"LITTLE ME."
I cannot tell how she came to be called "Little Me." She was a shy little girl, and almost afraid of her own voice; though to hear her playing with her brothers you would not have fancied that she was shy. And now they were on their way to the country. There was Emma the nurse, and Miss Brown the governess, Little Me, Tommy, aged seven, and Jack, aged ten. There was first a long journey in a cab, with many boxes; then a long journey in a train very full of people.
It seemed to Little Me as if that train had been going on all the day, and the sandwiches and milk which nurse had in a little hamper tasted quite warm; and Little Me's legs ached from dangling from a seat too high for her feet to reach the ground, and at last she fell asleep.
She awoke suddenly with a start to find every one turning out of the train, and she felt cross and inclined to cry, but there was no time.
"LITTLE ME"
At last all three children, Miss Brown, and nurse were safely packed into a carriage which was waiting for them. The luggage came behind in a cart.
Little Me was really tired, so nurse put her to sit on a soft rug at the bottom of the carriage. Here she could just see green trees overhead, and the tops of green hedges, and soft white clouds turning to gold and red, as the sun set behind some hills in the far-off distance.
They reached at last a pretty cottage, with a thatched roof and a white wall quite covered with red roses. There was a little path of round stones leading up to the front door, and all the windows had small diamond panes.
A stout old lady, in a spotless white cap with pink ribbons, met them at the door, and took Little Me in her strong arms and carried her up some narrow stairs into a bedroom with white curtains to the bed and windows, and white walls.
After a good wash Little Me felt quite wide-awake, and very hungry, and was glad to be taken down to tea.
It was a delightful tea! There were tiny little loaves for each of the children, home-made cakes with plenty of plums, and strawberries and cream, and ducks' eggs. These the farmer's wife showed Little Me had pretty pale green shells, instead of white or brown like the hens' eggs, and Mrs. White promised to show the children some baby chickens and ducklings the next day.
How Little Me did sleep that night, to be sure! She never heard her father and mother and Bob, her elder brother, arrive at all; and it was eight o'clock before she woke the next morning, and found they had all gone out and left Me in kind Mrs. White's care. Mrs. White took her to feed the chickens—such dear little fluffy balls of yellow and white and black down, and Mrs. White let Little Me feed them out of a saucer, and some of them jumped over Me's hand, and were most friendly; and then Mrs. White took her to a pretty pond, and showed her a beautiful duck and nine baby ducks, not so fluffy and small as the chickens, but yet very soft and clean-looking.
Bob was rather too grown up to play much with Little Me, and Tommy always played with Jack, so that Little Me spent much of her time wandering about by herself.
The pond where the duck and ducklings lived had a little waterfall at one end, and then it became a little stream, and ran over pebbles under a bridge, and wandered away into the fields with a border of forget-me-nots.
Little Me was very fond of this stream, and one day Tommy persuaded her to take off her shoes and socks and walk through the stream with him. This was very delightful; but when they were just in the middle of the stream there came in sight some cows, and a boy and man driving them.
Now, if there was one thing Little Me dreaded more than another it was cows; and her ideas of propriety were greatly shocked at the idea of a strange man and boy seeing her bare feet, so she raced back to her shoes and socks, picked them up, and tumbled over a stile as fast as her short, fat little legs could go, and hid behind a hedge, all out of breath.
There poor Little Me crouched till she heard the last slow step of the last cow plash through the stream, where some of them stopped to drink, and the sound of voices died away over the bridge; then in much hurry and alarm she thrust her wet little feet into her damp socks, which she had in her fright dropped into the water, and the wet feet and socks were hastily put into the shoes, and Little Me again climbed the stile to join her brother, to whom she was ashamed to own that she had been afraid of the cows.
Being a city child, and not a very strong one, Little Me was unused to wet feet, and she caught a bad cold, which ended by her spending many days in bed; but the boys brought her flowers, and Mrs. White made her many little loaves and cakes, and gave her honey and cream, and altogether Me thought being ill at a farmhouse much better than being well in the city.
OSCAR AND BRUNO
When we were living in a very remote part of Northumberland, in an old house that had once been a monastery, we had two large dogs named Oscar and Bruno.
Oscar, who was a Newfoundland with a bit of the retriever in him, had been especially trained to take the water and to secure the game when shot among the deep pools.
Bruno, on the other hand, was a huge mastiff, who was kept to guard the house; gentle and docile to those whom he knew, but woe betide the suspicious-looking stranger who approached the house—his growl was enough to frighten the stoutest-hearted beggar in the world.
My father thought Bruno was getting a little lazy, so proposed to take him down to the river with Oscar. I was to accompany them, and see poor old Bruno have a bath.
The river was not very broad, narrow enough to be spanned by an old wooden bridge, but it was very deep in the centre.
Bruno floundered about, and at last got into the deep centre current, and, to my horror, I saw he was losing strength and sinking. I shouted to father that Bruno was drowning. He called to Oscar, "Save your friend, Oscar!" And the faithful creature seemed to grasp the situation, for he swam out to Bruno, and taking hold of his strong leather collar between his teeth, he lifted his head and shoulders out of the water. I eagerly watched them, for Bruno was very heavy, and it looked as if poor Oscar would not have strength to land his friend.
Father encouraged Oscar, for I saw the fear in his face too; and making one supreme effort, struggling and panting, Oscar brought Bruno into shallow water. In a few minutes Oscar was all right, but poor old Bruno was long before he came to himself. His devotion to Oscar after that was beautiful to see, and they were firmer and truer friends ever afterwards.
A LITTLE KNOWLEDGE
Tom was one of those boys who, being fairly quick and clever, think they know everything and can do everything without being taught. Now, however quick and clever a boy or girl may be, this is a great mistake, because it is wiser and safer to profit by the experience of an older person than to learn by one's own experience. But Tom always knew beforehand anything that his father or mother could tell him; and the result was that he often found himself in the wrong, and more than once suffered for his conceit and self-sufficiency.
Tom had lived in London all his life, with only occasional visits to the seaside and a few days in the country at Christmas, when his father and mother usually went on a visit to his uncle's house at Felford. He was therefore much excited when at breakfast one morning, just after the Midsummer holidays had begun, his mother handed a letter across the table to her husband, asking, "What do you think of that?"
Tom's quick eyes saw that the writing was his uncle's. He watched, and saw his father and mother both glance at him.
"Well, Tom, I see you have your suspicions about this letter," said his father; "and you are right. It does concern you. Your uncle has asked you to go to Felford. Your aunt and the little ones will be away; but your uncle will be at home, and Allan will be there to keep you company. Now, do you think you can be trusted to go alone, and not give your uncle any trouble, or lead Allan into mischief?"
"Why, of course, Father!" Tom answered readily.
"I am sorry to say there is no 'of course' in the matter; but you can try this once,