Transcriber's notes: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.

New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.

CORWIN'S NEST,
OR, STORIES OF BESSIE & JAMIE.

BESSIE

AND

THE SQUIRRELS.

[BY]

[Madeline Leslie]

"It is more blessed to give than to receive."—JESUS CHRIST.

BOSTON:

PUBLISHED BY ANDREW F. GRAVES.

20 CORNHILL.

Entered, according to act of Congress, in the year 1869, by

A. F. GRAVES,

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of
Massachusetts.

CORWIN'S NEST;

OR, STORIES OF BESSIE AND JAMIE.

6 vols. 16mo.

For Girls.

Vol. I. LITTLE TOT'S LESSONS.

  "  II. THE BIRTHDAY PARTY.

  " III. BESSIE AND THE SQUIRRELS.

—————

For Boys.

  "  IV. THE CHILDREN AT PLAY.

  "   V. WHISTLING HORACE.

  "  VI. JAMIE AND HIS PONY

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

MISS PRIM'S RIDE

CHAPTER II.

THE SQUIRRELS

CHAPTER III.

VISIT TO THE HUT

CHAPTER IV.

THE STARVING CHILDREN

CHAPTER V.

THE GRATEFUL FAMILY

CHAPTER VI.

MAMMA'S STORY

CHAPTER VII.

THE VISITORS

CHAPTER VIII.

THE VISIT

CHAPTER IX.

THE DEPARTURE

CHAPTER X.

THE RIDE

CHAPTER XI.

LITTLE FLOSSY'S TRICK

CHAPTER XII.

THE THIEVING SQUIRRELS

BESSIE AND THE SQUIRRELS.

CHAPTER I.

MISS PRIM'S RIDE.

ABOUT three miles from one of our chief cities there once lived a family by the name of Corwin. There was a large farm with an old-fashioned house upon it, long known by the name of Corwin's Nest. Here lived father, mother, and two children, Bessie and James, or Jamie as he was called. There were also a woman, Nurse Blake, a cook, and chamber-maid.

It was a lovely morning in May. Near the house, there was a pleasant fragrance from the pear and apple blossoms. The robins had returned from their winter quarters to their old homes in the great trees, and were now busily engaged in making nests for their young.

The great tulip tree was in full bloom, and looked very gorgeous. The lower branches were so high from the ground that it would take a very long ladder to reach them; but the boughs almost touched the nursery windows, so that the flowers could be reached from them.

On the piazza in front of the house, childish voices could be heard mingling with the songs of the birds, and the cackling of the hens who had been laying eggs, and could not keep the secret.

Presently there was a bark of a dog, and Flossy ran down the granite steps, looking back for Bessie and Jamie—or Junior, as papa called him, to follow.

"I'll ask mamma if the ground is dry enough now," said the little girl.

She darted into the house, up the stairs, and quickly returned with a beaming face, bringing with her a great doll, almost as large as a live baby.

"She says 'yes,' Jamie; come, let's carry Miss Prim and all her family to ride. O Flossy!" she added, laughing merrily. "How lazy you are growing! You always like to ride too."

"Carry Miss Prim to see chickies," lisped Jamie, picking his way carefully down the steps.

The great doll sat up very straight, holding two or three smaller dolls; but she didn't pay much attention to them—she stared straight before her with her dull black eyes.

There were ever so many chickens in the hennery, and little turkeys running in the barn-yard; but the children were too much afraid of the great gobbler, who strutted about with his red comb, to go very near them.

"Me isn't afraid," said Jamie, bravely; but when the old fellow turned toward them screaming, "Gobble, gobble, gobble!" his little feet carried him away pretty quick.

"I wish Nellie's school didn't keep all the time," said Bessie. "I want her to play with us."

"Ganma in there; ganma giving bossies dinner," exclaimed Jamie, pointing his fat finger toward the barn.

THE FARMER'S WIFE FEEDING THE CHICKENS.

So they trotted on, dragging the wagon full of dolls.

When they reached the barn-yard, the farmer's wife was scattering corn to some of the chickens. They stopped to watch her a few minutes when grandma saw them, and beckoned them to come to her.

"Hi! Little folks," said the old lady. "How's Miss Bessie to-day and Master Jamie?"

"Pretty well, ganma," lisped the boy. "I'm going with you to see the bossies."

She laughed as she said, "That's right. I have some milk, I'm going to make the new bossy drink."

But the old lady found this was a very difficult matter. She poured the milk into a pan, and put the calf's nose into it; but he only snuffed and shook his head, and cried for the mooley his ma.

Bessie and her brother stood by, looking very sober, and pitying the little creature very much.

Grandma tried every way to teach bossy to lap up the milk; but he didn't know how. At last she put her finger in the milk, and let him taste of that. He caught her finger, and began to suck it with all his might; so she laid her hand in the pan, and in a few minutes he had sucked all the milk up. Then he was quiet, and went to lie down on the straw the man had piled up for his bed.

"I like bossies," said Bessie; "but I should think their own mothers would take care of them and feed them. Why don't they?"

"Mrs. Mooley would be glad enough to do so," answered grandma; "but your father means to raise this calf; and he can't spare all the new milk. While it is young, it can drink skim milk, and soon it will begin to eat meal and hay. But there comes nurse to look for you."

When they went out from the barn door, they found Miss Prim had kept her family very quiet; and Flossy was sound asleep at the bottom of the carriage. She roused up at the sound of their voices, and began to whine for attention.

CHAPTER II.

THE SQUIRRELS.

IN front of Mr. Corwin's house there was a grove of trees, some of them almost two hundred years old.

There were a tulip tree, and two catalpas, and one English walnut, and three gnarled oaks, and a dozen elms, besides a hedge at the side of the house of three thorned acacia.

The branches of all these trees rose up higher than the house, and the leaves rustled so in the wind that it often sounded like rain.

There were some little animals in the trees about which I have not told you. Can you guess what they were? Little, nimble, striped red squirrels.

The trees were so old that they were full of holes, and these were the squirrels' home, where the fathers and mothers and little ones lived in summer and in winter.

When Bessie's mamma first moved to Corwin's Nest, she was awaked one morning by a funny chirping, which sounded almost like talking, it grew so loud and earnest.

"Hark!" she said to her husband. "What is that?"

Mr. Corwin sat up in bed, and listened too. Then he said, laughing:

"Why, it is the squirrels in the old trees. They are trying to sing."

"No," mamma said, "I should think they were quarrelling. I never knew there were any squirrels on the place."

"Oh, there are hundreds!" he answered, turning over for another nap. "They live on the pods of the acacia trees."

Mamma went to the window and peeped out, and presently she saw a little squirrel dart up the tree, carrying a nut in his mouth. Then a larger squirrel ran after the small one, making the same chirping sound which had awaked her.

"Oh, how funny!" she said, laughing to herself. "The little one has run off with his breakfast,—and his mother is going to punish him. She is scolding him already."

She pulled open the shutter, and looked away up in the top of the trees; but the nimble creatures had jumped from one bough to another, and she could only see an occasional whisk of their tails.

She was just commencing to dress when she saw, on one of the boughs close to the glass, a cunning little squirrel, sitting very quietly; his small, bright eyes peeping into the room.

"Oh! I wish Bessie were awake," she said.

You know Bessie was a baby then; and mamma put out her hand to make acquaintance with the pretty creature.

Since that time mamma and papa, too, had often been sorry that the squirrels had such a colony in the trees, because they ate some of the little birds. Still they looked very prettily chasing each other over the branches, running out to the end of one bough, and then jumping to the end of another.

In the fall they gathered a great many nuts, and acorns, and pods, with large acacia beans in them, and stowed them away in their homes. Then, when the ground was covered with snow, they could keep quiet in their deep holes without starving.

Sometimes in the morning, or toward night, they chattered away at a great rate. The lady used often to wonder what they were saying to each other.

As Bessie grew older, she loved dearly to stand at the window, and watch the squirrels with their long, bushy tails. She loved to hear her mamma tell stories about their funny neighbors in the trees. By and by I must tell you a story mamma told Bessie and Jamie, when the little girl was seven years old.

It was now the next day after the children went to the barn to see grandma feed the calf. There had been rain in the night; and mamma thought the ground too damp for them to venture out. Nurse was busy putting down a new carpet in one of the chambers; and the lady wanted to write a letter to her sister in England. She carried her portfolio into the opposite chamber, leaving Bessie to amuse her brother until it was time for his nap.

About an hour later, she went back to the nursery to get a stamped envelope. Bessie sat in her low rocking-chair, holding one of Miss Prim's children. It was very sick; and Jamie was the doctor who had come to give it medicine.

Just in front of them the shutter was folded back; and there on a bough close to the glass a bright-eyed squirrel was sitting, peeping anxiously into the room, and watching every movement.

Mamma stood a moment, watching the brisk little fellow. She saw that his eye was fixed on Bessie, and she wondered what he thought of her.

When she moved a little nearer the window, the squirrel whisked his bushy tail over his head and darted away.

"Are you having a good time?" mamma asked.

"Baby sick," cried Jamie, eagerly. "Doctor give medicine."

"I wish you'd let us take a bottle, mamma," urged Bessie. "We'll be sure not to break it."

The lady smilingly gave them an empty vial from the closet.

"May we put water in it, mamma?"

"Yes, dear, and give the babies as much as you please, but don't drink any yourselves."

"Are you going to write more letters, mamma?"

"Not much, Bessie; and, to reward you for being so good, I shall tell you a story, some time."

The children clapped their hands, exclaiming:—

"Please, mamma, come quick."

CHAPTER III.

VISIT TO THE HUT.

JUST as Mrs. Corwin was ready to begin her story, a carriage drove to the door; and mamma had to go down to see the visitor. She was gone so long that when she returned, nurse had put Jamie into his crib.

Mamma found her little girl sitting on the upper stair with Flossy in her lap. She looked sober though not vexed, because the visitor stayed so long.

Mamma looked sober too. She kissed Bessie, and called her a good, patient girl; but then she walked to the bureau, and stood as if she were thinking, thinking of something that was not pleasant. At last she stepped into the entry and called nurse.

"I have an errand to the Four Corners," she said; "and I want you to find out whether John is at home, so that he can drive me there. If he can, you may put up a basket of food for a poor family: bread and meat, with some small parcels of tea, sugar, and rice. You know what is suitable."

"Oh, yes, ma'am! I've packed too many baskets since I lived in Corwin's Nest not to know that."

"I want to go as soon as I can," urged the lady, "and I have to find some articles of clothing. The family is very destitute."

"They'll have reason to thank God, ma'am, that they've fallen into such good hands."

All this time, Bessie stood by, her cheeks growing every moment more flushed.

"Mamma," she exclaimed, "please let me go with you. I've got five cents and two pennies, I can give the poor children."

Mamma stopped a moment, looked thoughtfully into Bessie's eyes and then said:—

"Yes, darling, you may go; and we will put off the story I promised you until another day."

By the time Mrs. Corwin had gathered a bundle of clothing, John drove the carriage to the door, nurse carried out the well-filled basket, pushed the bundle under the seat, and wished them a good ride.

In about ten minutes, they had reached Four Corners. There was quite a village here. Turning off one of the streets, there was a cluster of small cottages, inhabited mostly by foreigners.

Mrs. Corwin, after looking around, directed John to drive to one of these huts, and ask whether a family by the name of Bell lived there.

"No, they did not, they lived farther on in an old tumble-down place, not fit to harbor pigs," the woman said.

It was indeed a poor, desolate home. Mrs. Corwin's heart sank as she looked about her, and reflected that six persons lived here in daily risk of being killed by the falling of the roof upon them.

Her low knock was answered by a feeble "Come in."

What a sight met her eye!

Half-reclining on a bundle of coarse straw lay a woman holding to her breast a poor, starving babe; and by her side were three other children from two to six years old.

Bessie clung to her mamma's dress, trying to lead her away. She was frightened at those pale, hungry faces, and those protruding, eager eyes.

"I heard this morning that you were sick and in need," said the lady, in a sympathizing voice.

"Thank you, ma'am," answered the poor woman.

"Where is your husband, Mrs. Bell?"

"He crawled off this morning, trying to get work to keep his family from starving."

"Have you had any breakfast?"

"No, ma'am; nor supper yester-night."

The lady untied the cloth over the basket, and took out a loaf of bread.

Before she took it, the woman clasped her hands and thanked God.

Her chin quivered so much that she could scarcely articulate; but when she saw one of the children eagerly clutching a piece, she burst out—

"It's from the Lord, Aggy. Don't forget to praise him."

CHAPTER IV.

THE STARVING CHILDREN.

IN the basket Mrs. Corwin found a bottle of milk.

When it was given into the hands of the poor woman, for the first time the tears began to pour down her cheeks.

"O ma'am!" she sobbed, raising her hands to heaven. "It's this that will give life back to my baby. Oh, how good He is! Not a minute in the whole night did I shut my eyes, praying and pleading for help. His storehouse is full; and now see, see my children what he has sent us!

"Lady, I'm not slighting your kindness; but I'm sure He heard my poor prayers, and put it into your heart to come and help us."

When the woman became more composed, and the children, no longer hungry, were sitting on the floor, gazing at Bessie, Mrs. Corwin inquired what had brought them into this sad condition.

"We're not beggars, ma'am. At least we were not at home. We rented a few acres in Yorkshire across the water; but the taxes were awful. My man heard of this fine country; and we saved every penny till we had enough to buy tickets for all to come. Peter, poor man, was that hopeful, he thought when we once landed, all our troubles would be over."

"But, ma'am," she added, with a heavy sigh, "the ship-fever broke out on board our vessel, and my man was among the first who had it. When we landed, he was carried to the hospital on a litter, and I didn't see him again for five weeks.

"By that time every farthing had gone; but Peter was left, and la heart was too full of joy for one complaining word.

"An acquaintance told us of this place, and if my man could get light jobs till he's stronger, we'd do well enough. We're used to work and hardship, and not afraid of anything God sends, now that he's left us the father."

"What can your husband do, Mrs. Bell?"

"Sure he can till the ground, and raise some peas and potatoes; and he has a pretty taste for flowers. And, ma'am, now that the strength is put into me, I can wash and scrub, and weed onions and strawberry beds."

"Can you leave the baby?"

A proud smile came over the woman's face as she answered:

"Aggy can mind the children. She's a motherly little creature."

They were so busy talking, they did not see a poor man bent with illness walking unsteadily toward the hut.

He came in holding out a small roll, saying:—

"Here, wife, divide it with the children; you need it more than I do."

"O Peter!" screamed his wife. "The Lord has sent his angels. He heard my feeble prayers. Eat, husband. It will give back your strength."

At first Mrs. Corwin thought she should not like Peter as well as his wife. She thought he seemed surly; but when she looked again, she saw that his features were working with emotion; and that, weary with his long walk, he was wholly unable to express his thanks.

Before she left, Mrs. Corwin told John to bring in the bundle of clothing; and she was really affected to see with what joy it was received.

"Look up, Peter, man," the woman said, holding up a second-hand coat. "We'll be decent again. I take this for a token that the Lord has not forgotten us. Never as long as I live shall I forget this day."

"I shall speak to my husband," Mrs. Corwin said, "and by the time you are strong enough to work, I think we can find some for you."

She was turning to go, when Bessie eagerly pulled her dress, holding out her hand containing the pennies.

"Oh, yes!" said mamma. "You shall have the pleasure of giving your own money. Shall Aggy, the little girl mother, have it?"

"Yes, mamma." And she held it out to the child.

"Make your manners, Aggy," exclaimed her mother. "We none of us, ma'am, shall ever forget that little angel's pitying eyes. May she be the comfort to you, ma'am, in long years to come."

CHAPTER V.

THE GRATEFUL FAMILY.

ON their way home, Bessie's tongue ran very fast, asking questions about the poor family.

"Aren't you sorry for them, mamma? They are so very poor. I guess they were glad of something to eat. Where do they sleep, mamma? I didn't see any beds. Where do they make a fire, mamma? There wasn't any range in the room."

"That is true, Bessie, darling. I carried them tea and rice; and I meant to send John there to-night with potatoes, and meal, and pork; but where can they cook their food?"

"Aren't you glad, mamma, that you let me go with you? Perhaps you wouldn't have remembered about the fire."

"Yes, dear."

Mrs. Corwin answered as if she were thinking of something else; and so she was, for suddenly she spoke to John:—

"I must go to the tinman's," she said. "I saw the other day that he had a number of old stoves there; and I want to get one for my poor family."

She found a very good second-hand cooking-stove, with a teakettle, spider, and iron pot, which, when the tinman knew the circumstances, he said he would sell for seven dollars.

"John will tell you to-night," the lady answered, "whether I conclude to take it."

And then she drove on to the house of a friend.

"You may stay in the carriage, Bessie," mamma said. "I shall only be gone a few minutes."

"Thank you for letting me know," said her friend, following her to the door, after a short call. "I'll be sure and send round some cooked food."

"And I shall see about that cottage you think is empty, as soon as Mr. Corwin comes home," answered mamma. "See, Bessie," she said, holding up five dollars, "Mrs. Alcott gave me this; and she's going to speak to some of her neighbors about Mrs. Bell this very afternoon."

Mr. Corwin entered into the work of helping the poor family with all the zeal his wife could wish. He agreed that the old hut was very unsafe quarters, and that the sooner the family could be moved the better.

They rode two or three miles before they found any place within the means of a laboring man, for Mr. Corwin did not mean to support the family, but only to put them in a way of supporting themselves.

The cottage they engaged at last, was the one next to Grandma Blake's.

"We will send the stove here," papa said, "and I think some of that old furniture in our attic might be acceptable."

"Yes, there is an oak table, and some chairs. I can buy a couple of cheap bedsteads with the money Mrs. Alcott gave me. O James!" she added, her face beaming with smiles. "What a pleasure it is to do good!"

Mr. Corwin gave his wife a glance full of affection and then went on:—

"It is a good time of the year for the man to get work. Of course he must have help till he recovers his strength. Did he look as if he had been very sick?"

"Yes, indeed. Can John carry the things to the cottage in the morning?"

"I'm afraid he'll be busy cultivating the garden then. Let me see! It is only seven now. He can get them all in order to-night. I don't see why they shouldn't sleep there instead of lying in that old rickety hut."

"Oh, thank you, James! Do let us hurry home; and I'll see what I can find in the attic."

The business of the day was over at the house, and both cook and Nancy were eager to help their kind mistress.

While John went for the stove, Mr. Corwin and the cook brought down the table, four chairs, a palm-leaf mattrass, two broken-handled pitchers, and an old-fashioned sink, with cupboards underneath.

Nancy, meanwhile, swept the rooms and made ready for the new-comers.

It was almost nine before John was ready to start for the poor family. He had one of the work-horses harnessed into the cart, so as to bring them and their great iron-bound chest, the only thing Mrs. Corwin remembered to have seen in the house. At the same time, Mrs. Corwin with her husband, were going to invite them to remove to their new quarters.

It was a bright moonlight evening in June, and even at nine o'clock people were sitting at their doors enjoying the balmy air.

When Mr. and Mrs. Corwin drew up before the pathway leading to the hut, no person was in sight about the dwelling. Tying his horse to a tree near by, the gentleman followed his wife to the door.

Putting up her hand, she motioned him to listen. "Mr. Bell is praying," she whispered.

It was the voice of a man earnestly thanking the Lord for all his mercies, for food, clothes, and the words of kindness and cheer.

"What a lesson!" murmured Mr. Corwin.

The lady, approaching nearer, could look within the room. In the moonlight she could see that the father, Mother, and two eldest children knelt on the bare floor, their hands clasped before them. The two babies lay asleep on the straw.

CHAPTER VI.

MAMMA'S STORY.

HOW can I describe the wonder, the gratitude, the joy, of these poor wanderers when told that a home had been provided for them, and that as soon as Mr. Bell had gained strength, he should have work on Mr. Corwin's farm?

How quickly they gathered the few articles of clothing lying about, and put them in their one trunk! How carefully the mother returned to the basket the small packages Mrs. Corwin had brought in the morning! By the time John reached the hut, they were all ready, Mrs. Bell sitting on the door-steps, holding her babe to her breast.

On reaching the cottage, they found Mrs. Blake there with a lighted lamp, her present to her new neighbors. There was no bedstead, it was true; but there was one mattrass, and plenty of clean rye straw on the chamber floor. In the lower apartment, the few articles were set up in place and gave the room a home-like appearance.

The joy was almost too much for the father weakened by sickness. He sank into a chair, and, covering his face, wept aloud. Little Aggy and Ned uttered cries of joy.

"Is this our home? May we live here? O ma, isn't God good? Didn't he hear quick when we told him how poor we were?"

Mrs. Corwin soon bade them good-by, after her husband had said they would find some wood by their door in the morning; and indeed it was a relief to the poor people to be alone, and pour out their full hearts in praise to their kind Father in heaven, who had put it into the minds of these Christian friends to help them in their hour of need.

Of course as mamma was so busy with her protégés, she could not tell the story she had promised until the next day. Would you like to hear it?

Bessie sat in her low chair, rocking Miss Prim; and Jamie lay on the floor with his arm around Flossy's neck when mamma began:—

"There was once an old house with high trees growing close to the windows. In one of the trees there was a great hole where the wood had rotted away, and in this hole there lived a family of squirrels.

"There were Mr. and Mrs. Squirrel and five children. They had funny red and gray skins, and very bright eyes, and long, bushy tails. Mrs. Squirrel was a very careful mother, who tried to teach her little ones to be kind and obedient. Mr. Squirrel was rather lazy. He liked to race up to the top of the highest trees, and look around at the landscape. When it was time for dinner, he liked to go into his parlor and find some nuts all ready for him to crack with his sharp teeth.

"Early one morning Mrs. Squirrel woke up, and said to herself, 'I'll go down to the lawn, and see what I can find for breakfast.'

"There were a great many pods hanging loosely on the branches, and often the wind blew them to the ground. There were a good many this morning; and the pretty creature worked away very busily, taking one at a time in her mouth till she had carried quite a pile of them into her closet, and covered them over with leaves. She thought her little ones were all asleep; but she was mistaken. Bob the oldest was peeping out of one corner of his eye, and he saw where she put the bean-pods.

"At last he grew so hungry, he thought he would steal one. So while his mother was on the lawn, looking for more, he pulled off the leaves, caught a long pod in his mouth, and scampered away to the top of the tree.

"But he was not quite quick enough. Mrs. Squirrel saw him, and just dropping her pod in the hole, she darted up the tree to give Bob a good whipping.

"'Catch me if you can,' Bob chirped out.

"'Never fear,' said his mother, 'I shall catch you very soon, I'm older than you; and I have raced over these trees long before you were born.'

"It took some time though before she could catch the nimble little fellow, who ran and jumped from one bough to another.

"But at last he was very tired and had to stop. He had the pod in his mouth; and he couldn't eat it while he was running, so he concluded to cry 'beat.'

"Mrs. Squirrel was very angry and took away his breakfast. 'You're a naughty, thieving Bob,' she said, 'and you shall have nothing till dinner-time.'

"Bob was very sorry and lonesome. He went slowly down the tree and sat on a bough which was near the window of the old house. The shutter was wide open, and what do you think he saw?"

"He saw Jamie," cried the little boy.

"Yes," said mamma, "he did, and Bessie too. She was sitting in her rocking-chair with a sick doll in her lap; and the doctor was giving medicine out of a bottle."

"Me, me, mamma!" shouted Jamie.

"Well, Bob looked and looked. He saw a large doll called Miss Prim on another chair and a pretty spaniel with white silky hair on the floor. He saw the bed with its snow-white counterpane, and the marble-topped bureau, and the low table where the children ate their luncheon. I suppose he said to himself, 'How very pleasant it does look in there!'

"He had nothing else to do, for his mother had forbidden him to come home till dinner, and so he went a little nearer and curled his red tail over his head to keep the sun off, and there he sat.

"The children were so busy, they didn't see Bob; and he could watch them nicely.

"'I wonder whether they quarrel?' he said to himself.

"By and by Jamie was tired of giving medicine, and he said to his sister, 'Play school now.'

"'No, I like this play best,' she answered."

"I WONDER WHETHER THEY QUARREL."

"'Now,' said Bob, 'they'll get to fighting as I and my sisters do.'

"But no, when Jamie said, in a coaxing tone, 'Please, Bessie, play school,' she jumped up and answered, 'So we will.'

"Then they set all the dollies in chairs, and made Flossy curl herself on a cushion with the spelling-book close to her nose, and then Bessie rang the bell for school to begin.

"Bob looked very sober all this time, and began to whisk his tail a good deal. 'That's queer,' he said. 'I thought by this time they would have got to blows. How happy they look! I wonder what it means?'

"By and by he thought it must be dinner-time, and he went home and told his mother what he had seen.

"'My dear Bob!' she said. 'I am very glad you have seen the children. I have watched them many a time. They are always bright and happy; and this is how it is. I have found out their rule. It is only by one giving up a little, and the other giving up a little. If you, my dear Bob, will act so with your brother and sisters, we shall be the happiest family of squirrels in America.'"

"Did he do it, mamma?" asked Bessie, her face all smiles.

"I hope he did," said mamma. "Now can you tell me whose eye beside Bob's has been watching you while you play?"

"God's eye, mamma. Was he pleased with us too?"

"Yes, dear, when you are loving and kind, he is always pleased."

CHAPTER VII.

THE VISITORS.

ONE day Mrs. Corwin had a letter from a lady who had just come home from a long sea-voyage with her husband. Her name was McIntire. She used to go to the same school with Mrs. Corwin, and for one term they roomed together. Now She was married to a sea-captain, and with her little boy, Lewis, had been with him to China.

Mrs. McIntire wrote that her husband's ship was to be repaired in the city near Corwin's Nest; and if quite agreeable to her old roommate, she would like to spend a week or two in reviving their former acquaintance.

Mrs. Corwin was quite delighted to receive news from her old friend. She read part of the letter to nurse, who agreed nothing could be more prettily expressed.

"I have heard," she wrote, "of Corwin's Nest, and have a great desire to go and see the birdlings in it."

By the very next mail, the lady sent an answer, saying, "We shall all be delighted to see you with your husband and son."

Bessie was very full of questions about the visitors.

"How old is Lewis, mamma? Is he a good boy? Can he play school? Do you think he has ever seen such a pretty baby as ours?"

To all of which the lady could only answer with a smile:

"He will be here next week. You must wait and see."

At last, the day came when the guests were expected. Mr. Corwin had driven to town in the large carryall, so as to bring them back with him.

Bessie, dressed in white, with a wide blue sash, stood flattening her nose against the nursery window, waiting for them to come in sight; while mamma, with little Jamie on her knee, was trying to twist his short curls around her fingers.

In her haste to have her baby boy ready to be introduced to the visitors, she did not notice that he had a spool of wine-colored silk, which he was trying to crowd into his mouth.

"They've come, mamma! They've come!" shouted Bessie, dancing up and down in the chair.

"Yes, ma'am," echoed nurse, "they've come."

"Oh, see what Jamie has done!" exclaimed the lady in haste. "Wipe off that stain from the silk, nurse, and bring him down."

Then she took Bessie's hand and ran down to the door to receive her old friend.

The words Alice and Adeline were all that could be heard at first, and then Mrs. Corwin was introduced by her husband to Captain McIntire, a stout man, weighing over two hundred.

Lewis, a boy of seven years, would not get out of the carriage, but insisted on going to the stable with the hostler.

"Take care, John," said his master, sharply; "don't let that boy touch the whip. He has made the mare almost frantic now."

But it was too late. Lewis, left alone in the carriage, had already caught the whip, and was giving a cut across the animal's ears. John had only one foot on the step, and the mare, giving a violent spring, threw him backward to the ground, the reins twisted around his ankle.

Mr. Corwin screamed, "Whoa! whoa!" But the creature had been constantly irritated by the boy; and she plunged on toward the stable, dragging poor John by the reins.

Just at this moment, and when they all feared both he and the naughty boy would be killed, one of the men from the farm rushed from the field, cleared the fence at one bound, and, at the risk of his own life, caught the frightened mare by the bit.

Lewis looked a little pale when Mr. Corwin lifted him to the ground; but this did not prevent his saying:

"I never saw such an ugly horse. I only just snapped the whip; and he was off like sixty."

It was wonderful that John had not been injured. One of his hands was badly scraped on the gravel, and his neck felt stiff; but he insisted that no harm was done.

"Lock the barn, and keep it locked all the time Lewis is here," said his master, sternly. "I wont run the risk of his killing himself, if he doesn't kill the horses."

Lewis walked on muttering to himself in a sulky voice, "I wont stay here. I'll go right off."

Mrs. McIntire had not been in the house an hour before her old friend found she had not improved in the years that had passed. She was in terrible distress when she saw the danger her son was in, and, without paying attention to any one, shrieked out:

"Oh, why did I come here! Lewis will be killed; I know he will! I was sure all day something was going to happen."

Captain McIntire started to go after the carriage; but being too stout to run, he only reached it just as Mr. Corwin had taken Lewis out.

His mother hugged him, and cried over him, exclaiming, "You're half killed; I know you are. O Lewis! I'm so sorry we ever left the ship."

"I don't think he is hurt," suggested Mrs. Corwin. "Come, Bessie, ask the little boy how he is."

Bessie held out her tiny hand, glancing up from under her long lashes; but Lewis paid no attention to her, except by a long stare.

He pulled his mother's dress roughly, while he said, "I don't like this place; I don't like cross people."

"Was Mr. Corwin cross to you?" she asked, winking at the lady. "Well I wouldn't mind it; go and ask cook to give you a cake. I'm afraid you'll think he's a spoiled child," she added, when Lewis had gone. "I've lost three; and I can't bear to deny him anything."

"Will you go up to your room?" asked Mrs. Corwin, trying to smile, though her heart felt very sad.

"No; I'll take off my bonnet here. Your servant can carry it away. I suppose you'll be having supper soon."

"I'll order it directly if you are hungry," said Bessie's mamma.

As she went toward the kitchen, she heard a loud, angry scream, and hurrying on, was horrified at the scene before her.

Cook had been baking waffles for tea, and had a large pile buttered and sugared ready to be carried to the table. She went to the pantry to get a cake for Lewis, when he snatched the cover from the dish, and turned the whole pile of muffins upon the floor.

Cook confessed to being angry. She took the rude boy by the shoulders, when he turned and struck her in the face.

"Oh, what a wicked boy!" exclaimed Bessie. "God wont love him a bit if he acts so."

Even Mrs. McIntire felt mortified at her son's behavior when she saw the nicely browned waffles spilled over the floor, the melted butter and sugar slowly spreading into a grease-spot, while both cook and Nancy stood crimson with anger.

"Did you do that, Lewis?" she said, advancing into the kitchen.

"No, I didn't; I didn't touch her old cakes."

"Cut some bread and bring on the table directly," said Mrs. Corwin, gravely. "I am sorry, cook, that you have lost all your labor."

Never in the four years that cook had lived with her, had her mistress seen her so angry. Her face was crimson; and on one ear the marks of the child's blow were plainly to be seen.

"Come, Bessie," said mamma, "we will go up, and see baby a minute."

Once in the nursery she sat down, longing to give vent to her disappointment in a good cry; but this would not do.

"Nurse," she said, "the children must have their supper up here. I cannot allow Bessie to see such naughty conduct. Keep the nursery door locked; and I will tell Nancy to bring up the tray."

CHAPTER VIII.

THE VISIT.

AT the tea-table Lewis acted so very badly that his mother spoke angrily to him.

"Stop that, sir!" she exclaimed, when he stood in his chair to reach a dish of sweetmeats on the other side of the table, and upset a pitcher of cream into her lap. "Stop that; or I'll send for a sheriff and have you locked in jail."

"No, you wont either, you, ugly old woman," he retorted, lifting his hand to strike her in the face.

Mr. Corwin caught the hand, his own face being very stern.

Captain McIntire leaned back in his chair and laughed to hide his mortification.

"It's no use to try and hide it, Ady. You've spoiled that boy. He's only fit company for sailors. Come now, Lewis, are you not ashamed of yourself?"

Lewis had his mouth crammed with sweetmeats and did not answer.

Mrs. McIntire, having ordered Nancy to bring her a sponge and napkins, and having shaken as much of the rich cream as possible upon the handsome carpet, now turned again to her supper.

"What would you do with such a boy, Alice?" she asked. "I dare say you think you could manage him."

The lady looked so distressed, her husband answered for her. "If I could not make him obey me, I should send him to some one who could govern him, for if he goes on in this way, he will certainly be ruined."

"Nonsense, Mr. Corwin, he is only a child. You make too much of his spilling a few spoonfuls of cream."

From the supper-table they went into the parlor for prayers.

"Shall I bring Bessie down?" whispered mamma to her husband.

"No, certainly not."

Lewis ran instantly to the centre table where Mrs. Corwin had laid out all the pretty keepsakes given her on her marriage. She was very choice of them, and had never allowed even Bessie to touch them. One decided "No! No!" from her lips had taught her little girl to let them alone.

But now Lewis caught up one and then another, while Mr. Corwin was getting the Bible, his mother taking not the slightest notice of his conduct.

"Come here, Lewis," said Mr. Corwin. "I am going to read God's word."

"I wont."

His mother laughed behind her fan.

"You must be quiet while I read and pray."

The gentleman's look and tone awed the boy; and, walking awkwardly across the floor, he sank down into a chair, putting his fingers into his mouth.

"Do you sing, Ady, as much as you used to?" asked Mrs. Corwin when a chapter had been read.

"No, I don't sing at all now."

"We always sing at prayers," she added, seating herself at the piano.

Mr. Corwin read the beautiful hymn:

"There is a fountain, filled with blood;"

then passed the visitors books, which they declined, and joined with his wife in singing the verses of the hymn.

After this, they knelt for prayers, the visitors remaining in their seats.

Just before the prayer ended Mrs. Corwin heard a sharp sound, but did not turn her head until they arose.

Then she saw that an elegant little ornament lay on the floor broken in pieces.

Sick at heart, she turned from the room and went to the nursery.

Bessie ran to meet her, exclaiming:

"Please let me go downstairs. I'll be real good, mamma."

"You are good, my darling," cried mamma, pressing the astonished child again and again in her arms. "O nurse, how thankful I am that my children do not act so dreadfully! How thankful that I began in time to correct their faults! I never realized before what blessings I have—what a very, 'very' happy mother I am."

The tears which had been kept back now burst forth, and to Bessie's great sorrow, flowed down her mamma's cheeks.

There was a low knock at the door at this minute, and the lady said, in an excited tone:

"Don't unlock it, nurse, I can't see anybody!"

"Alice," said papa's voice.

The bolt flew back at once. "Where is Lewis?" asked the lady. "I'm afraid he'll break everything to pieces."

"Out doors, with his father and mother; and here is the key of the parlor door." He dropped it back in his pocket again with a faint smile.

"I'm afraid we made a mistake, Alice, in asking strangers to spend two or three weeks with us."

"It was all my fault," Mrs. Corwin exclaimed. "Oh, I am sorry, so sorry! How can Adeline allow her child to act so?"

The gentleman took little Junior on one knee and then held out his arm to Bessie. She ran and jumped on the other, laying her golden curls against Jamie's head on papa's breast.

"Precious treasures," he said. "You have little idea how much you owe God for giving you such a mother. A loving, Christian mother is above price." Then he took his wife's hand and said, cheerfully:—

"Come, my dear, we will make the best of it. Your old friend's visit has opened my eyes to the fact that the owner of Corwin's Nest is the happiest man in the world; that he has the very best mate and the prettiest birdlings to be found anywhere."

Smiles broke out all over the lady's face, but presently a kick at the parlor door reminded her of their unruly visitor, and she asked, anxiously:—

"What shall we do? I can endure the spoiling of everything in the house; but I cannot allow that boy to be with our children."

"Couldn't I take Bessie and the baby to mother's to-morrow for the day?" asked nurse. "They'll be safe there."

"Yes, that will do, for one day," said papa. "I don't think that our guests will stay long."

"Please go down and excuse me," urged mamma. "I have some alteration to make in the chambers."