D. D.’s son was a gallant young soldier, and it was his hair that she wore in the harp-shaped brooch. Many of the daguerreotypes were of him, and he certainly was as handsome a fellow as any mother could wish a son to be. When we went to take tea with D. D., which was quite often, we always looked over her treasures, and asked the same questions over and over, the dear old lady never losing patience with us. And such jam as we had for tea! D. D.’s jams and jellies were famous, and she often made our whole provision of sweet things for the winter. Then we were sure of having the best quince marmalade and the clearest jelly; while as for the peach marmalade—no words can describe it!
D. D. was a wonderful nurse; and when we were ill she often came and helped our mother in taking care of us. Then she would sing us her song,—a song that no one but D. D. and the fortunate children who had her for a friend ever heard. It is such a good song that I must write it down, being very sure that D. D. would not care.
“There was an old man. and he was mad,
And he ran up the steeple;
He took off his great big hat.
And waved it over the people.”
To D. D. we owe the preservation of one of Laura’s first compositions, written when she was ten years old. She gave it to the good lady, who kept it for many years in her treasure-drawer till Laura’s own children were old enough to read it. It is a story, and is called—
LOST AND FOUND.
Marion Gray, a lovely girl of thirteen, one day tied on her gypsy hat, and, singing a merry song, bade good-by to her mother, and ran quickly toward the forest. She was the youngest daughter of Sir Edward Gray, a celebrated nobleman in great favor with the king, and consequently Marion had everything she wished for. When she reached the wood she set her basket down under a chestnut-tree, and climbing up into the branches she shook them till the ripe fruit came tumbling down. She then jumped down, and having filled her basket was proceeding to another tree, when all of a sudden a dark-looking man stepped out, who, when she attempted to fly, struck her severely with a stick, and she fell senseless to the ground.
Meanwhile all was in confusion at the manorhouse. Marion’s faithful dog Carlo had seen the man lurking in the thicket, and had tried to warn his mistress of the danger. But seeing she did not mind, the minute he saw the man prepare to spring out he had run to the house. He made them understand that some one had stolen Marion. “Who, Carlo, who?” exclaimed the agonized mother. Carlo instantly picked up some A-B-C blocks which lay on the floor, and putting together the letters that form the word “Gypsies,” looked up at his master and wagged his tail. “The Gypsies!” exclaimed Sir Edward; “alas! if the gypsies have stolen our child, we shall never see her again.” Nevertheless they searched and searched the wood, but no trace of her was to be found.
. . . . . . .
“Hush! here she is! Isn’t she a beauty?”
“Yes! but what is her name?”