“PICKING FLOWERS.” [See page 218.]

LITTLE HELPERS

BY
MARGARET VANDEGRIFT
AUTHOR OF “THE DEAD DOLL AND OTHER POEMS” Etc.

Illustrated.

BOSTON
TICKNOR AND COMPANY
211 Tremont Street
1889

Copyright, 1888,
By Ticknor and Company.

ELECTROTYPED BY
C. J. Peters & Son, Boston,
U. S. A.

CONTENTS.

FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS.

LITTLE HELPERS.

CHAPTER I.
INDEPENDENCE.

His name was Johnny Leslie, and he was standing on an empty flour barrel; in his hand was his United States History, and he was shouting at the top of his little voice,—

“All men are born free and equal, and endowed with certain in-in-alienable rights, such as life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”

He stopped a minute to draw a long breath, and his audience, who was sitting in an easy position upon the upturned kitchen coal scuttle, with her oldest child in her arms, took the opportunity to ask meekly,—

“What does that dreadful long word mean, Johnny? I never heard of that kind of rights before.”

“You’ll know when you’re older, Tiny,” said Johnny, loftily, and he was going on with his oration, but the audience was not to be silenced in this easy manner, and persisted,—

“But I want to know right away, now! I don’t believe you know yourself, Johnny Leslie!”

“Well, I don’t believe I do,” said Johnny, candidly, and in his own natural voice. “We might ask mamma, she’s up there at her window, I can see the back of her head. O mamma!”

There was no doubt about Mrs. Leslie’s hearing; if she had been in the top of the apple tree, at the foot of the garden, she could have heard that “O mamma!” perfectly well.

A pleasant face appeared where Johnny had seen the head, and a sweet voice said, “O Johnny!”

“Mamma, what does in-a-li-en-able mean?” shouted the orator, still loudly enough for the top of the apple tree.

“I’ve the greatest mind in the world to drop my new ‘Webster’s Unabridged’ on your head, you wild Indian,” said Mrs. Leslie, holding the big dictionary threateningly, over the edge of the window-sill, and Johnny’s head. “Don’t you suppose I have any inalienable rights? And do you think I can even pursue my happiness, much less catch it, with all this hullaballoo under my window when I am trying to write a letter?”

“Well, mamma, Tiny and I would just as lief go to the barn,” replied Johnny, in a reasonable tone of voice, “if you’ll just please tell us first what that word means. You see, as Tiny’s asked me, maybe some of the boys might ask, and I ought to be able to tell them.”

“Come up here, then, if you please,” said Mrs. Leslie. “I am not a Fourth-of-July orator, and so I do not need to practise shouting, just now.”

So Johnny and Tiny and Veronica—who was Tiny’s oldest child, and was made of what had once been white muslin, with cotton stuffing—came upstairs, and had it explained to them that inalienable meant that which cannot be separated, or taken away.

“But, I don’t see how that works,” said Johnny, looking puzzled, “for folks do take our rights away; I’m having lots of mine taken away, all the time. I’m very fond of you, mammy, and you know it, but still you sometimes take away my rights yourself.”

“For a Fourth-of-July orator,” said Mrs. Leslie, gravely, “you are showing a painful amount of ignorance. We will suppose, for the sake of argument, that I take away, or deprive you of, certain things to which you have a right, but the right to have them is there, all the same. Taking away the things does not touch that. Do you see what I mean?”

“Yes, mamma, I think I do,” answered Johnny, thoughtfully, “but it’s kind of puzzling. It’s most as bad as ‘if a herring and a half cost a cent and a half, how much will three herrings cost?’ But I did get that through my head, and I suppose I can get this.”

“But, sometimes,” said Mrs. Leslie, “people’s ‘inalienable rights’ seem to conflict; I say seem, for they never really do. For instance, as you have a gentleman for a father, and a woman who tries to be a lady for a mother, I feel as if I had an inalienable right to a gentleman for a son, and a lady for a daughter; and when my son talks about getting a thing through his head, I begin to wonder what is becoming of my rights!”

“Now, mamma,” said Johnny, appealingly, “that’s just nothing at all to what some of the boys say. But I’d like to hear anybody say that you aren’t a lady, or that papa isn’t a gentleman!” and Johnny doubled his fists fiercely at the bare idea of such a statement.

“You may live to have that pleasure,” said Mrs. Leslie, “if you let the boys have more of a right in you than I have.”

Johnny caught his mother in a “bear hug.” “I never thought of it that way,” he said. “No ma’am! You’ve the very first, best right and title to me, Mrs. Mother, and the boys may go bang—oh, there I go again! I mean the boys may—what shall I say?”

“You might say that the boys may exercise their inalienable rights over somebody else,” said his mother, laughing and kissing him. “But now I’ll tell you what we will do—I really don’t think it would look well for a Fourth-of-July orator to read his oration out of an United States History, so when papa comes home, I will ask him to have the Declaration of Independence printed on two or three sheets of paper for you, and we’ll tie them together with a handsome bow of blue ribbon, and meanwhile, if you’ve no objection, you will practise in the barn.”

“Of course I will, you loveliest woman alive!” said Johnny, rapturously, “and I shall try not to have my rights treading on anybody else’s rights’ toes!” with which extraordinary declaration, he pranced off to the barn, closely followed by Tiny and Veronica.

There was to be a picnic on the Fourth-of-July. Mr. and Mrs. Leslie and three or four neighbor families had agreed to take their dinners in baskets and butter-kettles, to a very pretty grove which grew obligingly near to the little village-city where they lived, and where Mr. Leslie edited the one newspaper of the place, which fact enabled him to have the Declaration conveniently printed for Johnny, who had been chosen by the boys for the orator of the day, because he stood highest in his reading and declamation classes. It wanted three or four days, yet, of the “glorious Fourth,” and Johnny was diligently practising his voice, for he was afraid, notwithstanding his mother’s earnest assurances to the contrary, that it was not loud enough for an open air oration!

Johnny was a very sociable and friendly little boy, and he had recently made acquaintance with a boy somewhat older than himself, whose profession was bootblacking. This boy had a cool, knowing, and business-like air, which had greatly taken Johnny’s fancy, and it occurred to him that a partnership with Jim Brady might be a very good thing. Jim had happened to mention that he owned a wheelbarrow, and Johnny owned an apple tree, which had been planted by his father on the day of Johnny’s birth, and which, this season, was full of promising apples. So Johnny resolved, if Jim improved on acquaintance, and showed symptoms of honor and honesty, to propose to him, when the apples should be ripe, to take his wheelbarrow and peddle them “on shares.”

He would probably have made Jim the offer on the second day of their acquaintance, but his mother advised him to wait a little. She felt sure that Johnny would tell her at once, if Jim should use bad language, or say or do anything which would make him a dangerous acquaintance for her boy, and she thought it would be time enough then to break off the intercourse which might put a little pleasure into the hard life of the bootblack, whose sturdy figure and face she had often noticed in passing his stand, and she had also noticed that he was almost always busy, even when other boys of his trade were idle.

Johnny was such a very small boy that it had never entered his mother’s head to forbid him to smoke. She thought of it once in a while, and hoped that when the time came for him to choose about it, he would elect to go without a habit which is certainly useless, and which in many cases involves a great deal of selfishness. She wished Johnny’s wife, if he should be so fortunate as to have a good wife some day in the far future, to love him altogether, not with a “putting-up” with one thing, and “making allowances” for another; and she meant, when the time came, to lay the whole subject plainly before him, and let him choose rationally for himself. It was quite true that his father smoked; but he smoked very moderately, never where it could annoy any one, and, whenever he bought cigars, he deposited a sum equal to that spent for them, in the little earthern jug with which he presented his wife once a year, and this money was neither “house money” nor “pin money”; it was for Mrs. Leslie to spend absolutely as she liked. And Johnny’s mother meant him, if he should smoke at all, to be just such a smoker as his father was.

But on the third of July, as “Johnny came marching home,” he met Jim at the usual corner, and Jim had a long cigar in his mouth! Johnny felt a good deal awed. He thought Jim looked very manly indeed.

“Have a cigar?” asked Jim affably. “One of my best customers gave me this,” he added, “and the one I’m smoking, and I tell you it’s not many fellows I’d offer this to, for they’re prime! It was a regular joke on him—he’s always poking fun at me, and this morning, when I said I’d give anything to be a sailor, he just pulls these out of his pocket, and says, seriously, ‘Smoke these, my boy, and you’ll be as sure you’re at sea as you ever will if you really get there!’ He thought I wouldn’t take ’em, but I did,” and Jim chuckled, “I thanked him kindly, and told him I’d learned to smoke years ago!”

“Learned?” said Johnny, “why, what is there to learn? It looks easy enough.”

“So it is,” said Jim, with another chuckle, “it’s like what the Irishman said about his fall; ‘Sure, it’s not the fall, it’s the fetch up that hurts!’ I wasn’t sea-sick after that first cigar? Oh, no! not at all!” and he gave an indescribable wink.

All this time Johnny held the cigar doubtfully in his hand. Was it worth while deliberately to make himself “sea-sick?” That long, coarse, black thing did not look as if it would taste nice.

“What are you waiting for?” asked Jim, “a light? Here’s one,” and he drew a match from his pocket, struck it, and handed it to Johnny, who, prevented by a false and foolish shame, from saying what was in his mind, lighted the cigar, hastily thanked Jim, and walked off, smoking.

But he had not gone a block before a queer, dizzy feeling, and a bitter, puckery taste in his mouth, which reminded him of a green persimmon, made him resolve to finish his cigar another time; so he put it out, wrapped it carefully in paper, thrust it into his trousers pocket, and then hurried home.

When he kissed his mother, she exclaimed, “Why, Johnny! You smell exactly as if you had been smoking!”

Johnny had never, in all his life, concealed anything from his mother; what made him wish to, now?

“I stopped to talk to Jim,” he said, hastily, “and he was smoking a cigar that a gentleman had given him.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Mrs. Leslie, gravely; “I must speak to Jim. He is too young to begin to smoke.”

Johnny said nothing, but his mind was made up; he was not going to be beaten by that cigar! There were no lessons to be learned for the next day, and he could give the whole afternoon, and the whole of his mind to it.

He did. I am not going into particulars, they are not agreeable; but late that afternoon, as a heavy thunderstorm was coming up, Mrs. Leslie grew uneasy about Johnny, who had not been seen since dinner.

“Run to the barn, Tiny,” she said, “and see if he is there—though I don’t think he can be, for I haven’t heard a word of the oration.”

Tiny ran, and came back in five minutes, breathless, and with a horrified face.

“Oh, mamma!” she exclaimed, “Johnny’s cap and his speech are on the barn floor, and the most dreadfullest groans are coming out of the haymow!”

Mrs. Leslie was running to the barn before Tiny had finished.

“Johnny!” she called wildly. “My darling! What has happened?”

A pale face, a rough-looking head, with hay sticking out of its hair, appeared at the top of the ladder, and Johnny staggered weakly down.

“Oh, mamma!” he groaned, “I think I must be going to die! I never felt this way before!”

His mother caught him in her arms, and as she did so, the smell of the rank cigar which Johnny, with wasted heroism, had smoked to the end, struck her indignant nose.

“Johnny!” she exclaimed, reproachfully, “you’ve been smoking, and you told me what was just as bad as a lie about it!”

And the warm-hearted, offended little mother burst out crying, and sobbed with her head on Johnny’s dusty shoulder.

Nothing she could have said would have gone to Johnny’s heart of hearts as those sobs did. He forgot his alarming illness as he caught her in his arms, and said, imploringly,—

“Oh, mammy, my darling mammy, please don’t cry like that; I’ll die before I’ll ever tell you a lie, or act you one, again. Oh, please say you forgive me!”

Of course Tiny felt obliged to help with the crying, and when Mr. Leslie, coming home to a deserted house, traced his family to the barn, he came upon a place of wailing.

At first, he was inclined to laugh, but when he heard of the deceit which had followed Johnny’s first effort at smoking, he looked very grave. No one, however, could doubt Johnny’s penitence, and as he lay on the lounge in his mother’s room, while the heavy thunder and sharp lightning seemed to fill the air, and waves of deathly sickness rolled over him, he made some very good resolutions, which were not forgotten, as such resolutions sometimes are, after his recovery.

The orator of the day was somewhat paler than he usually was when he took his place upon the barrel which he had previously assisted to the grove, the next morning.

He read the Declaration of Independence in a voice which reached the ears of his most distant listener with perfect distinctness, and when he had finished, and the applause had subsided, he added, “out of his head,” as Tiny proudly announced.

“I’ve got a declaration of my own to make, now—it’s not at all long, so you needn’t worry—it’s just this: Folks sometimes think they’re being independent, when they’re only being most uncommonly foolish, and you never need think that anything you’re afraid to have anybody know is independence—it’s pretty sure to be sneaking meanness! And I’ve heard somebody that knows more than all of us put together, say that if we want to be presidents and things, and govern other folks, we’d better begin on ourselves!”

And Johnny stepped, in a dignified manner, from the barrel to a box, and thence to the ground, amid a storm of applause, while Mr. Leslie rose and bowed gracefully, from his place among the audience, in acknowledgment of the tribute paid him by the orator.

A prisoner in a dungeon may be one of those “freemen whom the Truth makes free,” and an absolute monarch may be “the servant of sin.” Each one of us must frame for himself his own especial Declaration of Independence.

CHAPTER II.
THINKING AND THINKEPHONES.

It is a great pity that little boys’ legs are so short; they have to hurry so much, and a pair of good long legs, like those of the stately giraffe, for instance, would be such a convenience to a small boy, who wished to run home from school—half a mile—ask his mother something, and be back again, inside of five minutes.

It is difficult to think and run both at once, but something like this was passing through Johnny’s mind, as he tore home to ask if he might spend his shiny new half dollar in going to the circus with “the other boys.”

Flaming posters on all the available fences and walls, had been announcing for some days that Barnum was coming, and that there would be two afternoon and two evening performances, “presenting in every respect the same attractions.” Mr. Leslie had an engagement for the first afternoon, but he had promised to take Tiny and Johnny, and as many neighbor children as chose to join the party—with mothers’ and fathers’ consent, of course—on the second afternoon, and with this promise Johnny had been well content.

But when he went to school, on the morning of the first day, he found that several of his schoolmates had arranged to go that afternoon, and they soon succeeded in talking him into a belief that life would not be worth living unless he could join them.

“You see, Johnny,” said Ned Grafton, solemnly, “some of the ‘feats of strength and agility’ are about as hard to do as it would be for you or me to turn ourselves inside out and back again, and it stands to reason that they’ll not do them so well the second day as they will the first, when they’ve just had a rest; and the beasts and things always roar and fight more the first day, because they’re mad at having been shut up in their boxes and jolted about so; and then, forty things may happen to hinder your father from taking you to-morrow, and just think how you’d feel, if you were the only fellow at school who hadn’t been! You couldn’t stand it at all! So just cut home, and explain it to your mother, and ask her to let you come with us to-day, and we’ll wait for you here.”

“I’ll tell you what I can do,” said Johnny, eagerly, “I’ve half a dollar, all my own, left from my apple money, so I’ll take that, and then I can go with papa to-morrow, too,—I wouldn’t like to hurt his feelings, nor Tiny’s either.”

“Well, I should think your mother’d have to say yes to that,” said Ned, “and you’ll be luckier than the rest of us, if you go twice; but hurry up—you know it begins at three, and it’s after two, now.”

So Johnny hurried up, and was so perfectly breathless when he reached home, that he gasped for several minutes before he could begin to shout through the house for his mother.

His very first shout was enough; it was given at the foot of the front stairs, and, as his mother was in the dining-room, it reached her instantly, and without losing anything by the way. She came out at once, and boxed his ears lightly with the feather-duster, saying,—

“Johnny Leslie! This is not a deaf and dumb asylum. Did you imagine, when you came in that it was?”

“I didn’t know you were so near, mammy dear,” panted Johnny, “and I’m in the worst kind—I mean, a dreadful hurry, I don’t see why there couldn’t be a thinkephone, so that we could just think things at each other, it would save so much time. The boys are all waiting for me, and they want me to go to the circus with them this afternoon, because Ned Grafton says the first performance is always the best, before the beasts get the roar out of them, and before the people are tired, so mayn’t I take my own half dollar, and go with them, and then I can go with papa and Tiny to-morrow, too—it isn’t that I don’t want to go with him, but I want to have the best of it!”

“Is any grown person going with the ‘boys’?” asked Mrs. Leslie.

“N-o, mamma,” replied Johnny, hesitatingly, “at least, they didn’t say there was, and I don’t believe there is, but some of the boys are quite old, you know—Charley Graham is ’most fifteen—and there isn’t any danger; all the things are in cages, except the Tattooed Man.”

“I’m ever so sorry, dear,” said his mother, putting her arm around him, “but indeed I don’t feel willing to have you go without some grown person. There will be a very great crowd, and I don’t know all the boys with whom you want to go, and you might be led into all sorts of dangers. And it is all nonsense about the beasts getting the roar out of them by to-morrow; poor things! they’ll keep on roaring as long as they are caged. So you must be patient. I really think you’ll enjoy it more with papa to explain things, and Tiny to help you.”

“But they’re all waiting for me!” said Johnny, choking down a sob, “and something may happen between now and to-morrow—it’s a great while! Oh, please, dear mammy! I’ll be just as careful as if papa were there, and come right straight home when it’s out!”

Johnny’s mother looked nearly as sorry as he did.

“Dear little boy,” she said, “I know just how hard it is, and how foolish it seems to you that I am afraid to trust you there without papa, or some other grown person, and you know how dearly I love you, and now you have a chance to wear my sleeve in earnest; you must run back and tell the boys that you cannot go till to-morrow, and then come home to me, and I’ll comfort you.”

Johnny turned away without a word; he did not quite shake off his mother’s arm, but he drew away from under it, and ran, not to keep the boys waiting, back to the schoolhouse. But it was not the light-footed running which had brought him home, and although, before he reached the playground, he had conquered his tears, because he was ashamed for the boys to see them, his voice trembled as he said,—

“Mother says I can’t go to-day,—that I must wait till to-morrow, and go with papa.”

The boys all knew Johnny’s mother, more or less; those who knew her more adored her, and those who knew her less admired her profoundly, so there were no jeers or tauntings upon this announcement, but they all looked sorry, and Ned Grafton said,—

“We’re awfully sorry, old fellow, but we can’t wait—it wants only five minutes of three now; good by.”

There was a general rush, and the boys were gone. Johnny walked home very slowly, thinking bitter thoughts.

“I just believe it is because mamma never was a boy!” he thought. “If papa had been at home, and I’d asked him first, he’d have let me go! Ladies don’t know about boys—they can’t. Mamma knows more than most ladies, but even she doesn’t know everything.”

The circus tent was in plain sight all the way home; it stood on a vacant lot about half way between the school and Mr. Leslie’s house, and, just as Johnny entered the gate, a burst of gay music came to his ears. His mother stood on the porch with a little basket in her hands. It was very full, and covered with a pretty red doily. Tiny and little Pep Warren, from next door, were jumping up and down on the porch, and the baby was tottering from one to the other, chuckling, and talking in what they called “Polly-talk.”

“Johnny,” said his mother, eagerly, as he came heavily up the walk, “Tiny says there are lots of blackberries in our field, and I want you and Pep to go with her and get some for tea. You’ll have to eat up what is in the basket first, and then you can fill it with blackberries. And I’m going to lend you Polly!”

Johnny’s dull face brightened a little; he and Pep were great friends; he liked picking blackberries when he did not have to pick many, and to have Polly lent to them for even so short and safe an expedition as this was an honor which he appreciated.

“Oh, thank you, mamma!” he said, almost heartily, as he took the basket, and they started down the lane together, he and Pep holding Polly between them, with one of her chubby hands in a hand of each, and Tiny marching on in front. Pep sympathized deeply upon hearing of Johnny’s woe, but added, at the same time:—

“I can’t help being sort of glad, Johnny, that you’ll not see it before I do. You know mamma is going to let me go with all of you to-morrow.”

Johnny thought this was a little selfish in Pep, but he did not say so, and the party reached the blackberry bushes in harmony. Polly was even funnier than usual. She was just at that interesting age when babies begin trying to say all the words they hear, and the children were never tired of hearing her repeat their words in “Polly-talk.”

It was necessary to empty the basket first, of course, so they chose a nice grassy spot at the edge of the field, where the woods kept off the afternoon sun, spread the little red shawl which Tiny had brought, seated Polly on it, and themselves around it, and opened the basket. There were two or three “lady-fingers,” labelled “For Polly,” three dainty sandwiches, three generous slices of loaf cake, and three oranges.

“I think your mother is the very nicest lady I know, except my mother!” said Pep, through a mouthful of loaf-cake, and Johnny, who had just bitten deeply into his sandwich, nodded approvingly.

The lunch was soon finished, and then they began, not very vigorously, to fill the basket with blackberries, laughing at Polly as she tangled herself in a stray branch, and then scolded it.

Johnny put his hand in his pocket for his knife to cut the branch, and drew it out again, as if something had stung it—there was his half dollar! Then he remembered that he had taken it when he went to school in the morning, because he had half made up his mind to buy a monster kite. At that moment the music struck up once more in the distant tent. Johnny stopped his ears desperately.

“If I keep on hearing that, I shall go!” he said to himself.

He could not pick blackberries and stop his ears at the same time. The music swelled louder and louder. Then came a cheer from the audience. Johnny looked round for the other children. They were all standing together; Pep was holding down a branch for Polly, and he and Tiny were laughing as the little lady stained her pretty fingers and lips with the ripe berries.

“She’s all safe with them; they’ll take her home,” he whispered to himself, as he slipped into the wood, unseen by the other children.

“Suppose you had your thinkephone now, Johnny Leslie!” somebody seemed to say inside of his head, “you’d like your mother to know what you’re thinking now, wouldn’t you?”

“Papa would have let me go—mamma’s never been a boy, and she don’t know anything about it!” said Johnny, stubbornly, and speaking quite aloud. He ran fast as soon as he was through the wood, and, never stopping, handed his half dollar to the doorkeeper, and went in. The vast crowd bewildered him; he could not see a vacant seat anywhere, nor a single boy that he knew, but a good-natured countryman pushed him forward, saying:—

“Here, little fellow, there’s a seat on the front bench for a boy of your size.”

He struggled past the people into the place pointed out to him, and leaned eagerly over the rope. The clown was in the ring performing with the “trick donkey,” and everybody was roaring with laughter.

The donkey wheeled around suddenly, and flashed out his heels, just as Johnny, recognizing a boy on the other side of the tent, leaned still farther forward and nodded.

Johnny had a dim impression that he had been struck by lightning; the roaring of the crowd sounded like thunder; he did not remember what came next.

It was some minutes before the other children missed him; then they called him several times at the top of their voices, and, when he neither came nor answered, Tiny began to cry. Pep wished to explore the wood, but Tiny fairly howled at the idea of being left alone with Polly.

“I just believe,” she sobbed, “that some of the elephants and tigers and things have broken out of the circus, and got into the wood, and eaten my Johnny all up, and if we stay here they’ll eat us up, too!”

And, taking Polly’s hand, she set off up the lane toward the house. Pep followed her, greatly troubled. If the “elephants and tigers and things” really were in the wood, he was missing a glorious opportunity! His heart swelled at the thought of throwing a big stone at the elephant, demolishing the tiger with a club, and leading the rescued Johnny home to his glad and grateful mother! But Tiny was only a girl, and a badly frightened one at that; they had been trusted with baby Polly, and something seemed to tell him that it was his duty to see his charge safely home, and lay the case before Mrs. Leslie, rather than to rush into the wood and leave them frightened and alone.

Mrs. Leslie was sitting in the back porch, peacefully sewing, when the three children came up the garden walk, and she saw at once that something was the matter.

“Why, where’s Johnny, Pep?” she asked, anxiously, “and what has happened?” and she sprang up, dropping her sewing.

“We don’t know, ma’am,” said Pep, looking scared, “Tiny and I were holding down the branches for Polly to pick, and when we looked ’round, Johnny was gone, and I’m afraid he went into the wood, and that some of the circus beasts have carried him off!”

“Have any of them broken loose? Did anybody tell you?” gasped Mrs. Leslie.

“No ma’am,” said Pep, “but I don’t see what else could have gone with him.”

“Run home, dear,” said Mrs. Leslie, “I’m sorry to send you away, but I must go look for Johnny. Take Polly to the nursery, Tiny, and I’ll send Ann up to you.”

And, only stopping to speak to the servant, Mrs. Leslie sped down the lane and into the wood, calling “Johnny! Johnny!”

It was a very small wood, and she soon satisfied herself that her boy was not there. She ran up the lane, intending to go to Mr. Leslie’s office, and see what he thought had better be done next, when the front gate opened, and the man who had shown Johnny to a seat, came in with the poor little boy in his arms.

Johnny was still insensible, and at the first glance, his mother thought that he was dead. Her face grew as white as his, and it was with great difficulty that she kept herself from falling.

“Don’t be scared, ma’am,” said the farmer, kindly, “the little feller’s only fainted, and his hurt ain’t but a trifle—the donkey’s hoof just grazed him kind of sideways. If it had struck him square, it would have finished him, but a miss is as good as a mile.”

While he was speaking, the farmer had laid Johnny on the bench in the porch, and now he went hastily to the pump, and brought a dipperful of water to Mrs. Leslie.

“A little of that will bring him to,” he said, and as she gently bathed Johnny’s face and head, his new friend fanned him gently with his own large straw hat, and in two or three minutes the little boy “came to,” and sat up, feeling strangely dizzy, and wondering where he was, and what had happened.

“There!” said the farmer, putting on his hat, and then making a bow, “Good afternoon, ma’am—he’ll do now,” and he was gone before Mrs. Leslie could even thank him.

“I went to the circus, mammy!” said Johnny, feebly, and throwing his arms around his mother’s neck as he spoke, “and the donkey was quite right to break my head, only I don’t see how he knew, or how you knew, and if I’d really had the thinkephone, then you could have stopped me. But I’m not good enough to wear your sleeve any more—you’ll have to take it back!”

Johnny had been very much interested about knights, a few weeks before, when his mother had told him some stories of the Knights of the Round Table, and how each one chose a lady whom he might especially honor, and for whom he was always ready to do battle, and wore her token, a glove, or a silken sleeve, or something of the kind that she had given him, and how Launcelot wore the sleeve of the fair Elaine. They were ripping up a silk gown of Mrs. Leslie’s, which was to be made over for Tiny, at the time of one of these talks; it was a summer silk, soft, and of a pretty light gray color, and he had begged one of the sleeves. His mother had humored him, and twisted the sleeve around his straw hat.

“Be my own true knight,” she had said, as she gave him his decorated hat, and Johnny had fully intended to render her all knightly service and homage. So that now, when he had so flagrantly deceived and disobeyed her, he felt that he was degraded, and had no longer any right to wear her token.

“We will not talk about that now, dear,” said his mother, very gently and gravely, “You must go to bed at once, and have a mustard plaster on the back of your neck. Does your head ache much?”

“I should think it did!” said Johnny, feebly, “it feels as big as the house, with an ache in every room!” and he closed his eyes.

He was feverish at bedtime, and his mother, too anxious to go to bed, put on a soft wrapper, and drew the easy-chair to his bedside. She had sent for the doctor, but he was not at home, and she could not hope to see him now, until morning.

Johnny moaned and muttered a good deal in his sleep, through the night, but toward morning he grew quiet, and when he woke, the pain was nearly gone, but he felt very weak and forlorn. The doctor came, and said he had better stay in bed until the next day, and against this advice he felt no desire to rebel.

“Mamma,” he said, earnestly, when the doctor had gone, “I wish I felt well enough to want to go with papa and Tiny and Pep and the rest of them, right badly. I don’t feel punished enough.”

His mother stooped to kiss him.

“The punishing will not help you for next time,” she said, “unless you see just where the fault was. When did the going wrong begin?”

Johnny was silent for a few moments; then he said,—

“I think it began when I said to myself that you didn’t know about boys because you were a lady. Then, when I found I had my half dollar in my pocket, and heard the music, that seemed to make it all right,—I made myself believe that if papa had been at home, he would have let me go,—only I didn’t really and truly believe it, for he never does let me do things that you don’t.

“But, mamma, don’t you think it would be a splendid thing if there really were thinkephones? Something like telephones, you know, only for thinks instead of words? You see, if you and I had one, you would always be able to stop me when I was going to do anything bad! I had such a queer dream last night, when my head hurt so; I thought somebody had really and truly invented thinkephones, and I was hearing everybody think, and some of the people that I had liked ever so much were thinking such disagreeable things that I did not like them any more, and they heard me think that, and then they didn’t like me any more, and things were getting into a most dreadful mess when you came in and cut the wires, and then the dream stopped, and I went into a nice quiet sleep.”

“So you see,” said his mother, smiling at this remarkable dream, “that if anybody ever should invent the thinkephone, it will make more trouble than pleasure, for no one, not even the best people, would be ready to have all their thoughts known to any other human being. But, dear Johnny, Who is it to whom all our thoughts lie bare, Who hears them just as if we spoke, Who, if we ask Him, can take away the wicked ones, and put good and holy ones in their place?”

“It is the Saviour, mamma,” said Johnny, reverently, “and if I had just asked Him yesterday, when I heard the music, and found the half dollar in my pocket, that would have been better than stopping my ears. But it seems to me that just when I am most bad and need Him the most, I forget all about Him.”

“We can teach our minds, as well as our bodies, to have habits,” said his mother, “and the habit of sending up a quick, earnest prayer, whenever we are especially tempted, will often save us from yielding to the temptation, when there is nothing else to do it. Even if I could read your thoughts, I cannot always be with you, and I could not always help you, but the Saviour is always near, and always ‘mighty to save,’ from small things as well as great, and you can think to Him, and know that it will be just the same as if you had spoken.”

Johnny was obliged to keep rather quiet for several days, but he was much more patient and gentle than he had ever been before during a slight illness, and he seemed sincerely pleased when he heard what a good time Tiny and Pep and the rest of his small friends had had at the circus.

Tiny had been much impressed by seeing the identical donkey that had come so near to breaking Johnny’s head.

“I didn’t half like that part,” she said. “I wanted that donkey punished for kicking you, Johnny.”

“He didn’t do it on purpose, Tiny,” said Johnny, indulgently. “You see, I stuck my head out over the rope, and, though I couldn’t help thinking at first that he knew and did it to punish me, I know now that that was foolish. And I’m really very much obliged to him! If nothing ever happened to folks, I don’t believe they’d think of anything!”

Mrs. Leslie left Johnny to decide for himself whether or not he should give her back her sleeve, and, very sorrowfully, he brought her his hat to have the “token” ripped off.

“It wouldn’t be fair for me to keep it on, mamma,” he said, “when I deserted Polly and Tiny and you all at once. But please don’t cut it up, or anything,—just put it away safely, and the very first time I’ve been tempted right hard, and remembered what you said, and been helped through, then I’ll ask you to put it on my hat again!”

CHAPTER III.
LETTER AND SPIRIT.

Tiny and Johnny congratulated themselves, and each other, at least once a week, upon being the children of an editor.

You will think, perhaps, that they had literary tendencies, and hoped to grow up into co-editors? Not in the least! They each wondered, as they groaned over “composition day,” how anybody could be found willing to spend the greater part of his time either in writing, or in reading what other people had written; they knew that at least a column of the “large print” in their father’s paper, was always written by himself, and they had often seen him plodding through pages of bad writing, which must be read and decided upon, so that, proud as they were of him for being able to do these things, and much as they admired him, I am afraid they pitied him even more.

“Poor papa!” they would say to each other, when they saw him at his desk, with a mountain of manuscript before him; and sometimes, I must confess, Mr. Leslie echoed this sigh, for an editor’s life is not invariably “a happy one,” any more than a policeman’s is.

No, their pleasure in having an editor for their father was a very practical one; among the many books which were sent to him for review were numbers of nice story and picture books for children; among the “exchanges” which came to the office were delightful picture papers, selected, apparently, with a view to playroom walls and scrap-books. And last, but by no means least, there was the waste-paper basket! They had learned the signs and tokens, and whenever a very fat manuscript was being read, they would ask eagerly,—

“Did she send any stamps, papa?”

They were so nearly sure that the fat manuscript would prove “not available for the purposes of, etc.,” that the whole thing hinged on the stamps—if she had sent them, why then, of course, she must have her “old manuscript” back, if she wished it; but if she had not, then, oh, then! there were all those sheets of paper, perfectly blank on one side, anyhow. And what with colored envelopes, and pamphlets printed on pink and blue paper, and envelope bands, and monograms, and occasional coats-of-arms, that waste paper basket, with skilful handling of its contents, had yielded many a handsome kite.

Its contents had been given over to Johnny, and those of the rag-bag to Tiny, at the same time, but they preferred to make partnership affairs of both. As the rag-bag yielded sails for boats, and covers for balls, and “bobs” for kites, so did the waste-paper basket yield colored paper wherewith to dress paper dolls, and stiff cards which made excellent cardboard furniture, not to mention those pieces of blank-on-both-sides writing paper, which could be cut into small sheets and envelopes. And if a monogram is really handsome, why should not one person use it as well as another?

Johnny was beginning to be famous for his kites, and as he was a warm-hearted and generous little boy, with a large number of friends, he frequently made a kite to give away. Tiny was always ready to help him, and was particularly “handy” at making the devices of bright paper with which the kites were generally ornamented, and pasting them neatly on. When the kite was very large, she did even more than this, and Johnny never gave one away, without explaining that Tiny had shared in the making.

They had been saving all the best paper of every sort lately for the largest kite they had ever undertaken; it was so large that it was already named the Monster, and it was stretched, half finished, upon the floor of the spare garret, where it would not be disturbed. It was designed for a birthday present to one of Johnny’s very best friends, and everybody in the house was interested in it. It was to be pure white, with a pair of wings, and a bird’s head and tail, in brilliant red paper, pasted upon one side, and on the other, in large blue letters, the initials of the boy for whom it was intended.

But, with the perversity of things in general, or rather because it had been a very warm summer, and most of the poor authors had been taking holidays as much as they could, the waste-paper basket of late had not been worth the trouble of emptying.

So it was with no very great expectations that Johnny went to it one Saturday morning to see if by chance there should be a rejected manuscript of sufficient length to satisfy the Monster. No, there was nothing there but a letter written on both sides of the paper, a few pamphlets, likewise without blank sides, and some envelopes and postal cards. Johnny was turning away with a natural sigh, and the conviction that, if the Monster was ever to be finished, he must make a small appropriation out of his Christmas money, when behold! on the floor, just under the edge of the desk, and hidden by the basket, he spied a lovely manuscript; large sheets, firm, white, unruled paper, written upon only on one side.

He jumped for it with a joyful exclamation, but stopped as suddenly—had it been thrown down, and missed the basket, or had it fallen, and been neglected for the moment, because it was hidden by the desk and basket?

If Mr. Leslie had only been there, how quickly these questions could have been answered! But alas! he had left home that very morning, to be gone two days; and must a whole precious Saturday be lost on account of what was, perhaps, after all, only a needless and foolish scruple?

Then the two Johnnys—you may have observed that there are two of you?—began an argument something like this:—

Johnny No. 1. You’d better not take that thing till you’ve asked your father about it. It looks to me as if it had merely fallen from the table.

Johnny No. 2. But papa won’t be back till Monday morning, and I can’t wait. Bob’s birthday is next Wednesday, and the kite’s only half done now!

No. 1. That makes no difference. It is not the question. And you might at least ask your mother what she thinks, and let her decide.

No. 2. Mamma never knows anything about papa’s papers; I’ve heard her say so a dozen times. And why should it have been on the floor if it was worth anything?

No. 1. You know quite well that your father never throws on the floor things which are meant for the basket, and that it looks much more as if it had fallen from the table. Come, put it back, and either wait till Monday, or go and buy the rest of the paper you need.

No. 2. Papa’s a very careful man, and he wouldn’t have gone off for two days and left anything worth while on the floor. It was almost in the basket, and it’s all the same, and I mean to take it, so there!

The other Johnny made no reply to this conclusive argument—in fact, he had no time, for the wrong Johnny rushed out of the library, shouting:—

“Tiny! Oh, Tiny! come at once! Here’s enough to finish the Monster, tail and all!”

Tiny dropped some very important work for her best doll without a moment’s hesitation, and reached the garret almost as soon as Johnny did.

“Oh, that’s perfectly lovely!” she panted, “and it’s more than enough! But oh, Johnny,” she added, in a changed tone, “if we should ever write poems and stories and things, after we’re grown up, do you believe that some dreadful editor will let his children make kites out of them?”

“I’m afraid he will, of mine,” said Johnny, frankly, “for that’s about all they’d be good for, but you write much better compositions than I do, Tiny, for all you’re so much younger than I am, so perhaps the editors will print yours. But it does seem a sort of shame, when you think of all the time it must take them to do it, and how flat they must feel when it turns out to have been for nothing. Now this one”—looking at it critically—“is really beautifully written, and on such good paper. Why, even the paper must cost them ever so much! I say, Tiny, it’s just as if we had to put on five dollar gold pieces, or gold dollars, for bait when we go fishing, and then had them nibbled off without catching anything. I’ll tell that to papa—I think he might make a story, or a poem, or a fable, or something out of it—don’t you?”

“Yes, it’s just the kind of thing they use for a fable,” said Tiny, approvingly, and so, in steady work at the kite, enlivened by such intellectual conversations as this, the day flew by, and by evening the Monster was finished, tail and all.

There had been more than enough of the strong white paper for everything, and Tiny had carefully cut the “bobs” out of it, fringing each one at both ends. The colored paper for the enterprise had been on hand for some time, and Mrs. Leslie put the crowning glory on, by drawing a monogram to take the place of the separate initials of Bob’s name, which were to have adorned one side of the kite. This monogram was cut by Tiny’s deft fingers from pink and blue paper, and carefully pasted together in the middle of one side.

Johnny had so entirely succeeded in silencing his scruples about the manuscript, that he would probably never have thought of it again, if it had not been rather forcibly recalled to his memory. It had not occurred to Tiny to ask any questions about it; such streaks of luck had come to them before, and she had perfect faith in Johnny. So when, at the dinner-table, on Monday, Mr. Leslie said to his wife,—

“I’ve somehow mislaid a very bright article by Mrs. —— which I meant to use in the next number. Did you empty the waste basket, dear, or did the children?”

Before his mother could answer, Johnny, with a very red face, and a lump in his throat, had told the whole story.

Mr. Leslie looked exceedingly grave.

“I am very much annoyed by the loss of this manuscript,” he said, “for even should Mrs. —— have a rough draft of it, she will be obliged to take the trouble of making a second copy, and should she not, it will be necessary for me to pay her for it, as if I had used it. But that is not the worst of it, Johnny. If we deliberately stifle our consciences, after a while, we cease to hear from them. Do you remember asking me what ‘Quench not the Spirit’ means?”

“Yes, papa,” said Johnny, in a choked voice.

“I think, then, that you remember what I told you, my boy, and I shall pray that you may not again forget it. And now, the next thing is, reparation, so far as you can make it. You must write to Mrs. —— and tell her the whole story.”

“Oh, papa! please! I’ll do anything else!” said Johnny, piteously. “But won’t you please write for me, and let me sign it, or put that it’s all true, at the bottom?”

“No, my son,” said his father, firmly, “you must do this yourself, and I shall take it as a proof of real repentance, if you do it promptly, and without complaint.”

Johnny said not another word, and that evening, when he bade his father good-night, he handed him a letter, saying meekly,—

“You’ll direct it for me, won’t you, papa?”

“Certainly, I will, my dear boy,” said his father, throwing his arm around Johnny’s shoulder, and drawing him near for another kiss.

“And you’ll read it, and see if it will answer? Indeed, I did my very best!” said poor Johnny.

“I don’t doubt it, dear boy,” said his father, warmly, “and I shall add a few lines to tell Mrs. —— so.”

“Oh, will you do that? Thank you very much, dear papa!” said Johnny, and he went to bed with a wonderfully lightened heart.

This was his letter:—

“Dear Mrs. —— Perhaps you will think I have no right to call you that, when you hear what I have done. I took a story of yours, which I heard papa say was a very bright one, and used nearly all of it to finish a Monster Kite, which Tiny and I were making. Tiny is my sister, but she knew nothing about the way in which I took the story. It was this way. Papa lets us have everything which he puts into the waste-paper basket, but people don’t seem to have written much lately, and we had not near enough. On Saturday morning I went to look. There was nothing of any account in the basket, but your story had fallen on the floor, and I made myself believe that I thought it had been thrown at the basket, and missed it. Papa was away and was not coming back till Monday, and we were in a great hurry to finish the Monster for Bob Lane’s birthday, so I just took it, and let Tiny think I found it in the basket, which was as bad as a lie, though I didn’t say so. Now, I am so sorry that I don’t know how to tell you, but that is not enough. If I could unpaste your story, I would, but we put on a great deal of paste—you have to, you know, or it don’t stick—and some of it is all cut into fringe, for the bobs. But what I mean to say is this: if you have any little boys, or little nephews, or know anybody you would like to give that kite to, I will send it right on. I have money enough, I am pretty sure, to pay for expressing it, and I know a way of fixing it so that it will not break. I sent one to my cousin. Will you please let me know at once, if I may send it, and oblige,

“Yours very sorrowfully and very respectfully,

“John Leslie.”

It had taken Johnny three good hours to write and copy that letter. His father made no alteration in it, merely adding a few courteous lines to express his own regret for what had happened, and to say that he believed his boy had repented his fault very sincerely, and had done his best with the enclosed letter.

Mrs. —— was not a monster, if the kite was. She laughed till she cried, and then cried a little till she laughed again, over Johnny’s letter. Then she answered it, and this is what she said:—

“My dear John,—You have my hearty forgiveness. And I would like very much to have the kite for my son, who is nearly as old as I imagine you are, and has never yet made one. But you must allow me to pay the expressage; I can only accept it on that condition. I have a rough copy of the article which helped to make the Monster, and from this I will make a fair copy for your father to-day and to-morrow. Please tell him so, with my kindest regards,—and that I hope it will circulate as widely as will the first one, and in as high circles! I should very much like to hear from you again; if you will write once in a while, so will I, and some day, I hope, you and my boy will meet and be friends. In the meantime, believe me sincerely and cordially your friend,

“Mary ——.”

Johnny proved the sincerity of his repentance still further by the perfect willingness with which he packed the Monster for his journey. Tiny helped him, having first, by working very carefully, soaked off the monograms, not much the worse for wear, and, as they were so fortunate as to have some gilt paper in stock, the rough spot was covered with a shining star.

An explanation was made to Bob, who, not having expected a kite, or indeed any birthday present at all from Tiny and Johnny, was quite resigned to wait, with so brilliant a prospect ahead of him, until one or two more unfortunates had contributed a large enough supply of waste paper. If they had known how eagerly it was welcomed, it might have helped to console them a little, poor things!

The children built a third Monster for themselves, after Bob’s was finished, and on this they pasted, in large gilt letters, upon a blue ground, the motto they intended to use if they should ever have a coat-of-arms—“Be sure you’re right, then go ahead.”

“Only I suppose it will have to be in Latin then,” said Johnny, as he smoothed down the last letter of the last word, “and perhaps, by that time, I’ll know enough Latin to do it myself!”

CHAPTER IV.
THE FIRST MOVE.

There were just two things which could keep Johnny quiet for more than two minutes at a time; one was having some one read aloud to him, and the other was playing checkers. He could read to himself, more or less, but stopping once in a while to spell a long word, or to wonder what it means, breaks the thread of the most entertaining story, so whenever anything very attractive-looking in the way of books and magazines came into the Leslie family, Johnny coaxed his mother to read it aloud.

But it is one thing to hear reading because you have begged for it, and have been running and jumping enough to make keeping still not only possible but really quite pleasant, and another to hear it because your mother asks you to stay in the house until it clears up, or your cold is well.

New Year’s Day had been bitterly cold and raw, and Johnny, coming from the well-warmed church in the morning, had stopped on the way home to do a little snowballing. He had “cooled off,” as he expressed it, rather too quickly, and the result was an unpleasant cough. Now Johnny did not in the least object to drinking the agreeable beverage made of Irish moss and lemons and sugar, which his mother had prepared for him, but it was hard work to stay in the house when all the other boys were building a snow-fort, and making ready for a magnificent battle.

“Oh, mammy dear!” he implored, “if you’d ever in your life been a boy, you’d know how I feel when I look out of the window! If you’ll let me out for just one little hour, right in the middle of the day, I’ll put on my rubber-boots, and my overcoat, and my fur cap, and my ear-tabs, and wind my neck all up in Tiny’s red scarf, and not stand still one single moment—oh, please, please! They’re just building the tower!”

“Poor Johnny!” said Tiny, with much sympathy, “would it hurt him that way, mamma?”

“Yes, dear, I’m afraid it would,” said Mrs. Leslie, and turning to Johnny, she asked, “My Johnny, were you quite in earnest, when you said you would try to win back my sleeve?”

“Why mammy! of course I was!” he answered, opening his eyes very wide, and for a moment forgetting his woes. No opportunity which he considered large enough had yet occurred, for him to try to win back his mother’s “silken sleeve,” which he had worn twisted around his hat to show that he meant to render her knightly service, and which he had given back to her the day after the circus, because he felt that he was unworthy to wear it, and he often looked at it sorrowfully as it hung, where he had placed it, above his mother’s picture, in his little room.

“Very well,” she said, gently pulling him down upon her lap, and turning his face away from the distracting window. “Imagine that you are really a knight, and that you are storm bound in my castle, as the foreign knight was in Sintram’s. You’d be too polite, in that case, I hope, to be grumbling and howling because you were compelled to pass a whole day in the charming society of the lady of the castle—now, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, yes, mamma, I suppose I should,” admitted Johnny, reluctantly, “but somehow it doesn’t seem exactly the same thing. You see, the snow may all be melted before you let me out again, and when the real old knights were storm bound, or anything, they always knew that their enemies and battles and things would keep!”

“Very well then,” replied his mother, promptly, “that gives you a chance to be just so much more knightly than the ‘real old knights’ were! And if you don’t give another howl, or scowl, or grumble, all day, but are my very best Johnny, instead of my second best or third best, I’ll twist my sleeve around your new school cap this very night!”

“Oh, mammy! will I really and truly be winning it, that way?” asked Johnny, eagerly.

“Indeed you will,” said his mother, kissing him, “for you’ll never, even if you should some day be a soldier, and fight for your country, find a worse enemy, or one that will take more conquering, than my third-best Johnny Leslie!”

Johnny returned the kiss with interest, and then, resolutely turning his back to the window, he said,—

“Tiny, if you’ll bring your old black Dinah here, I’ll get out all the blocks, and my pea-shooter, and my little brass cannon, and we’ll make a huge fort, and put Dinah in the tower, and storm it! You don’t mind our making a muss here, mammy, if we clear it up again, do you?”

“Not a bit,” said his mother, cheerfully, while Tiny, with a little scream of delight rushed off for Dinah. The playroom stove was out of order, and the children were obliged to play in the dining-room, which made Johnny’s imprisonment all the harder to bear.

Tiny came back presently, with an assorted cargo, presided over by Dinah, in the basket.

“I brought all my tin housekeeping things,” she explained, as she proceeded to unload. “I thought we could put them on top, and they’d make such a lovely clatter when the fort fell!”

“Now, that’s what I call really bright!” and Johnny nodded his head approvingly. “It’s almost a pity you’re a girl, Tiny—you’d be such a jolly little fellow if you were only a boy!”