"Yes, my Lord," he answered, and then the leader of the fife and drum corps handed him a little drum, and Little Sir Cat started right in to play just like a regular drummer boy. And the way he made that little drum sound was just wonderful. The whole regiment began to cheer, and one big captain said, "Three cheers and two tigers for Little Sir Cat!"
And, goodness me, the cheers that went up from that regiment were heard all over Mother Goose Land and everybody asked everybody else what was the matter, and the little yellow bird, whose name I'm going to tell you some day, told them it was for Little Sir Cat. Then all the Mother Goose People began to cheer and when the regiment heard them, they asked what was the matter, and the little yellow bird told them who were cheering.
Wasn't that a wonderful little bird?
Pretty soon they came in sight of the enemy, and all the big guns were rushed to the high places and the infantry spread out in long, thin lines, with the cavalry in the rear. All of a sudden the bullets sputtered and the big shells screamed, and, oh, dear me, the little drum couldn't be heard at all, although Little Sir Cat beat on it with all his might. By and by the enemy ran away. Then the tents were set up and the field where they had been fighting looked like a tented city, only it didn't have any little church or school house.
At last, when everything was quiet, the general pinned a gold medal on Little Sir Cat, who felt very proud, and told his little drummer not to be afraid for he would never let the enemy get him.
And pretty soon you will find another story—unless—
Tuesday, directly after lunch, I play with my doll's house. You see, I have all the work to do for Dolly, and so I take out the clothes from the basket in the doll's house kitchen, and smooth them out, ready for ironing. There is a cunning little ironing board, besides two small irons, for "Ironing Day." There are lots of things to iron, all Dolly's table linen and the cute little sheets and pillow cases and towels, too. Oh, dear me! Sometimes I feel that Mother has a pretty hard time with our big house when I see how it bothers me to keep Dolly's house in perfect order.
Sometimes, before I have finished, my little friend Eleanor Gray will come in, and want me to go out with her. Then we both take our hoops and go to the park and play all afternoon. As soon as I get home I put Dolly to bed, before I have my own supper, because if I don't, very often I haven't time to attend to her afterwards and she has to sit up all night, which must be very tiresome even for a doll.
Billy was only five years old, but he had learned to like candy! You small boys who are hearing this read to you needn't look surprised. It probably was very natural to you to like candy, but that is no reason why Billy didn't have to learn. He first began on a peppermint stick; one of those lovely sticks with red lines running curly upwards, and white inside, with hollow tubes running through, so that you can suck an orange with it—well, it was just this sort of a stick that Billy first tasted, and at first he didn't like it, but as he got a taste almost every day, he finally was just as fond of it as was his little master. There, I have let the cat out of the bag, or the dog—and there is no use in my telling any more of this story, for you know all about it now. That is, you know who Billy is, and that's all there really is to this tale of a little dog.
The front doorbell rang furiously and Mary, knowing that it was snowing and blowing a gale outside, answered the ring as fast as she was able.
Two shivering little figures stood upon the doorstep, one a small boy, 10 or 12 years of age, who surveyed her a moment quite as coolly as she surveyed him. Deliberately stepping into the lighted hallway, he dragged with him his little companion, a shivering mite of a girl, almost hidden in the folds of a ragged coat. This coat he suddenly jerked from her shoulders, saying:
"Here's a valentine for the lady wot lives here!" Then, turning, he ran rapidly down the steps and disappeared around the corner into the snowy darkness.
Aunt Dorothy at that moment entered the hall, but, before she had time to speak the little waif thrust a piece of paper into, her hand, with the simple explanation, "Dick writ it."
Aunt Dorothy took the crumpled note and unfolded it carefully. After a few minutes she managed to read the scrawling letters:
"This little girl ain't got no folks and no place to stay; so she's been staying in a box with straw in it with me nights. I've fetched her to be your valentine. She's hungry.
Aunt Dorothy's eyes filled with tears. "Mary, take the child into the kitchen and give her something to eat. I will come presently and perhaps I can find out what is the best thing to do."
Mary led her down the hall.
"A valentine!" she ejaculated. "Blest if I don't think this is the queerest piece of business I ever seen!" Her manner softened a little as she watched the greediness with which the child devoured the big slice of bread and butter, and when Aunt Dorothy came down she found her "valentine" seated in Mary's own rocking chair before the fire, while Mary herself, down on the floor, had the almost frozen feet in her lap.
Aunt Dorothy sat down near them and watched Mary for a few minutes in silence. "Now that you feel better, my child, tell me where you live?"
"I don't live nowhere," answered the child, "'cept with Dick—he's got a big box with straw in it. I crawled in one night after they took father away—the police, you know."
Aunt Dorothy sighed, "Give her a warm bath, Mary, and make a bed on the lounge in my room. I will try to find something which will do for a nightdress."
The poor little, wondering child was soon wrapped in a warm shawl and curled down on the lounge. Suddenly she raised herself on her elbow:
"Dick said there was angels that lived somewhere and took care of folks. Are you one of them?"
"No, no, child," said Aunt Dorothy gently, "I am only Aunt Dorothy. Go to sleep."
"Yes'm; but I do wish Dick was a valentine, too! It's very cold in his box."
Aunt Dorothy and Mary sat up late that night hastily making warm garments for the small mite; but they considered themselves well repaid by the delight with which they were put on in the morning. While the happy little waif was taking her breakfast in the kitchen the bell rang, and when Mary answered the ring she found Dick standing in the doorstep. He shambled bashfully in, and in a moment the child's arms were around his neck and her face pressed close against his cold and grimy one.
When Aunt Dorothy came down she found her "valentine"-bringer refreshed by a breakfast the like of which he had never before tasted, sitting by the fire with the "valentine" at his side. Dick rose as she entered, still holding both of the little hands of his small companion.
"I ain't got much to tell you, ma'am. I'm Dick the boot-black, an' this here little girl I found one night last week. Me and Joe Rafferty had been to a movin' picture show, and when I comes out it was late an' pretty cold, so I runs all the way to the box. The box is a big box down by Higley's warehouse, an' I sleep in it. An' I finds this little girl a-curled up in it asleep. I felt kinder sorry for so small a mite, so I covered her up with some old carpet rags.
"I seen folks sendin' valentines for presents an' thought some one ought to like a little girl better than a picture. I seen you one day, ma'am, give a lame man some money, an' I followed and seen where you lived. An' I says to myself if you was so kind to a man you'd be kind to a little girl that had no one but me to look after her."
"I think I'll keep my valentine, Dick," she answered, looking into the fire with a smile. "I never heard of sending one back, I believe. And I think I'll send one myself too. I will give you a letter to a man who I think will give you a position as an errand boy." And so Dick had a good job as a messenger boy in a big dry goods house, where he grew up to be a very useful man.
Jamie has been studying his alphabet all the morning, but somehow the letters got twisted and wouldn't follow each other in their regular order. By and by mother said: "Let us wait awhile; perhaps the letters will come more easily to my little boy if he takes a rest now."
So Jamie ran out to play and soon forgot all about the alphabet. But that night, after he had fallen asleep, he had a most wonderful time. All the alphabet letters came trooping into his little bed and said to him, "Jamie, come with us to the Circus!" And pretty soon he found himself in a big white tent. All of a sudden the Letters ran together, and, jumping on top of one another, formed themselves into a lion.
Jamie clapped his hands and laughed outright. At this, all the letters tumbled down, and, calling to him to follow, jumped into the ring and made a giant rooster.
"Hurrah!" cried Jamie, "you're the most wonderful alphabet I ever saw!"
"Glad you think so!" cried the Letters, and then they all tumbled apart and raced across the tanbark floor. He followed as fast as his legs would take him, when, all of a sudden, a funny little squeak made him turn his head. Some of the alphabet letters had formed themselves into a queer little pig, who cried, "This little pig went to market," but when Jamie ran up to play with him all the letters jumped apart and scampered away. "Come, we'll show you the man who owns the circus!" After much scrambling and climbing on their part, the circus owner appeared, wearing a high silk hat.
Jamie had hardly time to bow politely, when all the letters tumbled apart and there stood a great, big elephant. But, goodness me! In another minute the elephant fell apart and again the Letters shouted, "Follow us, Jamie!" and away they raced, and before he could stop he bumped into a tall giraffe.
"Oh, what fun!" cried Jamie. "I wonder what will happen next?"
"Hello, my little man!" cried a voice close at hand. Jamie looked around and there stood the Alphabet Clown smiling at him.
"How do you do, Sir!" answered Jamie.
"Here are the pictures of my two brothers," said the Alphabet Clown, showing Jamie two photographs; "there weren't enough letters to go around, so when I'm acting, I just show their pictures, and when they are acting, they show mine." No sooner had he finished speaking than the Alphabet Letters tumbled apart, and the clown disappeared.
A big rhinoceros next came into view as the Alphabet Letters kept up their merry pranks. By this time, Jamie was hardly surprised at anything, his friends, the Alphabet Letters, were doing so many funny things.
"Tickets!" cried a voice at his side. A little Alphabet Man sitting on an Alphabet Chair looked at Jamie as if expecting him to hand over his ticket at once. Just as he was about to explain how the Letters had brought him to the circus, the little man fell apart, and all the Letters laughed and said, "Never mind your ticket, Jamie—follow us!"
"Bow-wow!" said the little Alphabet Dog as Jamie ran up to pat him. "Don't turn into letters just yet," he begged, giving the little dog a hug, but with a merry laugh the Letters jumped apart and Jamie saw a pretty horse, who lifted his right fore leg to shake hands with him. But the Alphabet Horse lasted no longer than the other animals, and the next instant a funny man, with a big E for his eye and nose and a capital C for his mouth and chin, and a big D for his cap, stood before him. A big V made the front of his coat and vest, and a capital I his back, while a large W and X made a pair of funny legs.
"I wonder who he is?" thought Jamie.
"I'm the Lion Tamer," answered the man, as if reading the little boy's thoughts.
"Are you?" said Jamie. "I saw your lion the first thing—just as I came into the tent. Aren't you afraid you'll lose him?"
"I'm more afraid he'll lose me," replied the Lion Tamer. He was quite right, for at that instant the Alphabet Letters fell apart and a pretty girl stood in his place.
"I'm the Circus Queen, little Jamie," she said with a smile, and then she gave him an alphabet kiss, which looked just like the letter O, I guess. And then the Letters tumbled apart and the Circus Queen disappeared.
But they were not idle, these wonderful Alphabet Letters. They ran ahead for a little way and then, all of a sudden, arranged themselves into a beautiful white cow, which looked to Jamie very much like the one in Mr. Jones' big pasture.
"Where's Mother?" cried a loud voice, and Jamie saw a small elephant looking anxiously about. A big J made a most beautiful trunk, while a capital M served for two sturdy legs. An S made a nice tail, and the other letters finished his body very satisfactorily.
"You'd better hurry," advised Jamie, "or the first thing you know the Letters will get tired of making you an elephant, and turn into some other sort of animal."
And Jamie was right, for the next instant there was no little elephant, but instead, a quiet looking camel, with two big humps.
In a few minutes, the camel, too, disappeared, and the wonderful Alphabet Letters ran over to the other side of the tent, and the next thing Jamie saw was a funny little man whose make-up consisted of only a few big letters, but who nevertheless seemed a very important person. He stood just outside of a door over which was printed in big red letters,
"Come to the 'Alphabet Moving Pictures,'" he called out. "Come and see 'Alphabet Movies'!" Upon a big white screen the letters of the alphabet arranged themselves into a wonderful picture of Washington Crossing the Delaware. Jamie clapped his hands. Then the next picture came along, as his friends, the Alphabet Letters, jumped down and without any confusion re-arranged themselves. The next picture was very wonderful—George Washington planting the British Flag at Fort Duquesne. Jamie made up his mind to ask Mother when he got home all about it. In a jiffy, the Letters again fell apart, and a picture, which little Jamie could understand much better, was shown. "Hurray! Mother Goose!" shouted Jamie, kicking up his feet so high that down fell the big white circus tent, and he awoke to find himself in his own little bed, with his feet up underneath the sheet, holding it up just like the tent where the Alphabet Letters had done all the funny things.
Jamie rubbed his eyes, just as Mother came in. "Well, I guess I'll know my alphabet to-day," he said. After breakfast he told Mother where he had been, and when she asked him to say his alphabet, he recited it without a miss.
"Wasn't it lucky I went to the circus with the "'Alphabet Letters'?" he asked, and Mother said it certainly was.
Often while with the soldiers Little Sir Cat thought of his dear home at the castle and the quiet silver moat full of silver fish that darted here and there in the sparkling water, and maybe he wished he was back at the castle, but he was too brave a kitten to say so, you may be sure.
Day after day they drilled and marched, and at last they came up with the enemy again and there was a dreadful battle and, when it was all over, Little Sir Cat found himself at the edge of a wood with a bullet wound in his leg. He couldn't march any more, so they left him alone with his little drum, and when night came down he was faint and hungry and very miserable.
Well, by and by, when the big moon was high in the sky, and all was quiet, except for a little breeze that wouldn't go to sleep, but played hide and seek among the leaves on the tall dark trees, a little owl said to him:
And when morning came Little Jenny Wren gave him a wonderful herb that cured his leg in less than five hundred short seconds. So he started off again on his journey and pretty soon he met Little Bo Peep. "I've lost my sheep and cannot tell where to find them."
"Leave them alone and they'll come home, bringing their tails behind them," shouted Little Boy Blue, as he passed by with his bright yellow horn hung over his shoulder. "My sheep get into the meadow every day and my cows get in the corn, but they always come home at night, bringing their tails behind them."
"That's because you wake up in time to blow your horn," answered Bo Peep between her sobs; "but I've no horn and—boo, hoo—no more sheep and little lambs—boo, hoo"——
"Don't cry, I'll help you find them," said Little Sir Cat.
Well, they hadn't gone very far when they saw little pieces of wool clinging to the bramble bushes.
"Here are their little tails!" shouted Bo Peep. "They can't be far away!" And sure enough, in a few minutes they saw the sheep and the little lambs in a meadow.
And pretty soon you will find another story about Little Sir Cat—
It was the night before Christmas. Outside a cold wind blew the snow about in clouds, penetrating the cracks and chinks of the little old white house on the hill. Before the small fire of driftwood, which tried its best to warm the little bare room, sat Mrs. Whitcomb, wondering sadly where the money was to come from to buy the turkey for the dinner the next day.
Mrs. Whitcomb's eyes filled with tears as she remembered the happy Christmas of a few years previous, when the children's father was alive. Just then an excited ejaculation from Madge in the doorway startled her.
"Mother, dear!" she cried, running in, followed by Billy, "I've just been thinking of that story you read to us last year about the money that was stored away behind the old family portrait over the mantelpiece. Don't you remember how it fell down when the little boy, who was locked in the closet for being naughty, kicked the closet door till everything shook and shook; and then down fell the portrait, and the bags of money just emptied themselves all over the floor?"
"I'll be the bad boy if you want to put me in the closet," offered Billy. Mrs. Whitcomb looked up with a sad smile, as she took Madge in her lap and placed an arm around him.
"Suppose we make believe the old mirror is a portrait," she said.
"And I'll make believe I'm naughty," added Billy. "It will be the first time I've ever had to make believe!"
Madge jumped off her lap and ran to the closet. "Come, mother," she called, "make Billy go inside!" In a moment he was shut in, and even Mrs. Whitcomb began to laugh, for Billy's acting was almost as real as if he had indeed been a bad boy and was undergoing a just punishment. One of the candlesticks tumbled over on top of the tiny mahogany box, knocking it off upon the floor. It broke open on the hearthstone, and as Mrs. Whitcomb stooped to pick up the broken pieces she uttered a cry of joy.
"Come here!" she called, "come, see what I've found," and she held up a five-dollar gold piece before Madge's delighted eyes.
"Oh, mother, darling!" screamed Madge, "where did it come from?"
"What's the matter? Let me out!" yelled Billy from the depths of the closet; "let me out! What's the matter?"
Madge rushed over to the closet, but in her excitement found it difficult to turn the key.
"What's it all about?" cried Billy.
"Oh, Billy," gasped Madge, as she twisted and turned the handle, "what do you think? Mother has found a five-dollar gold piece!"
"Goodness me!" exclaimed Mrs. Whitcomb, after the noise and excitement had subsided, "how in the world I ever forgot that I put that money away for safe keeping in that little box years ago is beyond me. But I did, and it isn't a dream!"
"No, indeed, mother!" cried Madge, pinching the gold piece, "it's as real as can be!"
"Let's all go down to the village and get the dinner things," suggested Billy.
By the time the celery and vegetables, the nuts and raisins, together with the big, fat turkey, were safely packed, the basket was fairly bulging over.
"Oh, what a feast we'll have tomorrow," gasped Madge. They set the heavy basket down before the mantel-piece, as mother closed the outer door and came in. "What a jolly dinner! I'm so glad Billy and I got to talking before going to bed. Wasn't it lucky I remembered that story?"
"Yes, indeed," answered mother, smiling away, as she unpacked the basket and stowed away all the good things in safe places until the next day.
"Just like a play," volunteered Billy, "with me as the hero!"
"With Madge as the author," said mother.
"Right you are, mother dear," answered Billy, "only without the great acting on the hero's part there would never have been any success to the play. That closet wasn't such a joke after all!"
"No, indeed," laughed Madge, "you shall have the wishbone for your reward, Mr. Hero Actor."
Wednesday, as soon as I get back from school, if cook is making bread I beg her to let me have some of the dough, and then Dolly sits by me while I make it into all sorts of pretty little cakes and things, and put it in the oven in the stove—I mean, of course, the doll house stove, for the kitchen is all fitted up with everything just like a real kitchen. There is a big dresser, and shelves full of tin pans, and crockery. There is a cunning, little towel on a wooden roller, and a sink with faucets, and real water. The range is heated by electricity and really cooks the cakes, only Dolly and I don't eat them, for mother says our cook's are better, so we eat little pieces of cookies instead.
Of course, if it is a nice day, I go out to the park on my roller skates, or take my hoop, but I usually get time before I go to help Dolly with her household duties.
Jamie had received a violin for Christmas, much to his delight, for he was very fond of music and wanted to learn to play the violin more than any instrument he could think of—even his big drum, which sometimes he would beat with all his might after a long, long lesson on his violin.
When New Year's Day came he made up his mind that he would make believe he was a little troubadour. So he tucked his beloved violin under his arm and set gaily forth. On the next block lived a little girl named Rosalie, of whom Jamie was very fond. When he reached the house in which she lived, he stopped before the big parlor window which was quite close to the sidewalk, and, taking his violin from under his arm, commenced to play. Very soon, who should come to the window but little Rosalie herself, and as soon as she saw Jamie she opened the window and leaned out.
"Why, Jamie," she cried, "are you playing for money?"
"No," replied Jamie, quite indignantly, "I'm playing for you."
"How lovely," answered Rosalie, "and how beautifully you play!"
Jamie's face became quite red when she said this, and he almost made a mistake in the music. But he kept on playing, and very soon there was quite a crowd around him. Just then an old gentleman said, "Look out, little Juliet—you may catch cold!"
"Why, it's Grandpapa," cried Rosalie, and in another minute he and Rosalie were pulling the little musician and his beloved violin into the house, where they all had a merry New Year's afternoon, with cake and ice cream.
When did human beings first begin to love dogs? So long ago that we have forgotten just when it all started, but some of the oldest writers and artists whose works have been preserved up to the present time have left us words or pictures which show that the dog is a very ancient friend of man.
Little Egyptian boys and girls, playing on the banks of the Nile, probably loved their dogs as well as Brooklyn children love theirs. In that old country the dog was particularly well liked, and it is said that when a family dog died all the people of the household shaved themselves. This was an expression of mourning, and was a mark of respect for the dog.
Egyptians had a special reason for honoring the animal which has always been used as a symbol of faithfulness. In lower Egypt the prosperity of the people depended upon the Nile River. Every year it overflowed its banks, giving the dry land a much needed drink and making possible the raising of different crops. The people watched for the overflow with great anxiety, fearing that it would not take place. At the time of year when the overflow was due a certain star appeared in the sky, which we know as Sirius. When they saw that the Egyptians drove their cattle to high pastures and left the lowland to be watered by the river. In time the people began to associate the constant appearance of the star with the overflow which meant so much to them, and they began to think that the star watched over them, as a good dog watches the home of its master. So they called the star the "Dog Star" and worshipped it, and also lavished a great deal of love on all.
It is said that Nero, when he was Emperor of Rome, set fire to the city, and watched the flames from a high tower, while he sang to his lyre verses on the burning of Troy. He then laid the blame on the Christians, whom he persecuted with great cruelty. Afterwards he rebuilt the ruined portion of Rome with great magnificence, erecting a beautiful palace for himself on the Palatine Hill, which was called Nero's golden house.
This was all very long ago, for he killed himself with a dagger in the year 68 when, after many cruel deeds, the Senate condemned him to death.
In 1871 there lived in Chicago, Illinois, a woman named Annie O'Leary who has since become known throughout the country as the owner of the cow that set fire to Chicago. One evening this cow, while being milked, became unruly, and kicked over a kerosene lamp. Soon the whole city of Chicago was in flames and Mrs. O'Leary's cow probably rang her cowbell quite as frantically as did the Emperor Nero complacently fiddle while his beautiful city was burning.
Though Chicago was destroyed by one of the most terrible fires in the world, the city was rebuilt in a year or two, even better than before. Prior to the fire, it was one of the newest cities in the country, for in 1830 there were only a few families there besides the soldiers in the fort which Uncle Sam had built in 1804.
So you see the people were not discouraged, although Mrs. O'Leary's cow had burned up their beautiful city.
When nursey bids me drink my
milk It gurgles down my throat Just like the gurgle of the waves Beneath a sailing boat. |
Thursday, Mother teaches me how to mend. She says that every little girl should know these things. Father gives me a penny for every hole I mend in his socks, and brother Jack gives me little presents; once he gave me a whole set of furniture which he had cut out with his fretsaw.
There is one nice thing about Dolly—she very seldom has a hole in her stocking. If she did, I hardly know what I would do, for Father and Jack keep me pretty busy—at least, Mother laughs and says they do. Learning all the accomplishments of a grown-up woman is pretty hard work, and, really, I often wonder how I'll ever get any time for play in the park. Mother, however, finishes lots of my duties so that I shan't miss my regular hours in the open air with my friends.
It was a lovely garden, full of flowers and shrubs, and in one corner was a little girl playing with pretty shells on a pile of sand.
"Come in and play with me," she said. So he jumped over the garden wall, but he didn't stay very long, for he wished to find his fortune, you know.
Well, after a while, as he journeyed on he came to a bridge, and, all of a sudden, whom should he meet but Sir Launcelot of the Lake, that noble knight whom you remember he had met a long time ago. And when Sir Launcelot had reined in his great charger he cried out in a loud voice:
"Come with me, Kitten!" So Little Sir Cat sprang up lightly behind the noble knight and together they rode across the bridge and out upon the King's Highway. And after they had gone for many miles, they came across Little Miss Muffet who sat on a tuffet. But this time she wasn't running away from the big cruel spider who had sat down beside her.
"Whither are you bound, little maid?" asked the knight. And then without waiting for an answer he leaned over and lifted her up into the saddle beside Little Sir Kitten. And wasn't she glad to see our little traveler again? Well, if you had only been there you would have laughed with joy, for she was so happy that she hugged him again and again.
After a while they came to an old mill where the rusty, dusty miller ground the corn for the farmers. "Please let me down here," said little Miss Muffet, "for mother asked me to bring home some meal." So the kind knight pulled in his great steed and Little Miss Muffet ran into the mill.
But Sir Launcelot didn't wait, for he wasn't going back, you see, so he and Little Sir Cat called out good-by and went upon their way. And the sun shone down and glittered on the bright armor of the noble knight and pussy cat felt very proud to be riding with him.
"You shall go with me to King Arthur's Court," said Sir Launcelot, "for little friend Tom Thumb is with my good king and he has told all the knights what a good comrade you are."
Towards evening, they came to the Court of King Arthur where all the knights were eating their evening meal at the great round table. But when they heard the hoof beats of Sir Launcelot's great horse, they ran outside to greet him. Little Sir Kitten was taken into the great dining hall and placed on the right hand of King Arthur and merry was the feast that followed, for they had all heard of brave Little Sir Cat and loved him and Mother Goose, although they had grown up to be great strong knights.
And pretty soon you will find another story—unless—
Captain Morton was an officer in the United States Army and for many years had lived in the far west—that wonderful country where the sun blazes down upon miles of grassy prairie, undulating to the horizon as if it were a great heaving sea, the little hillocks rising like dark waves upon its surface.
Over those vast plains roved the Indians, hunting antelopes, wolves, etc. At these times the "red man" looks his best; mounted on his swift pony, his gaudy blanket and bright feathers gleaming in the sunshine, his long black hair streaming in the wind, he seems truly the "noble savage."
To control these savages, soldiers were needed on the plains, to prevent war parties from dashing into little frontier villages, stealing horses and cattle, burning barns and houses and murdering the people who were trying to cultivate the prairies, to turn the great plains of dry, burnt grass into fields of wheat and beautiful green meadows.
All Indians are not wicked; but the tribe near which Captain Morton was stationed was extremely wild and cruel, and refused to live on friendly terms with white people.
All day and all night the "tom-tom," or big drum, was being beaten by the Indians; for the time I am telling you of was just after that dreadful battle, when the great Indian chief, Sitting Bull, killed brave General Custer and half of his noble regiment of cavalry. This success had made all the other Indians very fierce and restless, and the small garrison of which Captain Morton had command were kept busy day and night ready for attack.
But Lily, Captain Morton's little daughter, did not trouble herself about danger. She was not allowed to go out of the garrison inclosure, but she played with her chickens and her little pony, which her father had bought and trained for her. Its name was Tecumseh Sherman, after the general of the army, but Lily called it Tic for short. It soon followed her in and out of the log house and wherever she went, and showed a most decided liking for anything of a red color. When Lily wore a red dress, Tic would take a fold in his mouth and pull her about, and even knock her down in his play, for he never meant to hurt her. In the evening Lily's little sidesaddle was put on Tic, and she would gallop over the prairie with her father.
One morning Lily rushed into the house calling out:
"Mama, mama, here's a circus! Come and see! It's right outside the door!"
Sure enough, just outside the garrison was a great crowd of gayly dressed people, and near the front were six girls mounted on ponies, the saddles beautifully embroidered with beads, and fine large umbrellas over their heads made of red, white and blue cloth. These were princesses, daughters of the great chief of the tribe. Lily ever after talked of them as the "six Pocahontases."
Friday is the last of school for the week, and Saturday is coming. There are two reasons why I like Friday. One is that it is the last day of school week, and the other—because tomorrow is Saturday.
I do just about the same things on Friday, that is, school as usual, and then a romp or walk in the park, rolling my hoop or skating on my rollers. But at home I'm very busy. It's doll's house cleaning day, and oh, dear me! I have to brush it out from attic to kitchen. It is a lot of work, for all the rooms have carpets or hardwood floors with little rugs, and everything must be dusted thoroughly. I do my hair up just as regular grown-up cleaners do, and by and by Dolly's house is all done. For a little girl it is hard work, and Mother says she thinks I will make a fine housekeeper when I grow up. I hope I won't get another doll's house next Christmas, for I don't see how I could run two houses at once.
"This is 'Annuity Day,' Lily," said her father. "Get your hat and we will go and see the Indians get their clothes and provisions for the next year."
"What is 'Annuity'?" asked Lily. "Is it Indian for birthday?"
"Well, yes, it is sort of a birthday, for the United States Government gives a good many presents that day to the Indians—food and clothes for the men, women and children for a whole year."
"Well, let's go," said Lily, "and I'll just touch one of those papooses with my own hand if I get near enough. I think they are just dolls. No real, live baby would stay quiet tied on a board and fastened up all in a bunch to its mother's back. They do wink their eyes, that's certain; but I can make my Rosy wink her eyes, too, only I have to pull a wire to get her to shut them."
So off started Lily with her papa, and soon they came to an open space, in the center of which was a great pile of blankets, clothing, bacon, flour, corn, coffee, sugar, tobacco and many other things which good Uncle Sam gives once a year to his "wards," the Indians. Around this pile of things sat a large circle of Indians, men, women and children. The men were, as a general rule, well dressed in tight leggins, with strips of gay bead embroidery down the sides; deerskin or calico shirts fringed with tiny bells and tassels of colored worsted and bright feathers in their scalp locks. The women wore flannel pantaloons and a single calico slip, and a blanket drawn over their heads.
Many of these wild people had never seen a little white girl before. They gazed at Lily's fair skin and long bright hair with great interest. One old man wrapped in a buffalo robe advanced waving his covering like some immense bird flapping its wings. When he got near Lily he stood still, saying:
"Washta papoose! Washta papoose!" (Pretty child! Pretty child!) and held out his hand, saying: "Howe-howe?" (How do you do?)
And now Lily found a good opportunity to decide whether the funny little objects on the Indian women's backs were dolls or "really babies."
While the Indian agent and his clerks were busily distributing the "annuities," giving to the chief of each band the allowance for himself and his family, Lily went up very close to the squaw who had a black-eyed bundle tied upon her back, and stood for several minutes absorbed in contemplation.
"Is that a real, live baby, ma'am, or a doll you keep for your little girl?" asked Lily very politely.
The squaw, of course, did not understand a word she said, and only responded: "Ugh! Howe! Washta papoose!" as a general expression of her good will. So Lily presently put out her hand very softly and touched the bundle.
What a scream! Even the dignified chiefs turned their plumed heads to find out what the cause of the noise could be.
There was the papoose shrieking on its mother's back, proving most positively its claim to be considered a "real, live baby," and there was a drop of bright red blood on its little brown arm. Lily had stuck a pin in the Indian baby to find out if it was alive or not.
Poor little girl! She stood frightened and trembling, crimson blushes on her cheeks, and two great tears just brimming over her eyes. Not until she had made a peace offering of candy to the baby, and left it contentedly sucking away at a peppermint stick, could she be consoled and interested once more in the strange scenes around her.