"Don't kill Lita," called Miss Celia from the cart, as it began to move.

But Ben did not hear her, for he was off across the fields, riding as if
life and death depended upon his speed.

"That boy will break his neck," said Mr. Paine, standing still to watch
horse and rider go over the wall as if bent on instant destruction.

"No fear for Ben, he can ride any thing, and Lita was trained to leap,"
answered Miss Celia, falling back on the hay with a groan, for she had
involuntarily raised her head to see her little squire dash away in
gallant style.

"I should hope so; regular jockey, that boy. Never see any thing like it
out of a race-ground," and Farmer Paine strode on, still following with
his eye the figures that went thundering over the bridge, up the hill,
out of sight, leaving a cloud of cloud of dust behind.

Now that his mistress was safe, Ben enjoyed that wild ride mightily, and
so did the bay mare; for Lita had good blood in her, and proved it that
day by doing her three miles in a wonderfully short time. People jogging
along in wagons and country carry-alls stared amazed as the reckless
pair went by. Women, placidly doing their afternoon sewing at the front
windows, dropped their needles to run out with exclamations of alarm,
sure some one was being run away with; children playing by the roadside
scattered like chickens before a hawk, as Ben passed with a warning
whoop, and baby-carriages were scrambled into door-yards with perilous
rapidity at his approach.

But when he clattered into town, intense interest was felt in this
barefooted boy on the foaming steed, and a dozen voices asked, "Who's
killed?" as he pulled up at the doctor's gate.

"Jest drove off that way; Mrs. Flynn's baby's in a fit," cried a stout
lady from the piazza, never ceasing to rock, though several passers-by
paused to hear the news, for she was a doctor's wife, and used to the
arrival of excited messengers from all quarters at all hours of the day
and night.

Deigning no reply to any one, Ben rode away, wishing he could leap a
yawning gulf, scale a precipice, or ford a raging torrent, to prove his
devotion to Miss Celia, and his skill in horsemanship. But no dangers
beset his path, and he found the doctor pausing to water his tired horse
at the very trough where Bab and Sancho had been discovered on that
ever-memorable day. The story was quickly told, and, promising to be
there as soon as possible, Dr. Mills drove on to relieve baby Flynn's
inner man, a little disturbed by a bit of soap and several buttons, upon
which he had privately lunched while his mamma was busy at the wash-tub.

Ben thanked his stars, as he had already done more than once, that he
knew how to take care of a horse; for he delayed by the watering-place
long enough to wash out Lita's mouth with a handful of wet grass, to let
her have one swallow to clear her dusty throat, and then went slowly
back over the breezy hills, patting and praising the good creature for
her intelligence and speed. She knew well enough that she had been a
clever little mare, and tossed her head, arched her glossy neck, and
ambled daintily along, as conscious and coquettish as a pretty woman,
looking round at her admiring rider to return his compliments by glance
of affection, and caressing sniffs of a velvet nose at his bare feet.

Miss Celia had been laid comfortably in bed by the farmer's wife and
daughter; and, when the doctor arrived, bore the setting of her arm
bravely. No other serious damage appeared, and bruises soon heal, so Ben
was sent home to comfort Thorny with a good report, and ask the Squire
to drive up in his big carry-all for her the next day, if she was able
to be moved.

Mrs. Moss had been wise enough to say nothing, but quietly made what
preparations she could, and waited for tidings. Bab and Betty were away
berrying, so no one had alarmed Thorny, and he had his afternoon nap in
peace,--an unusually long one, owing to the stillness which prevailed
in the absence of the children; and when he awoke he lay reading for a
while before he began to wonder where every one was. Lounging out to
see, he found Ben and Lita reposing side by side on the fresh straw in
the loose box, which had been made for her in the coach-house. By the
pails, sponges and curry-combs lying about, it was evident that she had
been refreshed by a careful washing and rubbing down, and my lady was
now luxuriously resting after her labors, with her devoted groom half
asleep close by.

"Well, of all queer boys you are the queerest, to spend this hot
afternoon fussing over Lita, just for the fun of it!" cried Thorny,
looking in at them with much amusement.

"If you knew what we'd been doing, you'd think I ought to fuss over her,
and both of us had a right to rest!" answered Ben, rousing up as bright
as a button; for he longed to tell his thrilling tale, and had with
difficulty been restrained from bursting in on Thorny as soon as he
arrived.

He made short work of the story, but was quite satisfied with the
sensation it produced; for his listener was startled, relieved, excited
and charmed, in such rapid succession, that he was obliged to sit upon
the meal-chest and get his breath before he Could exclaim, with an
emphatic demonstration of his heels against the bin,--

"Ben Brown, I'll never forget what you've done for Celia this day, or
say 'bow-legs' again as long as I live."

"George! I felt as if I had six legs when we were going the pace. We
were all one piece, and had a jolly spin, didn't we, my beauty?" and Ben
chuckled as he took Lita's head in his lap, while she answered with a
gusty sigh that nearly blew him away.

"Like the fellow that brought the good news from Ghent to Aix," said
Thorny, surveying the recumbent pair with great admiration.

"What follow?" asked Ben, wondering if he didn't mean Sheridan, of whose
ride he had heard.

"Don't you know that piece? I spoke it at school. Give it to you now;
see if it isn't a rouser."

And, glad to find a vent from his excitement, Thorny mounted the
meal-chest, to thunder out that stirring ballad with such spirit that
Lita pricked up her ears and Ben gave a shrill "Hooray!" as the last
verse ended.

   "And all I remember is friends flocking round,
   As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground,
   And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine,
   As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine,
   Which (the burgesses voted by common consent)
   Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent."

CHAPTER XVI

DETECTIVE THORNTON

A few days later, Miss Celia was able to go about with her arm in a
sling, pale still, and rather stiff, but so much better than any one
expected, that all agreed Mr. Paine was right in pronouncing Dr. Mills
"a master hand with broken bones." Two devoted little maids waited on
her, two eager pages stood ready to run her errands, and friendly
neighbors sent in delicacies enough to keep these four young persons
busily employed in disposing of them.

Every afternoon the great bamboo lounging chair was brought out and the
interesting invalid conducted to it by stout Randa, who was head nurse,
and followed by a train of shawl, cushion, foot-stool and book bearers,
who buzzed about like swarming bees round a new queen. When all were
settled, the little maids sewed and the pages read aloud, with much
conversation by the way; for one of the rules was, that all should
listen attentively, and if any one did not understand what was read, he
or she should ask to have it explained on the spot. Whoever could answer
was invited to do so, and at the end of the reading Miss Celia could ask
any she liked, or add any explanations which seemed necessary. In this
way much pleasure and profit was extracted from the tales Ben and Thorny
read, and much unexpected knowledge as well as ignorance displayed, not
to mention piles of neatly hemmed towels for which Bab and Betty were
paid like regular sewing-women.

So vacation was not all play, and the girls found their picnics, berry
parties, and "goin' a visitin'," all the more agreeable for the quiet
hour spent with Miss Celia. Thorny had improved wonderfully, and was
getting to be quite energetic, especially since his sister's accident;
for while she was laid up he was the head of the house, and much enjoyed
his promotion. But Ben did not seem to flourish as he had done at first.
The loss of Sancho preyed upon him sadly, and the longing to go and find
his dog grew into such a strong temptation that he could hardly resist
it. He said little about it; but now, and then a word escaped him which
might have enlightened any one who chanced to be watching him. No one
was, just then, so he brooded over this fancy, day by day, in silence
and solitude, for there was no riding and driving now. Thorny was busy
with his sister trying to show her that he remembered how good she had
been to him when he was ill, and the little girls had their own affairs.

Miss Celia was the first to observe the change, having nothing to do but
lie on the sofa and amuse herself by seeing others work or play. Ben was
bright enough at the readings, because then he forgot his troubles; but
when they were over and his various duties done, he went to his own room
or sought consolation with Lita, being sober and quiet, and quite unlike
the merry monkey all knew and liked so well.

"Thorny, what is the matter with Ben?" asked Miss Celia, one day, when
she and her brother were alone in the "green parlor," as they called the
lilac-tree walk.

"Fretting about Sanch, I suppose.  I declare I wish that dog had never
been born! Losing him has just spoilt Ben. Not a bit of fun left in him,
and he won't have any thing I offer to cheer him up."

Thorny spoke impatiently, and knit his brows over the pressed flowers he
was neatly gumming into his herbal.

"I wonder if he has any thing on his mind? He acts as if he was hiding a
trouble he didn't dare to tell. Have you talked with him about it?"
asked Miss Celia, looking as if she was hiding a trouble she did not
like to tell.

"Oh, yes, I poke him up now and then, but he gets peppery, so I let him
alone. May be he is longing for his old circus again. Shouldn't blame
him much if he was; it isn't very lively here, and he's used to
excitement, you know."

"I hope it isn't that.  Do you think he would slip away without telling
us, and go back to the old life again?  Don't believe he would. Ben
isn't a bit of a sneak; that's why I like him."

"Have you ever found him sly or untrue in any way?" asked Miss Celia,
lowering her voice.

"No; he's as fair and square a fellow as I ever saw. Little bit low, now
and then, but he doesn't mean it, and wants to be a gentleman, only he
never lived with one before, and it's all new to him. I'll get him
polished up after a while."

"Oh, Thorny, there are three peacocks on the place, and you are the
finest!" laughed Miss Celia, as her brother spoke in his most
condescending way with a lift of the eyebrows very droll to see.

"And two donkeys, and Ben's the biggest, not to know when he is well off
and happy!" retorted the "gentleman," slapping a dried specimen on the
page as if he were pounding discontented Ben.

"Come here and let me tell you something which worries me. I would not
breathe it to another soul, but I feel rather helpless, and I dare say
you can manage the matter better than I."

Looking much mystified, Thorny went and sat on the stool at his sister's
feet, while she whispered confidentially in his ear: "I've lost some
money out of my drawer, and I'm so afraid Ben took it."

"But it's always locked up and you keep the keys of the drawer and the
little room?"

"It is gone, nevertheless, and I've had my keys safe all the time."

"But why think it is he any more than Randa, or Katy, or me?"

"Because I trust you three as I do myself. I've known the girls for
years, and you have no object in taking it since all I have is yours,
dear."

"And all mine is yours, of course. But, Celia, how could he do it?  He
can't pick locks, I know, for we fussed over my desk together, and had
to break it after all."

"I never really thought it possible till to-day when you were playing
ball and it went in at the upper window, and Ben climbed up the porch
after it; you remember you said, 'If it had gone in at the garret gable
you couldn't have done that so well;' and he answered, 'Yes, I could,
there isn't a spout I can't shin up, or a bit of this roof I haven't
been over.'"

"So he did; but there is no spout near the little room window."

"There is a tree, and such an agile boy as Ben could swing in and out
easily. Now, Thorny, I hate to think this of him, but it has happened
twice, and for his own sake I must stop it. If he is planning to run
away, money is a good thing to have. And he may feel that it is his own;
for you know he asked me to put his wages in the bank, and I did. He may
not like to come to me for that, because he can give no good reason for
wanting it. I'm so troubled I really don't know what to do."

She looked troubled, and Thorny put his arms about her as if to keep all
worries but his own away from her.

"Don't you fret, Cely, dear; you leave it to me. I'll fix
him--ungrateful little scamp!"

"That is not the way to begin.  I am afraid you will make him angry and
hurt his feelings, and then we can do nothing."

"Bother his feelings! I shall just say, calmly and coolly: 'Now, look
here, Ben, hand over the money you took out of my sister's drawer, and
we'll let you off easy,' or something like that."

"It wouldn't do, Thorny; his temper would be up in a minute, and away he
would go before we could find out whether he was guilty or not. I wish I
knew how to manage."

"Let me think," and Thorny leaned his chin on the arm of the chair,
staring hard at the knocker as if he expected the lion's mouth to open
with words of counsel then and there.

"By Jove, I do believe Ben took it!" he broke out suddenly; "for when I
went to his room this morning to see why he didn't come and do my boots,
he shut the drawer in his bureau as quick as a flash, and looked red and
queer, for I didn't knock, and sort of startled him."

"He wouldn't be likely to put stolen money there. Ben is too wise for
that."

"He wouldn't keep it there, but he might be looking at it and pitch it
in when I called. He's hardly spoken to me since, and when I asked him
what his flag was at half-mast for, he wouldn't answer. Besides, you
know in the reading this afternoon he didn't listen, and when you asked
what he was thinking about, he colored up and muttered something about
Sanch. I tell you, Celia, it looks bad--very bad," and Thorny shook
his head with a wise air.

"It does, and yet we may be all wrong. Let us wait a little and give the
poor boy a chance to clear himself before we speak. I'd rather lose my
money than suspect him falsely."

"How much was it?"

"Eleven dollars; a one went first, and I supposed I'd miscalculated
somewhere when I took some out; but when I missed a ten, I felt that I
ought not to let it pass."

"Look here, sister, you just put the case into my hands and let me work
it up. I won't say any thing to Ben till you give the word; but I'll
watch him, and now that my eyes are open, it won't be easy to deceive
me."

Thorny was evidently pleased with the new play of detective, and
intended to distinguish himself in that line; but when Miss Celia asked
how he meant to begin, he could only respond with a blank expression:
"Don't know! You give me the keys and leave a bill or two in the drawer,
and may be I can find him out somehow."

So the keys were given, and the little dressing-room where the old
secretary stood was closely watched for a day or two. Ben cheered up a
trifle which looked as if he knew an eye was upon him, but otherwise he
went on as usual, and Miss Celia feeling a little guilty at even
harboring a suspicion of him, was kind and patient with his moods.
Thorny was very funny in the unnecessary mystery and fuss he made; his
affectation of careless indifference to Ben's movements and his clumsy
attempts to watch every one of them; his dodgings up and down stairs,
ostentatious clanking of keys, and the elaborate traps he set to catch
his thief, such as throwing his ball in at the dressing-room window and
sending Ben up the tree to get it, which he did, thereby proving beyond
a doubt that he alone could have taken the money, Thorny thought.
Another deep discovery was, that the old drawer was so shrunken that the
lock could be pressed down by slipping a knife-blade between the hasp
and socket.

"Now it is as clear as day, and you'd better let me speak," he said,
full of pride as well as regret at this triumphant success of his first
attempt as a detective.

"Not yet, and you need do nothing more.  I'm afraid it was a mistake of
mine to let you do this; and if it has spoiled your friendship with Ben,
I shall be very sorry; for I do not think he is guilty," answered Miss
Celia.

"Why not?" and Thorny looked annoyed.

"I've watched also, and he doesn't act like a deceitful boy.  To-day I
asked him if he wanted any money, or should I put what I owe him with
the rest, and he looked me straight in the face with such honest,
grateful eyes, I could not doubt him when he said 'Keep it, please, I
don't need any thing here, you are all so good to me.'"

"Now, Celia, don't you be soft-hearted.  He's a sly little dog, and
knows my eye is on him. When I asked him what he saw in the
dressing-room, after he brought out the ball, and looked sharply at him,
he laughed, and said 'Only a mouse,' as saucy as you please."

"Do set the trap there, I heard the mouse nibbling last night, and it
kept me awake. We must have a cat or we shall be overrun."

"Well, shall I give Ben a good blowing up, or will you?" asked Thorny,
scorning such poor prey as mice, and bound to prove that he was in the
right.

"I'll let you know what I have decided in the morning. Be kind to Ben,
meantime, or I shall feel as if I had done you harm by letting you watch
him."

So it was left for that day, and by the next, Miss Celia had made up her
mind to speak to Ben. She was just going down to breakfast when the
sound of loud voices made her pause and listen. It came from Ben's room,
where the two boys seemed to be disputing about something.

"I hope Thorny has kept his promise," she thought, and hurried through
the back entry, fearing a general explosion.

Ben's chamber was at the end, and she could see and hear what was going
on before she was near enough to interfere. Ben stood against his closet
door looking as fierce and red as a turkey-cock; Thorny sternly
confronted him, saying in an excited tone, and with a threatening
gesture: "You are hiding something in there, and you can't deny it."

"I don't."

"Better not; I insist on seeing it."

"Well, you won't."

"What have you been stealing now?"

"Didn't steal it,--used to be mine,--I only took it when I wanted
it."

"I know what that means.  You'd better give it back or I'll make you."

"Stop!" cried a third voice, as Thorny put out his arm to clutch Ben,
who looked ready to defend himself to the last gasp, "Boys, I will
settle this affair. Is there anything hidden in the closet, Ben?" and
Miss Celia came between the belligerent parties with her one hand up to
part them.

Thorny fell back at once, looking half ashamed of his heat, and Ben
briefly answered, with a gulp as if shame or anger made it hard to speak
steadily:

"Yes 'm, there is."

"Does it belong to you?"

"Yes 'm, it does."

"Where did you get it?"

"Up to Squire's."

"That's a lie!" muttered Thorny to himself.

Ben's eye flashed, and his fist doubled up in spite of him, but he
restrained himself out of respect for Miss Celia, who looked puzzled, as
she asked another question, not quite sure how to proceed with the
investigation: "Is it money, Ben?"

"No 'm, it isn't."

"Then what can it be?"

"Meow!" answered a fourth voice from the closet; and as Ben flung open
the door a gray kitten walked out, purring with satisfaction at her
release.

Miss Celia fell into a chair and laughed till her eyes were full; Thorny
looked foolish, and Ben folded his arms, curled up his nose, and
regarded his accuser with calm defiance, while pussy sat down to wash
her face as if her morning toilette had been interrupted by her sudden
abduction.

"That's all very well, but it doesn't mend matters much, so you needn't
laugh, Celia," began Thorny, recovering himself, and stubbornly bent on
sifting the case to the bottom, now he had begun.

"Well, it would, if you'd let a feller alone.  She said she wanted a
cat, so I went and got the one they gave me when I was at the Squire's.
I went early and took her without asking, and I had a right to,"
explained Ben, much aggrieved by having his surprise spoiled.

"It was very kind of you, and I'm glad to have this nice kitty. We will
shut her up in my room to catch the mice that plague me," said Miss
Celia, picking up the little cat, and wondering how she would get her
two angry boys safely down stairs.

"The dressing-room, she means; you know the way, and you don't need keys
to get in," added Thorny, with such sarcastic emphasis that Ben felt
some insult was intended, and promptly resented it.

"You won't get me to climb any more trees after your balls, and my cat
won't catch any of your mice, so you needn't ask me."

"Cats don't catch thieves, and they are what I'm after!"

"What do you mean by that?" fiercely demanded Ben.

"Celia has lost some money out of her drawer, and you won't let me see
what's in yours; So I thought, perhaps, you'd got it!" blurted out
Thorny, finding it hard to say the words, angry as he was, for the face
opposite did not look like a guilty one.

For a minute, Ben did not seem to understand him, plainly as he spoke;
then he turned an angry scarlet, and, with a reproachful glance at his
mistress, opened the little drawer so that both could see all that it
contained.

"They ain't any thing; but I'm fond of 'em they are all I've got--I
was afraid he'd laugh at me that time, so I wouldn't let him look--it
was father's birthday, and I felt bad about him and Sanch--" Ben's
indignant voice got more and more indistinct as he stumbled on, and
broke down over the last words. He did not cry, however, but threw back
his little treasures as if half their sacredness was gone; and, making a
strong effort at self-control, faced around, asking of Miss Celia, with
a grieved look,

"Did you think I'd steal anything of yours?"

"I tried not to, Ben, but what could I do? It was gone, and you the only
stranger about the place."

"Wasn't there any one to think bad of but me? he said, so sorrowfully
that Miss Celia made up her mind on the spot that he was as innocent of
the theft as the kitten now biting her buttons, no other refreshment
being offered.

"Nobody, for I know my girls well.  Yet, eleven dollars are gone, and I
cannot imagine where or how for both drawer and door are always locked,
because my papers and valuables are in that room."

"What a lot! But how could I get it if it was locked up?" and Ben looked
as if that question was unanswerable.

"Folks that can climb in at windows for a ball, can go the same way for
money, and get it easy enough when they've only to pry open an old
lock!"

Thorny's look and tone seemed to make plain to Ben all that they had
been suspecting, and, being innocent, he was too perplexed and unhappy
to defend himself. His eye went from one to the other, and, seeing doubt
in both faces, his boyish heart sunk within him; for he could prove
nothing, and his first impulse was to go away at once.

"I can't say any thing, only that I didn't take the money.  You won't
believe it, so I'd better go back where I come from. They weren't so
kind, but they trusted me, and knew I wouldn't steal a cent. You may
keep my money, and the kitty, too; I don't want 'em," and, snatching up
his hat, Ben would gone straight away, if Thorny had not barred his
passage.

"Come, now, don't be mad.  Let's talk it over, and if I 'm wrong I'll
take it all back and ask your pardon," he said, in a friendly tone,
rather scared at the consequences of his first attempt, though as sure
as ever that he was right.

"It would break my heart to have you go in that way, Ben.  Stay at least
till your innocence is proved, then no one can doubt what you say now."

"Don't see how it can be proved," answered Ben, appeased by her evident
desire to trust him.

"We'll try as well as we know how, and the first thing we will do is to
give that old secretary a good rummage from top to bottom. I've done it
once, but it is just possible that the bills may have slipped out of
sight. Come, now, I can't rest till I've done all I can to comfort you
and convince Thorny." Miss Celia rose as she spoke, and led the way to
the dressing-room, which had no outlet except through her chamber. Still
holding his hat, Ben followed with a troubled face, and Thorny brought
up the rear, doggedly determined to keep his eye on "the little scamp"
till the matter was satisfactorily cleared up. Miss Celia had made her
proposal more to soothe the feelings of one boy and to employ the
superfluous energies of the other, than in the expectation of throwing
any light upon the mystery; for she was sadly puzzled by Ben's manner,
and much regretted that she had let her brother meddle in the matter.

"There," she said, unlocking the door with the key Thorny reluctantly
gave up to her, "this is the room and that is the drawer on the right.
The lower ones have seldom been opened since we came, and hold only some
of papa's old books. Those upper ones you may turn out and investigate
as much as you-- Bless me! here's something in your trap," Thorny and
Miss Celia gave a little skip as she nearly trod on a long, gray tall,
which hung out of the bole now filled by a plump mouse.

But her brother was intent on more serious things, and merely pushed the
trap aside as he pulled out the drawer with an excited gesture, which
sent it and all its contents clattering to the floor.

"Confound the old thing! It always stuck so I had to give a jerk.  Now,
there it is, topsy-turvy," and Thorny looked Much disgusted at his own
awkwardness.

"No harm done; I left nothing of value in it. Look back there, Ben, and
see if there is room for a paper to get worked over the top of the
drawer. I felt quite a crack, but I don't believe it is possible for
things to slip out; the place was never full enough to overflow in any
way."

Miss Celia spoke to Ben, who was kneeling down to pick up the scattered
papers, among which were two marked dollar bills,--Thorny's bait for
the thief. Ben looked into the dusty recess, and then put in his hand,
saying carelessly,--

"There's nothing but a bit of red stuff."

"My old pen-wiper--Why, what's the matter?" asked Miss Celia, as Ben
dropped the handful of what looked like rubbish.

"Something warm and wiggly inside of it," answered Ben, stooping to
examine the contents of the little scarlet bundle. "Baby mice! Ain't
they funny? Look just like mites of young pigs. We'll have to kill 'em
if you've caught their mamma," he said, forgetting his own trials in
boyish curiosity about his "find."

Miss Celia stooped also, and gently poked the red cradle with her
finger; for the tiny mice were nestling deeper into the fluff with small
squeals of alarm. Suddenly she cried out: "Boys, boys, I've found the
thief! Look here; pull out these bits and see if they won't make up my
lost bills."

Down went the motherless babies as four ruthless hands pulled apart
their cosey nest, and there, among the nibbled fragments, appeared
enough finely printed, greenish paper, to piece out parts of two bank
bills. A large cypher and part of a figure one were visible, and that
accounted for the ten; but though there were other bits, no figures
could be found, and they were willing to take the other bill on trust.

"Now, then, am I a thief and a liar?" demanded Ben, pointing proudly to
the tell-tale letters spread forth on the table, over which all three
had been eagerly bending.

"No; I beg your pardon, and I'm very sorry that we didn't look more
carefully before we spoke, then we all should have been spared this
pain."

"All right, old fellow, forgive and forget.  I'll never think hard of
you again,--on my honor I won't."

As they spoke, Miss Celia and her brother held out their hands frankly
and heartily. Ben shook both, but with a difference; for he pressed the
soft one gratefully, remembering that its owner had always been good to
him; but the brown paw he gripped with a vengeful squeeze that made
Thorny pull it away in a hurry, exclaiming, good-naturedly, in spite of
both physical and mental discomfort,--

"Come, Ben, don't you bear malice; for you've got the laugh on your
side, and we feel pretty small. I do, any way; for, after my fidgets,
all I've caught is a mouse!"

"And her family.  I'm so relieved I'm almost sorry the poor little
mother is dead--she and her babies were so happy in the old
pen-wiper," said Miss Celia, hastening to speak merrily, for Ben still
looked indignant, and she was much grieved at what had happened.

"A pretty expensive house," began Thorny, looking about for the
interesting orphans, who had been left on the floor while their
paper-hangings were examined.

No further anxiety need be felt for them, however; Kitty had come upon
the scene, and as judge, jury, and prisoner, turned to find the little
witnesses, they beheld the last pink mite going down Pussy's throat in
one mouthful.

"I call that summary justice,--the whole family executed on the spot!
Give Kit the mouse also, and let us go to breakfast. I feel as if I had
found my appetite, now this worry is off my mind," said Miss Celia,
laughing so infectiously that Ben had to join in spite of himself, as
she took his arm and led him away with a look which mutely asked his
pardon over again.

"Rather lively for a funeral procession," said Thorny, following with
the trap in his hand and Puss at his heels, adding, to comfort his pride
as a detective:

"Well, I said I'd catch the thief, and I have, though it is rather a
small one!"

CHAPTER XVII

BETTY'S BRAVERY

"Celia, I've a notion that we ought to give Ben something.  A sort of
peace-offering, you know; for he feels dreadfully hurt about our
suspecting him," said Thorny, at dinner that day.

"I see he does, though he tries to seem as bright and pleasant as ever.
I do not wonder, and I've been thinking what I could do to soothe his
feelings. Can you suggest any thing?"

"Cuff-buttons.  I saw some jolly ones over at Berryville, oxidized
silver, with dogs' heads on them, yellow eyes, and all as natural as
could be. Those, now, would just suit him for his go-to-meeting white
shirts,--neat, appropriate, and in memoriam."

Miss Celia could not help laughing, it was such a boyish suggestion; but
she agreed to it, thinking Thorny knew best, and hoping the yellow-eyed
dogs would be as balm to Ben's wounds.

"Well, dear, you may give those, and Lita shall give the little whip
with a horse's foot for a handle, if it is not gone. I saw it at the
harness shop in town; and Ben admired it so much that I planned to give
it to him on his birthday."

"That will tickle him immensely; and if you'd just let him put brown
tops to my old boots, and stick a cockade in his hat when he sits up
behind the phaeton, he'd be a happy fellow," laughed Thorny, who had
discovered that one of Ben's ambitions was to be a tip-top groom.

"No, thank you; those things are out of place in America, and would be
absurd in a small country place like this. His blue suit and straw hat
please me better for a boy; though a nicer little groom, in livery or
out, no one could desire, and you may tell him I said so."

"I will, and he'll look as proud as punch; for he thinks every word you
say worth a dozen from any one else. But won't you give him something?
Just some little trifle, to show that we are both eating humble pie,
feeling sorry about the mouse money."

"I shall give him a set of school-books, and try to get him ready to
begin when vacation is over. An education is the best present we can
make him; and I want you to help me fit him to enter as well is he can.
Bab and Betty began, little dears,--lent him their books and taught
all they knew; so Ben got a taste, and, with the right encouragement,
would like to go on, I am sure."

"That's so like you Celia!  Always thinking of the best thing and doing
it handsomely. I'll help like a house a-fire, if he will let me; but,
all day, he's been as stiff as a poker, so I don't believe he forgives
me a bit."

"He will in time, and if you are kind and patient, he will be glad to
have you help him. I shall make it a sort of favor to me on his part, to
let you see to his lessons, now and then. It will be quite true, for I
don't want you to touch your Latin or algebra till cool weather;
teaching him will be play to you."

Miss Celia's last words made her brother unbend his brows, for he longed
to get at his books again, and the idea of being tutor to his
"man-servant" did not altogether suit him.

"I'll tool him along at a great pace, if he will only go. Geography and
arithmetic shall be my share, and you may have the writing and spelling;
it gives me the fidgets to set copies', and hear children make a mess of
words. Shall I get the books when I buy the other things? Can I go this
afternoon?"

"Yes, here is the list; Bab gave it to me.  You can go if you will come
home early and have your tooth filled."

Gloom fell at once upon Thorny's beaming face, and he gave such a shrill
whistle that his sister jumped in her chair, as she added, persuasively,--

"It won't hurt a bit, now, and the longer you leave it the worse it will
be. Dr. Mann is ready at any time; and, once over, you will be at peace
for months. Come, my hero, give your orders, and take one of the girls
to support you in the trying hour. Have Bab; she will enjoy it, and
amuse you with her chatter."

"As if I needed girls round for such a trifle as that!" returned Thorny
with a shrug, though he groaned inwardly at the prospect before him, as
most of us do on such occasions. "I wouldn't take Bab at any price;
she'd only get into some scrape, and upset the whole plan. Betty is the
chicken for me,--a real little lady, and as nice and purry as a
kitten."

"Very well; ask her mother, and take good care of her.  Let her tuck her
dolly in, and she will be contented anywhere. There's a fine air, and
the awning is on the phaeton, so you won't feel the sun. Start about
three, and drive carefully."

Betty was charmed to go, for Thorny was a sort of prince in her eyes;
and to be invited to such a grand expedition was an overwhelming honor.
Bab was not surprised, for, since Sancho's loss, she had felt herself in
disgrace, and been unusually meek; Ben let her "severely alone," which
much afflicted her, for he was her great admiration, and had been
pleased to express his approbation of her agility and courage so often,
that she was ready to attempt any fool-hardy feat to recover his regard.
But vainly did she risk her neck jumping off the highest beams in the
barn, trying to keep her balance standing on the donkey's back, and
leaping the lodge gate at a bound; Ben vouchsafed no reward by a look, a
smile, a word of commendation; and Bab felt that nothing but Sancho's
return would ever restore the broken friendship.

Into faithful Betty's bosom did she pour forth her remorseful
lamentations, often bursting out with the passionate exclamation, "If I
could only find Sanch, and give him back to Ben, I wouldn't care if I
tumbled down and broke all my legs right away!" Such abandonment of woe
made a deep impression on Betty; and she fell into the way of consoling
her sister by cheerful prophecies, and a firm belief that the organ-man
would yet appear with the lost darling.

"I've got five cents of my berry money, and I'll buy you an orange if I
see any," promised Betty stepping to kiss Bab, as the phaeton came to
the door, and Thorny handed in a young lady whose white frock was so
stiff with starch that it crackled like paper.

"Lemons will do if oranges are gone.  I like 'em to suck with lots of
sugar," answered Bab, feeling that the sour sadly predominated in her
cup just now.

"Don't she look sweet, the dear!" murmured Mrs. Moss, proudly surveying
her youngest.

She certainly did, sitting under the fringed canopy with "Belinda," all
in her best, upon her lap, as she turned to smile and nod, with a face
so bright and winsome under the little blue hat, that it was no wonder
mother and sister thought there never was such a perfect child as "our
Betty."

Dr. Mann was busy when they arrived, but would be ready in an hour; so
they did their shopping at once, having made sure of the whip as they
came along. Thorny added some candy to Bab's lemon, and Belinda had a
cake, which her mamma obligingly ate for her. Betty thought that
Aladdin's palace could not have been more splendid than the jeweller's
shop where the canine cuff-buttons were bought; but when they came to
the book-store, she forgot gold, silver, and precious stones, to revel
in picture-books, while Thorny selected Ben's modest school outfit.
Seeing her delight, and feeling particularly lavish with plenty of money
in his pocket, the young gentleman completed the child's bliss by
telling her to choose whichever one she liked best out of the pile of
Walter Crane's toy-books lying in bewildering colors before her.

"This one; Bab always wanted to see the dreadful cupboard, and there's a
picture of it here," answered Betty, clasping a gorgeous copy of
"Bluebeard" to the little bosom, which still heaved with the rapture of
looking at that delicious mixture of lovely Fatimas in pale azure gowns,
pink Sister Annes on the turret top, crimson tyrants, and yellow
brothers with forests of plumage blowing wildly from their
mushroom-shaped caps.

"Very good; there you are, then.  Now, come on, for the fun is over and
the grind begins," said Thorny, marching away to his doom, with his
tongue in his tooth, and trepidation in his manly breast.

"Shall I shut my eyes and hold your head?" quavered devoted Betty, as
they went up the stairs so many reluctant feet had mounted before them.

"Nonsense, child, never mind me!  You look out of window and amuse
yourself; we shall not be long, I guess;" and in went Thorn silently
hoping that the dentist had been suddenly called away, or some person
with an excruciating toothache would be waiting to take ether, and so
give our young man an excuse for postponing his job.

But no; Dr. Mann was quite at leisure, and, full of smiling interest,
awaited his victim, laying forth his unpleasant little tools with the
exasperating alacrity of his kind. Glad to be released from any share in
the operation, Betty retired to the back window to be as far away as
possible, and for half in hour was so absorbed in her book that poor
Thorny might have groaned dismally without disturbing her.

"Done now, directly, only a trifle of  polishing off and a look round,"
said Dr. Mann, at last; and Thorny, with a yawn that nearly rent him
asunder, called out,--

"Thank goodness! Pack up, Bettykin."

"I'm all ready!" and, shutting her book with a start, she slipped down
from the easy chair in a great hurry.

But "looking round" took time; and, before the circuit of Thorny's mouth
was satisfactorily made, Betty had become absorbed by a more interesting
tale than even the immortal "Bluebeard." A noise of children's voices in
the narrow alley-way behind the house attracted her attention; the long
window opened directly on the yard, and the gate swung in the wind.
Curious as Fatima, Betty went to look; but all she saw was a group of
excited boys peeping between the bars of another gate further down.

"What's the matter?" she asked of two small girls, who stood close by
her, longing but not daring to approach the scene of action.

"Boys chasing a great black cat, I believe," answered one child.

"Want to come and see?" added the other, politely extending the
invitation to the stranger.

The thought of a cat in trouble would have nerved Betty to face a dozen
boys; so she followed at once, meeting several lads hurrying away on
some important errand, to judge from their anxious countenances.

"Hold tight, Jimmy, and let 'em peek, if they want to. He can't hurt
anybody now," said one of the dusty huntsmen, who sat on the wide coping
of the wall, while two others held the gate, as if a cat could only
escape that way.

"You peek first, Susy, and see if it looks nice," said one little girl,
boosting her friend so that she could look through the bars in the upper
part of the gate.

"No; it 's only an ugly old dog!" responded Susy, losing all interest at
once, and descending with a bounce.

"He's mad! and Jud's gone to get his gun, so we can shoot him!" called
out one mischievous boy, resenting the contempt expressed for their
capture.

"Ain't, neither!" howled another lad from his perch.  "Mad dogs won't
drink; and this one is lapping out of a tub of water."

"Well, he may be, and we don't know him, and he hasn't got any muzzle
on, and the police will kill him if Jud don't," answered the sanguinary
youth who had first started the chase after the poor animal, which had
come limping into town, so evidently a lost dog that no one felt any
hesitation in stoning him.

"We must go right home; my mother is dreadful 'fraid of mad dogs, and so
is yours," said Susy; and, having satisfied their curiosity, the young
ladies prudently retired.

But Betty had not had her "peep," and could not resist one look; for she
had heard of these unhappy animals, and thought Bab would like to know
how they looked. So she stood on tip-toe and got a good view of a dusty,
brownish dog, lying on the grass close by, with his tongue hanging out
while he panted, as if exhausted by fatigue and fear, for he still cast
apprehensive glances at the wall which divided him from his tormentors.

"His eyes are just like Sanch's," said Betty to herself, unconscious that
she spoke aloud, till she saw the creature prick up his cars and half
rise, as if he had been called.

"He looks as if he knew me, but it isn't our Sancho; he was a lovely
dog." Betty said that to the little boy peeping in beside her; but
before he could make any reply, the brown beast stood straight up with
an inquiring bark, while his eyes shone like topaz, and the short tail
wagged excitedly.

"Why, that's just the way Sanch used to do!" cried Betty, bewildered by
the familiar ways of this unfamiliar-looking dog.

As if the repetition of his name settled his own doubts, he leaped
toward the gate and thrust a pink nose between the bars, with a howl of
recognition as Betty's face was more clearly seen. The boys tumbled
precipitately from their perches, and the little girl fell back alarmed,
yet could not bear to run away and leave those imploring eyes pleading
to her through the bars so eloquently.

"He acts just like our dog, but I don't see how it can be him.  Sancho,
Sancho, is it really you?" called Betty, at her wits' end what to do.

"Bow, wow, wow!" answered the well-known bark, and the little tail did
all it could to emphasize the sound, while the eyes were so full of dumb
love and joy, the child could not refuse to believe that this ugly stray
was their own Sancho strangely transformed.

All of a sudden, the thought rushed into her mind, how glad Ben would
be!--and Bab would feel all happy again. "I must carry him home."

Never stopping to think of danger, and forgetting all her doubts, Betty
caught the gate handle out of Jimmy's grasp, exclaiming eagerly: "He is
our dog! Let me go in; I ain't afraid."

"Not till Jud comes back; he told us we mustn't," answered the
astonished Jimmy, thinking the little girl as mad as the dog.

With a confused idea that the unknown Jud had gone for a gun to shoot
Sanch, Betty gave a desperate pull at the latch and ran into the yard,
bent on saving her friend. That it was a friend there could be no
further question; for, though the creature rushed at her as if about to
devour her at a mouthful, it was only to roll ecstatically at her feet,
lick her hands, and gaze into her face, trying to pant out the welcome
which he could not utter. An older and more prudent person would have
waited to make sure before venturing in; but confiding Betty knew little
of the danger which she might have run; her heart spoke more quickly
than her head, and, not stopping to have the truth proved, she took the
brown dog on trust, and found it was indeed dear Sanch.

Sitting on the grass, she hugged him close, careless of tumbled hat,
dusty paws on her clean frock, or a row of strange boys staring from the
wall.

"Darling doggy, where have you been so long?" she cried, the great thing
sprawling across her lap, as if he could not get near enough to his
brave little protector. "Did they make you black and beat you, dear? Oh,
Sanch, where is your tail--your pretty tail?"

A plaintive growl and a pathetic wag was all the answer he could make to
these tender inquiries; for never would the story of his wrongs be
known, and never could the glory of his doggish beauty be restored.
Betty was trying to comfort him with pats and praises, when a new face
appeared at the gate, and Thorny's authoritative voice called out,--

"Betty Moss, what on earth are you doing in  there with that dirty
beast?"

"It's Sanch, it's Sanch! Oh, come and see!" shrieked Betty, flying up to
lead forth her prize. But the gate was held fast, for some one said the
words, "Mad dog," and Thorny was very naturally alarmed, because he had
already seen one. "Don't stay there another minute. Get up on that bench
and I'll pull you over," directed Thorny, mounting the wall to rescue
his charge in hot haste; for the dog did certainly behave queerly,
limping hurriedly to and fro, as if anxious to escape. No wonder, when
Sancho heard a voice he knew, and recognized another face, yet did not
meet as kind a welcome as before.

"No, I'm not coming out till he does.  It is Sanch, and I'm going to
take him home to Ben," answered Betty, decidedly, as she wet her
handkerchief in the rain water to bind up the swollen paw that had
travelled many miles to rest in her little hand again.

"You're crazy, child.  That is no more Ben's dog than I am."

"See if it isn't!" cried Betty, perfectly unshaken in her faith; and,
recalling the words of command as well as she could, she tried to put
Sancho through his little performance, as the surest proof that she was
right. The poor fellow did his best, weary and foot-sore though he was;
but when it came to taking his tail in his mouth to waltz, he gave it
up, and, dropping down, hid his face in his paws, as he always did when
any of his tricks failed. The act was almost pathetic now, for one of
the paws was bandaged, and his whole attitude expressed the humiliation
of a broken spirit.

That touched Thorny, and, quite convinced both of the dog's sanity and
identity, he sprung down from the wall with Ben's own whistle, which
gladdened Sancho's longing ear as much as the boy's rough caresses
comforted his homesick heart.

"Now, let's carry him right home, and surprise Ben.  Won't he be
pleased?" said Betty, so in earnest that she tried to lift the big brute
in spite of his protesting yelps.

"You are a little trump to find him out in spite of all the horrid
things that have been done to him. We must have a rope to lead him, for
he's got no collar and no muzzle. He has got friends though, and I'd
like to see any one touch him now. Out of the way, there, boy!" Looking
as commanding as a drum-major, Thorny cleared a passage, and with one
arm about his neck, Betty proudly led her treasure magnanimously
ignoring his late foes, and keeping his eye fixed on the faithful friend
whose tender little heart had known him in spite of all disguises.

"I found him, sir," and the lad who had been most eager for the
shooting, stepped forward to claim any reward that might be offered for
the now valuable victim.

"I kept him safe till she came," added the jailer Jimmy, speaking for
himself.

"I said he wasn't mad," cried a third, feeling that his discrimination
deserved approval.

"Jud ain't my brother," said the fourth, eager to clear his skirts from
all offence.

"But all of you chased and stoned him, I suppose? You'd better look out
or you'll get reported to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to
Animals."

With this awful and mysterious threat, Thorny slammed the doctor's gate
in the faces of the mercenary youths, nipping their hopes in the bud,
and teaching them a good lesson.

After one astonished stare, Lita accepted Sancho without demur, and they
greeted one another cordially, nose to nose, instead of shaking hands.
Then the dog nestled into his old place under the linen duster with a
grunt of intense content, and soon fell fast asleep, quite worn out with
fatigue. No Roman conqueror bearing untold treasures with him, ever
approached the Eternal City feeling richer or prouder than did Miss
Betty as she rolled rapidly toward the little brown house with the
captive won by her own arms. Poor Belinda was forgotten in a corner,
"Bluebeard" was thrust under the cushion, and the lovely lemon was
squeezed before its time by being sat upon; for all the child could
think of was Ben's delight, Bab's remorseful burden lifted off, "Ma's"
surprise, and Miss Celia's pleasure. She could hardly realize the happy
fact, and kept peeping under the cover to be sure that the dear dingy
bunch at her feet was truly there.

"I'll tell you how we'll do it," said Thorny, breaking a long silence as
Betty composed herself with an irrepressible wriggle of delight after
one of these refreshing peeps. "We'll keep Sanch hidden, and smuggle him
into Ben's old room at your house. Then I'll drive on to the barn, and
not say a word, but send Ben to get something out of that room. You just
let him in, to see what he'll do. I'll bet you a dollar he won't know
his own dog."

"I don't believe I can keep from screaming right out when I see him, but
I'll try. Oh, won't it be fun!"--and Betty clapped her hands in joyful
anticipation of that exciting moment.

A nice little plan, but Master Thorny forgot the keen senses of the
amiable animal snoring peacefully among his boots; and, when they
stopped at the Lodge, he had barely time to say in a whisper,

"Ben's coming; cover Sanch and let me get him in quick!" before the dog
was out of the phaeton like a bombshell, and the approaching boy went
down as if shot, for Sancho gave one leap, and the two rolled over and
over, with a shout and a bark of rapturous recognition.

"Who is hurt?" asked Mrs. Moss, running out with floury hands uplifted
in alarm.

"Is it a bear?" cried Bab, rushing after her, beater in hand, for a
dancing bear was the delight of her heart.

"Sancho's found! Sancho's found!"  shouted Thorny, throwing up his hat
like a lunatic.

"Found, found, found!" echoed Betty, dancing wildly about as if she too
had lost her little wits.

"Where? how? when? who did it?" asked Mrs. Moss, clapping her dusty
hands delightedly.

"It isn't; it's an old dirty brown thing," stammered Bab, as the dog
came uppermost for a minute, and then rooted into Ben's jacket as if he
smelt a woodchuck, and was bound to have him out directly.

Then Thorny, with many interruptions from Betty, poured forth the
wondrous tale, to which Bab and his mother listened breathlessly, while
the muffins burned as black as a coal, and nobody cared a bit.

"My precious lamb, how did you dare to do such a thing?" exclaimed Mrs.
Moss, hugging the small heroine with mingled admiration and alarm.

"I'd have dared, and slapped those horrid boys, too. I wish I'd gone!"
and Bab felt that she had for ever lost the chance of distinguishing
herself.

"Who cut his tail off?" demanded Ben, in a menacing tone, as he came
uppermost in his turn, dusty, red and breathless, but radiant.

"The wretch who stole him,  I suppose; and he deserves to be hung,"
answered Thorny, hotly.

"If ever I catch him, I'll--I'll cut his nose off," roared Ben, with
such a vengeful glare that Sanch barked fiercely; and it was well that
the unknown "wretch" was not there, for it would have gone hardly with
him, since even gentle Betty frowned, while Bab brandished the
egg-beater menacingly, and their mother indignantly declared that "it
was too bad!"

Relieved by this general outburst, they composed their outraged
feelings; and while the returned wanderer went from one to another to
receive a tender welcome from each, the story of his recovery was more
calmly told. Ben listened with his eye devouring the injured dog; and
when Thorny paused, he turned to the little heroine, saying solemnly, as
he laid her hand with his own on Sancho's head,

"Betty Moss, I'll never forget what you did; from this minute half of
Sanch is your truly own, and if I die you shall have the whole of him,"
and Ben sealed the precious gift with a sounding kiss on either chubby
check.

Betty was so deeply touched by this noble bequest, that the blue eyes
filled and would have overflowed if Sanch had not politely offered his
tongue like a red pocket-handkerchlef, and so made her laugh the drops
away, while Bab set the rest off by saying gloomily,--

"I mean to play with all the mad dogs I can find; then folks will think
I'm smart and give me nice things."

"Poor old Bab, I'll forgive you now, and lend you my half whenever you
want it," said Ben, feeling at peace now with all mankind, including,
girls who tagged.

"Come and show him to Celia," begged Thorny, eager to fight his battles
over again.

"Better wash him up first; he's a sight to see, poor thing," suggested
Mrs. Moss, as she ran in, suddenly remembering her muffins.

"It will take a lot of washings to get that brown stuff off.  See, his
pretty, pink skin is all stained with it. We'll bleach him out, and his
curls will grow, and he'll be as good as ever--all but--"

Ben could not finish, and a general wail went up for the departed tassel
that would never wave proudly in the breeze again.

"I'll buy him a new one.  Now form the procession and let us go in
style," said Thorny, cheerily, as he swung Betty to his shoulder and
marched away whistling "Hail! the conquering hero comes," while Ben and
his Bow-wow followed arm-in-arm, and Bab brought up the rear, banging on
a milk-pan with the egg-beater.

CHAPTER XVIII

BOWS AND ARROWS

If Sancho's abduction made a stir, one may easily imagine with what
warmth and interest he was welcomed back when his wrongs and wanderings
were known. For several days he held regular levees, that curious boys
and sympathizing girls might see and pity the changed and curtailed dog.
Sancho behaved with dignified affability, and sat upon his mat in the
coach-house pensively eying his guests, and patiently submitting to
their caresses; while Ben and Thorny took turns to tell the few tragical
facts which were not shrouded in the deepest mystery. If the interesting
sufferer could only have spoken, what thrilling adventures and
hair-breadth escapes he might have related. But, alas! he was dumb; and
the secrets of that memorable month never were revealed.

The lame paw soon healed, the dingy color slowly yielded to many
washings, the woolly coat began to knot up into little curls, a new
collar, handsomely marked, made him a respectable dog, and Sancho was
himself again. But it was evident that his sufferings were not
forgotten; his once sweet temper was a trifle soured; and, with a few
exceptions, he had lost his faith in mankind. Before, he had been the
most benevolent and hospitable of dogs; now, he eyed all strangers
suspiciously, and the sight of a shabby man made him growl and bristle
up, as if the memory of his wrongs still burned hotly within him.

Fortunately, his gratitude was stronger than his resentment, and he
never seemed to forget that he owed his life to Betty,--running to
meet her whenever she appeared, instantly obeying her commands, and
suffering no one to molest her when he walked watchfully beside her,
with her hand upon his neck, as they had walked out of the almost fatal
backyard together, faithful friends for ever.

Miss Celia called them little Una and her lion, and read the pretty
story to the children when they wondered what she meant. Ben, with great
pains, taught the dog to spell "Betty," and surprised her with a display
of this new accomplishment, which gratified her so much that she was
never tired of seeing Sanch paw the five red letters into place, then
come and lay his nose in her hand, as if he added, "That's the name of
my dear mistress."

Of course Bab was glad to have everything pleasant and friendly again;
but in a little dark corner of her heart there was a drop of envy, and a
desperate desire to do something which would make every one in her small
world like and praise her as they did Betty. Trying to be as good and
gentle did not satisfy her; she must do something brave or surprising,
and no chance for distinguishing herself in that way seemed likely to
appear. Betty was as fond as ever, and the boys were very kind to her;
but she felt that they both liked "little Betcinda," as they called her,
best, because she found Sanch, and never seemed to know that she had
done any thing brave in defending him against all odds. Bab did not tell
any one how she felt, but endeavored to be amiable, while waiting for
her chance to come; and, when it did arrive, made the most of it, though
there was nothing heroic to add a charm.

Miss Celia's arm had been doing very well, but would, of course, be
useless for some time longer. Finding that the afternoon readings amused
herself as much as they did the children, she kept them up, and brought
out all her old favorites enjoying a double pleasure in seeing that her
young audience relished them as much as she did when a child for to all
but Thorny they were brand new. Out of one of these stories came much
amusement for all, and satisfaction for one of the party.

"Celia, did you bring our old bows?" asked her brother, eagerly, as she
put down the book from which she had been reading Miss Edgeworth's
capital story of "Waste not Want not; or, Two Strings to your Bow."

"Yes, I brought all the playthings we left stored away in uncle's garret
when we went abroad. The bows are in the long box where you found the
mallets, fishing-rods, and bats. The old quivers and a few arrows are
there also, I believe. What is the idea now? asked Miss Celia in her
turn, as Thorny bounced up in a great hurry.

"I'm going to teach Ben to shoot.  Grand fun this hot weather; and
by-and-by we'll have an archery meeting, and you can give us a prize.
Come on, Ben. I've got plenty of whip-cord to rig up the bows, and then
we'll show the ladies some first-class shooting."

"I can't; never had a decent bow in my life.  The little gilt one I used
to wave round when I was a Coopid wasn't worth a cent to go," answered
Ben, feeling as if that painted "prodigy" must have been a very distant
connection of the respectable young person now walking off arm in arm
with the lord of the manor.

"Practice is all you want.  I used to be a capital shot, but I don't
believe I could hit any thing but a barn-door now," answered Thorny,
encouragingly.

As the boys vanished, with much tramping of boots and banging of doors,
Bab observed, in the young-ladyish tone she was apt to use when she
composed her active little mind and body to the feminine task of
needlework,--

"We used to make bows of whalebone when we were little girls, but we are
too old to play so now."

"I'd like to, but Bab won't, 'cause she 's most 'leven years old," said
honest Betty, placidly rubbing her needle in the "ruster," as she called
the family emery-bag.

"Grown people enjoy archery, as bow and arrow shooting is called,
especially in England. I was reading about it the other day, and saw a
picture of Queen Victoria with her bow; so you needn't be ashamed of it,
Bab," said Miss Celia, rummaging among the books and papers in her sofa
corner to find the magazine she wanted, thinking a new play would be as
good for the girls as for the big boys.

"A queen, just think!" and Betty looked much impressed by the fact, as
well as uplifted by the knowledge that her friend did not agree in
thinking her silly because she preferred playing with a harmless
home-made toy to firing stones or snapping a pop-gun.

"In old times, bows and arrows were used to fight great battles with;
and we read how the English archers shot so well that the air was dark
with arrows, and many men were killed."

"So did the Indians have 'em; and I've got some stone arrow-heads,--found
'em by the river, in the dirt!" cried Bab, waking up, for battles
interested her more than queens.

"While you finish your stints I'll tell you a little story about the
Indians," said Miss Celia, lying back on her cushions, while the needles
began to go again, for the prospect of a story could not be resisted.

"A century or more ago, in a small settlement on the banks of the
Connecticut,--which means the Long River of Pines,--there lived a
little girl called Matty Kilburn. On a hill stood the fort where the
people ran for protection in any danger, for the country was new and
wild, and more than once the Indians had come down the river in their
canoes and burned the houses, killed men, and carried away women and
children. Matty lived alone with her father, but felt quite safe in the
log house, for he was never far away. One afternoon, as the farmers were
all busy in their fields, the bell rang suddenly,--a sign that there
was danger near,--and, dropping their rakes or axes, the men hurried
to their houses to save wives and babies, and such few treasures as they
could. Mr. Kilburn caught up his gun with one hand and his little girl
with the other, and ran as fast as he could toward the fort. But before
he could reach it he heard a yell, and saw the red men coming up from
the river. Then he knew it would be in vain to try to get in, so he
looked about for a safe place to hide Matty till he could come for her.
He was a brave man, and could fight, so he had no thought of hiding
while his neighbors needed help; but the dear little daughter must be
cared for first.

"In the corner of the lonely pasture which they dared not cross, stood a
big hollow elm, and there the farmer hastily hid Matty, dropping her
down into the dim nook, round the mouth of which young shoots had grown,
so that no one would have suspected any hole was there.

"Lie still, child, till I come; say your prayers and wait for father,'
said the man, as he parted the leaves for a last glance at the small,
frightened face looking up at him.

"'Come soon,' whispered Matty, and tried to smile bravely, as a stout
settler's girl should.

"Mr. Kilburn went away, and was taken prisoner in the fight, carried
off, and for years no one knew whether he was alive or dead. People
missed Matty, but supposed she was with her father, and never expected
to see her again. A great while afterward the poor man came back, having
escaped and made his way through the wilderness to his old home. His
first question was for Matty, but no one had seen her; and when he told
them where he had left her, they shook their heads as if they thought he
was crazy. But they went to look, that he might be satisfied; and he
was; for they they found some little bones, some faded bits of cloth,
and two rusty silver buckles marked with Matty's name in what had once
been her shoes. An Indian arrow lay there, too, showing why she had
never cried for help, but waited patiently so long for father to come
and find her."

If Miss Celia expected to see the last bit of hem done when her story
ended, she was disappointed; for not a dozen stitches had been taken.
Betty was using her crash towel for a handkerchief, and Bab's lay on the
ground as she listened with snapping eyes to the little tragedy.

"Is it true?" asked Betty, hoping to find relief in being told that it
was not.

"Yes; I have seen the tree, and the mound where the fort was, and the
rusty buckles in an old farmhouse where other Kilburns live, near the
spot where it all happened," answered Miss Celia, looking out the
picture of Victoria to console her auditors.

"We'll play that in the old apple-tree.  Betty can scrooch down, and
I'll be the father, and put leaves on her, and then I'll be a great
Injun and fire at her. I can make arrows, and it will be fun, won't it?"
cried Bab, charmed with the new drama in which she could act the leading
parts.

"No, it won't! I don't like to go in a cobwebby hole, and have you play
kill me, I'll make a nice fort of hay, and be all safe, and you can put
Dinah down there for Matty. I don't love her any more, now her last eye
has tumbled out, and you may shoot her just as much as yon like."

Before Bab could agree to this satisfactory arrangement, Thorny
appeared, singing, as he aimed at a fat robin, whose red waistcoat
looked rather warm and winterish that August day,--

    "So he took up his bow,
    And he feathered his arrow,
    And said, 'I will shoot
    This little cock-sparrow.'"

"But he didn't," chirped the robin, flying away, with a contemptuous
flirt of his rusty-black tail.

"That is exactly what you must promise not to do, boys.  Fire away at
your targets as much as you like, but do not harm any living creature,"
said Miss Celia, as Ben followed armed and equipped with her own
long-unused accoutrements.

"Of course we won't if you say so; but, with a little practice, I could
bring down a bird as well as that fellow you read to me about with his
woodpeckers and larks and herons," answered Thorny, who had much enjoyed
the article, while his sister lamented over the destruction of the
innocent birds.

"You'd do well to borrow the Squire's old stuffed owl for a target;
there would be some chance of your hitting him, he is so big," said his
sister, who always made fun of the boy when he began to brag.

Thorny's only reply was to send his arrow straight up so far out of
sight that it was a long while coming down again to stick quivering in
the ground near by, whence Sancho brought it in his mouth, evidently
highly approving of a game in which he could join.

"Not bad for a beginning.  Now, Ben, fire away."

But Ben's experience with bows was small, and, in spite of his
praiseworthy efforts to imitate his great exemplar, the arrow only
turned a feeble sort of somersault and descended perilously near Bab's
uplifted nose.

"If you endanger other people's life and liberty in your pursuit of
happiness, I shall have to confiscate your arms, boys. Take the orchard
for your archery ground; that is safe, and we can see you as we sit
here. I wish I had two hands, so that I could paint you a fine, gay
target;" and Miss Celia looked regretfully at the injured arm, which as
yet was of little use.

"I wish you could shoot, too; you used to beat all the girls, and I was
proud of you," answered Thorny, with the air of a fond elder brother;
though, at the time he alluded to, he was about twelve, and hardly up to
his sister's shoulder.

"Thank you. I shall be happy to give my place to Bab and Betty if you
will make them some bows and arrows; they could not use those long
ones."

The young gentlemen did not take the hint as quickly as Miss Celia hoped
they would; in fact, both looked rather blank at the suggestion, as boys
generally do when it is proposed that girls--especially small ones--shall
join in any game they are playing.

"P'r'aps it would be too much trouble," began Betty, in her winning
little voice.

"I can make my own," declared Bab, with an independent toss of the head.

"Not a bit; I'll make you the jolliest small bow that ever was,
Belinda," Thorny hastened to say, softened by the appealing glance of
the little maid.

"You can use mine, Bab; you've got such a strong fist, I guess you
could pull it," added Ben, remembering that it would not be amiss to
have a comrade who shot worse than he did, for he felt very inferior to
Thorny in many ways, and, being used to praise, had missed it very much
since he retired to private life.

"I will be umpire, and brighten up the silver arrow I sometimes pin my
hair with, for a prize, unless we can find something better," proposed
Miss Celia, glad to see that question settled, and every prospect of the
new play being a pleasant amusement for the hot weather.

It was astonishing how soon archery became the fashion in that town, for
the boys discussed it enthusiastically all that evening, formed the
"William Tell Club" next day, with Bab and Betty as honorary members,
and, before the week was out, nearly every lad was seen, like young
Norval, "With bended bow and quiver full of arrows," shooting away,
with a charming disregard of the safety of their fellow citizens.
Banished by the authorities to secluded spots, the members of the club
set up their targets and practised indefatigably, especially Ben, who
soon discovered that his early gymnastics had given him a sinewy arm and
a true eye; and, taking Sanch into partnership as picker-up, he got more
shots out of an hour than those who had to run to and fro.

Thorny easily recovered much of his former skill, but his strength had
not fully returned, and he soon grew tired. Bab, on the contrary, threw
herself into the contest heart and soul, and tugged away at the new bow
Miss Celia gave her, for Ben's was too heavy. No other girls were
admitted, so the outsiders got up a club of their own, and called it
"The Victoria," the name being suggested by the magazine article, which
went the rounds as a general guide and reference book. Bab and Betty
belonged to this club and duly reported the doings of the boys, with
whom they had a right to shoot if they chose, but soon waived the right,
plainly seeing that their absence would be regarded in the light of a
favor.

The archery fever raged as fiercely as the base-ball epidemic had done
before it, and not only did the magazine circulate freely, but Miss
Edgeworth's story, which was eagerly read, and so much admired that the
girls at once mounted green ribbons, and the boys kept yards of
whip-cord in their pockets like the provident Benjamin of the tale.

Every one enjoyed the new play very much, and something grew out of it
which was a lasting pleasure to many, long after the bows and arrows
were forgotten. Seeing how glad the children were to get a new story,
Miss Celia was moved to send a box of books--old and new--to the
town library, which was but scantily supplied, as country libraries are
apt to be. This donation produced a good effect; for other people hunted
up all the volumes they could spare for the same purpose, and the dusty
shelves in the little room behind the post-office filled up amazingly.
Coming in vacation time they were hailed with delight, and ancient books
of travel, as well as modern tales, were feasted upon by happy young
folks, with plenty of time to enjoy them in peace.

The success of her first attempt at being a public benefactor pleased
Miss Celia very much, and suggested other ways in which she might serve
the quiet town, where she seemed to feel that work was waiting for her
to do. She said little to any one but the friend over the sea, yet
various plans were made then that blossomed beautifully by-and-by.

CHAPTER XIX

SPEAKING PIECES

The first of September came all too soon, and school began.  Among the
boys and girls who went trooping up to the "East Corner knowledge-box,"
as they called it, was our friend Ben, with a pile of neat books under
his arm. He felt very strange, and decidedly shy; but put on a bold
face, and let nobody guess that, though nearly thirteen, he had never
been to school before. Miss Celia had told his story to Teacher, and
she, being a kind little woman, with young brothers of her own, made
things as easy for him as she could. In reading and writing he did very
well, and proudly took his place among lads of his own age; but when it
came to arithmetic and geography, he had to go down a long way, and
begin almost at the beginning, in spite of Thorny's efforts to "tool him
along fast." It mortified him sadly, but there was no help for it; and
in some of the classes he had dear little Betty to console with him when
he failed, and smile contentedly when he got above her, as he soon began
to do,--for she was not a quick child, and plodded through First Parts
long after sister Bab was flourishing away among girls much older than
herself.

Fortunately, Ben was a short boy and a clever one, so he did not look
out of place among the ten and eleven year olders, and fell upon his
lessons with the same resolution with which he used to take a new leap,
or practise patiently till he could touch his heels with his head. That
sort of exercise had given him a strong, elastic little body; this kind
was to train his mind, and make its faculties as useful, quick and sure,
as the obedient muscles, nerves and eye, which kept him safe where
others would have broken their necks. He knew this, and found much
consolation in the fact that, though mental arithmetic was a hopeless
task, he could turn a dozen somersaults, and come up as steady as a
judge. When the boys laughed at him for saying that China was in Africa,
he routed them entirely by his superior knowledge of the animals
belonging to that wild country; and when "First class in reading" was
called, he marched up with the proud consciousness that the shortest boy
in it did better than tall Moses Towne or fat Sam Kitteridge.

Teacher praised him all she honestly could, and corrected his many
blunders so quietly that he soon ceased to be a deep, distressful red
during recitation, and tugged away so manfully that no one could help
respecting him for his efforts, and trying to make light of his
failures. So the first hard week went by, and though the boy's heart had
sunk many a time at the prospect of a protracted wrestle with his own
ignorance, he made up his mind to win, and went at it again on the
Monday with fresh zeal, all the better and braver for a good, cheery
talk with Miss Celia in the Sunday evening twilight.

He did not tell her one of his greatest trials, however, because he
thought she could not help him there. Some of the children rather looked
down upon him, called him "tramp" and "beggar," twitted him with having
been a circus boy, and lived in a tent like a gypsy. They did not mean
to be cruel, but did it for the sake of teasing, never stopping to think
how much such sport can make a fellow-creature suffer. Being a plucky
fellow, Ben pretended not to mind; but he did feel it keenly, because he
wanted to start afresh, and be like other boys. He was not ashamed of
the old life; but, finding those around him disapproved of it, he was
glad to let it be forgotten, even by himself; for his latest
recollections were not happy ones, and present comforts made past
hardships seem harder than before.

He said nothing of this to Miss Celia; but she found it out, and liked
him all the better for keeping some of his small worries to himself.
Bab and Betty came over Monday afternoon full of indignation at some
boyish insult Sam had put upon Ben; and, finding them too full of it to
enjoy the reading, Miss Celia asked what the matter was. Then both
little girls burst out in a rapid succession of broken exclamations,
which did not give a very clear idea of the difficulty,--

"Sam didn't like it because Ben jumped farther than he did--"

"And he said Ben ought to be in the poor-house."

"And Ben said he ought to be in it pigpen."

"So he had!--such a greedy thing, bringing lovely big apples, and not
giving any one a single bite!"

"Then he was mad, and we all laughed; and he said, 'Want to fight?'

"And Ben said, 'No, thanky, not much fun in pounding a feather-bed.'"

"Oh, he was awfully mad then, and chased Ben up the big maple."

"He's there now, for Sam won't let him come down till he takes it all
back."

"Ben won't; and I do believe he'll have to stay up all night," said
Betty, distressfully.

"He won't care, and we'll have fun firing up his supper.  Nut cakes and
cheese will go splendidly; and may be baked pears wouldn't get smashed,
he's such a good catch," added Bab, decidedly relishing the prospect.

"If he does not come by tea-time, we will go and look after him. It
seems to me I have heard something about Sam's troubling him before,
haven't I?" asked Miss Celia, ready to defend her protege against all
unfair persecution.

"Yes,'m, Sam and Mose are always plaguing Ben. They are big boys, and we
can't make them stop. I won't let the girls do it, and the little boys
don't dare to, since Teacher spoke to them." answered Bab.

"Why does not Teacher speak to the big ones?

"Ben won't tell of them, or let us.  He says he'll fight his own
battles, and hates tell-tales. I guess he won't like to have us tell
you, but I don't care, for it is too bad!" and Betty looked ready to cry
over her friend's tribulations.

"I'm glad you did, for I will attend to it, and stop this sort of
thing," said Miss Celia, after the children had told some of the
tormenting speeches which had tried poor Ben.

Just then Thorny appeared, looking much amused, and the little girls
both called out in a breath, "Did you see Ben and get him down?"

"He got himself down in the neatest way you can imagine;" and Thorny
laughed at the recollection.

"Where is Sam?" asked Bab.

"Staring up at the sky to see where Ben has flown to."

"Oh, tell about it!" begged Betty.

"Well, I came along and found Ben treed, and Sam stoning him. I stopped
that at once, and told the 'fat boy' to be off. He said he wouldn't till
Ben begged his pardon; and Ben said he wouldn't do it, if he stayed up
for a week. I was just preparing to give that rascal a scientific
thrashing, when a load of hay came along, and Ben dropped on to it so
quietly that Sam, who was trying to bully me, never saw him go. It
tickled me so, I told Sam I guessed I'd let him off that time, and
walked away, leaving him to hunt for Ben, and wonder where the dickens
he had vanished to."

The idea of Sam's bewilderment amused the others as much as Thorny, and
they all had a good laugh over it before Miss Celia asked,--

"Where has Ben gone now?"

"Oh, he'll take a little ride, and then slip down and race home full of
the fun of it. But I've got to settle Sam. I won't have our Ben hectored
by any one--"

"But yourself," put in his sister, with a sly smile, for Thorny was
rather domineering at times.

"He doesn't mind my poking him up now and then, it's good for him; and I
always take his part against other people. Sam is a bully, and so is
Mose; and I'll thrash them both if they don't stop."

Anxious to curb her brother's pugnacious propensities, Miss Celia
proposed milder measures, promising to speak to the boys herself if
there was any more trouble.

"I have been thinking that we should have some sort of merry-making for
Ben on his birthday. My plan was a very simple one; but I will enlarge
it, and have all the young folks come, and Ben shall be king of the fun.
he needs encouragement in well-doing, for he does try; and now the first
hard part is nearly over, I am sure he will get on bravely. If we treat
him with respect, and show our regard for him, others will follow our
example; and that will be better than fighting about it."

"So it will!  What shall we do to make our party tip-top?" asked Thorny,
falling into the trap at once; for he dearly loved to get up
theatricals, and had not had any for a long time.

"We will plan something splendid, a 'grand combination,' as you used to
call your droll mixtures of tragedy, comedy, melodrama and farce,"
answered his sister, with her head already full of lively plots.

"We'll startle the natives.  I don't believe they ever saw a play in all
their lives, hey, Bab?"

"I've seen a circus."

"We dress up and do 'Babes in the Wood,'" added Betty, with dignity.

"Pho! that's nothing.  I'll show you acting that will make your hair
stand on end, and you shall act too. Bab will be capital for the naughty
girls," began Thorny, excited by the prospect of producing a sensation
on the boards, and always ready to tease the girls.

Before Betty could protest that she did not want her hair to stand up,
or Bab could indignantly decline the role offered her, a shrill whistle
was heard, and Miss Celia whispered, with a warning look,--

"Hush! Ben is coming, and he must not know any thing about this yet."

The next day was Wednesday, and in the afternoon Miss Celia went to hear
the children "speak pieces," though it was very seldom that any of the
busy matrons and elder sisters found time or inclination for these
displays of youthful oratory. Miss Celia and Mrs. Moss were all the
audience on this occasion, but Teacher was both pleased and proud to see
them, and a general rustle went through the school as they came in, all
the girls turning from the visitors to nod at Bab and Betty, who smiled
all over their round faces to see "Ma" sitting up "'side of Teacher,"
and the boys grinned at Ben, whose heart began to beat fast at the
thought of his dear mistress coming so far to hear him say his piece.

Thorny had recommended Marco Bozzaris, but Ben preferred John Gilpin,
and ran the famous race with much spirit, making excellent time in some
parts and having to be spurred a little in others, but came out all
right, though quite breathless at the end, sitting down amid great
applause, some of which, curiously enough, seemed to come from outside;
which in fact it did, for Thorny was bound to hear but would not come
in, lest his presence should abash one orator at least.

Other pieces followed, all more or less patriotic and warlike, among the
boys; sentimental among the girls. Sam broke down in his attempt to give
one of Webster's great speeches, Little Cy Fay boldly attacked

    "Again to the battle, Achaians!"

and shrieked his way through it in a shrill, small voice, bound to do
honor to the older brother who had trained him even if he broke a vessel
in the attempt. Billy chose a well-worn piece, but gave it a new
interest by his style of delivery; for his gestures were so spasmodic he
looked as if going into a fit, and he did such astonishing things with
his voice that one never knew whether a howl or a growl would come next.
When

    "The woods against a stormy sky
    Their giant branches tossed;"

Billy's arms went round like the sails of a windmill; the "hymns of
lofty cheer" not only "shook the depths of the desert gloom," but the
small children on their little benches, and the school-house literally
rang "to the anthems of the free!" When "the ocean eagle soared," Billy
appeared to be going bodily up, and the "pines of the forest roared" as
if they had taken lessons of Van Amburgh's biggest lion. "Woman's
fearless eye" was expressed by a wild glare; "manhood's brow, severely
high," by a sudden clutch at the reddish locks falling over the orator's
hot forehead, and a sounding thump on his blue checked bosom told where
"the fiery heart of youth" was located. "What sought they thus far?" he
asked, in such a natural and inquiring tone, with his eye fixed on Mamie
Peters, that the startled innocent replied, "Dunno," which caused the
speaker to close in haste, devoutly pointing a stubby finger upward at
the last line.

This was considered the gem of the collection, and Billy took his seat
proudly conscious that his native town boasted an orator who, in time,
would utterly eclipse Edward Everett and Wendell Phillips.

Sally Folsom led off with "The Coral Grove," chosen for the express
purpose of making her friend Almira Mullet start and blush, when she
recited the second line of that pleasing poem,

    "Where the purple mullet and gold-fish rove."

One of the older girls gave Wordsworth's "Lost Love" in a pensive tone,
clasping her hands and bringing out the "O" as if a sudden twinge of
toothache seized her when she ended.

    "But she is in her grave, and O,
     the difference to me!"

Bab always chose a funny piece, and on this afternoon set them all
laughing by the spirit with which she spoke the droll poem, "Pussy's
Class," which some of my young readers may have read. The "meou" and the
"sptzz" were capital, and when the "fond mamma rubbed her nose," the
children shouted, for Miss Bab made a paw of her hand and ended with an
impromptu purr, which was considered the best imitation ever presented
to an appreciative public. Betty bashfully murmurred "Little White
Lily," swaying to and fro as regularly as if in no other way could the
rhymes be ground out of her memory.

"That is all, I believe.  If either of the ladies would like to say a
few words to the children, I should be pleased to have them," said
Teacher, politely, pausing before she dismissed school with a song.

"Please, 'm.  I'd like to speak my piece," answered Miss Celia, obeying
a sudden impulse; and, stepping forward with her hat in her hand, she
made a pretty courtesy before she recited Mary Howitt's sweet little
ballad, "Mabel on Midsummer Day."

She looked so young and merry, and used such simple but expressive
gestures, and spoke in such a clear, soft voice that the children sat as
if spell-bound, learning several lessons from this new teacher, whose
performance charmed them from beginning to end, and left a moral which
all could understand and carry away in that last verse,--

    "'Tis good to make all duty sweet,
    To be alert and kind;
    'Tis good, like Littie Mabel,
    To have a willing mind."

Of course there was an enthusiastic clapping when Miss Celia sat down,
but even while hands applauded, consciences pricked, and undone tasks,
complaining words and sour faces seemed to rise up reproachfully before
many of the children, as well as their own faults of elocution.

"Now we will sing," said Teacher, and a great clearing of throats
ensued, but before a note could be uttered, the half-open door swung
wide, and Sancho, with Ben's hat on, walked in upon his hind-legs, and
stood with his paws meekly folded, while a voice from the entry sang
rapidly,--

    "Benny had a little dog,
    His fleece was white as snow,
    And everywhere that Benny went,
    The dog was sure to go.

    He went into the School one day,
    which was against the rule;
    It made the children laugh and play
    To see a dog--"

Mischievous Thorny got no further, for a general explosion of laughter
drowned the last words, and Ben's command "Out, you rascal!" sent Sanch
to the right-about in double-quick time.

Miss Celia tried to apologize for her bad brother, and Teacher tried to
assure her that it didn't matter in the least, as this was always a
merry time, and Mrs. Moss vainly shook her finger at her naughty
daughters; they as well as the others would have their laugh out, and
only partially sobered down when the Bell rang for "Attention." They
thought they were to be dismissed, and repressed their giggles as well
as they could in order to get a good start for a vociferous roar when
they got out. But, to their great surprise, the pretty lady stood up
again and said, in her friendly way,--

"I just want to thank you for this pleasant little exhibition, and ask
leave to come again. I also wish to invite you all to my boy's birthday
party on Saturday week. The archery meeting is to be in the afternoon,
and both clubs will be there, I believe. In the evening we are going to
have some fun, when we can laugh as much as we please without breaking
any of the rules. In Ben's name I invite you, and hope you will all
come, for we mean to make this the happiest birthday he ever had."

There were twenty pupils in the room, but the eighty hands and feet made
such a racket at this announcement that an outsider would have thought a
hundred children, at least, must have been at it. Miss Celia was a
general favorite because she nodded to all the girls, called the boys by
their last names, even addressing some of the largest as "Mr." which won
their hearts at once, so that if she had invited them all to come and be
whipped they would have gone sure that it was some delightful joke. With
what eagerness they accepted the present invitation one can easily
imagine, though they never guessed why she gave it in that way, and
Ben's face was a sight to see, he was so pleased and proud at the honor
done him that he did not know where to look, and was glad to rush out
with the other boys and vent his emotions in whoops of delight. He knew
that some little plot was being concocted for his birthday, but never
dreamed of any thing so grand as asking the whole school, Teacher and
all. The effect of the invitation was seen with comical rapidity, for
the boys became overpowering in their friendly attentions to Ben. Even
Sam, fearing he might be left out, promptly offered the peaceful
olive-branch in the shape of a big apple, warm from his pocket, and Mose
proposed a trade of jack-knives which would be greatly to Ben's
advantage. But Thorny made the noblest sacrifice of all, for he said to
his sister, as they walked home together,--

"I'm not going to try for the prize at all.  I shoot so much better than
the rest, having had more practice, you know, that it is hardly fair.
Ben and Billy are next best, and about even, for Ben's strong wrist
makes up for Billy's true eye, and both want to win. If I am out of the
way Ben stands a good chance, for the other fellows don't amount to
much."

"Bab does; she shoots nearly as well as Ben, and wants to win even more
than he or Billy. She must have her chance at any rate."

"So she may, but she won't do any thing; girls can't, though it 's good
exercise and pleases them to try."

"If I had full use of both my arms I'd show you that girls can do a
great deal when they like. Don't be too lofty, young man, for you may
have to come down," laughed Miss Celia, amused by his airs.

"No fear," and Thorny calmly departed to set his targets for Ben's
practice.

"We shall see," and from that moment Miss Celia made Bab her especial
pupil, feeling that a little lesson would be good for Mr. Thorny, who
rather lorded it over the other young people. There was a spice of
mischief in it, for Miss Celia was very young at heart, in spite of her
twenty-four years, and she was bound to see that her side had a fair
chance, believing that girls can do whatever they are willing to strive
patiently and wisely for.

So she kept Bab at work early and late, giving her all the hints and
help she could with only one efficient hand, and Bab was delighted to
think she did well enough to shoot with the club. Her arms ached and her
fingers grew hard with twanging the bow, but she was indefatigable, and
being a strong, tall child of her age, with a great love of all athletic
sports, she got on fast and well, soon learning to send arrow after
arrow with ever increasing accuracy nearer and nearer to the bull's-eye.

The boys took very little notice of her, being much absorbed in their
own affairs, but Betty did for Bab what Sancho did for Ben, and trotted
after arrows till her short legs were sadly tired, though her patience
never gave out. She was so sure Bab would win that she cared nothing
about her own success, practising little and seldom hitting any thing
when she tried.

CHAPTER XX

BEN'S BIRTHDAY

A superb display of flags flapped gayly in the breeze on the September
morning when Ben proudly entered his teens. An irruption of bunting
seemed to have broken out all over the old house, for banners of every
shape and size, color and design, flew from chimney-top to gable, porch
and gate-way, making the quiet place look as lively as a circus tent,
which was just what Ben most desired and delighted in.

The boys had been up very early to prepare the show, and when it was
ready enjoyed it hugely, for the fresh wind made the pennons cut strange
capers. The winged lion of Venice looked as if trying to fly away home;
the Chinese dragon appeared to brandish his forked tail as he clawed at
the Burmese peacock; the double-headed eagle of Russia pecked at the
Turkish crescent with one beak, while the other seemed to be screaming
to the English royal beast, "Come on and lend a paw." In the hurry of
hoisting the Siamese elephant got turned upside down, and now danced
gayly on his head, with the stars and stripes waving proudly over him. A
green flag with a yellow harp and sprig of shamrock hung in sight of the
kitchen window, and Katy, the cook, got breakfast to the tune of "St.
Patrick's day in the morning." Sancho's kennel was half hidden under a
rustling paper imitation of the gorgeous Spanish banner, and the scarlet
sun-and-moon flag of Arabia snapped and flaunted from the pole over the
coach-house, as a delicate compliment to Lita, Arabian horses being
considered the finest in the world.

The little girls came out to see, and declared it was the loveliest
sight they ever beheld, while Thorny played "Hail Columbia" on his fife,
and Ben, mounting the gate-post, crowed long and loud like a happy
cockerel who had just reached his majority. He had been surprised and
delighted with the gifts he found in his room on awaking and guessed why
Miss Celia and Thorny gave him such pretty things, for among them was a
match-box made like a mouse-trap. The doggy buttons and the horsey whip
were treasures, indeed, for Miss Celia had not given them when they
first planned to do so, because Sancho's return seemed to be joy and
reward enough for that occasion. But he did not forget to thank Mrs.
Moss for the cake she sent him, nor the girls for the red mittens which
they had secretly and painfully knit. Bab's was long and thin, with a
very pointed thumb, Betty's short and wide, with a stubby thumb, and all
their mother's pulling and pressing could not make them look alike, to
the great affliction of the little knitters. Ben, however, assured them
that he rather preferred odd ones, as then he could always tell which
was right and which left. He put them on immediately and went about
cracking the new whip with an expression of content which was droll to
see, while the children followed after, full of admiration for the hero
of the day.

They were very busy all the morning preparing for the festivities to
come, and as soon as dinner was over every one scrambled into his or her
best clothes as fast as possible, because, although invited to come at
two, impatient boys and girls were seen hovering about the avenue as
early as one.

The first to arrive, however, was an uninvited guest, for just as Bab
and Betty sat down on the porch steps, in their stiff pink calico frocks
and white ruffled aprons, to repose a moment before the party came in, a
rustling was heard among the lilacs, and out stepped Alfred Tennyson
Barlow, looking like a small Robin Hood, in a green blouse with a silver
buckle on his broad belt, a feather in his little cap and a bow in his
hand.

"I have come to shoot.  I heard about it.  My papa told me what arching
meant. Will there be any little cakes? I like them."

With these opening remarks the poet took a seat and calmly awaited a
response. The young ladies, I regret to say, giggled, then remembering
their manners, hastened to inform him that there would be heaps of
cakes, also that Miss Celia would not mind his coming without an
invitation, they were quite sure.

"She asked me to come that day.  I have been very busy. I had measles.
Do you have them here?" asked the guest, as if anxious to compare notes
on the sad subject.

"We had ours ever so long ago.  What have you been doing besides having
measles?" said Betty, showing a polite interest.

"I had a fight with a bumble-bee."

"Who beat?" demanded Bab.

"I did.  I ran away and he couldn't catch me."

"Can you shoot nicely?"

"I hit a cow. She did not mind at all.  I guess she thought it was a
fly."

"Did your mother know you were coming?" asked Bab, feeling an interest
in runaways.

"No; she is gone to drive, so I could not ask her."

"It is very wrong to disobey. My Sunday-school book says that children
who are naughty that way never go to heaven," observed virtuous Betty,
in a warning tone.

"I do not wish to go," was the startling reply.

"Why not?" asked Betty, severely.

"They don't have any dirt there.  My mamma says so. I am fond of dirt. I
shall stay here where there is plenty of it," and the candid youth began
to grub in the mould with the satisfaction of a genuine boy.

"I am afraid you're a very bad child."

"Oh yes, I am.  My papa often says so and he knows all about it,"
replied Alfred with an involuntary wriggle suggestive of painful
memories. Then, as if anxious to change the conversation from its
somewhat personal channel, he asked, pointing to a row of grinning heads
above the wall, "Do you shoot at those?"

Bab and Betty looked up quickly and recognized the familiar faces of
their friends peering down at them, like a choice collection of trophies
or targets.

"I should think you'd be ashamed to peek before the party was ready!"
cried Bab, frowning darkly upon the merry young ladies.

"Miss Celia told us to come before two, and be ready to receive folks,
if she wasn't down," added Betty, importantly.

"It is striking two now.  Come along, girls;" and over scrambled Sally
Folsom, followed by three or four kindred spirits, just as their hostess
appeared.

"You look like Amazons storming a fort," she said, as the girls cattle
up, each carrying her bow and arrows, while green ribbons flew in every
direction.

"How do you do, sir?  I have been hoping you would call again," added
Miss Celia, shaking hands with the pretty boy, who regarded with benign
interest the giver of little cakes.

Here a rush of boys took place, and further remarks were cut short, for
every one was in a hurry to begin. So the procession was formed at once,
Miss Celia taking the lead, escorted by Ben in the post of honor, while
the boys and girls paired off behind, arm in arm, bow on Shoulder, in
martial array. Thorny and Billy were the band, and marched before,
fifing and drumming "Yankee Doodle" with a vigor which kept feet moving
briskly, made eyes sparkle, and young hearts dance under the gay gowns
and summer jackets. The interesting stranger was elected to bear the
prize, laid out on a red pin-cushion; and did so with great dignity, as
he went beside the standard bearer, Cy Fay, who bore Ben's choicest
flag, snow-white, with a green wreath surrounding a painted bow and
arrow, and with the letters W. T. C. done in red below.

Such a merry march all about the place, out at the Lodge gate, up and
down the avenue, along the winding paths, till they halted in the
orchard, where the target stood, and seats were placed for the archers
while they waited for their turns. Various rules and regulations were
discussed, and then the fun began. Miss Celia had insisted that the
girls should be invited to shoot with the boys; and the lads consented
without much concern, whispering to one another with condescending
shrugs, "Let 'em try, if they like; they can't do any thing."

There were various trials of skill before the great match came off, and
in these trials the young gentlemen discovered that two at least of the
girls could do something; for Bab and Sally shot better than many of the
boys, and were well rewarded for their exertions by, the change which
took place in the faces and conversation of their mates.

"Why, Bab, you do as well as if I'd taught you myself," said Thorny,
much surprised and not altogether pleased at the little girl's skill.

"A lady taught me; and I mean to beat every one of you," answered Bab,
saucily, while her sparkling eyes turned to Miss Celia with a
mischievous twinkle in them.

"Not a bit of it," declared Thorny, stoutly; but he went to Ben and
whispered, "Do your best, old fellow, for sister has taught Bab all the
scientific points, and the little rascal is ahead of Billy."

"She won't get ahead of me," said Ben, picking out his best arrow, and
trying the string of his bow with a confident air which re-assured
Thorny, who found it impossible to believe that a girl ever could,
would, or should excel a boy in any thing he cared to try.

It really did look as if Bab would beat when the match for the prize
came off; and the children got more and more excited as the six who were
to try for it took turns at the bull's-eye. Thorny was umpire, and kept
account of each shot, for the arrow which went nearest the middle would
win. Each had three shots; and very soon the lookers-on saw that Ben and
Bab were the best marksmen, and one of them would surely get the silver
arrow.

Sam, who was too lazy to practise, soon gave up the contest, saying, as
Thorny did, "It wouldn't be fair for such a big fellow to try with the
little chaps," which made a laugh, as his want of skill was painfully
evident. But Mose went at it gallantly; and, if his eye had been as true
as his arms were strong, the "little chaps" would have trembled. But his
shots were none of them as near as Billy's; and he retired after the
third failure, declaring that it was impossible to shoot against the
wind, though scarcely a breath was stirring.

Sally Folsom was bound to beat Bab, and twanged away in great style; all
in vain, however, as with tall Maria Newcomb, the third girl who
attempted the trial. Being a little near-sighted, she had borrowed her
sister's eye-glasses, and thereby lessened her chance of success; for
the pinch on her nose distracted her attention, and not one of her
arrows went beyond the second ring to her great disappointment. Billy
did very well, but got nervous when his last shot came, and just missed
the bull's-eye by being in a hurry.

Bab and Ben each had one turn more; and, as they were about even, that
last arrow would decide the victory. Both had sent a shot into the
bull's-eye, but neither was exactly in the middle; so there was room to
do better, even, and the children crowded round, crying eagerly, "Now,
Ben!" "Now, Bab!" "Hit her up, Ben!" "Beat him, Bab!" while Thorny
looked as anxious as if the fate of the country depended on the success
of his man. Bab's turn came first; and, as Miss Celia examined her bow
to see that all was right, the little girl said, With her eyes on her
rival's excited face,--

"I want to beat, but Ben will feel so bad, I 'most hope I sha'n't."

"Losing a prize sometimes makes one happier than gaining it. You have
proved that you could do better than most of them; so, if you do not
beat, you may still feet proud," answered Miss Celia, giving back the
bow with a smile that said more than her words.

It seemed to give Bab a new idea, for in a minute all sorts of
recollections, wishes, and plans rushed through her lively little mind,
and she followed a sudden generous impulse as blindly as she often did a
wilful one.

"I guess he'll beat," she said, softly, with a quick sparkle of the
eyes, as she stepped to her place and fired without taking her usual
careful aim.

Her shot struck almost as near the centre on the right as her last one
had hit on the left; and there was a shout of delight from the girls as
Thorny announced it before he hurried back to Ben, whispering anxiously,--

"Steady, old Man, steady; you must beat that, or we shall never hear the
last of it."

Ben did not say, "She won't get ahead of me," as he had said at the
first; he set his teeth, threw off his hat, and, knitting his brows with
a resolute expression, prepared to take steady aim, though his heart
beat fast and his thumb trembled as he pressed it on the bowstring.

"I hope you'll beat, I truly do," said Bab, at his elbow; and, as if the
breath that framed the generous wish helped it on its way, the arrow
flew straight to the bull's-eye, hitting, apparently, the very spot
where Bab's best shot had left a hole.

"A tie! a tie!" cried the girls, as a general rush took place toward the
target.

"No, Ben's is nearest.  Ben's beat!" Hooray shouted the boys, throwing up
their hats. There was only a hair's-breadth difference, and Bab could
honestly have disputed the decision; but she did not, though for an
instant she could not help wishing that the cry had been "Bab's beat!
Hurrah!" it sounded so pleasant. Then she saw Ben's beaming face,
Thorny's intense relief, and caught the look Miss Celia sent her over
the heads of the boys, and decided, with a sudden warm glow all over her
little face, that losing a prize did sometimes make one happier than
winning it. Up went her best hat, and she burst out in a shrill, "Rah,
rah, rah!" that sounded very funny coming all alone after the general
clamor had subsided.

"Good for you, Bab! you are an honor to the club, and I'm proud of you",
said Prince Thorny, with a hearty handshake; for, as his man had won, he
could afford to praise the rival who had put him on his mettle, though
she was a girl.

Bab was much uplifted by the royal commendation, but a few minutes later
felt pleased as well as proud when Ben, having received the prize, came
to her, as she stood behind a tree sucking her blistered thumb, while
Betty braided up her dishevelled locks.

"I think it would be fairer to call it a tie, Bab, for it really was,
and I want you to wear this. I wanted the fun of beating, but I don't
care a bit for this girl's thing and I'd rather see it on you."

As he spoke, Ben offered the rosette of green ribbon which held the
silver arrow, and Bab's eyes brightened as they fell upon the pretty
ornament, for to her "the girl's thing" was almost as good as the
victory.

"Oh no; you must wear it to show who won. Miss Celia wouldn't like it.
I don't mind not getting it; I did better than all the rest, and I guess
I shouldn't like to beat you," answered Bab, unconsciously putting into
childish words the sweet generosity which makes so many sisters glad to
see their brothers carry off the prizes of life, while they are content
to know that they have earned them and can do without the praise.

But if Bab was generous, Ben was just; and though he could not explain
the feeling, would not consent to take all the glory without giving his
little friend a share.

"You must wear it; I shall feel real mean if you don't. You worked
harder than I did, and it was only luck my getting this. Do, Bab, to
please me," he persisted, awkwardly trying to fasten the ornament in the
middle of Bab's' white apron.

"Then I will. Now do you forgive me for losing Sancho?" asked Bab, with
a wistful look which made Ben say, heartily,--

"I did that when he came home."

"And you don't think I'm horrid?"

"Not a bit of it; you are first-rate, and I'll stand by you like a man,
for you are 'most as good as a boy!" cried Ben, anxious to deal
handsomely with his feminine rival, whose skill had raised her immensely
in his opinion.

Feeling that he could not improve that last compliment, Bab was fully
satisfied, and let him leave the prize upon her breast, conscious that
she had some claim to it.

"That is where it should be, and Ben is a true knight, winning the prize
that he may give it to his lady, while he is content with the victory,"
said Miss Celia, laughingly, to Teacher, as the children ran off to join
in the riotous games which soon made the orchard ring.

"He learned that at the circus 'tunnyments,' as he calls them. He is a
nice boy, and I am much interested in him; for he has the two things
that do most toward making a man, patience and courage," answered
Teacher, also as she watched the young knight play and the honored lady
tearing about in a game of tag.

"Bab is a nice child, too," said Miss Celia; "she is as quick as a flash
to catch an idea and carry it out, though very often the ideas are wild
ones. She could have won just now, I fancy, if she had tried, but took
the notion into her head that it was nobler to let Ben win, and so atone
for the trouble she gave him in losing the dog. I saw a very sweet look
on her face just now, and am sure that Ben will never know why he beat."

"She does such things at school sometimes, and I can't bear to spoil her
little atonements, though they are not always needed or very wise,"
answered Teacher. "Not long ago I found that she had been giving her
lunch day after day to a poor child who seldom had any, and when I asked
her why, she said, with tears, 'I used to laugh at Abby, because she had
only crusty, dry bread, and so she wouldn't bring any. I ought to give
her mine and be hungry, it was so mean to make fun of her poorness."

"Did you stop the sacrifice?"

"No; I let Bab 'go halves,' and added an extra bit to my own lunch, so I
could make my contribution likewise."

"Come and tell me about Abby.  I want to make friends with our poor
people, for soon I shall have a right to help them;" and, putting her
arm in Teacher's, Miss Celia led her away for a quiet chat in the porch,
making her guest's visit a happy holiday by confiding several plans and
asking advice in the friendliest way.

CHAPTER XXI

CUPID'S LAST APPEARANCE

A picnic supper on the grass followed the games, and then, as twilight
began to fall, the young people were marshalled to the coach-house, now
transformed into a rustic theatre. One big door was open, and seats,
arranged lengthwise, faced the red table-cloths which formed the
curtain. A row of lamps made very good foot-lights, and an invisible
band performed a Wagner-like overture on combs, tin trumpets, drums, and
pipes, with an accompaniment of suppressed laughter.

Many of the children had never seen any thing like it, and sat staring
about them in mute admiration and expectancy; but the older ones
criticised freely, and indulged in wild speculations as to the meaning
of various convulsions of nature going on behind the curtain.

While Teacher was dressing the actresses for the tragedy, Miss Celia and
Thorny, who were old hands at this sort of amusement, gave a "Potato"
pantomime as a side show.

Across an empty stall a green cloth was fastened, so high that the heads
of the operators were not seen. A little curtain flew up, disclosing the
front of a Chinese pagoda painted on pasteboard, with a door and window
which opened quite naturally. This stood on one side, several green
trees with paper lanterns hanging from the boughs were on the other
side, and the words "Tea Garden," printed over the top, showed the
nature of this charming spot.

Few of the children had ever seen the immortal Punch and Judy, so this
was a most agreeable novelty, and before they could make out what it
meant, a voice began to sing, so distinctly that every word was heard,--

    "In China there lived a little man,
    His name was Chingery Wangery Chan."

Here the hero "took the stage" with great dignity, clad in a loose
yellow jacket over a blue skirt, which concealed the hand that made his
body. A pointed hat adorned his head, and on removing this to bow he
disclosed a bald pate with a black queue in the middle, and a Chinese
face nicely painted on the potato, the lower part of which was hollowed
out to fit Thorny's first finger, while his thumb and second finger were
in the sleeves of the yellow jacket, making a lively pair of arms. While
he saluted, the song went on,--

    "His legs were short, his feet were small,
    And this little man could not walk at all."

Which assertion was proved to be false by the agility with which the
"little man" danced a jig in time to the rollicking chorus,--

    "Chingery changery ri co day,
    Ekel tekel happy man;
    Uron odesko canty oh, oh,
    Gallopy wallopy China go."

At the close of the dance and chorus, Chan retired into the tea garden,
and drank so many cups of the national beverage, with such comic
gestures, that the spectators were almost sorry when the opening of the
opposite window drew all eyes in that direction. At the lattice appeared
a lovely being; for this potato had been pared, and on the white surface
were painted pretty pink checks, red lips, black eyes, and oblique
brows; through the tuft of dark silk on the head were stuck several
glittering pins, and a pink jacket shrouded the plump figure of this
capital little Chinese lady. After peeping coyly out, so that all could
see and admire, she fell to counting the money from a purse, so large
her small hands could hardly hold it on the window seat. While she did
this, the song went on to explain,--

    "Miss Ki Hi was short and squat,
    She had money and he had not
    So off to her he resolved to go,
    And play her a tune on his little banjo."

During the chorus to this verse Chan was seen tuning his instrument in
the garden, and at the end sallied gallantly forth to sing the following
tender strain,--

    "Whang fun li,
    Tang hua ki,
    Hong Kong do ra me!
    Ah sin lo,
    Pan to fo,
    Tsing up chin leute!"

Carried away by his passion, Chan dropped his banjo, fell upon his
knees, and, clasping his hands, bowed his forehead in the dust before
his idol. But, alas!--

    "Miss Ki Hi heard his notes of love,
    And held her wash-bowl up above
    It fell upon the little man,
    And this was the end of Chingery Chan,"

Indeed it was; for, as the doll's basin of real water was cast forth by
the cruel charmer, poor Chan expired in such strong convulsions that his
head rolled down among the audience. Miss Ki Hi peeped to see what had
become of her victim, and the shutter decapitated her likewise, to the
great delight of the children, who passed around the heads, pronouncing
a "Potato" pantomime "first-rate fun."

Then they settled themselves for the show, having been assured by
Manager Thorny that they were about to behold the most elegant and
varied combination ever produced on any stage. And when one reads the
following very inadequate description of the somewhat mixed
entertainment, it is impossible to deny that the promise made was nobly
kept.

After some delay and several crashes behind the curtain, which mightily
amused the audience, the performance began with the well-known tragedy
of "Bluebeard;" for Bab had set her heart upon it, and the young folks
had acted it so often in their plays that it was very easy to get up,
with a few extra touches to scenery and costumes. Thorny was superb as
the tyrant with a beard of bright blue worsted, a slouched hat and long
feather, fur cloak, red hose, rubber boots, and a real sword which
clanked tragically as he walked. He spoke in such a deep voice, knit his
corked eye-brows, and glared so frightfully, that it was no wonder poor
Fatima quaked before him as he gave into her keeping an immense bunch of
keys with one particularly big, bright one, among them.

Bab was fine to see, with Miss Celia's blue dress sweeping behind her, a
white plume in her flowing hair, and a real necklace with a pearl locket
about her neck. She did her part capitally, especially the shriek she
gave when she looked into the fatal closet, the energy with which she
scrubbed the tell-tale key, and her distracted tone when she called out:
"Sister Anne, O, sister Anne, do you see anybody coming?" while her
enraged husband was roaring: "Will you come down, madam, or shall I come
and fetch you?"

Betty made a captivating Anne,--all in white muslin, and a hat full of
such lovely pink roses that she could not help putting up one hand to
feel them as she stood on the steps looking out at the little window for
the approaching brothers who made such a din that it sounded like a
dozen horsemen instead if two.

Ben and Billy were got up regardless of expense in the way of arms; for
their belts were perfect arsenals, and their wooden swords were big
enough to strike terror into any soul, though they struck no sparks out
of Bluebeard's blade in the awful combat which preceded the villain's
downfall and death.

The boys enjoyed this part intensely, and cries of "Go it, Ben!" "Hit
him again, Billy!" "Two against one isn't fair!" "Thorny's a match for
'em." "Now he's down, hurray!" cheered on the combatants, till, after a
terrific struggle, the tyrant fell, and with convulsive twitchings of
the scarlet legs, slowly expired while the ladies sociably fainted in
each other's arms, and the brothers waved their swords and shook hands
over the corpse of their enemy.

This piece was rapturously applauded, and all the performers had to
appear and bow their thanks, led by the defunct Bluebeard, who mildly
warned the excited audience that if they "didn't look out the seats
would break down, and then there'd be a nice mess."

Calmed by this fear they composed themselves, and waited with ardor for
the next play, which promised to be a lively one, judging from the
shrieks of laughter which came from behind the curtain.

"Sanch 's going to be in it, I know; for I heard Ben say, 'Hold him
still; he won't bite,'" whispered Sam, longing to "jounce up and down,
so great was his satisfaction at the prospect, for the dog was
considered the star of the company.

"I hope Bab will do something else, she is so funny. Wasn't her dress
elegant?" said Sally Folsum, burning to wear a long silk gown and a
feather in her hair.

"I like Betty best, she's so cunning, and she peeked out of the window
just as if she really saw somebody coming," answered Liddy Peckham,
privately resolving to tease mother for some pink roses before another
Sunday came.

Up went the curtain at last, and a voice announced "A Tragedy in Three
Tableaux." "There's Betty!" was the general exclamation, as the audience
recognized a familiar face under the little red hood worn by the child
who stood receiving a basket from Teacher, who made a nice mother with
her finger up, as if telling the small messenger not to loiter by the
way.

"I know what that is!" cried Sally; "it's 'Mabel on Midsummer Day.' The
piece Miss Celia spoke; don't you know?"

"There isn't any sick baby, and Mabel had a 'kerchief pinned about her
head.' I say it's Red Riding Hood," answered Liddy, who had begun to
learn Mary Howitt's pretty poem for her next piece, and knew all about
it.

The question was settled by the appearance of the wolf in the second
scene, and such a wolf! On few amateur stages do we find so natural an
actor for that part, or so good a costume, for Sanch was irresistibly
droll in the gray wolf-skin which usually lay beside Miss Celia's bed,
now fitted over his back and fastened neatly down underneath, with his
own face peeping out at one end, and the handsome tail bobbing gayly at
the other. What a comfort that tail was to Sancho, none but a bereaved
bow-wow could ever tell. It reconciled him to his distasteful part at
once, it made rehearsals a joy, and even before the public he could not
resist turning to catch a glimpse of the noble appendage, while his own
brief member wagged with the proud consciousness that though the tail
did not match the head, it was long enough to be seen of all men and
dogs.

That was a pretty picture, for the little maid came walking in with the
basket on her arm, and such an innocent face inside the bright hood that
it was quite natural the gray wolf should trot up to her with deceitful
friendliness, that she should pat and talk to him confidingly about the
butter for grandma, and then that they should walk away together, he
politely carrying her basket, she with her hand on his head, little
dreaming what evil plans were taking shape inside.

The children encored that, but there was no time to repeat it, so they
listened to more stifled merriment behind the red table-cloths, and
wondered whether the next scene would be the wolf popping his head out
of the window as Red Riding Hood knocks, or the tragic end of that
sweet child.

It was neither, for a nice bed had been made, and in it reposed the
false grandmother, with a ruffled nightcap on, a white gown, and
spectacles. Betty lay beside the wolf, staring at him as if just about
to say, "Why, grandma, what great teeth you've got!" for Sancho's mouth
was half open and a red tongue hung out, as he panted with the exertion
of keeping still. This tableau was so very good, and yet so funny, that
the children clapped and shouted frantically; this excited the dog, who
gave a bounce and would have leaped off the bed to bark at the rioters,
if Betty had not caught him by the legs, and Thorny dropped the curtain
just at the moment when the wicked wolf was apparently in the act of
devouring the poor little girl, with most effective growls.

They had to come out then, and did so, both much dishevelled by the late
tussle, for Sancho's cap was all over one eye, and Betty's hood was
anywhere but on her head. She made her courtesy prettily, however; her
fellow-actor bowed with as much dignity as a short night-gown permitted,
and they retired to their well-earned repose.

Then Thorny, looking much excited, appeared to make the following
request: "As one of the actors in the next piece is new to the business,
the company must all keep as still as mice, and not stir till I give the
word. It's perfectly splendid! so don't you spoil it by making a row."

"What do you suppose it is?" asked every one, and listened with all
their might to get a hint, if possible. But what they heard only whetted
their curiosity and mystified them more and more. Bab's voice cried in a
loud whisper, "Isn't Ben beautiful?" Then there was a thumping noise,
and Miss Celia said, in an anxious tone, "Oh, do be careful," while Ben
laughed out as if he was too happy to care who heard him, and Thorny
bawled "Whoa!" in a way which would have attracted attention if Lita's
head had not popped out of her box, more than once, to survey the
invaders of her abode, with a much astonished expression.

"Sounds kind of circusy, don't it?" said Sam to Billy, who had come out
to receive the compliments of the company and enjoy the tableau at a
safe distance.

"You just wait till you see what's coming.  It beats any circus I ever
saw," answered Billy, rubbing his hands with the air of a man who had
seen many instead of but one.

"Ready! Be quick and get out of the way when she goes off!" whispered
Ben, but they heard him and prepared for pistols, rockets or
combustibles of some sort, as ships were impossible under the
circumstances, and no other "She" occurred to them.

A unanimous "O-o-o-o!" was heard when the curtain rose, but a stern
"Hush!" from Thorny kept them mutely staring with all their eyes at the
grand spectacle of the evening. There stood Lita with a wide flat saddle
on her back, a white head-stall and reins, blue rosettes in her ears,
and the look of a much-bewildered beast in her bright eyes. But who the
gauzy, spangled, winged creature was, with a gilt crown on its head, a
little bow in its hand, and one white slipper in the air, while the
other seemed merely to touch the saddle, no one could tell for a minute,
so strange and splendid did the apparition appear. No wonder Ben was not
recognized in this brilliant disguise, which was more natural to him
than Billy's blue flannel or Thorny's respectable garments. He had so
begged to be allowed to show himself "just once," as he used to be in
the days when "father" tossed him up on the bare-backed old General, for
hundreds to see and admire, that Miss Celia had consented, much against
her will, and hastily arranged some bits of spangled tarlatan over the
white cotton suit which was to simulate the regulation tights. Her old
dancing slippers fitted, and gold paper did the rest, while Ben, sure of
his power over Lita, promised not to break his bones, and lived for days
on the thought of the moment when he could show the boys that he had not
boasted vainly of past splendors.

Before the delighted children could get their breath, Lita gave signs of
her dislike to the foot-lights, and, gathering up the reins that lay on
her neck, Ben gave the old cry, "Houp-la!" and let her go, as he had
often done before, straight out of the coach-house for a gallop round
the orchard.

"Just turn about and you can see perfectly well, but stay where you are
till he comes back," commanded Thorny, as signs of commotion appeared in
the excited audience.

Round went the twenty children as if turned by one crank, and sitting
there they looked out into the moonlight where the shining figure
flashed to and fro, now so near they could see the smiling face under
the crown, now so far away that it glittered like a fire-fly among the
dusky green. Lita enjoyed that race as heartily as she had done several
others of late, and caracoled about as if anxious to make up for her
lack of skill by speed and obedience. How much Ben liked it there is no
need to tell, yet it was a proof of the good which three months of a
quiet, useful life had done him, that even as he pranced gayly under the
boughs thick with the red and yellow apples almost ready to be gathered,
he found this riding in the fresh air with only his mates for an
audience pleasanter than the crowded tent, the tired horses, profane
men, and painted women, friendly as some of them had been to him.

After the first burst was over, he felt rather glad, on the whole, that
he was going back to plain clothes, helpful school, and kindly people,
who cared more to have him a good boy than the most famous Cupid that
ever stood on one leg with a fast horse under him.

"You may make as much noise as you like, now; Lita's had her run and
will be as quiet as a lamb after it. Pull up, Ben, and come in; sister
says you'll get cold," shouted Thorny, as the rider came cantering round
after a leap over the lodge gate and back again.

So Ben pulled up, and the admiring boys and girls were allowed to gather
about him, loud in their praises as they examined the pretty mare and
the mythological character who lay easily on her back.

He looked very little like the god of love now; for he had lost one
slipper and splashed his white legs with dew and dust, the crown had
slipped down upon his neck, and the paper wings hung in an apple-tree
where he had left them as he went by. No trouble in recognizing Ben,
now; but somehow he didn't want to be seen, and, instead of staying to
be praised, he soon slipped away, making Lita his excuse to vanish
behind the curtain while the rest went into the house to have a
finishing-off game of blindman's-buff in the big kitchen.

"Well, Ben, are you satisfied?" asked Miss Celia, as she stayed a moment
to unpin the remains of his gauzy scarf and tunic.

"Yes, 'm, thank you, it was tip-top."

"But you look rather sober.  Are you tired, or is it because you don't
want to take these trappings off and be plain Ben again?" she said,
looking down into his face as he lifted it for her to free him from his
gilded collar.

"I want to take 'em off; for somehow I don't feel respectable," and he
kicked away the crown he had helped to make so carefully, adding with a
glance that said more than his words: "I'd rather be 'plain Ben' than
any one else, for you like to have me."

"Indeed I do; and I'm so glad to hear you say that, because I was afraid
you'd long to be off to the old ways, and all I've tried to do would be
undone. Would you like to go back, Ben?" and Miss Celia held his chin an
instant, to watch the brown face that looked so honestly back at her.

"No, I wouldn't--unless--he was there and wanted me."

The chin quivered just a bit, but the black eyes were as bright as ever,
and the boy's voice so earnest, she knew he spoke the truth, and laid
her white hand softly on his head, as she answered in the tone he loved
so much, because no one else had ever used it to him,--

"Father is not there; but I know he wants you, dear, and I am sure he
would rather see you in a home like this than in the place you came
from. Now go and dress; but, tell me first, has it been a happy
birthday?"

"Oh, Miss Celia! I didn't know they could be so beautiful, and this is
the beautifulest part of it; I don't know how to thank you, but I'm