OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.
New York City.
Dear Readers of the Post-office Box,—I have a story to tell you which will certainly please all those who have cute little kittens to pet and play with. I hope, too, it will put into some of your hearts a sweet thought of imitating the children I am going to write about. I think I will call the story
PUSSY'S CONTRIBUTION.
"That ends it; not another one will I make! Bother! just to break off when I wanted it! Well, I don't care."
The speaker was a boy about fourteen, sitting in a scantily furnished room, busily cutting sticks by the light of a small lamp, and surrounded by a plentiful supply of chips. On a bed in one corner was a little girl some four years younger, the last of a family who had moved out West, father, mother, and some older children having died, leaving only these two. The little girl had been for some years a cripple with spinal trouble, and the boy the worker and care-taker.
Very pale looked the little face, and sad the voice sounded that called just then,
"Andrew, can you come here a minute?"
"Yes, Jessie. What's the matter?"
As he sat down on the bed she took his hand, saying:
"What was it broke? Your knife? I was afraid that was it. What will you do?"
"Do? Nothing, except give you a nice blaze with those old sticks. You don't often have one."
"And give up the Cot? Oh, Andrew!" and her dark eyes spoke the disappointment even more than her voice.
"Well," said Andrew, a little upset by her distress, "what's the use? My knife's broken; I can't pay to have it mended, nor buy another, and even if I wanted to, I don't know where I could borrow one, and then, when I get my sticks all made, it will be only a dollar, which great sum won't go far to help buy the Cot that the paper wants. Besides, after all, it will really be Mrs. Fuller's money, for I know she could get them made cheaper at the carpenter's. I heard her say to her daughter the day she gave me the order, 'Nellie, as Andrew is wishing to make some money to give to Young People's Cot, I will let him make the flower sticks for me instead of giving them to Mr. Dawson, and he will have that to give—ten dozen, at ten cents a dozen.' I suppose you told Miss Nellie what I was wishing for?"
"Yes, after she brought the paper asking for the money for the Cot. Don't you remember, you read it to me, and how we were wishing we could make some money to give? I think it is very kind of Mrs. Fuller to think of you."
"Well, at first I thought so too; but to-night, as I sat working at the sticks, I felt as she was somehow giving it to me, and just taking the sticks to make believe I was working for the money, and it made me feel angry. Then I have only six dozen finished, and it is tiresome, after working hard all day, to spend the evening working too, and I don't believe it worth all the trouble, just for one dollar."
Throwing himself on the bed, he looked as if he considered the matter settled.
Not so Jessie, the little comforter.
"Why, Andrew, Miss Nellie said the other day, when she was here, how fast you had worked, and how nicely the sticks looked tied up in bundles, and I should not wonder if she could mend your knife. I think she can do almost anything."
"Why, Jessie," said Andrew, laughing merrily, "she couldn't do that. Girls can't mend knives."
"Miss Nellie is not a girl, Andrew. You should not speak so of her."
"Well, she's a young lady, and that's pretty much the same. They can't do much."
"Oh, Andrew, how can you speak so?" said Jessie, indignantly. "I should like to know who it was persuaded Mr. Fuller to give you the place in his office, and often gives you shoes and clothes, but Miss Nellie, and who lent us money to help pay the rent the time you were sick, and comes to see me so often, bringing books, papers, and many things, but a young lady, even Miss Nellie. You ought to be ashamed of yourself." And the voice which began so strongly to fight Miss Nellie's battle ended in a sob.
In a moment Andrew, who was really a kind-hearted, manly boy, only just now tired and disappointed, had his arm around the little girl.
"There, don't cry, Jessie; you know I didn't mean anything. I know Miss Nellie is very good to us. I don't know what we would do without her, only I'm sure she couldn't mend a knife," boy-like, not willing to give up his opinion.
"Well, Andrew, I don't know about that, only I wish I could be just such a young lady as she is, and I'm sorry I spoke so cross, and just when we were trying to work for the good of others; that's a poor way to copy Miss Nellie."
"Meow, meow," now sounded in very decided tones from somewhere below the quilt.
"Oh, Andrew, I forgot kitty," said Jessie, pulling out from under the covers a very pretty little Maltese kitten, with a blue ribbon on its neck, the latter a present from the famous Miss Nellie!
The kitten had strayed into the room some weeks before, and staid with Jessie ever since then, a much-loved companion to the lonely little girl. At present she had been occupying her usual abode under the covers near Jessie, and in the making up of the children had rather suffered from close quarters. When pussy had been made comfortable again, Jessie said:
"Andrew, I want to tell you a secret. Put your head down on the pillow by me, but don't hurt Twilight"—the name Jessie had chosen for her cat because of its color and its coming to her at that time of day. "I was talking to Miss Nellie the day she was speaking of the Cot, and wished I could do something for it, but could not, as I was not able to work. She said perhaps I could find something to give up that would bring some money, something to bear instead of do, and said she would try and think, and so must I. Well, she had not been gone more than an hour when there was a knock on the door, and in came a lovely-looking little girl about my age, holding Twilight in her arms, and saying, 'Is this your kitty? Will you sell her to me? I'll give you a dollar for her. I just want a little cat, and saw this one as I passed, and came in to see if you would let me have her. My name is Helen Lathrop, and I live in that big house on the hill that you see from here.' 'Sell my kitty!' I said; catching her rather roughly, I am afraid, out of her hands, 'no, indeed, not for any money,' and at once I put Twilight under the covers for fear she might take her away. 'I think you might,' she said; 'I will take such good care of her—better than you can here,' looking round the room. Then turning to me, she said, 'Why don't you get up, and not lie in bed this time of day; it is 'most three o'clock?' When I told her I was sick, and could not get up, she seemed very sorry, and said she would not ask any more for kitty, only if I ever wanted to sell her, she would buy her, and went away. When she was gone I gave Twilight a scolding for being out, and then had a good cry to think how near I came to losing kitty, and was so startled with my strange visitor. After I got quiet I lay looking at the house on the hill, and telling kitty all my trouble, but she seemed quite happy, and would shut her eyes and then open them partly, just, I think, to let me know she was listening, and finally went to sleep, but I could not, I felt so upset. While I lay looking at the house suddenly a thought seemed to jump into my mind: 'You were wishing to make some money for the Cot. Here is a chance—sell Twilight.'"
"Oh, Jessie, you wouldn't, would you?" for besides Jessie's pleasure, Andrew had a soft little corner in his own heart for kitty.
"Wait, Andrew, until I tell you. I said nothing to you, and Miss Nellie did not come for a few days, so I just thought and talked to Twilight. At first it seemed so hard I told her I would never let her go, and then I would think of all Miss Nellie told me of the poor little sick children in New York so much worse off than I am—you know, she used to live there—and how comfortable they were made at St. Mary's Hospital. So I thought and thought in the daytime, and dreamed about it at night, until Miss Nellie came, and we had a long talk about it, and Miss Nellie said she thought it would be a great deal for me to do, and told me the story of the widow's mite, and said it would be something like that, though I couldn't see exactly why, as I don't think kitty a mite, but a great deal, so I made up my mind, and kitty must go. I couldn't help crying over her some, Andrew. You know I shall miss her so! And I think Miss Nellie was sorry to lose her too, for I saw tears in her eyes as she kissed me good-by, and she is going to write a note to Helen Lathrop, and tell her she can buy dear Twilight."
"Jessie, you must not give puss away. How can you get along without her? she is all you have to love," said Andrew, taking one of the little dark paws lying out of the covers and rubbing it softly. Puss blinked her eyes, as much as to say she knew very well how important she was.
"Oh, Andrew, don't say that. You know, first, I have Jesus, who loves and takes care of me, and helps me bear my pain," said Jessie, reverently; "and dear Miss Nellie, who taught me to love Him and all that is good; and then this dear boy, who is always so kind and loving to me—I can't sell you at any price," putting her thin little hand lovingly on his face, the fear of hurting kitty preventing a kiss; "and even Mrs. O'Brian upstairs, when she comes to 'cheer me up like,' as she says, 'with a wee bit of a story,' although she 'most always tells such queer ones, I feel frightened when she goes away. And then, Andrew, you know Twilight will be so much better off—I suppose live on cream and sleep on a silk cushion. And you know sometimes when you are away she gets into trouble, and I can't help her, like the day the cross boy threw stones at her. So, Andrew, won't you finish your sticks? and then we can send two dollars to the Cot."
"Well, Jessie, I rather guess I will, indeed, and perhaps I can grind my knife enough to use. I will run over now to Mr. Hammond, who is still working, and see," said Andrew, getting up; and I think, if the light had been stronger, Jessie would have thought Andrew sorry to lose kitty too, for there were a good many tears in his eyes. And as he went out he thought to himself: "Well, I ought to feel ashamed. Here is Jessie, only a girl, as I often say, and a sick one at that, setting me such an example of unselfishness. Dear little thing, I don't wonder Miss Nellie loves her so."
In one acknowledgment of the Cot in Harper's Young People appeared the following: "Twilight, $1, Andrew Thornton, $1, Seneca, Kansas."
Aunt Edna.
La Grange, Illinois.
Perhaps some little readers, less fortunate than I, may like to hear about my pleasant trip this summer to Denver, Colorado. We were forty-two hours in the cars between Chicago and Denver, and I was tired crossing the plains, as there is nothing to see but prairie grass, and it was so dusty, but when we arrived at our destination I was quite delighted. Denver is a fine city, and has some buildings as pretty as those in Chicago, and then the mountains are so near!
We took a trip up Clear Creek Cañon to Idaho Springs, thirty-eight miles through the Rocky Mountains, and the scenery was just awfully grand—mountains above mountains, with lots of gold and silver in them! The air is light and clear, and this mountain refuge stands about eight thousand feet above the sea-level. It was funny to see the hot springs; the water was so warm that I could not hold my hand in it. And then there are ice-cold soda springs; but the water does not taste good, although they say it is wholesome to drink it. I would rather have lake water. We climbed up a good way, and got some nice stones with silver and gold in them.
My papa also took us to the great mining exposition, and, oh, my! it would have done your readers good to see the great chunks of gold ore. One big piece was valued at twenty-seven thousand dollars. And then there were so many pretty stones and metals—gold, silver, galena, copper, iron, lead, zinc, tin, soda, salt, granite, marble, and coal. It is built of stone, and is outside of the city. You get there by the steam-cars for ten cents. It is a permanent structure, and will be in better order next year.
It would take too much space to tell all we saw, but I would urge on all who can to take a trip to Colorado. We intend going next year again, and until then adieu.
Eliza B. S.
Lockland, Ohio.
I have taken your paper only a short time, beginning August 15. I have two kitties—one Snip, and the other Tabbie. I have some chickens. I think a good deal of one I call Bess. She knows her name, and will come to me when I call her. I have a little curly-headed brother, who is the sunshine of the whole house. I have a swing, and Albert, the little darling, likes to swing. I have to hold him in my lap. He is two and a half and I am thirteen years, and we are the only children. I want to take music lessons, but we have no piano. Papa does not know I am writing this letter, and it will please him very much to see it in print. Mamma always looks over my letters, so of course she knows this is the first letter I have ever written to you.
Grace M. S.
If I were you, I would learn to read music, and then when you have a piano, as I hope you will some day, you will be all ready to begin your study in earnest.
New York City.
As I see so many little girls and boys writing to Young People, I thought I would like to write too, and tell you how I have enjoyed myself in the country this summer. We went to Pine Plains, a place up the Hudson River, about one hundred miles from New York city. Pine Plains is in a beautiful part of Dutchess County; the country is very mountainous, some mountains rising to the height of one thousand feet. There are also some very nice lakes, where we found beautiful pond-lilies growing.
In the village there are four churches, and a free library, which contains a great many interesting books. The library is in the Post-office Building, and close by is the Pine Plains Bank. The main street is about half a mile long, beautifully shaded by large trees, beyond which is a lovely valley, in which was situated the house where we were staying, entirely secluded from the village by trees.
We had a croquet lawn in front of the house, and a short distance back of it was a splendid running brook, where we spent a great deal of our time wading in the water, and amused ourselves by building a dam. In some parts the water was deep enough for us to go in bathing, which we enjoyed very much.
I could write of many other things we did while there, but fear to make my letter too long.
Grace Pascall F.
Ellershouse, Nova Scotia.
I was writing a letter last March to tell you how much we all liked Harper's Young People, but before I had it finished we were taken ill with diphtheria, and one of my little brothers died. His name was Herbert; he was six years old, and he liked Harper's Young People too. I had three brothers and a little baby sister. Now I have two brothers. Arthur is eight years old, Cecil is three and a half, and baby is two and a half. I will be ten on the 1st of January. We live in the country, and have a governess. We are saving all the Harper's Young Peoples to have them bound. We had a little pet squirrel, and kept it for a little while, and then let it go, as it did not seem happy.
Frankie C.
You did right to set your squirrel free if he seemed to long for liberty. I am sorry to hear that you have lost a dear little brother.
Fond du Lac, Wisconsin.
I had two little kittens—one was white and yellow, and the other was white and gray—but I lost them both, for they ran away. I go to school, and am number seven in my class, and I am seven years old. I have a box of tools, and make little boats, and sell them to my playmates for pins. Last Saturday papa took me out in the country, and we gathered some hickory and hazel nuts. We had a fine time. I have taken Harper's Young People nearly a year, and I enjoy the stories so much, and the letters also. Mamma is writing this letter for me, as I can not. Please try and print it. Good-by.
Harry S.
Cahto, Mendocino County, California.
The picture in the Post-office Box of August 1 looks very much like my sister Sophia. In your answer to our letters you said, "Did we ever forget to come to dinner?" Very often. Brother Ed has been out hunting again. You told me to persuade him not to go unless we needed a deer for food. He killed a fat deer. While he was thinking how he could get his deer on the horse to fetch it home, he heard a noise in the tree above him, and looking up, he saw a swarm of bees that had come out of a hollow in the tree.
After that he succeeded in getting his deer on the horse, came home, and told father his luck of finding a bee tree and killing his deer. Father went with him to cut the tree down and get the honey. Only going prepared to get a gallon, when the tree was cut it had over one hundred pounds of honey. Oh dear! nothing to save it in, and five miles from any one else!
Allie R.
I live in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and Aunt Maria, who lives near Buffalo, New York, sends us Young People. When it comes we all call out, "Harper's Young People for me first!" Ross, my little brother, likes the funny page best. I go for Jimmy Brown's stories, but I like "The Cruise of the Canoe Club" very much. We have two mocking-birds and a kitten. We have a horse too, but we don't pet him much.
Ackland J.
Xenia, Ohio.
I am a little girl eleven years of age. My sister Fanny gave me Young People for a New-Year's gift, and you can not imagine what an amount of pleasure I get out of it. My sister Mary takes St. Nicholas, and I your paper, and we have such good times reading them. All the boys and girls tell about their pets, and so I thought I would tell you about an old cat that stays here. One morning father met her in the hall, and the minute she saw him she ran upstairs and stood by one of the doors and mewed. Father opened the door, and she ran in. After breakfast my little sister and I went upstairs, and we found two kittens with her—wee little ones. Afterward she hid them, and we could not find them, until just the other day, when we found them in a covered box in a shed. Papa thinks she was afraid of us. I have a beautiful wax doll; her name is Violet. I think of all the stories I like "Mr. Stubbs's Brother" the best.
Bessie De M.
Fort McKavett, Texas.
I have been at this post since April, and like it here very much. Papa was on a leave of absence, and we were staying in Philadelphia. When his leave was over he was ordered to Fort McKavett. We had a very pleasant trip out here. We came as far as San Antonio in the cars. When we were in the cars we passed cotton fields and sugar plantations; they were the first I had ever seen. From San Antonio we came by stage. We started at eight o'clock in the morning, and rode until ten at night. The next morning we started at about half past six, and rode until six o'clock the next morning. We were all very tired when we got here, and it took us two or three days to get rested.
I brought my little canary-bird all the way with me, and he stood the stage trip very well. There are lots of funny little horned toads about here, and plenty of prairie-dogs. When we go out riding we see whole towns of them. One day, when my sister and a friend and I were out riding, the driver killed a large rattlesnake. It had eight rattles. We killed two tarantulas in our dining-room one evening.
Hattie J.
Some of my little friends ask me to tell them of interesting games for the long evenings. Here are two, one of which you will find instructive, and the other amusing. Please try both: