grew as thickly as if they had been 
 a carpet, and under them was another carpet of lovely green 
 moss. The trees and the birds, and the brook and the 
 flowers were Prince Fairyfoot's friends. He loved them, 
 and never was very lonely when he was with them ; and if 
 his swine had not run away so often, and if the swineherd 
 had not beaten him so much, sometimes — indeed, nearly all 
 summer — he would have been almost happy. He used to lie 
 on the fragrant carpet of flowers and moss and listen to the 
 soft sound of the running water, and to the whispering of 
 the waving leaves, and to the songs of the birds ; and he 
 would wonder what they were saying to one another, and if 
 it were true, as the swineherd's children said, that the great 
 forest was full of fairies. And then he would pretend it was 
 true, and would tell himself stories about them, and make 
 believe they were his friends, and that they came to talk to 
 him and let him love them. He wanted to love something 
 or somebody, and he had nothing to love — not even a little 
 dog. 
 
 One day he was resting under a great green tree, feeling 
 really quite happy because everything was so beautiful. He 
 had even made a little song to chime in with the brook's, and 
 he was singing it softly and sweetly, when suddenly, as he 
 lifted his curly, golden head to look about him, he saw that 
 all his swine were gone. He sprang to his feet, feeling very 
 much frightened, and he whistled and called, but he heard 
 nothing. He could not imagine how they had all disappeared 
 
64 THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT. 
 
 so quietly, without making any sound ; but not one of them 
 was anywhere to be seen. Then his poor little heart began 
 to beat fast with trouble and anxiety. He ran here and 
 there ; he looked through the bushes and under the trees ; he 
 ran, and ran, and ran, and called and whistled, and searched ; 
 but nowhere — nowhere was one of those swine to be found ! 
 He searched for them for hours, going deeper and deeper 
 into the forest than he had ever been before. He saw strange 
 trees and strange flowers, and heard strange sounds : and at 
 last the sun began to go down, and he knew he would soon 
 be left in the dark. His little feet and legs were scratched 
 with brambles, and were so tired that they would scarcely 
 carry him ; but he dared not go back to the swineherd's hut 
 without finding the swine. The only comfort he had on all 
 the long way was that the little brook had run by his side, 
 and sung its song to him ; and sometimes he had stopped and 
 bathed his hot face in it, and had said, " Oh, little brook ! you 
 are so kind to me ! You are my friend, I know. I would be 
 so lonely without you ! " 
 
 When at last the sun did go down, Prince Fairyfoot had 
 wandered so far that he did not know where he was, and he 
 was so tired that he threw himself down by the brook, and 
 hid his face in the flowery moss, and said, " Oh, little brook ! 
 I am so tired I can go no further ; and I can never find 
 them ! " 
 
 While he was lying there in despair, he heard a sound in 
 the air above him, and looked up to see what it was. It 
 

 
 
 "why," exclaimed fairyfoot "i'm surprised!" 
 
THE STORY OF PRINCE- FAIRYFOOT. 67 
 
 sounded like a little bird in some trouble. And, surely enough^ 
 there was a huge hawk darting after a plump little brown 
 bird with a red breast. The little bird was uttering sharp 
 frightened cries, and Prince Fairyfoot felt so sorry for it that 
 he sprang up and tried to drive the hawk away. The little 
 bird saw him at once, and straightway flew to him, and Fairy- 
 foot covered it with his cap. And then the hawk flew away 
 in a great rage. 
 
 When the hawk was gone, Fairyfoot sat down again and 
 lifted his cap, expecting, of course, to see the brown bird with 
 the red breast. But, instead of a bird, out stepped a little 
 man, not much higher than your little finger — a plump little 
 man in a brown suit with a bright red vest, and with a cocked 
 hat on. 
 
 "Why," exclaimed Fairyfoot, " I'm surprised !" 
 
 " So am I," said the little man, cheerfully. " I never was 
 more surprised in my life, except when my great-aunt's grand- 
 mother got into such a rage, and changed me into a robin- 
 redbreast. I tell you, that surprised me ! " 
 
 " I should think it might," said Fairyfoot. " Why did 
 she do it ? " 
 
 " Mad," answered the little man — " that was what was the 
 matter with her. She was always losing her temper like that, 
 and turning people into awkward things, and then being sorry 
 for it, and not being able to change them back again. If you 
 are a fairy, you have to be careful. If you'll believe me, that 
 woman once turned her second-cousin's sister-in-law into a 
 
68 THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT. 
 
 mushroom, and somebody picked her, and she was made into 
 catsup, which is a thing no man likes to have happen in his 
 family ! " 
 
 " Of course not," said Fairyfoot, politely. 
 
 " The difficulty is," said the little man, " that some fairies 
 don't graduate. They learn to turn people into things, but 
 they don't learn how to unturn them ; and then, when they 
 get mad in their families — you know how it is about getting 
 mad in families — there is confusion. Yes, seriously, confusion 
 arises. It arises. That was the way with my great-aunt's 
 grandmother. She was not a cultivated old person, and she 
 did not know how to unturn people, and now you see the 
 result. Quite accidentally I trod on her favorite corn ; she 
 got mad and changed me into a robin, and regretted it ever 
 afterward. I could only become myself again by a kind- 
 hearted person's saving me from a great danger. You are 
 that person. Give me your hand." 
 
 Fairyfoot held out his hand. The little man looked at it. 
 
 " On second thought," he said, " I can't shake it — it's too 
 large. I'll sit on it, and talk to you." 
 
 With these words, he hopped upon Fairyfoot's hand, and 
 sat down, smiling and clasping his own hands about his tiny 
 knees. 
 
 " I declare, it's delightful not to be a robin," he said. "Had 
 to go about picking up worms, you know. Disgusting busi- 
 ness. I always did hate worms. I never ate them myself — 
 I drew the line there ; but I had to get them for my family." 
 
THE STORY OF PRINCE -FAIRYFOOT. 69 
 
 Suddenly he began to giggle, and to hug his knees up 
 tight. 
 
 " Do you wish to know what I'm laughing at ?" he asked 
 Fairyfoot. 
 
 " Yes," Fairyfoot answered. 
 
 The little man giggled more than ever. 
 
 " I'm thinking about my wife," he said — "the one I had 
 when I was a robin. A nice rage she'll be in when I don't 
 come home to-night ! She'll have to hustle around and pick 
 up worms for herself, and for the children too, and it serves 
 her right. She had a temper that would embitter the life of a 
 crow, much more a simple robin. I wore myself to skin and 
 bone taking care of her and her brood, and how I did hate 
 'em ! — bare, squawking things, always with their throats gap- 
 ing open. They seemed to think a parent's sole duty was to 
 bring worms for them." 
 
 " It must have been unpleasant," said Fairyfoot. 
 
 " It was more than that," said the little man ; " it used to 
 make my feathers stand on end. There was the nest, too ! 
 Fancy being changed into a robin, and being obliged to build 
 a nest at a moment's notice ! I never felt so ridiculous in my 
 life. How was I to know how to build a nest ! And the 
 worst of it was the way she went on about it." 
 
 " She ! " said Fairyfoot. 
 
 " Oh, her, you know," replied the little man, ungram- 
 matically, " my wife. She'd always been a robin, and she 
 knew how to build a nest ; she liked to order me about, too 
 
70 THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT. 
 
 — she was one of that kind. But, of course, I wasn't going 
 to own that I didn't know anything about nest-building. I 
 could never have done anything with her in the world if I'd 
 let her think she knew as much as I did. So I just put 
 things together in a way of my own, and built a nest that 
 would have made you weep ! The bottom fell out of it the 
 first night. It nearly killed me." 
 
 " Did you fall out, too ? " inquired Fairyfoot. 
 
 " Oh, no," answered the little man. " I meant that it 
 nearly killed me to think the eggs weren't in it at the 
 time." 
 
 " What did you do about the nest ? " asked Fairyfoot. 
 
 The little man winked in the most improper manner. 
 
 " Do ? " he said. " I got mad, of course, and told her that 
 if she hadn't interfered, it wouldn't have happened ; said it 
 was exactly like a hen to fly around giving advice and unset- 
 tling one's mind, and then complain if things weren't right. 
 I told her she might build the nest herself, if she thought she 
 could build a better one. She did it, too ! " And he winked 
 again. 
 
 "Was it a better one ?" asked Fairyfoot. 
 
 The little man actually winked a third time. " It may 
 surprise you to hear that it was," he replied ; "but it didn't 
 surprise me. By-the-by," he added, with startling suddenness, 
 " what's your name, and what's the matter with you ? " 
 
 " My name is Prince Fairyfoot," said the boy, " and I have 
 lost my master's swine." 
 
THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT 71 
 
 " My name," said the little man, " is Robin Goodfellow, 
 and I'll find them for you." 
 
 He had a tiny scarlet silk pouch hanging at his girdle, 
 and he put his hand into it and drew forth the smallest golden 
 whistle you ever saw. 
 
 " Blow that," he said, giving it to Fairyfoot, " and take care 
 that you don't swallow it. You are such a tremendous creat- 
 ure ! 
 
 Fairyfoot took the whistle and put it very delicately to his 
 lips. He blew, and there came from it a high, clear sound 
 that seemed to pierce the deepest depths of the forest. 
 
 " Blow again," commanded Robin Goodfellow. 
 . Again Prince Fairyfoot blew, and again the pure clear 
 sound rang through the trees, and the next instant he heard 
 a loud rushing and tramping and squeaking and grunting, and 
 all the great drove of swine came tearing through the bushes 
 and formed themselves into a circle and stood staring at him 
 as if waiting to be told what to do next. 
 
 " Oh, Robin Goodfellow, Robin Goodfellow ! " cried Fairy- 
 foot, " how grateful I am to you ! " 
 
 " Not as grateful as I am to you," said Robin Goodfellow. 
 " But for you I should be disturbing that hawk's digestion at 
 the present moment, instead of which, here I am, a respect- 
 able fairy once more, and my late wife (though I ought not to 
 call her that, for goodness knows she was early enough hust. 
 ling me out of my nest before daybreak, with the unpleasant 
 proverb about the early bird catching the worm !) — I suppose 
 
72 THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT. 
 
 I should say my early wife — is at this juncture a widow. 
 Now, where do you live ? " 
 
 Fairyfoot told him, and told him also about the swineherd, 
 and how it happened that, though he was a prince, he had to 
 herd swine and live in the forest. 
 
 "Well, well," said Robin Goodfellow, "that is a disagree- 
 able state of affairs. Perhaps I can make it rather easier for 
 you. You see that is a fairy whistle." 
 
 " I thought so," said Fairyfoot. 
 
 " Well," continued Robin Goodfellow, " you can always 
 call your swine with it, so you will never be beaten again. 
 Now, are you ever lonely ?" 
 
 " Sometimes I am very lonely indeed," answered the Prince. 
 " No one cares for me, though I think the brook is sometimes 
 sorry, and tries to tell me things." 
 
 " Of course," said Robin. " They all like you. I've heard 
 them say so." 
 
 " Oh, have you?" cried Fairyfoot, joyfully. 
 
 "Yes ; you never throw stones at the birds, or break the 
 branches of the trees, or trample on the flowers when you 
 can help it." 
 
 " The birds sing to me," said Fairyfoot, " and the trees seem 
 to beckon to me and whisper ; and when I am very lonely, I 
 lie down in the grass and look into the eves of the flowers and 
 talk to them. I would not hurt one of them for all the world ! " 
 
 " Humph ! " said Robin, "you are a rather good little fellow. 
 Would you like to go to a party ? " 
 
THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT. 73 
 
 " A party ! " said Fairyfoot. What is that ? " 
 
 " This sort of thing," said Robin ; and he jumped up and 
 began to dance around and to kick up his heels gaily in the 
 palm of Fairyfoot's hand. "Wine, you know, and cake, and 
 all sorts of fun. It begins at twelve to-night, in a place the 
 fairies know of, and it lasts until just two minutes and three 
 seconds and a half before daylight. Would you like to 
 come ?" 
 
 " Oh," cried Fairyfoot, " I should be so happy if I 
 might!" 
 
 "Well, you may," said Robin ; "I'll take you. They'll be 
 delighted to see any friend of mine. I'm a great favourite ; 
 of course, you can easily imagine that. It was a great blow 
 to them when I was changed ; such a loss, you know. In fact, 
 there were several lady fairies, who — but no matter." And 
 he gave a slight cough, and began to arrange his necktie with 
 a disgracefully consequential air, though he was trying very 
 hard not to look conceited ; and while he was endeavouring 
 to appear easy and gracefully careless, he began accidentally 
 to hum, " See the Conquering Hero Comes," which was not 
 the right tune under the circumstances. 
 
 " But for you," he said next, " I couldn't have given them 
 the relief and pleasure of seeing me this evening. And what 
 ecstasy it will be to them, to be sure ! I shouldn't be surprised 
 if it broke up the whole thing. They'll faint so — for joy, you 
 know — just at first — that is, the ladies will. The men won't 
 like it at all ; and I don't blame 'em. I suppose I shouldn't 
 
74 THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT. 
 
 like it — to see another fellow sweep all before him. That's 
 what I do ; I sweep all before me." And he waved his hand 
 in such a fine large gesture that he overbalanced himself, and 
 turned a somersault. But he jumped up after it quite un- 
 disturbed. 
 
 " You'll see me do it to-night," he said, knocking the dents 
 out of his hat — " sweep all before me." Then he put his hat 
 on, and his hands on his hips, with a swaggering, man-of- 
 society air. " I say," he said, " I'm glad you're going. I 
 should like you to see it." 
 
 " And I should like to see it," replied Fairyfoot. 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Goodfellow, "you deserve it, though 
 that's saying a great deal. You've restored me to them. But 
 for you, even if I'd escaped that hawk, I should have had to 
 spend the night in that beastly robin's nest, crowded into a 
 corner by those squawking things, and domineered over by 
 her ! I wasn't made for that ! I'm superior to it. Domestic 
 life doesn't suit me. I was made for society. I adorn it. 
 She never appreciated me. She couldn't soar to it. When I 
 think of the way she treated me," he exclaimed, suddenly 
 getting into a rage, " I've a great mind to turn back into a 
 robin and peck her head off ! " 
 
 " Would you like to see her now ? " asked Fairyfoot, inno- 
 cently. 
 
 Mr. Goodfellow glanced behind him in great haste, and 
 suddenly sat down. 
 
 "No, no !" he exclaimed in a tremendous hurry; "by no 
 
THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT. 75 
 
 means ! She has no delicacy. And she doesn't deserve to 
 see me. And there's a violence and uncertainty about her 
 movements which is annoying beyond anything you can 
 imagine. No, I don't want to see her ! I'll let her go un- 
 punished for the present. Perhaps it's punishment enough 
 for her to be deprived of me. Just pick up your cap, won't 
 you ? and if you see any birds lying about, throw it at them, 
 robins particularly." 
 
 " I think I must take the swine home, if you'll excuse me," 
 said Fairyfoot, " I'm late now." 
 
 " Well, let me sit on your shoulder and I'll go with you 
 and show you a short way home," said Goodfellow ; " I know 
 all about it, so you needn't think about yourself again. In 
 fact, we'll talk about the party. Just blow your whistle, and 
 the swine will go ahead." 
 
 Fairyfoot did so, and the swine rushed through the forest 
 before them, and Robin Goodfellow perched himself on the 
 Prince's shoulder, and chatted as they went. 
 
 It had taken Fairyfoot hours to reach the place where he 
 found Robin, but somehow it seemed to him only a very 
 short time before they came to the open place near the 
 swineherd's hut ; and the path they had walked in had been 
 so pleasant and flowery that it had been delightful all the 
 way. 
 
 " Now," said Robin when they stopped, " if you will come 
 here to-night at twelve o'clock, when the moon shines under 
 this tree, you will find me waiting for you. Now I'm going. 
 
j6 THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT. 
 
 Good-bye ! " And he was gone before the last word was 
 quite finished. 
 
 Fairyfoot went towards the hut, driving the swine before 
 him, and suddenly he saw the swineherd come out of his 
 house, and stand staring stupidly at the pigs. He was a very 
 coarse, hideous man, with bristling yellow hair, and little eyes, 
 and a face rather like a pig's, and he always looked stupid, but 
 just now he looked more stupid than ever. He seemed dumb 
 with surprise. 
 
 " What's the matter with the swine ? " he asked in his 
 hoarse voice, which was rather piglike, too. 
 
 " I don't know," answered Fairyfoot, feeling a little 
 alarmed. " What is the matter with them ? " 
 
 " They are four times fatter, and five times bigger, and six 
 times cleaner, and seven times heavier, and eight times hand- 
 somer than they were when you took them out," the swine- 
 herd said. 
 
 " I've done nothing to them," said Fairyfoot. "They ran 
 away, but they came back again." 
 
 The swineherd went lumbering back into the hut, and 
 called his wife. 
 
 " Come and look at the swine," he said. 
 
 And then the woman came out, and stared first at the 
 swine and then at Fairyfoot. 
 
 " He has been with the fairies," she said at last to her 
 husband ; " or it is because he is a king's son. We must 
 treat him better if he can do wonders like that. 
 

 "what's the matter with the swine?" he asked. 
 
THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT 
 
 79 
 
 PART II. 
 
 In went the shepherd's wife, and she prepared quite a 
 good supper for Fairyfoot and gave it to him. But Fairyfoot 
 was scarcely hungry at all ; he was so eager for the night to 
 come, so that he might see the fairies. When he went to his 
 loft under the roof, he thought at first that he could not sleep ; 
 but suddenly his hand touched the fairy whistle and he fell 
 asleep at once, and did not waken again until a moonbeam 
 fell brightly upon his face and aroused him. Then he jumped 
 up and ran to the hole in the wall to look out, and he saw 
 that the hour had come, and the moon was so low in the sky 
 that its slanting light had crept under the oak-tree. 
 
 He slipped downstairs so lightly that his master heard 
 nothing, and then he found himself out in the beautiful night 
 with the moonlight so bright that it was lighter than day- 
 time. And there was Robin Goodfellow waiting for him 
 under the tree ! He was so finely dressed that, for a moment, 
 Fairyfoot scarcely knew him. His suit was made out of the 
 purple velvet petals of a pansy, which was far finer than any 
 ordinary velvet, and he wore plumes and tassels, and a ruffle 
 around his neck, and in his belt was thrust a tiny sword, not 
 half as big as the finest needle. 
 
 "Take me on your shoulder," he said to Fairyfoot, "and 
 I will show you the way." 
 
 Fairyfoot took him up, and they went their way through 
 
80 THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT 
 
 the forest. And the strange part of it was that though Fairy- 
 foot thought he knew all the forest by heart, every path 
 they took was new to him, and more beautiful than anything 
 he had ever seen before. The moonlight seemed to grow 
 brighter and purer at every step, and the sleeping flowers 
 sweeter and lovelier, and the moss greener and thicker. 
 Fairy foot felt so happy and gay that he forgot he had ever 
 been sad and lonely in his life. 
 
 Robin Goodfellow, too, seemed to be in very good spirits. 
 He related a great many stories to Fairyfoot, and, singularly 
 enough, they were all about himself and divers and sundry 
 fairy ladies who had been so very much attached to him that 
 he scarcely expected to find them alive at the present mo- 
 ment. He felt quite sure they must have died of grief in his 
 absence. 
 
 " I have caused a great deal of trouble in the course of my 
 life," he said, regretfully, shaking his head. " I have some- 
 times wished I could avoid it, but that is impossible. Ahem ! 
 When my great-aunt's grandmother rashly and inopportunely 
 changed me into a robin, I was having a little flirtation with 
 a little creature who was really quite attractive. I might 
 have decided to engage myself to her. She was very charming. 
 Her name was Gauzita. To-morrow I shall go and place 
 flowers on her tomb." 
 
 " I thought fairies never died," said Fairyfoot. 
 
 " Only on rare occasions, and only from love," answered 
 Robin. "They needn't die unless they wish to. They have 
 
THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT. 
 
 been known to do it through love. They frequently wish 
 they hadn't afterward — in fact, invariably — and then they can 
 come to life again. But Gauzita " 
 
 " Are you quite sure she is dead ?" asked Fairyfoot. 
 
 "Sure!" cried Mr. Goodfellow, in wild indignation, "why, 
 she hasn't seen me for a couple of years. I've moulted twice 
 since last we meet. I congratulate myself that she didn't see 
 me then," he added, in a lower voice. " Of course she's dead," 
 he added, with solemn emphasis ; "as dead as a door nail." 
 
 Just then Fairyfoot heard some enchanting sounds, faint, 
 but clear. They were sounds of delicate music and of tiny 
 laughter, like the ringing of fairy bells. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Robin Goodfellow, " there they are ! But it 
 seems to me they are rather gay, considering they have not 
 seen me for so long. Turn into the path." 
 
 Almost immediately they found themselves in a beautiful 
 little dell, filled with moonlight, and with glittering stars 
 in the cup of every flower ; for there were thousands of 
 dewdrops, and every dewdrop shone like a star. There 
 were also crowds and crowds of tiny men and women, all 
 beautiful, all dressed in brilliant, delicate dresses, all laughing 
 or dancing or feasting at the little tables, which were loaded 
 with every dainty the most fastidious fairy could wish for. 
 
 " Now," said Robin Goodfellow, " you shall see me sweep 
 all before me. Put me down." 
 
 Fairyfoot put him down, and stood and watched him while 
 he walked forward with a very grand manner. He went 
 
82 THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRFFOOT, 
 
 straight to the gayest and largest group he could see. It 
 was a group of gentlemen fairies, who were crowding around 
 a lily of the valley, on the bent stem of which a tiny lady 
 fairy was sitting, airily swaying herself to and fro, and laugh- 
 ing and chatting with all her admirers at once. 
 
 She seemed to be enjoying herself immensely ; indeed, it 
 was disgracefully plain that she was having a great deal of 
 fun. One gentleman fairy was fanning her, one was holding 
 her programme, one had her bouquet, another her little scent 
 bottle, and those who had nothing to hold for her were 
 scowling furiously at the rest. It was evident that she was 
 very popular, and that she did not object to it at all ; in 
 fact, the way her eyes sparkled and danced was distinctly 
 reprehensible. 
 
 " You have engaged to dance the next waltz with every 
 one of us ! " said one of her adorers. " How are you going to 
 doit?" 
 
 " Did I engage to dance with all of you ?" she said, giving 
 her lily stem the sauciest little swing, which set all the bells 
 ringing. " Well, I am not going to dance it with all." 
 
 " Not with me f " the admirer with the fan whispered in 
 her ear. 
 
 She gave him the most delightful little look, just to make 
 him believe she wanted to dance with him but really couldn't. 
 Robin Goodfellow saw her. And then she smiled sweetly 
 upon all the rest, every one of them. Robin Goodfellow saw 
 that, too. 
 
ALMOST IMMEDIATELY THEY FOUND THEMSELVES IN A BEAUTIFUL LITTLE DELL. 
 
THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT 85 
 
 " I am going to sit here and look at you, and let you talk 
 to me," she said. " I do so enjoy brilliant conversation." 
 
 All the gentlemen fairies were so much elated by this that 
 they began to brighten up, and settle their ruffs, and fall 
 into graceful attitudes, and think of sparkling things to say ; 
 because every one of them knew, from the glance of her eyes 
 in his direction, that he was one whose conversation was 
 brilliant ; every one knew there could be no mistake about 
 its being himself that she meant. The way she looked just 
 proved it. Altogether it was more than Robin Goodfellow 
 could stand, for it was Gauzita who was deporting herself 
 in this unaccountable manner, swinging on lily stems, and 
 "going on," so to speak, with several parties at once, in a 
 way to chill the blood of any proper young lady fairy — who 
 hadn't any partner at all. It was Gauzita herself. 
 
 He made his way into the very centre of the group. 
 
 " Gauzita ! " he said. He thought, of course, she woulc 
 drop right off her lily stem ; but she didn't. She simply 
 stopped swinging a moment, and stared at him. 
 
 " Gracious !" she exclaimed. " And who are you ? " 
 
 "Who am I ?" cried Mr. Goodfellow, severely. "Don't 
 you remember me ? " 
 
 " No," she said, coolly ; " I don't, not in the least." 
 
 Robin Goodfellow almost gasped for breath. He had never 
 met with anything so outrageous in his life. 
 
 "You don't remember me?" he cried. "Me/ Why, it's 
 impossible ! " 
 
86 THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT. 
 
 " Is it?" said Gauzita, with a touch of dainty impudence. 
 " What's your name ?" 
 
 Robin Goodfellow was almost paralyzed. Gauzita took up 
 a midget of an eyeglass which she had dangling from a thread 
 of a gold chain, and she stuck it in her eye and tilted her 
 impertinent little chin and looked him over. Not that she 
 was near-sighted — not a bit of it ; it was just one of her tricks 
 and manners. 
 
 " Dear me ! " she said, " you do look a trifle familiar. It 
 
 isn't, it can't be, Mr. , Mr. ," then she turned to the 
 
 adorer, who held her fan, " it can't be Mr. , the one who 
 
 was changed into a robin, you know," she said. "Such a 
 ridiculous thing to be changed into ! What was his name ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I know whom you mean. Mr. , ah — Good- 
 fellow ! " said the fairy with the fan. 
 
 " So it was," she said, looking Robin over again. " And 
 he has been pecking at trees and things, and hopping in and 
 out of nests ever since, I suppose. How absurd ! And we 
 have been enjoying ourselves so much since he went away ! I 
 think I never did have so lovely a time as I have had during 
 these last two years. I began to know you," she added, in a 
 kindly tone, "just about the time he went away." 
 
 "You have been enjoying yourself?" almost shrieked 
 Robin Goodfellow. 
 
 " Well," said Gauzita, in unexcusable slang, " I must smile." 
 And she did smile. 
 
 " And nobody has pined away and died ?" cried Robin. 
 
THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT. 87 
 
 " I haven't," said Gauzita, swinging herself and ringing her 
 bells again. " I really haven't had time." 
 
 Robin Goodfellow turned around and rushed out of the 
 group. He regarded this as insulting. He went back to 
 Fairyfoot in such a hurry that he tripped on his sword and 
 fell, and rolled over so many times that Fairyfoot had to stop 
 him and pick him up. 
 
 " Is she dead ? " asked Fairyfoot. 
 
 " No," said Robin ; " she isn't." 
 
 " He sat down on a small mushroom and clasped his hands 
 about his knees and looked mad — just mad. Angry or in- 
 dignant wouldn't express it. 
 
 " I have a great mind to go and be a misanthrope," he said. 
 
 " Oh ! I wouldn't," said Fairyfoot. He didn't know what 
 a misanthrope was, but he thought it must be something 
 unpleasant. 
 
 " Wouldn't you ?" said Robin, looking up at him. 
 
 " No," answered Fairyfoot. 
 
 " Well," said Robin, " I guess I won't. Let's go and have 
 some fun. They are all that way. You can't depend on any 
 of them. Never trust one of them. I believe that creature 
 has been engaged as much as twice since I left. By a singular 
 coincidence," he added, " I have been married twice myself — 
 but, of course, that's different. I'm a man, you know, and — 
 well, it's different. We won't dwell on it. Let's go and 
 dance. But wait a minute first." He took a little bottle 
 from his pocket. 
 
THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT. 
 
 " If you remain the size you are," he continued, " you will 
 tread on whole sets of lancers and destroy entire germans. 
 If you drink this, you will become as small as we are ; and 
 then, when you are going home, I will give you something to 
 make you large again." Fairyfoot drank from the little flagon, 
 and immediately he felt himself growing smaller and smaller 
 until at last he was as small as his companion. 
 
 " Now, come on," said Robin. 
 
 On they went and joined the fairies, and they danced and 
 played fairy games and feasted on fairy dainties, and were so 
 gay and happy that Fairyfoot was wild with joy. Everybody 
 made him welcome and seemed to like him, and the lady 
 fairies were simply delightful, especially Gauzita, who took 
 a great fancy to him. Just before the sun rose, Robin 
 gave him something from another flagon, and he grew 
 large again, and two minutes and three seconds and a half 
 before daylight the ball broke up, and Robin took him 
 home and left him, promising to call for him the next 
 night. 
 
 Every night throughout the whole summer the same thing 
 happened. At midnight he went to the fairies' dance ; and at 
 two minutes and three seconds and a half before dawn he 
 came home. He was never lonely any more, because all day 
 long he could think of what pleasure he would have when the 
 night came ; and, besides that, all the fairies were his friends. 
 But when the summer was coming to an end, Robin Good- 
 fellow said to him : " This is our last dance — at least it will 
 
THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT. 89 
 
 be our last for some time. At this time of the year we 
 always go back to our own country, and we don't return until 
 spring." 
 
 This made Fairyfoot very sad. He did not know how he 
 could bear to be left alone again, but he knew it could not be 
 helped ; so he tried to be as cheerful as possible, and he went 
 to the final festivities, and enjoyed himself more than ever 
 before, and Gauzita gave him a tiny ring for a parting gift. 
 But the next night, when Robin did not come for him, he felt 
 very lonely indeed, and the next day he was so sorrowful that 
 he wandered far away into the forest, in the hope of finding 
 something to cheer him a little. He wandered so far that he 
 became very tired and thirsty, and he was just making up his 
 mind to go home, when he thought he heard the sound of 
 falling water. It seemed to come from behind a thicket of 
 climbing roses ; and he went towards the place and pushed 
 the branches aside a little, so that he could look through. 
 What he saw was a great surprise to him. Though it was 
 the end of summer, inside the thicket the roses were bloom- 
 ing in thousands all around a pool as clear as crystal, into 
 which the sparkling water fell from a hole in the rock above. 
 It was the most beautiful, clear pool that Fairyfoot had ever 
 seen, and he pressed his way through the rose branches, and, 
 entering the circle they inclosed, he knelt by the water and 
 drank. 
 
 Almost instantly his feeling of sadness left him, and he felt 
 quite happy and refreshed. He stretched himself on the thick 
 
9 o THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT 
 
 perfumed moss, and listened to the tinkling of the water, and 
 it was not long before he fell asleep. 
 
 When he awakened the moon was shining, the pool 
 sparkled like a silver plaque crusted with diamonds, and two 
 nightingales were singing in the branches over his head. 
 And the next moment he found out that he understood their 
 language just as plainly as if they had been human beings 
 instead of birds. The water with which he had quenched his 
 thirst was enchanted, and had given him this new power. 
 
 "Poor boy!" said one nightingale, " he looks tired; I 
 wonder where he came from." 
 
 " Why, my dear," said the other, " is it possible you don't 
 know that he is Prince Fairyfoot ? " 
 
 " What ! " said the first nightingale — " the King of Stump- 
 inghame's son, who was born with small feet ? " 
 
 " Yes," said the second. " And the poor child has lived 
 in the forest, keeping the swineherd's pigs ever since. And 
 he is a very nice boy, too — never throws stones at birds or 
 robs nests." 
 
 " What a pity he doesn't know about the pool where the 
 red berries grow ! " said the first nightingale. 
 
THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT. 91 
 
 PART III. 
 
 " What pool — and what red berries ? " asked the second 
 nightingale. 
 
 " Why, my dear," said the first, " is it possible you don't 
 know about the pool where the red berries grow — the pool 
 where the poor, dear Princess Goldenhair met with her mis- 
 fortune ? " 
 
 " Never heard of it," said the second nightingale, rather 
 crossly. 
 
 " Well," explained the other, " you have to follow the 
 brook for a day and three-quarters, and then take all the 
 paths to the left until you come to the pool. It is very ugly 
 and muddy, and bushes with red berries on them grow around 
 it." 
 
 "Well, what of that?" said her companion; "and what 
 happened to the Princess Goldenhair?" 
 
 " Don't you know that, either?" exclaimed her friend. 
 
 " No. " 
 
 " Ah ! " said the first nightingale, " it was very sad. She 
 went out with her father, the King, who had a hunting party ; 
 and she lost her way, and wandered on until she came to the 
 pool. Her poor little feet were so hot that she took off 
 her gold-embroidered satin slippers, and put them into the 
 water — her feet, not the slippers — and the next minute they 
 began to grow and grow, and to get larger and larger, until 
 
92 THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT. 
 
 they were so immense she could hardly walk at all ; and 
 though all the physicians in the kingdom have tried to make 
 them smaller, nothing can be done, and she is perfectly un- 
 happy." 
 
 " What a pity she doesn't know about this pool ! " said the 
 other bird. " If she just came here and bathed them three 
 times in the water, they would be smaller and more beautiful 
 than ever, and she would be more lovely than she has ever 
 been." 
 
 " It is a pity," said her companion ; "but, you know, if we 
 once let people know what this water will do, we should be 
 overrun with creatures bathing themselves beautiful, and 
 trampling our moss and tearing down our rose-trees, and we 
 should never have any peace." 
 
 " That is true," agreed the other. 
 
 Very soon after they flew away, and Fairyfoot was left 
 alone. He had been so excited while they were talking that 
 he had been hardly able to lie still. He was so sorry for the 
 Princess Goldenhair, and so glad for himself. Now he could 
 find his way to the pool with the red berries, and he could 
 bathe his feet in it until they were large enough to satisfy 
 Stumpinghame ; and he could go back to his father's court, 
 and his parents would perhaps be fond of him. But he had 
 so good a heart that he could not think of being happy him- 
 self and letting others remain unhappy, when he could help 
 them. So the first thing was to find the Princess Golden- 
 hair and tell her about the nightingales' fountain. But how 
 
THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT 93 
 
 was he to find her ? The nightingales had not told him. 
 He was very much troubled, indeed. How was he to find 
 her? 
 
 Suddenly, quite suddenly, he thought of the ring Gauzita 
 had given him. When she had given it to him she had made 
 an odd remark. 
 
 " When you wish to go anywhere," she had said, " hold it 
 in your hand, turn around twice with closed eyes, and some- 
 thing queer will happen." 
 
 He had thought it was one of her little jokes, but now it 
 occurred to him that at least he might try what would happen. 
 So he rose up, held the ring in his hand, closed his eyes, and 
 turned around twice. 
 
 What did happen was that he began to walk, not very fast, 
 but still passing along as if he were moving rapidly. He did 
 not know where he was going, but he guessed that the ring 
 did, and that if he obeyed it, he should find the Princess 
 Goldenhair. He went on and on, not getting in the least 
 tired, until about daylight he found himself under a great 
 tree, and on the ground beneath it was spread a delightful 
 breakfast, which he knew was for him. He sat down and ate 
 it, and then got up again and went on his way once more. 
 Before noon he had left the forest behind him, and was in a 
 strange country. He knew it was not Stumpinghame, because 
 the people had not large feet. But they all had sad faces, 
 and once or twice, when he passed groups of them who were 
 talking, he heard them speak of the Princess Goldenhair, as 
 
94 THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT 
 
 if they were sorry for her and could not enjoy themselves 
 while such a misfortune rested upon her. 
 
 " So sweet and lovely and kind a princess ! " they said ; 
 "and it really seems as if she would never be any better." 
 
 The sun was just setting when Fairyfoot came in sight of 
 the palace. It was built of white marble, and had beautiful 
 pleasure-grounds about it, but somehow there seemed to be a 
 settled gloom in the air. Fairyfoot had entered the great 
 pleasure-garden, and was wondering where it would be best 
 to go first, when he saw a lovely white fawn, with a golden 
 collar about its neck, come bounding over the flower-beds, 
 and he heard, at a little distance, a sweet voice, saying, sor- 
 rowfully, " Come back, my fawn ; I cannot run and play with 
 you as I once used to. Do not leave me, my little friend." 
 
 And soon from behind the trees came a line of beautiful 
 girls, walking two by two, all very slowly ; and at the head of 
 the line, first of all, came the loveliest princess in the world, 
 dressed softly in pure white, with a wreath of lilies on her long 
 golden hair, which fell almost to the hem of her white gown. 
 
 She had so fair and tender a young face, and her large, 
 soft eyes, yet looked so sorrowful, that Fairyfoot loved her in 
 a moment, and he knelt on one knee, taking off his cap and 
 bending his head until his own golden hair almost hid his face. 
 
 " Beautiful Princess Goldenhair, beautiful and sweet Prin- 
 cess, may I speak to you ?" he said. 
 
 The Princess stopped and looked at him, and answered 
 him softly. It surprised her to see one so poorly dressed 
 

 
 
 FAIRYFOOT LOVED HER IN A MOMENT, AND HE KNELT ON ONE KNEE. 
 
THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT 97 
 
 kneeling before her, in her palace gardens, among the brilliant 
 flowers ; but she always spoke softly to everyone. 
 
 " What is there that I can do for you, my friend ?" she said. 
 
 " Beautiful Princess," answered Fairyfoot, blushing, " I 
 hope very much that I may be able to do something for you." 
 
 " For me ! " she exclaimed. " Thank you, friend ; what is 
 it you can do ? Indeed, I need a help I am afraid no one can 
 ever give me." 
 
 " Gracious and fairest lady," said Fairyfoot, " it is that help 
 I think — nay, I am sure^that I bring to you." 
 
 " Oh ! " said the sweet Princess. " You have a kind face 
 and most true eyes, and when I look at you — I do not know 
 why it is, but I feel a little happier. What is it you would 
 say to me ? " 
 
 Still kneeling before her, still bending his head modestly, 
 and still blushing, Fairyfoot told his story. He told her of 
 his own sadness and loneliness, and of why he was considered 
 so terrible a disgrace to his family. He told her about the 
 fountain of the nightingales and what he had heard there and 
 how he had journeyed through the forests, and beyond it into 
 her own country, to find her. And while he told it, her 
 beautiful face changed from red to white, and her hands 
 closely clasped themselves together. 
 
 " Oh ! " she said, when he had finished, " I know that this 
 is true from the kind look in your eyes, and I shall be happy 
 again. And how can I thank you for being so good to a poor 
 little princess whom you had never seen ?" 
 
 7 
 
98 THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT 
 
 " Only let me see you happy once more, most sweet Prin- 
 cess," answered Fairyfoot, ''and that will be all I desire — 
 only if, perhaps, I might once — kiss your hand." 
 
 She held out her hand to him with so lovely a look in her 
 soft eyes that he felt happier than he had ever been before, 
 even at the fairy dances. This was a different kind of happi- 
 ness. Her hand was as white as a dove's wing and as soft as 
 a dove's breast. " Come," she said, "let us go at once to the 
 King." 
 
 Within a few minutes the whole palace was in an uproar 
 of excitement. Preparations were made to go to the fountain 
 of the nightingales immediately. Remembering what the 
 birds had said about not wishing to be disturbed, Fairyfoot 
 asked the King to take only a small party. So no one was 
 to go but the King himself, the Princess, in a covered chair 
 carried by two bearers, the Lord High Chamberlain, two 
 Maids of Honour, and Fairyfoot. 
 
 Before morning they were on their way, and the day after 
 they reached the thicket of roses, and Fairyfoot pushed aside 
 the branches and led the way into the dell. 
 
 The Princess Goldenhair sat down upon the edge of the 
 pool and put her feet into it. In two minutes they began to 
 look smaller. She bathed them once, twice, three times, and, 
 as the nightingales had said, they became smaller and more 
 beautiful than ever. As for the Princess herself, she really 
 could not be more beautiful than she had been ; but the Lord 
 High Chamberlain, who had been an exceedingly ugly old 
 
THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT 99 
 
 gentleman, after washing his face, became so young and hand- 
 some that the First Maid of Honour immediately fell in love 
 with him. Whereupon she washed her face, and became so 
 beautiful that he fell in love with her, and they were engaged 
 upon the spot. 
 
 The Princess could not find any words to tell Fairyfoot 
 how grateful she was and how happy. She could only look 
 at him again and again with her soft, radiant eyes, and again 
 and again give him her hand that he might kiss it. 
 
 She was so sweet and gentle that Fairyfoot could not bear 
 the thought of leaving her ; and when the King begged him 
 to return to the palace with them and live there always, he 
 was more glad than I can tell you. To be near this lovely 
 Princess, to be her friend, to love and serve her and look at 
 her every day, was such happiness that he w r anted nothing 
 more. But first he wished to visit his father and mother 
 and sisters and brothers in Stumpinghame ! so the King and 
 Princess and their attendants went with him to the pool 
 where the red berries grew ; and after he had bathed his feet 
 in the water they were so large that Stumpinghame contained 
 nothing like them, even the King's and Queen's seeming 
 small in comparison. And when, a few days later, he arrived 
 at the Stumpinghame Palace, attended in great state by the 
 magnificent retinue with which the father of the Princess 
 Goldenhair had provided him, he was received with unbounded 
 rapture by his parents. The King and Queen felt that to 
 have a son with feet of such a size was something to be proud 
 
ioo THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT 
 
 of, indeed. They could not admire him sufficiently, although 
 the whole country was illuminated, and feasting continued 
 throughout his visit. 
 
 But though he was glad to be no more a disgrace to his 
 family, it cannot be said that he enjoyed the size of his feet 
 very much on his own account. Indeed, he much preferred 
 being Prince Fairyfoot, as fleet as the wind and as light as a 
 young deer, and he was quite glad to go to the fountain of 
 the nightingales after his visit was at an end, and bathe his 
 feet small again, and to return to the palace of the Princess 
 Goldenhair with the soft and tender eyes. There everyone 
 loved him, and he loved everyone, and was four times as 
 happy as the day is long. 
 
 He loved the Princess more dearly every day, and, of course, 
 as soon as they were old enough, they were married. And of 
 course, too, they used to go in the summer to the forest, and 
 dance in the moonlight with the fairies, who adored them both. 
 
 When they went to visit Stumpinghame, they always bathed 
 their feet in the pool of the red berries ; and when they returned, 
 they made them small again in the fountain of the nightingales. 
 
 They were always great friends with Robin Goodfellow, 
 and he was always very confidential with them about Gauzita, 
 who continued to be as pretty and saucy as ever. . 
 
 " Some of these days," he used to say, severely, " I'll marry 
 another fairy, and see how she'll like that — to see someone 
 else basking in my society ! I'll get even with her ! " 
 
 But he never did. 
 
THE PROUD LITTLE GRAIN OF 
 WHEAT. 
 
THE PROUD LITTLE GRAIN OF 
 WHEAT. 
 
 THERE once was a little grain of wheat which was very- 
 proud indeed. The first thing it remembered was be- 
 ing very much crowded and jostled by a great many 
 other grains of wheat, all living in the same sack in the 
 granary. It was quite dark in the sack, and no one could 
 move about, and so there was nothing to be done but to 
 sit still and talk and think. The proud little grain of wheat 
 talked a great deal, but did not think quite so much, while 
 its next neighbour thought a great deal and only talked when 
 it was asked questions it could answer. It used to say that 
 when it thought a great deal it could remember things which 
 it seemed to have heard a long time ago. 
 
 " What is the use of our staying here so long doing 
 nothing, and never being seen by anybody?" the proud little 
 grain once asked. 
 
 " I don't know," the learned grain replied. " I don't 
 know the answer to that. Ask me another." 
 
 " Why can't I sing like the birds that build their nests in 
 the roof ? I should like to sing, instead of sitting here in the 
 dark." 
 
 " Because you have no voice," said the learned grain. 
 
104 THE PROUD LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT 
 
 This was a very good answer indeed. 
 
 " Why didn't someone give me a voice, then — why 
 didn't they ? " said the proud little grain, getting very 
 cross. 
 
 The learned grain thought for several minutes. 
 
 " There might be two answers to that," she said at last. 
 " One might be that nobody had a voice to spare, and the 
 other might be that you have nowhere to put one if it were 
 given to you." 
 
 " Everybody is better off than I am," said the proud little 
 grain. " The birds can fly and sing, the children can play 
 and shout. I am sure I can get no rest for their shouting 
 and playing. There are two little boys who make enough 
 noise to deafen the whole sackful of us." 
 
 " Ah ! I know them," said the learned grain. " And it's 
 true they are noisy. Their names are Lionel and Vivian. 
 There is a thin place in the side of the sack, through which I 
 can see them. I would rather stay where I am than have to 
 do all they do. They have long yellow hair, and when they 
 stand on their heads the straw sticks in it and they look very 
 curious. I heard a strange thing through listening to them 
 the other day." 
 
 " What was it ?" asked the proud grain. 
 
 " They were playing in the straw, and someone came in to 
 them — it was a lady who had brought them something on a 
 plate. They began to dance and shout : ' It's cake ! It's cake ! 
 Nice little mamma for bringing us cake.' And then they 
 
THE PROUD LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT 105 
 
 each sat down with a piece and began to take great bites out 
 of it. I shuddered to think of it afterward." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Well, you know they are always asking questions, and 
 they began to ask questions of their mamma, who lay down 
 in the straw near them. She seemed to be used to it. These 
 are the questions Vivian asked : 
 
 " ' Who made the cake ?' 
 
 " ' The cook.' 
 
 " ' Who made the cook ?' 
 
 "'God.' 
 
 " ' What did He make her for?' 
 
 " ' Why didn't He make her white ? ' 
 
 " ' Why didn't He make you black ? ' 
 
 " ' Did He cut a hole in heaven and drop me through when 
 He made me ?' 
 
 " ' Why didn't it hurt me when I tumbled such a long 
 way ? ' 
 
 " She said she ' didn't know ' to all but the two first, and 
 then he asked two more. 
 
 " ' What is the cake made of ?' 
 
 " ' Flour, sugar, eggs and butter.' 
 
 " ' What is flour made of ? ' 
 
 " It was the answer to that which made me shudder." 
 
 " What was it ? " asked the proud grain. 
 
 " She said it was made of — wheat ! I don't see the ad- 
 vantage of being rich " 
 
106 THE PROUD LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT. 
 
 " Was the cake rich ? " asked the proud grain. 
 
 " Their mother said it was. She said, ' Don't eat it so fast 
 — it is very rich.' " 
 
 " Ah ! " said the proud grain. " I should like to be rich. 
 It must be very fine to be rich. If I am ever made into 
 cake, I mean to be so rich that no one will dare to eat me at 
 all." 
 
 " Ah ? " said the learned grain. " I don't think those boys 
 would be afraid to eat you, however rich you were. They 
 are not afraid of richness." 
 
 "They'd be afraid of me before they had done with me," 
 said the proud grain. " I am not a common grain of wheat. 
 Wait until I am made into cake. But gracious me ! there 
 doesn't seem much prospect of it while we are shut up here. 
 How dark and stuffy it is, and how we are crowded, and 
 what a stupid lot the other grains are ! I'm tired of it, I must 
 say. 
 
 " We are all in the same sack," said the learned grain, very 
 quietly. 
 
 It was a good many days after that, that something hap- 
 pened. Quite early in the morning, a man and a boy came 
 into the granary, and moved the sack of wheat from its place, 
 wakening all the grains from their last nap. 
 
 "What is the matter?" said the proud grain. "Who is 
 daring to disturb us ? " 
 
 " Hush ! " whispered the learned grain, in the most solemn 
 manner. " Something is going to happen. Something like 
 
THE PROUD LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT. 107 
 
 this happened to somebody belonging to me long ago. I seem 
 to remember it when I think very hard. I seem to remember 
 something about one of my family being sown." 
 
 " What is sown ? " demanded the other grain. 
 
 "It is being thrown into the earth," began the learned 
 grain. 
 
 Oh, what a passion the proud grain got into ! " Into the 
 earth?" she shrieked out. " Into the common earth ? The 
 earth is nothing but dirt, and I am not a common grain of 
 wheat. I won't be sown ! I will not be sown ! How dare 
 anyone sow me against my will ! I would rather stay in the 
 sack." 
 
 But just as she was saying it, she was thrown out with the 
 learned grain and some others into another dark place, and 
 carried off by the farmer, in spite of her temper ; for the 
 farmer could not hear her voice at all, and wouldn't have 
 minded if he had, because he knew she was only a grain of 
 wheat, and ought to be sown, so that some good might come 
 of her. 
 
 Well, she was carried out to a large field in the pouch 
 which the farmer wore at his belt. The field had been 
 ploughed, and there was a sweet smell of fresh earth in the 
 air ; the sky was a deep, deep blue, but the air was cool and 
 the few leaves on the trees were brown and dry, and looked 
 as if they had been left over from last year. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the learned grain. " It was just such a day 
 as this when my grandfather, or my father, or somebody else 
 
108 THE PROUD LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT. 
 
 related to me, was sown. I think I remember that it was 
 called Early Spring." 
 
 " As for me," said the proud grain, fiercely, " I should like 
 to see the man who would dare to sow me ! " 
 
 At that very moment, the farmer put his big, brown hand 
 into the bag and threw her, as she thought, at least half a 
 mile from them. 
 
 He had not thrown her so far as that, however, and she 
 landed safely in the shadow of a clod of rich earth, which the 
 sun had warmed through and through. She was quite out of 
 breath and very dizzy at first, but in a few seconds she began 
 to feel better and could not help looking around, in spite of 
 her anger, to see if there was anyone near to talk to. But 
 she saw no one, and so began to scold as usual. 
 
 " They not only sow me," she called out, "but they throw 
 me all by myself, where I can have no company at all. It is 
 disgraceful." 
 
 Then she heard a voice from the other side of the clod. It 
 was the learned grain, who had fallen there when the farmer 
 threw her out of his pouch. 
 
 " Don't be angry," it said, " I am here. We are all right 
 so far. Perhaps, when they cover us with the earth, we shall 
 be even nearer to each other than we are now." 
 
 " Do you mean to say they will cover us with the earth ?" 
 asked the proud grain. 
 
 " Yes," was the answer. " And there we shall lie in 
 the dark, and the rain will moisten us, and the sun will 
 
THE PROUD LITTLE GRALN OF WHEAT 109 
 
 warm us, until we grow larger and larger, and at last burst 
 open ! 
 
 " Speak for yourself," said the proud grain ; " I shall do 
 no such thine ! " 
 
 But it all happened just as the learned grain had said, 
 which showed what a wise grain it was, and how much it had 
 found out just by thinking hard and remembering all it could. 
 
 Before the day was over, they were covered snugly up 
 with the soft, fragrant, brown earth, and there they lay day 
 after day. 
 
 One morning, when the proud grain wakened, it found 
 itself wet through and through with rain which had fallen in 
 the night, and the next day the sun shone down and warmed 
 it so that it really began to be afraid that it would be obliged 
 to grow too large for its skin, which felt a little tight for it 
 already. 
 
 It said nothing of this to the learned grain, at first, because 
 it was determined not to burst if it could help it ; but after 
 the same thing had happened a great many times, it found, 
 one morning, that it really was swelling, and it felt obliged to 
 tell the learned grain about it. 
 
 "Well," it said, pettishly, " I suppose you will be glad to 
 hear that you were right. I am going to burst. My skin is 
 so tight now that it doesn't fit me at all, and I know I can't 
 stand another warm shower like the last." 
 
 "Oh!" said the learned grain, in a quiet way (really 
 learned people always have a quiet way), " I knew I was 
 
no THE PROUD LITTLE GRALN OF WHEAT 
 
 right, or I shouldn't have said so. I hope you don't find it 
 very uncomfortable. I think I myself shall burst by to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Of course I find it uncomfortable," said the proud grain. 
 " Who wouldn't find it uncomfortable, to be two or three 
 sizes too small for one's self ! Pouf ! Crack ! There I go ! 
 I have split up all up my right side, and I must say it's a 
 relief." 
 
 " Crack ! Pouf ! so have I," said the learned grain. " Now 
 we must begin to push up through the earth. I am sure my 
 relation did that." 
 
 " Well, I shouldn't mind getting out into the air. It 
 would be a change at least." 
 
 So each of them began to push her way through the earth 
 as strongly as she could, and, sure enough, it was not long 
 before the proud grain actually found herself out in the world 
 again, breathing the sweet air, under the blue sky, across 
 which fleecy white clouds were drifting, and swift-winged, 
 happy birds darting. 
 
 " It really is a lovely day," were the first words the proud 
 grain said. It couldn't help it. The sunshine was so delight- 
 ful, and the birds chirped and twittered so merrily in the 
 bare branches, and, more wonderful than all, the great field 
 was brown no longer, but was covered with millions of little, 
 fresh green blades, which trembled and bent their frail bodies 
 before the light wind. 
 
 " This is an improvement," said the proud grain. 
 
THE PROUD LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT. m 
 
 Then there was a little stir in the earth beside it, and up 
 through the brown mould came the learned grain, fresh, 
 bright, green, like the rest. 
 
 " I told you I was not a common grain of wheat," said the 
 proud one. 
 
 " You are not a grain of wheat at all now," said the learned 
 one, modestly. " You are a blade of wheat, and there are a 
 great many others like you." 
 
 " See how green I am !" said the proud blade. 
 
 "Yes, you are very green," said its companion. "You 
 will not be so green when you are older." 
 
 The proud grain, which must be called a blade now, had 
 plenty of change and company after this. It grew taller and 
 taller every day, and made a great many new acquaintances 
 as the weather grew warmer. These were little gold and 
 green beetles living near it, who often passed it, and now 
 and then stopped to talk a little about their children and their 
 journeys under the soil. Birds dropped down from the sky 
 sometimes to gossip and twitter of the nests they were build- 
 ing in the apple-trees, and the new songs they were learning 
 to sing. 
 
 Once, on a very warm day, a great golden butterfly, float- 
 ing by on his large lovely wings, fluttered down softly and lit 
 on the proud blade, who felt so much prouder when he did it 
 that she trembled for joy. 
 
 " He admires me more than all the rest in the field, you 
 see," it said, haughtily. "That is because I am so green." 
 
ii2 THE PROUD LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT 
 
 " If I were you," said the learned blade, in its modest 
 way, " I believe I would not talk so much about being green. 
 People will make such ill-natured remarks when one speaks 
 often of one's self." 
 
 " I am above such people," said the proud blade ; " I can 
 find nothing more interesting to talk of than myself." 
 
 As time went on, it was delighted to find that it grew 
 taller than any other blade in the field, and threw out other 
 blades ; and at last there grew out at the top of its stalk ever 
 so many plump, new little grains, all fitting closely together, 
 and wearing tight little green covers. 
 
 " Look at me ! " it said then. " I am the queen of all the 
 wheat. I have a crown." 
 
 " No," said its learned companion. " You are now an ear 
 of wheat." 
 
 And in a short time all the other stalks wore the same 
 kind of crown, and it found out that the learned blade was 
 right, and that it was only an ear, after all. 
 
 And now the weather had grown still warmer and the trees 
 were covered with leaves, and the birds sang and built their 
 nests in them and laid their little blue eggs, and in time, 
 wonderful to relate, there came baby birds, that were always 
 opening their mouths for food, and crying " peep, peep," to 
 their fathers and mothers. There were more butterflies 
 floating about on their amber and purple wings, and the gold 
 and green beetles were so busy they had no time to talk. 
 
 "Well!" said the proud ear of wheat (you remember it 
 
THE PROUD LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT. 113 
 
 was an ear by this time) to its companion one day. " You see, 
 you were right again. I am not so green as I was. I am 
 turning yellow — but yellow is the colour of gold, and I don't 
 object to looking like gold." 
 
 " You will soon be ripe," said its friend. 
 
 " And what will happen then ?" 
 
 " The reaping-machine will come and cut you down, and 
 other strange things will happen." 
 
 " There I make a stand," said the proud ear, " I will not be 
 cut down." 
 
 But it was just as the wise ear said it would be. Not long 
 after a reaping-machine was brought and driven back and 
 forth in the fields, and down went all the wheat ears before 
 the great knives. But it did not hurt the wheat, of course, 
 and only the proud ear felt angry. 
 
 "I am the colour of gold," it said, "and yet they have 
 dared to cut me down. What will they do next, I wonder?" 
 
 What they did next was to bunch it up with other wheat 
 and tie it and stack it together, and then it was carried in a 
 wagon and laid in the barn. 
 
 Then there was a great bustle after a while. The farmer's 
 wife and daughters and her two servants began to work as 
 hard as they could. 
 
 " The threshers are coming," they said, " and we must make 
 plenty of things for them to eat." 
 
 So they made pies and cakes and bread until their cupboards 
 were full ; and surely enough the threshers did come with the 
 
ii4 THE PROUD LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT. 
 
 threshing-machine, which was painted red, and went " Puff ! 
 puff ! puff ! rattle ! rattle ! " all the time. And the proud 
 wheat was threshed out by it, and found itself in grains again 
 and very much out of breath. 
 
 " I look almost as I was at first," it said ; " only there are 
 so many of me. I am grander than ever now. I was only 
 one grain of wheat at first, and now I am at least fifty." 
 
 When it was put into a sack, it managed to get all its 
 grains together in one place, so that it might feel as grand as 
 possible. It was so proud that it felt grand, however much 
 it was knocked about. 
 
 It did not lie in the sack very long this time before some- 
 thing else happened. One morning it heard the farmer's wife 
 saying to the coloured boy: 
 
 " Take this yere sack of wheat to the mill, Jerry. I want 
 to try it when I make that thar cake for the boarders. Them 
 two children from Washington city are powerful hands for 
 cake." 
 
 So Jerry lifted the sack up and threw it over his shoulder, 
 and carried it out into the spring-waggon. 
 
 " Now we are going to travel," said the proud wheat. 
 " Don't let us be separated." 
 
 At that minute, there were heard two young voices, 
 shouting : — 
 
 " Jerry, take us in the waggon ! Let us go to mill, Jerry. 
 We want to go to mill." 
 
 And these were the very two boys who had played in the 
 
THE PROUD LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT 115 
 
 granary and made so much noise the summer before. They 
 had grown a little bigger, and their yellow hair was longer, 
 but they looked just as they used to, with their strong little 
 legs and big brown eyes, and their sailor hats set so far back 
 on their heads that it was a wonder they stayed on. And 
 gracious ! how they shouted and ran. 
 
 " What does yer mar say ?" asked Jerry. 
 
 " Says we can go ! " shouted both at once, as if Jerry had 
 been deaf, which he wasn't at all — quite the contrary. 
 
 So Jerry, who was very good-natured, lifted them in, and 
 cracked his whip, and the horses started off. It was a long 
 ride to the mill, but Lionel and Vivian were not too tired to 
 shout again when they reached it. They shouted at sight 
 of the creek and the big wheel turning round and round 
 slowly, with the water dashing and pouring and foaming 
 over it. 
 
 " What turns the wheel ?" asked Vivian. 
 
 " The water, honey," said Jerry. 
 
 " What turns the water ? " 
 
 " Well now, honey," said Jerry, " you hev me thar. I don't 
 know nuffin 'bout it. Lors-a-massy, what a boy you is fur 
 axin dif'cult questions." 
 
 Then he carried the sack in to the miller, and said he would 
 wait until the wheat was ground. 
 
 " Ground ! " said the proud wheat. " We are going to be 
 ground. I hope it is agreeable. Let us keep close together." 
 
 They did keep close together, but it wasn't very agreeable 
 
n6 THE PROUD LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT 
 
 to be poured into a hopper and then crushed into fine powder 
 between two big stones. 
 
 " Makes nice flour," said the miller, rubbing it between his 
 fingers. 
 
 " Flour ! " said the wheat — which was wheat no loneer. 
 " Now I am flour, and I am finer than ever. How white I 
 am ! I really would rather be white than green or gold colour. 
 I wonder where the learned grain is, and if it is as fine and 
 white as I am ? " 
 
 But the learned grain and her family had been laid away 
 in the granary for seed wheat. 
 
 Before the waggon reached the house again, the two boys 
 were fast asleep in the bottom of it, and had to be helped out 
 just as the sack was, and carried in. 
 
 The sack was taken into the kitchen at once and opened, 
 and even in its wheat days the flour had never been so proud 
 as it was when it heard the farmer's wife say — 
 
 " I'm going to make this into cake." 
 
 " Ah ! " it said ; " I thought so. Now I shall be rich, and 
 admired by everybody." 
 
 The farmer's wife then took some of it out in a large white 
 bowl, and after that she busied herself beating eggs and sugar 
 and butter all together in another bowl : and after a while she 
 took the flour and beat it in also. 
 
 " Now I am in grand company," said the flour. " The eggs 
 and butter are the colour of gold, the sugar is like silver or 
 diamonds. This is the very society for me." 
 
THE PROUD LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT. 117 
 
 " The cake looks rich," said one of the daughters. 
 
 " It's rather too rich for them children," said her mother. 
 " But Lawsey, I dunno, neither. Nothin' don't hurt 'em. I 
 reckon they could eat a panel of rail fence and come to no 
 harm." 
 
 " I'm rich," said the flour to itself. " That is just what I 
 intended from the first. I am rich and I am a cake." 
 
 Just then, a pair of big brown eyes came and peeped into 
 it. They belonged to a round little head with a mass of 
 tangled curls all over it — they belonged to Vivian. 
 
 " What's that ?" he asked. 
 
 " Cake." 
 
 " Who made it ? " 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " I like you," said Vivian. " You're such a nice woman. 
 Who's going to eat any of it ? Is Lionel ?" 
 
 " I'm afraid it's too rich for boys," said the woman, but she 
 laughed and kissed him. 
 
 " No," said Vivian. " I'm afraid it isn't." 
 
 " I shall be much too rich," said the cake, angrily. " Boys, 
 indeed. I was made for something better than boys." 
 
 After that, it was poured into a cake-mould, and put into 
 the oven, where it had rather an unpleasant time of it. It 
 was so hot in there that if the farmer's wife had not watched 
 it carefully, it would have been burned. 
 
 " But I am cake," it said, "and of the richest kind, so I 
 can bear it, even if it is uncomfortable." 
 
n8 THE PROUD LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT. 
 
 When it was taken out, it really was cake, and it felt as if 
 it was quite satisfied. Everyone who came into the kitchen 
 and saw it, said — 
 
 "Oh, what a nice cake! How well your new flour has 
 done ! " 
 
 But just once, while it was cooling, it had a curious, dis- 
 agreeable feeling. It found, all at once, that the two 
 boys, Lionel and Vivian, had come quietly into the kitchen 
 and stood near the table, looking at the cake with their 
 great eyes wide open and their little red mouths open, 
 too. 
 
 " Dear me," it said. " How nervous I feel — actually 
 nervous. What great eyes they have, and how they shine ! 
 and what are those sharp white things in their mouths ? I 
 really don't like them to look at me in that way. It seems 
 like something personal. I wish the farmer's wife would 
 come." 
 
 Such a chill ran over it, that it was quite cool when the 
 woman came in, and she put it away in the cupboard on a 
 plate. 
 
 But, that very afternoon, she took it out again and set it 
 on the table on a glass cake-stand. She put some leaves 
 around it to make it look nice, and it noticed there were 
 a great many other things on the table, and they all looked 
 fresh and bright. 
 
 " This is all in my honour," it said. " They know I am 
 rich." 
 
there's the cake," he said. 
 
THE PROUD LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT 121 
 
 Then several people came in and took chairs around the 
 table. 
 
 " They all come to sit and look at me," said the vain cake. 
 " I wish the learned orain could see me now." 
 
 There was a little high-chair on each side of the table, 
 and at first these were empty, but in a few minutes the door 
 opened and in came the two little boys. They had pretty, 
 clean dresses on, and their " bangs " and curls were bright 
 with being brushed. 
 
 " Even they have been dressed up to do me honour," 
 thought the cake. 
 
 But, the next minute, it began to feel quite nervous again. 
 Vivian's chair was near the glass stand, and when he had 
 climbed up and seated himself, he put one elbow on the table 
 and rested his fat chin on his fat hand, and fixing his eyes on 
 the cake, sat and stared at it in such an unnaturally quiet 
 manner for some seconds, that any cake might well have felt 
 nervous. 
 
 "There's the cake," he said, at last, in such a deeply 
 thoughtful voice that the cake felt faint with anger. 
 
 Then a remarkable thing happened. Some one drew the 
 stand toward them and took the knife and cut out a large slice 
 of the cake. 
 
 " Go away," said the cake, though no one heard it. " I am 
 cake ! I am rich ! I am not for boys ! How dare you ?" 
 
 Vivian stretched out his hand ; he took the slice ; he lifted 
 it up, and then the cake saw his red mouth open — yes, open 
 
12$ THE PROUD LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT 
 
 wider than it could have believed possible — wide enough to 
 show two dreadful rows of little sharp white things. 
 
 " Good gra ■" it began. 
 
 But it never said "cious." Never at all. For in two 
 minutes Vivian had eaten it ! ! 
 
 And there was an end of its airs and graces. 
 
BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK. 
 
BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK. 
 
 IT began with Aunt Hetty's being out of temper, which, it 
 must be confessed, was nothing new. At its best, Aunt 
 Hetty's temper was none of the most charming, and this 
 morning it was at its worst. She had awakened to the con- 
 sciousness of having a hard day's work before her, and she 
 had awakened late, and so everything had gone wrong from 
 the first. There was a sharp ring in her voice when she 
 came to Jem's bedroom door and called out, "Jemima, get up 
 this minute ! " 
 
 Jem knew what to expect when Aunt Hetty began a day 
 by calling her "Jemima." It was one of the poor child's 
 grievances that she had been given such an ugly name. In 
 all the books she had read, and she had read a great many, 
 Jem never had met a heroine who was called Jemima. But 
 it had been her mother's favourite sister's name, and so it had 
 fallen to her lot. Her mother always called her "Jem," or 
 " Mimi," which was much prettier, and even Aunt Hetty only 
 reserved Jemima for unpleasant state occasions. 
 
 It was a dreadful day to Jem. Her mother was not at 
 home, and would not be until night. She had been called 
 away unexpectedly, and had been obliged to leave Jem and 
 the baby to Aunt Hetty's mercies. 
 
126 BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK. 
 
 So Jem found herself busy enough. Scarcely had she 
 finished doing one thing, when Aunt Hetty told her to begin 
 another. She wiped dishes and picked fruit and attended to 
 the baby ; and when baby had gone to sleep, and everything 
 else seemed disposed of, for a time, at least, she was so tired 
 that she was Mad to sit down. 
 
 o 
 
 And then she thought of the book she had been reading 
 the night before — a certain delightful story book, about a little 
 girl whose name. was Flora, and who was so happy and rich 
 and pretty and good that Jem had likened her to the little 
 princesses one reads about, to whose christening feast every 
 fairy brings a gift. 
 
 " I shall have time to finish my chapter before dinner-time 
 comes," said Jem, and she sat down snugly in one corner of 
 the wide, old fashioned fireplace. 
 
 But she had not read more than two pages before some- 
 thing dreadful happened. Aunt Hetty came into the room in 
 a great hurry — in such a hurry, indeed, that she caught her 
 foot in the matting and fell, striking her elbow sharply against 
 a chair, which so upset her temper that the moment she found 
 herself on her feet she flew at Jem. 
 
 " What ! " she said, snatching the book from her, " reading 
 again, when I am running all over the house for you ?" And 
 she flung the pretty little blue covered volume into the fire. 
 
 Jem sprang to rescue it with a cry, but it was impossible 
 to reach it ; it had fallen into a great hollow of red coal, and 
 the blaze caught it at once. 
 
BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK. 127 
 
 "You are a wicked woman!" cried Jem, in a dreadful 
 passion, to Aunt Hetty. "You are a wicked woman." 
 
 Then matters reached a climax. Aunt Hetty boxed her 
 ears, pushed her back on her little footstool, and walked out 
 of the room. 
 
 Jem hid her face on her arms and cried as if her heart 
 would break. She cried until her eyes were heavy, and she 
 thought she should be obliged to go to sleep. But just as 
 she was thinking of going to sleep, something fell down the 
 chimney and made her look up. It was a piece of mortar, 
 and it brought a good deal of soot with it. She bent forward 
 and looked up to see where it had come from. The chimney 
 was so very wide that this was easy enough. She could see 
 where the mortar had fallen from the side and left a white 
 patch. 
 
 "How white it looks against the black!" said Jem; 
 "it is like a white brick among the black ones. What a 
 queer place a chimney is ! I can see a bit of the blue sky, I 
 think." 
 
 And then a funny thought came into her fanciful little 
 head. What a many things were burned in the big fireplace 
 and vanished in smoke or tinder up the chimney ! Where did 
 everything go ? There was Flora, for instance — Flora who 
 was represented on the frontispiece — with lovely, soft, flowing 
 hair, and a little fringe on her pretty round forehead, crowned 
 with a circlet of daisies, and a laugh in her wide-awake round 
 eyes. Where was she by this time ? Certainly there was 
 
128 BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK. 
 
 nothing left of her in the fire. Jem almost began to cry again 
 at the thought. 
 
 " It was too bad," she said. " She was so pretty and funny, 
 and I did like her so." 
 
 I daresay it scarcely will be credited by unbelieving people 
 when I tell them what happened next, it was such a very 
 singular thing, indeed. 
 
 Jem felt herself gradually lifted off her little footstool. 
 
 " Oh ! " she said, timidly, " I feel very light." She did feel 
 light, indeed. She felt so light that she was sure she was 
 rising gently in the air. 
 
 "Oh," she said again, " how — how very light I feel ! Oh, 
 dear, I'm going up the chimney ! " 
 
 It was rather strange that she never thought of calling 
 for help, but she did not. She was not easily frightened ; and 
 now she was only wonderfully astonished, as she remem- 
 bered afterwards. She shut her eyes tight and gave a little 
 gasp. 
 
 "I've heard Aunt Hetty talk about the draught drawing 
 things up the chimney, but I never knew it was as strong as 
 this," she said. 
 
 She went up, up, up, quietly and steadily, and without any 
 uncomfortable feeling at all ; and then all at once she stopped, 
 feeling that her feet rested against something solid. She 
 opened her eyes and looked about her, and there she was, 
 standing right opposite the white brick, her feet on a tiny 
 ledge. 
 
BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK. 129 
 
 "Well," she said, "this is funny." 
 
 But the next thing that happened was funnier still. She 
 found that, without thinking what she was doing, she was 
 knocking on the white brick with her knuckles, as if it was 
 a door and she expected somebody to open it. The next 
 minute she heard footsteps, and then a sound, as if some one 
 was drawing- back a little bolt. 
 
 " It is a door," said Jem, "and somebody is going to open 
 it. 
 
 The white brick moved a little, and some more mortar and 
 soot fell ; then the brick moved a little more, and then it slid 
 aside and left an open space. 
 
 "It's a room!" cried Jem. "There's a room behind 
 it!" 
 
 And so there was, and before the open space stood a pretty 
 little girl, with long lovely hair and a fringe on her forehead. 
 Jem elapsed her hands in amazement. It was Flora herself, 
 as she looked in the picture, and Flora stood laughing and 
 nodding. 
 
 "Come in," she said. " I thought it was you." 
 
 " But how can I come in through such a little place ? '' 
 asked Jem. 
 
 " Oh, that is easy enough." said Flora. " Here, give me 
 your hand." 
 
 Jem did as she told her, and found that it was easy 
 enough. In an instant she had passed through the opening, 
 the white brick had gone back to its place, and she was 
 9 
 
i 3 o BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK. 
 
 standing by Flora's side in a large room — the nicest room 
 she had ever seen. It was big and lofty and light, and there 
 were all kinds of delightful things in it — books and flowers 
 and playthings and pictures, and in one corner a great cage 
 full of love-birds. 
 
 "Have I ever seen it before?" asked Jem, glancing 
 slowly round. 
 
 " Yes," said Flora ; "you saw it last night — in your mind. 
 Don't you remember it ?" 
 
 Jem shook her head. 
 
 " I feel as if I did, but " 
 
 "Why," said Flora, laughing, " it's my room, the one you 
 read about last night." 
 
 " So it is," sai-d Jem. " But how did you come here ? " 
 
 "I can't tell you that; I myself don't know. But I am 
 here, and so " — rather mysteriously — " are a great many 
 other things." 
 
 "Are they?" said Jem, very much interested. "What 
 things ? Burned things ? I was just wondering " 
 
 " Not only burned things," said Flora, nodding. " Just 
 come with me and I'll show you something." 
 
 She led the way out of the room and down a little pas- 
 sage with several doors in each side of it, and she opened 
 one door and showed Jem what was on the other side of it. 
 That was a room, too, and this time it was funny as well as 
 pretty. Both floor and walls were padded with rose colour, 
 and the floor was strewn with toys. There were big soft 
 
BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK. 131 
 
 balls, rattles, horses, woolly dogs, and a doll or so ; there 
 was one low cushioned chair and a low table. 
 
 " You can come in," said a shrill little voice behind the 
 door, " only mind you don't tread on things." 
 
 " What a funny little voice!" said Jem, but she had no 
 sooner said it than she jumped back. 
 
 The owner of the voice, who had just come forward, 
 was no other than Baby. 
 
 " Why," exclaimed Jem, beginning to feel frightened, " I 
 left you fast asleep in your crib." 
 
 " Did you ? " said Baby, somewhat scornfully. " That's 
 just the way with you grown-up people. You think you 
 know everything, and yet you haven't discretion enough to 
 know when a pin is sticking into one. You'd know soon 
 enough if you had one sticking into your own back." 
 
 " But I'm not grown up," stammered Jem ; " and when 
 you are at home you can neither walk nor talk. You're not 
 six months old." 
 
 " Well, miss," retorted Baby, whose wrongs seemed to 
 have soured her disposition somewhat, "you have no need 
 to throw that in my teeth ; you were not six months old, 
 either, when you were my age." 
 
 Jem could not help laughing. 
 
 " You haven't got any teeth," she said. 
 
 " Haven't I ?" said Baby, and she displayed two beauti- 
 ful rows with some haughtiness of manner. " When I am up 
 here," she said, " I am supplied with the modern conveniences, 
 
1 32 BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK. 
 
 and that's why I never complain. Do I ever cry when I am 
 asleep ? It's not falling asleep I object to, it's falling awake." 
 
 " Wait a minute," said Jem. "Are you asleep now?" 
 
 " I'm what you call asleep. I can only come here when 
 I'm what you call asleep. Asleep, indeed ! It's no wonder 
 we always cry when we have to fall awake." 
 
 " But we don't mean to be unkind to you," protested 
 Jem, meekly. 
 
 She could not help thinking Baby was very severe. 
 
 " Don't mean ! " said Baby. " Well, why don't you think 
 more, then ? How would you like to have all the nice things 
 snatched away from you, and all the old rubbish packed off 
 on you, as if you hadn't any sense ? How would you like to 
 have to sit and stare at things you wanted, and not to be able 
 to reach them, or, if you did reach them, have them fall out 
 of your hand, and roll away in the most unfeeling manner ? 
 And then be scolded and called ' cross ! ' It's no wonder we 
 are bald. You'd be bald yourself. It's trouble and worry 
 that keep us bald until we can begin to take care of our- 
 selves ; I had more hair than this at first, but it fell off, as well 
 it might. No philosopher ever thought of that, I suppose ! " 
 
 " Well," said Jem, in despair, " I hope you enjoy your- 
 self when you are here ? " 
 
 "Yes, I do," answered Baby. "That's one comfort. 
 There is nothing to knock my head against, and things have 
 patent stoppers on them, so that they can't roll away, and 
 everything is soft and easy to pick up." 
 
BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK. 133 
 
 There was a slight pause after this, and Baby seemed to 
 cool down. 
 
 " I suppose you would like me to show you round ? " she said. 
 
 " Not if you have any objection," replied Jem, who was 
 rather subdued. 
 
 " I would as soon do it as not," said Baby. " You are 
 not as bad as some people, though you do get my clothes 
 twisted when you hold me." 
 
 Upon the whole, she seemed rather proud of her position. 
 It was evident she quite regarded herself as hostess. She 
 held her small bald head very high indeed, as she trotted on 
 before them. She stopped at the first door she came to, and 
 knocked three times. She was obliged to stand upon tiptoe 
 to reach the knocker. 
 
 " He's sure to be at home at this time of year," she 
 remarked. "This is the busy season." 
 
 " Who's ' he ' ? " inquired Jem. 
 
 But Flora only laughed at Miss Baby's consequential air. 
 
 " S. C, to be sure," was the answer, as the young lady 
 pointed to the door-plate, upon which Jem noticed, for the 
 first time, " S. C." in very large letters. 
 
 The door opened, apparently without assistance, and they 
 entered the apartment. 
 
 "Good gracious!" exclaimed Jem, the next minute. 
 " Goodness gracious ! " 
 
 She miorht well be astonished. It was such a lone room 
 that she could not see to the end of it, and it was piled up 
 
134 BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK. 
 
 from floor to ceiling with toys of every description, and there 
 was such bustle and buzzing in it that it was quite confusing. 
 The bustle and buzzing arose from a very curious cause, too, 
 — it was the bustle and buzz of hundreds of tiny men and 
 women who were working at little tables no higher than 
 mushrooms, — the pretty tiny women cutting out and sewing, 
 the pretty tiny men sawing and hammering and all talking 
 at once. The principal person in the place escaped Jem's 
 notice at first ; but it was not long before she saw him, — a 
 little old gentleman, with a rosy face and sparkling eyes, 
 sitting at a desk, and writing in a book almost as big as 
 himself. He was so busy that he was quite excited, and had 
 been obliged to throw his white fur coat and cap aside, and 
 he was at work in his red waistcoat. 
 
 "Look here, if you please," piped Baby. "I have brought 
 some one to see you." 
 
 When he turned round, Jem recognized him at once. 
 
 "Eh! Eh!" he said. "What! What! Who's this, 
 Tootsicums ? " 
 
 Baby's manner became very acid indeed. 
 
 " I shouldn't have thought you would have said that, Mr. 
 Claus," she remarked. " I can't help myself down below, but 
 I generally have my rights respected up here. I should like 
 to know what sane godfather or godmother would give one 
 the name of 'Tootsicums' in one's baptism. They are bad 
 enough, I must say; but I never heard of any of them calling 
 a person 'Tootsicums.'" 
 
■jj " - , 
 
 "eh! eh!" he said, "what! what! who's this, tootsicums?" 
 
BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK. 137 
 
 "Come, come!" said S. C, chuckling comfortably and 
 rubbing his hands. " Don't be too dignified, — it's a bad 
 thing. And don't be too fond of flourishing your rights in 
 people's faces, — that's the worst of all, Miss Midget. Folks 
 who make such a fuss about their rights turn them into 
 wrongs sometimes." 
 
 Then he turned suddenly to Jem. 
 
 " You are the little crirl from down below," he said. 
 
 "Yes, sir," answered Jem. "I'm Jem, and this is my friend 
 Flora, — out of the blue book." 
 
 " I'm happy to make her acquaintance," said S. C, " and 
 I'm happy to make yours. You are a nice child, though a 
 trifle peppery. I'm very glad to see you." 
 
 "I'm very glad indeed to see you, sir," said Jem. "I 
 wasn't quite sure " 
 
 But there she stopped, feeling that it would be scarcely 
 polite to tell him that she had begun of late years to lose 
 faith in him. 
 
 But S. C. only chuckled more comfortably than ever and 
 rubbed his hands aeain. 
 
 " Ho, ho ! " he said. " You know who I am, then ? " 
 
 Jem hesitated a moment, wondering whether it would not 
 be taking a liberty to mention his name without putting 
 " Mr." before it ; then she remembered what Baby had called 
 him. 
 
 " Baby called you ' Mr. Claus,' sir," she replied ; " and I 
 have seen pictures of you." 
 
138 BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK. 
 
 "To be sure," said S. C. "S. Claus, Esquire, of Chim- 
 neyland. How do you like me ?" 
 
 " Very much," answered Jem ; " very much, indeed, sir." 
 
 " Glad of it ! Glad of it ! But what was it you were go- 
 ing to say you were not quite sure of ?" 
 
 Jem blushed a little. 
 
 " I was not quite sure that — that you were true, sir. At 
 least I have not been quite sure since I have been older." 
 
 S. C. rubbed the bald part of his head and gave a little 
 sigh. 
 
 " I hope I have not hurt your feelings, sir," faltered Jem, 
 who was a very kind hearted little soul. 
 
 " Well, no," said S. C. "Not exactly. And it is not your 
 fault either. It is natural, I suppose; at anyrate, it is the way 
 of the world. People lose their belief in a great many things 
 as they grow older ; but that does not make the things not 
 true, thank goodness ! and their faith often comes back after 
 a while. But, bless me!" he added, briskly, "I'm moralizing, 
 and who thanks a man for doing that ? Suppose " 
 
 " Black eyes or blue, sir ? " said a tiny voice close to them. 
 
 Jem and Flora turned round, and saw it was one of the 
 small workers who was asking the question. 
 
 "Whom for?" inquired S. C. 
 
 " Little girl in the red brick house at the corner," said the 
 workwoman ; "name of Birdie." 
 
 " Excuse me a moment," said S. C. to the children, and he 
 turned to the bis: book and began to run his fingers down the 
 
BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK. 139 
 
 pages in a business-like manner. " Ah! here she is !" he ex- 
 claimed at last. " Blue eyes, if you please, Thistle, and 
 golden hair. And let it be a big one. She takes good care 
 of them." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Thistle ; " I am personally acquainted 
 with several dolls in her family. I go to parties in her dolls' 
 house sometimes when she is fast asleep at night, and they 
 all speak very highly of her. She is most attentive to them 
 when they are ill. In fact, her pet doll is a cripple, with a 
 stiff leg." 
 
 She ran back to her work and S. C. finished his sentence. 
 
 " Suppose I show you my establishment," he said. " Come 
 with me." 
 
 It really would be quite impossible to describe the wonder- 
 ful things he showed them. Jem's head was quite in a whirl 
 before she had seen one-half of them, and even Baby con- 
 descended to become excited. 
 
 "There must be a great many children in the world, Mr. 
 Claus," ventured Jem. 
 
 "Yes, yes, millions of 'em ; bless 'em," said S. C, growing 
 rosier with delight at the very thought. " We never run out 
 of them, that's one comfort. There's a larg^e and varied 
 assortment always on hand. Fresh ones every year, too, so 
 that when one grows too old there is a new one ready. I 
 have a place like this in every twelfth chimney. Now it's 
 boys, now it's girls, always one or t'other; and there's no end 
 of playthings for them, too, I'm glad to say. For girls, the 
 
M o BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK. 
 
 great thing seems to be dolls. Blitzen ! what comfort they 
 do take in dolls ! but the boys are for horses and racket." 
 
 They were standing near a table where a worker was just 
 putting the finishing touch to the dress of a large wax doll, 
 and just at that moment, to Jem's surprise, she set it on the 
 floor, upon its feet, quite coolly. 
 
 " Thank you," said the doll, politely. 
 
 Jem quite jumped. 
 
 ''You can join the rest now and introduce yourself," said 
 the worker. 
 
 The doll looked over her shoulder at her train. 
 
 " It hangs very nicely," she said. " I hope it's the latest 
 fashion." 
 
 "Mine never talked like that," said Flora. "My best one 
 could only say ' Mamma,' and it said it very badly, too." 
 
 " She was foolish for saying it at all," remarked the doll, 
 haughtily. "We don't talk and walk before ordinary people ; 
 we keep our accomplishments for our own amusement, and 
 for the amusement of our friends. If you should chance to 
 get up in the middle of the night, some time, or should run 
 into the room suddenly some day, after you have left it, 
 you might hear — but what is the use of talking to human 
 beings ? " 
 
 " You know a great deal, considering you are only just 
 finished," snapped Baby, who really was a Tartar. 
 
 "I was finished," retorted the doll. "I did not begin 
 life as a baby ! " very scornfully. 
 
BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK. 141 
 
 " Pooh !" said Baby. '' We improve as we get older." 
 
 " I hope so, indeed," answered the doll. " There is plenty of 
 room for improvement." And she walked away in great state. 
 
 S. C. looked at Baby and then shook his head. " I shall 
 not have to take very much care of you," he said, absent- 
 mindedly. " You are able to take pretty good care of 
 yourself." 
 
 " I hope I am," said Baby, tossing her head. 
 
 S. C. gave his head another shake. 
 
 " Don't take too good care of yourself," he said. •" That's 
 a bad thing, too." 
 
 He showed them the rest of his wonders, and then went 
 with them to the door to bid them good-bye. 
 
 " I am sure we are very much obliged to you, Mr. Claus," 
 said Jem, gratefully. " I shall never again think you are not 
 true, sir." 
 
 S. C. patted her shoulder quite affectionately. 
 
 "That's right," he said. "Believe in things just as long 
 as you can, my dear. Good-bye until Christmas Eve. I 
 shall see you then, if you don't see me." 
 
 He must have taken quite a fancy to Jem, for he stood 
 looking at her, and seemed very reluctant to close the door, 
 and even after he had closed it, and they had turned away, 
 he opened it a little again to call to her. 
 
 " Believe in things as long as you can, my dear." 
 
 " How kind he is!" exclaimed Jem, full of pleasure. 
 
 Baby shrugged her shoulders. 
 
i 4 2 BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK. 
 
 " Well enough in his way," she said, " but rather inclined 
 to prose and be old-fashioned." 
 
 Jem looked at her, feeling - rather frightened, but she said 
 nothing. 
 
 Baby showed very little interest in the next room she took 
 them to. 
 
 " I don't care about this place," she said, as she threw open 
 the door. " It has nothing but old things in it. It is the 
 Nobody-knows-where room." 
 
 She had scarcely finished speaking before Jem made a little 
 spring and picked something up. 
 
 "Here's my old strawberry pincushion!" she cried out. 
 And then, with another jump and another dash at two or 
 three other things, " And here's my old fairy-book ! And 
 here's my little locket I lost last summer ! How did they 
 come here ? " 
 
 "They went Nobody-knows-where," said Baby. 
 
 " And this is it." 
 
 " But cannot I have them again," asked Jem. 
 
 "No," answered Baby. "Things that go to Nobody- 
 knows-where stay there." 
 
 " Oh ! " sighed Jem, " I am so sorry." 
 
 " They are only old things," said Baby. 
 
 " But I like my old things," said Jem. " I love them. 
 And there is mother's needle case. I wish I might take that. 
 Her dead little sister gave it to her, and she was so sorry 
 when she lost it." 
 
BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK. 143 
 
 " People ought to take better care of their things," re- 
 marked Baby. 
 
 Jem would have liked to stay in this room and wander 
 about among her old favourites for a long time, but Baby was 
 in a hurry. 
 
 " You'd better come away," she said. " Suppose I was to 
 have to fall awake and leave you ? " 
 
 The next place they went into was the most wonderful 
 of all. 
 
 " This is the Wish room," said Baby. " Your wishes 
 come here — yours and mother's, and Aunt Hetty's and father's 
 and mine. When did you wish that?" 
 
 Each article was placed under a glass shade, and labeled 
 with the words and name of the wishers. Some of them 
 were beautiful, indeed ; but the tall shade Baby nodded at 
 when she asked her question was truly alarming, and caused 
 Jem a dreadful pang of remorse. Underneath it sat Aunt 
 Hetty, with her mouth stitched up so that she could not 
 speak a word, and beneath the stand was a label bearing 
 these words, in large black letters — 
 
 " I wish Aunt Hetty's mouth was sewed up. Jern." 
 
 " Oh, dear !" cried Jem, in great distress. " How it must 
 have hurt her ! How unkind of me to say it ! I wish I 
 hadn't wished it. I wish it would come undone." 
 
 She had no sooner said it than her wish was gratified. 
 The old label disappeared and a new one showed itself, and 
 there sat Aunt Hetty, looking herself again, and even smiling. 
 
144 BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK. 
 
 Jem was grateful beyond measure, but Baby seemed to 
 consider her weak minded. 
 
 " It served her right," she said. 
 
 " But when, after looking at the wishes at that end of 
 the room, they went to the other end, her turn came. In 
 one corner stood a shade with a baby under it, and the baby 
 was Miss Baby herself, but looking as she very rarely looked ; 
 in fact, it was the brightest, best tempered baby one could 
 imagine." 
 
 " I wish I had a better tempered baby. Mother," was 
 written on the label. 
 
 Baby became quite red in the face with anger and confusion. 
 
 " That wasn't here the last time I came," she said. " And 
 it is right down mean in mother ! " 
 
 This was more than Jem could bear. 
 
 " It wasn't mean," she said. " She couldn't help it. You 
 know you are a cross baby — everybody says so." 
 
 Baby turned two shades redder. 
 
 " Mind your own business," she retorted. " It was mean ; 
 and as to that silly little thing being better than I am," turn- 
 ing up her small nose, which was quite turned up enough by 
 Nature — " I must say I don't see anything so very grand 
 about her. So, there ! " 
 
 She scarcely condescended to speak to them while they 
 remained in the Wish room, and when they left it, and went 
 to the last door in the passage, she quite scowled at it. 
 
 " I don't know whether I shall open it at all," she said. 
 
BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK. 
 
 i45 
 
 " Why not ? " asked Flora. " You might as well." 
 
 " It is the Lost pin room," she said. " I hate pins." 
 
 She threw the door open with a bang, and then stood and 
 shook her little fist viciously. The room was full of pins, 
 stacked solidly together. There were hundreds of them — 
 thousands — millions, it seemed. 
 
 " I'm glad they are lost ! " she said. " I wish there were 
 more of them there." 
 
 " I didn't know there were so many pins in the world," 
 said Jem. 
 
 "Pooh ! " said Baby. " Those .are only the lost ones that 
 have belonged to our family." 
 
 After this they went back to Flora's room and sat down, 
 while Flora told Jem the rest of her story. 
 
 " Oh !" sighed Jem, when she came to the end. " How 
 delightful it is to be here ! Can I never come again ? " 
 
 " In one way you can," said Flora. " When you want to 
 come, just sit down and be as quiet as possible, and shut your 
 eyes and think very hard about it. You can see everything 
 you have seen to-day, if you try." 
 
 "Then I shall be sure to try," Jem answered. She was 
 going to ask some other question, but Baby stopped her. 
 
 "Oh! I'm falling awake," she whimpered, crossly, rubbing 
 her eyes. " I'm falling awake again." 
 
 And then, suddenly, a very strange feeling came over Jem. 
 Flora and the pretty room seemed to fade away, and, without 
 being able to account for it at all, she found herself sitting on 
 
1 46 BEHIND THE WHITE BRICK. 
 
 her little stool again, with a beautiful scarlet and gold book 
 on her knee, and her mother standing by laughing at her 
 amazed face. As to Miss Baby, she was crying as hard as 
 she could in her crib. 
 
 " Mother !" Jem cried out, "have you really come home 
 so early as this, and — and," rubbing her eyes in great amaze- 
 ment, '' how did I come down ? " 
 
 "Don't I look as if I was real?" said her mother, laughing 
 and kissing her. " And doesn't your present look real ? I 
 don't know how you came down, I'm sure. Where have you 
 been ? " 
 
 Jem shook her head very mysteriously. She saw that her 
 mother fancied she had been asleep, but she herself knew 
 better. 
 
 " I know you youldn't believe it was true if I told you," 
 she said ; " I have been 
 
 Behind the White Brick." 
 
SCRIBNER'S 'BOOKS FOT{ THE YOUNG. 
 
 SARA CREWE; 
 
 OR, WHAT HAPPENED AT MISS MINCHIN'S. 
 BY FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT. 
 
 Richly and Fully Illustrated by R. B. Birch. 
 
 One volume, square 8vo, ..... $1.00. 
 
 As a beautiful story filled with an exquisite pathos and sweet- 
 ness, " Sara Crewe" took rank at once with the author's famous 
 "Little Lord Fauntleroy,"now in its one hundred and sixteenth 
 thousand. As her former story had a boy for its hero, so this 
 has a girl for its heroine — a weird, queer little creature, whose 
 elfish cleverness and odd ways with her romantic imaginings 
 and "supposes," are made of striking interest by the exquisite 
 art with which the author has woven them into the texture of 
 the story. 
 
 " ' Sara Crewe ' wi'l join company with ' Lord Fauntleroy,' and the two to- 
 gether will take their place among the classic children of literature." — The 
 Christian Union. 
 
 " ' Sara Crewe ' is the Nineteenth Century Cinderella, equally triumphant in 
 
 the ashes cf the Kitchen or in the soft luxury of the Parlor. The story is beyond 
 
 many a longer and more ambitious one in its fascinating, artistic, heart-subduing 
 
 power. Like its predecessor, ' Fauntleroy,' it has come to stay in our literature 
 
 among its best gems." — The Brooklyn Eagle. 
 
 " Everybody was in love with ' Little Lord Fauntleroy,' and I think all the world and the rest of mankind 
 
 will be in love with ' Sara Crewe ' The tale is so tender, so wise , so human, that I wish every girl in Amer'ca 
 
 could read it, for I think every one would be made better by it." — Louise Chandler Moulton. 
 
 " It is a story to linger over in the reading, it is so brightly, frankly, sweetly and tenderly written, and to re- 
 member and return to. In creating her little gentlewoman, ' Sara Crewe,' so fresh, so simple, so natural, so 
 genuine, and so indomitable, Mrs. Burnett has added another Child to English fiction. No one who reads this 
 story can read it without feeling or can doubt the loving genius of Mrs. Burnett.—/?. H. Stoddard. 
 
 LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY. 
 
 BY FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT. 
 
 Beautifully Illustrated by R. B. Birch. 
 
 One volume, square 8vo, . . . $2.00. 
 
 The lapse of time only confirms the verdict with which this story was re- 
 ceived — that it would take and hold its place among children's classics. 
 
 "The story is a masterpiece of refinement and beauty." — The Newark Advertiser. 
 
 "A delightful book for reading aloud to children because it is one that both grown people 
 and children can enjoy keenly, and the pleasure can b« equally shared." — The Chicago 
 Tribune. 
 
 " In ' Little Lord Fauntleroy ' we gain another charming child to add to our gallery of juve- 
 nile heroes and heroines ; one who teaches a great lesson with such truth and sweetness, that 
 we part with him with real regret when the episode is over." — Louisa M. Alcott. 
 
 " We have seldom found among the issues of children's books for many years a story so 
 winsome and charmingly written. The ' holy simplicity of childhood,' as the Germans call it, 
 is the key-note of the narrative. The little hero wins all hearts by the irresistible sympathy of 
 his nature, the inborn refinement of his manners, and the responsive goodness of bis heart.— g 
 The Providence Journal. 
 
SCR/BNER'S 'BOOKS FOX THE YOUNG. 
 
 tmA 
 
 Little People: 
 
 And Their Homes in Meadows, Woods and Waters. 
 
 BY STELLA LOUISE HOOK, 
 
 BEAUTIFULLY ILLUSTRATED BT DAN BEARD AND 
 HARRY BEARD. 
 
 One volume, square 8vo, 
 
 $1.50. 
 
 HE boy or girl who reads this book will be astonished at the 
 amount of curious and entertaining information which it con- 
 tains about little insects, some of whose ways are familiar to 
 all. The author is an ardent lover of nature, and writes with 
 affectionate fondness and with a charmingly simple and winning 
 style of these tiny denizens of the field and water. She dwells, 
 in a way that will fascinate every young reader, on the manner of 
 development, habits, mode of life and appearance of animated mites, 
 describing, in words that any child can understand, the wonderful trans- 
 formations through which many of them pass and the strange and busy 
 lives that they lead. It is a book that takes the young reader into a 
 veritable fairy-land ; and the author's daintiness of touch 
 enables her to maintain the pleasing illusion and to hold the 
 unflagging attention of her young readers. 
 
 SUMMARY OF CONTENTS. 
 
 The Flower Fairies — The Musical Elves — 
 Little People in Armor — The Water Sprites — 
 The Troublesome Midgets — The Wisest of the 
 Little People— Fairies' Pets and their Relations 
 — The Brownies. 
 
SCRIBNER'S 'BOOKS FOT{ THE YOUNG. 
 
 " Most delightful.'' — New York Times. 
 
 TWO LITTLE CONFEDERATES. 
 
 BY THOMAS NELSON PAGE. 
 WITH EIGHT FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY E. W. KEMBLE AND A. C. REDWOOD. 
 
 One volume, square 8vo, ...... $1.50. 
 
 The two heroes of Mr. Page's story are brave, winning little fellows, full of pluck and 
 courage, yet tender-hearted withal at the sight of the suffering they cannot relieve. They are 
 Virginia lads who have been left at home with their mother while the men went to war. But 
 
 the plantation is the scene of raids from both the gray and blue-coated cavalry, who engage in 
 some hot skirmishes, and who supply a picturesque background for the adventures of the lads. 
 War is in the air ; and the boys can no more resist going gunning for deserters in the swamp 
 than they can help breathing. The trustful, confiding natures of the gallant youths and their 
 zeal to aid the Confederates lead them into some comical escapades, from which their sturdy 
 manliness and self-reliance alone extricate them. As would be inferred from the author's " In 
 Ole Virginia," the note of deep feeling is dominant in some scenes. Taken altogether the story 
 is not only entertaining, but is significant in its graphic picture of home life in Virginia during 
 the war. 
 
SCRIBNERS BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG. 
 
 THE B0VS 
 LIBRARY 0F LEGEND & CHIVALRY 
 
 EDITED BY SIDNEY LANIER, 
 And Richly Illustrated by Fredericks, Bensell, and Kappes. 
 
 Four 
 Sold 
 
 volumes, cloth, uniform binding, price, per set, 
 separately, price, per volume, 
 
 $7.00. 
 $2.00. 
 
 Mr Lanier's books, in which he presents to boy 
 readers the old English classics of history and 
 legend in such attractive form, are now issued 
 in four uniform volumes, well made and well 
 illustrated While they are stories of action 
 and stirring incident, which make them ex- 
 tremely exciting, they teach those lessons which 
 manly, honest boys ought to learn. The oath 
 of the young fourteenth century knight made 
 him vow to speak the truth, to perform a prom- 
 ise to the utmost, to reverence all women to 
 maintain right and honesty, to help the weak, 
 to treat high and low with courtesy, to be fair 
 to a bitter foe, and to pursue simplicity, modesty 
 and gentleness of heart and bearing ; and the 
 nineteenth century knight is he who takes the 
 same oath of fidelity to truth, honesty and 
 purity of heart. The illustrations are full of 
 fire and spirit, and add very much to one's en- 
 joyment of the book. 
 
 THE BOY'S KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Being Sir Thomas Mallory's History of King Arthur 
 and His Knights of the Round Table. 
 
 THE BOY'S FROISSART. 
 
 Being Sir John Froissart's Chronicles of Adventure, 
 Battle, and Custom in England, France, Spain, Etc. 
 
 THE BOY'S PERCY. 
 
 THE 
 
 KNIGHTLY LEGENDS OF WALES; 
 OR, THE BOY'S MABINOGION. 
 
 " Amid all the strange and fanciful scenery of these stories, character and the ideals of character remain 
 at the simplest and purest. The romantic history transpires in the healthy atmosphere of the open air on the 
 green earth beneath the open sky. * * * The figures of Right, Truth, Justice, Honor, Purity, Courage; 
 Keverence for Law, are always in the background ; and the grand passion inspired by the book is for strength 
 to do well and nobly in the world." — The Independent. 
 
 " It is quite the beau ideal of a book for a present to an intelligent boy or girl." — Baltimore Gazette. 
 
SCRjBNER'S BOOKS FOTi THE YOUNG. 
 
 Heroes of the Olden Time. 
 
 By JAMES BALDWIN. 
 
 Three vols , 121110, each beautifully illustrated, Singly, $1.50; The Set, $4 00. 
 
 In these three volumes. Mr. Baldwin presents in consecutive narrative forms the 
 Legends relating to the Trojan War, the great Siegfried myth of Northern Europe, and 
 the mediaeval romance of Roland and Charlemange ; bringing before the reader, with 
 great spirit, with scholarly accuracy and with unfailing taste these heroic figures and 
 the times in which their adventures are supposed to have occurred. 
 
 A STORY OF THE GOLDEN AGE. 
 
 With a series of superb Full-page Illustrations by 
 Howard Pyle. 
 
 One volume, umo, - $1.30. 
 
 "Mr. Baldwin's book is redolent with the spirit of the^ 
 Odyssey, that glorious primitive epic, fresh with the dew of the . 
 morning of time. It is an unalloyed pleasure to read his recital i 
 of the adventures of the wily Odysseus, slightly expurgated'' 
 though it be, and adapted for the intelligence of youthful minds, i-^f 
 Howard Pyle's illustrations render the spirit of the Homeric ! ^" - 
 age with admirable felicity." — Prof. H. H. Boyese?i. 
 
 "' Mr. Baldwin's work here as in ' Siegfried ' and ' Roland ' is 
 of exceptional merit, and is to be classed with the ' Tangle- 
 wood Tales ' of Hawthorne rather than with the average story 
 for the young. Mr. Pyle has furnished the volume with a 
 dozen drawings of great artistic excellence and of genuinely 
 illustrative character." — The Providence Journal. 
 
 THE STORY OF SIEGFRIED. 
 
 With a series of Full-page Illustrations by HOWARD Pyle. 
 
 One volume, 121110, - $1.50. 
 
 1 It is told with spirit and is beautifully illustrated." — The 
 New York Sun. 
 
 " ' The Story of Siegfried ' is charmingly told. The author 
 makes up the story from the various myths in a fascinating 
 way which cannot fail to interest the reader. _ It is as enji y- 
 able as any fairy tale. The writer's style is simple and very 
 attractive, and the book is in every way an excellent one foi 
 young readers."— The Hartford Courant. 
 
 THE STORY OF ROLAND. 
 
 With a Series of Full-page Illustrations by R. B. Birch. 
 One volume, 121110, ... $1,50. 
 
 " Finely written, beautifully bound and excellently illus 
 trated, it is a charming gift-book for either a boy or a girl."— 
 The Critic. 
 
 " The old romance is thus told in English for the first time' 
 in a connected form, and is admirably told in the true spirit of 
 chivalry." — The Boston Traveler. 
 
 " Mr. Baldwin has culled from a wide range of epics, French, Italian and German, and has once more proved 
 his aptitude as a story teller for the young, while conveying information for which many of their elders will be 
 thankful." — The Nation. 
 
SCR/BNER'S "BOOKS FO"R_ THE YOUNG. 
 
 THE BLACK ARROW. 
 
 c/7 Tale of the Two looses. 
 
 BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. 
 WITH 12 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY WILL H. LOW AND ALFRED BRENNAN. 
 
 One volume, i2mo, paper, 50 cents ; cloth, $1.00. 
 
 Rep ete with bri-k dialogue and enlivening incident, and told in the 
 
 nervous, picturesque style peculiar to the author of "Kidnapped" and 
 
 'Treasure Island " this lale of adventure will share the popularity of the best 
 
 of Mr. Stevenson's romances. It is a story of thrilling 
 
 interest from first to last. 
 
 "An absorbing book." — The New York Journal ef Commerce. 
 '"The story is full of the atmosphere of adventure, and is one of the strongest pieces 
 of romantic writing ever done Ly Mr. Stevenson." — The Boston Times. 
 " It has all the good qualities of his ether stories — their invention, their spirit and their 
 charming English. The hand that wrote 'Treasure Island 'and ' Kidnapped is visible in 
 its stirring pages." — The New I ork Mail and Express. 
 
 "We have devoured the book at a sitting; and were ihe question to arise which of the 
 ■»*'S_-- ■ / / \± \ author's two books, 'Treasure Island ' or 'The Black Arrow ' should be preserved, if only 
 one of them could escape destruction, we should hesitate not a moment to cry out for ' The 
 Black Arrow.' It has all the charm of the other book and something more. The island is 
 become a forest, with casths and abbeys and caverns in its depths ; and the treasure a lovely 
 maiden." — The Critic. 
 * "The Black Arrows are a kind of Robin Hoods, who foregather iD the greenwood, 
 kill the King's venison, waylay the King's subjects, and exercise a simple and primi- 
 tive injustice by killing everybody in any way connected with the objects of their 
 special animosity. Mr. Stevenson has made a striking series of dramatic pictures. 
 The action is vigorous and incessant. The lawless condition of the time is kept in evidence. Everybody is fighting 
 or flying, plotting or baffling plots, doing or hindering overt wrong. The tale sweeps on to its close with plenty 
 of elan."— The New York Tribune. 
 
 KIDNAPPED. 
 
 Being Memoirs of the Adventures of David Balfour in the Year 1751. 
 
 BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 
 
 One volume, i2mo, . . paper, 50c; cloth, $1.00 
 
 With 16 fu'1-page illustrations, $1.25. 
 
 " Mr. Stevenson has never appeared to greater advantage than in ' Kid 
 napp. d.' "—The Nation. 
 
 " He brings back old chivalries and piracies, and talks to the boyhood of 
 to-day of shipwrecks and highwaymen, as if these venerable objects of worship 
 had not been superseded Lng ago by mercantile heroes and dollar-coining 
 newsboys." — The Atlantic Monthly. 
 
 " It is written wi.h a beautiful carnestnej s and verity that convince the reader, 
 with every sentence, he is reading a true history, while the author's wonderful 
 power of description, his cunning discrimination of character and his charming 
 English combine to make the story irresistible." — The Rostnn Courier. 
 
 A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES. 
 
 BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. 
 
 One volume, 121110, gilt top, 
 
 "These verses are simply exquisite. They are the 
 chdd's thought in the child's language, and yet altogether 
 poetical. We do not know anything in the whole range 
 of English literature to equal them in their own peculiar 
 Charm. There is a subtle beauty \-\ them which is 
 indescribable an 1 unequalled. — The Churchmnn. 
 
 fl.OO. 
 
 "A more exquisite and dainty art than Mr. Steven- 
 son's has not come to the service of children and their 
 interpretation." — The Springfield Republican. 
 
 " To our thinking, Mr. Stevenson has made a book 
 which will become a classic in the not over-crowded 
 field of children's poetry." — The Brooklyn Union. 
 
SCRIBNER'S BOOKS FOX THE YOUNG. 
 
 CHILDREN'S STORIES IN ENGLISH LITERATURE 
 
 TALIESIN TO SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 BY HENRIETTA CHRISTIAN WRIGHT. 
 
 One Volume, 12mo, ....... #7.25 
 
 Miss Wright's aim in this new volume has been to 
 
 bring to the attention of young readers a summary, set 
 
 forth in simple, attractive language, of the lives and 
 
 works of the great men of English Literature. Especial 
 
 stress is laid upon popular literature, the old British and 
 
 Saxon Songs, the romantic episodes of King Arthur's 
 
 reign in its relation to learning, Robin Hood, etc. The 
 
 book is written in a charmingly winning style, and is 
 
 both entertaining and valuable as a first book of English 
 
 literature. 
 
 CONTENTS. — Old British Songs ; Old Saxon Songs ; Cedmon ; The Venerable Bede ; 
 King Alfred; The Romance ok King Arthur; Robin Hood: the Hero of the 
 People ; Langlande and Gower ; Sir John Mandeville ; Geoffrey Chaucer ; 
 Wickliffe ; Caxton ; The Faery Queen; Sir Philip Sidney ; The Rise of the 
 Drama. 
 
 'BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 CHILDREN'S STORIES 
 
 With numerous Portraits. 
 
 OF THE GREAT SCIENTISTS. 
 
 72/770, #7.25 
 
 " The author has succeeded in making her pen pictures of the great scientists as 
 graphic as the excellent portraits that illustrate the work. Around each name she has 
 picturesquely grouped the essential features of 
 scientific achievement." — Brooklyn Times. 
 
 OF AMERICAN PROGRESS. 
 
 illustrated. . - 72/770, $7.25 
 
 " Miss Wright is favorably known by her vol- 
 ume of well-told 'Stories in American History,' 
 and her ' Stories of American Progress ' is equally 
 worthy of commendation. Taken together they 
 present a series of pictures of great graphic in- 
 terest. The illustrations are excellent." — The 
 Nati 07i. 
 
 IN AMERICAN HISTORY. 
 
 Illustrated. ..... 72/770, $1.25 
 
 " A most delightful and instructive collection 
 of historical events, told in a simple and pleasant 
 manner. Almost every occurrence in the gradual 
 development of our country is woven into an at- 
 tractive story for young people." — San Francisco 
 Evening Post. 
 
SCRIBNBR'S BOOKS FOX THE YOUNG. 
 
 PERSONALLY CONDUCTED. 
 
 BY FRANK R. STOCKTON, 
 
 With Forty-Six Illustrations by Joseph. Pennell, Alfred Parsons and others. 
 
 One volume, square 8vo, - - - - - - - - ^2.00 
 
 O FASCINATING volume of travel by the famous story- 
 J * teller, whose route is outlined with characteristic 
 quaintness in the table of contents given below. The 
 chapters are a series of pleasant, informal talks with an im- 
 aginary party of young people to whom the author is show- 
 ing the curious and interesting sights of the old world ; — 
 a fancy that Mr. Stockton works out with his customary in- 
 genuity and cleverness. 
 
 -The two-score and more of illustrations by Joseph Pen- 
 nell, Alfred Parsons, and others, enriching the pages with 
 many beautiful old-world views, give the book a high 
 artistic quality and make it a volume admirably suited for 
 a holiday gift. 
 
 CONTENTS. — The Romans, but not Rome ; The City of the Bended 
 Knee; Little Pisa and Great Rome; Great Rome Again; 
 Around the Bay of Naples ; In Florence and Venice ; A 
 Mountain Top, and How we Get There; Queen Paris; 
 King London ; Jn English Country ; The Low Countries 
 and the Rhine : The People We Meet. ^£? 
 
 STOCKTON'S OTHER BOOKS. 
 
 THE STORY OK VITEAU. 
 
 With 16 Full-Page Illustrations by R. B. Birch. - - - 12mo, extra Ciotn, $1.50 
 
 " It is as romantic and absorbing as any boy could wish for, full of adventure and daring, and yet told in 
 excellent spirit and with a true literary instinct." — Christian Union. 
 
 A JOLLY FELLOWSHIP. 
 
 With Twenty Illustrations. ... . . l2mo. $1.50 
 
 " We can think of no book published the present season which will more delight the wide-awake, adven- 
 ture-loving boy. It is, to borrow the adjective from the title, just ' jolly.' " — Boston Transcript. 
 
 The Floating Prince and Other Fairy Tales. 
 
 With Illustrations. ... ... Square 8uo, $1.50 
 
 " These tales are full of the quaintest conceits and the oddest fancies, and the strange adventures in which 
 'he different characters engage are just the kind to excite the intense interest of children." — Phila. Bulletin. 
 
 THE TING'A-LING TALES. 
 
 With numerous Illustrations. ......... T2mo, $1.00 
 
 " It would be difficult to find anything more dainty, fanciful and humorous than these tales of magic, 
 fa:ries, dwarfs and Giants. There is a vein of satire in them too which adult readers will enjoy." — N. Y. Heraid. 
 
 Roundabout Rambles in L,ands of Fact and Fiction. 
 
 With 200 Illustrations. ....... . Square 8uo, $1.50 
 
 T4I.ES out of school,. 
 
 With nearly 200 Illustrations. - - - Square 8vo, ?" 50 
 
 " The volumes are profusely illustrated and contain the most entertaining sketches in Mr. Stocinor, s 
 
 most entertaining manner." — Cl'-rUtia.n Union. 
 
SCR/BNER'S BOOKS FO% THE YOUNG. 
 
 HANS BRINKER; 
 
 OR, THE SILVER SKATES. 
 
 A Story of Life in Holland. 
 
 One volume, 
 trations, 
 
 By MARY MAPES DODGE. 
 I -'mo, with sixty beautiful illus- 
 
 $1.50. 
 
 " For children, what could be better as a gift than a copy of Mrs. Dodge's 
 ' Hans Brinker ; or, the Silver Skates ' ? This is one of the most charming of juven- 
 ile stories, dealing with fresh scenes and a strange life, and told with sweet sim- 
 plicity and great beauty." — The Congregationalist. 
 
 RHYMES AND JINGLES. 
 
 By Mrs. MARY MAPES DODGE. 
 
 Editor of " St. Nicholas." 
 Profusely illustrated. 
 
 One vol., 12mo. >»ew edition, $1.50 
 
 Mrs. Dodge's " Rhymes and Jingles " is a collection 
 of her child's poems— a department of literature in 
 which she has no equal. Some of these poems have 
 been pronounced " without rivals in our language." 
 
 PRINCE PEERLESS. 
 
 A Fairy Folk Story Book. 
 
 By MARGARET COLLIER. 
 
 (Madame Gelletti Di Cadilhac). 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN COLLIER. 
 
 One volume, 12iuo, 
 
 $1.2,' 
 
 " More admirable and fascinating a fairy story book 
 we have not lately set eyes upon. The stories are 
 most airily conceived and most gracefully executed." 
 — The Hartford Post. 
 
 PHAETON ROGERS. 
 
 A NOVEL OF BOY LIFE. 
 
 By ROSSITER JOHNSON. 
 
 Illustrated. 
 
 One volume, U'mo, - $1.50 
 
 " One of the funniest, liveliest juvenile stories of the 
 year is ' Phaeton Rogers,' by Rossiter Johnson. The 
 writer shows as much ingenuity in inventing comical 
 adventures and situations as Phaeton does with his 
 kite-teams, fire ladders, and comets." — The Holyoke 
 Transcript. 
 
 THE BOY EMIGRANTS. 
 
 By NOAH BROOKS. 
 
 Illustrated. 
 
 One volume, 12mo, - 
 
 $1.50 
 
 " It is one of the best boy's stories we have ever 
 read. There is nothing morbid or unhealthy about it. 
 His heroes are thorough boys, with all the faults of 
 their age." — The Christian at Work. 
 
 THE FAIRPORT NINE. 
 
 By NOAH BROOKS. 
 One volume, 12 mo, - 
 
 a. 25 
 
 " As a thoroughly wholesome and delightful book 
 for boys, ' The Fairport Nine ' is not likely to have its- 
 superior this season." — The N. Y. Evening Mail. 
 
 ABOUT OLD 
 
 STORY TELLERS. 
 
 OF HOW AND WHEN THEY LIVED, AND WHAT 
 STORIES THEY TOLD. 
 
 By DONALD G. MITCHELL. 
 
 With numerous illustrations. 
 
 One volume, 12mo, 
 
 $1.25- 
 
 " ' About Old Story Tellers ' is made up of the best 
 of the old stories, gathered from all sources, re-told in 
 Mr. Mitchell's inimitable manner, and interwoven with 
 lively sketches of the original writers and the times in 
 which they flourished."— The New Haven fournaF 
 and Courier. 
 
SCRIBNERS BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG. 
 
 Marvels of Animal Life Series. 
 
 By CHARLES F. HOLDER. 
 
 Three vols., 8vo, each profusely illustrated, Singly, $1.75; The Set, $5.00. 
 
 [ 1IBNE 
 
 The marvellously strange forms of animal life that exist 
 or have existed in the earth, air or sea, supply Mr. 
 Holder with a theme of entrancing interest for every boy. 
 The style is popular; there is a mass of accurate informa- 
 tion, much of which is based upon the personal observa- 
 tion of the author and the illustrations are numerous 
 and of substantial help to the reader. 
 
 LIVING LIGHTS. 
 
 A POPULAR ACCOUNT OF PHOSPHORESCENT 
 
 ANIMALS AND VEGETABLES. 
 
 With 27 Full-page Illustrations, $1.75. 
 
 " We have read more books of the class of the one before us than we can remember, but none that has 
 attracted us so much as this thick little quarto. There is a world of entertainment in Mr. Holder's book." 
 — R. H. Stoddard. 
 
 " A very curious branch of natural history is expounded in most agreeable style by this delightful book. 
 Mr. Holder furnishes a great mass of information concerning fire-flies, luminous beetles and other insects, the 
 phosphorescent animals and animalculse of the sea, and even of plants and flowers that give light. He has re- 
 vealed a world of new wonders to those who are inquisitive about certain mysteries of great interest, concern- 
 ing which no other naturalist has written." — The Philadelphia Bulletin. 
 
 MARYELS OF ANIMAL LIFE. 
 
 With 24 Full-page Illustrations, 
 
 ?i.75- 
 
 " Mr. Holder combines his descriptions of these odd crea- 
 tures with stories of his own adventures in pursuit of them 
 in many parts of the world. These are told with much 
 spirit and humor, and add greatly to the fascination of the 
 book." — The Worcester Spy. 
 
 THE IVORY KING, 
 
 A POPULAE HISTORY OF THE ELEPHANT AND 
 ITS ALLIES. 
 
 With 24 Full-page Illustrations, 
 
 51.75. 
 
 " The author also talks in a lively and pleasant way about 
 white elephants, rogue elephants, baby elephants, trick 
 elephants, of the elephant in war, pageantry, sports and 
 games. A charming accession to books for young people." 
 — The Chicago Interior. 
 
SCRIBNER'S BOOKS FO% THE YOUNG. 
 
 A NEW AND CHEAPER EDITION IN THRbE PARTS. 
 
 JULES VERNE'S GREATEST WORK. 
 
 " THE EXPLORATION OF THE WORLD." 
 
 " M. Verne's scheme in this work is to tell fully how man has mado 
 acquaintance with the world in which he lives, to combine into a sing> 
 work in three volumes the wonderful stories of all the great explorers 
 navigators, and travellers, who have sought out, one after another, ths 
 once uttermost parts of the earth." — The New York Evening- Post. 
 
 The three vols, in a set,-. $7.50; singly, $2.50. 
 
 FAMOUS TRAVELS AND TRAVELLERS. 
 
 With over 100 full-page Illustrations, Maps, etc., 8vo, $2.50 
 
 THE GREAT NAVIGATORS OF THE XVIIITH CENTURY. 
 
 With 96 full-page Illustrations and Nineteen Maps, 8vo, $2. 50 
 
 THE GREAT EXPLORERS OF THE IIXTH CENTURY. 
 
 With over 100 full-page Illus'ns, Fac-similes, etc., 8vo, $2.55 
 
 " The Prince of Story Tellers.'''' — The London Times. 
 
 JULES VERNE'S STORIES. 
 
 UNIFORM ILLUSTRATED EDITION. 
 
 9 vols., 8vo, extra cloth, with over 750 full-page Illustrations. 
 Price, per set, in a box, ......... $17.5®- 
 
 Sold also in separate volumes. 
 
 "Michael Strogoff ; or, The Courier of 
 
 the Czar $2.00 
 
 A Floating City and the Blockade 
 
 Runners 2.00 
 
 Hector Servadac 2.00 
 
 Dick Sands. ... 2 00 
 
 -A Journey to the Centre of the Earth 2.00 
 
 From the Earth to the Moon Direct 
 in Ninety-seven Hours, Twenty 
 Minutes; and a Journey Around 
 
 it $2 00 
 
 The Steam House 2 00 
 
 The Giant Raft 2 00 
 
 The Mysterious Island 2 50 
 
SCRIBNER'S BOOKS FOT{ THb YOUNG. 
 
 THE BOY'S LIBRARY OF PLUCK AND ACTION. 
 
 Four volumes, initio, in a box, illustrated, 
 Sold separately, price per volume, - 
 
 A JOLLY FELLOWSHIP. 
 
 BY FRANK R. STOCKTON. 
 
 *5.oo 
 1.50 
 
 HANS BRINKER; 
 
 OR, THE SILVER SKATES. 
 
 A Story of Life in Holland. 
 BY MRS. MARY MAPES DODGE. 
 
 The Boy emigrants, 
 
 BY NOAH BROOKS. 
 
 Phaeton Rogers. 
 
 BY ROSSITER JOHNSON. 
 
 In the " Boy's Library of Pluck and Action" the design was to bring together the repre- 
 sentative and most popular books of four of the best known writers for young people. 
 The volumes are beautifully illustrated and uniformly bound in a most attractive form. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED LIBRARY OF TRAVEL. 
 
 BY BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 Per sei, six volumes, i2mo, $6.00. Each with many illustrations.. 
 
 Sold separately, per volume, - - $1.25. 
 
 JAPAN IN OUR DAY. 
 
 TRAVELS IN ARABIA. 
 
 TRAVELS IN SOUTH AFRICA. 
 
 CENTRAL ASIA. 
 
 THE LAKE REGION OF CENTRAL 
 
 AFRICA. 
 SLAW, THE LAND OF THE WHITE 
 
 ELEPHANT. 
 
 Each volume is complete in itself, and 
 contains, first, a brief preliminary sketch 
 of the country to which it is devoted; next, 
 such an outline of previous exploration? as- 
 may be necessary to explain what has. 
 been achieved by later ones ; and finally, 
 a condensati on of one or more of the most 
 important narratives of recent travel, accompanied with illustrations of the scenery, 
 architecture, and life of the races drawn only from the most authentic sources. 
 
 " Authenticated accounts of countries, peoples, modes of living and being, curiosities in natural history., 
 and personal adventure in travels and explorations, suggest a rich fund of solid instruction combined with de- 
 lightful entertainment The editorship by one of the most observant and well-travelled men of modern times,, 
 at once secures the high character of the ' Library ' in every particular." — The Sunday School Times. 
 
SCRI8NERS BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG. 
 
 ST0DDARB'S BOOKS FOR BOYS. 
 
 DAB KINZER. A Story of a Growing Boy. SALTILLO BOYS. 
 
 THE QUARTET, a scqud to » Dab Kin^.- AMONG THE LAKES. 
 
 WINTER FUN. 
 
 BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD. 
 
 Five volumes, i2nto, in a box, ... - $5.00. 
 
 Sold separately, price per volume, - 1.00. 
 
 " William O. Stoddard has written capital books for boys. His 'Dab Kinzer,' and 'The Quartet,' are among 
 the best specimens of 'Juveniles' produced anywhere. In his latest volume, 'Winter Fun,' Mr. Stoddard gives 
 free rein to his remarkable gift of story telling for boys. It is a connected tale of winter life in the country, in 
 which a party of bright lads extract their fun from hunting rabbits, trapping bears, snow-balling,coasting, skating, 
 making maple sugar, and leading a semi-wild life in the woods and fields part of the time. They are good boys 
 too, and neglect none of their home duties while furnishing the materials for this entertaining book. Healthful 
 works of this kind cannot be too freely distributed among the iittle men of America as a counterpoise to the 
 pernicious literature too often provided for them."— Journal of Commerce. 
 
 A NEW AND REVISED EDITION OF 
 THE ILLUSTRATED 
 
 LIBRARY 0F WONBERS. 
 
 THE WONDERS OF MAN AND NATURE. 
 
 Intelligence of Animals. — Mountain Adventures — Bodily Strength and Skill — Wonderful Escapes 
 — Thunder and Lightning — Adventures on the Great Hunting Grounds — Wonders of the Human 
 Body — The Sublime in Nature. 
 
 THE WONDERS OF SCIENCE. 
 
 Wonders of Heat — Wonders of the Heavens — Wonders of Optics — The Sun— Wonders of 
 Acoustics — Wonders of Water — Wonders of The Moon — Meteors, Aerolites, Storms and Atmos- 
 pheric Phenomena. 
 
 THE WONDERS OF ART AND ARCHAEOLOGY. 
 
 E^ypt 3,300 Years Ago — Wonders of Sculpture — Wonders of Glass Making — 'Wonders of European 
 Art— Won ters of Pompeii— Wonders of Architecture — The Wonders of Italian Art— The Wonders 
 of Engraving. 
 
 Twenty-four volumes, containing over a Thousand Valuable Illustrations. 
 
 Each Set, 8 volumes, in a Box, - $8.00. 
 
 Each /olume, i2mo, complete in itself. Sold separately at $1.00 per volume. 
 
SCR/BNER'S HOOKS FOT{ THE YOUNG. 
 
 A NEW EDITION AT REDUCED PRICE. 
 
 THE 
 
 American Boy's Hanby Book 
 
 OR, WHAT TO DO AND HOW TO DO IT. 
 
 BY DANIEL C. BEARD. 
 
 '\he volume, octavo, fully Illustrated by the Author, 
 
 $2.00. 
 
 Mr. Beard's book is the first to tell the active, inventive and practical American boy the things 
 he really wants to know; the thousand things he wants to do, and the ten thousand ways in 
 which he can do them, with the helps and ingenious contrivances which every boy can tither 
 procure or ?nake. The author divides the book among the sports of the four seasons ; and he 
 has made an almost exhaustive collection of the cleverest modern devices, besides himself 
 inventing an immense number of capital and practical idea-. 
 
 SUMMARY OF CONTENTS. 
 
 Kite Time — War Kites — Novel Modes of 
 Fishing — Home-made Fishing Tackle — How 
 to Stock, Make and Keep a Fresh-Water 
 Aquarium — How to Stock and Keep a Ma- 
 rine Aquarium — Knots, Bends and Hitches — 
 Dredge, Tangle and Trawl Fishing — Home- 
 made Boats — How to Rig and Sail Small 
 Boats— How to Camp Out Without a Tent 
 
 — How to Rear Wild Birds — Home-made 
 Hunting Apparatus — Traps and Trapping — 
 Dogs — Practical Taxidermy for Boys — 
 Snow Houses and Statuary — Winged Skaters 
 
 — Winter Fishing — Indoor Amusements — 
 How to Make a Magic Lantern — Puppet 
 Shows — Home-made Masquerade and The- 
 atrical Costumes — With many other subjects 
 of a kindred nature. 
 
 at to d 
 and 
 ow to. 
 ,da.it£ 
 
 TheiAmeriganSots 
 *Handy:Book 
 
 BY 
 
 LCBearA 
 
 "It is the memory of the longing that used to possess myself and my boy friends of a few years ago for a real 
 practical American boy's book that has induced me to offer this volume. Of course such a book cannot, in the nature 
 of things, be exhaustive, nor is it, indeed, desirable that it should be. Its use and principal purpose are to stimulate 
 the inventive faculties in boys, to bring them face to face with practical emergencies when no book can supply the 
 place of their own common sense and the exercise of personal intelligence and ingenuity." — From the Author'* 
 Preface. 
 
 " Each particular department is minutely illustrated, and the whole is a complete treasury, invaluable not only 
 to the boys themselves, but to parents and guardians who have at heart their happiness and healthful development 
 of mind and muscle." — Pittsburgh Telegraph. 
 
 "The boy who has learned to play all the games and make all the toys of which it teaches, has uncon-ciously 
 exercised the inventive faculty that is in him, has acquired skill with his hands, and has become a good mechanic 
 and an embryo inventor without knowing it." — Milwaukee Evening Wisconsin. 
 
SCR/BNER'S BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG. 
 
 The American Girl's Handy Book 
 
 HOW TO AMUSE YOURSELF AND OTHERS. 
 
 BY LINA AND ADELIA B. BEARD. 
 With nearly 500 Illustrations by the Authors. 
 
 One volume, square 8vo, 
 
 $JOft 
 
 Full of information upon the thousand and one things that interest every girl, this volume 
 forms a notable companion to the book for boys by Daniel C. Beard, brother of the present 
 authors, published last year. Everything that girls want to know about their sports, games, and 
 winter afternoon and evening work, is told clearly and simply in this helpful and entertaining 
 volume. Beginning with April Fool's Day, the authors take their readers through the circuit of 
 the year, dwelling upon the sports, games, etc., appropriate to each season and to all the holidays, 
 and furnishing welcome instruction regarding the many little accomplishments that girls like to 
 
 become proficient in. The volume is fully and 
 handsomely illustrated from drawings by the 
 authors, whose designs are in the best sense illus- 
 
 l r How to ^ trative of the text- 
 
 Amuse 
 
 Yourself 
 
 and 
 Others 
 
 The:AmERI6AN:CjIRLS 
 •HANDY:B00Kr 
 
 LinaBeard 
 and 
 Adelia RBear* 
 
 N ewYo rk 
 Charles 
 ScribnefS^ 
 ■s Sons 
 
 SUMMARY OF CONTENTS. 
 
 First of April — Wild Flowers and Their 
 Preservation — The Walking Club — Easter- 
 Egg Games — How to Make a Lawn -Tennis 
 Net — May- Day Sports — Midsummer- Eve 
 Games and Sports — Sea-side Cottage Deco- 
 ration — A Girl's Fourth of July — An Impres- 
 sion Album — Picnics, Burgoos, and Corn- 
 Roasts — Botany as applied to Art — Quiet 
 Games for Hot Weather — How to Make a 
 Hammock — Corn-Husk and Flower Dolls- 
 How to Make Fans — All Hallow Eve — Na- 
 ture's Fall Decorations and how to Use Them 
 — Nutting Parties — How to Draw, Paint in 
 Oil-colors, and Model in Clay and Wax — China 
 Painting— Christmas Festivities, and Home 
 made Christmas Gifts — Amusements and 
 Games for the Holidays. 
 
 FROM THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 One of our objects is to impress upon the minds of the girls the fact that they all possess talent and ability to 
 achieve more than they suppose possible, and we would encourage a belief in the remark made by a famous French- 
 man : " When you Americans unuertake anything you never stop to ascertain if it be possible, you simply do it. y ' 
 
 We desire also to help awaken the inventive faculty, usually uncultivated in girls, and, by giving detailed methods 
 of new work and amusement, to put them on the road which they can travel and explore alone. 
 
 We know well the feeling of hopelessness wh'ch accompanies vague directions, and, to make our explanations 
 plain and lucid, we have ourselves, with very few exceptions, made all of the articles, played the games, and solved 
 the problems described. 
 
 The materials employed in the construction of the various articles are within easy reach of all, and the outlay, i* 
 most cases, little or nothing. 
 
SCRIBNER'S "BOOKS FOT{ THE YOUNG. 
 
 OTTO OF THE SILVER HAND. 
 
 WRITTEN AND ILLUSTRATED BY HOWARD PYLE. 
 WITH TWENTY-FIVE FULL-PAGE AND MANY OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 One volume, royal 8vo, half leather, 
 
 $2.00 
 
 THREAD of romantic and touching interest runs through this tale by the 
 author of the ever-popular " Merry Adventures of Robin Hood." The 
 young hero is the motherless son of a valiant robber baron of the old 
 days of mediaeval Germany, when these lawless chiefs, with bands of 
 fierce and desperate retainers at their backs, were constantly fighting 
 with each other or despoiling the caravans of the merchant burghers. 
 The motive of the story springs from the feud between Otto's father, the 
 Lord of Drachenhausen, and the rival house of Trutz-Drachen. Mr. 
 Pyle tells with great spirit the narrative of Low the little fellow was kid- 
 napp d by Baron Henry of Trutz-Drachen, and of One-eyed Hans's thrilling adventures when 
 he attempted the boy's rescue. Otto is a lad of sweet and lovable character ; and his trustful 
 tenderness of heart is brought into striking prominence by contrast with savage roughness of 
 most of those around him. The illustrations are in Mr. Pyle's best vein, graceful, spirited 
 and vigorous. 
 
 The MERRY ADVENTURES of ROBIN HOOD 
 
 Of Great Renown in Nottinghamshire. 
 
 WRITTEN AND ELABORATELY ILLUSTRATED BY HOWARD PYLE. 
 
 One volume, royal 8vo, full embossed leather, $4.50; cloth, 
 
 $3.00. 
 
 " A superb book." — The Chicago Inter-Ocean. \ " A very original work." — The Boston Post. 
 
 " An excellent piece of literary, artistic and mechani- : "A cap.ivating book." — The London Daily 
 
 <calwork." — The Louisville Cominercial. I News. 
 
 " This superb book is unquestionably the most original and elaborate ever produced by any American 
 artist. Mr. Pyle has told, "with pencil an I pen. the complete and consecutive story 0/ Robin Hood and hit 
 merry men in their haunts in Sherwood Forest, gathered front the old ballads and legends. Mr. Pyle ' s ad- 
 mirable illustrations are strewn profusely through th* book." — The Boston Transcript. 
 
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