w .,s>, ^ 
 
 w <* w 
 
 M 
 
 H 
 
THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 AT CHAPEL HILL 
 
 ENDOWED BY THE 
 DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC 
 1ES 
 
 LIBRAE 
 
 SCHOOL 
 
 J H 
 Molesworth 
 
00005525773 
 
 This book must not 
 be taken from the 
 Library building. 
 
 Form No. 471 
 
5/ bk 
 
 
/a/z*^* %&*+*?^sc%zs*f//*t*££ 
 
 9 - 
 
 r>+S 
 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CHILD 
 
The Story of Sunny." — Frontispiece. 
 
A CHRISTMAS CHILD 
 
 S SftetcJf of a 33os=3Life 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. MOLESWORTH 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 ' CARROTS,' ' CUCKOO CLOCK.' ETC. 
 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY WALTER CRANE 
 
 ' O Christmas, merry Christmas ! 
 
 Is it really come again ? 
 With its memories and greetings, 
 With its joy and with its pain.' 
 
 iLontfcm 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 1880 
 
 [The rig/it of translation and reproduction is reserved.] 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hil 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/christmaschildskOOmole 
 
TO 
 
 ftfje Eton iFrfentrs 
 
 WHO WILL BEST UNDERSTAND THIS 
 SIMPLE LITTLE STORY 
 
 I DEDICATE IT 
 WITH MUCH AFFECTION 
 
 Paris, May 1880. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Baby Ted . . . . . .1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 In the Garden . . . . .18 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 Wishes and Fears . . . . .37 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The Story of Sunny • . . . .58 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Story of Sunny {Concluded) . . .76 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Little Narcissa . . . ... 94 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Getting Big . . . . .116 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 "Statistics" . . . . .137 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A Peacock's Feather and a Kiss . . .161 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Some Rainy Ae ventures . . . .179 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 " It's only I, Mother " . ' . . . 200 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The White Cross . . . . .216 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 " The Story of Sunny " . . . Frontispiece 
 
 " I wish thoo'd let me help thoo to cut the 
 
 Grass " . . .'To face page 32 
 
 " She hunted about among the Leaves and 
 Branches till she found a little silver 
 Knob" . . . . . „ 83 
 
 "Baby showed, or Ted thought she did, a quite 
 extraordinary love for the bouquets 
 her little brother arranged for her " . „ 98 
 
 11 Oh dear, oh dear ! " cries Beauty, jumping up 
 
 in a Fright, " he's coming to eat me " . „ 133 
 
 " They were neatly tacked on to the Feather 
 Card, which had a very fine effect on 
 the Wall of the Museum " . . „ 170 
 
 " Master Ted, very wet indeed, made his ap- 
 pearance WITH ROSY CHEEKS AND A GENERAL 
 LOOK OF SELF-SATISFACTION " . . „ 194 
 
CHAPTEE I. 
 
 BABY TED. 
 
 " "Where did you get those eyes so blue ?" 
 " Out of the sky as I came through." 
 
 Christmas week a good many years ago. Not an 
 " old-fashioned " Christmas this year, for there was no 
 snow or ice ; the sky was clear and the air pure, but 
 yet without the sharp, bracing clearness and purity 
 that Master Jack Frost brings when he comes to see 
 us in one of his nice, bright, sunny humours. For he 
 has humours as well as other people — not only is he 
 fickle in the extreme, but even Mack sometimes, and 
 he is then, I can assure you, a most disagreeable 
 visitor. But this Christmas time he had taken it into 
 his head not to come at all, and the world looked 
 rather reproachful and disconcerted. The poor, bare 
 December world — it misses its snow garment, so 
 graciously hiding all imperfections revealed by the 
 absence of green grass and fluttering leaves ; it misses, 
 £ B 
 
A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 too, its winter jewels of icicles and hoar frost. Poor 
 old world ! What a great many Decembers you have 
 jogged through ; no wonder yon begin to feel that you 
 need a little dressing up and adorning, like a beauty 
 no longer as young as she has been. Yet ever-young 
 world, too! Who, that gazes at March's daffodils 
 and sweet April's primroses, can believe that the 
 world is growing old ? Sometimes one could almost 
 wish that it would leave off being so exquisitely, so 
 heartlessly young. For the daffodils nod their golden 
 heads, the primroses smile up through their leafy 
 nests — year after year, they never fail us. But the 
 children that loved them so ; the little feet that 
 trotted so eagerly down the lanes, the tiny hands that 
 gathered the flower- treasures with such delight — 
 where are they all ? Men and women, some in far- 
 off lands, perhaps ; or too wearied by cares and sor- 
 rows to look for the spring flowers of long ago. And 
 some — the sweetest of all, these seem — farther away 
 still, and yet surely nearer? in the happier land, 
 whose flowers our fancy tries in vain to picture. 
 
 But I am forgetting a little, I think, that I am 
 going to tell about a child to children, and that my 
 "tellings" begin, not in March or April, but at 
 Christmas- time. Christmas-time, fortunately, does 
 
BABY TED. 
 
 not depend on Jack Frost for all its pleasures. 
 Christmas-boxes are just as welcome without as with 
 his presence. And never was a Christmas-box more 
 welcome than one that came to a certain house by 
 the sea one twenty-sixth of December, now a good 
 many years ago. 
 
 Yet it was not a very big present, nor a very un- 
 common present. But it was very precious, and, to 
 my thinking, very, very pretty ; for it was a wee baby 
 boy. Such a dear wee baby, I think you would have 
 called it ; so neat and tiny, and with such nice baby- 
 blue eyes. Its hands and feet, especially, were very 
 delightful. "Almost as pretty as newly- hatched 
 ducklings, aren't they ? " a little girl I know once said 
 of some baby feet that she was admiring, and I really 
 think she was right. JSTo wonder was it, that the- 
 happy people in the house by the sea were very proud 
 of their Christmas-box, that the baby's mother, especi- 
 ally, thought there never was, never could be, any- 
 thing so sweet as her baby Ted. 
 
 But poor baby Ted had not long to wait for his 
 share of the troubles which we are told come to all, 
 though it does seem as if some people, and children 
 too, had more than others. He was a very delicate 
 little baby. His mother did not notice it at first 
 
A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 because, you see, he was the first baby she had ever 
 had of her very own, and she was too pleased to think 
 him anything but perfect. And indeed he was per- 
 fect of his kind, only there was so little of him ! He 
 was like one of those very, very tiny little white 
 flowers that one has to hunt under the hedges for, and 
 which surprise you by their daintiness when you 
 look at them closely. Only such fragile daintiness 
 needs tender handling, and these little half-opened 
 buds sometimes shrink from the touch of even the 
 kindest of mothers and nurses, and gently fade out of 
 their sight to bloom in a sunnier and softer clime 
 than ours. And knowing this, a cold chill crept round 
 the heart of little Ted's mother when his nurse, who 
 was older and wiser than she, shook her head sadly 
 as she owned that he was about the tiniest baby she 
 had ever seen. But the cold chill did not stay there. 
 Ted, who was scarcely a month old, gave a sudden 
 smile of baby pleasure as she was anxiously looking 
 at him. He had caught sight of some bright flowers 
 on the wall, and his blue eyes had told him that the 
 proper thing to do was to smile at them. And his 
 smile was to his mother like the sun breaking through 
 a cloud. 
 
 " I will not be afraid for my darling," said she. 
 
BABY TED. 
 
 " God knows what is best for him, but I think, I do 
 think, he will live to grow a healthy, happy boy. 
 How could a Christmas child be anything else ?" 
 
 And she was right. Day after day, week by 
 week, month after month, the wee man grew bigger 
 and stronger. It was not all smooth sailing, however. 
 He had to fight pretty hard for his little share of the 
 world and of life sometimes. And many a sad fit of 
 baby-crying made his mother's heart ache as she asked 
 herself if after all it might not be better for her poor 
 little boy to give up the battle which seemed so try- 
 ing to him. But no — that was not Master Ted's opin- 
 ion at all. He cried, and he would not go to sleep, 
 and he cried again. But all through the crying and 
 the restlessness he was growing stronger and bigger. 
 
 " The world strikes me as not half a bad place. I 
 mean to look about me in it and see all that there is 
 to be seen," I could fancy his baby mind thinking to 
 itself, when he was held at his nursery window, and 
 his bright eyes gazed out unweariedly at the beauti- 
 ful sights to be seen from it — the mountains in the 
 distance lifting their grand old heads to the glorious 
 sky, which Ted looked as if he knew a good deal 
 about if he chose to tell ; the sea near at hand with 
 its ever-changing charm and the white sails scudding 
 
A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 along in the sunlight. Ah yes, little Ted was in the 
 right — the world is a very pretty place, and a baby 
 boy whose special corner of it is where his was, is a 
 very lucky little person, notwithstanding the pains 
 and grievances of babyhood. 
 
 And before long Ted's fits of crying became so 
 completely a thing of the past that it was really 
 difficult to believe in them. All his grumbling and 
 complaining and tears were got over in these first 
 few months. For " once he had got a start," as his 
 nurse called it, never was there a happier little fellow. 
 Everything came right to Mm, and the few clouds 
 that now and then floated over his skies but made 
 the sunshine seem the brighter. 
 
 And day by day the world grew prettier and 
 pleasanter to liim. It had been very pleasant to be 
 carried out in his nurse's arms or wheeled along in 
 his little carriage, but when it came to toddling on 
 the nice firm sands on his own sturdy legs, and some- 
 times — when nurse would let him — going " kite kite 
 close " to the playful waves, and then jumping back 
 again when they " pertended," as he said, to wet his 
 little feet — ah, that was too delightful ! And almost 
 more delightful still was it to pick up nice smooth 
 stones on the beach and try how far he could throw 
 
BABY TED. 
 
 them into the sea. The sea was so pretty and kind, 
 he thought. It was for a long time very difficult for 
 him to believe that it could ever be angry and raging 
 and wild, as he used to hear said, for of course on 
 wet or stormy days little Ted never went down to the 
 shore, but stayed at home in his own warm nursery. 
 
 There were pretty shells and stones and seaweed 
 to be found on this delightful sea-shore. Ted was 
 too little to care much for such quiet business as 
 gathering stones and shells, but one day when he 
 was walking with his mother she stopped so often to 
 pick up and examine any that took her fancy, that at 
 last Ted's curiosity was awakened. 
 
 "What is thoo doing?" he said gravely, as if not 
 quite sure that his mother was behaving correctly, 
 for nurse always told him to " walk on straight, there's 
 a good boy, Master Ted," and it was a little puzzling 
 to understand that mammas might do what little 
 boys must not. It was one of the puzzles which 
 Ted found there were a good many of in the world, 
 and which he had to think over a good deal in his 
 own mind before it grew clear to him. " What is 
 thoo doing ?" he asked. 
 
 " I am looking for pretty stones to take home and 
 keep," replied his mother. 
 
A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 " Pitty 'tones," repeated Ted, and then he said no 
 more, but some new ideas had wakened in his baby 
 mind. 
 
 Nurse noticed that he was quieter than usual 
 that afternoon, for already Ted was a good deal of a 
 chatterbox. But his eyes looked bright, and plainly 
 he had some pleasant thought in his head. The next 
 day was fine, and he went off with nurse for his walk. 
 He looked a little anxious as they got to the turn 
 of the road, or rather to the joining of two roads, one 
 of which led to the sea, the other into country lanes. 
 
 " Thoo is doing to the sea ?" he inquired. 
 
 " Yes, dear," nurse replied, and Ted's face cleared. 
 When they got to the shore he trotted on quietly, 
 but his eyes were very busy, busier even than usual. 
 They looked about them in all directions, till at last 
 they spied what they wanted, and for half a minute 
 or so nurse did not notice that her little charge had 
 left her side and was lagging behind. 
 
 "What are you about, Master Ted?" she said 
 hastily, as glancing round she saw him stooping 
 down — not that he had very far to stoop, poor little 
 man — and struggling to lift some object at his feet. 
 
 " A 'tone," he cried, "a beauty big 'tone for Ted's 
 muzzer," lifting in his arms a big round stone — one 
 
BABY TED. 
 
 of the kind that as children we used to say had. 
 dropped from the moon — which by its nice ronnd 
 shape and speckledness had caught his eye. "Ted 
 will cally it hisself." 
 
 And with a very red face, he lugged it manfully 
 along. 
 
 " Let me help you with it, dear," said nurse. 
 
 But " No, zank thoo," he replied firmly each time 
 that the offer was repeated. " Ted must cally it his 
 own self." 
 
 And " cally " it he did, all the way. Nurse could 
 only succeed in getting him to put it down now and 
 then to rest a bit, as she said, for the stone was really 
 so big a one that she was afraid of it seriously tiring 
 his arms. More than once she pointed out prettier 
 and smaller stones, and tried to suggest that his 
 mother might like them quite as well, or better ; but 
 no. The bigness, the heaviness even, was its charm ; 
 to do something that cost him an effort for mother he 
 felt vaguely was his wish ; the " lamp of sacrifice," of 
 seZ/-sacrifice, had been lighted in his baby heart, never 
 again to be extinguished. 
 
 And, oh, the happiness in that little heart when 
 at last he reached his mother's room, still lugging the 
 heavy stone, and laid it at her feet ! 
 
10 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 "Ted broughtened it for thoo," he exclaimed 
 triumphantly. And mother was so pleased ! The 
 stone took up its place at once on the mantelpiece as 
 an ornament, and the wearied little man climbed up 
 on to his mother's knee, with a look of such delight 
 and satisfaction as is sweet to be seen on a childish 
 face. 
 
 So Ted's education began. He was growing be- 
 yond the birds and the flowers already, though only 
 a tiny man of three ; and every day he found new 
 things to wonder at, and admire, and ask questions 
 about, and, unlike some small people of his age, he 
 always listened to the answers. 
 
 After a while he found prettier presents to bring 
 home to his mother than big stones. With the spring 
 days the flowers came back, and Ted, who last year 
 had been too little to notice them much, grew to 
 like the other turning of the road almost better than 
 that which led to the sea. For clown the lanes, hid- 
 ing in among the hedges, or more boldly smiling up 
 at him in the fields, he learnt to know the old friends 
 that all happy children love so dearly. 
 
 One day he found some flowers that seemed to 
 him prettier than any he had ever seen, and full of 
 delight he trudged home with a baby bouquet of them 
 
BABY TED. 11 
 
 in his little hot hands. It was getting past spring 
 into summer now, and Ted felt a little tired by the 
 time he and his nurse had reached the house, and he 
 ran in as usual to find his mother and relate his 
 adventures. 
 
 " Ted has broughtened some most beauty flowers," 
 he eagerly cried, and his mother stooped down to kiss 
 and thank him, even though she was busy talking to 
 some ladies who had come to see her, and whom Ted 
 in his hurry had hardly noticed. He glanced round 
 at them now with curiosity and interest. He rather 
 liked ladies to come to see his mother, only he would 
 have liked it still better if they would have just let 
 him stay quietly beside her, looking at them and 
 listening to what they said, without noticing him. 
 But that way of behaving would not have seemed 
 kind, and as Ted grew older he understood this, and 
 learnt that it was right to feel pleased at being 
 spoken to and even kissed. 
 
 " How well Ted is looking," said one of the ladies 
 to his mother. " He is growing quite a big, strong boy. 
 And what pretty flowers he has brought you. Are 
 you very fond of flowers, my little man ?" 
 
 " Ses," said Ted, looking up in the lady's face. 
 
 " The wild flowers about here are very pretty," 
 said another of the ladies. 
 
12 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 " Very pretty," said his mother ; " but it is curious, 
 is it not, that there are no cowslips in this country ? 
 They are such favourites of mine. I have such 
 pleasant remembrances of them as a child." 
 
 She turned, for Ted was tugging gently at her 
 sleeve. "What is towslips ?" he asked. 
 
 " Pretty little yellow flowers, something like prim- 
 roses," said his mother. 
 
 "Oh!" said Ted. Then nurse knocked at the 
 door, and told him his tea was ready, and so he 
 trotted off. 
 
 " Mother loves towslips," he said to himself two 
 or three times over, till his nurse asked him what he 
 was talking about. 
 
 " But there's no cowslips here," said nurse, when 
 he had repeated it. 
 
 " No," said Ted ; " but p'raps Ted could find some. 
 Ted will go and look to-morrow with nursey." 
 
 "To-morrow's Sunday, Master Ted," said nurse; 
 " I'll be going to church." 
 
 "What's church?" he asked. 
 
 " Church is everybody praying to God, all together 
 in a big house. Don't you remember, Master Ted ?" 
 
 " Oh ses, Ted 'members," he replied. " What's 
 praying to 'Dod, nurse ?" 
 
BABY TED. 13 
 
 "Why, I am sure you know that, Master Ted. 
 You must have forgotten. Ask your mamma again." 
 
 Ted took her advice. Later in the evening he 
 went downstairs to say good-night. His mother was 
 outside, walking about the garden, for it was a 
 beautiful summer evening. Ted ran to her ; but on 
 his way something caught his eye, which sent a pang 
 to his little heart. It was the bunch of flowers he 
 had gathered for her, lying withered already, poor 
 little things, on a bench just by the door, where she 
 had laid them when saying good-bye to her visitors. 
 Ted stopped short ; his face grew very red, and big 
 tears rose slowly to his eyes. He was carefully 
 collecting them together in his little hand when his 
 mother called to him. 
 
 " Come, Ted, dear," she said ; " what are you 
 about?" 
 
 More slowly than his wont Ted trotted towards 
 her. " Muzzer doesn't care for zem," he said, holding 
 out his neglected offering. " Poor f owers dies when 
 they's leaved out of water." 
 
 " My darling," said his mother with real sorrow 
 in her voice, " I am so sorry, so very sorry, dear little 
 Ted," and she stooped to kiss him. " Give them to 
 me now, and I will always keep them." 
 
14 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 Ted was quickly consoled. 
 
 " Zem's not towslips," lie said regretfully. " Ted 
 would like towslips for muzzer." And then with a 
 quick change of thought he went on, " What is pray- 
 ing to T)od?" he said, looking up eagerly with his 
 bright blue eyes. 
 
 " Praying to God means asking Him anything we 
 want, and then He answers us. Just as you ask me 
 something, and I answer you. And if what we ask 
 is good for us, He gives it us. That is one way of 
 answering our prayers, but there are many ways. 
 You will understand better when you are bigger, 
 dear little Ted." 
 
 Ted asked no more, but a bright pleased look 
 came into his face. He was fond of asking questions, 
 but he did not ask silly ones, nor tease and tease as 
 some children do, and, as I said, when he got an 
 answer he thought it well over in his little head till 
 he got to understand, or thought he understood. 
 Till now his mother had thought him too little to 
 teach him to say his prayers, but now in her own 
 mind she began to feel he was getting old enough 
 to say some simple prayer night and morning, and 
 she resolved to teach him some day soon. 
 
 So now she kissed him and bade him good-night. 
 
BABY TED. 15 
 
 " God bless my little boy," she said, as she patted 
 his head with its soft fair hair which hung in pretty 
 careless curls, and was cut across the forehead in 
 front like one of Sir Joshua Eeynolds' cherubs. 
 " God bless my little boy," she said, and Ted trotted 
 off again, still with the bright look on his face. 
 
 He let nurse put him to bed very " goodly," 
 though bed-time never came very welcomely to the 
 active little man. 
 
 " Now go to sleep, Master Ted, dear," said nurse 
 as she covered him up and then left the room, as she 
 was busy about some work that evening. ' 
 
 Ted's room was next to his mother's. Indeed, if 
 the doors were left open, it was quite easy to talk 
 one to the other. This evening his mother happened 
 to go upstairs not long after he had been tucked into 
 bed. She was arranging some things in her own 
 room, moving about quietly not to waken him, if, as 
 she hoped, he had fallen asleep, for falling asleep did 
 not come so easily to Ted as to some children. He 
 was too busy in his mind, he had too many things 
 to think about and wonder about for his brain to 
 settle itself quietly all in a minute. And if he had 
 a strong wish, I think it was that going-to-bed time 
 should never come at all ! 
 
16 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 For a minute or two no sound reached Ted's 
 mother. 
 
 " I do hope he is asleep," she said to herself, but 
 just then she stopped short to listen. Ted was speak- 
 ing to himself softly, but clearly and distinctly. 
 What could he be saying? His mother listened 
 with a smile on her face, but the smile grew into a 
 sort of sweet gravity as she distinguished the words. 
 Little Ted was praying. He had not waited for her 
 to teach him — his baby-spirit had found out the 
 simple way for itself — he was just asking God for 
 what he wanted. 
 
 " Please, dear T)od," he said, " tell me why thoo 
 won't make towslips grow in this countly. Muzzer 
 loves zem so." 
 
 Then came a perfect silence. Ted seemed to be 
 holding his breath in expectation, and somehow his 
 mother too stood as still as could be. And after a 
 minute or two the little voice began again. 
 
 " Please, dear 'Dod, please do tell me," and then the 
 silence returned as before. It did not last so long, 
 however, this time — not more than a minute at most 
 had passed when a sound of faint crying broke upon 
 Ted's mother's hearing — the little fellow had burst 
 into tears. 
 
BABY TED. 17 
 
 Then his mother could stay away no longer. 
 
 " What is the matter, my boy ? " she said ; anxious, 
 baby though he was, not to make him feel ashamed 
 of his innocent prayers by finding that she had over- 
 heard what he had said when he thought himself 
 alone. 
 
 "What is my Ted crying about ?" 
 
 The tears, which had stopped for an instant, came 
 back again. 
 
 11 Muzzer," he said, " 'Dod won't 'peak to Ted. Ted 
 p'ayed and p'ayed, and Ted was kite kite kiet, but 
 'Dod didn't * amswer.' Is 'Dod a'leep, muzzer ?" 
 
 " No, my boy, but what was it that Ted wanted 
 so much?" 
 
 " Ted wanted towslips for muzzer, but 'Dod won't 
 amswer," he repeated piteously. 
 
 A shower of kisses was mother's answer, and 
 gently and patiently she tried to make him under- 
 stand the seeming silence which had caused his inno- 
 cent tears. And, as was Ted's "way," he listened 
 and believed. But " some day," he said to his mother, 
 " some day," would she not take him to " a countly 
 where towslips did grow ?" 
 
18 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 IN THE GARDEN. 
 
 " Heigh ho ! daisies and buttercups, 
 Sweet wagging cowslips, they bend and they bow." 
 
 Songs of Seven. 
 
 Down below the garden of Ted's pretty home 
 flowed, or danced rather, with a constant merry 
 babble, a tiny stream. A bnsy, fussy stream it was, 
 on its way to the beautiful little river that, in its turn, 
 came rushing down through a mountain-gorge to the 
 sea. I must tell you about this mountain -gorge 
 some time, or, if you like, we shall visit it with Ted 
 and his faithful companion, whom you have not yet 
 heard about — his father's great big Scotch collie dog, 
 Cheviott. 
 
 You don't know what a dear dog he was, so brave, 
 but so gentle and considerate. He came of a brave 
 and patient race, for you know "collies" are the 
 famous Scotch sheep-dogs, who to their shepherd 
 masters are more useful than any to>-legged servant 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 19 
 
 could be. And though I am not sure that " Chevie " 
 himself had ever had to do with "the keeping of 
 sheep," like gentle Abel of old, yet, no doubt, as a 
 baby doggie in his northern home, he must have 
 heard a good deal about it — no doubt, if his tongue 
 had had the power of speaking, he could have told 
 his little master some strange stories of adventures 
 and narrow escapes which had happened to members 
 of his family. For up in the Border mountains where 
 he was born, the storms sometimes come on so sud- 
 denly that shepherd and flock are all but lost, and 
 but for their faithful collies, might never find their 
 way home again. Often, too, in the early spring-time, 
 the poor little lambs go astray, or meet with some 
 accident, such as being caught in the bushes and 
 being unable to escape. What, then, would become 
 of them but for their four-footed guardian, who sum- 
 mons aid before it is too late, and guides the gentle, 
 silly lambkins and their mothers along the right 
 paths ? I think Ted's father and mother did well 
 when they chose for their boy a collie like Cheviott 
 for his companion. 
 
 Across the stream, just at the foot of the garden 
 path which sloped down from the house, a couple of 
 planks were placed as a bridge. A narrow bridge, 
 
20 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 and not a very firm one, it must be confessed, and 
 perhaps for that very reason — because there was 
 something a little risky and dangerous about it — Ted, 
 true boy that he was, was particularly fond of crossing 
 it. He liked to stand on it for a minute or two on 
 the way, "jigging" up and down to feel the shaking 
 and trembling of the planks, but that, of course, was 
 only a kind of playing with danger. I don't think 
 he would have much liked a sudden tumble into the 
 mischievous little brook's cold waters, very cold it 
 would have felt, though it looked so browny bright 
 and tempting. And many a bath in the brook 
 Ted would have had, had Chevie been as much 
 carried away by his spirits as his little master. Tor 
 no sooner did the two set off running from the top of 
 the sloping garden path, than Ted would call out, " A 
 race, Chevie, a race ! Who'll be at the bridge first ?" 
 And on he would run as fast as his sturdy wee legs 
 could carry him, Cheviott bounding beside him with 
 a great show of also doing his best. But — and wasn't 
 this clever of Chevie ? — just a little way on this side 
 of the bridge he would — not stop short, for that might 
 have disappointed Ted and made him feel as if they 
 weren't having a real race, but go gradually more 
 slowly, as if he felt he had no chance of gaining, so 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 21 
 
 that little Ted always reached the bridge first, and 
 stood shouting with glee and triumph. The first time 
 or two that Ted's mother saw this little performance 
 she had been frightened, for if the dog had gone on 
 at full speed, or even only at luggage-train speed, be- 
 side the boy, he could not have avoided tumbling him 
 into the brook. But for anything of this kind Cheviott 
 was far too much of a gentleman, and after watching 
 them once or twice, Ted's mother felt perfectly satis- 
 fied that the little man could not be better taken care 
 of than by his four-footed friend. 
 
 There was another friend, too, who could very well 
 be trusted to take care of Ted, for though he had, of 
 course, a very kind, good nurse in the house, nurses 
 are not able to be the whole day long in the garden, 
 nor are they always very fond of being much there. 
 So, even though Ted was still quite a little boy, it 
 was very nice for him to have two such good out-door 
 friends as Cheviott and David the gardener, the other 
 one I am going to tell you of. 
 
 It was a beautiful spring day. Ted woke up 
 early, and thought to himself how nice and bright 
 and sunny it was going to be in the garden. He 
 was rather in a hurry to be dressed, for there were 
 several things he was in a hurry to do, and the days, 
 
22 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 in summer time especially, never seemed long enough 
 for all he had before him. Just now these summer 
 days seemed really brimming over with nice things, 
 for his big cousin Percy — at least he was what Ted 
 counted a " big " cousin, and he was a good many 
 years older than Ted — was with him for the holidays, 
 and though Percy had some lessons to do, still they 
 had a good deal of time together. 
 
 " Ted wonders if Percy is ' decked ' yet," said Ted 
 to his nurse. "Decked" was the word he always 
 used for " dressed," and he was often made fun of for 
 using it. His mind was very full of Percy this 
 morning, for he had only arrived the evening before, 
 and besides the pleasure of having him with him, 
 which was always a pleasure, there was the nice new- 
 ness of it, — the things he had to show Percy, the tricks 
 Chevie had learnt, big dog though he was, the letters 
 and little words Ted had himself mastered since 
 Percy was last there. 
 
 " I don't know that Master Percy will be ready 
 quite so early this morning," said nurse. " He may 
 be a little tired with travelling yesterday." 
 
 " Ted doesn't zink Percy will be tired," said Ted. 
 " Percy wants to see the garden. Percy is so big, 
 isn't he, nurse ? Percy can throw sticks up in the 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 23 
 
 sky so high. Percy throwed one up in the sky up to 
 heaven, so high that it never corned down again." 
 
 " Indeed," said nurse ; " are you quite sure of that, 
 Master Ted ? Perhaps it did come down again, but 
 you didn't see it." 
 
 Nurse was a sensible person, you see. She did 
 not all at once begin saying to Ted that he was talk- 
 ing nonsense, or worse still that he was telling stories. 
 For very little children often " romance " in a sweet 
 innocent way which has nothing whatever to do with 
 story-telling — I mean imtruth-teUmg, for it is better 
 not to call untruths " stories," is it not ? The world 
 and the people in it, and the things they see and hear, 
 are all new and strange to the little creatures so lately 
 started on their puzzling journey. What wonder 
 that real and fancy are mixed up together sometimes 
 — that it is difficult to understand that the pretty 
 blue-bells do not sometimes tinkle in the moonlight, 
 or that there are no longer bears in the woods or 
 fairies hidden among the grass ? Perhaps it would 
 be better for us if we were more ready to believe even 
 such passed-by fancies, than to be so quick as we 
 sometimes are to accuse others of wishing to deceive. 
 
 Ted looked at nurse thoughtfully. 
 
 " P'raps it did," he said. " P'raps it might have 
 corned down again after Ted was a'leep." 
 
24 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 " I daresay it caught in a tree or something of that 
 kind," said nurse, as she finished brushing Ted's soft 
 curls and lifted him off the chair on which he had 
 been standing, just as Percy put his head in at the 
 door to ask if Ted might have a run in the garden 
 with him before breakfast. 
 
 " They're not down yet," said Percy, nodding his 
 bright curly head in the direction of Ted's father's and 
 mother's room; "they're not ready. Nurse, do let 
 Ted come out with me for a bit before breakfast," and 
 Ted trotted off, his hand in Percy's, in utmost content. 
 
 Was there ever so clever and kind and wonderful 
 a big boy as Percy before ? Was there ever one 
 who knew so much about everything — cricket and 
 croquet and football ; skating and fishing and climb- 
 ing trees — things on earth and things in water — what 
 was there he didn't know ? These were the thoughts 
 that were busy in Ted's little brain as he followed 
 kind Percy about the garden, that bright summer 
 morning, chattering incessantly, and yet ready enough 
 to be silent when Percy took it into his head to relate 
 to his tiny adorer some of Ins school experiences. 
 
 " Ted will go to school some day, Percy," he said 
 half questioningly. 
 
 " Of course you will. I hope you'll come to my 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 25 
 
 school if I've not left by then. I could look after 
 you, you know, and see that they didn't bully you." 
 
 " What's ' bully ' ?" asked Ted. 
 
 " Oh, teasing, you know. Setting you down be- 
 cause you're a little chap, and all that. Knocking 
 you about if you don't look sharp. All those kinds 
 of things that big fellows do to small ones." 
 
 Ted opened his eyes. It was not very clear to 
 him what Percy meant — it was a new idea, and would 
 have distressed him greatly had he quite taken it in 
 that big boys could be anything but good to little ones. 
 
 " Thoo doesn't knock Ted about, and thoo is big, 
 Percy," he said, remonstratingly. 
 
 " No, of course I don't, but that's different. You're 
 like my brother, you know." 
 
 " And bruvvers couldn't knock theirselves about," 
 said Ted with an air of satisfaction. 
 
 "N-no, I suppose not," said Percy. Boy as he 
 was, he felt somehow that he could not bear to destroy 
 little Ted's beautiful faith. " But never mind about 
 that just now," he added ; " let's run down the bank 
 and see how the cabbages and cauliflowers are getting 
 on. They were just put in when I was here last ; " 
 and for some time both boys were intensely interested 
 in examining the state of the vegetable beds. 
 
26 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 "Ted likes fowers best/' said the child, after a 
 few moments' silence. " When Ted " 
 
 "Why don't you say T and 'I like/ Teddy?" 
 said Percy. "You're getting such a big boy — four 
 years old." 
 
 " Ted means I," persisted the small man. " / sail 
 have all fowers in Ted's garden, when me is big." 
 
 Percy was obliged to leave off what he was about 
 — hunting for the slugs and caterpillars among the 
 cabbages — in order that he might stand still and laugh. 
 
 " I'm afraid you wouldn't get the prize for grammar 
 at our school, Ted," he said. But Ted only laughed too. 
 
 " I haven't learnt grammar," he said slowly and 
 distinctly. "But please, Percy, Ted doesn't like 
 cabbages. Come and see the fowers. There was 
 lots of c'ocodiles at that side. Ted likes zem best of 
 all, but zem's done now." 
 
 " Crocodiles" said Percy. " What can crocodiles 
 be?" 
 
 "Little fowers with pointy leaves," said Ted. 
 "P'raps it isn't c'ocodiles but somesing like coc — 
 coco " 
 
 " Crocuses perhaps," said Percy, as they made 
 their way up to the house. " Yes, they're very pretty, 
 but they're soon done." 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 27 
 
 " When I'm big I'll have a garden where they'll 
 never be done/' said Ted. " I'll have c'ocodiles and 
 towslips for muzzer and — and " 
 
 " Come in to breakfast, my man/' called out his 
 father from the dining-room. " What have you been 
 about this morning ?" 
 
 "We'se been in the garden/' said Ted, "and Percy's 
 been 'samining the cabbages. He's caught slugs upon 
 slugs, worms upon worms, earwigs upon earwigs." 
 
 " My dear little boy," said Ted's father, though he 
 couldn't help laughing, " you mustn't learn to exag- 
 gerate." 
 
 What's 'saggerate ?" began Ted, but looking round 
 auother idea caught him. "Where's muzzer?" he 
 said suddenly. 
 
 "Mother is rather tired this morning," said his 
 father. "Eat your breakfast, dear," and then he 
 turned to talk to Percy and ask him questions as to 
 how he was getting on at school. 
 
 For a minute or two neither of them noticed Ted. 
 He sat quietly at his place, his bowl of bread and 
 milk before him, but he made no attempt to eat it. 
 Then Percy happened to see him. 
 
 "Aren't you hungry, Ted?" he said. 
 
 Ted looked up with his two blue eyes full of tears. 
 
28 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 "Ses," he said, "Ted's hungry. But if muzzer 
 doesn't come down Ted can't eat. Ted won't eat 
 nothing all day, and he'll die." 
 
 " Not quite so bad as that," said his father quietly, 
 for he did not want Ted to see that it was difficult not 
 to smile at his funny way of speaking, " for see here 
 is mother coming." 
 
 Ted danced off his seat with pleasure. 
 
 " It's dedful when thoo's not here," he said feel- 
 ingly, and now the bread and milk was quickly 
 despatched. "When I'm big," he continued, in the 
 intervals of the spoonfuls, " I'll have a house as big — 
 as big as a mountain," his eyes glancing out of the 
 window, " and all the little boys in the world shall 
 live there with all their favers and muzzers, and 
 Percies, and everybodies, and nobody shall never go 
 away, not to school or bidness, or nothing, so that 
 they'll all be togever always." 
 
 Ted looked round for approval, and then took 
 another spoonful. 
 
 "What a nice place you'll make of the world, my 
 boy, when you're big," said his father. 
 
 " Ses," said Ted with satisfaction. 
 
 " But as that time hasn't come yet, I'm afraid I 
 must go to my c bidness,' " his father went on. For 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 29 
 
 he had to go several times a week a good way into 
 the country, to see that his men were all doing their 
 work properly. " And Percy must go with me to-day," 
 he went on, " for he needs some new clothes, and I 
 
 shall be driving through A ," which was the 
 
 nearest town to which they lived. 
 
 Percy's face looked very pleased, but Ted's grew 
 rather sad. 
 
 " Never mind, Teddy," whispered Percy. " We'll 
 have lots of days. You must have a good game 
 with Chevie to keep up your spirits." 
 
 " And David is going to cut the grass to-day," said 
 his father, " so you will have plenty of fun." 
 
 "But Ted must be careful," said his mother; 
 " don't touch David's sharp tools, Ted. I was quite 
 frightened the other day," she added; "Ted was 
 trying to open and shut those great big shears for 
 clipping the borders." 
 
 " Zem was sticked fast," said Ted. " Zem opens 
 kite easy sometimes." 
 
 " Well, don't you touch them any way," said his 
 mother, laughing. But though Ted said "No," I 
 don't feel sure that he really heard what his mother 
 was saying. His wits were already off, I don't know 
 where to — running after Cheviott perhaps, or farther 
 
30 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 away still, up among the little clouds that were 
 scudding across the blue sky that he caught sight of 
 out of the window. 
 
 And then his father and Percy set off, and his 
 mother went away about her housekeeping, sending 
 Ted up to the nursery, and telling him that he might 
 ask nurse to put his big blouse on, so that he might play 
 about the garden without risk of soiling his clothes. 
 
 Ted felt, for him, a very little sad as he trotted 
 out into the garden. He had hoped for such a nice 
 merry day with Percy. But low spirits never 
 troubled him long. Off he set with Cheviott for the 
 race down to the little bridge, always the first bit of 
 Ted's programme, and careful Chevie as usual pulled 
 up in plenty of time to avoid any risk of toppling 
 his master into the brook. Arrived on the bridge, 
 Ted stood still and "jigged " a little as usual. Then 
 he peered down at the shiny water with the bright 
 brown pebbles sparkling up through it, and wondered 
 what it would feel like to be a little fish. 
 
 " Little fisses," he said to himself, " always has 
 each other to play with. They don't go to school, 
 and they hasn't no bidness, nor no cooks that they 
 must be such a long time ordering the dinners with, 
 nor — nor beds to make and stockings to mend. , I 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 31 
 
 wish nurse would 'turn out this morning. Ted 
 doesn't like being all alone. Ted would like some- 
 body littler to play with, 'cos then they wouldn't go 
 to school or out d'ives with papa." 
 
 But just as he was thinking this, he caught sight 
 of some one coming across the garden, and his ideas 
 took another turn at once. 
 
 " David, old David," he cried, " is thoo going to cut 
 the grass ? Do let me come and help thoo, David." 
 
 And he ran back across the bridge again and made 
 his way to David as fast as he could. 
 
 " Good morning, Master Ted," said the gardener. 
 " Is it beautiful day, Master Ted, to be sure. Yes 
 indeed." 
 
 " Ses," agreed Ted. " Good morning, old David. 
 I'm going to stay out in the garden a long time, a 
 tevible long time, 'cos it's such a sprendid lovely day. 
 What is thoo going to do, David ? Can't Ted help 
 thoo ?" 
 
 "I am going to cut the grass, Master Ted, but 
 I not be very long — no; for it is only the middle 
 that's be cut. All the rest stand for hay, to be sure. 
 Ay, indeed." 
 
 "And when will the hay be cuttened?" inquired 
 Ted. 
 
A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 " That's be as Master order, and not as Master 
 can choose neither — no/' said David. " He not able 
 to make for the sun to shine ; no, indeed ; nor the 
 rain neither, — no." 
 
 " 'Bod sends rain and sun," said Ted, reverently, 
 but yet looking at David with a sort of curiosity. 
 
 " Well, indeed you are right, Master Ted. Yes, 
 yes. But I must get on with my work. God gives 
 us work to do, too; ay, indeed; and them as not 
 work never expect to eat, no, never ; they not care for 
 their victual anyhow if they not work for it. No." 
 
 Ted looked rather puzzled. " Ted eats," he said, 
 — "not victuals — Ted doesn't know that meat — but 
 bread and butter, and tea, and potatoes, and rice 
 pudding, and meat, and sometimes 'tawberry jam and 
 apple pie and — and — lots of things. And Ted likes 
 zem very much, but him doesn't work." 
 
 " I not know for that, Master Ted," said David, 
 " is it all kinds of work ; ay, indeed ; and I see you 
 very near always busy — dear me, yes ; working very 
 good, Master Ted — ay." 
 
 " I like to be busy. I wish thoo'd let me help 
 thoo to cut the grass," said Ted, eyeing David wist- 
 fully, as he started his big scythe, for the old gardener 
 knew nothing of mowing machines, and would most 
 
I wish thoo'd let me help thoo to cut the grass." — r. 32. 
 
IN TEE GARDEN. 33 
 
 likely have looked upon them with great contempt. 
 But he stopped short a moment to look down at wee 
 Ted, staring up at him and wishing to be in his place. 
 
 " No, indeed, Master Ted bach ! " he said ; " you 
 soon have your cliver little legs and arms cut to pieces, 
 if you use with my scythe, Master Ted — ay, indeed, 
 d'rectly. It look easy, to be sure, but it not so easy 
 even for a cliver man like you, Master Ted — no, indeed. 
 But I tell you what you shall do. You shall help to 
 make the grass to a heaps, and then I put it in a barrow 
 and wheel it off. Ay, indeed ; that be the best." 
 
 This proposal was very much to Ted's taste. 
 Chevie and he, at a safe distance from David's scythe, 
 thought it great fun to toss about the soft fine grass 
 and imagine they were helping David tremendously. 
 And after a while, when Chevie began to think he had 
 had enough of it, and with a sort of condescending 
 growl by way of explanation, stretched himself out 
 in the sunshine for a little forenoon sleep, David 
 left off cutting, and, with Ted's help of course, filled 
 the barrow and wheeled it off to the corner where 
 the grass was to lie to be out of the way. It was 
 beginning to be rather hot, though still quite early, 
 and Ted's face grew somewhat red with his exertions 
 as he ran beside David. 
 
 D 
 
34 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 " You better ride now ; jump in, Master Ted," said 
 the gardener, when his barrow was empty. So he 
 lifted him in and wheeled him back to the lawn, 
 which was quite after Ted's own heart. 
 
 " Isn't thoo going to cut with thoo's big scissors?" 
 said Ted after a while. 
 
 " It is want oiling," said David, " and I forget to 
 do them. I shall leave the borders till after dinner, 
 — ay, sure," and he was going on with his scything 
 when suddenly a voice was heard from the house 
 calling him. 
 
 " David, David, you're wanted," said the voice, and 
 then the cook made her appearance at the side of 
 the house. " There's a note to take to ." 
 
 They could not hear to where, but David had to 
 go. He glanced round him, and, afraid of Ted's 
 experiments, shouldered his scythe and walked off 
 with it for fear of accidents. 
 
 " Are you going in, Master Ted ? " he asked. 
 
 "Nurse is going to call me when she's ready," 
 said Ted composedly, and knowing that the little 
 fellow often played about by himself for a while, 
 good David left him without any more anxiety. He 
 had got his scythe safe, he never thought of the big 
 pair of shears he had left lying in the grass ! 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 35 
 
 Now these gigantic " scissors " as he called them 
 had always had a wonderful attraction for Ted. He 
 used to think how funny they would look beside the 
 very tiny fine pair his mother worked with — the 
 pretty scissors that lay in her little case lined with 
 velvet and satin. Ted had not, in those days, heard 
 of Gulliver and his strange adventures, but if he 
 had, one might have imagined that to his fancy the 
 two pairs of scissors were like a Brobdignag and a 
 Lilliputian. And no sooner had David disappeared 
 than unfortunately the great scissors caught his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Zem's still sticked fast," he said to himself. 
 " David says zem needs oil. Wiss I had some oil. 
 P'raps the fissy oil to make Ted grow big would do. 
 But the scissors is big enough. Ted wonders if the 
 fissy oil would make zem bigger. Zem couldn't be 
 much bigger." 
 
 Ted laughed a little to himself at the funny fancy. 
 Then he sat and stared at the scissors. What did 
 they remind him of ? Ah yes, they were like the 
 shears of " the great, long, red-legged scissor man," 
 in the wonderful story of " Conrad Suck-a-thumb," 
 in his German picture-book. Almost, as he gazed at 
 them, it seemed to Ted that the figure of the scissors 
 
36 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 man would suddenly dart out from among the bushes 
 and seize his property. 
 
 " But him wouldn't cut Ted's fumbs," thought the 
 little man to himself, "'cos Ted never sucks zem. 
 What a pity the scissors is sticked fast ! Poor David 
 can't cut with zem. P'raps Ted could oilen zem for 
 poor David ! Ted will go and get some fissy oil." 
 
 No sooner thought than done. Up jumped Ted, 
 and was starting off to the house when a growl from 
 Cheviott made him stop. The dog had just awakened, 
 and seeing his little master setting off somewhere 
 thought it his business to inquire where to and why. 
 He lifted his head and gave it a sort of sleepy shake, 
 then growled again, but gently of course. 
 
 "What did thoo say, Chevie?" said Ted. "Did 
 thoo want to know where I was going ? Stay here, 
 Chevie. Ted will be back in a minute — him's on'y go- 
 ing to get some fissy oil to oilen poor David's scissors." 
 
 And off he set, though a third growl from Cheviott 
 followed him as he ran. 
 
 "What does Chevie mean?" thought Ted. "P'raps 
 him's thinking muzzer said Ted mustn't touch zem 
 big scissors. But muzzer on'y meant Ted wasn't to 
 cutten with zem. Muzzer would like Ted to help 
 poor David," and, his conscience quite at rest, he 
 trotted on contentedly. 
 
WISHES AND FEARS. 37 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 WISHES AND FEAES. 
 
 Children. " Here are the nails, and may we help ? 
 
 Jessie. You shall if I should want help. 
 Children. Will you want it then ? 
 
 Please want it — we like helping." 
 
 There was no one in the nursery, fortunately for 
 Ted's plans, ^fortunately rather, we should per- 
 haps say, for if nurse had been there, she would have 
 asked for what he wanted the little bottle which had 
 held the cod-liver oil, that he had lately left off 
 taking, but of which a few drops still remained. 
 
 Ted climbed on to a chair and reached the shelf 
 where it stood, and in two minutes he was off again, 
 bottle in hand, in triumph. He found Cheviott lying 
 still, where he had left him; he looked up and 
 yawned as Ted appeared, and then growled with an 
 air of satisfaction. It was sometimes a little difficult 
 for Chevie to decide exactly how much care he was 
 to take of Ted. After all, a little two-legged boy 
 
38 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 that could talk was not quite the same as a lamb, or 
 even a sheep. He could not run round him barking, 
 to prevent his trotting where he wished — there were 
 plainly some things Ted had to do with and under- 
 stood which Chevie's dog-experience did not reach to. 
 
 So Cheviott lay there and blinked his honest eyes 
 in the sunshine, and stared at Ted and wondered 
 what he was after now! Tor Ted was in a very 
 tip-top state of delight ! He sat down cross-legged 
 on the grass, drew the delicious big shears to him — 
 they were heavy for him even to pull — and uncorking 
 the bottle of " fissy" oil, began operations. 
 
 " Zem is sticked fast, to be soore," he said to him- 
 self, adopting David's favourite expression, as he 
 tugged and tugged in vain. " If thoo could hold 
 one side and Ted the other, they would soon come 
 loosened," he observed to Cheviott. But Cheviott only 
 growled faintly and blinked at his master sleepily, 
 and after a good deal more tugging Ted did manage 
 to open the shears, which indeed at last flew apart so 
 sharply that the boy toppled over with the shock, and 
 rolled for a moment or two on the grass, though happily 
 not on the shears, before he recovered his balance. 
 
 Laughing merrily, he pulled himself up again. 
 Luckily the bottle had not been overturned. Ted 
 
WISHES AND FEARS. 39 
 
 poured a drop or two carefully on to his fingers, quite 
 regardless of the fishy smell, and proceeded to anoint 
 the scissors. This he repeated several times, polish- 
 ing them all over till they shone, but not under- 
 standing that the place where the oil was needed was 
 the hinge, he directed the best of his attention to the 
 general shininess. 
 
 Then he sat and looked at them admiringly. 
 
 "Won't David be p'eased?" he said. "Zem's 
 oilened all over now. Ted must see if they don't 
 sticken fast now." 
 
 With nearly as much difficulty as he had had to 
 open them, Ted now managed to shut them. 
 
 " Zem's better," thought the busy little man, " but 
 Ted must see how they cut." 
 
 He laid them flat on the grass, at a place where 
 the blades had not been completely sheared by the 
 scythe. Tug number one — the oil had really done 
 some good, they opened more easily — tug number 
 two, behold them gaping — tug number three, they 
 bite the grass, and Ted is just going to shout in 
 triumph when a quick shock of pain stabs through 
 him. He had been kneeling almost on the shears, 
 and their cruel jaws had snipped, with the grass, the 
 tender fleshy part of his poor little leg ! 
 
40 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 It was not the pain that frightened him so much 
 as the feeling held fast by the now dreadful scissors. 
 
 " David, David," he cried, " oh, please come. Nurse, 
 please come. Ted has cuttened hisself." 
 
 His little voice sounded clear and shrill in the 
 summer quiet of the peaceful garden, and nurse, who 
 had been hastening to come out to him, heard it from 
 the open window. David too was on his way back, 
 and poor Ted was soon released. But it was a bad 
 cut — he had to be carried into the house to have it 
 bathed and sponged and tenderly bound up by 
 mother's fingers. He left off crying when he saw 
 how sorry mother looked. 
 
 " Ted is so sorry to t'ouble thoo," he said. 
 
 " And mother is sorry for Ted," she replied. " But, 
 my dear little boy," she went on, when the poor leg 
 was comfortable and its owner forgetting its pain on 
 mother's knee, "don't you remember that mother 
 told you not to touch David's tools ?" 
 
 " Oh ses," he replied. " Ted wouldn't touch zem 
 for hisself, but it was to help David," and the innocent 
 confidence with which he looked up in her face went 
 to his mother's heart. 
 
 " But still, dear Ted, you must try to understand 
 that what mother says, you must do exactly. Mother 
 
WISHES AND FEARS. 41 
 
 likes you to be kind and helping to people, but still 
 mother knows better than you, and that is why, when 
 she tells you things, you must remember to do what 
 she says." 
 
 Ted looked grave and a little puzzled, and seeing 
 this his mother thought it best to say no more just 
 then. The lesson of obedience was one that Ted 
 found rather puzzling, you see, but what his mother 
 had said had made a mark in his mind. He thought 
 about it often, and as he grew bigger other things 
 happened, as you will hear, to make him think of it 
 still more. 
 
 It was rather a trial to Ted not to be able to run 
 about as usual that afternoon, for had he done so, the 
 cut might have begun to bleed again, so he had to sit 
 still in the nursery, looking out at the window and 
 hoping and hoping that Percy would soon come back. 
 Once David and his barrow passed underneath, and 
 the gardener called up to know if Master Ted's leg 
 was better. Ted shook his head rather dolefully. 
 
 " Him's better," he said, " but Ted can't run about. 
 Ted's so sad, David. Muzzer's got letters to write and 
 Percy's out." 
 
 A kind thought struck David. He went round to 
 the drawing-room window and tapped at it gently. 
 
42 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 Ted's mother was writing there. Might he wheel 
 Master Ted in his barrow to the part of the garden 
 where he was working ? — he would take good care 
 of him — "the little gentleman never cut himself if 
 I with him — no, indeed ; I make him safe enough." 
 
 And Ted's mother consented gladly. So in a few 
 minutes he was comfortably installed on a nice heap 
 of dry grass, with Cheviott close beside him and David 
 near at hand. 
 
 " You never touch my tools again, Master Ted, for 
 a bit; no, to be sure ; do you now ?" said David. 
 
 " No," said Ted. " Muzzer says I mustn't. But 
 wasn't the big scissors nicely oilened, David?" 
 
 " Oh, fust rate— ay," said David. " Though I not 
 say it is a cliver smell — no. I not like the smell, 
 Master Ted." 
 
 " Never mind," replied Ted reassuringly. " Ted 
 will ask muzzer for some cock-alone for thoo. Thoo 
 can put some on the scissors." 
 
 " What's that, Master Ted ?" inquired David, who 
 was not at all above getting information out of his 
 little master. 
 
 " Cock-alone," repeated Ted. " Oh, it's somesing 
 that smells very nice. I don't know what it is. I 
 thing it must be skeesed out of f owers. I'll run and 
 
WISHES AND FEARS. 43 
 
 get thoo some now, David, this minute," and lie was 
 on the point of clambering to his feet when the stiff 
 feeling of his bandaged leg stopped him. " Oh, I for- 
 got," he exclaimed regretfully. 
 
 " Yes indeed, Master Ted. You not walk a great 
 deal to-day, to be sure — no, indeed — for a bit ; ay." 
 
 Ted lay still for a minute or two. He was gazing 
 up at the sky, which that afternoon was very pure 
 and beautiful. 
 
 " Who paints the sky, David ?" he said suddenly. 
 
 "Well indeed, Master Ted, I not think you ask 
 me such a foolis' question, Master Ted bach /" said 
 David. " Who's make a sky and a sea and every- 
 thing so?" 
 
 "'Dod," said Ted. "Oh, I know that. But I 
 thoughtened p'raps 'Dod put somebody up there to 
 paint it. It was so pitty last night, David — all tolours 
 — Ted tan' t say zem all. Why isn't there many tolours 
 now, David?" 
 
 "I not know for sure," said David, stopping a 
 moment in his work and looking up at the sky. 
 
 " Ted thought," continued the little fellow slowly, 
 " Ted thought p'raps 'Dod's paints was getting done. 
 Could that be why?" 
 
 David was rather matter-of-fact, and I don't know 
 
44 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 that that made him any the worse a companion for 
 Ted, whose brain was already quite full enough of 
 fancies. So he did not smile at Ted's idea, but 
 answered quite gravely, 
 
 " No indeed, Master Ted, I not think that untall." 
 
 " If on'y Ted could fly," the child continued in a 
 minute or two, as just then a flock of birds made 
 their graceful way between his gazing eyes and the 
 clear blue vault above. "How pittily birds flies, 
 don't they, David ? If Ted could fly he'd soon find 
 out all about the sky and everysing. And it wouldn't 
 matter then that him had hurt Ins leg. Couldn't Ted 
 learn to fly, David?" 
 
 Ted was soaring too far above poor David's head 
 already for him to know what to answer. What could 
 he say but " No indeed, Master Ted," again ? He had 
 never heard tell of any one that could fly except the 
 angels. For David was fond of going to church, or 
 chapel rather, and though he could not read Ted's 
 Bible, he could read his own very well. 
 
 " Angels," said Ted. The word started his busy 
 fancy off in a fresh direction. He lay looking up 
 still, watching now the lovely little feathery clouds 
 that began to rise as the sun declined, and fancying 
 they were angels with wings softly floating hither 
 
WISHES AND FEARS. 45 
 
 and thither in the balmy air. He watched one little 
 group, which seemed to him like three angels with 
 their arms twined together, so long, that at last his 
 eyes grew rather tired of watching and their little 
 white blinds closed over them softly. Little Ted 
 had fallen asleep. 
 
 " So, so ; dear me, he tired," said old David, as, 
 surprised at the unusual silence, he turned to see 
 what Ted was about. " Bless him, he tired very bad 
 with his cliver talk and the pain ; ay — but, indeed, 
 he not one to make fuss — no. He a brave little 
 gentleman, Master Ted — ay, indeed," and the kind 
 old man lifted the boy's head so that he should lie 
 more comfortably, and turned his wheelbarrow up on 
 one side to shade him from the sun. 
 
 Ted smiled in his sleep as David looked at him. 
 Shall I tell you what made him smile ? In his sleep 
 he had got his wish. He dreamt that he was flying. 
 This was the dream that came to him. 
 
 He fancied he was running down the garden path 
 with Chevie, when all at once Chevie seemed to dis- 
 appear, and where he had been there stood a pretty 
 snow-white lamb. With an eager cry Ted darted 
 forward to catch it, and laid his hand on its soft 
 woolly coat, when — it was no lamb but a little cloud 
 
46 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 he was trying to grasp. And wonderful to say, the 
 little cloud seemed to float towards him and settle 
 itself on his shoulders, and then all of himself Ted 
 seemed to find out that it had turned into wings ! 
 
 " Ted can fly, Ted can fly !" he cried with delight, 
 or thought he cried. In reality it was just then that 
 David lifted his head, and feeling himself moving, Ted 
 fancied it was the wings lifting him upward, and gave 
 the pleased smile which David noticed. Fly! I 
 should think so. He mounted and mounted, higher 
 and higher, the white wings waving him upwards in 
 the most wonderful way, till at last he found himself 
 right up in the blue sky where he had so wished to 
 be. And ever so many — lots and lots of other little 
 white things were floating or flying about, and, look- 
 ing closely at them, Ted saw that they were not 
 little clouds as they seemed at first, but wings — all 
 pairs of beautiful white wings, and dear little faces 
 were peeping out from between them. They were 
 all little children like himself. 
 
 " Come and play, Ted, come and play. Ted, Ted, 
 Ted !" they cried so loud, that Ted opened his eyes 
 — his real waking eyes, not his dream ones — sharply, 
 and there he was, lying on the soft grass heap, not 
 up in the sky among the cloud-children at all ! 
 
WISHES AND FEARS. 47 
 
 At first lie was rather disappointed. But as lie 
 was thinking to himself whether it was worth while 
 to try to go to sleep again and go on with his dream, 
 he heard himself called as before, " Ted, Ted, Ted." 
 
 And looking up he forgot all about everything 
 else when he saw, running down the sloping banks as 
 fast as his legs would carry him, Percy, his dear Percy ! 
 
 Ted jumped up — even his wounded leg couldn't 
 keep him still now. 
 
 "Was it thoo calling me, Percy?" he said. "I 
 was d'eaming, do thoo know — such a funny d'eam ? 
 But I'm so glad thoo's come back, Percy. Oh, Ted is 
 so glad." 
 
 Then all the day's adventures had to be related — 
 the accident with the scissors and the drive in the 
 wheelbarrow, and the funny dream. And in his turn 
 Percy had to tell of all he had seen and done and 
 heard — the shops he had been at in the little town, 
 and what he had had for luncheon and — and — the 
 numberless trifles that make up the interest of a 
 child's day. 
 
 "Does thoo think there's any shop where we could 
 get wings, Percy?" asked Ted. He had the vaguest 
 ideas as to what "shops" were, but Percy had been 
 telling him of the beautiful little boats he had seen 
 
48 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 at a toy-shop in the market-place, " boats with white 
 sails and all rigged just like real ones ;" and if boats 
 with white sails were to be got, why not white wings ? 
 
 " Wings !" exclaimed Percy. " What sort of wings 
 do you mean, Teddy ?" 
 
 "Wings for little boys," Ted explained. "Like 
 what I was d'eaming about. It would be so nice to 
 fly, Percy." 
 
 "Beautiful, wouldn't it?" agreed Percy. But no- 
 body can fly, Ted. Nobody could make wings that 
 would be any use for people. People can't fly." 
 
 " But little boys, Percy," persisted Ted. " Little 
 boys isn't so very much bigger than birds. Oh, you 
 don't know how lovely it feels to fly. Percy, do let 
 us try to make some wings." 
 
 But Percy's greater experience was less hopeful. 
 
 "I'm afraid it would be no use," he said. "People 
 have often tried. I've heard stories of it. They 
 only tumbled down." 
 
 " Did they hurt themselves ? " asked Ted. 
 
 " I expect so," Percy replied. 
 
 Just then David, who was passing by, stopped to 
 tell the boys that some one was calling them in from 
 the house. 
 
 " Is it your papa, Master Ted ; yes, I think," he said. 
 
WISHES AND FEARS. 49 
 
 Ted's leg was feeling less stiff and painful now. 
 He could walk almost as well as usual. When they 
 got to the house-door his father was waiting for him. 
 He had heard of Ted's misfortune, and there was 
 rather a comical smile on his face as he stooped to 
 kiss his little boy. 
 
 " I want you to come in to see Mr. Brand," he 
 said. " He says he hasn't seen you for a long time, 
 little Ted." 
 
 Ted raised his blue eyes to his father's face with 
 a rather puzzled expression. 
 
 " Whom's Mr. Brand ?" he asked. 
 
 "Why, don't you remember him, Teddy?" said 
 Percy. " That great big gentleman — so awfully tall." 
 
 Ted did not reply, but he seemed much impressed. 
 
 " Is him a diant ?" he asked, gravely. 
 
 " Very nearly, I should say," said Percy, laughing, 
 and then, as he had already seen Mr. Brand, who had 
 
 met Ted's father on his way back from A , Percy 
 
 ran off in another direction, and Ted followed his 
 father into the drawing-room. 
 
 Mr. Brand was sitting talking to Ted's mother, 
 but just as the door opened, he rose from his seat 
 and came forward. 
 
 " I was just going to ask you if — ah ! here's your 
 E 
 
50 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 little boy," he said to Ted's father. Then, sitting 
 down again, he drew Ted between his knees and 
 looked kindly at the small innocent face. He was 
 very fond of children, but he did not know much 
 about them, and Ted, looking and feeling rather over- 
 awed, stood more silently than usual, staring seriously 
 at the visitor. 
 
 He was very tall and very big. Whether he quite 
 came up to Ted's idea of a " diant " I cannot tell. 
 But queer fancies began to chase each other round 
 the boy's brain. There had been a good deal to excite 
 and upset the little fellow — at no time a strong child 
 — that day, and his dream when lying asleep on the 
 grass had added to it all. And now, as he stood look- 
 ing up at big Mr. Brand, a strange Confusion of ideas 
 filled his mind — of giants tall enough to reach the 
 sky, to catch and bring down some of the cloud- 
 wings Ted wished so for, interspersed with wondering 
 if it was " fissy oil " that had made this big man so 
 very big. If he, Ted, were to take a great, great lot 
 of fissy oil, would he grow as big and strong ? Would 
 he be able to cut the grass like David perhaps, to run 
 faster than Percy — to — to I don't know what — for at 
 this moment Mr. Brand's voice brought him back 
 from his fancies. 
 
WISHES AND FEARS. 51 
 
 " What an absent-minded little fellow he is," Mr. 
 Brand was saying, for he had been speaking to Ted 
 two or three times without the child's paying any 
 attention. 
 
 " Not generally," said Ted's mother. "He is usually 
 very wide-awake to all that is going on. What are 
 you thinking of, Ted, dear ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Brand. "Tell us what you've 
 got in your head. Are you thinking that I'm a very 
 tiny little man — the tiniest little man you ever 
 saw?" 
 
 " No," said Ted solemnly, without the least smile, 
 at which his mother was rather surprised. For, young 
 though he was, Ted was usually very quick at seeing 
 a joke. But he just said " No," and stared again at 
 Mr. Brand, without another word. 
 
 " Then what were you thinking — that I'm the very 
 biggest man you ever did see ?" 
 
 " Ses," said Ted, gravely still, but with a certain 
 light in his eyes which encouraged Mr. Brand to con- 
 tinue his questions. 
 
 " And what more ? Were you wishing you were 
 as big as I am?" 
 
 Ted hesitated. 
 
 " I'd rather fly," he said. " But Percy says nobody 
 
52 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 can fly. I'd like to be big if' I could get up very 
 high." 
 
 "How high?" said Mr. Brand. "Up to the top 
 of the mountain out there ?" 
 
 " Is the mountain as high as the clouds ? " asked 
 Ted. 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Brand ; " when you're up at the 
 very top, you can look down on the clouds." 
 
 Ted looked rather puzzled. 
 
 "I'll tell you what," the gentleman went on, 
 amused by the expression of the child's face, "I'll 
 tell you what — as I'm so big, supposing I take you 
 to the top of the mountain — we'll go this very after- 
 noon. I'll take a jug of cold water and a loaf of 
 bread, and leave it with you there so that you'll have 
 something to eat, and then you can stay there quite 
 comfortable by yourself and find out all you want to 
 know. You'd like that, wouldn't you ? to be all by 
 yourself on the top of the mountain ?" 
 
 He looked at Ted in a rather queer way as he 
 said it. The truth was that Mr. Brand, who though 
 so big was not very old, was carried away by the fun 
 (to him) of watching the puzzled look on the child's 
 face, and forgot that what to him was a mere passing 
 joke might be very different to the tender little four- 
 years-old boy. 
 
WISHES AND FEARS. 53 
 
 Ted's face grew rather white, lie edged away a 
 little from this strange gentleman, whom he could 
 not make out, but who was so big that Ted felt it 
 impossible to doubt his being able to do anything he 
 wished. 
 
 "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he repeated, 
 quite gravely, and glancing at Ted with slightly 
 knitted brows which made the boy suddenly think 
 of some of the " ogre" stories he had heard. 
 
 "No," said Ted bluntly. But he was afraid to 
 say more. Ogres didn't like to be contradicted, and 
 perhaps — perhaps this strange man really thought he 
 would like it, and really meant to please him. Any 
 way, it would never do to answer rudely, though Ted's 
 face grew still paler, when his glance fell on the 
 mountain peak clearly to be seen out of the window 
 from where he stood, and a little shiver ran through 
 him when he thought that perhaps he would have to 
 go, whether he liked it or not. He edged away still 
 farther, but it was no use. Mr. Brand had put his 
 arm round him, and there was no getting away, when 
 suddenly a noise outside the window caught the 
 gentleman's attention and he started up. It was his 
 dog barking loudly, and Mr. Brand, fearing he might 
 have got into some mischief, stepped out through the 
 
54 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 glass door to see. Ted was on the alert, and before 
 any one in the room had noticed him he was off. 
 
 Where should he go to ? He dared not hide in 
 the garden, for there he might be seen, especially as 
 Mr. Brand was running about after his dog ; he would 
 not go up to the nursery, for nurse would ask him why 
 he had not stayed downstairs ; he did not even wish 
 to find Percy, for though he could not have explained 
 why, he felt that it would be impossible for him to 
 tell any one of the strange terror that Mr. Brand's joke 
 had awakened. He felt ashamed of it, afraid too 
 that if, as he vaguely thought might be the case, the 
 offer had been made in real earnest and with a wish 
 to please him, his dislike to it would be ungrateful 
 and unkind. Indeed poor Ted was more troubled 
 than he ever remembered to have been in his whole 
 little life — he could think of nothing for it but to 
 hide till all danger was past. 
 
 A brilliant idea struck him — he would go and pay 
 a visit to cook ! It was not very often he went into 
 the kitchen, and no one would look for him there. 
 And cook was kind, very kind when not very busy. 
 So with a slight shudder as, running past the open 
 front-door, he caught sight of the well-known moun- 
 tain peak, frowning at him, as it seemed now, for the 
 
WISHES AND FEARS. 55 
 
 first time in his life, Ted made his way to cook's 
 quarters. 
 
 She was not in the kitchen, but hearing some one 
 coming, she called out from the back kitchen where 
 she was. That was better still, every step the farther 
 from the drawing-room, or from Mr. Brand rather, 
 was a gain. So Ted trotted into the back kitchen, 
 and to prevent cook's thinking there was anything 
 the matter asked her if he might play with the cat. 
 He found a piece of string, to which cook tied a cork, 
 and as pussy was really more of a kitten than a cat, 
 he amused himself for some time by making her 
 run after it, whistling now and then to keep up his 
 heart, though had cook looked at him closely she 
 could have seen how white he was, and how every 
 now and then he threw frightened glances over his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Your leg's better, Master Ted ? " said cook. 
 
 " Oh ses, zank thoo," said Ted. " Him's much 
 better." 
 
 " You'll have to take care never to touch sharp 
 tools again, won't you?" she went on, as she bustled 
 about with her work. 
 
 " Ses," he said again. But he did not speak with 
 his usual heartiness, and cook, who, like all the servants, 
 
56 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 loved the bright, gentle little fellow, looked at him 
 rather anxiously. Suddenly a sound was heard — 
 wheels on the gravel drive. 
 
 "What's that, cook ?" said Ted, starting. 
 
 "Only the gentleman's dog-cart — the gentleman 
 that's been to see your papa. He's going away," said 
 cook composedly. 
 
 Ted hurried into the kitchen. From the window 
 the drive could be seen by big people, though not by 
 him. 
 
 " Lift me up on the table, please, cook," he said, 
 and when cook good-naturedly did so, and he saw the 
 giant really, actually driving away, Ted could almost 
 have cried with pleasure. But his fears and his 
 relief he kept in his own little heart. 
 
 " Zank thoo, cook," he said gravely, but with the 
 pretty courtesy he never forgot. "Zank thoo, and 
 please lift me down again." 
 
 " He's a funny little fellow," said cook to herself, 
 as she watched Ted trot off. " I wonder what he'd got 
 in his mind, bless him." 
 
 Ted reappeared in the drawing-room. 
 
 " Where have you been, dear ? " said his mother. 
 " We were looking about for you to say good-bye to 
 Mr. Brand. Where did you go to ?" 
 
WISHES AND FEARS. 57 
 
 " Ted were in the kitchen, 'peaking to cook," he 
 replied. 
 
 " But why did you go away, dear, while Mr. Brand 
 was here ? " asked his mother. " Were you frightened 
 of his dog?" 
 
 " No," said Ted, " Ted's never frightened of dogs." 
 
 " No, dear, I know you're not," said his mother. 
 But she did not feel satisfied. Her little boy did not 
 look the same as usual somehow. Still she felt 
 it was better to ask no more — after a while Ted 
 would perhaps tell her of himself. And she did well, 
 for it would have been almost impossible for him to 
 tell his mingled feelings. 
 
 " Muzzer likes that big man," he was thinking to 
 himself. "Muzzer thinks he's kind. It's naughty 
 and unkind of Ted to be frightened," and so the 
 loyal little man kept silence. 
 
 And it was not for a long time — not till Ted him- 
 self had learnt to " understand " a little better, that 
 even his mother understood the whole. 
 
58 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 THE STORY OF SUNNY. 
 
 " Of course lie was the giant, 
 With beard as white as snow." 
 
 But whenever Mr. Brand, poor man, came to call, 
 Ted was sure in some mysterious way to disappear. 
 After a while his mother began to notice it, though, 
 as Mr. Brand did not come very often, she did not 
 do so all at once. She noticed, however, another 
 thing which she was sorry for. Ted took a dislike to 
 the big mountain. It was a great pity, for before 
 that he had been so fond of it — so fond of watching 
 the different expressions, "looks" Ted called them, 
 that it wore according to the time of day, or the time 
 of year, or the weather. And his father and mother 
 had been pleased to see him so " noticing," for such 
 a little boy ; they thought it showed, as indeed it 
 did, that he was likely to grow into a happy-minded 
 and happy-hearted man. 
 
THE STORY OF SUNNY. 59 
 
 But now it was quite different. When lie sat on 
 his mother's knee in the drawing-room he would turn 
 his little face to the side away from the window so 
 that he should not see the towering mountain-head. 
 He would never laugh at his old friend's putting on 
 his nightcap of mist, as he used to do, and all his 
 pretty fancies about being able to reach the dear 
 little stars if he were up on the top peak of all, were 
 spoilt. 
 
 " Something has frightened Ted," said his mother 
 to his father one day. " I wonder what it can be. 
 I know you wouldn't frighten him, dear," she added, 
 turning to Percy who was in the room, though of 
 course Ted was not there, otherwise his mother would 
 not have said it, " but still, has there been anything 
 in your play that could have done so ? Have you 
 been talking about mountains, or telling stories 
 about them ?" 
 
 " No," said Percy, thoughtfully ; " I'm sure there 
 has been nothing. Shall I ask Ted about it ? Per- 
 haps he wouldn't mind telling me, not even as much 
 
 as " Percy stopped and grew a little red. He was 
 
 a boy of nice feelings, not rough and knock-about in 
 his ways like many schoolboys. 
 
 " Not even as much as telling me, you were going 
 
60 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 to say," said Ted's mother, smiling. " Never mind, 
 dear. I daresay it would be easier for him to tell yon, 
 and I am very glad my little boy has snch a kind 
 Percy to talk to. Bnt I think perhaps it is better to 
 say nothing to him. We may find it out by degrees, 
 and if it is only a sort of fancy — he may have seen 
 the mountain looking gloomy some evening — it may 
 fade away of itself more quickly if we don't notice it." 
 That day was a very bright and lovely one. Ted's 
 mother thought to herself she would like to do some- 
 thing to make Ted, and Percy too, " extra " happy, 
 for the weeks had been running on fast — it would 
 soon be time for Percy, not being a little fish, to go 
 back to school. And Percy's big sister was with 
 them too just then. She was even bigger than Percy, 
 so of course Ted thought her quite grown up, though 
 in reality she was a good many years off being so. 
 She was very nice any way, with a gentle pretty face 
 and kind eyes, and though she was not very old she 
 was very clever at telling stories, which is a most 
 delightful thing in a big sister or cousin — is it not ? 
 And she was also able to sing very prettily, another 
 delightful thing, or at least so Ted thought, for he 
 was so fond of singing. This big ghTs name was 
 Mabel. 
 
THE STORY OF SUNNY. 61 
 
 And after thinking a while and talking about it 
 to Mabel, Ted's mother thought the nicest thing 
 would be to have tea in a lonely little nesty place in 
 the gorge between the mountains that I have told 
 you of. We were to go there with Ted and Cheviott 
 some day, by the by, were we not ? Well, never mind, 
 Cheviott shall be — that is to say he was — of the gipsy 
 tea-party, so that will come to the same thing, will 
 it not ? 
 
 They all set off — Ted's father and mother, another 
 gentleman and lady who were staying for the summer 
 in a cottage not far off, that they might be near their 
 friends, their daughter who was really grown up, and 
 Mabel and Percy and Ted. You can fancy the bread 
 and butter there was to cut, the home-made cake, the 
 tea and sugar and cream that must not be forgotten. 
 And when all the baskets were ready and everybody 
 was helping and planning how to carry them, who do 
 you think got hold of the biggest of all and was trying 
 to lug it along ? Who but our four-years-old Ted ? 
 
 " My boy, my boy," cried his mother, laughing, 
 for he did look comical — the basket being really very 
 nearly as big as himself and his little face already 
 quite red with the exertion, "you cannot possibly 
 take that basket. Why, / could scarcely carry it." 
 
62 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 "But boys is stronger than muzzers," said Ted 
 gravely, and it was really with difficulty that they 
 could persuade him to give it up, and only then by 
 letting him carry another which looked nearly as 
 important but was in reality much lighter, as it only 
 held the tablecloth and the teapot and teaspoons. 
 
 I have not told you about the gorge — not told you, 
 I mean, how lovely it was. Nor if I talked about it 
 for hours could I half describe its beauty. In spring 
 time perhaps it was the prettiest of all, for then it 
 was rich in the early blossoms and flowers that are 
 so quickly over, and that seem to us doubly precious 
 after the flower famine of the winter. But not even 
 in the early spring time, with all the beauty of prim- 
 roses and violets, could the gorge look lovelier than 
 it did this summer afternoon. For the ferns and 
 bracken never seemed dusty and withered in this 
 favoured place — the grass and moss too, kept their 
 freshness through all the hot days as if tended by 
 fairy fingers. It was thanks to the river you see — 
 the merry beautiful little river that came dancing 
 down the centre of this mountain-pass, at one part 
 turning itself into a waterfall, then, as if tired, for a 
 little flowing along more quietly through a short 
 space of less precipitous road. But always beautiful, 
 
THE STORY OF SUNNY. 63 
 
 always kindly and generous to the happy dwellers on 
 its banks, keeping them cool in the hottest days, 
 tossing here and there its spray of pearly drops as if 
 in pretty fun. 
 
 On each side of the water ran a little footpath, 
 and here and there roughly-made rustic bridges across 
 it tempted you to see if the other side was as pretty 
 as this, though when you had stood still to consider 
 about it you found it impossible to say ! The paths 
 were here and there almost completely hidden, for 
 they were so little trodden that the moss had it all its 
 own way with them, and sometimes too it took a 
 scramble and a climb to fight one's way through the 
 tangled knots and fallen fragments of rock which 
 encumbered them. But now and then there came a 
 bit of level ground where the gorge widened slightly, 
 and then the path stopped for a while in a sort of 
 glade from which again it emerged on the other side. 
 It was in one of these glades that Ted's mother 
 arranged the gipsy tea. Can you imagine a prettier 
 place for a summer day's treat ? Overhead the bluest 
 of blue skies and sunshine, tempered by the leafy 
 screen-work of the thickly growing trees ; at one side 
 the soft rush of the silvery river, whose song was here 
 low and gentle, though one could hear in the distance 
 
64 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 the boom of the noisy waterfall ; at the other side the 
 mountain slope, whose short brown slippery turf 
 seemed to tempt one to a climb. And close at hand 
 the wealth of ferns and bracken and flowers that I 
 have told you of — a little higher up strange gleaming 
 balls of many kinds of fungus, yellow and orange, and 
 even scarlet, flamed out as if to rival the softer tints 
 of the trailing honeysuckle and delicate convolvulus 
 and pink foxglove below. It was a lovely dream of 
 fairyland, and the knowing that not far away the 
 waves of the broad blue sea were gently lapping the 
 sandy shore seemed somehow to make it feel all the 
 lovelier. 
 
 The tea of course was a great success — when was a 
 gipsy tea, unless people are very cross-tempered and 
 fidgety and difficult to please, anything else ? The 
 kettle did its duty well, for the water boiled in it 
 beautifully on the fire of dry sticks and leaves which 
 Percy and Mabel, and busy Ted of 'course ,had collected. 
 The tea tasted very good — "not 'moky at all," said 
 Ted ; the slices of bread and butter and cake dis- 
 appeared in a wonderful way, till at last everybody 
 said " No, thank you, not any more," when the boys 
 handed round the few disconsolate-looking pieces that 
 remained. 
 
THE STORY OF SUNNY. 65 
 
 And after this there was the fun of washing up 
 and packing away, in which Ted greatly distinguished 
 himself. Hs would not leave the least shred of paper 
 or even crumbs about, for the fairies would be angry, 
 he said, if their pretty house wasn't left " kite tidy." 
 And Percy and Mabel were amused at his fancy, and 
 naturally enough it set them talking about fairies and 
 such like. For the children were by themselves now 
 — the ladies had gone on a little farther to a place 
 where Ted's mother wanted to sketch, and the gentle- 
 men had set off to climb to the nearest peak, from 
 whence there was a beautiful view of the sea. It 
 would have been too much for Ted, and indeed when 
 his father had asked him if he would like to go part 
 of the way with them, both his mother and Percy 
 noticed that a troubled look came over his happy face, 
 as he said he would rather stay where he was, which 
 was strange for him, for though such a little boy, he 
 was always eager for a climb and anxious to do 
 whatever he saw any one else doing. So kind Percy, 
 mindful of Ted's mother^ words, said he would not 
 go either, and stayed with the others, helping them to 
 tidy up the fairies' house. 
 
 " Now," said Ted at last, sitting down on the grass 
 at Mabel's feet, " now I sink the fairies will be p'eased. 
 
 F 
 
66 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 It's all kite tidy. Fairies is always angry if peoples is 
 untidy." 
 
 " I thought fairies were always in a good humour," 
 said Percy. " I didn't know they were ever angry." 
 
 " Oh, I think Ted's right," said Mabel. " They are 
 angry with people who are dirty or untidy. Don't 
 you remember a story about them coming to work in 
 a house where the kitchen was always left tidy at 
 night? And they never would come to the next 
 house because it was always in a mess." 
 
 " P'ease tell me that story, Mabel," said Ted. 
 
 " I'm afraid I don't remember it very well," she 
 replied. 
 
 " Do you remember," said Percy, who was lying 
 on the ground staring up at the sky and the bit of 
 brown mountain peak that could be seen from where 
 he was, " do you remember, Mab, the story of a little 
 boy that fell asleep on the top of a mountain, and the 
 fairies spirited him away, and took him down to their 
 country, down inside the mountain ? And he thought 
 he had only been away — when he came home again, 
 I mean, for they had to let him out again after a 
 while — he thought he had only been away a day or 
 two, and, fancy, it had been twenty years ! All the 
 children had grown big, and the young people middle- 
 
THE STORY OF SUNNY. 67 
 
 aged, and the middle-aged people quite old, and none 
 of them knew him again. He had lost all his child- 
 hood. Wasn't it sad?" 
 
 " Yes, very" said Mahel ; " I remember the story." 
 
 "I think it's dedful," said Ted. "I don't like 
 mountains, and I don't like diants. I'll never go up 
 a mountain, never." 
 
 "But it wasn't the mountain's fault, Ted," said 
 Percy. " And it wasn't giants, it was fairies." 
 
 " I sink p'raps it was diants," persisted Ted. " I 
 don't like zem. Mr. Brand is a diant," he added 
 mysteriously, in a low voice. 
 
 Percy had been thinking of what Ted's mother 
 had said. Now he felt sure that it was something to 
 do with Mr. Brand that had frightened the little fellow. 
 But Mabel did not know about it. 
 
 "I like mountains," she said. "Indeed I love 
 them. I am always so glad to live where I can see 
 their high peaks reaching up into the sky." 
 
 " But it wouldn't be nice to be alone, kite alone, 
 on the top of one of zem, would it ?" said Ted. 
 
 " No, it wouldn't be nice to be alone in any far-off 
 place like that," said Percy, " but of course nobody 
 would ever stay up on the top of a mountain alone." 
 
 " But if zem was made to," said Ted doubtfully. 
 
68 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 " I wouldn't mind so much if I had Chevie," he added, 
 putting his arm round the dear doggie's neck and 
 leaning his little fair head on him, for of course Chevie 
 was of the party. 
 
 " Poor Ted," said Percy, laughing. " ISTo one would 
 ever make you live up all alone on the top of a 
 mountain. Mabel, I wish you'd tell us a story," he 
 said to his sister. " It's so nice here. I shall go to 
 sleep if somebody doesn't do something to keep me 
 awake." 
 
 He was lying at full length on the soft mossy grass, 
 in the same place still, and gazing up at the blue sky 
 and brown mountain peak. " Tell us a story, Mab," 
 he repeated lazily. 
 
 " I haven't got any very nice ones just now," said 
 Mabel. " I have been so busy with my lessons, 
 you know, Percy, that I haven't had time for any 
 stories." 
 
 " Can't you make them up yourself?" said Percy. 
 
 " Sometimes I do, a little," she replied. " But I 
 can't make them all quite myself. Sometimes in our 
 German reading-books there are funny little bits of 
 stories, and I add on to them. There was one — oh 
 yes, I'll tell you one about a giant who lived on the 
 top of a mountain." 
 
THE STORY OF SUNNY. 69 
 
 Ted drew nearer to Mabel, and nestled in to her 
 side. 
 
 " A diant on the top of a mountain," he repeated. 
 " Is it very Tightening, Mabel ?" 
 
 " Oh no. Listen and I'll tell you. Once, a long 
 time ago, there was, a long way off, a strange country. 
 There were lots and lots of forests in it, and at the 
 side of the biggest forest of all there rose a chain of 
 high mountains. The people who lived in this forest 
 were poor, simple sort of people — they hadn't much 
 time for anything but work, for it was difficult to 
 gain enough to live on. Most of them were charcoal- 
 burners, and there were not very many of them alto- 
 gether. Of course in a forest there wouldn't be 
 much room for cottages and houses, would there ? 
 And their cottages were none of them near together. 
 Each family had its own hut, quite separated from 
 the others, and unless you belonged to the forest you 
 could hardly find your way from one part of it to 
 the other. The poor people, too, were so busy that 
 they had not much time for going to see each other, or 
 for amusing themselves in any way. They all had a 
 pale sad look, something like the look that I have 
 heard papa say the poor people in some parts of 
 England have — the people in those parts where they 
 
A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 work so awfully hard in dark smoky towns and never 
 see the sun, or the green fields, or anything fresh and 
 pretty. Of course the forest people were not as 
 badly off as that — for their work any way was in the 
 open air, and the forest was clean — not like dirty 
 factories, even though it was so dark. It was the 
 want of sunshine that was their worst trouble, and 
 that gave them that white, dull, half-frightened look. 
 The forest was too thick and dense for the sun to 
 get really into it, even in winter, and then, of course, 
 the rays are so thin and pale that they aren't much 
 good if they do come. And the mountains at the 
 side came so close down to the edge of the forest 
 that there was no getting any sunshine there either, 
 for it was the north side there, the side that the sun- 
 shine couldn't get to. So for these reasons the place 
 had come to be called ' the sunless country.' " 
 
 " What was there at the other side of the forest ?" 
 said Percy; "couldn't they have got into the sunshine 
 at that side?" 
 
 " No," said Mabel. " I think there was a river or 
 something. Or else it was that the forest was so 
 very, very big that it would have been quite a journey 
 to get out at any other side. I think that was it. 
 Any way they couldn't. And they just had to live 
 
THE STORY OF SUNNY. 
 
 on without sunshine as well as they could. Their 
 fathers had done so before them, and there was no 
 help for it, they thought. They were too poor and 
 too hard-worked to move away to another country, or 
 to do anything but just go through each day as it 
 came in a dull sad way, seldom speaking even to each 
 other. 
 
 " But do you know, it had not always been so in 
 the sunless forest, though the better times were so 
 long ago that hardly any of the poor people knew it 
 had ever been different. There had, once upon a 
 time, been a way into the sunshine on the other side 
 of the mountain, and this way lay right through the 
 great hill itself. But the mountain belonged to a great 
 and very powerful giant" — at this Ted edged still 
 closer to Mabel — " who lived in it quite alone. Some- 
 times he used to come out at a hole in the top, which 
 was his door, and stay up there for a while looking 
 about him, staring at the black forest down at his 
 feet, and smiling grimly to himself at the thought of 
 how dark and dull it must be for the people who lived 
 in it. For he was not a kind giant at all. It was he 
 that had shut up the passage through which the poor 
 forest people used to pass to their bright cottages on 
 the other side, for in those days they didn't live in 
 
72 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 the forest, they only went there for their work, and 
 on Sundays and holidays they were all happy and 
 merry together, and the little children grew up rosy 
 and bright, quite different from the poor little wan- 
 faced creatures that now hung sadly about at the hut 
 doors in the forest, looking as if they didn't know how 
 to laugh or play." 
 
 "Why did the naughty diant shut up the way ?" 
 asked Ted. 
 
 " Because he had a quarrel with the forest people. 
 He wanted them to let their little boys and girls, or 
 some of them, come to him to be his servants, but 
 they wouldn't, and so he was so angry that he shut 
 up the door. But that was so long ago now that the 
 people had almost forgotten about it — the children 
 that the giant had wanted to be his servants were old 
 grandfathers and grandmothers now, and some of them 
 were dead, I daresay, so that the real history of their 
 troubles was forgotten by them but not by the giant, 
 for whenever he came out at the top of the mountain 
 to take some air, he used to look down at the forest 
 and think how dull and miserable they must be there." 
 
 " Nasty diant," said Ted. 
 
 " Yes, he was very unkind, but still I think you 
 would have been rather sorry for him too. He was 
 
THE STORY OF SUNNY. 73 
 
 old and all alone, and of course nobody loved him. 
 The people in the forest hardly ever spoke of him. 
 They knew he was there, or that he used to be there, 
 and now and then some of the children who had heard 
 about him used to feel afraid of him and whisper to 
 each other that he would eat them up if he could 
 catch them, but that was about all the notice they 
 took of him. They seemed to have forgotten that he 
 was the cause of their sad, gloomy lives, and indeed 
 I am not sure that any except some very old people 
 really knew. Among these very old people there 
 were a man and his wife who were almost the poorest 
 of all in the forest. They were so poor because they 
 were almost past work, and they had no children to 
 work for them. All that they had was a little grand- 
 daughter, who lived with them because her father and 
 mother were dead. And it was a queer thing that 
 she was quite different from the other poor children 
 in the forest. They were all pale and sad and crushed- 
 looking like their parents. This little girl was bright- 
 haired and bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked. She was 
 the one merry happy creature in the forest, and all 
 the poor people used to stand and look at her as she 
 flitted about, and wish that their children were the 
 same. I don't know what her real name was ; the 
 
74 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 story didn't tell, but the name she got to have among 
 the forest people was Sunshine — at least it was Sun- 
 shine in German, but I think c Sunny' is a nicer 
 name, don't you?" 
 
 " Yes," said Percy ; and 
 " Ses," said Ted, " ' Sunny ' is nicest." 
 " Well, we'll call her ' Sunny.' The reason that 
 she was so different was partly that she hadn't been 
 born in the forest. Her father, who was the son of 
 these old people, had gone away, as some few of the 
 forest people did, to another country, and there he 
 had married a bright-haired, pretty girl. But she 
 had died, and he himself got very ill, and he had only 
 strength to bring his baby girl back to the forest to 
 his parents when he too died. So Sunny's history 
 had been rather sad, you see, but still it hadn't made 
 her sad — it seemed as if the sunshine was in her 
 somehow, and that nothing could send it away." 
 
 Mabel stopped. Voices and steps were heard 
 coming near. 
 
 " They're coming back," she said. " I'll have to 
 finish the story another time. I didn't think it 
 would take so long to tell." 
 
 "Oh do go on now, dear, dear Mabel, oh do!" cried 
 Ted beseechingly. 
 
TEE STORY OF SUNNY. 
 
 But Mabel's fair face grew red. 
 
 " I couldn't, Ted, dear," she said, " not before big 
 people," and Percy sympathised with her. 
 
 " We'll hear the rest in the garden at home," he 
 said. 
 
 " Thoo won't tell it without me, not without Ted, 
 p'ease," asked the little fellow. 
 
 " No, no, of course not, darling," said Mabel as she 
 kissed his eager face. 
 
 Just then a ray of bright evening sunshine fell on 
 Ted's brown hair, lighting it up and deepening it to 
 gold, and as the little fellow caught it in his eyes, he 
 looked up laughing. 
 
 " There's Sunny kissing Ted too," he said merrily. 
 
76 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 CHAPTEE Y. 
 
 the STORY OF SUNNY {Concluded). 
 
 " A child of light, a radiant lass, 
 
 And cheerful as the morning air." 
 
 They were all three laughing at Ted's wit when his 
 mother and the other ladies came upon them. 
 
 " You seem very happy, children," said she. 
 
 " Oh ses," said Ted. " Mabel has been telling us 
 such a lovely story. It's not finnied yet. She's 
 going to tell the rest in the garden at home. Oh, I 
 am so happy. It's been such a sprendid day." 
 
 He began half humming to himself in the excess 
 of his delight. 
 
 " Ted wishes somebody would sing a song," he said. 
 
 His mother glanced at Mabel. Poor Mabel's face 
 grew very red again. It would be worse than telling 
 a story. 
 
 " If we all sang together," she said timidly, " I 
 wouldn't mind trying to begin." 
 
THE STORY OF SUNNY. 77 
 
 So in a minute or two her clear young voice sang 
 out — like a lark's it seemed to mount higher and still 
 higher, gathering strength and courage as it grew, 
 and then softly dropping again as if to fetch the 
 others, who joined her in the old familiar chorus 
 of the simple song she had chosen — " Home, sweet 
 home." 
 
 Ted listened entranced, and his little voice here 
 and there could be distinguished. But suddenly, as 
 Mabel stopped and a momentary silence fell on them 
 all, he turned to his mother, and throwing himself 
 into her arms, burst into tears. 
 
 "Muzzer," he said, "I can't bear it. It's too 
 pitty," and though his mother and Mabel soothed 
 the excited little fellow with gentle words and 
 caresses, there were tears in more eyes than Ted's as 
 they all thanked Mabel for her singing. 
 
 It was the next day that they had the rest of the 
 story. The children were all in the garden together, 
 not far from Ted's favourite " bridge." They could 
 hear the babble of the little brook as it chattered 
 past in the sunshine, and now and then the distant 
 cry of a sea-bird would sound through the clear air, 
 making Cheviott prick up his ears and look very 
 wide-awake all of a sudden, though in reality, being 
 
78 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 no longer in the first bloom of youth, he was apt to 
 get rather drowsy on a hot afternoon. 
 
 " We'se all ready, Mabel," said Ted, settling him- 
 self down comfortably in his favourite rest at her 
 side. " Now go on p'ease. I can see the top of the 
 mountain kite nice from here, and zen I can sink I'll 
 see the old diant poking his head out," evidently the 
 child's fear of the mountain was fast becoming a 
 thing of the past, and Percy felt quite pleased. 
 
 "Well," began Mabel, "I was telling you that 
 Sunny had lived with her old grandfather and grand- 
 mother since she was quite little. They were very 
 kind to her, but they were very poor, almost the 
 poorest of all in the forest. And yet their cottage 
 never seemed quite so dull and sad as the others. 
 How could it, when there was always Sunny's bright 
 head flitting about, and her merry voice sounding like 
 a bird's ? 
 
 " The old people looked at her half with pleasure 
 and half sadly. 
 
 " ' It can't last/ the old man said one day, when 
 the little girl was running and jumping about in her 
 usual happy way. 
 
 " The old woman knew what he meant without his 
 explaining, and she nodded her head sadly, and just 
 
THE STORY OF SUNNY. 
 
 then Sunny came flying into the cottage to show them 
 some flowers she had actually found in the forest, 
 which, you see, was the greatest wonder possible, for 
 there were almost never any flowers to be seen. And 
 Sunny told them how she had found them in a little 
 corner where the trees did not grow quite so thick, 
 so that more light could get in. And when she saw 
 how surprised the old people were, she looked at them 
 rather strangely, and some new thoughts seemed to 
 be awaking in her mind, and she said, ' Grandfather, 
 why aren't there more flowers in the forest, and why 
 am I the only little girl that laughs and sings ? Why 
 does everybody look sad here ? I can remember a 
 little, just a little, about the other country I lived in 
 before I came here. People used to laugh and smile 
 there, and my mother had bright hair like mine, and 
 father too was not sad till after mother had gone 
 away and we came to this dark land. Why is it so 
 dark, and why do you all look so sad V 
 
 "The old man told her it was all for want of 
 the sun, ' the blessed sun,' he called it, and Sunny 
 thought about his words a great deal. And bit by 
 bit she got the whole story from him, for he was one 
 of the few remaining old people who knew the reason 
 of their misfortunes. And Sunny thought and thought 
 
80 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 it over so much that she began to leave off dancing 
 and laughing and singing as she used, so that her 
 poor grandfather and grandmother began to be afraid 
 that the sadness of the forest was at last spoiling her 
 happy nature, and for a while they were very sorry 
 about her. But one day she told them what she had 
 in her mind. This was what she said to them — 
 
 "'Dear grandfather and grandmother, I cannot 
 bear to see the sadness of the poor people here, and 
 I have been thinking if nothing can be done. And 
 a few nights ago I had a strange dream. I dreamt 
 that a beautiful lady stood beside me and said, ' Go, 
 Sunny, and have no fear. The giant will not harm 
 you/ And since then it has come into my mind that 
 I might win back the sunshine for our poor neigh- 
 bours, and for you too, dear grandfather and grand- 
 mother, for you are not so very old yet, if you will 
 let me go to see if I can melt the giant's hard heart.' 
 
 " Sunny was standing in front of the old couple, 
 and as she spoke, to their amazement, a sudden ray of 
 sunshine crept in through the little rough window of 
 the cottage and fell softly on her bright head. Her 
 grandfather looked at her grandmother, and her grand- 
 mother looked at her grandfather. They didn't know 
 how to speak — they were so surprised. Never, since 
 
THE STORY OF SUNNY. 81 
 
 they were quite, quite little children had they seen 
 such a thing. And they whispered to each other 
 that it must be a magic sign, they must let the child 
 go. I think it was very good and kind of them to 
 let her go, the only thing they had to cheer them. 
 The tears rolled down their poor old faces as they 
 said good-bye to her, not knowing if they would live 
 to see her return. But they said to each other, ' "We 
 have not very many years to live. It would be very 
 wrong of us to lose the chance of life and happiness 
 for all the poor forest people just to keep our bit of 
 sunshine to ourselves/ And so they let her go, for 
 they were good old people." 
 
 " Ses," said Ted, " zem was very kind. But how 
 dedful for Sunny to have to go to the diant. Did 
 her go all alone, Mabel ?" 
 
 " Yes, all alone. But she wasn't frightened. And 
 somehow her grandfather and grandmother weren't 
 frightened for- her either. They had a feeling that 
 she had to go, and so she did. She set off the very 
 next morning. Her grandfather explained the way to 
 her, for old as he was he had never forgotten the days 
 when the passage through the giant's mountain was left 
 free and open, so that there was no need for the forest 
 people to spend all their lives in the gloom and shade. 
 
 G 
 
82 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 "Sunny walked quietly along the dark paths among 
 the trees. She didn't dance and skip as usual, for 
 she felt as if all of a sudden she had grown almost 
 into a woman, with the thought of what she had to 
 do for her poor neighbours. And as she looked about 
 her, she felt as if she had never before quite noticed 
 how dark and chill and gloomy it was. She had a 
 good way to walk, for since the closing of the passage 
 the people had moved farther and farther into the 
 forest. They had grown afraid of the giant, and were 
 glad to get as far from him as they could, for there 
 was no good to be got by staying near him. So 
 Sunny walked on, past the cottages she knew, where 
 she nodded to the people she saw, but without speak- 
 ing to them, which was so unlike her usual merry 
 way that they all looked after her in surprise and 
 wondered what had come over the little girl. And 
 one or two of them shook their heads and said sadly 
 that she was getting to be like the rest of them. 
 But Sunny walked on, farther and farther, now and 
 then smiling quietly to herself, and her bright little 
 head shining in the darkness almost as if the sun was 
 lighting it up. She went a good way, but there was 
 nothing new or different. It was always the dark 
 forest and the gloomy trees. But at last she saw, 
 
She hunted about among the leaves and branches till she 
 found a little silver knob."— p. 83. 
 
THE STORY OF SUNNY. 83 
 
 close to her, behind the trees, the dark sides of the 
 great mountain, and she knew that she must be near 
 the closed-up door." 
 
 " Oh !" said Ted, " wasn't her afraid of bears ? " 
 
 " No," said Mabel, " she wasn't afraid of anything. 
 She went quietly up to the door and stood before it. 
 It was barred and barred with iron, and it was so 
 long since it had been opened that the ivy and those 
 sorts of plants had grown all over it, creeping round 
 the iron bars. It looked as if it hadn't been opened 
 for a hundred years, and I daresay it hadn't been. 
 But Sunny knew what to do. She hunted about among 
 the leaves and branches till she found a little silver 
 knob — her grandfather had told her about it; and the 
 queer thing was that though the iron bars were quite 
 rusted over so that you wouldn't have known what 
 they were, the little silver knob was still bright and 
 shining as if it had been cleaned every day always." 
 
 "Wif plate-powder," said Ted, who was very 
 learned about such matters, as he was very fond of 
 watching the servants at their work. 
 
 "Yes," said Mabel, "just as if it had been cleaned 
 with plate-powder. Well, Sunny pressed this little 
 knob, and a minute or two after she heard a clear 
 tinkling bell. That was just what her grandfather 
 
84 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 had told her she would hear, so she stood quite still 
 and waited. In a little while she seemed to hear a 
 sound as of something coming along the passage, and 
 suddenly the top part of the door — at least it was 
 more like a window cut in the door — opened, and a 
 voice, though she could not see anybody, called out, 
 ' Have you come to stay?' This too was what her 
 grandfather had told her she would hear, so she knew 
 what to say, and she answered ' Yes.' Then the voice 
 said again, 'At what price?' and Sunny answered, 
 'Sunshine for the forest.' But her heart began to 
 beat faster when the door slowly opened and she saw 
 that she must enter the dark passage. There was no 
 one to be seen, even though the voice had sounded 
 quite near, so Sunny just walked on, looking about 
 her, for gradually as she went farther, either her eyes 
 grew used to the darkness, or a slight light began to 
 come, and in a few minutes she saw before her a very, 
 very high staircase. It went straight up, without 
 turnings or landings, and the steps were quite white, 
 so she saw them plainly though the light was dim, 
 and as there was nowhere else to go, she just went 
 straight on. I can't tell you what a long time she 
 seemed to keep going upstairs, but at last the steps 
 stopped, and before her she saw another door. It 
 
THE STORY OF SUNNY. 85 
 
 wasn't a door like the one down below, it was more 
 like a gate, for it was a sort of a grating that yon could 
 see through. Sunny pressed her face against it and 
 peeped in. She saw a large dark room, with a rounded 
 roof something like a church, and in one corner a very 
 old, grim-looking man was sitting. He had a very 
 long beard, but he didn't look so awfully big as Sunny 
 had expected, for she knew he must be the giant. 
 He was sitting quite still, and it seemed to Sunny 
 that he was shivering. Any way he looked very old 
 and very lonely and sad, and instead of feeling fright- 
 ened of him the little girl felt very sorry for him. 
 She stood there quite still, but though she didn't 
 make the least noise he found out she was there. 
 He waved his hand, and the barred door opened and 
 Sunny walked in. She walked right up to the giant 
 and made him a curtsey. Eather to her surprise he 
 made her a bow, then he waved his hands about and 
 moved his lips as if he were speaking, but no sound 
 came, and Sunny stared at him in surprise. She 
 began to wonder if he was deaf and dumb, and if 
 so how could she explain to him what she had come 
 for? 
 
 " ' I can't understand what you are saying, sir/ she 
 said very politely, and then, to her still greater surprise, 
 
86 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 the waving of his hands and the moving of his lips 
 seemed to succeed, for in a very queer deep voice he 
 answered her. 
 
 " ' What do you want V he said. ' I sent my voice 
 downstairs to speak to you, and he has been loitering 
 on the way, lazy fellow, all this time. There are no 
 good servants to be had nowadays, none. I've not 
 had one worth his salt since I sent my old ones back 
 to Ogreland when they got past work. What do you 
 want?' 
 
 " ' Sunshine for the forest people.' 
 
 " That was all Sunny said, and she looked at the 
 grim old giant straight in the face. He looked at 
 her, and went on shivering and rubbing his hands. 
 Then he said, with a frown, 
 
 " ' Why should they have sunshine ? I can't get 
 it myself, since I'm too old to get up to the top there. 
 Sunshine indeed!' and then he suddenly stretched 
 out his hand to her and made a grab at her hair, 
 screaming out, ' Why, you've got sunshine ! Come 
 here, and let me warm my hands. Ugh ! that's the 
 first time I've felt a little less chilly these hundred 
 years,' and Sunny stood patiently beside him and 
 let him stroke her golden hair up and down, and in 
 a minute or two she said quietly, 
 
THE STORY OF SUNNY. 87 
 
 " ' Will you unfasten the door, good Mr. Giant, 
 and let the poor people through to the other side V 
 
 f< The giant still kept hold of her hair. ' It would 
 be no good cutting it off — the sunshine would go out 
 of it/ Sunny heard him saying to himself. So she 
 just said again quietly, 'Will you unfasten the 
 door, good Mr. Giant?' 
 
 "And at last he said, 'I'll consider about it. Your 
 hair's getting cold. Go upstairs/ and he nodded 
 his head towards a door in the corner of the room, 
 'go upstairs and fetch some sunshine for me, and 
 come down again.' 
 
 "But Sunny wouldn't stir till she had got something 
 out of him. And she said for the third time, 
 
 " ' Will you unfasten the door, good Mr. Giant, if I 
 go upstairs to please you ? ' 
 
 " And the giant gave her a push, and said to her, 
 'Get off with you, you tiresome child. Yes, I'll 
 open the door if you'll go and bathe your hair well, 
 and then come down to warm my hands.' 
 
 So Sunny went upstairs. This stair wasn't like 
 the other. It was a turny, screwy stair that went 
 round and round itself, for you see it was near the 
 top of the mountain and there wasn't so much room 
 as down below. Sunny felt rather giddy when she 
 
88 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 got to the top, but she got all right again in a minute 
 when she pushed open the little door she found there 
 and came out into the sunlight. It was so lovely, 
 and remember, she hadn't seen sunshine, even though 
 some of the brightness had stayed with her, since 
 she was a very little girl. You have no idea how 
 pretty it was up there, not gloomy at all, and with 
 the beautiful warm sunshine pouring down all round. 
 Sunny was very pleased to warm herself in it, and 
 then when she looked down over the side of the 
 mountain and saw the dark tops of the forest trees, 
 she was still more pleased to think that soon her poor 
 friends would have a chance of enjoying it too. And 
 when she thought that her hair had caught enough 
 sunshine to please the giant she called down through 
 the screwy staircase, ' Have you opened the door, Mr. 
 Giant V And when the giant said, ' Come down and 
 I'll tell you,' she answered, ' No, Mr. Giant, I can't 
 come till you've opened the door.' And then she 
 heard him grumbling to himself, and in a minute she 
 heard a rattling noise, and she knew the door was 
 opened, and then she came down. She had settled 
 with her grandfather that if she didn't come straight 
 back, he would send some of the people to watch for 
 the door being opened, so she knew it would be all 
 
THE STORY OF SUNNY. 89 
 
 right, for once the giant had agreed to open it, he 
 couldn't shut it again — that was settled somehow, 
 some magic way I suppose, the story didn't say how. 
 So then Sunny came downstairs again, and the giant 
 stroked her hair up and down till his poor old hands 
 were quite warm, and he grew quite pleased and good- 
 natured. But he wouldn't let Sunny go away, and 
 she had to stay, you see, because the top-door, the one 
 like a gate, was still shut up. And any way she 
 didn't want to be unkind to the giant. She promised 
 him that she would come back to see him every day 
 if he liked if only he would let her go, but he wouldn't, 
 so she had to stay. I don't know how long she stayed. 
 It was a long time, for the story said she grew thin 
 and white with being shut up in the giant's cave and 
 having no running about. It was worse than the 
 forest. The only thing that kept her alive was the 
 sunshine she got every morning, for there was always 
 sunshine at the top of the mountain, and then, too, the 
 comfort of knowing that the poor people were enjoy- 
 ing it too, for when she was up on the top she could 
 hear their voices down below, as they came to the 
 door. Day by day she heard their voices grow merrier 
 and brighter, and after a while she could even hear 
 the little children laughing and shouting with glee. 
 
90 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 And Sunny felt that she didn't mind for herself, she 
 was so glad to think that she had done some good to 
 her poor friends. But she got paler and thinner and 
 weaker — it was so very tiring to stand such a long 
 time every day while the giant stroked the sunshine 
 out of her golden hair to warm his withered old hands, 
 and it was so terribly dark and dull and cold in the 
 gloomy cavern. She would hardly have known how 
 the days went or when was day and when was night, 
 but for the giant sending her upstairs every morning. 
 But one morning came when she could not go ; she 
 got up a few steps, and then her strength went away 
 and she seemed to get half asleep, and she said to her- 
 self that she was going to die, and she did not know 
 anything more. She seemed to be dreaming. She 
 fancied the giant came to look for her, and that his 
 old face grew sad and sorry when he saw her. And 
 then she thought she heard him say, ' Poor little girl, 
 I did not mean to hurt her. I have done harm enough. 
 Sunny, forgive me. The giant will do you and your 
 people no more harm. His day is over.' Then she 
 really did sleep, for a long time I fancy, for when 
 she woke up she could not think where she was. 
 She thought at first she was on the top of the moun- 
 tain, it seemed so beautifully bright and warm. She 
 
THE STORY OF SUNNY. 91 
 
 sat up a little and looked about her, and she couldn't 
 think where she was, for on one side close to her, she 
 saw the dark trees of the forest that she knew so well, 
 and on the other, smiling green fields and orchards 
 and cottages with gardens filled with flowers, just the 
 sort of country her grandfather had told her he remem- 
 bered when he was a child on the other side of the 
 great hill. It was just as if the mountain had melted 
 away. And, just fancy, that was what had happened ! 
 For in a little while Sunny heard voices coming near 
 her, all talking eagerly. It was the people of the 
 forest who had found out what had come to pass, and 
 they were all hurrying to look for Sunny, for they 
 were terribly afraid that the giant had taken her 
 away to Ogreland with the mountain. But he hadn't, 
 you see ! And Sunny and all the forest people lived all 
 their lives as happy as could be — they were happier 
 even than in the old days the grandfather and grand- 
 mother remembered, for not only were they free to 
 leave the dark forest and enjoy the sunlight as often 
 as they liked, but the sunshine now found its way 
 by all the chinks and crannies among the branches 
 into the very forest itself." 
 
 " And did they never hear anything more of the 
 giant?" asked Percy. 
 
92 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 " No," said Mabel, " only in hot summer days some- 
 times, when the sun was beating down too much on 
 the fields and gardens, the people of that country 
 used to notice a large soft gray cloud that often came 
 between them and the sunshine, and would stay there 
 till the great heat grew less. This cloud seemed 
 always the same shape, and somehow, Sunny, remem- 
 bering her vision of the giant, thought to herself that 
 the cloud was perhaps he, and that he wanted to 
 make up for his long cruelty. And the children of 
 the forest having heard her story used to laugh when 
 they saw the cloud, and say to each other, ' See, there 
 is the giant warming his hands.' But Sunny would 
 say softly in a whisper, ' Thank you, Mr. Giant.' 
 
 " And though it is a very, very long time since all 
 that happened, it has never been quite forgotten, and 
 the people of that country are noted for their healthy 
 happy faces, and the little children for their rosy 
 cheeks and golden hair." 
 
 Mabel stopped. 
 
 "It is a very pretty story," said Percy. "Are 
 there more like it in the book where you read it ?" 
 
 Mabel was just going to answer, when her atten- 
 tion was caught by Ted. 
 
 " I do believe he's asleep," she said softly, for Ted 
 
THE STORY OF SUNNY. 93 
 
 had curled himself up like a dormouse in his little 
 nest at her side. But just then the two-legged dor- 
 mouse gave a funny chuckle, which showed that 
 whether he had been asleep or not, he certainly was 
 so no longer. 
 
 "What are you laughing at, Teddy ?" said Percy. 
 
 " I were just sinking," said Ted, " what a silly boy 
 
 Ted were to be afraid of mountains Ted would 
 
 like to go up to the very, very top," he went on 
 valorously. " Ted wouldn't mind a bit — not," with a 
 prudent reservation, " not if thoo and Mabel was wif 
 me." 
 
94 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 LITTLE NAECISSA. 
 
 " But, I think, of all new-comers 
 Little children are the best." 
 
 From this time, I think, Ted lost his fear of mountains 
 and giants. It was not till a long time afterwards 
 that he explained to his mother exactly how it had 
 been, and by that time he was of course quite big 
 enough to understand that Mr. Brand had only been 
 joking. But still he did not much care about seeing 
 that gentleman again. He generally managed to be 
 out of the way when he saw the dog-cart with the 
 gray horse driving in at the gate, and just once, when 
 he would not have had time to run off without actual 
 rudeness, which little Ted never was guilty of, he only 
 waited to shake hands and say " Quite well, thank 
 thoo," before he disappeared in so unaccountable a 
 manner that he could not be found as long as Mr. 
 Brand's visit lasted. 
 
LITTLE NAEGISSA. 95 
 
 It was a good deal thanks to Mabel's story that 
 he grew to like his old friend the mountain again. 
 But partly too, I daresay, he forgot his fears on account 
 of several very interesting things that happened about 
 this time. It was a great sorrow to him when Percy 
 had to go back to school — that was one of little Ted's 
 lasting or rather returning sorrows, all through his 
 childhood. Only, like many things in our lives, if we 
 learn to look at them in the right way, it was certainly 
 a trouble with a bright side to it, a cloud with a silver 
 lining — a silver lining which shone indeed all the 
 brighter for the gray outside — for was there not the 
 delight, the delicious delight, of the coming back 
 again, the showing all the changes in the garden since 
 Percy was last there, the new toys and other little 
 presents that Ted had received, and listening to Percy's 
 thrilling accounts of school-life, the relating his own 
 adventures ? 
 
 Still there were times, especially now that Ted 
 was really growing very sensible, that he wished for 
 some other companion in his simple daily life, some 
 one who, like the little fishes, did not have to go to 
 school. And now and then, when, in his rare expedi- 
 tions to the sea-side town not far off, he saw little 
 groups of brothers and sisters trotting along together, 
 
96 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 or when in the stories his mother read to him he heard 
 of happy nursery parties, Ted used to wish he had a 
 little " bruwer or sister, even a baby one would be 
 very nice." For deep down in his loving heart there 
 was already the true manly spirit, the longing to have 
 something to take care of and protect; something 
 tinier and more tender even than wee Ted himself. 
 
 And to make his child-life complete this pretty 
 thing came to him. With the autumn days, just 
 when Ted was beginning to feel a little sad at the 
 summer brightness going away, and his garden work 
 had come to be chiefly helping old David to sweep up 
 the fast-falling leaves, there came to Ted a dear little 
 baby sister. She was the dearest little thing — bright- 
 eyed and merry, and looking as if she was ready for 
 all sorts of fun. She was stronger than Ted had been, 
 and to tell the truth I think I must say prettier. 
 For sweet and fair and dear as was Ted's face both in 
 baby- and boy-hood, he was not what one would call 
 pretty. Not the sort of child whose proud nurse 
 comes home with wonderful stories of ladies stopping 
 her in the street to ask whose beautiful baby he was — 
 not 'a splendidly vigorous, stalwart little man like a 
 small eight -years -old of my acquaintance whose 
 mother was lately afraid to walk about the streets of 
 
LITTLE NARGISSA. 97 
 
 Berlin with him lest the old Emperor, as he sometimes 
 does, should want to have him to make an officer of! 
 No ; Ted, though lithe and active as a squirrel, merry 
 as a cricket, was not a " showy " child. He was just 
 our own dear little Ted, our happy-hearted Christmas 
 child. 
 
 But I suppose there never was in this world any 
 one so happy but that it was possible for him to be 
 happier. And this " more happiness" came to Ted in 
 the shape of his baby sister, Narcissa. Boys who 
 despise sisters, "girls" in any shape, big or little, 
 don't know what a great deal they lose. Ted was 
 still a good way off the "big boy" stage, and indeed 
 I don't think anything could have made it possible 
 for him to look at things as too many big boys do. 
 By the time he reached schoolboy-hood, Narcissa was 
 a dainty maiden of five or six, and quite able to 
 stand up for herself in a little queenly way, even had 
 her brother been less tender and devoted. And of 
 the years between, though I would like to tell you 
 something, I cannot tell you half nor a quarter. They 
 were happy sunny years, though not quite without 
 clouds of course. And the first summer of little 
 Cissy's life was a sort of bright opening to them. 
 
 It was again a very beautiful summer. The 
 
 H 
 
98 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 children almost lived out-of-doors. Poor nurse found 
 it difficult to get the work in the house that fell to 
 her share finished in the morning before Ted was 
 tugging at her to "turn out into the garden, baby 
 does so want to turn;" and baby soon learnt to clap 
 her hands and chuckle with glee when her little hat 
 was tied on and she was carried downstairs to her 
 perambulator waiting at the door. And there was 
 new interest for Ted in hunting for the loveliest wild 
 flowers he could find, as baby showed, or Ted thought 
 she did, a quite extraordinary love for the bouquets 
 her little brother arranged for her. 
 
 " Her knows kite well which is the prettiest ones, 
 doesn't her, nurse ?" he said one day when they were 
 all three — all four rather, for of course Chevie was 
 one of the group — established in their favourite place 
 under the shade of a great tree, whose waving 
 branches little Cissy loved so much that she would 
 cry when nurse wheeled her away from it. " I think 
 baby knows lots, though she can't speak;" and baby, 
 pleased at his evidently talking of her, burst into a 
 funny crowing laugh, which seemed exactly as if 
 she knew and approved of what he was saying. 
 
 " Baby's a darling," said nurse. 
 
 " How soon will her learn to speak ?" Ted inquired 
 gravely. 
 
Baby showed, or Ted thought she did, a quite extraordinary love for 
 the bouquets her little brother arranged for her." — p. 98. 
 
LITTLE NARCISSA. 99 
 
 " Not just yet. She hasn't got any teeth. Nobody 
 can speak without teeth," said nurse. 
 
 "I hope," said Ted, more gravely still, "I hope 
 Dod hasn't forgotten them." 
 
 Nurse turned away to hide a smile. 
 
 "No fear, Master Ted," she said in a minute. 
 " She'll have nice little teeth by and by, you'll see. 
 They'll be wee tiny white specks at first, and then 
 they'll grow quite big and strong enough to bite with. 
 That's how your teeth came. Not all of a sudden, 
 you see." 
 
 " Ses," said Ted. " Nothing comes all in one sudden. 
 The f owers is weeny, weeny buds at first, and then 
 they gets big. Nurse, I'm going to take my cart to 
 get a lot of daisies down by the brook for baby. She 
 likes to roll zem in her hands," and off he set with 
 his little blue cart and white horse, his best beloved 
 possession, and which had done good service in its 
 time, to fill it with flowers for Cissy. 
 
 A few minutes later, as he was manfully dragging 
 the cart up the path again, gee-upping and gee-whoing 
 at the horse, which was supposed to find the daisy 
 heads a heavy load uphill, his mother came out to 
 the garden. 
 
 "Ted, dear," she said, "your father is going to 
 
100 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 drive me to A . It is a long time since you 
 
 were there, and I should like to have my little boy to 
 go about with me while your papa is busy. I have 
 a good deal of shopping to do. Would you like to go 
 with me ? " 
 
 Ted gave a shout of pleasure. Then suddenly his 
 glance fell on the little sister still in her perambulator 
 under the big tree, and his eyes filled with tears. 
 
 " I would like dedfully to go," he said, " but poor 
 Cissy. I is so afraid Cissy will cry if I go." 
 
 He lifted his wistful little face to his mother's 
 with an expression that went to her heart. 
 
 " Dear Ted," she said ; " you are a good, kind, little 
 boy. But don't make yourself unhappy about Cissy. 
 She is too little to cry for your going away, though 
 she will laugh to see you come back." 
 
 Ted's face cleared, but suddenly a rosy colour 
 spread over it. 
 
 " Muzzer," he said, in a low voice, tugging gently 
 at her dress to make her stoop down, " muzzer, I sink 
 I were going to cry not all for poor baby being sorry, 
 but part 'cos I did so want to go." 
 
 Mother understood his simple confession. 
 
 " Yes, dear," she said, " I daresay you did, and it 
 is right of you to tell me. My good little Ted," she 
 
LITTLE NARGISSA. 101 
 
 could not resist adding again, and again little Ted's 
 face grew red, but this time with pleasure at mother's 
 praise. 
 
 Baby bore the announcement, which he considered 
 it his duty to make to her with great formality, very 
 philosophically. Less philosophically did she take 
 nurse's wheeling her away from under her beloved 
 tree with its fluttering branches, towards the house, 
 where nurse had to go to prepare Ted for his expedition. 
 In fact, I am sorry to say that so little did the young 
 lady realise what was expected of her, that she burst 
 into a loud roar, which was quite too much for Ted's 
 feelings. 
 
 " Dear baby, sweet baby," he cried, " thoo mustn't 
 be tooked away from thoo's tree. I'll ask muzzer to 
 deck me, nurse," he went on eagerly, for his mother 
 had returned to the house, " or I can nearly kite well 
 deck myself. I'll call thoo if I can't find my things. 
 I'll run and ask muzzer," and off he went, so eager to 
 give no trouble, so ready and helpful that nurse thought 
 it best to let him have his way, and to devote her 
 attention to the discomposed Miss Baby. 
 
 Ted did not find his mother quite so quickly as he 
 expected, though he peeped into the drawing-room 
 and called her by name as he passed her own room 
 
* 102 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 upstairs, on his way to the nursery. The fact was 
 that mother was in the kitchen consulting with cook 
 as to the groceries required to be ordered, and it never 
 came into Ted's head to look for her there at this time 
 of day. So he went straight on to the nursery, and 
 managing with a good deal of tugging and pulling 
 and coaxing to open his drawer in the chest, he got 
 out his best little coat and hat and prepared to don 
 them. But first he looked at his hands, which were 
 none the whiter for their recent ravages among the 
 daisies. 
 
 " Zem's very dirty," he said to himself; " zem must 
 be washed." 
 
 There was water in the jug, but Ted's ambition 
 was aroused, and great things were to be expected of 
 a little boy who was big enough to " deck himself," 
 as he would have described the process. 
 
 " Ses, zem's very dirty," he repeated, contemplating 
 the two sunburnt little paws in question. " Zem 
 should have hot water. Hot water makes zem ze 
 most clean." 
 
 He glanced round, the hot water was not far to 
 seek, for, though it was June, the weather was not 
 very warm, and nurse generally kept a small fire 
 burning in the day-nursery. And beside the fire, 
 
LITTLE NARGISSA. 103 
 
 temptingly beside the fire, stood the kettle, into which 
 Ted peeping, satisfied himself that there was water 
 enough for his purpose. He would hardly have had 
 patience to fetch it had it not been there, so eager 
 was he for the delights of putting it on to boil. And, 
 wonderful to say, he managed it ; he got the kettle, 
 heavy for him to lift, as you can imagine, safely on to 
 the fire, and then, with immense satisfaction, sat down 
 in front of it to watch the result. There was very 
 little water in the kettle, but, though Ted did not think 
 about that, it was all the less trying for his patience. 
 And I hardly think either, that the water could have 
 been quite cold in the first place, or else the fairies 
 came down the chimney and blew up the fire with 
 their invisible bellows to help little Ted, for cer- 
 tainly the kettle began to boil amazingly soon — first 
 it simmered gently and then it began to sing more 
 loudly, and at last what Ted called " moke " began to 
 come out of the spout, and he knew that the kettle 
 was boiling. 
 
 Ted was so used to hear nurse talking about the 
 kettle " boiling " for tea, that it never came into his 
 head that it was not necessary to have "boiling" 
 water to wash his poor little hands. I don't indeed 
 know what might not have happened to the whole of 
 
104 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 his poor little body had not his mother at that moment 
 come into the room. A queer sight met her eyes — 
 there was Ted, more than half undressed, barefooted 
 and red-faced, in the act of lifting off the steaming 
 kettle, round the handle of which, with wonderful 
 precaution, he had wrapped his pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 Ted's mother kept her presence of mind. She did 
 not speak till the kettle was safely landed on the floor, 
 and Ted, with a sigh of relief, looked up and saw her 
 at the door. 
 
 "I is decking myself, muzzer," he said with a 
 pleased smile, and a charming air of importance, 
 " Poor baby cried, so I told nurse I would deck myself, 
 and nurse didn't mind." 
 
 "Didn't she?" said his mother, rather surprised. 
 
 "Oh, she thoughtened p'raps I'd find thoo, I 
 amember," Ted continued, correcting himself. 
 
 "But did nurse know you were going to boil 
 water?" said his mother. 
 
 " Oh no," said Ted, " it were only that my hands 
 is so dirty. Zem needs hot water to make zem 
 clean." 
 
 " Hot water, but not hotting" said his mother ; " my 
 dear little boy, do you know you might have scalded 
 yourself dreadfully ?" 
 
LITTLE NAECISSA. 105 
 
 " I put my hankerwick not to burn my hands," 
 said Ted, rather disconsolately. 
 
 " Yes, dear. I know you meant it for the best, 
 but just think if you had dropped the kettle and burnt 
 yourself. And nurse has always told you not to play 
 with fire or hot water." 
 
 " Ses," said Ted, " but I weren't playing. I were 
 going to wash my hands to be nice to go out wif thoo," 
 and his blue eyes filled with tears. But they were 
 soon wiped away, and when his mother had with the 
 help of some of the hot water made face and hands as 
 clean as could be, and smoothed the tangled curls and 
 fastened the best little coat, Ted looked very * nice " 
 indeed, I can assure you, for his drive to A . 
 
 It was a very happy drive. Perched safely be- 
 tween his father and mother, Ted was as proud as a 
 king. It was all so pretty, the driving through the 
 shady lanes, where the honeysuckle and wild-roses 
 were just beginning to show some tints of colour, the 
 peeps now and then of the sea below in its blue beauty, 
 the glancing up sometimes at the mountain top, Ted's 
 old friend, along whose sides they were actually 
 travelling — it was all delightful. And when they 
 drew near the little town, and the houses began to 
 stand closer, till at last they came in rows and streets, 
 
106 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 and the old mare's hoofs clattered over the stones of 
 the market-place so that the people in the sleepy little 
 place came out to see who was coming, Ted's excite- 
 ment knew no bounds. He had almost forgotten 
 
 A , it was so long since he had been there — the 
 
 sights of the shops and what appeared to him their 
 wonderful contents, the sight even of so many people 
 and children walking about, was almost too much for 
 the little country child ; it seemed to take his breath 
 away. 
 
 He recovered his composure, however, when he 
 found himself trotting about the streets with his 
 mother. She had several shops to go to, each, to Ted, 
 more interesting than the other. There was the iron- 
 monger's to visit, for cook had begged for a new 
 preserving pan and the nursery tea-pot handle was 
 broken ; there were various milk jugs and plates to 
 replace at the china shop ; brown holland to get at 
 the draper's for Ted's summer blouses. At two or 
 three of the shops his mother, being a regular customer 
 and having an account with them, did not pay, and 
 among these was the grocer's, where she had rather a 
 long list of things needed for the store-closet, and 
 while she was explaining about them all to the white- 
 aproned young man behind the counter, Ted marched 
 
LITTLE NABGISSA. 107 
 
 about the shop on a voyage of discovery on his own 
 account. There were so many interesting things — 
 barrels of sugar, white, brown, and darker brown still, 
 neat piles of raisins and currants, closely fastened 
 bottles of French plums, and rows of paper-covered 
 tin boxes which Ted knew contained biscuits. 
 
 " What a kind man," he said to himself, " to give 
 muzzer all she wants," as one after another of his 
 mother's requests was attended to. " Why, he lets 
 muzzer take whatever her likes !" he added, as having 
 brought his wanderings to a close for a minute, he 
 stood beside her and saw her lifting a little square of 
 honey soap out of a box which the grocer presented 
 to her for examination, and, greatly impressed, Ted set 
 off again on another ramble. Doubtless he too might 
 take whatever he liked, and as the thought occurred 
 to him he pulled up before another barrel filled with 
 lumps, little and big, of half clear, whitey-looking 
 stuff, something like very coarse lump sugar, only not 
 so white, and more transparent. Ted knew what it' 
 was. It was soda, washing soda I believe it is usually 
 called. Ted was, as I have said, very wide-awake 
 about all household matters, for he always used his 
 eyes, and very often — indeed rather oftener than was 
 sometimes pleasant for the people about him if they 
 
108 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 wanted to be quiet — his tongue too, for he was great 
 at asking questions. 
 
 " Soda's very useful," Ted reflected ; " nurse says it 
 makes things come cleaner." 
 
 Just then his mother called him. 
 
 " Ted, dear," she said, " I'm going." 
 
 Ted started and ran after her, but just as he did so, 
 he stretched out his hand and took a lump of soda 
 out of the barrel. He did it quite openly, he didn't 
 mind in the very least if the shopman saw him — like 
 the daisies in the field, so he thought, the soda and 
 the sugar and the French plums and everything were 
 there for him or for any one to help themselves to as 
 they liked. But Ted was not greedy — he was far 
 better pleased to get something " useful " for mother 
 than anything for himself. He would have asked her 
 what he had better take, if he had had time — he 
 would have stopped to say " Thank you " to the grocer 
 had he not been in such a hurry to run after his 
 mother. 
 
 They walked quickly down the street. Ted's 
 mother was a little absent-minded for the moment — 
 she was thinking of what she had ordered, and hoping 
 she had forgotten nothing. And holding her little 
 boy by the one hand she did not notice the queer 
 
LITTLE NABGISSA. 109 
 
 thing he was holding in the other. Suddenly she 
 stopped before a boot and shoe shop. 
 
 " I must get baby a pair of shoes," she said. " She 
 is such a little kicker, she has the toes of her cloth 
 ones out in no time. We must get her a pair of leather 
 ones I think, Ted." 
 
 " Ses, I sink so," said Ted. 
 
 So his mother went into the shop and asked the 
 man to show her some little leather shoes. Ted looked 
 on with great interest, but when the shoes were spread 
 out on the counter and he saw that they were all 
 black, he seemed rather disappointed. 
 
 " Muzzer," he said in a low voice, tugging at his 
 mother's skirts, " I saw such bootly boo boots in the 
 man's winder." 
 
 His mother smiled. 
 
 " Yes, dear," she replied, " they're very pretty, but 
 they wouldn't last so long, and I suspect they cost 
 much more." 
 
 Ted looked puzzled. 
 
 "What does thoo mean?" he said, but before his 
 mother had time to explain, the active shopman had 
 reached down the " bootly " boots and held them for- 
 ward temptingly. 
 
 " They're certainly very pretty," said baby's mother, 
 
110 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 who, to tell the truth, was nearly as much inclined for 
 the blue boots as Ted himself. " What is the price 
 of them?" 
 
 " Three and sixpence, ma'am," replied the man. 
 
 "And the black ones, the little black shoes, I 
 mean ?" 
 
 " Two and six," replied the man. 
 
 "A shilling difference, you see, Ted," said his 
 mother. But Ted only looked puzzled, and his 
 mother, occupied with the boots, did not particularly 
 notice him. 
 
 " I think," she said at last, " I think I will take 
 both. But as the blue boots will be best ones for 
 a good while, give me them half a size larger than 
 the little black shoes." 
 
 The shopman proceeded to wrap them up in paper 
 and handed them to Ted's mother, who took out her 
 purse and paid the money. The man thanked her, and, 
 followed by her little boy, Ted's mother left the shop. 
 
 Ted walked on silently, a very unusual state of 
 things. He was trying to find out how to express 
 what he wanted to ask, and the ideas in his head 
 were so new and strange that he could not fit them 
 
 o 
 
 with words all at once. His mother turned round 
 to him. 
 
LITTLE NAECISSA. Ill 
 
 "Would you like to carry the parcel of baby's 
 shoes for her ?" she said. 
 
 "Oh ses," said Ted, holding out his left hand. 
 But as his mother was giving him the parcel she 
 noticed that his right hand was already engaged. 
 
 "Why, what have you got there ?" she asked, " a 
 stone ? Where did you get it ? No, it's not a stone 
 — why, can it be a lump of soda ?" 
 
 " Ses," returned Ted with the greatest composure, 
 " it are a lump of soda. I thought it would be very 
 suseful for thoo, so I took it out of that nice man's 
 shop." 
 
 " My dear little boy !" exclaimed his mother, look- 
 ing I don't know how. She was rather startled, but 
 she could not help being amused too, only she thought 
 it better not to show Ted that she was amused. " My 
 dear little boy," she said again, " do you not under- 
 stand ? The things in the shop belong to the man — 
 they are his, not ours." 
 
 " Ses," said Ted. " I know. But he lets thoo take 
 them. Thoo took soap and somesing else, and he 
 said he'd send them home for thoo." 
 
 " Yes, dear, so he did," said his mother. " But I 
 pay him for them. You didn't see me paying him, 
 because I don't pay him every time. He puts down 
 
112 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 all I got in a book, and then he counts up how much 
 it is every month, and then I send him the money. 
 In some shops I pay as soon as I get the things. You 
 saw me pay the shoemaker for little Cissy's boots 
 and shoes." 
 
 " Ses," said Ted, " I saw thoo take money out of 
 thoo's purse, but I didn't understand. I thought all 
 those kind men kept nice things for us to get when- 
 ever we wanted." 
 
 " But what did you think money was for, little 
 Ted? You have often seen money, shillings and 
 sixpences and pennies? What did you think was 
 the use of it?" 
 
 "I thought," said Ted innocently, "I thought 
 moneys was for giving to poor peoples." 
 
 His mother could hardly resist stooping down in 
 the street to kiss him. But she knew it was better 
 not. Ted must be made to understand that in his 
 innocence he had done a wrong thing, and the lesson 
 of to-day must be made a plain and lasting one. 
 
 "What would poor people do with money if they 
 could get all the things they wanted out of the shops 
 for nothing ?" she said quietly. 
 
 Ted considered a moment. Then he looked up 
 brightly. 
 
LITTLE NABGISSA. 113 
 
 " In course !" he said. " I never thought of that.'' 
 
 " And don't you see, dear Ted, that it would be 
 wrong to take things out of a shop without paying 
 for them ? They belong to the man of the shop — it 
 would be just like some one coming to our house and 
 taking away your father's coat or my bonnet, or your 
 little blue cart that you like so much, or " 
 
 "Or Cissy's bootly boo boots," suggested Ted, 
 clutching hold more tightly of the parcel, as if he 
 thought the imaginary thief might be at hand. 
 
 "Yes," said his mother, "or Cissy's new boots, 
 which are mine now because I paid money for them 
 to the man." 
 
 " Ses," said Ted. Then a very thoughtful expres- 
 sion came into his face. " Muzzer," he said, " this 
 soda was that man's — sail I take it back to him and 
 tell him I didn't understand ?" 
 
 " Yes," said his mother. " I do think it is the 
 best thing to do. Shall we go at once ? It is only 
 just round the corner to his shop." 
 
 She said this thinking that little Ted would find 
 it easier to do it at once, for she was sorry for her 
 little boy having to explain to a stranger the queer 
 mistake he had made, though she felt it was right 
 that it should be done. " Shall we go at once ?" she 
 
 I 
 
114 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 repeated, looking rather anxiously at the small figure 
 beside her. 
 
 "Ses," said Ted, and rather to her surprise his 
 tone was quite bright and cheery. So they turned 
 back and walked down the street till they came to 
 the corner near which was the grocer's shop. 
 
 Ted's mother had taken the parcel of the little 
 boots from him and held him by the hand, to give 
 him courage as it were. But he marched on quite 
 steadily without the least flinching or dragging back, 
 and when they reached the shop it was he who went 
 in first. He walked straight up to the counter and 
 held out the lump of soda to the shopman. 
 
 " Please, man," he said, " I didn't know I should 
 pay money for this. I didn't understand till muzzer 
 told me, and so I've brought it back." 
 
 The grocer looked at him in surprise, but with a 
 smile on his face, for he was a kind man, with little 
 boys and girls of his own. But before he said any- 
 thing, Ted's mother came forward to explain that it 
 was almost the first time her little boy had been in a 
 shop ; he had not before understood what buying and 
 selling meant, but now that she had explained it to 
 him, she thought it right for him himself to bring 
 back the lump of soda. 
 
LITTLE NARCISSA. 115 
 
 " And indeed it was his own wish to do so," she 
 added. 
 
 The grocer thanked her. It was not of the least 
 consequence to him of course he said, but still he was 
 a sensible man and he respected Ted's mother for 
 what she had done. And then, half afraid that her 
 little boy's self-control would not last much longer, 
 she took him by the hand, and bidding the shopman 
 good-day they left the shop. As they came out into 
 the street agjain she looked down at Ted. To her 
 surprise his little face was quite bright and happy. 
 
 "He were a kind man," said Ted; "he wasn't 
 vexed with Ted. He knew I didn't understand." 
 
 "Yes, dear," said his mother, pleased to see the 
 simple straightforward way in which Ted had taken 
 the lesson; " but now, Ted, you do understand, and you 
 would never again touch anything in a shop, would 
 you?" 
 
 " Oh no, muzzer, in course not," said Ted, his face 
 flushing a little. " Ted. would never take nothing that 
 wasn't his — never; thoo knows that, muzzer?" he 
 added anxiously. 
 
 " Yes, my dear little boy," and this time his mother 
 did stoop down and kiss him in the street. 
 
116 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 GETTING BIG. 
 " The children think they'll climb a tree." 
 
 It was a very happy little Ted that trotted upstairs 
 to the nursery with the " bootly boo boots " and the 
 more modest little black shoes for tiny Narcissa. 
 
 " See what Ted has brought thoo," he said, kissing 
 his baby sister with the pretty tenderness he always 
 showed her, " and see what muzzer has gave me" he 
 went on, turning to nurse with another parcel. In 
 his excitement he didn't know which to unfasten first, 
 and baby had got hold of one of the black shoes, for- 
 tunately not the blue ones, and was sucking it vigor- 
 ously before Ted and nurse saw what she was doing. 
 " Isn't she pleased ?" said Ted, delightedly. Baby 
 must be very pleased with her new possessions, to try 
 to eat them, he thought. And then he had time to 
 examine and admire his own present. It was a 
 delightful one — a book, a nice old-fashioned fat book 
 
GETTING BIG. 117 
 
 of all the old nursery rhymes, and filled with pictures 
 too. And Ted's pride was great when here and there 
 he could make out a word or two. Thanks to the 
 pictures, to his own good memory, and the patience 
 of all the big people about him, it was not long before 
 he could say nearly all of them. And so a new plea- 
 sure was added to these happy summer days, and to 
 many a winter evening to come. 
 
 That night when Ted was going to bed he said 
 his prayers as usual at his mother's knee. 
 
 " Make me a good little boy," he said, and then 
 when he had ended he jumped up for his good-night 
 kiss, with a beaming face. 
 
 " I sink God lias made me good, muzzer ?" he said. 
 
 " Do you, dear ? I hope He is making you so," she 
 answered. "But what makes you say so ?" 
 
 " 'Cos I feel so happy and so good," said Ted, " and 
 thoo said I was good to-day when thoo kissed me. 
 And oh, may I take my sprendid hymn-book to bed 
 wif me r 
 
 And with the ancient legends of Jack and Jill 
 and Little Boy Blue, and Margery Daw, safely under 
 his pillow, happy Ted fell asleep. I wonder if he 
 dreamt of them ! What a pity that so much of the 
 pretty fancies and visions of little childhood are lost 
 
118 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 to us ! What quaint pictures they would make. 
 What a heavy burden should lie on the consciences 
 of those who, by careless words or unconsidered tone, 
 destroy the lovely tenderness of little children's dreams 
 and conceits, rub off the bloom of baby poetry ! 
 
 I could tell you, dear little friends, many pretty 
 stories of Ted and his tiny sister during the first sunny 
 year of little Narcissa's life, but I daresay it may be 
 more interesting to you to hear more of these children 
 as they grow older. The day-by-day life of simple 
 happy little people is, I trust, familiar to you all, and 
 as I want you to know my boy Ted, to think of him 
 through your own childhood as a friend and com- 
 panion, I must not take up too much of the little 
 book, so quickly filled, with the first years only of his 
 life. And these had now come to an end — a change, 
 to Ted a great and wonderful change, happened about 
 this time. Before little Cissy had learnt to run 
 alone, before Ted had mastered the longest words in 
 his precious " hymn-book," these little people had to 
 leave their beautiful mountain home. One day when 
 the world was looking pensive and sad in its autumn 
 dress, the good-byes had to be said — good-bye to the 
 garden and Ted's shaky bridge; good-bye to old David; 
 and alas ! good-bye to Cheviott's grave, all that was left 
 
GETTING BIG. 119 
 
 of the faithful old collie to say good-bye to ; good-bye 
 to the far-off miirnmr of the sea and the silent 
 mountain that little Ted had once been so afraid of; 
 good-bye to all of the dear old home, where Ted's 
 blue cart was left forgotten under a tree, where the 
 birds went on singing and chirping as if there were 
 no such things as good-byes in the world — and Ted 
 and Cissy were driven away to a new home, and the 
 oft-told stories of their first one were all that was left 
 of it to their childish minds. 
 
 A good many hours' journey from the mountains 
 and the sea near which these children had spent their 
 first happy years, in quite another corner of England, 
 there is to be found a beautiful, quiet old town. It is 
 beautiful from its position, for it stands on rising 
 ground ; a fine old river flows round the feet of its 
 castle rock, and on the other side are to be seen high 
 cliffs with pleasant winding paths, sometimes descend- 
 ing close to the water's edge, and it is beautiful in 
 itself. For the castle is such a castle as is not to 
 be met with many times in one's life. It has taken 
 centuries of repose after the stormy scenes it lived 
 through in the long-ago days to make it what it now 
 is — a venerable old giant among its fellows, grim and 
 solemn yet with a dreamy peacefulness about it, that 
 
120 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 has a wonderful charm. As you cross the unused 
 drawbridge and your footsteps sink in the mossy 
 grass of the great courtyard, it would not be diffi- 
 cult to fancy you were about to enter the castle 
 of the sleeping -beauty of the dear old fairy-tale 
 — so still and dream-like it seems, so strange it is to 
 picture to one's fancy the now grass-grown keep with 
 the din and clang of horsemen and men-at-arms that 
 it must once have known. And near by is a grand 
 old church, solemn and silent too, but differently so 
 from its twin-brother the castle. The one is like a 
 warrior resting after his battles, thinking sadly of the 
 wild scenes he has seen and taken part in ; the other 
 like a holy man of old, silent and solemn too, but 
 with the weight of human sorrows and anxieties that 
 have been confided to him, yet ever ready to sympathise 
 and to point upwards with a hope that never fails. 
 
 These at least were the feelings that the sight of the 
 old church and the old castle gave me, children dear. 
 I don't suppose Ted thought of them in this way 
 when he first made their acquaintance, and yet I 
 don't know. He might not have been able to say 
 much of what he felt, he was such a little fellow. But 
 he did feel, and in a way that was strange and new, 
 and nearly took his breath away the first time he 
 
GETTING BIG. 121 
 
 entered the beautiful old church, walking quietly up 
 the aisle behind his father, his little hat in his hand, 
 gazing up with his earnest eyes at the mysterious 
 stretch of the lofty roof. " mother," he said, when 
 he went home, " when I am big I will always like 
 the high church best." And when the clear ringing 
 chimes burst forth, as they did with ever-fresh beauty 
 four times a day, sounding to the baby fancy as if 
 they came straight down from heaven, it was all Ted 
 could do not to burst into tears, as he had done that 
 summer day when Mabel had sung "Home, sweet 
 home " in the mountain-gorge. 
 
 For it was in this old town, with its church and 
 castle and quaint streets, where some of the houses 
 are still painted black and white, and others lean for- 
 ward in the top stories as if they wanted to kiss each 
 other ; where the front doors mostly open right on to 
 the street, and you come upon the dear old gardens as 
 a sort of delicious surprise at the back ; where each 
 turn as you walk about these same old streets gives 
 you a new peep, more delightful than the last, of the 
 river or the cliffs or the far distant hills with their 
 tender lights and shadows; where, on market days 
 the country people come trooping in with their poultry 
 and butter and eggs, with here and there a scarlet 
 
122 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 cloak among them, the coming and going giving the 
 old High Street the look almost of a foreign town ; — 
 here in this dear old place little Ted took root again, 
 and learned to love his new home so much that he 
 forgot to pine for the mountains and the sea. And, 
 here, some years after we said good-bye to them as 
 they drove away from the pretty house in the garden, 
 we find them again — Ted, a big boy of nine or ten, 
 Cissy looking perhaps older than she really was, so 
 bright and hearty and capable a little maiden had she 
 become. 
 
 They are in the garden, the dear garden that was 
 as delightful a playing place as children could have, 
 though quite, quite different from the first one you 
 saw Ted in. There it was all ups and downs, lying 
 as it did on the side of a hill ; here the paths are on 
 flat ground, though some are zigzaggy of course, as 
 the little paths in an interesting garden always should 
 be; while besides these, some fine broad ones run 
 straight from one end to another, making splendid 
 highroads for drives in wheelbarrows or c toy- carts. 
 And in this garden too the trees are high and well 
 grown, and plenty of them. It was just the place for 
 hide and seek or " I spy." 
 
 Ted and Cissy have been working at their gardens. 
 
GETTING BIG. 123 
 
 " Oh dear," said the little girl, throwing down her 
 tiny rake and hoe, " Cissy is so tired. And the f owers 
 won't grow if they isn't planted kick. Cissy is so 
 fond of f owers." 
 
 " So am I," said Ted, " but girls are so quickly 
 tired. It's no good their trying to garden." 
 
 Cissy looked rather disconsolate. 
 
 " Boys shouldn't have all the f owers," she said. 
 " Zoo's not a summer child, Ted, zoo's a Kismas child. 
 Zoo should have snow, and Cissy should have f owers." 
 
 She looked at her brother rather mischievously as 
 she said this. 
 
 "As it happens, Miss Cissy," said Ted, "there 
 wasn't any snow the Christmas I was born. Mother 
 told me so. And any way, if you liked snowballs I'd 
 let you have them, so I don't see why I shouldn't 
 have flowers." 
 
 Cissy threw her arms round Ted's neck and kissed 
 him. "Poor Ted," she said, "zoo shall have f 'owers. 
 But Cissy won't have any in her garden if zej isn't 
 planted kick." 
 
 " Well, never mind. I'll help you," said Ted ; " as 
 soon as I've done my lessons this evening, I'll work 
 in your garden." 
 
 " Zank zoo, dear Ted," said Cissy rapturously, and 
 
124 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 a new hugging ensued, which Ted submitted to with 
 a good grace, though lately it had dawned on him 
 that he was getting rather too big for kissing. 
 
 The children's " gardens" were just under the wall 
 that skirted their father's real garden. On the other 
 side of this wall ran the highroad, and the lively 
 sights and sounds to be heard and seen from the top 
 of this same wall made the position of their own bit 
 of ground greatly to their liking. Only the getting 
 on to the wall ! There was the difficulty. For Ted 
 it was not so tremendous. He could clamber up by 
 the help of niches which he had managed to make for 
 his feet here and there between the stones, and the 
 consequent destruction to trousers and stockings had 
 never as yet occurred to his boyish mind. But Cissy 
 — poor Cissy ! it was quite impossible to get her up on 
 to the wall, and for some time an ambitious project 
 had been taking shape in Ted's brain. 
 
 " Cissy," he said, when he was released, " it's no 
 good beginning working at your garden now. We 
 have to go in in ten minutes. I'm going up on the 
 wall for a few minutes. You stay there, and I'll call 
 down to you all I see." 
 
 " Ted," said Cissy, " I wiss I could climb up 
 the wall too." 
 
GETTING BIG. 125 
 
 " I know you do," said Ted. " I've been thinking 
 about that. Wait till I get up, and I'll tell you about 
 it." 
 
 "Full of faith in Ted's wisdom, little Cissy sat 
 down by the roots of a great elm-tree which stood in 
 her brother's domain. "My tree" Ted had always 
 called it, and it was one of the charms of his property. 
 It was not difficult to climb, even Cissy could be 
 hoisted some way up — to the level of top of the wall 
 indeed, without difficulty, but unfortunately between 
 the tree and the wall there was a space, too wide to 
 cross. And even when the right level was reached, it 
 was too far back to see on to the road. 
 
 " If only the tree grew close to the wall," Ted had 
 often said to himself; and now as Cissy sat down 
 below wondering what Ted was going to do, his quick 
 eyes were examining all about to see if a plan that 
 had struck him would be possible. 
 
 " Cissy," he cried suddenly, and Cissy started to 
 her feet. " Oh what, Ted ?" she cried. 
 
 " I see how it could be done. If I had a plank of 
 wood I could fasten it to the tree on one side, and — 
 and — I could find some way if I tried, of fastening it 
 to the wall on the other, and then I could pull the 
 branches down a little — they're nearly down far 
 
126 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 enough, to make a sort of back to the seat, and oh, 
 Cissy, it would be such a lovely place ! We could 
 both sit on it, and see all that passed. I'll tell you 
 what I'm seeing now. There's a man with a wheel- 
 barrow just passing, and such a queer little dog run- 
 ning beside, and farther off there's a boy with a basket, 
 and two girls, and one of them's carrying a baby, and 
 — yes there's a cart and horse coming — awfully fast. 
 I do believe the horse is running away. No, he's 
 pulled it up, and " 
 
 "0 Ted," said Cissy, clasping her hands, "how 
 lovely it must be! Ted, do come down and be 
 kick about making the place for me, for Cissy." 
 
 Just then the dinner-bell rang. Ted began his 
 descent, Cissy eagerly awaiting him. She took his 
 hand and trotted along beside him. 
 
 " Do zoo think zoo can do it, Ted ?" she said. 
 
 " I must see about the wood first," said Ted, not 
 without a little importance in his tone ; " I think 
 there's some pieces in the coach-house that would do." 
 
 At luncheon the big people, of whom there were 
 several, for some uncles and aunts had been staying 
 with the children's father and mother lately, noticed 
 that Ted and Cissy looked very eager about some- 
 thing. 
 
GETTING BIG. 127 
 
 " What have you been doing with yourselves, you 
 little people, this morning?" said one of the aunties 
 kindly. 
 
 Cissy was about to answer, but a glance from Ted 
 made her shut tight her little mouth again. There 
 must be some reason for it — perhaps this delightful 
 plan was to be a secret, for her faith in Ted was un- 
 bounded. 
 
 " We've been in the garden, in our gardens," Ted 
 replied. 
 
 « Digging up the plants to see if they were grow- 
 ing — eh?" said an uncle who liked to tease a little 
 sometimes. 
 
 Ted didn't mind teasing. He only laughed. Cissy 
 looked a little, a very little offended. She did not 
 like teasing, and she specially disliked any one teasing 
 her dear Ted. Her face grew a little red. 
 
 " Ted knows about f owers bootilly," she said; " Ted 
 knows lots of things." 
 
 " Cissy! " said Ted, whose turn it was now to grow 
 a little red, but Cissy maintained her ground. 
 
 " Ses," she said. " Ted does." 
 
 " Ted's to grow up a very clever man, isn't he, 
 Cissy ?" said her father encouragingly — " as clever as 
 Uncle Ted here." 
 
128 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 " Oh no," the little fellow replied, blushing still 
 more, for Ted never put himself forward so as to be 
 noticed ; " I never could be that. Uncle Ted writes 
 books with lots of counting and stick-sticks in them 
 and " 
 
 " Lots of what f asked his uncle. 
 
 " Stick-sticks," said Ted simply. " I don't know 
 what it means, but mother told me it was a sort of 
 counting — like how many days in a year were fine 
 and how many rainy." 
 
 " Or how many old women with baskets, and how 
 many without, passed down the road this morning — 
 eh, Ted?" said his other uncle, laughing heartily. 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so," said Ted. " Are stick-sticks 
 any good ?" he inquired, consideringly. 
 
 " It's to be hoped so," said Uncle Ted. 
 
 A bright idea struck the little fellow. He must 
 talk it over with Cissy. If only that delightful seat 
 between the tree and the wall was arranged they 
 might make " stick- sticks " ! What fun, and how 
 pleased Uncle Ted would be ! Already Ted's active 
 brain began to plan it all. They should have a nice 
 big ruled sheet of paper and divide it into rows, as 
 for columns of sums : one row should be for horses 
 alone, and one for horses with carts, and one for 
 
GETTING BIG. 129 
 
 people, and one for children, and another for dogs, 
 and another for wheelbarrows perhaps. And then 
 sometimes donkeys passed, and now and then pigs 
 even, on their way to market — yes, a lot of rows 
 would be needed. And at the top of the paper he 
 would write in nice big letters " stick" — no, mother 
 would tell him how to write it nicely, he knew that 
 wasn't quite the real word, mother would spell it for 
 him : " St — something — of what passed the tree." It 
 would be almost like writing a book. 
 
 He was so eager about it that he could hardly 
 finish his dinner. For a great deal was involved in 
 his plan, as you shall hear. 
 
 In the first place, it became evident to him after 
 an examination of the bits of wood in the unused 
 coach-house, that there was nothing there that would 
 do. He could get a nice little plank, a plank that 
 would not scratch poor Cissy's legs or tear her frocks, 
 from the carpenter, but then it would cost money, for 
 Ted had gained some worldly wisdom since the days 
 when he thought the kind shopkeepers spread out 
 their wares for everybody to help themselves as they 
 liked. And Ted was rather short of money, and Ted 
 was of rather an independent spirit. He would much 
 prefer not asking mother for any. The seat in the 
 
 K 
 
130 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 tree would be twice as nice if he could manage it all 
 his own self, as Cissy would say. 
 
 Ted thought it all over a great deal, and talked 
 about it to Cissy. It was a good thing, they agreed, 
 that it was holiday-time just now, even though Ted 
 had every day some lessons to do. And though Cissy 
 was very little, it was, after all, she who thought of a 
 plan for gaining some money, as you shall hear. 
 
 Some few times in their lives Ted and Cissy had 
 seen Punch and Judy, and most delightful they 
 thought it. Perhaps I am wrong in saying Cissy had 
 seen it more than once, but Ted had, and he used to 
 amuse Cissy by acting it over to please her. And I 
 think it was from this that her idea came. 
 
 " Appose, Ted," she said the next day when they 
 were out in the garden having a great consultation — 
 " appose we make a show, and all the big people 
 would give us pennies." 
 
 Ted considered for a minute. They were standing, 
 Cissy and he, by the railing which at one side of their 
 father's pretty garden divided it from some lovely 
 fields, where sheep, with their dear little lambs skipping 
 about beside them, were feeding. Far in the distance 
 rose the soft blue outlines of a lofty hill, " our precious 
 hill " Ted's mother used to call it, and indeed it was 
 
GETTING BIG. 131 
 
 almost worthy of the name of mountain, and for this 
 she valued it still more, as it seemed to her like a 
 reminder of the mountain home she had loved so 
 dearly. Ted's glance fell on it, and it carried back 
 his thoughts to the mountain of his babyhood and the 
 ogre stories mixed up with it in his mind. And then 
 his thoughts went wandering away to his old " hymn 
 book," still in a place of honour in his bookshelves, 
 and to the fairy stories at the end of it — Cinderella 
 and the others. He turned to Cissy with a beaming 
 face. 
 
 "I'll tell you what we'll do, Cis," he said; "we'll 
 have a show of Beauty and the Beast. What a good 
 idea it was of yours, Cis, to have a show." 
 
 Cissy was greatly nattered. Only she didn't quite 
 like the idea of her dear Ted being the Beast. But 
 when Ted reminded her that the Beast was really so 
 good and kind, she grew satisfied. 
 
 "And how awfully pleased Percy will be when 
 he comes to see the seat, won't he?" said Ted. And 
 this thought reconciled him to what hitherto had been 
 rather a grief to him — that Percy's holidays were 
 shorter and fell later in the season than his. 
 
 You can imagine, children, better than I could 
 tell what a bustle and fuss Ted and Cissy were in all 
 
132 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 that day. They looked so important, Ted's eyes were 
 so bright, and Cissy's little mouth shut close in such a 
 dignified way, that the big people must have been very 
 stupid big people not to suspect something out of the 
 common. But as they were very kind big people, and 
 as they understood children and children's ways, they 
 took care not to seem as if they did notice, and 
 Mabel and her sister, who were also of the home party, 
 even helped Cissy to stitch up an old muslin window 
 curtain in a wonderful way for Beauty's dress, without 
 making any indiscreet remarks. At which little Cissy 
 greatly rejoiced. " Wasn't I clever not to let zoo find 
 out V* she said afterwards, with immense satisfaction. 
 Late that evening — late for the children that is to 
 say — about seven o'clock, for Cissy had got leave to 
 sit up an hour longer, there came a ring at the hall 
 bell, and a very funny-looking letter was handed in, 
 which a boy in a muffled voice told the servant was 
 for the ladies and gentlemen, and that she was to tell 
 them the " act " would begin in five minutes " in the 
 theatre hall of the day nursery." The parlour maid, 
 who (of course !) had not the least idea in the world 
 that the messenger was Master Ted, gravely handed 
 the letter to Miss Mabel, who was the first person she 
 saw, and Mabel hastened to explain to the others that 
 
Oh dear, oh dear !" cries Beauty, jumping up in a fright, 
 "he's coming to eat me."— P. 133. 
 
GETTING BIG. 133 
 
 its contents, quarters of old calling-cards with numbers 
 marked on them, were evidently meant to be tickets 
 for the performance. The big people were all much 
 amused, but all of course were quite ready to " assist" 
 at the " act." They thought it better to wait a little 
 more than five minutes before going upstairs to the 
 theatre hall, to give Ted time to get ready before the 
 spectators arrived, not understanding, you see, that 
 all. he had to do was to pin his father's rough brown 
 railway rug on, to imitate the Beast. So when they 
 at last all marched upstairs the actors were both ready 
 awaiting them. 
 
 There was a row of chairs arranged at one side of 
 the nursery for the visitors, and the hearth-rug, pulled 
 out of its place, with a couple of footstools at each side, 
 served for the stage. Scene first was Miss Beauty 
 sitting in a corner crying, after her father had left her 
 in the Beast's garden. 
 
 "He'll eat me up ! oh, he'll eat me up !" she sobs out; 
 and then a low growl is heard, and from a corner 
 behind a table where no one had noticed him, a very 
 remarkable-looking shapeless sort of dark brown lump 
 rolls or waddles along the floor. 
 
 " Oh dear, oh dear !" cries Beauty, jumping up in 
 a fright, " he's coming to eat me." 
 
> 134 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 " No, I'm not going to eat you, dear Beauty," the 
 growly voice replies ; " I'm not going to hurt you, dear 
 Beauty. I've brought you something nice to eat for 
 your tea. I'm sure you must be hungry;" and from 
 somewhere or other the Beast produces a plate with 
 some biscuits, which he humbly lays at her feet and 
 then waddles off again. Beauty nibbles at the biscuits, 
 then murmuring to herself, " He's a very kind Beast," 
 she moves away, her window curtain train sweeping 
 gracefully after her, behind the screen, which is sup- 
 posed to represent the inside of the Beast's Castle, 
 and where he himself has already disappeared. And 
 this is the end of the first scene, the " act " being 
 divided into two scenes. 
 
 The audience all clap their hands in applause. 
 
 " Capital !" and "Bravo !" they call out, so that Ted 
 and Cissy feel their cheeks quite red, even behind 
 the screen. 
 
 "Let's get it done quick, Cissy," said Ted; "it 
 makes me feel so silly when they call out like 
 that." 
 
 And the last scene is hurried on. It is not a very 
 long one. Beauty has been away. She has gone, as 
 everybody knows, on a visit to her old home, and on 
 her return poor Beast is nowhere to be found. At 
 
GETTING BIG. 135 
 
 last she discovers Mm lying quite still in a corner of 
 the garden. 
 
 "Oh, poor Beast !" she exclaims, "Cis — Booty, I 
 mean, is so sorry. Oh, poor Beast ! I is afraid you is 
 kite deaded, and I do love zoo, poor Beast," at which 
 up jumps poor Beast, Beast no longer, for his rough 
 skin rolls off as if by magic, and lo and behold there 
 is Ted, got up ever so fine, with a scarlet scarf round 
 his waist and an elegant old velvet smoking-cap with a 
 long tassel on his head, and goodness knows what more. 
 
 " Oh, you bootiful P'ince," cries Beauty, and then 
 they take hands and bow most politely to the audi- 
 ence, and then in a sudden fit of shamefacedness 
 and shyness, they both scurry off behind the screen, 
 Ted toppling over Cissy's long train on the way, at 
 which there is renewed applause, and great laughter 
 from the actors themselves. But the manager is 
 quite up to his business. "That's all," calls out a 
 little voice from behind the screen ; " zoo may all go 
 now, and pay at the door." And sure enough as the 
 big people make their way out, there is Ted in his 
 usual attire standing at the door, with a little basket 
 in his hand, gracefully held out for contributions. 
 
 "Why, how did you get here already?" asks his 
 father. 
 
136 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 " 1 slipped round by the other side of the screen 
 while you were all laughing and clapping," says Ted, 
 looking up with a beaming face. And the pennies 
 and sixpennies that find their way into the basket 
 are several. When the actors count up their gains 
 before they go to bed, they are the happy possessors 
 of two shillings and sevenpence. Far more than 
 enough to pay for the wood for the seat in the tree ! 
 
"STATISTICS." 137 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 " STATISTICS." 
 
 " Are they not busy ? — the creatures ! 
 
 Wanting to go to their beds ? — not they ! " 
 
 How delightful it was to wake the next morning and 
 to see sparkling in the early sunshine the neat little 
 silver coins, and the big copper ones, laid out in a row 
 on his table ! Ted jumped out of bed, not quite so 
 early as he had intended, for he had been up rather 
 later than usual the night before, and by the time he 
 had had his nice cold bath and was dressed, he heard 
 the prayer bell ring, and was only ready to take his 
 seat as usual on a little chair in a corner of the room 
 not far from where his dear old nurse and the other 
 servants were placed. He liked better to sit there, 
 for it gave him somehow a little uncomfortable feeling 
 to see the servants quite by themselves, as it were, so 
 separated from the family, and he had got into the way 
 of sitting between the two sets of seats, and though 
 
138 A CHRISTMAS GEILD. 
 
 little Narcissa from her perch on her mother's knee 
 would sometimes smile and nod and beckon to him 
 to come nearer, Ted always kept to his own place. 
 This morning many thoughts were dancing about his 
 brain, and it was a litttle difficult for him to listen 
 with his usual attention, even though it was one of 
 the chapters he was very fond of, especially when his 
 father read it in his nice clear voice. It was that one 
 about the boy Jesus, staying behind His father and 
 mother to talk with the learned doctors in the temple, 
 and though some part of it puzzled Ted rather, yet he 
 liked to listen and think about it. How frightened that 
 father and mother must have been ! How was it that 
 Jesus knew that it was right for Him to stay behind 
 — even though it was without His father's and mother's 
 leave? For other little boys it would have been 
 wrong, but then, — oh yes, of course, Jesus was not like 
 other little boys. If only they, if only he, Ted, could 
 learn to be more like Him, the one perfect Christmas 
 child ! And even the puzzling part of it grew clearer 
 as this unconscious prayer rose out of the innocent 
 heart. For Ted's own father and mother, even if they 
 were frightened for a little, would not be vexed if he 
 did something without their leave that was good and 
 right. Only it was difficult to tell, very difficult — 
 
"STATISTICS." 139 
 
 on the whole Ted felt that he understood what his 
 mother told him about being obedient, better than he 
 used. That was what God had given little boys fathers 
 and mothers for, for they, when they were good and 
 wise, could not but know best. When they were not 
 good and wise, like the fathers and mothers of some of 
 the poor London street boys he had heard of — oh, how 
 fearful that must be ! And then as his own father's 
 voice went on, it all came before Ted like a picture — 
 he had once seen a picture of it, he thought — the first 
 setting-out of old Joseph and the sweet-faced mother, 
 the distress and fear, the delight of finding the Child 
 again, and then the long walk home all together to 
 the carpenter's shop in the narrow Eastern street. 
 And, child -like, Ted's fancy turned again with the 
 association to what was before him this morning. 
 He was to go to the carpenter's to choose the wood 
 for the seat in the tree, and oh, how delightful it would 
 be to see it arranged, and how surprised Percy would 
 be, and what beautiful rows of stick-sticks Cissy and 
 he would be able to make to help Uncle Ted. All 
 kinds of pleasant hopes and fancies were racing round 
 Ted's brain again as he knelt down with the others to 
 listen to the prayer that followed the reading. It was 
 not till the murmured chorus of " Our Father," repeated 
 
140 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 all together at the end, caught his ear, that with a 
 sudden start Ted realised that he had not been 
 listening. 
 
 He did feel sorry and ashamed, but he was so 
 happy that morning, the world outside was so 
 bright and sunny, and the people inside so kind 
 and cheerful, as they all sat round the breakfast 
 table, that Ted's self-reproach did not last. And 
 as soon as he had finished the short morning lessons 
 he had to do in the holidays, he got leave from 
 mother to go off to order the plank for the seat. 
 
 It turned out a little dearer than he had ex- 
 pected. Two and sevenpence were the funds in hand. 
 
 " I could give you a piece of wood for much less 
 of course, sir," said the good-natured carpenter, 
 who was a great ally of Ted's, " but as you explain 
 it to me it needs something more than a bit of wood, 
 else it wouldn't be safe for you and the young lady 
 to sit on ;" and then he showed the boy how it 
 should be done, with a small iron bolt driven into 
 the wall and another of a different kind fixed to 
 the tree. " Then," said he, " it will be as safe as 
 safe, and I'll plane you a neat little seat with no 
 splinters or sharp edges to tear Missy's frocks." 
 
 Ted was delighted. His quick eye caught at 
 
STATISTICS." 141 
 
 once the carpenter's plan, and lie saw how much 
 more satisfactory and complete it would be than 
 the rough idea he had had at first. But the price ? 
 Ted felt much afraid that here was to be the 
 difficulty. 
 
 " How much will it cost, Mr. Newton ? " he 
 inquired anxiously. 
 
 The carpenter reflected a moment. 
 
 " Wood, so much ; bolts, so much ; nails ; time ;" 
 Ted heard him half whispering to himself. Then 
 he looked up. 
 
 " A matter of three shilling or so, sir," he re- 
 plied. " 111 try that it shan't be more. But you 
 see the bolts I have to buy, they're not things as 
 we use every day. And for the time, sir, I'm not 
 thinking much of that. The evenings are light now. 
 I'll try and see to it myself after work's over." 
 
 " Thank you very much, Mr. Newton," said Ted. 
 " I think it'U be all right. But I'd like first to 
 tell my mother how much it will cost, and then 
 I'll run back and settle about it." 
 
 " All right, sir," the carpenter replied ; and after 
 pausing a moment at the door to pat the great big- 
 gentle dog, that was lying there blinking in the sun- 
 shine, and thinking to himself that its eyes somehow 
 
142 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 reminded him of long ago Cheviott whom Ted still 
 remembered, though Newton's dog wasn't at all the 
 same kind, the boy ran off again, whistling as he 
 went, with light dancing steps down the in-and-out 
 zigzag streets of the old town, stopping a moment, 
 eager as he was, to admire the peeps of lovely view 
 he came upon now and then as he turned a corner, 
 or crossed the open market-place. 
 
 He was in great spirits. Fivepence short he felt 
 sure could easily be made up. 
 
 "Either mother will give it me," he thought, 
 " or she'll find some way of my earning it. I'm 
 sure she'd like it properly done, and there'll be no 
 fear of Cissy or me hurting ourselves." 
 
 On he danced again, for now he was in more 
 open ground, running along the country highroad 
 where was his home. A few cottages stood not far 
 from where he was passing — cottages of respectable 
 people, with several of whom sociable Ted was on 
 friendly terms, and just as he was nearing the first 
 of these, a boy about his own age came out, a basket 
 on his arm and in his hands something tied up in 
 a cloth which he was carrying carefully. But boys 
 will be boys ! 
 
 " Good morning, Jamie," said Ted as they met, 
 
"STATISTICS." 143 
 
 for lie recognised the boy as the son of a man living 
 farther down the road, who had sometimes worked 
 for his father ; " where have you been, and what's 
 that you've got?" and in pure fun Ted tapped 
 with a switch he was carrying on the mysterious 
 bundle. 
 
 Jamie looked up laughingly. 
 
 "0 Master Ted," he was just beginning, but 
 somehow — how I cannot tell, and I feel pretty sure 
 that neither Ted nor Jamie could have told either — 
 Ted's friendly tap had either distracted his attention 
 so that he trod on a stone and lost his balance, or 
 else it had destroyed the equilibrium of the bundle 
 itself, so that almost before he had time even to say 
 " Master Ted," the mischief was done. Down 
 plumped the bundle, with a crash of broken crockery, 
 and a brown liquid at once oozed out through the 
 cloth, making a melancholy puddle on the road. 
 Jamie's half- spoken words changed into a cry of 
 despair. It was the Sunday's dinner which had 
 come to grief, the pie which his poor mother had 
 prepared so carefully, and which he was taking 
 home from his grandmother's, in whose oven it had 
 been baking. 
 
 " Oh dear, oh dear, what ever shall I do ?" cried 
 
144 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 the poor little boy. What will mother say ? Oh 
 dear, oh dear ! — Master Ted, what shall I do ?" 
 
 Jamie's tears and sobs were pitiful. Ted, with 
 a pale concerned face stood beside him, speechless. 
 
 " It was all my fault, Jamie," he said at last. 
 " It's me your mother must scold, not you. I must 
 go home with you, and tell her it wasn't your fault." 
 
 " Oh but it were," sobbed the child. " Mother 
 always tells me to look neither to right nor to left 
 when I'm carrying anything like this here. Oh 
 deary me, what ever shall I do ?" 
 
 He stooped down and untied the knots of the 
 large checked handkerchief in which the unfortunate 
 pie had been enveloped. The dish was all in pieces, 
 the gravy fast disappearing. Jamie gathered to- 
 gether, using the largest bit of the broken stone- 
 ware as a plate, some of the pieces of meat which 
 might still be eaten, and Ted, stooping down too, 
 helped him to the best of his ability. But it was 
 very little that could be saved from the shipwreck. 
 And then the two boys turned in the direction of 
 Jamie's home, Jamie sobbing all the way, and Ted 
 himself too appalled to know what to say to comfort 
 him. 
 
 Jamie's mother was a busy, hard-working woman. 
 
"STATISTICS." 145 
 
 She was kind to her children, but that is not to say 
 that they never had a sharp word from her. And 
 there were so many of them — more than enough to 
 try the patience of a mother less worried by other 
 cares. So poor Jamie had some reason to cry, and 
 he did not attempt to prevent Ted's going home 
 with him — alone he would hardly have dared to 
 face the expected scolding. 
 
 She was at the door, or just inside it, as the boys 
 made their appearance, with a big tub before her in 
 which she was washing up some odds and ends, 
 without which her numerous family could not have 
 made their usual tidy appearance at church and 
 Sunday school the next day. For it was Saturday, 
 often a rather trying day to heads of households in 
 every class. But Jim's mother was in pretty good 
 spirits. She had got on with her work, Sunday's 
 pie had been made early and sent on to granny's, 
 and Jamie, who was a very careful messenger, would 
 be back with it immediately, all ready to be eaten 
 cold with hot potatoes the next day. So Sunday's 
 dinner was off the good woman's mind, when suddenly 
 a startling vision met her gaze. There was Jamie, 
 red-eyed and tearful, coming down the road, and 
 beside him the little Master from the Lawn House. 
 
146 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 What could be the matter ? Jamie had not hurt 
 himself, thus much was evident, but what was the 
 small and shapeless bundle he was carrying in the 
 handkerchief she had given him to cover the pie, 
 and what had come over the nice clean handkerchief 
 itself? The poor woman's heart gave a great throb 
 of vexation. 
 
 "What ever have ye done with the pie, Jamie?" 
 she exclaimed first in her anxiety, though she then 
 turned in haste to bid the little master "good 
 morning." 
 
 " mother," Jamie began, his sobs bursting out 
 afresh, but Ted put him gently aside. 
 
 " Let me tell," he said. " I came on purpose. 
 If — if you please," he went on eagerly, though his fair 
 face flushed a little, " it was all my fault. I gave 
 Jim a little poke with my stick, quite in fun, and 
 somehow it made him drop the pie. But it isn't 
 his fault. You won't scold him, please, will you ? " 
 
 Vexed as she was, Jamie's mother could not but 
 feel softened. Ted's friendly ways were well known 
 to his poorer neighbours, who with one voice pro- 
 nounced him " a perfect little gentleman wherever 
 he goes." 
 
 " It's not much use scolding," she said gently 
 
"STATISTICS." 147 
 
 enough, but still with real distress in her tone which 
 went to Ted's heart. " No use crying over spilt 
 milk, as my master says. But still I do think 
 Jamie might have been more careful. However, it 
 can't be helped, but they'll have to do without a pie 
 for dinner to-morrow. And thank you, Master Ted, 
 for coming along of Jim for to tell me." 
 
 " But it wasn't Jim's fault. It was all mine," 
 repeated Ted sadly. And then he bade the poor 
 woman good-bye, and nodding to Jim, who was still 
 wiping his eyes, though looking a good deal less 
 frightened, the boy set off towards home again. 
 
 But how different everything looked — the sun 
 was as bright, the air as pleasant as ten minutes 
 before, but Ted's heart was heavy, and when at the 
 garden gate he met his mother, who greeted him 
 with her kind smile and asked him if he had settled 
 with Newton about the seat, it was all poor Ted 
 could do not to burst into tears. He was running 
 past his mother into the house, with a hasty " Yes, 
 thank you, mother, I'll tell you about it afterwards," 
 for he had not yet made up his mind what he should 
 say or do ; it was his own fault, and he must suffer 
 for it, that was his first idea, but his mother stopped 
 him. The momentary glance at his face had been 
 
148 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 sufficient to show her that something was the 
 matter. 
 
 " What is it, Ted, dear ? " she said kindly and 
 anxiously. 
 
 Ted's answer was a question, and a very queer 
 question. 
 
 " Mother," he said, " how much do pies cost ?" 
 
 " Pies," repeated his mother, " what kind of pies 
 do you mean ? Big ones, little ones, meat ones, or 
 what?" 
 
 "Big ones, mother, at least a big one, and all 
 made of meat, with crust at the top. And oh !" he 
 exclaimed, " there was the dish ! I daresay that cost 
 a good deal," and his face grew sadder and sadder. 
 
 But his mother told him he really must explain, 
 and so he did. " I didn't mean to tell you about 
 it, mother," he said, "for it was my own fault, and 
 telling you seems almost like asking for the money," 
 and here poor Ted's face grew red again. "I 
 thought the only thing to do was to take the act 
 money, the two shillings and sevenpence, you know, 
 mother, and give it to Jamie's mother, and just give 
 up having the seat," and here Ted's repressed feel- 
 ings were too much for him. He turned away his 
 face and fairly burst into tears. Give up the seat ! 
 
"STATISTICS." 149 
 
 Think of all that meant to him, poor boy. The 
 pleasure for Cissy as well as his own, the delightful 
 surprise to Percy, the rows of stick-sticks for his 
 uncle. I don't think it was wonderful that Ted 
 burst into tears. 
 
 " My poor boy," said his mother, and then she 
 thought it over to herself for a little. She did not 
 begin talking to Ted about how careless he had been, 
 and that it must be a lesson to him, and so on, as 
 many even very kind mothers are sometimes tempted 
 to do, when, as does happen now and then in this 
 rather contrary world, very small wrongdoings have 
 very big results, — she could not feel that Ted had 
 been much to blame, and she was quite sure it would 
 be " a lesson to him," without her saying any more 
 about it. So she just thought it over quietly, and 
 then said, 
 
 "No, Ted. I don't quite think that would be 
 right. Your giving up the seat would be punishing 
 others as well as yourself — Cissy particularly — and 
 that would not be right. I will see that Jamie and 
 his brothers and sisters have something for their 
 dinner to-morrow that will please them as much as 
 the pie, and you must tell Newton to go on with 
 the seat, and " 
 
150 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 "But, mother," interrupted Ted, "I won't be 
 happy unless I pay it myself, the dinner I mean. 
 It wouldn't he fair , if I didn't — would it, mother?" 
 and he looked up with his honest, anxious blue eyes 
 in his mother's face, so that she felt the same wish 
 to stoop down and kiss him that had made her do 
 so long ago in the street of the little country town 
 near their old home. 
 
 "I was going on to speak about that," said his 
 mother. " It will take all your money and a little 
 more to pay Newton, you see, and you haven't any 
 more." 
 
 " "No, mother, but if I was to give up my library 
 pennies?" — for Ted subscribed a penny a week to a 
 children's library in the town, as he had long ago 
 exhausted the home stores. 
 
 " That would take a very long time, and it would 
 be a pity for you to lose your reading," said his 
 mother. " But I'll tell you what — I will count the 
 dinner as owing from you to me, and you will pay 
 it as best you can, little by little. For every sum- 
 mer you get presents from your uncles or cousins 
 when they are with us. I will count it two shillings 
 and sixpence — the sixpence for the dish, and I 
 know you will not forget to pay me." 
 
"STATISTICS." 151 
 
 " No indeed, mother, and thank yon so mnch," 
 said Ted, with a now really lightened heart. " Shall 
 I tell Jamie about the dinner ? I conld go that way 
 when I go back to Newton's. He will be so pleased. 
 His mother didn't scold him, but yet I couldn't help 
 being very sorry for him. His face did look so un- 
 happy." 
 
 And when, after dinner, Ted ran off again, I 
 think the pleasure of the good news in store for 
 poor Jamie was quite as much in his mind as his 
 own errand to Newton's. 
 
 The seat was a great success. Newton came 
 that very evening to measure it exactly, and Ted 
 had the satisfaction of making some suggestions 
 which the carpenter thought very good ones, as to 
 the best way of fastening it firmly. And on Mon- 
 day evening the work was accomplished. Never, 
 surely, were two birds in a nest more happy than 
 Ted and Cissy, when, for the first time, they mounted 
 up on to their airy throne. Their mother, busy 
 among her flowers, was surprised by a sound of soft 
 singing over her head, coming from at first she 
 could not tell where. She stood still to listen — she 
 had, for the moment, forgotten about the perch in 
 the tree. But the words and the tune soon told her 
 
152 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 who it was. It was Ted at his old favourite, " Home, 
 sweet home." Sweetly and softly his boyish voice 
 rang out. The tears came into his mother's eyes, 
 but she moved away silently. She did not want 
 the children to know she was there. It seemed to 
 take away the simplicity of his pretty singing for 
 him to know that any one, even his mother, had been 
 listening. 
 
 " He is very fond of music," she said to herself, 
 " no doubt he has great taste for it," and the thought 
 gave her pleasure. She pictured to herself happy 
 future days when Ted and Cissy would be able to 
 play and sing together — when as " big people," the 
 brother and sister would continue the tender friend- 
 ship that she liked so much to see. 
 
 Monday evening was too late to begin the im- 
 portant paper for Uncle Ted. But on Tuesday the 
 children were up with the lark, armed with a long 
 ruled sheet, divided by lines across the other way, 
 into what Ted called several "compartments," a 
 pencil or two, for though Cissy could not make 
 figures, she could make little strokes, each of which 
 stood for a one something. The words at the head 
 of the " compartments " comprised everything which, 
 with the slightest probability, could be expected 
 
statistics:' 153 
 
 to journey along the highroad. Men, women, boys, 
 girls, babies in perambulators, babies in nurses' arms; 
 old women with baskets were considered a separate 
 genus, and had a row to themselves ; carts with one 
 horse, waggons with two, donkeys, dogs, pigs, cats, 
 wheelbarrows. And at one side Ted carefully 
 marked the hour at which began and ended the 
 " observations." For, alas ! the children could not 
 be all day at their post, though they did gravely 
 purpose that they should take it in turn to go in to 
 dinner, so that no passers-by should be unrecorded. 
 But that mother could not agree to. Dinner must 
 be eaten, and with as much deliberation and pro- 
 priety as usual, or else what was an interest and a 
 pleasure would have to be discouraged. And after all 
 it was rather nice to have the paper exhibited and 
 commented upon as they all sat round the luncheon- 
 table, though Cissy looked as if she were not quite 
 sure that she should not take offence for Ted, when 
 one of the big people inquired why there wasn't a 
 row for elephants and another for dancing-bears. 
 
 The long summer afternoon was spent in the 
 same way. Never surely had such a delightful 
 occupation for two small people brimming over 
 with life and energy, been discovered. Two birds 
 
154 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 busied with arranging their nest could not have been 
 more completely content. 
 
 "If this goes on," said the children's mother, 
 laughing, when they did condescend to come in to 
 tea, " I think we had better send a mattress and a 
 pillow up to your seat, and let you stay there all 
 night." 
 
 Ted and Cissy smiled, and in their hearts I 
 rather think they were of opinion that what their 
 mother proposed would be very nice. But, eager as 
 they were, they were both very hungry, and it was 
 evident that living in a tree did not destroy their 
 appetite, for the quantity of slices of bread and 
 butter which disappeared would have alarmed any 
 one unaccustomed to the feats of little people in 
 that way. 
 
 And tea over, off they set again. It was almost 
 as if they were away on a visit somewhere, the 
 house seemed so quiet, and the garden, so often at 
 that time of day the scene of tremendous romps in 
 which even nurse herself was coaxed to join, quite 
 deserted. Unless — that is to say — you had passed 
 under a certain tree and stood still to listen to the 
 clatter going on overhead, though, thanks to the 
 leafy branches, there was nothing to be seen. 
 
STATISTICS." 155 
 
 " Can there be magpies tip in that tree ?" would, 
 I think, have been yonr first idea. And then, listen- 
 ing a little more attentively, you would have come 
 to think that whether human or feathered they were 
 very funny magpies indeed. 
 
 "Fifteen, sixteen, that makes. Hurrah, sixteen 
 dogs since ten o'clock this morning. And, let's see, 
 seven old women with baskets, and " 
 
 " Them wasn't all old" corrects the small voice of 
 magpie number two ; " Jessie wif the eggs isn't old." 
 
 " Never mind ; if they've got baskets they should 
 be old," replies Ted. "An old woman with a 
 basket sounds right. Then there's five p'rambulators, 
 oh, it is a long word to spell — it goes right out of 
 its place into the other rows. I wish I'd just put 
 'babies in p'rams.' And then there's three pigs 
 and horses, oh dear I can't count how many. It's 
 getting too dark to see the strokes on the paper. I 
 say, Cissy, just you get down and run in and ask for 
 two or three dips. We can stick them up on the 
 wall and have a beautiful lighting up, and then we 
 can see everybody that passes." 
 
 Down clambered obedient Cissy — she was grow- 
 ing very alert by this time at making her way up and 
 down — off she set to the house with her message. 
 
156 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 u Dips, dips," she repeated to herself. " Ted 
 says I'm to ask for two or three dips. I wonder 
 what dips is." 
 
 She had not the slightest idea, but it never oc- 
 curred to her to do otherwise than exactly what her 
 brother had said. It was a funny little figure that 
 presented itself to the children's mother, in the 
 twilight, just as she was putting away her work and 
 thinking it was really time for Ted and Cissy to 
 come in, a shawl wrapped round and tied behind 
 over her white pinafore, of which the part that could 
 be seen was by no means as clean as it might have 
 been, any more than the eager flushed little face, 
 with its bright dark eyes and wavy hair tumbling 
 over the forehead. 
 
 " My dear Cissy, what a very dirty little girl you 
 are," said her mother, laughing. " You really look 
 more like a gipsy than anything else." 
 
 "Does dipsies live up trees?" inquired Cissy 
 gravely. " Trees is rather dirty. But oh, mother, 
 Ted wants me to ask you for two or three dips. 
 Pease give me zem." 
 
 " Dips," repeated her mother, " what in the world 
 does he want dips for ? " 
 
 " Cissy doesn't know," replied the little girl. 
 
" STATISTICS." 157 
 
 " Cissy doesn't know what dips is. Cissy finks Ted 
 said he would 'tick zem up on ze wall, to make it 
 look pitty." 
 
 Her mother was very much amused. 
 
 " Dips are candles/' she said. " I suppose Ted 
 wants to light up the tree." 
 
 Her words made a light break over Cissy's face 
 in the first place. 
 
 " Oh ses," said the little maiden, "it is getting 
 so dark. Oh do give Ted some dips, dear mother 
 —do, do." 
 
 But not any number of "do's" would have made 
 mother agree to so dangerous a proceeding. 
 
 "My dear little girl, you would certainly set 
 yourselves on fire, and the tree too," she replied. 
 "But never mind," she went on, seeing the corners 
 of Cissy's mouth going down with the thought of 
 Ted's disappointment, "I will go out with you and 
 explain to Ted." 
 
 Mother put a shawl over her shoulders and went 
 out with her little girl. Some way off, Ted heard 
 them coming. 
 
 " Cis, have you got the dips ?" he cried. "I 
 forgot to tell you to bring some matches too. I've 
 had such hard work to see, and a lot of people 
 
158 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 passed. I think there was a woman and two boys. 
 TO have to mark them down, when " 
 
 " I've come with Cissy, Ted," replied his mother's 
 voice, to his surprise, "to tell you that it would 
 really be too much of a good thing to go on with 
 your observations all night. And, in the first place, 
 you would certainly set yourself and Cissy and the 
 tree on fire, if I let you have candles up there. 
 Come down now, that's a good boy, and show me 
 your paper, and we'll pack it up to send to your 
 uncle by post." 
 
 "Very well, mother," said Ted, with his usual 
 cheery good-nature. " I'm coming. Here goes," and 
 in another minute he was beside her. " You don't 
 know what a beautiful long paperful I've got. I 
 don't want you to pack it up yet, mother. Cissy 
 and I are going to keep it on ever so much longer, 
 aren't we, Cis ?" 
 
 And chattering merrily the children went in 
 with their mother. But as she said to their father, 
 it really is to be doubted if they would not have 
 stayed in the tree all night, if Ted had got his wish 
 and arranged a " dip " illumination on the top of 
 the wall. 
 
 After all, that day in the tree was the last of 
 
"STATISTICS." 159 
 
 their "stick-sticks." The weather changed, and there 
 was nearly a week of rain, and by the time it was 
 over, children-like, Ted and Cissy had grown tired 
 of the rows of strokes representing old women and 
 donkeys and horses, and all the rest of them; the 
 "observations" had lost their attraction for them. 
 Still the pleasure was not quite over, for there was 
 the packing of the big paper to send to Uncle Ted 
 by post, and his letter of thanks in return. And 
 Percy came home for the holidays, and greatly 
 approved of the nest in the tree. And what the 
 children did not do up there — what games they 
 played, how they were by turns Eobinson Crusoe 
 hiding from the savages, King Charles in the oak 
 at Boscobel, or, quainter still, how they all sometimes 
 suddenly turned into squirrels and manufactured 
 for themselves the most wonderful tails of old brush 
 handles, and goodness only knows what, which stuck 
 straight up behind and made the climbing to the 
 nest by no means an easy matter — yes indeed, what 
 they did not do up in the tree would be difficult to 
 tell. 
 
 But it comes into my mind just now that I have 
 never told you anything of Ted's indoor life. 
 Hitherto it has seemed all s umm er days and 
 
160 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 gardens, has it not ? And no doubt the boy's 
 greatest happiness was in outdoor interests and 
 employments. But of course it was not always 
 summer and sunshine for Ted, any more than for 
 any one else — and, Christmas child though he was, 
 there were wintry days when even he had to stay in 
 the house and find work and pleasures indoors. 
 For winter does not mean nothing but bright frosty 
 skies overhead, and crisp clean snow underfoot. 
 There are dreary days of rain and mist and mud, 
 when children are much better at home, and when 
 mothers and nurses are more thankful than any one 
 not a mother or nurse can imagine, to have to do 
 with cheerful contented little people, who are " good 
 at amusing themselves," and unselfish enough not 
 to worry every one about them because it is a rainy 
 day. 
 
A PEACOCK'S FEATHER AND A KISS. 161 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 A peacock's feather and a kiss. 
 
 " "We tried to quarrel yesterday. 
 Ah ! . . . kiss the memory away." 
 
 In Ted's pleasant home there was a queer little 
 room used for nothing in particular. It was a very- 
 little room, hardly worthy indeed of the name, but 
 it had, like some small men who have very big 
 minds, a large window with a most charming view. 
 I think it was partly this which made Ted take 
 such a fancy to this queer little room in the first 
 place — he used to stand at the window when they 
 first came to the house and gaze out at the stretch 
 of sloping fields, with peeps here and there of the 
 blue river fringed with splendid trees, and farther off 
 still the distant hills fading away into the mysterious 
 cloudiness, the sight of which always gave him a 
 strange feeling as if he would like to cry — Ted 
 used to gaze out of this window for ever so long at 
 a time, till somehow the little room came to be 
 
 M 
 
162 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 associated with him, and the rest of the family got 
 into the way of speaking of it as his. And gradually 
 an idea took shape in his mind which he consulted 
 his mother about, and which she was quite pleased 
 to agree to. Might he have this little room for his 
 museum ? That was Ted's idea, and oh how eagerly 
 his blue eyes looked up into his mother's face for her 
 reply, and how the light danced in them with plea- 
 sure when she said " yes." 
 
 There were shelves in the little room — shelves 
 not too high up, some of them at least, for Ted to 
 arrange his curiosities on, without having to climb 
 on to a chair, and even Cissy, when she was trusted 
 as a great treat to dust some of the treasures, could 
 manage nicely with just a footstool. It would be 
 impossible to tell you half the pleasure Ted got out 
 of his museum. It was to him a sort of visible 
 history of his simple happy life, for nowhere did he 
 go without bringing back with him some curious stone 
 or shell, or bird's feather, or uncommon leaf even, 
 to be placed in his collection, both as a remem- 
 brance of his visit and as a thing of interest in itself. 
 
 There were specimens of cotton in its different 
 stages, of wool too, from a soft bit of fluff which 
 Ted had picked off a Welsh bramble, to a square 
 
A PEACOCK'S FEATHER AND A KISS. 163 
 
 inch of an exquisitely knitted Shetland shawl, fine 
 as a cobweb, which Ted had begged from Mabel 
 when she was giving the remains of the shawl to 
 Cissy for her doll. There were bits of different 
 kinds of coal ; there was "Blue John" from a Derby- 
 shire cavern, and a tiny china doll which, much 
 charred and disfigured, had yet survived the great 
 fire of Chicago, where one of the children's uncles 
 had passed by not long after ; there was a bit of 
 black bread from the siege of Paris ; there were all 
 manner of things, all ticketed and numbered, and 
 their description neatly entered in a catalogue which 
 lay on a little table by the door, on which was also 
 to be seen another book, in which Ted requested 
 all visitors to the museum to write their names, and 
 all the big people of the family so well understood 
 the boy's pride and pleasure in his museum, that no 
 one ever thought of making his way into his little 
 room without his invitation. 
 
 Ted had begun his museum some months before 
 the great excitement of the nest in the tree, but the 
 delights of the long summer days out of doors had 
 a little put it out of his head. But the latter part, 
 as well as the beginning of these holidays, happened 
 to be very rainy, and the last fortnight was spent 
 
164 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 mostly by Percy and Ted in the tiny museum room, 
 where Percy helped Ted to finish the ticketing and 
 numbering that he had not long before begun. And 
 Cissy, of course, was as busy as anybody, flopping 
 about with an old pocket-handkerchief which she 
 called her duster, and reproving the boys with great 
 dignity for unsettling any of the trays she had made 
 so " bootily clean." 
 
 " You must try to get some more feathers, Ted," 
 said Percy. " They make such a pretty collection. 
 There's a fellow at our school that has an awful lot. 
 He fastens them on to cards — he's got a bird-of- 
 Paradise plume, an awful beauty. Indeed he's got 
 two, for he offered to sell me one for half-a-crown. 
 Wouldn't you like it ?" 
 
 " I should think I would," said Ted, " but I can't 
 buy anything this half. You know my money's 
 owing to mother for that that I told you about." 
 
 He gave a little sigh ; the bird of Paradise was 
 a tempting idea. 
 
 "Poor Ted," said Cissy, clambering down from 
 her stool to give him a hug. 
 
 Ted accepted the hug, but not the pity. 
 
 " No, Cissy. I'm not poor Ted for that," he said 
 merrily. " It was ever so kind of mother to put it 
 
A PEACOCK'S FEATHER AND A KISS. 165 
 
 all right, and ever so much kinder of her to do it 
 that way. I shouldn't have liked not to pay it 
 myself." 
 
 " I'll see if I can't get that fellow to swop his 
 bird of Paradise for some of my stamps, when I go 
 hack to school," said Percy. 
 
 " Oh, thank you, Percy," said Ted, his eyes 
 shining. 
 
 " Anyway you might have some peacocks'," Percy 
 went on. " They're not so hard to get, and they 
 look so pretty." 
 
 " Mother's got some screens made of them on the 
 drawing-room mantelpiece," said Ted, "and one of 
 them's got a lot of loose feathers sticking out at the 
 back that are no use. Perhaps she'd give me one 
 or two. Then I could make a nice cardful, with 
 the peacocks' at the corners and the little ones in a 
 sort of a wreath in the middle." 
 
 He looked at the sheet of white paper on to 
 which, at present, his feathers were fastened. " Yes, 
 it would be very pretty," he repeated. But just 
 then the tea-bell rang, and the children left the 
 museum for that day. 
 
 The boys were in it the next morning, when Ted's 
 mother appeared with a rather graver face than 
 
166 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 usual. She did not come in, she knew that Ted 
 was putting all in perfect order, and that he did not 
 want her to see it till complete, so she only slightly 
 opened the door and called him out. 
 
 " Ted," she said quietly, but Ted saw that she 
 was sorry, " Ted, do you know anything of this ?" 
 
 She held up as she spoke a pretty and valuable 
 little china ornament which always stood on the 
 drawing-room mantelpiece. It was broken — quite 
 spoilt — it could never be the same again. 
 
 " Oh dear," exclaimed Ted, " what a pity ! Your 
 dear little flower-basket. I am so sorry. How could 
 it have got broken ?" 
 
 " I don't know," said his mother. " I found it 
 lying on the floor. It seemed as if some one had 
 knocked it over without knowing. You are sure 
 you were not trying to reach anything off the man- 
 telpiece yesterday evening ?" 
 
 " Sure," said Ted, looking sorry and puzzled. 
 
 " It stood just in front of my screen of peacock 
 feathers," his mother went on. She did not in the 
 very very least doubt his assurance, but his manner 
 gave her the feeling that if she helped his memory 
 a little, he might be able to throw some light on the 
 mystery. 
 
A PEACOCK'S FEATHER AND A KISS. 167 
 
 " In front of the peacock-feather fan," he repeated 
 absently. 
 
 " Yes," said his mother, " but do not say anything 
 about it, Ted. "We may find out how it happened, 
 but I do not like questioning every one about it. It 
 gives the servants a feeling that I don't trust them, 
 for they always tell me if they break anything. So 
 don't say anything more about it to any one" 
 
 "No," said Ted. His tone and manner were 
 still a little puzzled, as if something was in his 
 mind which he could not make clear to himself, and 
 his mother, knowing that he sometimes was inclined 
 to take things of the kind too much to heart, made 
 up her mind to think no more about her poor little 
 vase, and to treat its breakage as one of the accidents 
 we have all to learn to bear philosophically in daily 
 life. But though no more was said, Ted did not 
 forget about it : it worried and puzzled him behind 
 other thoughts, as it were, all day, and little did he or 
 his mother think who was really the innocent culprit. 
 
 Late that night, just before going to bed herself, 
 Ted's mother glanced into his room, as she often 
 did, to see that the boy was sleeping peacefully. 
 The light that she carried she shaded carefully, but 
 a very wide-awake voice greeted her at once. 
 
168 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 " Mother," it said, " I'm not asleep. Mother, I 
 do so want to speak to yon. I've not been able to 
 go to sleep for thinking about the little broken vase." 
 
 " Ted, dear," said his mother, " don't mind 
 about it. It is no use vexing oneself so much about 
 things when they are done and can't be put right." 
 
 " But, mother," he persisted, " it isn't quite that. 
 Of course I'm very sorry for it to be broken, however 
 it happened. But what makes me so uncomfortable 
 is that I've begun to wonder so if perhaps I did do 
 it. I know we were all talking about your peacock- 
 feather screens yesterday. I said to Percy and Cissy 
 there were some loose ones in one of them, and 
 perhaps you'd give me some for my card of feathers, 
 and I've got a sort of wondering feeling whether 
 perhaps I did touch the screen and knocked down 
 the china flower-basket without knowing, and it's 
 making me so unhappy, but I didn't mean to hide 
 it from you if I did do it." 
 
 He looked up so wistfully that his mother's heart 
 felt quite sore. She considered a minute before she 
 replied, for she was afraid of seeming to make light 
 of his trouble or of checking his perfect honesty, 
 and yet, on the other hand, she was wise, and knew 
 that even conscientiousness may be exaggerated and 
 
A PEACOCK'S FEATHER AND A KISS. 169 
 
 grow into a weakness, trying to others as well as 
 hurtful to oneself. 
 
 " I am sure you did not mean to hide anything 
 from me, dear Ted," she replied, " and I don't think 
 it is the least likely that you did break the vase. 
 But even if you did, it is better to think no more 
 about it. You answered me sincerely at the time, 
 and that was all you could do. We are only human 
 beings, you know, dear Ted, always likely to make 
 mistakes, even to say what is not true at the very 
 moment we are most anxious to be truthful. We 
 can only do our best, and ask God to help us. So 
 don't trouble any more, even if we never find out 
 how it happened." 
 
 Then she stooped and gave Ted an extra good- 
 night kiss, and in five minutes his loving anxious 
 little spirit was asleep. 
 
 But the very next day the mystery was explained. 
 
 " Ted's newsevm is bootly neat," Cissy announced 
 at breakfast-time, " but he wants some more fevvers. 
 I tried to get down muzzer's screen off the mantel- 
 piece to see if there was some loose ones, but I 
 couldn't reach it. Muzzer, won't you give Ted some 
 loose ones ?" 
 
 Mother looked at Ted, and Ted looked at mother. 
 
170 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 " So you were the mouse that knocked over my 
 little vase, Miss Cissy !" said mother. " Do you 
 know, dear, that it was broken ? You should not 
 try to reach things down yourself. You will be 
 having an accident, like 'Darling' in the picture- 
 book, some day, if you don't take care." 
 
 The corners of Cissy's mouth went down, and her 
 eyes filled with tears. 
 
 " I didn't know," she said in a very melancholy 
 voice. " I only wanted to find some loose fewers 
 for Ted."' 
 
 " I know that, dear," said her mother. " Only 
 if you had asked me you would have got the feathers 
 without breaking my vase. Come with me now, 
 and you'll show me what you want." 
 
 There proved to be two or three loose feathers as 
 Ted had said — beautiful rainbow eyes, which would 
 not be missed from the screen with the careful way 
 in which Ted's mother cut them out, and the chil- 
 dren carried them off in delight. They were neatly 
 tacked on to the feather card, which had a very 
 fine effect on the wall of the museum. And for 
 both Ted and Cissy there was a little lesson, though 
 the two were of different kinds, fastened up with 
 the feathers on the card. 
 
" They were neatly tacked on to the feather card, which had a very 
 fine effect on the wall of the museum." — p. 170. 
 
A PEACOCK'S FEATHER AND A KISS. 171 
 
 Before long the holidays were over. Percy went 
 back to school, and poor Ted hid himself for a few 
 hours, as he always did on these sad occasions, that 
 his red eyes might not be seen. Then he came out 
 again, looking paler than usual, but quite cheerful 
 and bright. Still he missed Percy so much that he 
 was not at all sorry that his own holidays were over. 
 For Ted now went early every morning to a regular 
 big school — a school at which there were so many 
 boys that some little fellows of his age might have 
 felt frightened and depressed. But not so Ted. 
 He went on his own cheery way without misgiving. 
 The world to his thinking was a nice and happy 
 place — not all sunshine of course, but very good 
 of its kind. And school-life, though it too had its 
 shadows, was full of interest and satisfaction. Ted 
 loved his fellows, and never doubted, in his simple 
 taking-for-granted of things being as they should be, 
 but that he was loved by them ; and how this way 
 of looking out on the world helped him through 
 its difficulties, how it saved him from unreasonable 
 fears and exaggerated anxieties such as take the 
 bloom off many a child-life, it would be difficult for 
 me to describe. I can only try to put you in the way 
 of imagining this bright young life for yourselves. 
 
172 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 The boy whom, of course only next to his dear 
 Percy, Ted loved best in the world was, to use his 
 own words, " a fellow " of about his own age, whose 
 name was Eex. That is to say, his short name ; 
 for his real one was Eeginald, just as Ted's was 
 Edmond. They had been together at the big school 
 from the first of Ted's going, being about equal in 
 their standing as to classes, though Eex was rather 
 the elder, and had been longer at school. At Ted's 
 school, as at all others, there were quarrels and fights 
 sometimes ; and many a day he came home with 
 traces of war, in the shapes of bumps and bruises 
 and scratches. Not that the battles were all quar- 
 rels, — there were plenty of good-tempered scrim- 
 mages, as well as, occasionally, more serious affrays, 
 for boys will be boys all the world over. And, 
 worse than that, in all schools there are to be found 
 boys of mean and tyrannical spirit, who love to 
 bully and tease, and who need to be put down now 
 and then. And in all schools, too, there are boys 
 of good and kindly feelings, but of hasty and un- 
 controlled temper, and they too have to be taught 
 to give and take, to bear and forbear. And then, 
 too, as the best of boys are hit boys after all, we 
 are still a long way off having any reason to ex- 
 
A PEACOCK'S FEATHER AND A KISS. 173 
 
 pect that the best of schools even can be like dove- 
 cots. 
 
 I don't know that Ted's school was worse than 
 others in these respects, and Ted himself was not 
 of a quarrelsome nature, but still in some ways he 
 was not very patient. And then, slight and rather 
 delicate though he was, he assuredly had a spirit 
 of his own. He couldn't stand bullying, either of 
 himself or others, and without any calculation as 
 to the odds for or against him, he would plunge 
 himself into the thick of the fray ; and but for Eex, 
 who was always ready to back up Ted, I daresay he 
 would often have come off worse than he did. As 
 it was, many were the wounds that fell to his share, 
 and yet he managed, by his quickness and nimble- 
 ness, to escape more serious damage. 
 
 " What have you been doing with yourself, my 
 boy ? " his mother said one day not long after the 
 grand doing-up of the museum, when Ted appeared 
 in her room on his return from school, to beg for 
 some sticking-plaister and arnica lotion. He really 
 looked rather an object, and he could not help 
 laughing as he caught sight of his face in the glass ; 
 for one eye was very much swollen, and a long 
 scratch down his nose did not add to his beauty. 
 
174 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 "I am a fright/' he said. "But there's not 
 much the matter, mother. It was only a scrimmage 
 — we were all quite good friends." 
 
 " But really, Ted," said his mother, " I think you 
 must curb your warlike tastes a little. Some day 
 you may really get hurt badly." 
 
 " No fear, mother," he said. " Besides, after all, 
 a boy wouldn't be worth much who couldn't fight 
 sometimes, would he ? " 
 
 " Sometimes" said his mother. " Where was Eex 
 to-day — wasn't he beside you ? " 
 
 Ted's face clouded a little. 
 
 " Eex was in a bad humour to-day. He wouldn't 
 play," Ted replied. 
 
 " Eex in a bad humour ! " repeated his mother. 
 " Surely that's very uncommon." 
 
 Ted did not reply, and his mother did not ask 
 him any more, but she noticed that the cloud had 
 not entirely disappeared, and the next morning it 
 was not quite with his usual springing steps that 
 the boy set off to school. Eex's house was on the 
 same road ; most days the boys met each other at 
 the gate and went on together, but this time no 
 Eex was to be seen. Either he had taken it into 
 his head to go very early, or he was not yet ready. 
 
A PEACOCK'S FEATHER AND A KISS. 175 
 
 Ted cast a glance towards the path, down which he 
 was used to see his friend running, satchel over his 
 shoulders, to join him — then he walked on slowly. 
 
 "I'm not going to wait for him if he doesn't 
 care to come," he said to himself; and when he got 
 to school he was glad he had not done so, for there 
 was Eex already in the schoolroom, and at his desk 
 busy writing, though it wanted some minutes to 
 school-time. 
 
 " Good morning, Eex," said Ted. 
 
 " Good morning," replied Eex ; but that was all. 
 Whether or not he had been in a bad humour the 
 day before, he was certainly not in a pleasant frame 
 of mind towards Ted to-day. The morning passed 
 much less cheerfully than usual, for when all was 
 happy between the boys, though they could not 
 speak to each other in school hours, there were 
 many pleasant little ways in which they could 
 make each other feel that his friend was next door. 
 Ted's lessons suffered from his preoccupation, and, 
 altogether, things seemed to go the wrong way. 
 But Ted did not seem able to care. " What was the 
 matter with Eex ? " That was the one question 
 always in his mind. 
 
 School over, the boys could not help meeting. 
 
176 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 Their roads lay together, and both had too much 
 self-respect to wish to make an exhibition of the 
 want of good feeling between them to the other 
 boys. So they set off as if nothing were the matter, 
 and walked some little way in silence. At last Ted 
 could stand it no longer. 
 
 " What's the matter with you, old fellow ? " he 
 said. " Why wouldn't you play with me yesterday ?" 
 
 Eex looked up. 
 
 " I couldn't," he said. " I had got my French 
 exercise all blotted, and I wanted to copy it over 
 without telling any one ; that was why I wouldn't 
 come out. So now you see if it was true what you 
 said of me to Hatchard." 
 
 "What did I say of you to Hatchard?" cried 
 Ted. 
 
 " What ? Why, what he told me you said — 
 that I was a mean sneak, and that I wouldn't play 
 because I wasn't as good at it as you." 
 
 " I never said so, and you know I never did," 
 retorted Ted, his cheeks flaming. 
 
 "Do you mean to say that I'm telling a lie?" 
 cried Eex in his turn. 
 
 "Yes I do, if you said I said that," exclaimed 
 Ted. And then — how it happened I don't think 
 
A PEACOCK'S FEATHER AND A KISS. 177 
 
 either of the boys could have told — their anger grew 
 from words into deeds. Eex hit Ted, and Ted hit 
 at him again ! But one blow — one on each side — 
 and they came to their senses. Ted first, when he 
 saw the ugly mark his clenched fist had left on his 
 friend's face, when he felt the hot glow on his 
 own. 
 
 " Eex," he cried, " Eex ! How can we be 
 like that to each other ? It's like Cain and Abel. 
 Eex, I'm so sorry ! " 
 
 And Eex was quick to follow. 
 
 " Ted, I didn't mean it. Let's forget we ever, 
 did it. I do believe you never said that. Hatchard's 
 a mean sneak himself. I only didn't want to tell 
 you that it was you who blotted my exercise by 
 mistake when you passed my desk. I thought you'd 
 be so sorry. But it would have been better to tell 
 you than to go on like this." 
 
 Eex's explanation was too much for Ted. Ten 
 years old though he was, the tears rushed to his eyes, 
 and he felt as if he could never forgive himself. 
 
 He told his mother all about it that evening. 
 He could not feel happy till he did so, and even 
 before he had said anything she knew that the little 
 tug to her sleeve and the whispered " Mother, I want 
 
 N 
 
178 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 to speak to you," was coming. And even when he 
 had told her all about the quarrel and reconciliation, 
 he hung on, looking as if there were something more 
 to tell. 
 
 "What is it, my boy ?" said his mother; " have 
 you anything more to say ? " 
 
 Ted's face flushed. 
 
 " Yes, mother," he said. " I wanted to ask you 
 this. When Eex and I had settled it all right again, 
 we still felt rather unhappy. It did seem so horrid 
 to have hit each other like that, it seemed to leave 
 a mark. So, mother, we wanted to take it quite 
 away, and we hissed each other. And we felt quite 
 happy, only — was it a very babyish thing to do ? 
 Was it unmanly, mother ?" 
 
 His mother drew him towards her and looked 
 lovingly into his anxious face. 
 
 " Unmanly, my boy ? No indeed," she said, " it 
 was kind and good, and kindness and goodness can 
 never be unmanly." 
 
 And Ted, quite at rest now, went off to bed. 
 
SOME RAINY ADVENTURES. 179 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 SOME EAINY ADVENTURES. 
 " "Wildly the winds of heaven began to blow, 
 
 Whilst from the jealous, unrelenting skies 
 The inevitable July down-pour came." 
 
 Another winter came and went. Ted had another 
 "birthday, which made him eleven years old. An- 
 other happy Christmas time — this year of the old- 
 fashioned snowy kind, for even in November there 
 was skating, and Ted skated like a Dutchman ; and 
 the child -life in the pleasant home went on its 
 peaceful way, with much of sunshine and but few 
 clouds. Narcissa, too, was growing a big girl. She 
 could say all her words clearly now, without lisping 
 or funny mistakes, though, as she was the youngest 
 bird in the nest, I am not sure but that some of the 
 big people thought this rather a pity ! And then 
 when the frost and the snow were done with, the ever 
 new spring time came round again, gradually grow- 
 ing into the brilliant summer; and this year the 
 
180 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 children's hearts rejoiced even more than usual, for 
 a great pleasure was before them. This year they 
 were to spend the holidays with their parents in a 
 quite, quite country place, and many were the de- 
 lightful fancies and dreams that they made about it, 
 even while it was some distance off. 
 
 " I do love summer," said Cissy one day. They 
 were standing at the window one May morning, 
 waiting for their father and mother to come to 
 breakfast. It was a Sunday morning, so there was 
 no hurrying off to school. " Don't you love summer, 
 Ted?" 
 
 " Yes, summer's awfully jolly," he replied. " But 
 so 's winter. Just think of the snowballing and the 
 skating. I do hope next winter will be a regular 
 good one, for I shall be ever so much bigger I 
 expect, and I'll try my best to beat them all at 
 skating." 
 
 His face and eyes beamed with pleasure, Just 
 then his mother came in; she had heard his last 
 words. 
 
 "Next winter !" she said. " That's a long time 
 off. Who knows what may happen before then ? " 
 
 She gave a little sigh ; Ted and Cissy looked at 
 each other. They knew what mother was thinking 
 
SOME RAINY ADVENTURES. 181 
 
 of. Since last winter a great grief had come to her. 
 She had lost one who had been to her what Ted was 
 to Cissy, and the sorrow was still fresh. Ted and 
 Cissy drew near to their mother. Ted stroked her 
 hand, and Cissy held up her rosy month for a kiss. 
 
 " Dear mother," they said both together, and then 
 a little silence fell over them all. Cissy's thoughts 
 were sad as she looked at Ted and pictured to her- 
 self how terrible it would be to lose a brother as 
 dear as he, and Ted was gazing up at the blue sky 
 and wondering — wondering about the great mystery 
 which had lately, for the first time in his life, 
 seemed to come near him. What ivas dying ? Why, 
 if it meant, as his father and mother told him, a 
 better, and fuller, and nobler life than this, which he 
 found so good and happy a thing, why, if it meant 
 living nearer to God, understanding Him better, why 
 should people dread it so, why speak of it as so sad ? 
 
 " I don't think," thought little Ted to himself, " I 
 don't think I should be afraid of dying. God is so 
 kind, I couldn't fancy being afraid of Him ; and 
 heaven must be so beautiful," for the sunny bright- 
 ness of the May morning seemed to surround every- 
 thing. But his glance fell on his mother and sister, 
 and other thoughts rose in his mind ; the leaving 
 
182 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 them — ah yes, that was what made death so sad a 
 thing ; and he had to turn his head away to hide the 
 tears which rose to his eyes. 
 
 There was, as his mother had said, a long time 
 to next winter — there seemed even, to the children, 
 a long time to next summer, which they were hoping 
 for so eagerly. And an interruption came to Ted's 
 school-work, for quite unexpectedly he and Cissy 
 went away to London for a few weeks with their 
 parents, and when they came back there was only a 
 short time to wait for the holidays. If I had space 
 I would like to tell you about this visit to London, 
 and some of the interesting things that happened 
 there — how the children had rather a distressing 
 adventure the first evening of their arrival, for their 
 father and mother had to go off with their aunt in 
 a hurry to see a sick friend, and, quite by mistake, 
 their nurse, not knowing the children would be alone, 
 went out with a message about a missing parcel, 
 and poor Cissy, tired with the journey and frightened 
 by the dark, rather gloomy house and the strange 
 servants, had a terrible fit of crying, and clung to 
 Ted as her only protector in a manner piteous to 
 see. And Ted soothed and comforted her as no one 
 else could have done. It was a pretty sight (though 
 
SOME RAINY ADVENTURES. 183 
 
 it grieved their mother too, to find that poor Cissy 
 had been frightened) to see the little girl in Ted's 
 arms, where she had fallen asleep, the tears still 
 undried on her cheeks ; and the next morning, when 
 she woke up fresh and bright as usual, she told her 
 mother that Ted had been, oh so kind, she never 
 could be frightened again if Ted was there. 
 
 There were many things to surprise and interest 
 the children, Ted especially, in the great world of 
 London, of which now he had this little peep. But 
 as I have promised to tell you about the summer I 
 must not linger. 
 
 When they went back from town there were 
 still eight or nine weeks to pass before the holi- 
 days, and Ted worked hard, really very hard, at 
 school to gain the prize he had been almost sure of 
 before the interruption of going away. He did not 
 say much about it, but his heart did beat a good 
 deal faster than usual when at last the examinations 
 were over and the prize-giving day came round ; 
 and when all the successful names were read out 
 and his was not among them, I could not take upon 
 myself to say that there was not a tear to wink 
 away, even though there was the consolation of 
 hearing that he stood second-best in his class. And 
 
184 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 Ted's good feeling and common sense made him look 
 quite bright and cheerful when his mother met him 
 with rather an anxious face. 
 
 " You're not disappointed I hope, Ted, dear, are 
 you?" she said. "You have not taken quite as 
 good a place as usual, and I did think you might 
 have had a prize. But you know I am quite pleased, 
 and so is your father, for we are satisfied you have 
 done your best, so you must not be disappointed." 
 
 " I'm not, mother," said Ted cheerily, — " I'm not 
 really, for you know I am second, and that's not bad, 
 is it ? Considering I was away and all that." 
 
 And his mother felt pleased at the boy's good 
 sense and fair judgment of himself — for there had 
 sometimes seemed a danger of Ted's entire want of 
 vanity making him too timid about himself. 
 
 What a happy day it was for Ted and Cissy 
 when the real packing began for the summer expedi- 
 tion ! It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good, 
 and I suppose it is by this old saying explained 
 how it is that packing, the horror of mothers and 
 aunts and big sisters, not to speak of nurses and 
 maids, should be to all small people the source of 
 such delight. 
 
 " See, Ted," said Cissy, " do let's carry down 
 
SOME RAINY ADVENTURES. 185 
 
 some of these boxes. There's the one with the sheets 
 and towels in, quite ready," and the children's mother 
 coming along the passage and finding them both 
 tugging with all their might at really a very heavy 
 trunk, was reminded of the day — long ago now — 
 in the mountain home, when, setting off for the 
 picnic, wee Ted wanted so much to load himself with 
 the heaviest basket of all ! 
 
 And at last, thanks no doubt to these energetic 
 efforts in great part, the packing was all done ; the 
 last evening, then the last night came, and the 
 excited children went to sleep to wake ever so much 
 earlier than usual to the delights of thinking the 
 day had come ! 
 
 It was a long and rather tiring railway journey, 
 and when it came to an end there was a very long 
 drive in an open carriage, and by degrees all houses 
 and what Ted's father called " traces of civilisation," 
 — which puzzled Cissy a good deal — were left behind. 
 
 " We must be getting close to the moors," said 
 he, at which the children were delighted, for it was 
 on the edge of these great moors that stood the 
 lonely farm-house that was to be their home for 
 some months. But just as their father said this, 
 the carriage stopped, and they were told they must 
 
186 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 all get down — they were at the entrance to a wood 
 through which there was no cart or carriage road, 
 only a footpath, and the farm-house stood in a glen 
 some little way on the other side of this wood. It 
 was nearly dark outside the wood, inside it was of 
 course still more so, so dark indeed that it took some 
 care and management to find one's way at all. The 
 children walked on quietly, Ted really enjoying the 
 queerness and the mystery of this adventure, but 
 little Narcissa, though she said nothing, pressed 
 closer to her mother, feeling rather " eerie," and 
 some weeks after she said one day, " I don't want 
 ever to go home again because of passing through 
 that dark wood." 
 
 But once arrived, the pleasant look of everything 
 at the farm-house, and the hearty welcome they 
 received from their host and hostess, the farmer and 
 his wife, made every one feel it had all been worth 
 the journey and the trouble. And the next morning, 
 when the children woke to a sunny summer day in 
 the quaint old house, and looked out on all sides on 
 the lovely meadows and leafy trees, with here and 
 there a peep of the gleaming river a little farther 
 down the glen, and when, near at hand, they heard 
 the clucking of the hens and the mooing of the 
 
SOME RAINY ADVENTURES. 187 
 
 calves and the barking of the dogs, and all the de- 
 lightful sounds of real farm-life, I think, children, 
 you will not need me to try to tell you how happy 
 our children felt. The next few days were a sort 
 of bewilderment of interests and pleasures and sur- 
 prises — everything was so nice and new — even the 
 funny old-fashioned stoneware plates and dishes 
 seemed to Ted and Cissy to make the dinners and 
 teas taste better than anything they had ever eaten 
 before. And very soon they were as much at home 
 in and about the farm-house as if they had lived 
 there all their lives, — feeding the calves and pigs, 
 hunting for eggs, carrying in wood for Mrs. Crosby 
 to help her little niece Polly, a small person not 
 much older than Cissy, but already very useful in 
 house and farm work. One day, when they were busy 
 at this wood-carrying, a brilliant idea struck them. 
 
 " Wouldn't it be fun," said Ted, " to go to the 
 wood — just the beginning of it, you know — and 
 gather a lot of these nice little dry branches ; they 
 are so beautiful for lighting fires with ? " 
 
 Cissy agreed that it would be great fun, and 
 Polly, who was with them at the time, thought, too, 
 that it would be very nice indeed ; and then a still 
 better idea struck Ted. " Suppose," he said, " that 
 
188 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 we were to go to-morrow morning, and take our 
 luncheon with us. Wouldn't that be nice ? We 
 could pack it in a basket and take it on the little 
 truck that we get the wood in, and then we could 
 bring back the little truck full of the dry branches." 
 The proposal was thought charming, and mother 
 was consulted ; and the next morning Mrs. Crosby 
 was busy betimes, hunting up what she could give 
 to her " honeys " for their picnic, and soon the three 
 set off, pulling the truck behind them, and on the 
 truck a basket carefully packed with a large bottle 
 of fresh milk, a good provision of bread and butter, 
 a fine cut of home-made cake, and three splendid 
 apple turnovers. Could anything be nicer ? The 
 sun was shining, as it was right he should shine on 
 so happy a little party, as they made their way up 
 the sloping field, through a little white gate opening 
 on to a narrow path skirting the foot of the hill, 
 where the bracken grew in wild luxuriance, and 
 the tall trees overhead made a pleasant shade down 
 to the little beck, whose chatter could be faintly 
 heard. And so peaceful and sheltered was the 
 place, that, as the children passed along, bright-eyed 
 rabbits stopped to peep at them ere they scudded 
 away, and the birds hopped fearlessly across the path, 
 
SOME RAINY ADVENTURES. . 189 
 
 nay, the squirrels even, sitting comfortably among 
 the branches, glanced down at the three little figures 
 without disturbing themselves, and an old owl blinked 
 at them patronisingly from his hole in an ancient 
 tree-trunk. And by and by as the path grew more 
 rugged, Polly was deputed to carry the basket, for 
 fear of accidents, for Cissy pulling in front and Ted 
 pushing and guiding behind, found it as much as 
 they could do to get the truck along. How they 
 meant to bring it back when loaded with branches I 
 don't know, and as things turned out, the question did 
 not arise. The truck and the basket and the children 
 reached their destination safely ; they chose a nice 
 little grassy corner under a tree very near the entrance 
 to the big wood, and after a very short interval of rest 
 from the fatigues of their journey, it was suggested 
 by one and agreed to by all that even if it were 
 rather too early for real luncheon or dinner time, 
 there was no reason why, if they felt hungry, they 
 should not unpack the basket and eat ! No sooner 
 said than done. 
 
 " We shall work at gathering wood all the better 
 after we've had some refreshment," observed Ted 
 sagely, and the little girls were quite of his opinion. 
 And the rabbits and the owls and the squirrels must, 
 
190 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 I think, have been much amused at the quaint little 
 
 party, the spice cake and apple-turnover collation 
 
 that took place under the old tree, and at the merry 
 
 words and ringing laughter that echoed through the 
 
 forest. 
 
 An hour or so later, the children's mother, with 
 
 an after-thought of possible risk to them from the 
 
 damp ground, made her way along the path and soon 
 
 discovered the little group. She had brought with 
 
 her a large waterproof cloak big enough for them all 
 
 to sit on together, but it was too late, for the refection 
 
 was over ; the basket, containing only the three plates 
 
 and the three tin mugs, propped up between Ted 
 
 and Cissy, toppled over with the start the children 
 
 gave at the sound of their mother's voice, and a 
 
 regular " Jack and Jill " clatter down the slope was 
 
 the result. The children screamed with delight and 
 
 excitement as they raced after the truant mugs and 
 
 plates, and their mother, thinking that her staying 
 
 longer might cause a little constraint in the merri- 
 er o 
 
 ment, turned to go, just saying cheerfully, " Children, 
 I have brought my big waterproof cloak for you to 
 sit on, but as your feast is over I suppose you won't 
 need it. What are you going to do next ? " 
 
 " mother, we're just going to set to work/' 
 Ted's voice replied ; " we're having such fun." 
 
SOME RAINY ADVENTURES. 191 
 
 " Well, good-bye then. I am going a walk with 
 your father, but in case of a change of weather, 
 though it certainly doesn't look like it, I'll leave the 
 cloak." 
 
 She turned and left them. An hour or two later, 
 when she came home to the farm-house and stood 
 for a moment looking up at the sky, it seemed to 
 her as if her remark about the weather had been a 
 shadow of coming events. For the bright blue sky 
 had clouded over, a slight chilly breeze ruffled the 
 leaves as if in friendly warning to the birds and the 
 butterflies to get under shelter, and before many 
 moments had passed large heavy drops began to fall, 
 which soon grew into a regular downpour. What 
 a changed world ! 
 
 "What will the children do?" was the mother's 
 first thought as she watched it. "It is too heavy 
 to last, and fortunately there is no sign of thunder 
 about. I don't see that there is anything to be 
 done but to wait a little; they are certain to be 
 under shelter in the wood, and any one going for 
 them would be drenched in two minutes." 
 
 So she did her best to wait patiently and not to 
 feel uneasy, though several times in the course of 
 the next half-hour she went to the window to see 
 
192 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 if there were no sign of the rain abating. Alas, no ! 
 As heavily as ever, and even more steadily, it fell. 
 Something must be done she decided, and she was 
 just thinking of going to the kitchen to consult 
 Mrs. Crosby, when as she turned from the window 
 a curious object rolling or slowly hobbling down 
 the hill-side caught her view. That was the way 
 the children would come — what could that queer 
 thing be ? It was not too high, but far too broad 
 to be a child, and its way of moving was a sort of 
 jerky waddle through the bracken, very remarkable 
 to see. Whatever it was, dwarf or goblin, it found 
 its way difficult to steer, poor thing, for there, with 
 a sudden fly, over it went altogether and lay for a 
 moment or two struggling and twisting, till at last 
 it managed to get up again and painfully strove to 
 pursue its way. 
 
 The children's mother called their nurse. 
 
 " Esther," she said, " I cannot imagine what that 
 creature is coming down the road. But it is in 
 trouble evidently. Eun off and see if you can 
 help." Off ran kind-hearted Esther, and soon she was 
 rewarded for her trouble. Eor as she got near to 
 the queer-shaped bundle, she saw two pairs of eyes 
 peering out at her, from the two arm - holes of 
 
SOME RAINY ADVENTURES. 193 
 
 the waterproof cloak, and in a moment the mystery 
 was explained. Ted, in his anxiety for the two 
 girls, had wrapped them up together in the cloak 
 which his mother had left, and literally * bundled " 
 them off, with the advice to get home as quickly 
 as possible, while he followed with his loaded truck, 
 the wood covered as well as he could manage with 
 leafy branches which he tore down. 
 
 But "possible" was not quickly at all in the 
 case of poor Cissy and her companion. Polly was 
 of a calm and placid nature, with something of the 
 resignation to evils that one sees in the peasant 
 class all over the world ; but Narcissa, impulsive and 
 sensitive, with her dainty dislike to mud, and her 
 unaccustomedness to such adventures, could not long- 
 restrain her tears, and under the waterproof cloak 
 she cried sadly, feeling frightened too at the angry 
 gusts of rain and wind which sounded to her like 
 the voices of ogres waiting to seize them and carry 
 them off to some dreadful cavern. 
 
 The summit of their misfortunes seemed reached 
 when they toppled over and lay for a moment or 
 two helplessly struggling on the wet ground. But 
 oh, what delight to hear Esther's kind voice, and 
 how Cissy clung to her and sobbed out her woes ! 
 
 o 
 
194 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 She was more than half comforted again by the time 
 they reached the farm-house, and just as mother 
 was considering whether it would not be better to 
 undress them in the kitchen before the fire and 
 bring down their dry clothes, Master Ted, "very 
 wet, yes very wet, oh very wet indeed," made his 
 appearance, with rosy cheeks and a general look of 
 self-satisfaction. 
 
 "Did they get home all right?" he said, cheerily. 
 " It was a good thing you brought the cloak, mother. 
 And the wood isn't so wet after all." 
 
 And an hour or two later, dried and consoled 
 and sitting round the kitchen table for an extra good 
 tea to which Mrs. Crosby had invited them, all the 
 children agreed that after all the expedition had not 
 turned out badly. 
 
 But the weather had changed there was no doubt ; 
 for the time at least the sunny days were over. The 
 party in the farm-house had grown smaller too, for 
 the uncles had had to leave, and even the children's 
 father had been summoned away unexpectedly to 
 London. And a day or two after the children's 
 picnic their mother stood at the window rather 
 anxiously looking out at the ever-falling rain. 
 
 " It really looks like as if it would never leave off," 
 
"Master Ted, very wet indeed, made his appearance with rosy cheeks 
 and a general look of self-satisfaction." — P. 194. 
 
SOME RAINY ADVENTURES. 195 
 
 she said, and there was some reason for her feeling 
 distressed. She had hoped for a letter from the 
 children's father that day, and very probably it was 
 lying at the two -miles -and -a- half- off post-office, 
 waiting for some one to fetch it. For it was not 
 one of the postman's days for coming ronnd by the 
 farm-house ; that only happened twice a week, but 
 hitherto this had been of little consequence to the 
 farm-house visitors. Their letters perhaps had not 
 been of such importance as to be watched for with 
 much anxiety, and in the fine weather it was quite 
 a pleasant little walk to the post-office by the fields 
 and the stepping-stones across the river. But all 
 this rain had so swollen the river that now the 
 stepping-stones were useless ; there was nothing for 
 it but to take the long round by the road ; and this 
 added to the difficulty in another way, for it was not 
 by any means every day that Mr. Crosby or his son 
 were going in that direction, or that they could, at 
 this busy season, spare a man so long off work. So 
 the children's mother could not see how she was to 
 get her letter if this rain continued — at least not for 
 several days, for the old postman had called yester- 
 day — he would not take the round of the Skensdale 
 farm for other three or four days at least, and even 
 
196 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 then, the post-office people were now so accustomed 
 to some of the " gentry " calling for their letters 
 themselves, that it was doubtful, not certain at least, 
 if they would think of giving them to the regular 
 carrier. And with some anxiety, for her husband 
 had gone to London on business of importance, Ted's 
 mother went to bed. 
 
 Early next morning she was awakened by a tap 
 at the door, a gentle little tap. She almost fancied 
 she had heard it before in her sleep without being 
 really aroused. 
 
 " Come in," she said, and a very business-like 
 figure, which at the first glance she hardly recognised, 
 made its appearance. It was Ted ; dressed in water- 
 proof from head to foot, cloak, leggings, and all, he 
 really looked ready to defy the weather — a sort of 
 miniature diver, for he had an oilskin cap on his 
 head too, out of which gleamed his bright blue eyes, 
 full of eagerness and excitement. 
 
 " Mother," he said, * I hope I haven't wakened 
 you too soon. I got up early on purpose to see 
 about your letters. It's still raining as hard as ever, 
 and even if it left off, there'd be no crossing the 
 stepping-stones for two or three days, Farmer Crosby 
 says. And he can't spare any one to-day to go to 
 
SOME RAINY ADVENTURES. 197 
 
 the post. I'm the only one that can, so I've got 
 ready, and don't you think I'd better go at once ? " 
 
 Ted's mother looked out of the window. Oh, how 
 it was pouring ! She thought of the long walk — the 
 two miles and a half through the dripping grass of 
 the meadows, along the muddy, dreary road, and all 
 the way "back again ; and then the possibility of the 
 swollen river having escaped its bounds where the 
 road lay low, came into her mind and frightened her. 
 For Ted was a little fellow still — only eleven and a 
 half, and slight and delicate for his age. And then 
 she looked at him and saw the eager readiness in his 
 eyes, and remembered that he was quick-witted and 
 careful, and she reflected also that he must learn, 
 sooner or later, to face risks and difficulties for himself. 
 
 " Ted, my boy," she said, " it's very nice of you 
 to have thought of it, and I know it would be a 
 great disappointment if I didn't let you go. But 
 you'll promise me to be very careful — to do nothing 
 rash or unwise ; if the river is over the road, for in- 
 stance, or there is the least danger, you'll turn back ?" 
 
 " Yes, mother, I'll be very careful, really," said 
 Ted. "I'll do nothing silly. Good-bye, mother; 
 thank you so much for letting me go. I've got my 
 stick, but there's no use taking an umbrella." 
 
198 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 And off he set ; his mother watching him from 
 the window as far as she could see him, trudging 
 bravely along — a quaint little figure — through the 
 pouring rain. For more than a mile she could see 
 him making his way along the meadow path, gradu- 
 ally lessening as the distance increased, till a little 
 black speck was all she could distinguish, and then 
 it too disappeared round the corner. 
 
 And an hour or so later, there were warm, dry 
 boots and stockings before the fire, which even in 
 August the continued rain made necessary, and a 
 " beautiful" breakfast of hot coffee, and a regular 
 north-country rasher of bacon, and Mrs. Crosby's 
 home-made bread and butter, all waiting on the 
 table. And Ted's mother took up her post again to 
 watch for the reappearance of the tiny black speck, 
 which was gradually to grow into her boy. It did 
 not tarry. As soon as was possible it came in sight. 
 " How quick he has been — my dear, clever, good 
 little Ted !" his mother said to herself. And you 
 may be sure that she, and Cissy too, were both at the 
 door to meet the little human water-rat, dripping, 
 dripping all over, like " Johnny Head-in-air " in old 
 " Struwelpeter," but with eyes as bright as any 
 water-rat's, and cheeks rosy with cold and exercise 
 
SOME RAINY ADVENTURES. 199 
 
 and pleasure all mixed together, who, before he said 
 a word, held out the precious letter. 
 
 " Here it is, mother — from father, just as you 
 expected. I do hope it's got good news." 
 
 How could it bring other ? Mother felt before 
 she opened it that it could not contain any but 
 good news, nor did it. Then she just gave her brave 
 little boy one good kiss and one hearty " Thank you, 
 Ted." For she did not want to spoil him by over- 
 praise, or to take the bloom off what he evidently 
 thought nothing out of the common, by exaggerat- 
 ing it. 
 
 And Ted enjoyed his breakfast uncommonly, I 
 can assure you. He was only eleven and a half. 
 I think our Ted showed that he had a sweet and 
 brave spirit of his own; — don't you, children ? 
 
200 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 CHAPTEE XL 
 
 " IT'S ONLY I, MOTHEK." 
 
 " How well my own heart knew 
 That voice so clear and true." 
 
 The summer in the wolds, so long looked forward 
 to, was over. It had been very happy, in spite of 
 the rain having given the visitors at the Skensdale 
 farm-house rather more of his company than they 
 had bargained for, and it left many happy memories 
 behind it. 
 
 And the coming home again was happy too. 
 The days were beginning to " draw in " as people 
 say, and " home," with its coal-fires — which, though 
 not so picturesque, are ever so much warmer than 
 wood ones, I assure you — its well-closing doors and 
 shutters, its nice carpets and curtains, was after all 
 a better place for chilly days and evenings than 
 even the most interesting of farm-houses. And Ted 
 had his school- work to think of too ; he was anxious 
 to take a very good place at the next examinations, 
 
"IT'S ONLY I, MOTHER." 201 
 
 for he was getting on for twelve, and " some day " 
 lie knew that he would have to go out into the 
 world as it were, on his own account — to go away, 
 that is to say, to a big boarding-school, as Percy had 
 done before him. 
 
 He did work well, and he was rewarded, and this 
 Christmas was a very happy one. There was plenty 
 of skating, and Ted got on famously. Indeed, he 
 learnt to be so clever at it, that Cissy used to feel 
 quite proud, when people admired him for it, to think 
 that he was her brother, though Ted himself took it 
 quite simply. Skating was to him the greatest 
 pleasure he knew. To feel oneself skimming along 
 by one's own will, and yet with a power beyond 
 oneself, was delightful past words. 
 
 " I do think," thought Ted to himself, one clear 
 bright frosty day, when the sky was as blue, almost, 
 as in summer, " I do think it's as nice as flying." 
 
 And then looking up, as he skimmed along, at 
 the beautiful sky which winter or summer he loved 
 so much, there came over him that same strange 
 sweet wonder — the questioning he could not have 
 put into words, as to whether the Heaven he often 
 thought of in his dreamy childish way, was really 
 up there, and what it was like, and what they did 
 
202 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 there. It must be happy and bright — happier and 
 brighter even than down here, because there, in some 
 way that Ted knew that neither he nor the wisest 
 of mankind could explain, one would be nearer God. 
 But yet it was difficult to understand how it could 
 be much brighter and happier than this happy life 
 down below. There was no good trying to under- 
 stand, Ted decided. God understood, and that was 
 enough. And as He had made us so happy here, 
 He might be trusted to know what was best for us 
 there. Only — yes, that was the greatest puzzle of 
 all, far more puzzling than anything else — everybody 
 was not happy here — alas ! no, Ted knew enough to 
 know that — many, many were not happy ; many, 
 many were not good, and had never even had a 
 chance of becoming so. Ah, that was a puzzle ! 
 
 " When I'm a man," thought Ted — and it was a 
 thought that came to him often — " I'll try to do 
 something for those poor boys in London." 
 
 For nothing had made more impression on Ted, 
 during his stay in London, than the sight of the so- 
 called " City Arabs," and all he had heard about them. 
 He had even written a story on the subject, taking 
 for his hero a certain " Tom," whose adventures and 
 misadventures were most thrilling ; ending, for Ted 
 
"IT'S ONLY I, MOTHER." 203 
 
 liked stories that ended well, with his happy adop- 
 tion into a kind-hearted family, such as it is to be 
 wished there were more of to be found in real life ! 
 I should have liked to tell you this story, and some 
 day perhaps I shall do so, but not, I fear, in this 
 little book, for there are even a great many things 
 about Ted himself which I shall not have room for. 
 
 There were other pleasures besides skating this 
 Christmas time. Among these there was a very 
 delightful entertainment given by some of Ted's 
 father's and mother's friends to a very large party, 
 both old and young. It was a regular Christmas 
 gathering — so large that the great big old-fashioned 
 ball-room at the " Eed Lion " was engaged for the 
 purpose. 
 
 Dear me, what a great many scenes this old ball- 
 room had witnessed ! Election contests without end, 
 during three-quarters of a century and more ; balls 
 of the old-world type, when the gentlemen had 
 powdered wigs and ribbon-tied " queues," which, no 
 doubt, you irreverent little people of the nineteenth 
 century would call " pig-tails ;" and my Lady Grizzle 
 from the hall once actually stuck in the doorway, so 
 ponderous was her head-gear, though by dint of good 
 management her hoop and furbelows had been got 
 
204 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 through. And farther back still, in the Eonndhead 
 days, when — so ran the legend — a party of rollick- 
 ing cavaliers, and a company commanded by one 
 Captain Holdfast Armstrong, passed two succeeding 
 nights in the Eed Lion's ball-room, neither — so 
 cleverly did the cautious landlord manage — having 
 the least idea of the other's near neighbourhood. 
 
 But never had the old ball-room seen happier 
 faces or heard merrier laughter than at this Christmas 
 party ; and among the happy faces none was brighter 
 than our Ted's. He really did enjoy himself, though 
 one of the youngest of the guests, for Cissy had been 
 pronounced too young, but had reconciled herself to 
 going to bed at her usual hour, by Ted's promise to 
 tell her all about it the next day. And besides his 
 boy friends — Percy, of course, who was home for the 
 holidays, and Eex, and several others — Ted had 
 another companion this evening whom he was very- 
 fond of. This was a little girl about his own age, 
 named Gertrude, the daughter of a friend of his 
 father's. I have not told you about her before, 
 because, I suppose, I have had so many things to 
 tell, that I have felt rather puzzled how to put them 
 all in nicely, especially as they are all simple, every- 
 day things, with nothing the least wonderful or re- 
 
"IT'S ONLY I, MOTHER." 205 
 
 markable about them. Gertrude was a very dear 
 little girl ; she almost seemed to Ted like another 
 kind of sister. He had Mabel, and Christine her 
 sister, as big ones, and Cissy as his own particular 
 little one, and Gertrude seemed to come in as a sort 
 of companion sister, between the big ones and the 
 little one. Ted was very rich in friends, you see, 
 friends of all kinds. He used often to count them 
 up and say so to himself. 
 
 "Well, this evening of the big Christmas party 
 was, as I said, one of the happiest he had ever 
 known. All his friends were there — all looking as 
 happy as happy could be. 
 
 " When I'm a man," thought Ted to himself, " I'd 
 like to give parties like this every Christmas," and 
 as he looked round the room his eyes gleamed with 
 pleasure. Gertrude was standing beside him — they 
 were going to be partners in a country-dance, which 
 was a favourite of Ted's. Just then his mother 
 came up to where they were standing. 
 
 " Ted, my boy," she said, " I am going home now. 
 It is very late for you already — half-past twelve. 
 The others, however, are staying later, but I think 
 it is quite time for you and me to be going, don't 
 you ?" 
 
206 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 Ted's face clouded — a most unusual thing to 
 happen. 
 
 "Gertrude isn't going yet," he said, "and Eex 
 and his brothers ; they're staying later. mother, 
 must I come now ?" 
 
 His mother hesitated. She was always reluctant 
 to disappoint the children if it could be helped, yet, 
 on the other hand, she was even more anxious not 
 to spoil them. But the sight of Ted's eager face 
 carried the day. 
 
 " Ah well," she said, smiling, " I suppose I must 
 be indulgent for once and go home without you. 
 So good-night, Ted — you will come with the others — 
 I hope it won't be very late." 
 
 As she turned away, it struck her that Ted's face 
 did not look altogether delighted. 
 
 "Poor Ted," she said to herself, "he doesn't 
 like to see me go away alone." But hoping he 
 would enjoy himself, and that he would not be too 
 tired " to-morrow morning," she went home without 
 any misgiving, and she was not sorry to go. She 
 found the Christmas holidays and all they entailed 
 more fatiguing than did the children, for whom all 
 these pleasant things " grew " without preparation. 
 
 It was a rather dark night — so thought Ted's 
 
"IT'S ONLY f, MOTHER:' 207 
 
 mother to herself as she glanced out of her window 
 for a moment before drawing the curtains close and 
 going to bed — all the house was shut up, and all 
 those who had stayed at home fast asleep by this 
 time, and it had been arranged that the others should 
 let themselves in with a latch-key. Ted's mother 
 felt, therefore, rather surprised and a little startled 
 when she heard a bell ring ; at first she could hardly 
 believe that she was not mistaken, and to be quite 
 sure she opened the window and called out " Is there 
 any one there ?" There was half a moment's silence, 
 then some one came out a little from under the porch, 
 where he had been standing since ringing the bell, 
 and a well-known voice replied — how clearly and 
 brightly its young tones rose up through the frosty 
 air — 
 
 "It is only I, mother. I thought I'd rather 
 come home after all." 
 
 "You, Ted," she replied; — "you, and alone?" 
 
 " Yes, mother. I thought somehow you'd like 
 better to have me, so I just ran home." 
 
 "And weren't you frightened, Ted?" she said a 
 little anxiously, but with a glad feeling at her heart ; 
 "weren't you afraid to come through the lonely 
 streets, and the road, more lonely still, outside the 
 
208 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 town ? For it is very dark, and everything shut 
 up — weren't you afraid ?" 
 
 " Oh no, mother — not a bit," he replied, " only 
 just when I had left all the houses I did walk a 
 little faster, I think. But I'm so glad I came, if 
 you're pleased, mother." 
 
 And when his mother had opened the door and 
 let him in and given him a good-night kiss even 
 more loving than usual, Ted went to bed and to 
 sleep with a light happy heart, and his mother, as 
 she too fell asleep, thanked God for her boy. 
 * * * * 
 
 I must now, I think, children, ask you to pass 
 over with me nearly a whole year of Ted's life. 
 These holidays ended, came, by slow degrees that 
 year, the always welcome spring ; then sunny sum- 
 mer again, a bright and happy summer this, though 
 spent at my little friends' own home instead of at 
 the Skensdale farm-house ; then autumn with its 
 shortening days and lengthening evenings, gradually 
 shortening and lengthening into winter again ; till at 
 last Christmas itself, like the familiar figure of an 
 old friend, whom, just turning the corner of the road 
 where we live, we descry coming to visit us, was to 
 be seen not so far off. 
 
"IT'S ONLY I, MOTHEPJ' 209 
 
 Many things had happened during this year, 
 which, though all such simple things, I should like 
 to tell you of but for the old restrictions of time 
 and space. And indeed I have to thank you for 
 having listened to me so long, for I blame myself a 
 little for not having told you more plainly at the 
 beginning that it was not a regular " story " I had 
 to tell you in the "carrots" coloured book this year, 
 but just some parts, simple and real, of a child-life 
 that I love to think of. And I would have liked 
 to leave it here — for some reasons that is to say — 
 or I would have liked to tell how Ted grew up into 
 such a man as his boyhood promised — honest- 
 hearted, loving, and unselfish, and as happy as a 
 true Christmas child could not but be. But, dears, 
 I cannot tell you this, for it was not to be so. Yet 
 I am so anxious that the little book I have tried to 
 write in such a way that his happy life and nature 
 should be loved by other children — I am so anxious 
 that the ending of this little book should not seem 
 to you a sad one, at Christmas-time too of all times, 
 that I find it a little difficult to say what has to be 
 said. For in the truest sense the close of my book 
 is not sad. I will just tell it simply as it really 
 was, trusting that you will know I love you all too 
 
 p 
 
210 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 well to wish to throw any cloud over your bright 
 faces and thoughts. 
 
 Well, as I said, this year had brought many little 
 events, some troubles of course, and much good, to 
 our Ted. He had grown a good deal taller, and 
 thinner too, and he never, even as a tiny toddler, 
 could have been called fat ! But he was well and 
 strong, and had made good progress at school and 
 good progress too in other ways. He was getting 
 on famously at cricket and football, and was a first- 
 rate croquet-player, for croquet was then in fashion. 
 And the museum had not been neglected ; it had 
 really grown into a very respectable and interesting 
 museum, so that not only Ted's own people and near 
 friends were pleased to see it, but even his parents' 
 friends, and sometimes others, again, who happened 
 to be visiting them, would ask the little collector to 
 admit them. I really think it would be a good 
 thing if more boys took to having museums; it 
 would be a good thing for them, for nothing can be 
 more amusing and interesting too, and a very good 
 thing for their friends, especially in bad weather or 
 in holiday-time, when now and then the hours hang 
 heavily on these young people's hands, and one is 
 inclined to wish that some fancy work for hoys could 
 
"IT'S ONLY I, MOTHER." 211 
 
 be invented. Ted's museum had grown very much, 
 and was always a great resource for him and for 
 Cissy too, for, to tell the truth, her tastes were rather 
 boyish. 
 
 His library had grown too. I cannot tell you 
 how many nice books he had, and still less could I 
 tell you how he treasured them. When, through 
 much service, some of them grew weak in the back, 
 he would, though reluctantly, consent to have them 
 re-bound ; and he had a pretty, and to my mind a 
 touching, way of showing his affection for these old 
 friends, which I never heard of in any other child. 
 Before a book of his went to be bound he would 
 carefully — tenderly I might almost say — cut off the 
 old cover and lay it aside, and among the many 
 sweet traces left by our boy — but I did not mean 
 to say that, only as it came naturally of itself I will 
 leave it — few went more to his mother's heart than 
 to find in one of his drawers the packet carefully 
 tied up of his dear books' old coats. 
 
 Nothing gave Ted so much pleasure as a present 
 of a book. This Christmas he had set his heart on 
 one, and Christmas was really coming so near that 
 he had begun to think of presents, and to write out, 
 as was his habit, a list of all the people in the house, 
 
212 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 putting opposite the name of each the present he 
 had reason to think would be most acceptable. The 
 list ended in a modest-looking " self," and opposite 
 " self " was written " a book." But all the other 
 presents would have to be thought over and consulted 
 about with mother — all except hers of course, which 
 in its turn would have to be discussed with his 
 father or Mabel perhaps — ever so many times, before 
 it came to the actual buying. 
 
 One Sunday — it was about three weeks to Christ- 
 mas by this time — the head master of Ted's school, 
 who was also a clergyman, mentioned after the usual 
 service that he wished to have a special thanksgiving 
 service this year for the good health that had been 
 enjoyed by the boys this "half." It had been 
 almost exceptionally good, he said; and he himself, 
 for one, and he was sure every one connected with 
 the school would feel the same, was very thankful 
 for it. 
 
 Ted's mother and Mabel, who were both, as it 
 happened, at the school chapel service that afternoon, 
 glanced at their boy when this announcement was 
 made. They knew well that, despite his merry 
 heart, Ted was sensitive to things that do not affect 
 all children, and they were not surprised to see his 
 
"ITS ONLY I, MOTHER." 213 
 
 cheeks grow a little paler. There was something in 
 the thought of this solemn Thanksgiving, in which 
 he was to take part, that gave him a little of the 
 same feeling as he had had long ago in the grand 
 old church, when he looked up to the lofty roof, 
 shrouded in a mystery of dim light his childish eyes 
 could not pierce, and the sudden carillon broke out 
 as if sung by the angels in heaven. 
 
 And a little chill struck to his mother's heart ; 
 she knew the service was a good and fitting acknow- 
 ledgment of God's care, and yet a strange feeling 
 went through her, for which she blamed herself, 
 almost like that of the poor Irishwomen, who, when 
 any one remarks on the beauty and healthiness of 
 their children, hasten to cross themselves and to 
 murmur softly " In a good hour be it spoken." For 
 human nature, above all mother nature, is the same 
 all the world over ! 
 
 But on their way home she and Mabel talked it 
 over, and decided that it was better to say nothing 
 about it to Ted. 
 
 " It would only deepen the impression and make 
 him nervous," said Mabel wisely. 
 
 A day or two later — a damp, rainy day it had 
 been, there were a good many such about this time 
 
214 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 — Ted's mother, entering the drawing-room in the 
 evening, heard some one softly singing to himself, 
 gently touching the piano at the same time. It was 
 already dusk, and she went in very quietly. The 
 little musician did not hear her, and she sat down 
 in silence for a moment to listen, for it was Ted, 
 and the song in his sweet, clear tones — tones with 
 a strange touch of sadness in them like the church 
 bells, was " Home, sweet home." 
 
 It brought the tears to her eyes. 
 
 " Ted," she said at last. 
 
 " mother," he said, " I didn't know you were 
 there." 
 
 " But you don't mind me" she said. 
 
 Ted hesitated. 
 
 " I don't know how it is, mother," he said, frankly. 
 " It isn't as if I could sing, you know. But I can't 
 even try to do it when anybody's there. Is it silly, 
 mother ?" 
 
 " It's very natural," she said, kindly. " But if it 
 gives me pleasure to hear you ? " 
 
 " Yes," he said, gently. 
 
 " And when you're a man I hope and think you 
 may have a nice voice." 
 
 " Yes," he said again, rather absently. 
 
'< ITS ONLY I, MOTHERr 215 
 
 Something in his tone struck his mother; it 
 sounded tired. 
 
 "You're quite well, Ted, aren't you?" she said. 
 
 " Oh yes, mother — just a very little tired. It's 
 been such a rainy day; it isn't like Christmas 
 coming so soon, is it ? There's no snow and no 
 skating." 
 
 " No, dear." 
 
 " There was no snow the Christmas I was born, 
 was there, mother ? " 
 
 " No, dear," said his mother again. 
 
 Ted gave a little sigh. 
 
 " You're going to Eex's to-night ; it is his party, 
 isn't it ?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes," he replied, "but I don't seem to care 
 much to go." 
 
 " But you're quite well, I think," said his mother 
 cheerfully. " It would be unkind not to go when 
 they are all expecting you." 
 
 " Yes," said Ted. " It would be." 
 
 So he went off to get ready ; and his mother felt 
 pleased, thinking the dull weather had, for a wonder, 
 affected his spirits, and that the merry evening with 
 his friends would do him good. 
 
216 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE WHITE CROSS. 
 
 " It is not growing like a tree 
 In bulk, doth, make man better be, 
 Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, 
 To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere. 
 
 The lily of a clay 
 
 Is fairer far in May, 
 Although it fade and die that night 
 It was the plant and flower of light ; 
 In small proportions we just beauties see, 
 And in short measures life may perfect be." 
 
 " Early Eipe." — Ben Jonson. 
 
 It seemed as if she had been right. Ted came 
 home with bright eyes and glowing cheeks, and said 
 they had had an " awfully " merry evening. And 
 his mother went to bed with an easy mind. 
 
 But the next morning she felt less happy again, 
 for Ted was evidently not well. He was not very 
 ill, but just not very well, and he hung about in an 
 uninterested, unsettled way, quite unlike his usual 
 busy briskness. 
 
THE WHITE CROSS. 217 
 
 " He excites himself too much when he goes out, 
 I think/' said his father ; " we really shall have to 
 leave off ever letting him go out in the evening 
 unless we are there ourselves;" and he looked a 
 little anxiously at Ted as he spoke, though the boy 
 had not heard what he said. 
 
 But again this slight anxiety passed by. Then 
 came a change in the weather, and a sudden frost 
 set in. Ted seemed to revive at once, and when he 
 heard that there was to be a whole holiday for 
 skating, no one was more eager about it than he. 
 And, a little against her own feelings, his mother let 
 him go. 
 
 " You must be careful, Ted," she said ; " you are 
 not yet looking as well as usual. And the ice can- 
 not be very firm. Indeed, I almost doubt its bear- 
 ing at all. A bath in icy water would not do you 
 any good just now." 
 
 But Ted promised to be careful, and his mother 
 knew she could trust him. Besides, several big 
 boys were to be there, who would, she knew, look 
 after him. So Ted went, and came home saying 
 it had been as usual " awfully jolly ;" but he did 
 look tired, and owned himself rather so, even though 
 well enough to go out again in the evening with the 
 
218 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 others, and to be one of the merriest at what the 
 children called "a penny reading" together, at 
 which each in tnrn of the little party of friends 
 read or repeated or acted some story or piece of 
 poetry for the amusement of the others. And 
 once again, but this was the last time she could do 
 so, Ted's mother felt able to throw off the slight 
 vague anxiety which had kept coming and going for 
 the last few days about her little boy, and to go to 
 sleep with an easy mind. 
 
 But the next morning, to his own and her disap- 
 pointment, he woke " tired " again. Only tired — he 
 complained of nothing else, but he said he wished he 
 need not go to school. And that was so unlike Ted. 
 " Need I go, mother ?" he asked gently. 
 She looked at him doubtfully. 
 "It seems such a pity, dear — so near the ex- 
 aminations too. And sometimes, you know, when 
 you haven't felt quite well in the morning you have 
 come back quite right again." 
 
 " Very well," said Ted, and he went off cheerfully 
 enough. 
 
 But when he came back he was not all right as 
 his mother had hoped; the "tiredness" was greater, 
 and he seemed to have caught cold, and the next 
 
THE WHITE GROSS. 219 
 
 morning, after a restless night, there was no longer 
 any doubt that Ted was ill. Our dear little Ted — 
 how quickly illness does its work — above all with 
 children ! Almost before one has realised its pre- 
 sence the rosy cheeks are pale and the bright eyes 
 dimmed ; the sturdy legs grow weak and trembling, 
 and the merry chatter ceases. Ah dear ! what a 
 sad, strange hush comes over a house where " one of 
 the children" is ill. 
 
 The hush and the sadness came but gradually. 
 Still, for a day or two, they hoped it was nothing 
 very serious. On this first afternoon of Ted's really 
 owning himself ill, two girl friends of Mabel's came, 
 as had been arranged, to see the famous museum, 
 usually such a pleasure to its owner to exhibit. 
 But already how different all seemed ! 
 
 "Mother, dear," he said, as if half reproaching 
 himself for selfishness, "it sometimes almost seems 
 a bother to have to show my museum ;" but as it 
 was considered better not to let him yield to the 
 depression coming over him, he bravely roused him- 
 self and went through the little exhibition with his 
 usual gentle courtesy. But this was the last effort 
 of the kind possible for him. 
 
 Sunday and Monday found him weaker, and the 
 
220 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 doctor's kind face grew graver. Still he was not 
 very ill ; only it began to seem as if he had not 
 strength to resist what had not, at first, threatened 
 seriously. And one day he made his mother's heart 
 seem, for an instant, to stop beating, when, looking 
 up wistfully, he said to her, 
 
 " Mother, I don't think I shall ever get better." 
 And the sad days and sadder nights went slowly 
 on. Now and then there seemed a little sparkle of 
 hope. Once Ted began to talk about meeting his 
 dear Percy at the station, when he came home for 
 the holidays, which made those about him hope he 
 was feeling stronger ; then, at another time, he said 
 what a pity it would be not to be well by Christmas 
 and by his birthday, and he smiled when his father 
 told him, as was the case, that the doctor quite hoped 
 he would be well by then ; and one day when the 
 post brought him his great wish — a beautiful book 
 of travels — his face lighted up with pleasure, and, 
 though not able to read it, the welcome present lay 
 on his bed where he could see it and smile to himself 
 to think it was there. There were happy times 
 through his illness, weak and wearied though he 
 grew, and now and then he seemed so bright that 
 it was difficult, for a little, not to think him much 
 
THE WRITE. GROSS. 221 
 
 better. But the illness which Ted had is a very 
 deceitful one — it invisibly saps away the strength 
 even when the worst sharp suffering is over — and 
 slowly, slowly it came to be seen that his own feeling 
 had been true ; our Ted was not to get better. 
 
 One day a travelling merchant brought to the 
 door a case of pretty Parian ornaments. White and 
 pure they shone in the winter sunshine, and some 
 one had the thought that " one of these might please 
 Ted." So they were brought up for him to choose 
 from. Poor Cissy ! she would fain have carried 
 them in ; but alas ! for fear of infection, she could 
 not be allowed to see her brother, which made of 
 these last days a double sorrow to her, though she 
 did not know how ill he was. Ted touched the 
 pretty things with his little thin hand. 
 
 " They are very pretty," he said. " I like this 
 one best, please, mother." 
 
 "This one" was a snow-white cross, and his 
 mother's heart ached with a strange thrill as she saw 
 his choice ; but she smiled as she placed it beside 
 him, where it stood, ever in his sight, till his blue 
 eyes could see it no more. 
 
 There came a morning on which the winter sun 
 rose with a wonderful glory ; gold and orange light 
 
222 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 seemed to fill the sky, as if in prelude to some 
 splendid pageant. It was Sunday morning. Ted 
 lay asleep, as if carved in marble, his little white 
 face rested on the pillow, and as his mother turned 
 from the marvellous beauty outside to the small 
 figure that seemed to her, just then, the one thing 
 in earth or sky, she whispered to herself what she 
 felt to be the truth. 
 
 " It is his last Sunday with us. Before another 
 my Ted will have entered that city where there is 
 no need of the sun, of which God Himself is the 
 light. My happy Ted ! but oh, how shall we live 
 without him ?" 
 
 She was right. Ted did not live to see Christ- 
 mas or his birthday. Sweetly and peacefully, trust- 
 ing God in death as he had trusted Him in life, the 
 little fellow fearlessly entered the dark valley — the 
 valley of the shadow of death only, for who can 
 doubt that to such as Ted what seems death is but 
 the entrance to fuller life ? 
 
 So, children, I will not say that this was the end 
 of the simple life I have told you of — and in yet 
 another way Ted lives — in the hearts of all that 
 loved him his sweet memory can never die. And if 
 I have been able to make any among you feel that 
 
THE WHITE GROSS. 223 
 
 you too love him, I cannot tell you how glad I 
 shall be. 
 
 They laid him in a pretty corner of the little 
 cemetery from which can be seen the old church 
 Ted loved so well, and the beautiful chase, where he 
 so often walked. And even in those midwinter 
 days his little friend Gertrude found flowers for his 
 grave. It was all she could do to show her love for 
 him, she said, crying bitterly, for she might not see 
 him to bid him good-bye, and her heart was very 
 sore. 
 
 So it was with Christmas roses that the grave of 
 our Christmas child was decked. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Printed by R. & R. Clark, Edinburgh. 
 
Bedford Street, Covent Garden, London. 
 October, 1SS0. 
 
 Macmillan & Co.'s Catalogue of Works in 
 Belles Lett res, including Poetry, Fiction, etc. 
 
 ADDISON, SELECTIONS FROM. By John Richard Green, M.A., 
 LL.D. (Golden Treasury Series.) i8mo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 ALUNGH AM. — LAWRENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND; or, 
 THE NEW LANDLORD. By William Allingham. New and Cheaper 
 Issue, with a Preface. Fcap. 8vo, cloth. 4s. 6d. 
 
 THE BALLAD BOOK. Edited by William Allingham. (Golden Treasury 
 Series.) i8mo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 ALEXANDER, (C. F.) — THE SUNDAY BOOK OF POETRY FOR 
 THE YOUNG. (Golden Treasury Series.) i8mo. 4s. 6rf. 
 
 AN ANCIENT CITY, AND OTHER POEMS.— By A Native 
 
 of Surrey. Extra fcap. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 ANDERSON. — BALLADS AND SONNETS. By Alexander Andersow 
 (Surfaceman). Extra fcap. Svo. 5^. 
 
 ARCHER.— CHRISTINA NORTH. By E. M. Archer. New and 
 Cheaper Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 UNDER THE LIMES. Second and Cheaper Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 ARNOLD.— THE POETICAL WORKS OF MATTHEW ARNOLD. 
 Vol. I. Earlv Poems, Narrative Poems, and Sonnets. Vol. II. Lyric, 
 Dramatic, and Elegiac Poems. New and Complete Edition. Two Vols. 
 Crown 8vo. Price 7s. 6d. each. 
 
 SELECTED POEMS OF MATTHEW ARNOLD. With Vignette engraved 
 by C. H. Jeens (Golden Treasury. Series.) i8mo. 4s. 6d. Large Paper 
 Edition. Crown Svo. 12^. 6d. 
 
 ART AT HOME SERIES.— Edited by W. J. Loftie, F.S.A. 
 A PLEA FOR ART IN THE HOUSE. With especial reference to the 
 Economy of Collecting Works of Art, and the importance of Taste in Education 
 and Morals. By W. J. Loftie, B.A., F.S.A. With Illustrations. Fifth 
 Thousand. Crown 8vo. 25-. 6d. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR HOUSE DECORATION IN PAINTING, WOOD- 
 WORK, AND FURNITURE. By Rhoda and Agnes Garrett. With 
 Illustrations. Sixth Thousand . Crown Svo. ■zs. 6d. 
 
 a 
 
BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 ART AT HOME SERIES -continued. 
 
 MUSIC IN THE HOUSE. By John Hullah. With Illustrations. Fourth 
 Thousand. Crown 8vo. is. 6d. 
 
 THE DRAWING-ROOM; ITS DECORATIONS AND FURNITURE. 
 By Mrs. Okrins.viith. Illustrated. Fifth Thousand. Crown 8v;\ 2s. 6d. 
 
 THE DINING-ROOM. By Mrs. Loftie. Illustrated. Fourth Thousand. 
 Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 THE BED-ROOM AND BOUDOIR. By Lady Barker. Illus'.rated. 
 Fourth Thousand. Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 DRESS. By Mrs. Oliphant. Illustrated. Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 AMATEUR TH SATRICALS. By Walter H. P jlt.ock and Lady Poll-- ac. 
 Illustrated by Kate Green' away. Crown 8vo. -zs. 6d. 
 
 NEEDLEWORK. By Elizabeth Glaister, Author of "Art Embroidery." 
 Illustrated. Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 THE MINOR ARTS— PORCELAIN PAINTING. WOOD CARVING. 
 STENCILLING. MODELLING, MOSAIC WORK, &c. By Charles 
 G. Leland. Illustrated. Crown 8vo. 2s 6d. 
 
 [Other Vols, in preparation.] 
 
 ATKINSON.— AN ART TOUR TO THE NORTHERN CAPITALS 
 OF EUROPE By J. Beavington Atkinson. 8vo. 12s. 
 
 ATKINSON, (J. P.).— A WEEK AT THE LAKES, AND WHAT 
 CAME OF IT; or, THE ADVENTURES OF MR. DOBBS AND HIS 
 FRIEND MR. POTTS. A Series of Sketches by J. P. Atkinson. Oblong 
 4to. -js. 6.1. 
 
 ATTWELL, HENRY. A BOOK OF GOLDEN THOUGHTS. 
 (Golden Treasury Series ) i8mo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 BACON'S ESSAYS. Edited by W. Aldis Wright. (Golden Treasury 
 Series.) r8mo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 BAKER.— CAST UP BY THE SEA; or, THE ADVENTURES OF NED 
 GREY. By Sir Samuel Baker, Pasha. F. R..G.S. With Illustrations by 
 Huard. Sixth Edit.on. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt. 6s. 
 
 BALLAD BOOK. —CHOICEST ANECDOTES AND SAYINGS. 
 
 Edited by William Allingham. (GJJen Treasury Senes.) iSmo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 BARKER (LADY).— a YEAR'S HOUSEKEEPING IN SOUTH 
 AFRICA. With Illustrations. Cheaper Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 THE WHITE RAT and other Stories. Illustrated by W. J. Hennessy. 
 Globe 8vo. 4s 6 J. 
 
BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 BEESLY.— STORIES FROM THE HISTORY OF ROME. By Mrs. 
 Beesly. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 BETSY LEE ; A FO'C'S'LE YARN. Extra fcap. 8vo. 3 s. 6d. 
 
 BLACK (W.).— Works by W. Black, Author of "A Daughter of Heth." 
 
 THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON. Thirteenth Thousand. 
 Illustrated. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 A PRINCESS OF THULE. Fourteenth Thousand. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 THE MAID OF KILLEENA, and other Stories. Fifth Thousand. Crown 
 8vo. 6s. 
 
 MADCAP VIOLET. Eighth Thousand. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 GREEN PASTURES AND PICCADILLY. Cheaper Edition. Seventh 
 Thousand. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 MACLEOD OF DARE. With Illustrations. Cheaper Edition. Crown 8vo. 
 6s. 
 
 WHITE WINGS. A YACHTING ROMANCE. Three Vols. Crown 8vo. 
 3i£. 6d. 
 
 BLACKIE.— THE WISE MEN OF GREECE. In a Series of Dramatic 
 Dialogues. By J. S. Blackie, Professor of Greek in the University of Edin- 
 burgh. Crown 8vo. gs. 
 
 GOETHE'S FAUS J\ Translated into English Verse, with Notes and Preliminary 
 Remarks. By J. Stuart Blackie, F.R.S.E. Crown 8vo. gs. 
 
 BLAKISTON.— MODERN SOCIETY IN ITS RELIGIOUS AND 
 SOCIAL ASPECTS. By Peyton Blakiston, M.D., F.R S. Crown 8vo. 
 5*- 
 
 BORLAND HALL. — By the Author of " Olrig Grange." Crown 8vo. 7s. 
 
 BRAMSTON.— RALPH AND BRUNO. A Novel. Ey M. Bramston. 
 Two Vols. Crown 8vo. 21s. 
 
 BRIGHT.— A YEAR IN A LANCASHIRE GARDEN. By Henry A. 
 Bright. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 BROOKE.— THE FOOL OF QUALITY, or, THE HISTORY OF HENRY, 
 EARL OF MORELAND. By Henry Brooke. Newly revised, with a 
 Biographical Preface by the Rev. Charles Kingsley, M.A., Rector of 
 Eversley. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 BUNCE.— FAIRY TALES, THEIR ORIGIN AND MEANING. With 
 some Account of the Dwellers in Fairy Land. By J. Thackray Bunce. 
 Extra fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 BUNYAN'S PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. (Golden Treasury Series. 
 i8mo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 BTJRNAND.— MY TIME, AND WHAT I'VE DONE WITH IT. Ey 
 F. C. Burnand. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 a 2 
 
BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 BURNETT.— HAWORTH'S. A Novel. By Frances Hodgson Burnett, 
 Author of "That Lass o' Lowrie's." Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 LOUISIANA ; and THAT LASS O* LOWRIE'S. Two Stories. Illustrated. 
 Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 BURN S.— THE POETICAL WORKS OF. Edited from the best printed and 
 manuscript Authorities, with Glossarial Index and a Biographical Memoir, by 
 Alexander Smith. Two Vols. Fcap. 8vo, hand-made paper, with Portrait of 
 Burns, and Vignette of the Twa Dogs, engraved by Shaw, and printed on India 
 Paper. 12 jr. 
 
 COMPLETE WORKS OF. Edited with Memoir by Alexander Smith. 
 (Globe Edition.) Globe 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 CARROLL.— Works by "Lewis Carroll":— 
 
 ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND. With Forty-two Illustra- 
 tions by Tenniel. 57th Thousand. Crown 8vo, cloth. 6s. 
 
 A GERMAN TRANSLATION OF THE SAME. With Texniel's Illustra- 
 tions. Crown 8vo, gilt. 6s. 
 
 A FRENCH TRANSLATION OF THE SAME. With Tenniel's Illustra- 
 tions. Crown 8vo, gilt. 6s. 
 
 AN ITALIAN TRANSLATION OF THE SAME. By T. P. Rossette. 
 With Tenniel's Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS, AND WHAT ALICE FOUND 
 THERE. With Fifty Illustrations by Tenniel. Crown 8vo, gilt. 6s. 45th 
 Thousand. 
 
 THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK. An Agony in Eight Fits. With Nine 
 Illustrations by H. Holiday. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges. 4s. 6d. 18th 
 Thousand. 
 
 DOUBLETS. A Word Puzzle. i8mo. 2s. 
 
 CAUTLEY.— A CENTURY OF EMBLEMS. By G. S. Cautley, Vicar 
 of Nettleden, Author of " The After Glow," etc. With numerous Illustrations 
 by Lady Marion Alford, Rear-Admiral Lord W. Compton, the Ven. 
 Lord A. Compton, R. Barnes, J. D. Cooper, and the Author. Pott 4to, 
 cloth elegant, gilt elegant. 10s. 6d. 
 
 CAVALIER AND HIS LADY. Selections from the Works of the 
 First Duke and Duchess of Newcastle. With an Introductory Essay by E. 
 Jenkins. (Golden Treasury Series.) i8mo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 CHRISTMAS CAROL (A.) Printed in Colours from Original Designs 
 by Mr. and Mrs. Trevor Crispin, with Illuminated Borders from MSS. of the 
 14th and 15th Centuries. Imp. 4to, cloth elegant. Cheaper Edition. 21s. 
 
 CHURCH (A. J.).— HORjE TENNYSONIAN.E, Sive Eclogae e Tennysono 
 Latine redditje. Cura A. J. Church, A.M. Extra fcap. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 CLOUGH (ARTHUR HUGH).— THE POEMS AND PROSE 
 REMAINS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH. With a Selection from his 
 Letters, and a Memoir. Edited by his Wife. With Portrait. Two Vols. Crown 
 8vo. 2 1 s. 
 
 THE POEMS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH, sometime Fellow of Oriel 
 College, Oxford. Fifth Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 6s. 
 
BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 CLUNES.- THE STORY OF PAULINE: An Autobiography. By G. C. 
 Clunes. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 COLERIDGE.— HUGH CRICHTON'S ROMANCE. A Novel. By 
 Christabel R. Coleridge. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 COLLECTS OF THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND, with a 
 
 beautifully Coloured Floral Design to each Collect, and Illuminated Cover. 
 Crown 8vo. 12s. Also kept in various styles of morocco. 
 
 COLQUHOUN.— RHYMES AND CHIMES. By F. S. Colquhoun (ne'e 
 F. S. Fuller Maitland). Extra fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 COOPER.— SEBASTIAN. A Novel. By Katherine Cooper. Crown 8vo. 
 6s. 
 
 COWPER.— POETICAL WORKS. Edited, with Biographical Introduction, 
 by Rev. W. Benham, B.D. (Globe Edition.) Globe 8-vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 DANTE ; AN ESSAY. With a Translation of the "De Monarchia." By 
 the Very Rev W. R. Church, D.C.L., Dean of St. Paul's. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 THE "DE MONARCHIA." Separately. 8vo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 THE PURGATORY. Edited, with Translation and Notes, by A. J. Butler. 
 Post 8vo. 12s. 6d. 
 
 DAY. — BENGAL PEASANT LIFE. By the Rev. Lal Behari Day. New 
 Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 DAYS OF OLD ; STORIES FROM OLD ENGLISH HISTORY. By 
 the Author of "Ruth and Her Friends." New Edition. i8mo, cloth extra. 
 2S. 6d. 
 
 DEUTSCHE LYRIK. By Dr. Buchheim. (Golden Treasury Series.) 
 
 i8mo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 DILLWYN, (E. A.).— THE REBECCA RIOTER. A Story of Killay 
 Life. Two Vols. Crown 8vo. 21s. 
 
 DOTTY, AND OTHER POEMS. By J. L. Extra fcap. 8vo. 3*- 6d. 
 
 DRYDEN.— POETICAL WORKS OF. Edited, with a Memoir, by W. D. 
 Christie, M.A. (Globe Edition.) Globe 8vo. 3*. 6d. 
 
 DUFF (GRANT).— MISCELLANIES, POLITICAL and LITERARY. 
 
 By the Right Hon. M. E. Grant Duff, M.P. 8vo. jos. 6d. 
 
 DUNSMUIR (AMY).— VIDA; Study of a Girl. New Edition. Crown 
 8vo. 6s. 
 
 ELSIE; A LOWLAND SKETCH. By A. C. M. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
6 BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 ENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS. Edited by John Morley. Crown 
 8vo. is. 6d. 
 
 JOHNSON. By Leslib Stephen. 
 
 SCOTT. By R. H. Hutton. 
 
 GIBBON. By J. C. Morison. 
 
 SHELLEY. By J. A. Symonds. 
 
 HUME. By Professor Huxley. 
 
 GOLDSMITH. By William Black. 
 
 DEFOE. ByW. Minto. 
 
 BURNS. By Principal Shairp. 
 
 SPENSER. ByR. W. Church. 
 
 THACKERAY. By Anthony Trollope. 
 
 BURKE. By John Morley. 
 
 MILTON. By Mark Pattison. 
 
 HAWTHORNE. By Henry James, Junr. 
 
 SOUTH EY. By Professor Dowden. 
 
 CHAUCER. By A. W. Ward. 
 
 COWPER. By Goldwin Smith. 
 
 BUNYAN. By J. A. Froude. 
 
 LOCKE. By T. Fowler. 
 
 BYRON. By John Nichol. 
 
 ESTELLE RUSSELL. By the Author of " The Private Life of Galileo." 
 New Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 EVANS. — Works by Sebastian Evans. 
 
 BROTHER. FABIAN'S MANUSCRIPT, AND OTHER POEMS. Fcap. 
 8vo, cloth. 6s. 
 
 IN THE STUDIO: A DECADE OF POEMS. Extra fcap. 8vo. 5*. 
 
 FAIRY BOOK. By the Author of "John Halifax, Gentleman." (Golden 
 Treasury Series.) i8mo. 4?. 6d. 
 
 FARRELL.— THE LECTURES OF A CERTAIN PROFESSOR. By 
 the Rev. Joseph Farrell. Crown 8vo. js. 6d. 
 
 FAWCETT.— TALES IN POLITICAL ECONOMY. By Millicent 
 Fawcett, Author of " Political Economy for Beginners." Globe 8vo. 3s. 
 
 FLEMING.— Works by George Fleming. 
 A NILE NOVEL. Third and Cheaper Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 MIRAGE. A Novel. Cheaper Edition. Crown 8vo. fo. 
 THE HEAD OF MEDUSA. A Novel. Three Volumes. Crown 8 vo. 31s. 6J. 
 
BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 FLETCHER. — THOUGHTS FROM A GIRL'S LIFE. By Lucy 
 Fletcher. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 4$. 6d. 
 
 FREEMAN.— HISTORICAL AND ARCHITECTURAL SKETCHES; 
 CHIEFLY ITALIAN. By E. A. Freeman, D.C.L., LL.D. With Illustrations 
 by the Author. Crown 8vo. 10s. 6d. 
 
 GARNETT. — IDYLLS AND EPIGRAMS. Chiefly from the Greek 
 Anthology. By Richard Garnett. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 GILMORE.— STORM WARRIORS; or, LIFE-BOAT WORK ON THE 
 GOODWIN SANDS. By the Rev. John Gilmore. M.A., Rector of Holy 
 Trinity, Ramsgate, Author of "The Ramsgate Life-Boat," in " Macmillan's 
 Magazine." Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 GLOBE LIBRARY.— Globe 8vo. Cloth. 3*. 6d. each. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S COMPLETE WORKS. Edited by W. G. Clark, M.A., 
 and W. Aldis Wright, M.A., of Trinity College, Cambridge, Editors of the 
 " Cambridge Shakespeare." With Glossary, pp. 1,075. 
 
 SPENSER'S COMPLETE WORKS. Edited from the Original Editions and 
 Manuscripts, by R. Morris, with a Memoir by J. W. Hales. M.A. With 
 Glossary, pp. lv., 736. 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. Edited with a Biographical 
 and Critical Memoir by Francis Turner Palgrave, and copious Notes. pp. 
 xliii., 559. 
 
 COMPLETE WORKS OF ROBERT BURNS.— THE POEMS, SONGS, 
 AND LETTERS, edited from the best Printed and Manuscript Authorities, 
 with Glossarial Index, Notes, and a Biographical Memoir by Alexander 
 Smith, pp. lxii., 636. 
 
 ROBINSON CRUSOE. Edited after the Original Editions, with a Biographical 
 Introduction by Henry Kingsley. pp. xxxi., 607. 
 
 GOLDSMITH'S MISCELLANEOUS WORKS. Edited, with Biographical 
 Introduction by Professor Masson. pp. lx., 695. 
 
 POPE'S POETICAL WORKS. Edited, with Notes and Introductory Memoir, 
 by Adolphus William Ward, M.A., Fellow of St. Peter's College, Cambridge, 
 and Professor of History in Owens College, Manchester, pp. Hi., 508. 
 
 DRYDEN'S POETICAL WORKS. Edited, with a Mem.ir, Revised Tex% 
 and Notes, by W. D. Christie, M.A., of Trinity College, Cambridge, pp. 
 Ixxxvii., 662. 
 
 COWPER'S POETICAL WORKS. Edited, with Notes and Biographical 
 Introduction, by William Benham. pp. lxxiii., 536. 
 
 MORTE D'ARTHUR.— SIR THOMAS MALORY'S BOOK OF KING, 
 ARTHUR AND OF HIS NOBLE KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE. 
 The original Edition of Caxton, revised for Modern Use. With an Introducticn 
 by Sir Edward Strachey, Bart. pp. xxxvi., 509. 
 
 THE WORKS OF VIRGIL. Rendered into English Prose, with Introductions, 
 Notes, Running Analysis, and an Index. By James Londsdale, M.A., 
 late Fellow and Tutor of Balliol College, Oxford, and Classical Professor in 
 King's College, London ; and Samuel Lee, M.A., Latin Lecturer at University 
 College, London, pp. 288. 
 
BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 GLOBE LIBRARY— continued. 
 
 THE WORKS OF HORACE. Rendered into English Prose with Introductions, 
 Running Analysis, Notes and Index. By John Londsdale, M.A., and 
 Samuel Lee, M.A. 
 
 MILTON'S POETICAL WORKS, Edited, with Introductions, by Professor 
 Masson. 
 
 GOLDEN TREASURY SERIES.— Uniformly printed in i8mo., 
 with Vignette Titles by J. E. Millais, T. Woolner, W. Holman Hunt, 
 Sir Noel Paton, Arthur Hughes, &c. Engraved, on Steel by Jeens, &c. 
 Bound in extra cloth. 4s. 6d. each volume. 
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF THE BEST SONGS AND LYRICAL 
 POEMS IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. Selected and arranged, with 
 Notes, by Francis Turner Palgrave. 
 
 THE CHILDREN'S GARLAND FROM THE BEST POETS. Selected 
 and arranged by Coventry Patmore. 
 
 THE BOOK OF PRAISE. From the best English Hymn Writers. Selected 
 and arranged by Lord Selborne. A New a?id Enlarged Edition. 
 
 THE FAIRY BOOK ; the Best Popular Fairy Stories. Selected and rendered 
 anew by the Author of " John Halifax, Gentleman." 
 
 THE BALLAD BOOK. A Selection of the Choicest British Ballads. Edited 
 by William Allingham. 
 
 THE JEST BOOK. The Choicest Anecdotes and Sayings. Selected and 
 arranged by Mark Lemon.; 
 
 BACON'S ESSAYS AND COLOURS OF GOOD AND EVIL. With Notes 
 and Glossarial Index. By W. Aldis Wright, M.A. 
 
 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS from this World to that which is to ccme. By 
 John Bunyan. 
 
 THE SUNDAY BOOK OF POETRY FOR THE YOUNG. Selected and 
 
 arranged by C. F. Alexander. 
 
 A BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS of All Times and All Countries gathered and 
 narrated anew. By the Author of "The Heir of Redclyffe." 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF ROBINSON CRUSOE. Edited from the Original 
 Edition by J. W. Clark, M.A., Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge. 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO. Translated into English, with Notes, by J. LI. 
 Davies, M.A. and D. J. Vaughan, M.A. 
 
 THE SONG BOOK. Words and Tunes from the best Poets and Musicians- 
 Selected and arranged by John Hullah, Professor of Vocal Music in King's 
 College, London. 
 
 LA LYRE FRANCAISE. Selected and arranged, with Notes, by Gustave 
 Masson, French Master in Harrow School. 
 
 TOM BROWN'S SCHOOLDAYS. By An Old Boy. 
 
 A BOOK OF WORTHIES. Gathered from the Old Histories and written anew 
 by the Author of "The Heir of Redclyffe." With Vignette. 
 
 A BOOK OF GOLDEN THOUGHTS. By Henry Attwell, Knight of the 
 Order cf the Oak Crown. 
 
BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 GOLDEN TREASURY SERIES— continued. 
 
 GUESSES AT TRUTH. By Two Brothers. New Edition. 
 
 THE CAVALIER AND HIS LADY. Selections from the Works of the First 
 Duke and Duchess of Newcastle. With an Introductory Essay by Edward 
 Jenkins, Author of " Ginx's Baby," &c. 
 
 THEOLOGIA GERMANICA. Which setteth forth many fair Lineaments of 
 Divine Truth, and saith very lofty and lovely things touching a Perfect Life. 
 Edited by Dr. Pfeiffer, from the only complete manuscript yet known. 
 Translated from the German, by Susanna Winkworth. With a Preface by 
 the Rev. Charles Kingsley, and a Letter to the Translator by the Chevalier 
 Bunsen, D.D. 
 
 MILTON'S POETICAL WORKS. Edited, with Notes, &c, by Professor 
 Masson. Two Vols. i8mo. 9s. 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. A Selection of the Choicest Lyrics of Scotland. Compiled 
 and arranged, with brief Notes, by Mary Carlyle Aitken. 
 
 DEUTSCHE LYRIK. The Golden Treasury of the best German Lyrical 
 Poems, selected and arranged with Notes and Literary Introduction. By Dr. 
 Buchheim. 
 
 ROBERT HERRICK.— SELECTIONS FROM THE LYRICAL POEMS OF. 
 Arranged with Notes by F. T. Palgrave. 
 
 POEMS OF PLACES. Edited by H. W. Longfellow. England and Wales. 
 Two Vols. 
 
 MATTHEW ARNOLD'S SELECTED POEMS. Also a Large Paper Edition. 
 Crown 8vo. 12s. 6d. 
 
 THE STORY OF THE CHRISTIANS AND MOORS IN SPAIN. By 
 Charlotte M. Yonge. With a Vignette by Holman Hunt. 
 
 LAMB'S TALES FROM SHAKESPEARE. Edited, with Preface, by the Rev. 
 Alfred Ainger, Reader at the Temple. 
 
 WORDSWORTH'S SELECT POEMS. Chosen and Edited, with Preface, by 
 
 Matthew Arnold. Also Large Paper Edition. Crown 8vo. gs. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S SONGS AND SONNETS. Edited, with Notes, by 
 Francis Turner Palgrave. 
 
 SELECTIONS FROM ADDISON. Edited by John Richard Green. 
 
 SELECTIONS FROM SHELLEY. Edited by Stopford A. Brooke. Also 
 Large Paper Edition. Crown 8yo. 12s. 6d. 
 
 GOLDSMITH.— MISCELLANEOUS WORKS. Edited with Biographical 
 Introduction, by Professor Masson. (Globe Edition ) Globe 8vo. 3$. 6d. 
 
 GOETHE'S FAUST. Translated into English Verse, with Notes and 
 Preliminary Remarks, by John Stuart Blackie, F.R.S.E., 'Professor of Greek 
 in the University of Edinburgh. Crown 8vo. gs. 
 
 GUESSES AT TRUTH. By Two Brothers. (Golden Treasury Series.) 
 i8mo. 4s. 6d. 
 
io BtLLES LETTRES. 
 
 HAMERTON.— Works by P. G. Hamerton. 
 
 ETCHING AND ETCHERS. Illustrated with Twelve new Etchings. Medium 
 8vo. Second Edition, revised. 
 
 A PAINTER'S CAMP IN THE HIGHLANDS. Second and Cheaper Edition. 
 One Vol. Extra fcap. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 THE INTELLECTUAL LIFE. With Portrait of Leonardo da Vinci, etched 
 by Leopold Flameng. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. ios. 6d. 
 
 THOUGHTS ABOUT ART. New Edition, Revised, with Notes and Intro- 
 duction. Crown 8vo. 8s. 6d. 
 
 HARRY. A POEM. By the Author of " Mrs. Jerningha-n's Journal." Extra 
 fcap. 8vo. 3-y. 6a. 
 
 HAWTHORNE.— THE LAUGHING MILL; and Other Stories. By 
 Julian Hawthornf. Cheaper Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 HEINE.— SELECTIONS FROM THE POETICAL WORKS OF HEIN- 
 RICH HEINE. Translated into English. Crown 8vo. 4*. 6d. 
 
 HERRICK (ROBERT).— SELECTIONS FROM THE LYRICAL 
 POEMS OF. Arranged with Notes by F. T. Palgrave. (Golden Treasury 
 Series.) i8mo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 HIGGINSON.— MALBONE; An Oldport Romance. ByT. W. Higginson. 
 Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 HILDA AMONG THE BROKEN GODS. By the Author of 
 
 " Ohig Grange." Extra fcap. 8vo. js. 6d. 
 
 HOBDAY.— COTTAGE GARDENING; or, FLOWERS, FRUITS, AND 
 VEGETABLES FOR SMALL GARDENS. By E. Hobday. Crown 8vo. 
 is. 6d. 
 
 HOOPER AND PHILLIPS.— A MANUAL OF MARKS ON POT- 
 TERY AND FORCELAIN. A Dictionary of Easy Reference. By W. II. 
 Hooper and W. C. Phillips. With numerous Illustrations. Second Edit.on, 
 revised. i6mo. 4$. 6d. 
 
 HOPKINS.— ROSE TURQUAND. A Novel. By Ellice Hopkins. Cheaper 
 Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 HORACE.— WORD FOR WORD FROM HORACE. The Odes literally 
 versified. By W. T. Thornton, CB. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. 
 
 WORKS OF. Rendered into English Prose by John Lonsdale, M.A. and 
 Samuel Lee, M.A. (Globe Edition.) Globe 8vo. 35. 6d. 
 
 HUNT.— TALKS ABOUT ART. By William Hunt. With a Letter by 
 J. E. Millais. Crown 8vo. 3.S. 6d. 
 
BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 IRVING. — Works by Washington Irving. 
 
 OLD CHRISTMAS. From the Sketch Book. With upwards of ioo Illustrations 
 by Randolph Caldecott, engraved by J. D. Cooper. Second Edition. 
 Crown 8vo. cloth elegant. 6s. 
 
 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. With 120 Illustrations by R. Caldecott. Crown 
 8vo. cloth gilt. 6s. 
 
 JAMES. — Works by Henry James, jun. 
 
 FRENCH POETS AND NOVELISTS. Crown 8vo. 8*. 6d. 
 Contents: — Alfred de Musset — Thecphde Gautier — Baudelaire — Honore ie 
 Balzac — George Sand — Turgenieff, etc. 
 
 THE EUROPEANS. A Novel. Cheaper Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 THE AMERICAN. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 DAISY MILLER ; and other Stories. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 RODERICK HUDSON. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 THE MADONNA OF THE FUTURE; and other Tales. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 JOUBERT.— PENSEES OF JOUBERT. Selected and Translated with the 
 Original French appended, by Henry Attwell, Knight of the Order of the 
 Oak Crown. Crown 8vo. 5s. 
 
 KEARY (A.).— Works by Annie Keary. 
 
 CASTLE DALY ; THE STORY OF AN IRISH HOME THIRTY YEARS 
 AGO. New Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 JANET'S HOME. New Edition. Globe 8vo. zs. 6d. 
 
 CLEMENCY FRANKLYN. New Edition. Globe 8vo. zs. 6d. 
 
 OLD BURY. New and Cheaper Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 A YORK AND -A LANCASTER ROSE. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 A DOUBTING HEART. New Editi.n. Crown 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 THE HEROES OF ASGARD. Globe 8vo. zs. 6d. 
 
 KEARY (E.).— THE MAGIC VALLEY; or, PATIENT ANTOINE. With 
 Illustrations by E. V. B. Globe 8vo. gilt. 4s. 6d. 
 
 KINGSLEY. — Works by the Rev. Charles Kingsley, M.A., Rector of 
 Eversley, and Canon of Westminster. Collected Edition. 6s. each. 
 
 POEMS ; including the Saint's Tragedy, Andromeda, Songs, Ballads, &c. Com- 
 plete Collected Edition. 
 
 YEAST ; a Problem. 
 
 ALTON LOCKE. New Edition. With a Prefatory Memoir by Thomas 
 Hughes, Q.C., and Portrait of the Author. 
 
 HYPATIA ; or, NEW FOES WITH AN OLD FACE. 
 
 GLAUCUS; or, THE WONDERS OF THE SEA-SHORE. With Coloured 
 Illustrations. 
 
BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 KINGSLEY (C.)— -continued. 
 
 WESTWARD HO ! or, THE VOYAGES AND ADVENTURES OF SIR 
 AMYAS LEIGH. 
 
 THE HEROES ; or, GREEK FAIRY TALES FOR MY CHILDREN. With 
 
 Illustrations. 
 
 TWO YEARS AGO. 
 
 THE WATER BABIES. A Fairy Tale for a Land Baby. With Illustrations by 
 Sir Noel Paton, R.S.A., and P. Skelton. 
 
 THE ROMAN AND THE TEUTON. A Series of Lectures delivered before 
 the University of Cambridge. With Preface by Professor Max Muller. 
 
 HEREWARD THE WAKE— LAST OF THE ENGLISH. 
 
 THE HERMITS. 
 
 MADAM HOW AND LADY WHY; or, FIRST LESSONS IN EARTH- 
 LORE FOR CHILDREN. 
 
 AT LAST; A CHRISTMAS IN THE WEST INDIES. Illustrated. 
 
 PROSE IDYLLS. NEW AND OLD. 
 
 PLAYS AND PURITANS ; and other HISTORICAL ESSAYS. With Por- 
 trait of Sir Walter Raleigh. 
 
 HISTORICAL LECTURES AND ESSAYS. 
 
 SANITARY AND SOCIAL LECTURES AND ESSAYS. 
 
 SCIENTIFIC LECTURES AND ESSAYS. 
 
 LITERARY AND GENERAL LECTURES. 
 
 HEALTH AND EDUCATION. New Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 PHAETHON ; or, LOOSE THOUGHTS FOR LOOSE THINKERS. Crown 
 
 8V0. 2S. 
 
 TOWN GEOLOGY. Crown 8vo. 5s. 
 
 SELECTIONS FROM SOME OF THE WRITINGS OF THE REV. 
 CHARLES KINGSLEY. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 OUT OF THE DEEP. Words for the Sorrowful, from the writings of Charles 
 Kingsley. Extra fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 KINGSLEY (H.).— Works by Henry Kingsley. 
 
 THE LOST CHILD. With Eight Illustrations by Fr jlich. Crown 4 to, cloth 
 gilt. 3s. 6d. 
 
 TALES OF OLD TRAVEL. Re-narrated. With Eight full-page Illustrations 
 by Huard. Fifth Edition. Crown 8vo, cloth, extra gilt. 5^. 
 
 KNATCHBULL-HUGESSEN.— Works by E. H. Knatchbull- 
 Hugessen, M.P. 
 
 CRACKERS FOR CHRISTMAS. More Stories. With Illustrations by 
 Jellicoe and Elwes. Fifth Edition. Crown 8vo. 5s. 
 
 QUEER FOLK. FAIRY STORIES. Illustrated by S. E. Waller. Fourth 
 Edition. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt. $s. 
 
BELLES LETTRES. 13 
 
 KNOX.— SONGS OF CONSOLATION. By Isa Craig Knox. Extra fcap. 
 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges. 4.?. 6d. 
 
 LAMB'S TALES FROM SHAKESPEARE. Edited, with Preface, 
 
 by the Rev. A. Ainger. (Golden Treasury Series.) i8mo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 LEADING CASES DONE INTO ENGLISH. By an Apprentice 
 of Lincoln's Inn. Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 LELAND.— JOHNNYKIN AND THE GOBLINS. By C. G. Leland, 
 Author of "Hans Breitmann's Ballads." With numerous Illustrations by the 
 Author. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 LEMON (MARK).-^THE JEST BOOK. (Golden Treasury Series.) 
 i8mo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 LIFE AND TIMES OF CONRAD THE SQUIRREL. a 
 
 Story for Children. By the Author of " Wandering Willie," " Erne's Friends," 
 &c. With a Frontispiece by R. Farren. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 LITTLE ESTELLA, and ether FAIRY TALES FOR THE YOUNG. 
 i8mo, cloth extra. 2s. 6d. 
 
 LOFTIE.— FORTY-SIX SOCIAL TWITTERS. By Mrs. Loftie. Second 
 Edition. i6mo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 LORNE. — Works by the Marquis of Lorne: — 
 GUIDO AND LITA: A TALE OF THE RIVIERA. A Poem. Third 
 Edition. Small 4to, cloth elegant. With Illustrations, js. 6d. 
 
 THE BOOK OF THE PSALMS, LITERALLY RENDERED IN VERSE. 
 With Three Illustrations. Third Edition. Crown 8vo. js. 6d. 
 
 LOWELL.— COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS of James Russell Lowell. 
 With Portrait, engraved by Jeens. i8mo, cloth extra. 4s. 6d. 
 
 LYTTELTON.— Works by Lord Lyttelton. 
 THE "COMUS" OF MILTON, rendered into Greek Verse. Extra feap. 8vo. 
 
 THE " SAMSON AGONISTES " OF MILTON, rendered into Greek Verse. 
 Extra fcap. 8vo. 6s. 6d. 
 
 MACLAREN. — THE FAIRY FAMILY. A Series of Ballads and Metrical 
 Tales illustrating the Fairy Mythology of Europe. By Archibald Maclaren. 
 With Frontispiece, Illustrated Title, and Vignette. Crown 8vo, gilt. 5$. 
 
 MACMILLAN'S MAGAZINE.— Published Monthly. Price 1*. Vols. 
 I. to XLII. are now ready. 7s. 6d. each. 
 
 MACMILLAN'S POPULAR NOVELS.- i n Crown 8vo, cloth. 
 Price 6s. each Volume : — 
 
 By William Black. 
 A PRINCESS OF THULE. 
 MADCAP VIOLET. 
 
 THE MAID OF KILLEENA ; and 
 other Tales. 
 
 THE STRANGE ADVENTURES 
 OF A PHAETON. Illustrated. 
 
 GREEN PASTURES AND PIC- 
 CADILLY. I 
 
 MACLEOD OF DARE. Illustrated. 
 
i 4 BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 MACMILLAN'S POPULAR N0VBLS— €ontime(L 
 
 By Charles Kingsley. 
 TWO YEARS AGO. I HYPATIA. 
 
 " WESTWARD HO ! " 
 ALTON LOCKE. With Portrait. 
 
 YEAST. 
 
 HE RE WARD THE WAKE. 
 
 By the Author of "John Halifax, Gentleman." 
 
 THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY. I AGATHA'S HUSBAND. Illus- 
 
 Illustrated. j trated. 
 
 THE OGILVIES. Illustrated. OLIVE. Illustrated. 
 
 By Charlotte M. Yonge. 
 THE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE. . CLEVER WOMAN OF THE 
 
 With Illustrations. 
 
 HEARTSEASE. With Illustrations. 
 
 THE DAISY CHAIN. With Illus- 
 trations. 
 
 THE TRIAL: More Links in the 
 Daisy Chain. With Illustrations. 
 
 HOPES AND FEARS. Illustrated. 
 
 DYNEVOR TERRACE. With 
 Illustrations. 
 
 MY YOUNG ALCIDES. Illustrated. 
 
 THE PILLARS OF THE HOUSE. 
 Two Vols. Illustrated. 
 
 FAMILY. Illustrated. 
 THE YOUNG STEPMOTHER. 
 
 Illustrated. 
 THE DOVE IN THE EAGLE'S 
 
 NEST. Illustrated. 
 
 THE CAGED LION. Illustrated. 
 THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 
 
 I llu -u rated. 
 LADY HESTER, and THE DAN- 
 
 VERS PAPERS. Illustrated. 
 THE THREE BRIDES. Two Vols. 
 
 Illustrated. 
 
 By Frances H. Burnett. 
 
 HAWORTH'S. 
 
 "LOUISIANA" and "THAT LASS O' LOWRIE'S." Two Stories. 
 Illustrated. 
 
 |By Lady Augusta Noel. 
 
 OWEN GWYNNE'S GREAT I FROM GENERATION TO GEN- 
 WORK. | ERATION. 
 
 By Mrs. Oliphant. 
 
 YOUNG MUSGRAVE. i A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 THE CURATE IN CHAP.GE. 
 
 By Annie Keary. 
 CASTLE DALY. 
 
 OLDBURY. 
 
 A YORK AND A LANCASTER 
 
 ROSE. 
 A DOUBTING HEART. 
 
 By George Fleming. 
 A NILE NOVEL. | MIRAGE. 
 
BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 15 
 
 MACMILLAN'S POPULAR NOVELS -*?«/««*«* 
 By Henry James, Junr. 
 
 THE EUROPEANS. 
 
 THE AMERICAN. 
 
 DAISY MILLER, AN INTERNA- 
 TIONAL EPISODE, FOUR 
 MEETINGS. 
 
 THE MADONNA OF 
 FUTURE, and other Tales. 
 
 RODERICK HUDSON. 
 
 THE 
 
 TOM BROWN'S SCHOOLDAYS. 
 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 THE FOOL OF QUALITY. By 
 
 H. Brooke. 
 REALMAH. By the Author of 
 
 " FrLnds in Council." 
 PATTY. By Mrs. Macquoid. 
 THE BERKSHIRE LADY. By 
 
 Mrs. Macquoid. 
 HUGH CRICHTON'S ROMANCE. 
 
 By C. R. Coleridge. 
 MY TIME, AND WHAT I'VE 
 
 DONE WITH IT. By F. C. 
 
 BURNAND. 
 
 ROSE TURQUAND. By Ellice 
 Hopkins. 
 
 OLD SIR DOUGLAS. By the 
 
 Hon. Mrs. Norton. 
 SEBASTIAN. By Katharine 
 
 Cooper. 
 THE' LAUGHING MILL; and 
 
 other Tales. By Julian Haw- 
 thorne. 
 THE HARBOUR BAR. 
 CHRISTINA NORTH. By E. M. 
 
 Archer. 
 UNDER THE LIMES. By E. M. 
 
 Archer. 
 BENGAL PEASANT LIFE. By 
 
 Lal Behari Day. 
 VIRGIN SOIL. By Tourgenief. 
 VIDA. The Study of a Girl. By 
 
 Amy Dunsmuir. 
 
 MACQUOID.— Works by Katharine S. Macquoid. 
 PATTY. Third and Cheaper Edition. Crown 3vo. 6s. 
 THE BERKSHIRE LADY. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 MAGUIRE.— YOUNG PRINCE MARIGOLD, AND OTHER FAIRY 
 STORIES. By the late John Francis Maguire, M.P. Illustrated by S. E. 
 Waller. Globe 8vo, gilt. 4s. 6d. 
 
 M AH AF FY.— Works by J. P. Mahaffy, M.A., Fellow of Trinity College, 
 
 Dublin :— 
 SOCIAL LIFE IN GREECE FROM HOMER TO MENANDER. Third 
 
 Edition, enlarged, with New Chapter on Greek Art. Crown 8vo. gs. 
 RAMBLES AND STUDIES IN GREECE. Illustrated. Second Edition, 
 
 revised and enlarged, with Map. Crown 8vo. 105. 6d. 
 
 MASSEY.— SONGS OF THE NOONTIDE REST. By Lucy Massey, 
 Author of " Thoughts from a Girl's Life." Fcap. 8vo, cloth extra. 4s. 6d. 
 
 MASSON (GUSTAVE)— LA LYRE FRANCAISE. Selected and 
 arranged with Notes. (Golden Treasury Series.) i8mo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 MASSON (Mrs.)-— THREE CENTURIES OF ENGLISH POETRY: 
 being selections from Chaucer to Herrick, with Introductions and Notes by Mrs. 
 Masson and a general Introduction by Professor Masson. Extra fcap. 8vo. 
 3s. 6d. 
 
BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 MASSON (Professor). — Works by David Masson, M.A., Professor of 
 Rhetoric and English Literature in the University of Edinburgh. 
 
 WORDSWORTH, SHELLEY, KEATS, AND OTHER ESSAYS. Crown 
 
 8vo. $s. 
 
 CHATTERTON : A Story of the Year 1770. Crown 8vo. jjs. 
 
 THE THREE DEVILS : LUTHER'S, MILTON'S AND GOETHE'S ; and 
 
 other Essays. Crown 8vo. 5s. 
 
 MAZINI. — IN THE GOLDEN SHELL: A Story of Palermo. By Linda 
 Mazini. With Illustrations. Globe 8vo, cloth gilt. 4s. 6d. 
 
 MERIVALE. — KEATS' HYPERION, rendered into Latin Verse. By C. 
 Merivale, B.D. Second Edition. Extra fcap. 8vo. -$s. td. 
 
 MILNER.— THE LILY OF LUMLEY. By Edith Milner. Crown Svo, 
 7s. 6d. 
 
 MILTON'S POETICAL WORKS. Edited with Text collated from 
 the best Authorities, With Introduction and Notes, by David Masson. Three 
 Vols. Svo. 42s. With three Portraits engraved by C. H. Jeexs. (Uniform with 
 the Cambridge Shakespeare.) (Golden Treasury Edition.) By the same Editor. 
 With Two Portraits. Two Vols. i8mo. gs. (Globe Edition.) By the same Editor. 
 Globe Svo. 3 s. 6d. 
 
 MISTRAL (F.).-MIRELLE, a Pastoral Epic of Provence. Translated ty 
 H. Crichton. Extra fcap. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 MITFORD (A. B.).— TALES OF OLD JAPAN. By A. B. Mitford, 
 Second Secretary to the British Legation in Japan. With Illustratic ns drawn 
 and cut on Wood by Japanese Artists. New and Cheaper Edition. Crown 
 8vo. 6s. 
 
 MOLESWORTH. — Works by Mrs. Molesworth (Ennis Graham). 
 
 GRANDMOTHER DEAR. Illustrated by Walter Crane. Eighth Thousand. 
 Extra fcap. 8vo, cluth gilt. 4s. 6d. 
 
 TELL ME A STORY. Illustrated by Walter Crane. Globe 8vo, gilt. 4s. 6d. 
 Fifth Thousand. 
 
 "CARROTS"; JUST A LITTLE BOY. Illustrated by Walter Crane. 
 Ninth Thousand. Globe 8vo, gilt. 4s. 6d. 
 
 THE CUCKOO CLOCK. Illustrated by Walter Ckane. Eighth Thousand. 
 Globe 8vo, gilt. 4s. 6d. 
 
 THE TAPESTRY ROOM. Illustrated by Walter Crane. Globe 8vo, gilt. 
 4s. 6d. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. Illustrated by Walter Crane. Globe Svo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 MORTE D'ARTHUR.— SIR THOMAS MALORY'S BOOK OF 
 KING ARTHUR AND OF HIS NOBLE KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND 
 TABLE. (Globe Edition.) Globe 8vo. 3 s. 6d. 
 
 MOUTLON. — SWALLOW FLIGHTS. Poems by Louisa Chandler 
 Moui.ton. Extra fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d. 
 
BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 17 
 
 MOULTRIE.— POEMS by John Moultrie. Complete Edition. Two Vols, 
 Crown 8vo. js. each. 
 
 Vol. I. MY BROTHER'S GRAVE, DREAM OF LIFE, &c. With Memoir by 
 
 the Rev. Prebendary Coleridge. 
 Vol. II. LAYS OF THE ENGLISH CHURCH, and other Poems. With notices 
 of the Rectors of Rugby, by M. H. Bloxham, F.R.A.S. 
 
 MRS. JERNINGHAM'S JOURNAL. A Poem purporting to 
 be the Journal of a Newly-married Lady. Third Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 MUDIE.— STRAY LEAVES. By C E. Mudie. New Edition. Extra fcap. 
 8vo. 3s. 6d. Contents :— " His and Mine" — "Night and Day" — "One of 
 Many," &c. 
 
 MURRAY. — ROUND ABOUT FRANCE. By E. C. Grenville Murray. 
 Crown 8vo. js. 6d. 
 
 MYERS (ERNEST).— Works by Ernest Myers. 
 THE PURITANS. Extra fcap. 8vo, cloth. 2s. 6d. 
 POEMS. Extra fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 MYERS (F. W. H.).— POEMS. By F. W. H. Myers. Containing " St. 
 Paul," "St. John," and others. Extra fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 ST. PAUL. A Poem. New Edition. Extra fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 NICHOL.— HANNIBAL, A HISTORICAL DRAMA. By John Nichol, 
 B.A., Oxon. , Regius Professor of English Language and Literature in the 
 University of Glasgow. Extra fcap. 8vo. 7s. 6d. 
 
 NINE YEARS OLD.— By the Author of " St. Olave's," " When I was a 
 Little Girl," &c. Illustrated by Frolich. Fourth Edition. Extra fcap. Svo, 
 cloth gilt. 4s. 6d. 
 
 NOEL. — BEATRICE AND OTHER POEMS. By the Hon. Roden Noel. 
 Fcap. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 NOEL (LADY AUGUSTA).— Works by Lady Augusta Noel. 
 OWEN GWYNNE'S GREAT WORK. Cheaper Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 FROM GENERATION TO GENERATION. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 NORTON. — Works by the Hon. Mrs. Norton. 
 THE LADY OF LA GARAYE. With Vignette and Frontispiece. Eighth Edition. 
 
 Fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d. 
 OLD SIR DOUGLAS. New Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 OLIPHANT. — Works by Mrs. Oliphant. 
 AGNES HOPETOUN'S SCHOOLS AND HOLIDAYS. New Edition, with 
 
 Illustrations. Globe 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. New Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 THE CURATE IN CHARGE. Sixth Edition. Crown 8vo. 6*. 
 
iS BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 OLIPHAN T— continued. 
 
 THE MAKERS OF FLORENCE: Dante, Giotto, Savonarola, and their City. 
 With Illustrations from Drawings by Professor Delamotte, and a Steel Portrait 
 of Savonarola, engraved byC. H. Jeens. Second Edition with Preface. Medium 
 8vo. Cloth extra. 21s. 
 
 YOUNG MUSGRAVE. Cheaper Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 THE BELEAGUERED CITY. Crown 8vo. tos. 6d. 
 
 HE THAT WILL NOT WHEN HE MAY. Three Vols. Crown 8voi 31s. 6d. 
 
 DRESS. Illustrated. Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. [Art at Home Seiies. 
 
 OUR YEAR. A Child's Book, in Prose and Verse. By the Author of 
 "John Halifax, Gentleman." Illustrated by Clarence Dobell. Royal 16.010. 
 3s. 6d. 
 
 PAGE ;— THE LADY RESIDENT, by Hamilton Page. Three Vols. t Crown 
 8vo. 31J. 6d. 
 
 PALGRAVE. — Works by Francis Turner Palgrave, M.A., late Fellow 
 of Exeter College, Oxford. 
 
 THE FIVE DAYS' ENTERTAINMENTS AT WENTWORTH GRANGE. 
 A Book for Children. With Illustrations by Arthur Hughes, and Engraved 
 Title-Page by Jeens. Small 4to, cloth extra. 6s. 
 
 LYRICAL POEMS. Extra fcap. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 ORIGINAL HYMNS. Third Edition, enlarged i8mo. is. 6d. 
 
 GOLDEN TREASURY OF THE BEST SONGS AND LYRICS. Edited 
 by F. T. Palgrave. i8mo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS AND SONGS. Edited by F. T. Palgrave. 
 
 With Vignette Title by Jeens. (Golden Treasury Series.) i8mo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 THE CHILDREN'S TREASURY OF LYRICAL POETRY. Selected and 
 arranged with Notes by F. T. Palgrave. i8mo. zs. 6d. And in Two Parts, 
 is. each. 
 
 HERRICK: SELECTIONS FROM THE LYRICAL POEMS. With Notes. 
 
 (Golden Treasury Series.) 1 81110. 4s. 6d. 
 
 PATER.— THE RENAISSANCE. Studies in Art and Poetry. By Walter 
 Pater, Fellow of Brasenose C liege, Oxford. Second Edition, Revised, with 
 Vignette engraved by C. H. Jeens. Crown 8vo. 105. 6d. 
 
 PAT MO RE.— THE CHILDREN'S GARLAND, from the Best Poets- 
 Selected and arranged by Coventry Patmore. New Edition- With Illustia- 
 tions by J. Lawson. Crown 8vo, gilt. 6s (Golden Treasury Edition.) i8mo. 
 45. 6d. 
 
 PEEL.— ECHOES FROM HOREB. AND OTHER POEMS. By Edmund 
 Peel, Author of " An Ancient City," &c. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 PEMBER,- THE TRAGEDY OF LESBOS. A Dramatic Poem. By 
 E. H. Pember. Fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 PHILLIPS (S. K.).— ON THE SEABOARD; and Other Poems. By 
 Susan K. Phillips. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 5s. 
 
BELLES LETTRES. 19 
 
 PHILPOT. — A POCKET OF PEBBLES, WITH A FEW SHELLS; Being" 
 Fragments of Reflection, now and then with Cadence, made up mostly by the 
 Sea-shore. By the Rev. W. B. Philpot. Second Edition, picked, sorted, and 
 polished anew ; with Two Illustrations by George Smith. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. 
 
 PLATO. — THE REPUBLIC OF. Translated into English with Notes by 
 J. Ll Dayies, M.A., and D. J. Vaughan, M.A. (Golden Treasury Series.) 
 i3:no. 44- . 6d. 
 
 POEMS OF PLACES— (ENGLAND AND WALES). Edited by 
 H. W. Longfellow. (Golden Treasury Series.) iSmo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 POETS (ENGLISH).— SELECTIONS, with Critical Introductions by 
 vari us writers, and a general Introduction by Matthew Arnold. Edited by 
 T. H. Ward, M.A. Four Vols. Crown 8vo. 7.?. 6d. each. 
 
 Vol. I. CHAUCER TO DONNE. 
 
 Vol. II. BEN JONSON TO DRYDEN. 
 
 Vols. III. and IV. in the Press. 
 
 POOLE.— PICTURES OF COTTAGE LIFE IN THE WEST OF 
 ENGLAND. By Margaret E. Poole. New and Cheaper Edition. Wuh 
 Frontispiece by R. Farren. Crown 8vo. 3.?. 6d. 
 
 POPE. — POETICAL WORKS OF. Edited with Notes and Introductory 
 Memoir by Adolphus William Ward, M.A. (Globe Edition.) Globe 8vo. 
 35. 6d. 
 
 POPULATION OF AN OLD PEAR TREE. From the French 
 of E. Van Bruyssel, Edited by the Author of "The Heir of Redclyffe." 
 With Illustrations by Becker. Cheaper Eduion. Crown 8vo, gilt. 4s. 6d. 
 
 POTTER.— LANCASHIRE MEMORIES. By Louisa Potter. Crown 
 8vo. 6s. 
 
 PRINCE FLORESTAN OF MONACO, THE FALL OF. 
 
 By Himself. New Edition, with Illustration and Map. 8vo, cloth extra, 
 gilt edges. 54-. A French Translation. 5s. Also an Edition for the People. 
 Crown 8vo. is. 
 
 QUIN. — GARDEN RECEIPTS. Edited by Charles Quin. Crown 8vo. 
 2s. 6d. 
 
 RACHEL OLLIVER. — A Novel. Three Vols. Crown 8vo. 31s. 6d. 
 
 REALM AH. — By the Author of " Friends in Council. Crown 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 RHOADES. — POEMS. By James Rhoades. Fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 RICHARDSON. — THE ILIAD OF THE EAST. A Selection of Legends 
 drawn from Valmiki's Sanskrit Poem, '" The Ramayana." By Frederika 
 Richardson. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. 
 
 ROBINSON.— GEORGE LINTON; or, THE FIRST YEARS OF AN 
 ENGLISH COLONY. By John Robi.nson, F.R.G.S. Crown 8vo. 7 s. 6d. 
 
 b 2 
 
EELT.ES lettres. 
 
 ROBINSON CRUSOE. Edited with Biographical Introduction by 
 
 Henry Kingsley. (Gl he Edition.) Globe 8vo. 3s 6d.— Golden Treasury 
 Edition. Edited by J. W. Clark, M.A. iSmo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 ROSSETTI. — Works by Christina Rossetti. 
 
 POEMS. Complete Edition, containing "Goblin Market," "The Prince's 
 Progress," &c. With Four Illustrations. Extra fcap. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 SPEAKING LIKENESSES. Illustrated by Arthur Hughes. Crown 8vo, 
 gilt edges. 4s. 6d. 
 
 RUTH AND HER FRIENDS. A Story for Girls. With a Frontis- 
 piece. Seventh Edition. Globe 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 SCOURING OF THE WHITE HORSE; or THE LONG 
 VACATION EAMBLE OF A LONDON CLERK. Illustrated by Doyle. 
 Imp. i6mo. Cheaper Issue. 3^. 6d. 
 
 SCOTT (SIR WALTER.).— POETICAL WORKS OF. Edited with a 
 Biograpbical and Critical Memoir by Francis Turner Palgrave. (GLbe 
 Edition.) Globe 8vo. 35. 6d. 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG.— A SELECTION OF THE CHOICEST LYRICS 
 OF SCOTLAND. By Mary Carlyle Aitken. (Golden Treasury Series.) 
 i8mo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 SELBORNE (LORD).— THE BOOK OF PRAISE. From the best 
 English Hymn writers. (Golden Treasury Series.) iSmo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. — The Works of William Shakespeare. Cambridge 
 Edition. Edited by W. Ghorge Clark, M.A., and VV. Aldis Wright, M.A. 
 Nine Vols. 8vo, cloth. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S COMPLETE WORKS. Edited, by w. G. 
 Clark, M.A., and W. Aldis Wright, M.A. (Globe Edition.) Globe 8vo. 
 2S. 6d. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S SONGS AND SONNETS. Edited, with 
 Notes, by Francis Turner Palgrave. (Golden Treasury Series) 181110. 
 4$. td. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS. An attempt to determine the Chrono- 
 logical Order. By the Rev. H. Paine Stokes, B.A. Extra fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6a?. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S TEMPEST. Edited, with' Glossarial and Ex- 
 planatory Notes, by the Rev. J. M. Jephson. New Edui n. iSnu. is. 
 
 SHELLEY.— POEMS OF. Edited by Stopfo^d A. Brooke. (Golden 
 Treasury Series.) i8mo. 4s. 6d. ALo a fine Edition punted on hand-nu.de 
 paper. Crown 8vo. 12s. 6d. 
 
 SLIP (A) IN THE FENS.— Illustrated by the Author. Crow Bve. 
 6s. 
 
 SMEDLEY.— TWO DRAMATIC POEMS. By Menella Bute Smedley. 
 Awt-kni-Af *>T.aAv Orari*:" &c. Extra fc;\u. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 Author of " Lady Grace," &c. Extra fcap. 8vo. 6s. 
 
BELLES LETTRE3. 21 
 
 SMITH. — POEMS. By Catherine Barnard Smith. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. 
 
 SMITH (REV. WALTER).— HYMNS OF CHRIST AND THE 
 CHRISTIAN LIFE. By the Rev. Walter C. Smith, M.A. Fcap. 8vo. 
 6s. 
 
 SONG BOOK. WORDS AND TUNES FROM THE BEST POETS 
 
 AND MUSICIANS. Selected and arranged by John Hullah. (Golden 
 Treasury Senes.) i8mo. 4^. 6d. 
 
 SPENSER.— COMPLETE WORKS OF. Edited by the Rev. R. Morris, 
 M.A., LL.D., with a Memoir by J. W. Hales, M.A. (Globe Edition.) Globe 
 8vo. 3-r. 6d. 
 
 STEPHEN (C. E.).— THE SERVICE OF THE POOR; being an 
 Inquiry into the Reasons for and against the Establishment of Religious Sister- 
 hoods for Charitable Purposes. By Caroline Emilia Stephen. Crown 8vo. 
 6*. 6d. 
 
 STEPHENS (J. B.).— CONVICT ONCE. A Poem. By J. Brunton 
 Stephens. Extra fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 STREETS AND LANES OF A CITY: Being the Reminiscences of 
 Amy Dutton. With a Preface by the Bishop of Salisbury. Second and 
 Cheaper Edition. Globe 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 THOMPSON.— A HANDBOOK TO THE PUBLIC PICTURE GAL- 
 LERIES OF EUROPE. With a brief sketch of the History of the various 
 Schools of Painting from the thirteenth century to the eighteenth, inclusive. By 
 Kate Thompson. Third Edition, Revised and Enlarged. With numerous 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 7s. bd. 
 
 THEOLOGIA GERMANICA. Translated from the German by Susanna 
 Winkworth. (Golden Treasury Series.) i8mo. 45. 6d. 
 
 TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL DAYS. By An Old Boy. With Seven 
 Illustrations by A. Hughes and Sydney Hall. Crown 8vo. 6s. ; Golden 
 Treasury Edition. 4$. 6d. ; People's Edition. 2s. 
 
 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. New Edition. With Illustrations. 
 Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 TOURGENIEF.— VIRGIN SOIL. By I. Tourgenief. Translated by 
 Ashton W. Dilke. Cheaper Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 TRENCH. —Works by R. Chenevix Trench, D.D., Archbishop of Dublin. 
 (For other Works by this Author, see Theological, Historical, and Philo- 
 sophical Catalogues.) 
 
 POEMS. Collected and arranged anew. Fcap. 8vo. js. 6d. 
 
 HOUSEHOLD BOOK OF ENGLISH POETRY. Selected and arranged,, with 
 Notes, by Archbishop Trench. Third Edition, revised. Extra fcap. 8vo. 
 5s. 6d. 
 
 SACRED LATIN POETRY, Chiefly Lyrical. Selected and arranged for Use. 
 By Archbishop Trench. Third Edition, Corrected and Improved. Fcap. 8vo. 
 7 s. 
 
BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 TURNER. — Works by the Rev. Charles Tennyson Turner. 
 
 SONNETS. Dedicated to his Brother, the Poet Laureate. Frap. 8vo. 4*. 6d. 
 SMALL TABLEAUX. Fcap. 8vo. 4* 6d. 
 
 TYRWHITT.- OUR SKETCHING CLUB. Letters an ; . Studies on Land- 
 scape Art. By the Rev. R. St. John Tykwhitt, M.A. Wi.h an Authorised 
 Reproduction of the Lessons and Woodcuts in Professor Ruskin's " Elements of 
 Drawing." Second Edition. Crown 8vo. js. 6d. 
 
 UNDER THE LIMES. By the Author of " Christina North." Second 
 Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 VIRGIL.— THE WORKS OF. Rendered into English Prose. By John 
 Lonsdale, M. A., and Samuel Lee, M.A. (Globe Edition.) Globe 8vo. $s. 6d. 
 
 WEBSTER. — Works by Augusta Webster. 
 
 DRAMATIC STUDIES. Extra fcap. 8vo. 5s. 
 
 A WOMAN SOLD, AND OTHER POEMS. Crown 8vo. 7 s. 6d 
 
 PORTRAITS. Second Edition. Extra fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6dt 
 
 MEDEA OF EURIPIDES. Literally translated into English Verse. Extra 
 fcap. 8vo. 3 j. 6d. 
 
 THE AUSPICIOUS DAY. A Dramatic Poem. Extra fcap. 8vo. 5s. 
 
 YU-PE-YA'S LUTE. A Chinese Tale in English Verse. Extra fcap. 8vo. 3 s. 6d. 
 
 A HOUSEWIFE'S OPINIONS. Crown 8vo. ft. 6d. 
 
 WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL. By the Author of " St. Olaves." 
 Illustrated by L. FkClich. Globe 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 WHITE.— RHYMES BY WALTER WHITE. 8vo. 7* 6d. 
 
 WHITTIER.-JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER'S POETICAL WORKS. 
 Complete Edition, with Portrait engraved by C. H. Jeens. iSmo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 WILLOUGHBY.— FAIRY GUARDIANS. A Book for the Young. By 
 F. Willoughby. Illustrated. Crown 8vo, gilt. 5s. 
 
 WOLF.— THE LIFE AND HABITS OF WILD ANIMALS. Twenty 
 Illustrations by Josei-h Wolf, engraved by J. W. and E. Whymher. With 
 descriptive Letter-press by D. G. Elliot, F.L.S. Super royal 410, cloth extra, 
 gilt edges, zis. 
 Also, an Edition in royal folio, Proofs before Letters, each Proof signed by the 
 Engravers. 
 
 WOOLNER.— MY BEAUTIFUL LADY. By Thomas Woolner. Wi.h 
 a Vignette by A. Hugh BS. Third Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. 
 
 WORDS FROM THE POETS. Selected by the EJitor of "Rays 
 of Sunlight." With a Vignette and Frontispiece. i8mo, limp. is. 
 
BELLES LETTRES. 23 
 
 WORDSWORTH.— SELECT POEMS OF. Chosen and Edited, with 
 Preface, by Matthew Arnold. (Golden Treasury Series.) iSmo. 4^. 6d. 
 Fine Edition. Crown 8vo, hand-made paper, with Portrait of Wordsworth, 
 engraved by C. H. Jeens, and Printed on India Paper, gs. 
 
 YONGE (C. M.).— New Illustrated Edition of Novels and Tales by Char- 
 lotte M. Yonge. 
 
 In Sixteen Monthly Volumes : — 
 
 Vol. I. THE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE. With Illustrations by Kate Green- 
 away. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 II. HEARTSEASE. With Illustrations by Kate Greenaway. Crown 8vo. 
 6s. 
 
 III. HOPES AND FEARS. With Illustrations by Herbert Gandy. Crown 
 ' 8vo. 6s. 
 
 IV. DYNEVOR TERRACE. With Illustrations by Adrian Stokes. 
 
 V. THE DAISY CHAIN. Illustrated by J. P. Atkinson. 
 
 VI. THE TRIAL. Illustrated by J. P. Atkinson. 
 
 VII. & VIII. THE PILLARS OF THE HOUSE; or, UNDER WODE, 
 UNDER RODE. Illustrated by Herbert Gandy. Two Vols. Crown 
 8vo. 6s. each. 
 
 IX. THE YOUNG STEPMOTHER. New Edition. Illustrated by Marian 
 Huxley. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 X. CLEVER WOMAN OF THE FAMILY. New Edition. Illustrated 
 
 by Adrian Stokes. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 XL THE THREE BRIDES. Illustrated by Adrian Stokes. Crown 8vo. 
 
 t 6s. 
 
 XII. MY YOUNG ALCIDES: or, A FADED PHOTOGRAPH. Illustrated 
 by Adrian Stokes. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 XIII. THE CAGED LION. Illustrated by W. J. Hennessy. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 XIV. THE DOVE IN THE EAGLE'S NEST. Illustrated by W. J. Hennessv. 
 
 Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 XV. THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS; or, THE WHITE AND BLACK 
 RIBAUMONT. Illustrated by W. J. Hennessy. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 XVI. LADY HESTER AND THE DANVERS PAPERS. Illustrated by 
 Jane E. Cook. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 YONGE (CM.).— 
 
 THE PRINCE AND THE PAGE. A Tale of the Last Crusade. Illustrated 
 
 New Edition. i8mo. 2S. 6d. 
 
 THE LANCES OF LYNWOOD. New Edition. With Coloured Illustrations. 
 i8mo. 4-y. 6d. 
 
 THE LITTLE DUKE: RICHARD THE FEARLESS. New Edition 
 Illustrated. i8mo. -zs. 6d. 
 
 A BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS OF ALL TIMES AND ALL COUN 
 TRIES, Gathered and Narrated Anew. (Golden Treasury Series.) $s. 6d. 
 Cheap Edition, is. 
 
 A BOOK OF WORTHIES. (Golden Treasury Series.) i8nxo. 4*- 6<£ 
 
24 BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 YONGE (C. M.)— continued. 
 
 THE STORY OF THE CHRISTIANS AND MOORS IN SPAIN. 
 (Golden Treasury Series.) i8mo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 CAMEOS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY, From Rollo to Edward II. 
 Extra fcap. 8vo. 5s. Third Edition, enlarged. 5s. 
 
 Second Series. THE WARS IN FRANCE. Third Edition. Extra fcap. 
 8vo. 5 s. 
 
 Third Series. THE WARS OF THE ROSES. Extra fcap. 8/0. 5 s. 
 
 Fourth Series. REFORMATION TIMES. Extra fcap. 8vo. 5s. 
 
 P's and Q*s ; or, THE QUESTION OF PUTTING UPON. With Illustra- 
 tions by C. O. Murray. New Edition. Globe 8vo, cloth gilt. 4s. 6d. 
 
 MAGNUM BONUM; or, MOTHER CAREY'S BROOD. Three Vols. 
 Crown 8vo. 31J. 6d. 
 
 BYEWORDS : A COLLECTION OF TALES NEW AND OLD. Crown 8vo. 
 6s. 
 
 LOVE AND LIFE. Two Vols. Crown 8 vo. 12s.