Jessie's Parrot

III.

JESSIE AND HER GRANDFATHER.

WHERE was Bessie?

When Lily and Belle turned to run from the figure which Hattie pointed out as that of the man who attacked her, she started with them, quite as much alarmed as the other two; and, if they thought about it at all, they imagined she was close behind them. But she had gone only a few steps when she heard a voice, a weak voice, calling after herself and her companions, and saying,—

"Don't be afraid, little girls; don't run away, little ladies. Couldn't ye stop a minute to help an old man?"

Something in the tones touched the tender little heart of Bessie; and she checked her steps, ready to start again, however, on the shortest notice, and looked back at the old man.

A very old man he seemed, and a very feeble old man, scarcely able, if he had the will, to run after active little girls, or to do them any harm. His hair was very white, and his face pinched and thin; but he looked kind and gentle, as Bessie saw, even from the distance at which she stood; and her fears died away as she looked at him.

The old man sat upon a bank; and Bessie stood hesitating and watching him, trying to make up her mind to go and ask if he was in trouble. She saw that he had dropped his stick, which had rolled away, and lay on the ground just beyond his reach.

"Would you do an old man a kindness, and give him his stick, little Miss?" he called to her, pointing at the same time to the cane. "Why did ye all run that way? I wouldn't hurt a hair of your heads, more than I would of my own Jessie's."

This reference to the "hair on their heads" was rather unfortunate, for it startled Bessie again, and brought back the cause for alarm. Was the old man really in trouble, and unable to reach his stick? she thought, or was this only a trap to catch her, and deprive her of her curls?

So she stood still, hesitating; and the old man, as if in despair of receiving any help from her, tried to raise himself a little, and stretched out his trembling hand towards the stick. But it was useless; it lay too far; he could not rise without its aid, and he sank back again, looking more helpless and feeble than before. This was too much for Bessie. She could not bear to see suffering and not try to relieve it; and it seemed to her that it would be cruel and wicked not to lend a helping hand to this poor old creature.

"Please, dear Father in heaven, not to let him hurt me," she whispered softly to herself; and then walked slowly towards the old man, her little heart beating painfully, it must be confessed, in spite of her petition, and the trust that it would be heard.

Keeping at as great a distance as it would allow, she stooped for the stick, and held it out at arm's length to the owner.

"Now may He that blesses the cup of cold water given in His name reward you," said the old man, as he took it from the timid little hand; "but why are you frightened at me, dear, and why did the other little ones run as if they were scared half out of their lives? When you passed all in the big stage, laughing and so gay, it put a warmth into my heart that hasn't been there for many a day, and I b'lieve it was your own loving, little face that smiled back at me as I waved my hat to you for a blessing on your joy. Why, I wouldn't hurt a living thing; least of all, little girls that always mind me of my Jessie. Though it's different enough that you are from her, my poor lamb," he added in a lower tone, which Bessie could not have heard had she not now drawn nearer to him.

For with the first words of the old man's speech, all fear had vanished from her mind. He had called down a blessing on her in a name which she knew and loved, and she could not be afraid of him longer. Besides, now that she looked at him more closely and with unprejudiced eyes, she recognized him, and remembered how, as he said, when the stage had passed him with its merry load, he had taken off his hat and feebly cheered and waved to them as they went by.

"Don't you try to cut off little girls' hair?" she could not help asking, in spite of her new confidence.

"I?" answered the old man surprised; "and why would I do that? Ah! I see. Did you take me for that fellow? My little lady, they have him fast in jail, as he deserves; but how did you ever think I would do a thing like that?"

"A little girl said you tried to cut hers," answered the child.

"Then that little girl slandered an old man who had never harmed her," he said gravely. "I understand; she's frightened you for her own fun, or whatever it may be. Well, I'm up now,"—he had slowly and painfully raised himself by the help of his cane,—"and I'd better be moving away, or the sight of me after that may spoil your pleasure. It was hard in her to turn you against one who would never have harmed you; but you're a sensible little lady, and a kind, and you'll never be the worse for doing a good turn to an old man."

"Don't go away," said Bessie, "the other children won't be afraid of you when I tell them Hattie—was—was—mistaken." Bessie feared that Hattie's tale was more than a mistake, but she would not accuse her until she was sure. "They won't want you to go away, poor, lame man."

"Jessie stays so long," he answered, looking about him helplessly. "She sat me here to rest a while, and I think she can't know how long she's been gone."

Before Bessie could speak again, around the hedge came Maggie, who stopped short in amazement at seeing her sister standing talking sociably to the dreaded old man. And with her curls all safe!

Maggie could hardly believe her own eyes. She went forward more slowly, till Bessie called to her,—

"O Maggie, dear! this old man wouldn't hurt us, or cut our hair for any thing. He likes little girls, and it made him feel badly because we ran away from him, and he is going away now 'cause he thinks we don't like him. Come and tell him not to."

Timid Maggie, feeling very doubtful, but determined to share her sister's risk, whatever that might be—she had almost forgotten that Hattie had confessed she only wanted to trick them all—drew still nearer, and taking Bessie's hand, gazed up at the old man with eyes in which pity and sympathy began to struggle with her former fear. He looked so poor and feeble and helpless, so little like doing harm to any one.

And now came Dora and Gracie, who had followed Maggie in search of Bessie; and as the little group gathered about the old man, Bessie said,—

"Where is your Jessie? Can we call her to you?"

"I can't tell, little Miss," he answered. "I've been sitting here more than an hour, I take it. Jessie was so eager about her parrot that she has maybe forgotten how long she's been away. Ah! there she comes now."

As he spoke, a child came running towards them, but seeing the group about her grandfather, paused in amazement at a short distance.

It was the very same little girl to whom they had thrown sugar-plums but an hour since, and who had looked so disappointed. The children recognized her immediately.

"Why! that's the little girl who was not pleased with our sugar-plums," said Bessie. "Is that your Jessie?"

The old man beckoned to her, and she came forward.

"This is my Jessie, Miss," he answered, "and a good girl she is too. I don't know what her old grandfather would do without her. She's given up the dearest thing she had for me, bless her!"

Jessie was now standing beside her grandfather, blushing and hanging her head at the notice thus drawn upon her.

"What was that?" asked Dora.

"Her parrot, Miss. A splendid parrot that her father, who's now dead and gone, brought her from beyond the seas. You'd think he was a human creature 'most, to hear him talk, and she loved him next to her old grandfather; but she parted with him for my sake."

"Didn't you like him?" asked Bessie.

"Yes, indeed, Miss. I was 'most as fond of the bird as she was herself; but it wasn't to be helped. You see I was sick so long, and the doctor bid me take a medicine that cost a deal of money, to drive the pain out of my bones; and how were we to get it when we'd not enough to buy bread from day to day, or to pay the rent that was due? So she sold her bird, for I can't do a hand's turn of work just yet."

"That was good of her," said Gracie; "did she get all the money she wanted for him?"

"More than we expected, Miss, for the man that keeps the house here," pointing to the Casino, "gave her ten dollars for him. And he lets her see him every day, and says when the summer is over she may have him back for eight dollars if she can raise it. For Poll draws people to the refreshment place, you see, with his funny ways, and his wonderful talk, and the keeper thinks he'll get two dollars worth out of him before the summer is over. But, Jessie 'll never raise all that money, though I have put by my pride, and let her ask charity here of the folks in the Park."

"And I don't feel that I ought to take it for that, either," said Jessie, as soon as the talkative old man paused for breath, and let her have a chance to speak, "'cause grandfather needs so many things, and the rent will be falling due before long again, so I must save up for straws and ribbon."

"For what?" asked Bessie, while at the same moment Dora said,—

"Why don't you find some work and earn money that way?"

"For straws and ribbon, Miss," said Jessie, answering Bessie's question first; then turning to Dora, she added,—

"I would work, Miss, and I do, when I have the things. I make little baskets and catchalls, and allumette holders of ribbon and straw and beads, and I sell them wherever I can; but the stock was all gone long ago, and I've no more to begin on."

"But," said Dora, "if people give you money, why don't you take that to buy your materials?"

Jessie shook her head sadly.

"It has taken every cent that's been given to me to buy just bread enough for me and grandfather to eat, Miss," she said; "there was nothing to spare for any thing else, and any way it is an uncertain thing, the selling of the baskets, till the weather is pleasant and warm, and people like to stop. Now, you see, is the time for me to be making them ready; but there's no use in thinking about it, and as for Poll,"—

Jessie's sigh and filling eyes told of the despair with which she thought of the recovery of her pet.

"I have some money in my charity-box at home," said Maggie eagerly; "I'll give you some to buy straws and ribbon. I have no money with me, but Miss Ashton will lend me some for such a good purpose, I know, and I'll pay her as soon as we go home. I'll run and ask her."

But there was no need, for there was Miss Ashton come in search of her stray lambs, and in two minutes she had heard the story.

Heard it, but scarcely understood it, for that was difficult with one and another putting in a word, patching it out in various bits; to say nothing of the circumstance that our little girls themselves scarcely understood what they were talking about.

Jessie and her grandfather—who had nothing to say now that the lady had come, and who stood close to one another, the old man holding his hat in his hand and leaning on his stick—were somewhat confused themselves by the chatter and flutter of the eager little talkers; and when Miss Ashton turned to the latter and began to inquire into his story, his usual flow of words seemed to have failed him.

Miss Ashton spoke to Jessie.

"Grandfather was just telling the little ladies about my Polly, ma'am," she said modestly. "If they'd like to see him he's in the house there. And if you'd like to have him show off he'll talk better for me than for any one else, and I'll go and coax him."

"Oh! can we go and see him?" said Bessie; and Jessie once more saying, yes, and that she would go with them, the little girls ran off, while Miss Ashton remained to hear the old man's story.

It was a sad, but by no means an uncommon one. Jessie's mother had died when she was a baby. Her father, who was mate on a sailing-vessel, had been drowned at sea about two years ago. Until his death, his wages, together with what the old man made at stone-cutting, had supported them all in comfort. And even after that, the grandfather and the child had continued to keep along on what the former earned. Jessie, who was twelve years old, had been to school pretty steadily till a year ago, could "read and write and do up sums," and had also learned to sew.

But about that time the grandfather had taken a heavy cold, from being thoroughly wet with rain while at his work; and, neglecting to change his clothes, it had settled in all his joints, and a long and painful rheumatic illness followed. All the last summer he had lain bound hand and foot, the pretty trifles which Jessie had learned to make the sole support of the two. But with the winter the sale of her little wares had fallen off, poverty and suffering had increased upon them, and they had gone from bad to worse, till, as he had told the little girls, Jessie had been forced to sell her beloved parrot to keep a roof above their heads, and to buy the medicine so much needed for her grandfather. They had some help from the church at which they attended, but that was little. And now that it was warmer weather, and Jessie could begin to sell her wares, she had no money to buy materials, and he had consented that she should ask charity of passers-by, and so gain a few shillings to begin her trade.

They lived over there in a sad, tumble-down place, the old man said, "and he never thought to bring his Jessie to that; but the Lord had His own ways, and when He saw fit, He could take them out of this trouble."

The story was told with a straightforward simplicity, and a natural pathos which went far to convince Miss Ashton that it must be true; but she took down the name and address of the clergyman of whom the old man spoke. This gentleman lived in one of the streets bordering on the Park, and Miss Ashton resolved to see him and hear his report before she left for home. If these poor people were really in such need, and deserving of help, she could not let them suffer longer than was necessary.

She told old Malcolm—for that he said was his name—that he did not do well to rest upon the bank. The ground, she said, was not yet warm enough for his aching bones.

But he answered that it was far better than the damp, cold shanty where he and Jessie had lived for the last two months, for here on a bright day he had the sunshine, and the fresh, clear air, and little of either of these ever found their way into the miserable cabin.

Malcolm's language and manner, as well as those of his grand-daughter, showed that he had indeed been used to "better days;" and he seemed so patient and uncomplaining that Miss Ashton felt much interested in him, and anxious to do something for his relief.

She bade him come farther on, and find a seat upon a pleasant, sunny bench, where she would furnish him and Jessie with some food; but when she said this, he told her some of the little ones of her party were afraid of him, and he did not wish to trouble them.

He looked troubled himself when he said this; and Miss Ashton had to tell him that one of her young scholars had been so foolish and wrong as to tell a falsehood—she could call it nothing less—to frighten the others; but that they all knew the truth now, and would be afraid of him no longer.

IV.

THE PARROT.

MEANWHILE the children were amusing themselves with the parrot. The whole flock had followed Jessie to make his acquaintance, Maggie having called the others to join them; and even the still sobbing Belle forgot her troubles in this new object of interest.

The bird proved to be in a most amiable and sociable humor; and, to the great delight of his former little mistress, exhibited himself in a most gratifying manner.

His cage was placed before a little stand just outside of a window opening upon the verandah; and when the children first saw him he was swinging head downwards from one of the bars, hanging by one claw, and appearing to take no notice of any thing until Jessie called to him.

Then he put out the other claw, and swung himself upright; immediately commencing a kind of dance upon his perch, as if in an ecstacy, and calling out,—

"Jessie! Jessie! pretty Jessie, good Jessie."

"Good Polly," said Jessie, while the children gathered around in great delight. "How are you, Polly?"

"Polly pretty well; Polly all right," answered the bird.

The little girls were astonished, as indeed were the ladies who had accompanied them. Not one among the group but had often seen parrots who would repeat certain set phrases, but this bird actually answered questions, and as if he understood them too.

"What does Polly want?" asked Jessie, delighted at the sensation her pet was producing.

"Polly want a bit of sugar," answered the bird.

Jessie put her hand into her pocket, and produced one of the sugar-plums the children had thrown to her, and held it up before the parrot's greedy eyes.

"Dance a jig then, and sing a song, Polly," she said.

Polly forthwith commenced a kind of seesaw on his perch, swaying his body back and forth, balancing himself first on one foot, then on the other, in a measured sort of way which he probably supposed to be dancing. At any rate, his audience were contented to accept it as such, and he met with continued applause, until suddenly bringing his gyrations to a close he screamed in a loud, discordant voice,—

"Sugar!"

"Sing then," said Jessie.

In a sharp, cracked, but very distinct voice, and with some resemblance to a tune, the parrot began,—

Here he came to an abrupt close, eying the sugar-plum wistfully.

"Sing it," said Jessie; and he began again.

screamed the creature, amid peals of laughter from the children, who now begged that he might have the coveted reward, which Jessie accordingly gave him.

"He knows it all," she said; "but I can hardly ever make him sing it through."

Poll took the sugar-plum gingerly in one claw, and sat nibbling at it till it was all gone, while the children crowded around him, admiring his gay, bright-colored feathers, and expressing their wonder at his accomplishments and sense.

"Now you must show off some more," said Jessie, when the bird had disposed of his feast. "Polly, where is the naughty child?"

To the intense delight of the children, Poll began to scream and cry exactly like a passionate child, after which he laughed and chuckled with satisfaction at his own performances, then crowed like a rooster, baa-ed like a nanny-goat, barked like a dog, and mewed like a cat. After all this he took up intelligent conversation again.

"Polly's a pr-r-r-etty bird; Polly's a good bird; Polly's a wise bird," he screamed, in all of which his little hearers entirely agreed.

"Who do you love, Polly?" asked Jessie.

"Polly love Jessie; Jessie a good girl," was the answer.

"Where's your master, Polly?"

"Bob Malcolm gone to sea. Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye," screamed the parrot.

"Sing a song of"—began Jessie, and the parrot took up the strain.

Here he came to a stop, nor could he be coaxed to finish the couplet, though Jessie assured the audience that he could, if he chose, sing the first four lines of the old song all through.

However, he condescended to repeat some of his former performances. But it would take too long to tell all the feats of this remarkable bird; and you must not think that these I have related are quite impossible, for I have seen a parrot who could do all that is here described, and more too. The children were so interested and amused that they could scarcely be persuaded to leave him when Patrick announced that their lunch was ready; and Jessie, who was bidden by Miss Ashton to join her grandfather and share the meal provided for him, was begged to keep within call, so that they might return to the entertainment when they had finished their lunch.

While this was going on, Miss Ashton told the story she had heard from old Malcolm, and said that she was so much interested in him and his grandchild, that she would go after lunch and see the clergyman, while the little girls amused themselves for a while under the care of the other ladies. She carried out this purpose, and went on her kind errand, followed by many a hope that she would find the story all correct.

But when the children went back to the parrot they were disappointed, for he proved cross or tired or in a less sociable mood than he had been before, and he very rudely turned his back upon them, and would utter no words save,—

"Hold your tongue! Hold your tongue!" every time any one spoke to him. So, finding this neither polite nor amusing, the company left him and scattered themselves in search of other entertainment.

"How sober you look, Maggie; what are you thinking about?" asked Hattie Leroy, coming up to where Maggie Bradford stood leaning upon a stone railing.

Maggie looked thoughtful, it may be, but hardly sober, for her thoughts seemed pleasant ones, to judge by the light in her eye, and the half smile upon her lip.

"I have an idea," said Maggie, "and I think it's a nice one, at least if we are allowed to do it."

"What is it?" asked Hattie.

"Well," said Maggie, "I don't care to have it talked about very much till we know if we can do it; but I was thinking it would be so nice if we could have a little fair, just ourselves, you know, the school-children and Bessie and me. I know some children who had a fair in their own house, and they made money enough to pay for a bed in St. Luke's Hospital for a poor, lame child; and I thought perhaps we could make enough to buy back Jessie's parrot for her; and to make a more comfortable home for them. We could make things for the fair, and ask our friends to help us. Mamma would make some for us, I know, and so will Aunt Annie, and, I think, Aunt Bessie and Aunt May."

"Where could we have it?" asked Hattie, who seemed much interested.

"In one of our own houses," said Maggie, "or,—that was another thought I had,—perhaps Miss Ashton would be so very good as to let us have it at her house. The piazza would be lovely for it; and she generally lets us have some party-ish kind of a thing when school breaks up. Last year we had a giving of prizes; and at Christmas we had a Christmas festival, and a queen both times."

"Yes," said Hattie, "and Gracie said it was shameful that you were queen both times. She thinks it was very selfish in you."

Maggie colored violently.

"The queen was chosen," she said, "and the girls chose me. I did not make myself queen."

"Well, Gracie did not like it one bit," said Hattie, "and she thinks you had no right to be queen when you did not go to the school the last time."

Maggie was silent, but the gladness was gone from her face.

"Wouldn't it be too cold to have the fair on the piazza?" asked Hattie.

"Not by the time we are ready," said Maggie. "You know it will take a good while to make enough things, and Miss Ashton does not close the school till the first of June. I heard her tell mamma so the other day. And by that time it will be quite warm and pleasant, and there will be plenty of flowers. I was thinking we could dress the piazza with wreaths and festoons and flags; and we could make some kind of a throne and canopy at one end. And there we could have the flower-table and the queen behind it, with some maids of honor to sell flowers."

If Maggie imagined that Hattie would express any admiration or approval of her plan, she was mistaken. Hattie seemed interested, and asked a great many questions, as to how Maggie would arrange such and such matters, but she did not act as if she thought the "idea" very fine after all, and this was rather different from the way in which Maggie was accustomed to have her plans received. But she did not care for that; she was not a vain child, constantly seeking for admiration, and she was too full of her subject to pay much heed to Hattie's cool way of hearing this one.

"I'm not going to say much about it till I see if mamma approves," she said. "Then I'll ask Miss Ashton and tell all the children about it. There are Bessie and Lily beckoning to me; let us go and see what they want."

And away she ran, intending to tell her sister and Belle and Lily of her plan on the first convenient opportunity; but not willing, as she had said, to make it public till she learned if it could be carried out. She did not yet feel as if she knew Hattie very well, and she was rather astonished at herself for having talked so freely to her; but the truth was, that Hattie had come upon her rather unawares, and asked her what she was thinking of, at the moment when she was turning her "idea" over in her mind, and she had told her almost without reflection. Still she did not exactly regret having done so, and, after what she had said, never supposed that Hattie would mention what she had told her.

Upright, honorable Maggie judged others by herself, and was entirely unsuspicious of evil.

It would take too much space in this little book, and you would not care to have a particular description of all the various points of interest visited by our party throughout the day,—the Arsenal with its collection of wild beasts and monkeys; the great reservoir with its blue water, looking like a lake within walls, as indeed it is; the lovely Ramble through which they wandered for a long time, and many another pleasant spot. They are all familiar to many of you, and those to whom they are not, may make acquaintance with them some day.

You may be sure that Miss Ashton did not leave old Malcolm and his grand-daughter without some remembrance of this day, for she was not only very sorry for them and felt that they were really in need of assistance, but she also knew that Jessie and her wonderful bird had added much to the entertainment of her little flock. She gave Jessie money enough to furnish herself with materials to begin her little trade again, and, leaving her address with her, bade her bring some of her pretty toys to her house when they should be made.

They were all in the omnibus once more, and had started on their homeward way, all rather tired and quiet with the day's ramble, when what was Maggie's astonishment to hear Hattie say,—

"Miss Ashton, Maggie and I have such a very nice plan. We thought we might have a fair, just us children, and ask our friends to help us; and then we could sell the things we made, or that were given to us, and so earn a good deal of money to help Jessie and her grandfather, and to buy back the parrot for her. And we might have it when the weather is warm and pleasant, just before school closes, so that we could have it out of doors; and perhaps, Miss Ashton, you would not mind letting us hold it on your piazza and in the garden. And Jessie might make some of her pretty baskets and things for it, and we could sell them for her. We thought we could raise a good deal of money that way, for almost all our friends would be glad to come."

It would be hard to tell whether indignation or surprise was uppermost in Maggie's mind, as she sat utterly speechless and confounded, while Hattie ran on thus, disclosing in this public manner the plans which she had said were to be kept secret until her own mamma and Miss Ashton had heard and approved of them.

Yes, here was Hattie not only doing this, but speaking as if she had been the inventor of the cherished "idea," and as if Maggie had only fallen in with it, perhaps helped it out a little.

Maggie was too shy to speak out as many children would have done, and to say,—

"That was my plan, Miss Ashton. I was the first one to think of that;" and she sat with her color changing, and her eyes fixed wonderingly and reproachfully on Hattie as she spoke, feeling somehow as if she had been wronged, and yet not exactly seeing the way to right herself.

"Oh! that would be delightful," said Gracie. "Miss Ashton, do you think you could let us do it?"

"Well, I might," said Miss Ashton. "That is not a bad idea, Hattie. I will talk to my mother about it and see what she thinks, and you may all tell your friends at home, and learn if they approve."

"If we could have the fair on your piazza," continued Hattie eagerly, "we could dress it up very prettily with wreaths and flowers, and we could make a kind of a bower at one end, and choose one of the girls for a queen, and let it be her throne-room, and there we could have the flower-table. Some of the children told me you always let them have a festival before vacation, Miss Ashton; and we might put it off till a little later, so that it would be warm and pleasant, and we should have plenty of flowers."

There was not one of the children who did not raise her voice in favor of the new plan except Nellie Ransom, who sat opposite to Maggie, and who watched her changing face, and looked from her to Hattie with inquiring and rather suspicious looks.

Lily clapped her hands, and almost sprang from her seat.

"I'll begin to work for the fair this very evening!" she said. "No more of your putting off for me. I'll bring down mamma's ribbon-box and worsted-box, if she'll let me, and ask her what I can have, and to-morrow I'll ask her to let me make something."

"And we'll ask mamma and Aunt Annie, won't we, Maggie?" said Bessie; "and Belle, we'll ask them for some things for you too."

Bessie received no answer from Maggie, who, feeling as if the whole matter had been taken out of her hands, poor child, and as if she had been robbed of her property, dared not speak, lest she should burst into tears.

"I have a whole lot of money saved up," said Lily, "and I'll take some of it to buy what I want to make pretty things, and keep the rest to spend at the fair."

"Haven't you to pay your missionary money to our box yet?" asked Bessie.

"Well, I haven't paid it yet," said Lily, "but I don't know if I will give a dollar this year. I've supported the heathen for two years now, and I think I'd like a little change of charity. Wouldn't you, Maggie?"

Maggie only nodded assent, scarce knowing what question she was replying to.

"Maggie," said Belle, "you don't seem very interested; why don't you talk about the fair and give us new ideas, as you 'most always do?"

"Does something provoke you or trouble you, Maggie, dear?" asked Bessie, looking into her sister's perplexed face.

"Hattie," said Nellie suddenly, fixing her eyes searchingly on the little girl she addressed, "what put that idea of the fair into your head?"

"Oh!" answered Hattie in some confusion, "I—that is, we, Maggie and I, just thought it would be nice, and so we talked about it a little, and made up our minds to ask Miss Ashton about it."

Quick-witted Lily caught Nellie's suspicion, and so did Bessie; and the former, who had worn an air of displeasure with Hattie ever since the affair of the morning, asked promptly,—

"Who was the first to make up that idea,—the fair and the queen in the flower bower, and dressing the piazza and all? Who was it, I say?"

"Well," answered Hattie reluctantly, "Maggie was the first to think about it, and we talked it over together and arranged it all."

"I knew it!" cried Lily triumphantly; "I just knew it was Maggie. It sounds just like her making up. Hattie," she added reproachfully, "you tried to make us think it was yours."

"I didn't," said Hattie. "I never said so."

"You didn't just say so," said Bessie solemnly, "but you tried to give that depression."

"I didn't," pouted Hattie again; "and we did talk about it together, didn't we, Maggie?"

Maggie only gave a faint smile by way of answer, for she felt that she could not honestly allow that Hattie had suggested one single idea; and still she was too generous to wish to blame her more than she could avoid.

And for the second time that day was Hattie made to feel that her want of strict truthfulness had lowered her in the eyes of her young companions.

"Umph!" said Lily severely; "appears to me, Miss Hattie"—

But she was not allowed to finish the intended reproach, for Miss Ashton, seeing symptoms of a quarrel, hastened to avert it, and gently bade Lily be quiet.

Lily obeyed; but her eye still rested sternly upon Hattie, and the latter was forced to bear more than one disapproving gaze during the remainder of the drive home.

"I am afraid," said Miss Ashton to her mother that evening, "that Hattie Leroy is by no means a truthful child;" and she told of the occurrences of the day, adding that it was not the first time she had noticed a want of openness and uprightness, little acted deceits, a keeping back of the whole truth, and even, now and then a deliberate falsehood; and more than all, a manner of repeating a thing which gave it a very different meaning from what the speaker intended, so often making mischief and discomfort.

"That is bad, very bad," said Mrs. Ashton; "it may affect the other children."

"I would rather hope that they may have a good influence on her," answered her daughter. "The standard of truth is so high in our school, thanks, I believe, to dear little Bessie Bradford, Maggie, Belle, and one or two others, that any departure from it is considered a very serious offence. Lily, with all her thoughtlessness and love of mischief, is strictly truthful; so are Dora and Nellie. Gracie is the only one for whom I fear, for, although I think she would be shocked at the idea of telling a deliberate untruth, her conceit and wish to be first are so great that they often lead her to exaggerate and give a false coloring to what she says of herself as compared with others."

V.

GRANDMAMMA HOWARD.

THE proposal for the fair met with a pretty general approval from the parents and friends of the little girls, and they received many promises of help.

"Aunt Annie" undertook to show Maggie, Bessie, and Belle how to make any pretty articles they might wish to undertake. Lily's mamma did the same for her, and none of the children were left entirely without assistance.

When Jessie came to Miss Ashton with her pretty little wares, she was told what was proposed, and bidden to have as large a supply as possible, so that they might be offered for sale with the other articles; and the lady and some of her friends kindly bought so many of those already on hand that Jessie was furnished with the means of procuring her materials at once.

The older class in Mrs. Ashton's room also entered with spirit into the affair, promising all the assistance that they could give, so that there was good prospect it would be a success. The time fixed was the first day of June, if the weather should be pleasant; if not, the first fair day after that.

One morning Gracie Howard came to school in a state of great excitement.

"My grandmamma," she said to the other children, "takes the greatest interest in our fair, and she is going to give us ever so many things for it. She told me to invite you all to come to her house this afternoon, and she has a whole lot of pieces of silk and ribbons, and worsteds and beads, and ever so many lovely things to divide among us. And what is better still, she says she would like each child to make some article expressly for her, and she will buy it."

"Oh, delightful!" "How kind! how nice!" "What a great help!" came from one and another of her little hearers.

"And," continued Gracie, warming with her subject, "she wants some particular things. Two toilet sets of lace and muslin, one lined and trimmed with blue, the other with pink; and two mats for flower vases, to be exactly alike. I am going to do one of the mats, and grandmamma says she thinks the other one and both the toilet sets had better be made by some of us older children, because she thinks the little ones can scarcely do them. And she will give ten dollars for the mat that is worked the most nicely and evenly, and nine for the other; eight for the best toilet set, and seven for the second; and she will give us all the materials. Just think of that! Why, whoever has the best mat will earn more than the price of Jessie's parrot! I wanted grandmamma to say that one might have the buying of the parrot for her own part; but she said that would not be just to the rest who had a share in the fair; and that she had no right to say so, either. I don't see why, and I think she might have let me."

"Why, you don't know that you will have the nicest mat," said Lily.

"See if I don't then," said Gracie. "I can work much better than any of you, I know."

"If I didn't live in such a very glass house myself, I'd say petticoat to you," said Lily, who had lately shown a fancy for the use of proverbs, after the manner of Maggie Bradford.

Gracie tossed her head, and put on the expression which children call, "turning up their noses."

She knew very well what Lily meant, how not long since she had boasted of herself, and been so very sure that she would outdo all others, and how she had miserably failed in the end.

But, in spite of this consciousness, she was not at all taken down by Lily's reminder, for she felt herself a person of more than usual consideration and importance that morning; not without more than ordinary reason, was thought by most of her companions, for it was really a fine thing to have such a munificent grandmamma, who was ready to do so much for the grand object at present in the minds of each and every one.

It was true also, and well known in the school that Gracie did worsted work remarkably well and evenly for a little girl, and that there was more reason than common for her belief that she should outshine all the others. Still her constant boasting was never agreeable, and Lily always would set herself to combat it with all her might.

"Are not Maggie and Bessie to try with us too?" she asked.

"Of course," answered Gracie; "they are just as much in the fair as we are; and Maggie works so nicely."

"Should think she did," said Lily; "better than a-ny—child—in—the—whole—world."

The extreme deliberation with which this was said, made it very forcible, and gave the remark all the point which was intended. Woe to the person who, in Lily's hearing, ventured to deny that her particular friends, Maggie and Bessie Bradford, were not all that was wisest, best, and prettiest.

"Besides," said Belle, "Bessie was the first to find out Jessie and her grandfather, so it seems as if it was very much her charity and Maggie's. Good-morning, dear Miss Ashton;" and little Belle flew to meet her teacher, whom she dearly loved, and began to tell her of this new and delightful arrangement.

But she had hardly commenced when she checked herself, and saying,—

"But it is Gracie's to tell about, and I expect she would like to," turned to her schoolmate, and allowed her, nothing loath, to take up the tale.

Miss Ashton approved, and readily consented to what was proposed; but she was sorry to see that, as usual, Gracie took the chief credit, and claimed the first place for herself in the new plan; seeming, as before, not to have the slightest doubt that her work would be the best, and bring the highest premium. However, she would say nothing now to damp the general pleasure and enthusiasm, but called her young flock to the business of the day without reproof or remonstrance.

On the way home from school, Gracie called to invite Maggie and Bessie to her grandmamma's house that afternoon; and at the appointed hour the whole "committee," as Maggie called it, were assembled in the drawing-room of the kind old lady.

"Now," said Mrs. Howard, "we will settle first who among you are to take these pieces of work. Gracie seemed to think that all who were able to work nicely would prefer worsted work, so I have here two pairs of mats, as well as the toilet sets; and you may decide for yourselves which you will take. As for the younger ones, I will leave it to them to choose the things they will make for me, as each one knows what she is best able to do."

Gracie looked dismayed and displeased at the first part of her grandmother's speech; and, not daring to object aloud, she whispered to Hattie, who stood next her,—

"It's too bad! There grandmamma goes and gives three chances against me."

"Never mind, you'll have the first," answered Hattie; "you know you work better than any of the others."

"How many of you," continued the old lady, "are able to do worsted work nicely?"

"I can, grandmamma, very nicely," said Gracie promptly, while the others, more modest and shy, looked from one to another.

"Maggie Bradford works very nicely, ma'am," said Nellie Ransom.

"And so do you too, my dear, if I'm not mistaken," said Mrs. Howard. "Would you like to do one of the mats?"

"If you please, ma'am," said Nellie, and stepping up, Mrs. Howard gave her her choice among the mats.

"Ah! you have made the same choice as Gracie," said the old lady. "Well, we shall see who will do the best. Gracie, take the mat, my dear. Now for the other pair. Maggie, will you have one?"

But Maggie held back a little; and at length, with many blushes said, that she would prefer to take one of the toilet sets, because Bessie was anxious to help her, and she could do some of the easy sewing on the ruffles, but she could not do worsted work evenly enough to go with her own.

Dora took one of the second pair of mats; and Hattie, who was next in age, and who knew very little about embroidering, chose the other toilet set, as she believed she could do that better than the mat.

Maggie looked wishfully at this, and Mrs. Howard saw the look.

"Would you like to take this also, Maggie, dear?" she said. "You deserve some reward for being so unselfish, and if it is not too much for you to undertake, you are quite welcome to try it."

"Oh no, ma'am!" said Maggie with brightening eyes; "we have nearly seven weeks, you know, and with Bessie's help, and Aunt Annie to arrange all the work for me, I think I could do both. But I don't care for a reward, Mrs. Howard, for you know if Jessie and her grandfather have the money, it does not make much difference who does the most."

"No, truly," said Mrs. Howard; "and it is not that you may strive to outdo one another that I make these offers, but only that you may all try your best to have the work well done. I am an old-fashioned woman, my dears, and I like to see every little girl brought up to use her needle properly, and to keep her things in order; so I say that it is not so much the beauty of the work, as the care and neatness with which it is done that I shall look at. Keep it from spot or stain, or from being frayed or rubbed; this you can all do with proper care."

Then Mrs. Howard repeated how much she would give for each article, promising also once more to buy some pretty trifle from each of the younger children; and they all felt as if a large sum was already secure for Jessie and her grandfather.

After this, the treasures of lace, muslin, ribbons, flowers, beads, and worsteds of all colors were displayed to their delighted eyes, and divided with as much fairness as was possible. Not a child but carried home with her a most precious package, already in the eyes of the little ones transformed into many an article of use and beauty for the benefit of old Malcolm and his grandchild. The fair was now the all-absorbing subject of thought and conversation among Miss Ashton's young scholars and their little friends, Maggie and Bessie Bradford; and a fit of uncommon industry had seized upon each and every one.

But, one morning, only two days after the meeting of the young people at her house, Mrs. Howard was surprised to hear that Maggie Bradford wanted to see her; and ordering her to be shown in, the little girl entered, followed by her sister and nurse.