The King's Daughter and Other Stories for Girls

by Various

  One Thursday morning the little girl's mother asked her to carry a pailof buttermilk to Aunt Nancy. "You needn't be afraid to go by thePerkins' house this morning," she said, "because your father was toldthat Pete went fishing to-day."

  Wee Janet was half way to Aunt Nancy's when not far up the road shebeheld Mr. Mason's red cow eating grass outside instead of inside thefence.

  "Oh, the hooking cow!" exclaimed the child, almost dropping her pail ofbuttermilk.

  At that moment the red cow lifted her head. It is possible she thoughtthat Janet was a big clover blossom. Anyway, on came the cow lowinggently. Mr. Mason always said the cow was harmless.

  Janet, too frightened to stir, screamed in terror. That scream brought abarefooted boy running over the fields. That boy was Pete.

  "What's the matter, Weejan?" he called.

  At that moment Pete looked beautiful to Wee Janet. It seemed to herthat she never saw a finer looking boy than Pete, the ragged, when hepicked up a stick and made the cow turn around and go the other way.

  "_Janet screamed in terror._"]

  "Come on, Weejan," called Pete. "I won't let her hurt yez. I'll driveher back in her pasture and lock the gate. Yez see if I don't!"

  After the cow was in her pasture Pete insisted upon going to AuntNancy's with Wee Janet. "Yer might see a rattler," he explained, as ifsuch a thing were probable.

  "Now I'll take yer home," the boy observed when Wee Janet found himwaiting at the gate. "Yer too little to be out alone."

  Janet's mother thanked Pete for taking care of her small daughter. Thenshe gave him a piece of gingerbread. After that she showed him WeeJanet's robin's nest and told him all about how the mother robin workedto build the nest, and how long she sat upon the eggs before the littlenestlings were hatched. Father Robin scolded the boy so vigorously WeeJanet was afraid Pete's feelings might be hurt. "You see," sheexplained, "he knows that you're a stranger. Now, Father Robin, don'tmake such a fuss. If Pete took care of me, he'd take care of yourbabies, too. Wouldn't you, Pete.

  "Sure!" Pete replied with a broad grin.

  From that hour there was a change in Pete. He told Wee Janet's motherthat he never knew anything about birds before; whereupon he was invitedto come every day to visit all of Wee Janet's birds' nests and to readher bird books.

  _The Robin's Nest_]

  Before the end of the year even the little girls in the Primer Classforgot, or appeared to forget, that Pete was ever a bad boy. He is inhigh school now, in town, and his mother never looks discouraged whenshe speaks of her eldest son, Peter.

  As for Wee Janet, to this day she sometimes wonders how it all cameabout.

  BERTHA'S GRANDMOTHER

  Bertha Gilbert was fourteen years of age, and had just come home fromboarding school, where she had finished her first year--a very nice,pleasant school, of about thirty girls, besides the day-scholars; andMrs. Howard made it, as she promised, a kind of social family, givingeach one her personal attention and care. Bertha had improved a greatdeal in her studies and deportment, and was a very lady-like, agreeablegirl.

  But as no little boys and girls are perfect, or large ones either, forthat matter, I am going to tell you what a mistake Bertha made, and howshe was cured of a feeling that might have settled into a verydisagreeable habit. Indeed, I have met some grown people who have falleninto the way of treating elderly members of the family with a disregardthat bordered on contempt.

  "_There was one handsome house which Bertha had oftenadmired._"]

  Bertha was delighted to be at home once more, to be clasped to her dearmother's heart, to find her father quite improved in health, and her twolittle brothers as merry as ever; and to meet her dear oldgrandmother, an old lady who was nearly eighty years of age, yet brightand active, with a fair, sweet face, and silvery hair, which was nearlyall covered with a fine muslin cap, the border being crimped in thedaintiest fashion you ever saw.

  I used to think she looked just like a picture, of a summer afternoon,when she put on a fresh cap and kerchief,--as she used to call the whitehalf square of lawn that she wore round her shoulders,--and her clean,checked apron. In spite of her years, she did a great deal of workaround the house, and I do not believe George and Willie would haveknown how to live without her.

  The Gilberts were in very moderate circumstances, for Mr. Gilbert hadbeen compelled to leave his business and retire to the country onaccount of ill health. This little village of Hillside was a very prettyplace. A river ran on one side, and on the opposite side ran a railroadthat led directly to New York. Consequently a great many rich andfashionable people lived here, as well as a poorer class.

  There was one handsome house which Bertha had often admired. It was thehome of very wealthy people--Mr. and Mrs. Bell. The lawn and gardenswere very beautiful, and they had an elegant greenhouse and a grapery,indeed, everything that heart could wish. Then Mrs. Bell had travelednearly all over Europe, and had visited China.

  Bertha had met two of Mrs. Bell's nieces at school; one was a younglady, and the other a little girl not quite as old as herself; butsomehow she and Ada Wilson became great friends. The two girls were tovisit Mrs. Bell during their vacation, and Ada had promised to spend aday with Bertha--indeed, to come to see her often.

  "For Aunt Bell is such a great lady," Ada had said, "and there are nochildren; so I'm afraid I shall be lonesome; and you must return mycalls."

  The idea of going to the grand house quite elated Bertha. She told itover to her mother with a great deal of pleasure.

  But nothing ever happens just as one wants it. The Gilberts' parlor hadbeen repapered, and there was some delay in getting down the new carpet.They would surely be in order by the time the Wilsons arrived, Berthathought to herself one afternoon, as she brought her tiny workbasket tothe sitting room and took out a piece of braiding to finish.

  There was a long piazza across the front of the house. In the center wasthe hall door--the parlor being on one side, the sitting room on theother. As Bertha's eyes roved idly out of the window, she saw Mrs.Bell's beautiful grays coming down the road, and a carriage full ofladies. Why, they were actually stopping; the man handed out two ladiesand a little girl, and opened the gate for them.

  Indeed, the Wilsons had reached Hillside a week earlier than they hadexpected. When Ada spoke of her friend, Mrs. Bell proposed that theyshould call as early as possible, so that Ada and Bertha might see themore of each other.

  "_O mother! here they are,_"]

  "O, mother!" Bertha exclaimed, in astonishment, "here they are--Ada andMiss Frances, and their aunt."

  "Go and receive them, my dear," said her mother rising.

  Mrs. Bell was very gracious, and with a certain unassuming sweetnessthat immediately set at ease every one with whom she met. She and Mrs.Gilbert exchanged very pleasant greetings. Then they were all led intothe sitting room, and Bertha flushed a little. She seemed to see all itsshabbiness at a glance--the worn spot of carpet by her father's desk,and another in front of the sofa, the old-fashioned furniture, andgrandmother sitting there in her corner, knitting a blue yarn stocking.

  Grandma Gilbert rose and courtesied to the ladies. Her dress had nofashionable trail, but showed her low prunella shoes and white,home-knit stockings. She was a prim little body, looking as neat as apin, but very old-fashioned.

  Mrs. Bell presently crossed over to her. "It looks quite like old timesto see any one knitting," she said, in her low, pleasant voice. "I thinkthere ought to be a grandmother in every house; they always give a placesuch a comfortable, homelike look. I remember how my great-grandmotherused to knit when I was a little girl."

  "It isn't of much account," returned grandmother. "Stockings are socheap nowadays; but I do think hum-knit wears better for boys. Willieand George do scour out stockings 'mazin' fast. And then it serves tokeep an old woman like me busy."

  _"It looks quite like old times to see anyoneknitting."_]

  Ada Wilson glanced up with a peculiar look, and Bertha flushed. Theyoung ladie
s at Mrs. Howard's were taught to pronounce their wordscorrectly, and were not allowed to use any careless phrases.

  Mrs. Bell continued the conversation, however, and grandmother did herbest to be entertaining. But she was old-fashioned, and confused hergrammar in various ways. Ada, in the meantime, showed a strongdisposition to laugh, and finally begged Bertha to take her out to lookat the flowers.

  "O dear!" she exclaimed, as they went around the walk at the side of thehouse; "O dear! Isn't your grandmother a funny old woman! I couldn'tkeep my face sober." Ada laughed as if she considered it very amusing.

  Bertha ought to have understood that this was very ill-bred, andespoused her grandmother's cause at once; but instead of that she wasashamed of her, and felt like crying. If she could only have taken herguests into the parlor, where they would not have seen grandma!

  "_Isn't your grandmother a funny old woman?_"]

  "Such a funny old woman, with that immense check apron! Bertha, shelooks like some of the little old lady pincushions that I've seen, andshe makes such a queer mouth when she talks. She hasn't a tooth in herhead, has she? and I guess they didn't teach grammar when she went toschool. Why do you let her wear that white cap? all the old ladies thatI know wear black lace caps, with ribbons. I thought I should laughoutright when she made that little dip of curtsy."

  "But she is real old," said Bertha, deprecatingly, "and she has lived inthe country most of her life."

  "I should think she had come from the backwoods! I wonder she doesn'tmake you wear 'hum-knit' stockings; or don't you 'scour yours out?' Odear!"

  "It is not right to laugh at old persons," Bertha said, summoning allher courage; yet she was mortified and humiliated in the extreme.

  "Oh! I don't mean anything, you know--only it's so funny! You ought tosee _my_ grandmother. She is nearly eighty, I believe, but she only ownsto seventy."

  Bertha was too deeply hurt to make any comment. Then Ada kissed her andcoaxed her into good humor, telling her of the enjoyments Aunt Bell hadin preparation.

  When they returned to the room, Mrs. Bell was preparing to leave, andthe carriage stood at the gate.

  "We have decided on Thursday, Ada," Mrs. Bell said to her niece; "and,Miss Bertha, I have coaxed your grandmother to pay _me_ a visit. I thinka pleasant old lady, in possession of all her faculties, is rare goodcompany--quite a treat for me. Now, Mrs. Gilbert, I shall send thecarriage, and you will be sure not to disappoint me, if you are well."

  "You are very kind, indeed;" and grandmother gave another little "dipof a curtsy."

  Bertha looked amazed.

  She was very quiet after her visitors had gone. Her mother appeared toadmire Miss Frances Wilson, and grandma said of Mrs. Bell: "She's atender, true-hearted Christian lady."

  "Mother," said Bertha, the next day, when they were alone; "couldn't youfix grandma up a little to go to Mrs. Bell's?"

  "Why, she has a nice brown silk dress to wear, and a clean cap andkerchief."

  "But she looks so--so--old-fashioned, mother."

  "My dear, she is an old-fashioned lady. I think she looks a great dealprettier than to be dressed like people thirty or forty years youngerthan she is."

  "But--"

  "_I am disappointed._"]

  "O Bertha! you are not ashamed of dear old grandmother?" and Mrs.Gilbert looked at her daughter in amazement. Bertha's cheeks flushed,and tears came to her eyes.

  "My little daughter, I am deeply pained!"

  Some way the story came out, and Bertha sobbed away her mortifiedfeeling.

  _Grandma's Early Home in the Wilderness._]

  "My dear Bertha!" her mother said, "I am disappointed to see you show solittle true courage and warmth of heart. Ada Wilson has certainly shownherself very ill-bred and heartless in thus criticising so old a personto one of her own relatives. I am not sure but it would be better todecline the invitation altogether."

  "O mother! I do not think Ada meant any real harm. She laughs at thegirls, and mimics everybody; but she's real good and generous, for allthat. And grandma does make mistakes."

  "But even if she does, Bertha, when you are tempted to despise your dearold grandmother, I want you to think of her life. When she was a littlegirl, twelve years old, she went to work in a mill, to help her mothertake care of her younger brothers and sisters, and then afterward shetook the whole charge of the family upon herself.

  "Fifty-three years ago she married a plain farmer, and went West, intowhat was a wilderness at that time. In her turn, she was left a widow,with a large family, and I shall always honor her for the wisdom shedisplayed. It would be hard to find four better men than your uncles andpapa.

  "Aunt Bessy was poor and had a great deal of trouble, but grandma staidwith her to the very last, and now she has come to me. I really don'tknow what I should do without her, and her life has been mostpraiseworthy in every respect. She would give her life for any of us.Suppose she were cross and fretful, and thought, as some old ladies do,that we ought to work every moment, and never take a bit of pleasantrecreation.

  "Instead of this, she is a genial, tender-hearted woman, serving God anddoing good every day of her life, and I am sure Mrs. Bell honors her.

  "Suppose, Bertha, that I began to fret at her old-fashioned ways, thecaps she loves to wear, and the manner in which she expresses herself?It would make her nervous and timid, and if she thought we were growingashamed of her, I really believe her heart would break. Would you bewilling to give her such a wound?"

  "Oh, no," returned Bertha, sobbing. "Dear grandmother."

  "I think the commandment to honor one's father and mother takes inone's grandparents equally. And, most of all, I want to see my littledaughter brave enough to respect true worth, even if it is not clad infashionable garments, and fresh from school."

  _The Carriage Came for Grandma._]

  Bertha began to think she had been very weak and foolish, and after along talk with her mother, she resolved that Ada should never speak sodisrespectfully in her presence again.

  And so, when Mrs. Bell's carriage came, they started on their visit,grandma looking as fresh and sweet as a rose. In spite of the fact thatshe was wrinkled, her skin was white and clear, and her soft brown eyeswere overflowing with love.

  Mrs. Bell welcomed them warmly; but she took possession of grandma,while the young folks amused themselves.

  Such a lovely home as it was; full of curiosities, beautiful pictures,handsome statues and elegant furniture!

  Some unexpected visitors came in the afternoon, and Bertha found hergrandma quite the center of attraction. She overheard one lady say:"What a charming old lady! I feel like envying her relatives."

  As for Ada, she made no further remarks. Her sister had been shocked ather thoughtless levity, and had threatened to inform Aunt Bell, of whomshe stood in awe; and so Bertha had a very pleasant visit.

  She grew up with a sense of respect for old age; and Bertha Gilbert'spretty manners were often remarked upon. If she met with people lessrefined than herself, or poorly educated, instead of ridiculing them,she tried to think of their hard lives and few advantages, and was mosttender and gracious.

  Let us all try to be kind to the poor and aged, for some of them areGod's choicest jewels.

  * * * * *

  PUTTING OFF TILL TO-MORROW

  "What made you stop right in the middle of your sentence, and then starttalking about something entirely different?" The questioner laughed, andher friend joined as she replied to the puzzled query.

  "If I think in time, I make it a rule never to say to-day the mean thingthat can be put off until to-morrow," she explained. "So to-morrow it isout of date, and does not get said at all."

  NOTHING FINISHED

  I once had the curiosity to look into a little girl's work-box. And whatdo you suppose I found?

  Well, in the first place, I found a bead-purse, about half done; therewas, however, no prospect of finishing it, for the needles were out, andthe silk upon the
spools all tangled and drawn into a complete wisp.

  Laying this aside, I took up a piece of perforated paper, upon which waswrought one lid of a Bible, and beneath it the words, "I love"--but whatshe loved was left for me to imagine.

  Beneath the Bible lid I found a stocking, evidently intended for somebaby foot; but it had come to a stand just upon the little heel, andthere it seemed doomed to remain.

  Near to the stocking was a needle-book, one cover of which was neatlymade, and upon the other, partly finished, was marked, "To my dear--."

  I need not, however, tell you all that I found there; but this much Ican say, that during my travels through that workbox, I found not asingle article complete; and silent and dumb as they were, thesehalf-finished, forsaken things told me a sad story about that littlegirl.

  They told me that, with a heart full of generous affection, with a headfull of useful and pretty projects, all of which she had both the meansand the skill to carry into effect, she was still a uselesschild,--always doing but never accomplishing her work. It was not a lackof industry, but a lack of perseverance.

  Remember, my dear little friends, that it matters but little what greatthing we undertake. Our glory is not in that, but in what we accomplish.Nobody in the world cares for what we _mean_ to do; but people will opentheir eyes to see what men and women and little children _have_ done.