 CHAPTER XIX 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 Thornie'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 smiled contentedly when he got above her, as he soon began to do. For she was not a quick child, and plotted 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 practice 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 Town 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, distrustful 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 boys' 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 steel, 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. Seven 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 a pig-pen. 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 thank you, 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 will have fun firing up his supper. Nutcakes and cheese will go splendidly, and maybe 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 protégé against all unfair persecution. Yes, Sam and Moser 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 his 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's 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 onto 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 hump 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 anyone, 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 Mohs, 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 and 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 should 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 drolmixtures 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 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. Poo! that's nothing. I'll show you acting that will make your hair stand on end, and you shall act, too. That will be capital for the naughty girls, began Thorny, excited by the prospect of producing a sensation on the boards, and all was 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 anything 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 Moss sitting up side a 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 peace. Thorny had recommended Marco Bazarus, 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 more like among the boys, sentimental among the girls. John broke down in his attempt to give one of Webster's great speeches. Little Sy-Faye boldly attacked, again to the battle occasions, 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. Then, 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 schoolhouse 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 Amburg's biggest lion. Woman's fearless eye was expressed by a wild glare. Billy's brows 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, Dono, 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 Almyra Mullet start and blush when she recited the second line of that pleasing poem where the purple mullet and goldfish 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 oh, 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 meow and the sps were capital, and when the fond mama 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. Lady bashfully murmured 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. Pleas'em, I'd like to speak my peace, 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 Howet'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's dad is of spellbound, 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 little Mabel, to have a willing mind. Of course there was an enthusiastic clapping when Miss Celia sat down, but even while hands applauded, conscience is 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. Mistress Thornie got no further, for a general explosion of laughter drowned the last words, and Ben's command, Out, you rascal, sent Sancho 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. Ma's vainly shook her finger at her naughty daughters, they as well as the others would have their life 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 anything 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 most proposed a trade of jackknives 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. Bap 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 anything. 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. Laugh, Miss Celia, amused by his heirs. 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 special people, 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. In 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 bullseye. 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, practicing little, and seldom hitting anything when she tried. CHAPTER XXXI Ben's Birthday A superb display of flags flapped gaily in the breeze on the September morning when Ben proudly entered his teens. An interruption 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 gateway, 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 penions cut strange capers. The winged line 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 and lend a paw. In the hurry of hoisting the Siamese elephant got turned upside down and now danced gaily on his head, with the stars and stripes waving proudly over him. A green flag with a yellow harp and sprig of shamrock hung inside of the kitchen window, and Katie, the cook, got breakfast to the tune of St. Patrick's Day in the Morning. Satchel'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 sea 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 awakening, and guessed why Miss Celia and Thorny had given him such pretty things, for among them was a matchbox made like a mousetrap. The doggie buttons and the horsey whip were treasures, indeed, for Miss Celia had not given them when they first planned to do so, because Satchel'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. Babs was long and thin with a very pointed thumb, Betteys was short and wide with a stubby thumb, and all their mothers 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 everyone 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 Betteys sat down on the porch steps in their stiff pink calico frocks and white ruffled aprons. To repose for a moment before the party came in, a rustling was heard among the lilacs, an outstepped 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've 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 imitation. They were quite sure. She asked me to come that day. I've been very busy. I have 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 bumblebee. 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 has gone to drive, so I could not ask her. It's 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 mama says so. I am fond of dirt. I shall stay here, where there's plenty of it. And the candid youth began to grub in the mold, with the satisfaction of a genuine boy. I am afraid you are 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's striking, too, now. Come along, girls. An overscramble Sally Folsom, followed by three or four kindred spirits, just as their host disappeared. You look like Amazon 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've 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 everyone 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, fiffing 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 pincushion, and did so with great dignity as he went beside the standard bear, Tai-Fei, who bore bends, choices flag, snow white, with a green wreath surrounded by a painted bow and arrow, and with the letters WTC, 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 them try if they like. They can't do anything. There were various trials of skill before the great match came off, and in these trials the young gentlemen discovered that, too, 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 conversations of their mates. Why, Bab, you do as well as if I taught you myself, said Thornie, 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, sossily, while her sparkling eyes turned to Miss Celia with a mischievous twinkle in them. Not a bit of it, declared Thornie 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 reassured Thornie, who found it impossible to believe that a girl could, would, or should, excel a boy in anything 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 bullseye. Thornie 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 practice, soon gave up the contest, saying as Thornie 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 Mosey 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 nearsighted, she had borrowed her sister's eyeglasses, 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 crotted 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 shan'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 feel 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 willful 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 center on the right, as her last one had hit on the left, and there was a shout of delight from the girls as Thornie 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 hare's breath 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. Ben'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 medal, 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 blistering thumb while Betty braided up her disheveled locks. I think it would be fair to call it a tie, Bab, for it really was, and I want you to wear this. I want 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 tournaments, 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 atoned for the trouble she gave him in losing the dog. I saw a very sweet look on her face just now, and I 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 nor 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 porness. Did you stop the sacrifice? No, I let Bab go haves, 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 teachers, Miss Celia led her away for a quiet chat in the porch, making her guest visit a happy holiday by confiding several plans and asking advice in the friendliest way. CHAPTER XXI. A picnic supper on the grass followed the games, and then, as twilight began to fall, the young people were marshaled to the coach house, now transformed into a rustic theater. One big door was open, and seats, arranged lengthwise, faced the red tableclothes which formed the curtain. A row of lamps made very good footlights, 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 anything like it, and sat staring about them in mute admiration and expectancy. But the older ones criticized 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 actress for the tragedy, Miss Celia and Thorny, who were old hands at this sort of amusement, gave a potato pantomime as a sideshow. 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 in 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 Ching-Ri Wang-Ri 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 pat, with a black cue in the middle, and a Chinese face nicely painted on the potato, the lower part of which was hollowed out to fit Thornie'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 proved to be false by the agility with which the little man danced a jig in time to the rollicking chorus? Ching-Ri, Ching-Ri, Riko, De, Echel, Techel, Happy Man, Urano, Desco, Kent T.O.O, Gallipi, Wallaby, 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 paired, and on the white surface were painted pretty pink cheeks, 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 felt accounting 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-Hai 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 salate gallantly forth to sing the following tender strain. Wang van li tang hua qi Hong Kong do re mi A sin lo pan tu fo sing up chin wei ti. 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-Hai heard his notes of love, and held her wash bowl up up up, 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-Hai 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 be whole 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 costume. Thorny was superb as the tyrant with a beard of bright blue worsted, a slouched hat and a long feather, fur coat, red hose, rubber boots, and a real sword which clanked tragically as he walked. He spoke in such a deep voice, knit his corked eyebrows, 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 Missilia'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, oh Sister Anne, do you see anybody coming? While her enraged husband was roaring, will you come down, madam, or shall I come up 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 of 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 Bluebird'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, is it fair? Thorny's a match for him. Now he's down, hooray! Cheered on the combatants till, after a tragic 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. Calm by this fear they composed themselves and waited with Arter for the next play, which promised to be a lively one, judging from the shrieks of laughter which came from behind the curtain. Sanch is 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 Babble do something else, she is so funny, wasn't her dress elegant, said Sally Folsom, 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 peace 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 the 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 gaily at the other. What a comfort that tail was to Sancho. None but a bereaved bow-wow could ever tell. It reconciled him to the distasteful part at once. It may rehearsals a joy, and even before the public he could not resist trying 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-claws, and wondered whether the next scene would be the wolf popping his head out of the windows as red writing could 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 the ruffled night-cap on, a white gown, and spectacles. Bet he lay beside the wolf, staring at him as if just about to say, Why, Grandma, what great teeth you've got! For Sanchez's mouth was half open, and a red tongue hung out, as he panted with the exertion of keeping still. This tabloo 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 Bet he 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 girl with most effective growls. They had to come out then, and did so, both much disheveled by the late tussle, for Sanchez's cap was all over one eye, and Bet he's hood was anywhere but on her head. She made her curtsy 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 to like give the word. It's perfectly splendid, so don't you spoil it by making a row. What do you suppose it is, asked everyone, and listened with all their might to get a hint, if possible. But what they heard only wedded their curiosity and mystified them more and more. Bab's voice cried in a loud whisper, Isn't it 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 such a way that 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, Oh! 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 headstall 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 that the apparition appeared. 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 barebacked old general, for hundreds to see and admire, that Miss Celia had consented, much against her will, and hastily arranged some bits of sparkle-tarleton 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 live 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 footlights, and, gathering up the reins that lay on her back, then gave the old cry, Hup-la! and let her go, as he had often done before, straight out of the coach-house for a gallop-brownly 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. One went 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 firefly among the dusty green. Lita enjoyed that race as heartily as she had done several others of late, and care-cold 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 gaily 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 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 creature 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 blind man's bluff 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, I'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 up for her to free him from his gilded collar. I want to take him 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 anyone 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 was 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'm 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 going to try, and, finding words wouldn't come fast enough, Ben just put his two arms round her, quite speechless with gratitude. Then, as if ashamed of his little outburst, he knelt down in a great hurry to untie his one shoe. But Miss Celia liked his answer better than the finest speech ever made, and went away through the moonlight, saying to herself, If I can bring one lost lamb into the fold, I shall be the fitter for a shepherd's wife, by and by. CHAPTER XXII. It was some days before the children were tired of talking over Ben's birthday party, for it was a great event in their small world. But gradually newer pleasures came to occupy their minds, and they began to plan the nutting frolics which always followed the early frost. While waiting for Jack to open the chestnut burrs, they varied the monotony of school life by a lively scrimmage long known as the woodpile fight. The girls liked to play in the half empty shed, and the boys, merely for the fun of teasing, declared that they should not, so blocked up the doorway as fast as the girls cleared it. Seeing that the squabble was a merry one, and the exercise better for all than lounging in the sun or reading in school during recess, teacher did not interfere, and the barrier rose and fell almost as regularly as the tide. It would be difficult to say which side worked the harder, for the boys went before school began to build up the barricade, and the girls stayed after lessons were over to pull down the last one made in afternoon recess. They had their play time first, and, while the boys waited inside, they heard the shouts of the girls, the banging of the wood, and the final crash as the well-packed pile went down. Then, as the lassies came in, rosy, breathless, and triumphant, the lads rushed out to man the breach, and labor gallantly till all was as tight as hard blows could make it. So the battle raged, and bruised knuckles, splinters and fingers, torn clothes, and rubbed shoes were the only wounds received, while a great deal of fun was had out of the maltreated logs and a lasting peace secured between two of the boys. When the party was safely over, Sam began to fall into his old way of tormenting Ben by calling names, as it cost no exertion to invent trying speeches, and slightly utter them when most likely to annoy. Ben bore it as well as he could, but Fortune favored him at last, as it usually does the patient, and he was able to make his own terms with his tormentor. When the girls demolished the wood pile, they performed a jubilee chorus on combs and tin kettles played like tambourines. The boys celebrated their victories with shrill whistles and a drum accompaniment with fists on the shed walls. Billy brought his drum, and this was such an addition that Sam hunted up an old one of his little brothers in order that he might join the drum corps. He had no sticks, however, and casting about in his mind for a good substitute for the genuine thing, but thought him of bullrushes. Those will do first rate, and there are lots of them in the mash if I can only get them, he said to himself, and turned off from the road on his way home to get a supply. Now the marsh was a treacherous spot, and the tragic story was told of a cow who got in there and sank, till nothing was visible but a pair of horns above the mud, which suffocated the unwary beast. For this reason it was called cow-slip marsh, the wags said, though it was generally believed to be so named for the yellow flowers which grew there in great perfusion in the spring. Sam had seen Ben hop nimbly from one tuft of grass to another when he went to gather cow-slips for Betty, and the stout boy thought he could do the same. Two or three heavy jumps landed him, not among the bullrushes, as he had hoped, but in a pool of muddy water where he sank up to his middle with alarming rapidity. Much scared he tried to wait out, but could only flounder to a tussock of grass and cling there while he endeavored to kick his legs free. He got them out, but struggled in vain to coil them up, or to hoist his heavy body upon the small island in the sea of mud. Down they splashed again, and Sam gave a dismal groan as he thought of the leeches and the water snakes, which might be lying in wait below. Visions of the lost cow also flashed across his agitated mind, and he gave a despairing shout, very like a distracted moo. Few people passed along the lane, and the sun was setting, so the prospect of a night in the marsh nerved Sam to make a frantic plunge toward the bullrush island, which was near than the mainland, and looked firmer than any tussock round him. But he failed to reach this haven of rest, and was forced to stop at an old stump which stuck up, looking very like the moss-grown horns of that deer departed. Roosting here, Sam began to shout for aid in every key possible to the human voice. Such hoots and howls, whistles and roars never woke the echoes of the lonely marsh before, or scared the portly frog who resided there in calm seclusion. He hardly expected any reply, but the astonished call of the crow, who sat upon a fence watching him with gloomy interest, and when a cheerful, hello there, sounded from the lane, he was so grateful that tears of joy rolled down his fat cheeks. Come on, I'm in the marsh, lend a hand and get me out, bawled Sam, anxiously waiting for his deliverer to appear, for he could only see a hat bobbing along behind the hazel bushes that fringed the lane. Steps crashed through the bushes, and then over the wall came an active figure, at the sight of which Sam was almost ready to dive out of sight, for, of all possible boys, who should it be but Ben, the last person in the world whom he would like to have see him in his present pitiful plight. Is it you, Sam? Well, you're in a nice fix, and Ben's eyes began to twinkle with mischievous merriment, as well they might, for Sam certainly was a spectable, to convulseless, overest person. Perched unsteadily on the gnarled stump, with his muddy legs drawn up, his dismal face splashed with mud, and the whole lower half of his body as black as if he had been dipped in an ink stand, he presented such a comically doleful object that Ben danced about, laughing like a naughty will of the wisp, who, having led a traveller astray, then fell to jeering at him. Stop that, or I'll knock your head off, roared Sam, in a rage. Come on and do it. I give you leave, answered Ben, sparring away derisably as the other tottered on his perch, and was forced to hold tight lest he should tumble off. Don't laugh, there's a good chap, but fish me out somehow, or I shall get my desk sitting here all wet and cold, wine, Sam, changing his tune and feeling betterly that Ben had the upper hand now. Ben felt it also, and, though a very good-natured boy, could not resist the temptation to enjoy this advantage for a moment at least. I won't laugh if I can help it, only you do look so like a fat, speckled frog I may not be able to hold in. I'll pull you out pretty soon, but first I'm going to talk to you, Sam, said Ben, sobering down as he took a seat on the little point of land nearest the stranded Samuel. Hurry up, then. I'm as stiff as a board now, and it's no fun sitting here on this naughty old thing, growled Sam, with a discontented squirm. Dare say not, but it is good for you, as you say when you wrap me over the head. Look here. I've got you in a tight place, and I don't mean to help you a bit till you promise to let me alone. Now then. And Ben's face grew stern with his remembered wrongs as he grimly eyed his discontented foe. I'll promise fast enough if you don't tell anyone about this, answered Sam, surveying himself and his surroundings with great disgust. I shall do as I like about that. Then I won't promise a thing. I'm not going to have the whole school laughing at me, protested Sam, who hated to be ridiculed even more than Ben did. Very well. Good night. And Ben walked off, with his hands in his pockets as coolly as if the bog was Sam's favorite retreat. Hold on. Don't be in such a hurry, shouted Sam, seeing little hope of rescue if you let this chance go. All right. And back came Ben, ready for further negotiations. I'll promise not to plague you if you'll promise not to tell on me. Is that what you want? Now I come to think of it. There's one more thing. I like to make a good bargain when I begin, said Ben, with a shrewd air. You must promise to keep Mosey quiet, too. He follows your lead. And if you tell him to stop, he will. If I was big enough, I make you hold your tongues. I ain't, so we'll try this way. Yes. Yes, I'll see to Mosey. Now bring on a rail. There's a good fellow. I've got a horrid cramp in my legs, began Sam, thinking he had bought help dearly, yet admiring Ben's cleverness in making the most of his chance. Then brought the rail, but, just as he was about to lay it from the mainland to the nearest Tussak, he stopped, saying, with the naughty twinkle in his black eyes again, one more little thing must be settled first, and then I'll get you ashore. Promise you won't plague the girls, either, especially bad and beddy. You pull their hair, and they don't like it. Don't neither wouldn't touch that bad for a dollar. She scratches and bites like a mad cat, with Sam's sulky reply. Glad of it. She can take care of herself. Beddy can't, and if you touch one of her pigtails, I'll up and tell right how I found you, sniveling in the mosh like a great baby. So now, and Ben emphasized his threat with a blow of the suspended rail, which splashed the water over poor Sam, quenching his last spark of resistance. Stop. I will. I will. True as you live and breathe, demanded Ben, sternly binding him by the most solemn oath he knew. True as I live and breathe, echoed Sam, dolefully relinquishing his favorite pastime of pulling Beddy's braids and asking if she was at home. I'll come over there and crook fingers on the bargain, said Ben, settling the rail and running over it to the tuft, then bridging another pool and crossing again till he came to the stump. I never thought of it that way, said Sam, watching him with much inward chagrin at his own failure. I should think you'd written, look before you leap, in your copybook, often enough to get the idea into your stupid head. Come, crook, commanded Ben, leaning forward with the extended little finger. Sam obediently performed the ceremony, and then Ben sat astride one of the horns of the stump, while the muddy Caruso went slowly across the rail from point to point till he landed safely on the shore, when he turned about and asked with an ungrateful jeer. Now what's become of you, old look before you leap? Mud turtles can only sit on a sump and ball till they are taken off, but frogs have legs where something and are not afraid of a little water, answered Ben, hopping away in the opposite direction, since the pools between him and Sam were too wide for even his lively legs. Sam waddled off to the brook in the lane to rinse the mud from his netherman before facing his mother, and was just ringing himself out when Ben came up, breathless but good-natured, for he felt that he had made an excellent bargain for himself and friends. Better wash your face, it's as speckled as a tiger lily, here's my handkerchief if yours is wet," he said, pulling out a dingy article which had evidently already done service as a towel. Don't want it, muttered Sam, gruffly, as he poured the water out of his muddy shoes. I was taught to say thanky when folks got me out of scrapes, but you never had much bringing up, though you do live in a house with a gambrel roof, retorted Ben sarcastically quoting Sam's frequent boast. Then he walked off, much disgusted with the ingratitude of man. Sam forgot his manners, but he remembered his promise and kept it so well that all the school wondered. No one could guess the secret of Ben's power over him, though it was evident that he had gained it in some sudden way, for at the least sign of Sam's former tricks Ben would crook his little finger and wag it warningly, or call out, full rushes, and Sam subsided, with reluctant submission, to the great amazement of his mates. When asked what it meant, Sam turned sulky, but Ben had much fun out of it, assuring the other boys that those were the signs of a password of a secret society to which he and Sam belonged, and promised to tell them all about it if Sam would give him leave, which, of course, he would not. This mystery and the vain endeavors to find out caused a lull in the war of the woodpile, and before any new game was invented something happened which gave the children plenty to talk about for a time. A week after the secret alliance was formed, Ben ran in one evening with a letter for Miss Celia. He found her enjoying the cheery blaze of the pine cones the little girls had picked up for her. Bab and Betty sat in the small chairs rocking luxuriously as they took turns throwing on the pretty fuel. Miss Celia turned quickly to receive the expected letter, glanced at the writing, postmark, and stamp, with an air of delighted surprise, then clasped it close in both hands, saying as she hurried out of the room. He has come, he has come. Now you may tell them, Thornie. Tell us what, as bad, pricking up her ears at once. Oh, it's only that George has come, and I suppose we shall go and get married right away, answered Thornie, rubbing his hands as if he enjoyed the prospect. Are you going to be married, as Betty, so soberly that the boy shouted? And Thornie, with difficulty, composed himself sufficiently to explain. No, child, not just yet, but sister is. And I must go and see that all is done up ship shape and bring you home some wedding cake. Ben will take care of you while I'm gone. When shall you go? asked Bab, beginning to long for her share of cake. Tomorrow, I guess. Celia has been packed and ready for a week. We agreed to meet George in New York and be married as soon as he got his best clothes unpacked. We are men of our word, and off we go. Won't it be fun? But when will you come back again? Question, Betty, looking anxious. Don't know. Sister wants to come soon, but I'd rather have our honeymoon somewhere else, Niagara, Newfoundland, West Point, or the Rocky Mountains, said Thornie, mentioning a few of the places he most desired to see. Do you like him? asked Ben, very naturally wondering if the new master would approve of the young man of all work. Don't I? George is regularly jolly, though now he's a minister perhaps he'll stiffen up and turn sober. Won't it be a shame if he does? And Thornie looked alarmed at the thought of losing his congenial friend. Tell about him, Miss Celia said you might, putting Bab, whose experience of jolly ministers had been small. Oh, there isn't much about it. We met in Switzerland going up Mount St. Bernard in a storm, and where the good dogs live, inquired Betty, hoping they would come into the story. Yes, we spent the night up there, and George gave us his room. The house was so full, and he wouldn't let me go down a steep place where I wanted to, and Celia thought he'd saved my life, and was very good to him. Then we kept meeting, and the first thing I knew, she went and was engaged to him. I didn't care, only she would come home, so he might go on studying hard and get through quick. That was a year ago, and last winter we were in New York at Uncle's, and then in the spring I was sick and we came here, and that's all. Shall you live here always when you come back, as Bab, as Thornie paused for breath? Celia wants to. I shall go to college, so I don't mind. George is going to help the old minister here and see how he likes it. I'm to study with him, and if he is as pleasant as he used to be, we shall have capital times, see if we won't. I wonder if he will want me round, said Ben, feeling no desire to be a tramp again. I do, so you needn't fret about that, my hearty, answered Thornie, with a resounding slap on the shoulder which reassured Ben more than any promises. I'd like to see a live wedding. Then we could play it with our dolls. I've got a nice piece of mosquito netting for a veil, and Belinda's white dress is clean. She supposed Celia will ask us to hers, said Betty to Bab, as the boys began to discuss St. Bernard dogs with spirit. I wish I could, dears, answered a voice behind them, and there was Celia looking so happy that the little girls wondered what the letter could have said to give her such bright eyes and smiling lips. I shall not be gone long, or be a bit changed when I come back, to live among you years, I hope, for I am fond of the old place now, and mean it shall be home, she added, caressing the yellow heads as if they were dear to her. Oh, goody! cried Bab, while Betty whispered, with both arms around Miss Celia. I don't think we could bear to have anybody else come here to live. It is very pleasant to hear you say that, and I mean to make others feel so, if I can. I've been trying a little this summer, but when I come back, I shall go to work in earnest to be a good minister's wife, and you must help me. We will, promised both children, ready for anything except preaching in the high pulpit. Then Miss Celia turned to Ben, saying, in the respectful way that always made him feel at least twenty-five, we shall be off tomorrow, and I leave you in charge, go on just as if we were here, and be sure nothing will be changed as far as you are concerned when we come back. Ben's face beamed at that, but the only way he could express his relief was by making such a blaze in honour of the occasion that he nearly roasted the company. Next morning the brother and sister slept quietly away, and the children hurried to school, eager to tell the great news that Miss Celia and Thorny had gone to be married, and were coming back to live here forever and ever. End of CHAPTER XXII CHAPTER XXIII OF UNDER THE LIELOCKS This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Marianne. UNDER THE LIELOCKS by Luisa May Alcott. CHAPTER XXIII. SOMEBODY COMES. Babb and Betty had been playing in the avenue all afternoon several weeks later, but as the shadows began to lengthen them both agreed to sit upon the gate and rest while waiting for Ben, who had gone nutting with a party of boys. When they played house, Babb was always the father, and went hunting or fishing with great energy and success, bringing home all sorts of game, from elephants and crocodiles to hummingbirds and minnows. Betty was the mother, and of most notable little housewife, always mixing up imaginary delicacies with sand and dirt in old pans and broken china, which she baked in an oven of her own construction. Both had worked hard that day and were glad to retire to their favorite lounging place, where Babb was happy trying to walk across the wide top bar without falling off, and Betty enjoyed slow, luxurious swings while her sister was recovering from her tumbles. On this occasion, having indulged their respective pace, they paused for a brief interval of conversation, sitting side by side on the gate like a pair of plump gray chickens gone to roost. Don't you hope Ben will get his bag full? We shall have such fun eating nuts evenings, observed Babb, wrapping her arms in her apron, for it was October now and the air was growing keen. Yes, and Ma says we may boil some in our little kettles. Ben promised we should have half, answered Betty, still intent on her cookery. I shall save some of mine for thorny. I shall keep lots of mine for Miss Celia. Doesn't it seem more than two weeks since she went away? I wonder what she'll bring us. Before Babb could conjecture the sound of a step and a familiar whistle made both look expectantly toward the turn in the road, all ready to crowd him one voice. How many have you got? Neither spoke a word, however, for the figure which presently appeared was not Ben, but a stranger, a man who stopped whistling and came slowly on, dusting his shoes in the wayside grass, and brushing the sleeves of his shabby, velveteen coat as if anxious to freshen himself up a bit. It's a tramp, let's run away, whispered Betty, after a hasty look. I ain't afraid, and Babb was about to assume her boldest look when a sneeze spoilt it and made her clutch the gate to hold on. At that unexpected sound the man looked up, showing a thin, dark face with a pair of sharp, black eyes, which surveyed the girl so steadily that Betty quaked, and Babb began to wish he had at least jumped down inside the gate. How are you? said the man, with a good-natured nod and smile, as if to reassure the round-eyed children staring at him. Pretty well, thank you, sir, responded Babb, politely nodding back at him. Folks at home? asked the man, looking over their heads toward the house. Only ma, all the rest have gone to be married. That sounds lively. At the other place all the folks had gone to a funeral, and the man laughed as he glanced at the big house on the hill. Why, do you know the squire, exclaimed Babb, much surprised to me assured? Come on purpose to see him, just stroll around till he gets back, with an impatient sort of sigh. Betty thought you was a tramp, but I wasn't afraid. I like tramps ever since Ben came, exclaimed Babb, with her usual candor. Who's Ben? And the man came nearer so quickly that Betty nearly fell backward. Don't you be scared, Sissy, I like little girls, so you set easy and tell me about Ben, he added, in a persuasive tone, as he leaned on the gate so near that both could see what a friendly face he had in spite of its eager, anxious look. Ben is Miss Celia's boy, we found him most starved in the coach house, and he's been here ever since, answered Babb, comprehensively. Tell me about it, I like tramps too, and the man looked as if he did very much, as Babb told the little story in a few childish words that were better than a much more elegant account. You were very good to the little feller, was all the man said, when she ended her somewhat confused tale, in which she had jumbled the old coach and Miss Celia, dinner-pales and nutting, sancho and circuses. Of course we were. He's a nice boy, and we are fond of him, and he likes us, said Babb heartily. Especially me, put in Betty, quite at ease now, for the black eyes had softened wonderfully, and the brown face was smiling all over. Don't wonder a mite, you are the nicest pair of girls I've seen this long time, and the man put a hand on either side of them, as if he wanted to hug the chubby children. But he didn't do it. He merely smiled, and stood there asking questions till the two chatterboxes had told him everything there was to tell, in the most confiding manner, for he very soon ceased to seem like a stranger, and looked so familiar that Babb, growing inquisitive in her turn, suddenly said, Haven't you ever been here before? It seems as if I'd seen you. Never in my life, guess you've seen somebody that looks like me, and the black eyes twinkled for a minute as they looked into the puzzled little faces before him, then he said, soberly, I'm looking round for likely boy, don't you think this Ben would suit me? I want just such a lively sort of chap. Are you a circus man? asked Babb quickly. Well, no, not now, I'm in better business. I'm glad of it, we don't approve of them, but I do think they're splendid. Babb began by gravely quoting Miss Celia, and ended with an irrepressible burst of admiration, which contrasted drolly with her first remark. Betty added anxiously, We can't let Ben go anyway. I know he wouldn't want to, and Miss Celia would feel bad. Please don't ask him. He can do as he likes, I suppose. He hasn't got any folks of his own, has he? No, his father died in California, and Ben felt so bad he cried, and we were real sorry, and gave him a nice piece of ma, because he was so lonesome, answered Betty in her tender little voice, with a pleading look which made the man stroke her smooth cheek and say quite softly, Bless your heart for that. I won't take him away, child, or do a thing to trouble anybody that's been good to him. He's coming now, I hear sench barking at the squirrels, cried Babb, standing up to get a good look down the road. The man turned quickly, and Betty saw that he breathed fast as he watched the spot where the low sunshine lay warmly on the red maple at the corner. Into this glow came unconscious Ben whistling rory or more, loud and clear, as he trudged along with a heavy bag of nuts over his shoulder, and the light full on his contented face. Sancho trodded before and saw the stranger first. For the sun in Ben's eyes dazzled him. Since his sad loss, Sancho cherished a strong dislike to tramps, and now he paused to growl and show his teeth, evidently intending to warn this one off the premises. He won't hurt you, began Babb, encouragingly, but before she could add a chiding word to the dog, Sanch gave an excited howl and flew at the man's throat as if about to throttle him. Betty screamed, and Babb was about to go to the rescue when they both perceived that the dog was licking the stranger's face in an ecstasy of joy, and heard the man say as he hugged the curly beast. Good old Sanch! I knew he wouldn't forget master, and he doesn't. What's the matter? called Ben, coming up bristly, with a strong grip of his doubtstick. There was no need of any answer for, as he came into the shadow, he saw the man and stood looking at him as if he were a ghost. It's Father Benny. Don't you know me? asked the man, with an odd sort of choke in his voice, as he thrust the dog away and held out both hands to the boy. Down dropped the nuts, and crying, Oh, Daddy! Daddy! Ben cast himself into the arms of the shabby velveteen coat, while poor Sanch tore round them in distracted circles, barking wildly as if that was the only way in which he could vent his rapture. What happened next, Babb and Betty never stopped to see, but, dropping from their roost, they went flying home like startled chicken littles, with the astonishing news that Ben's father has come alive and Sanch knew him right away. Mrs. Moss had just got her cleaning done up, and was resting a minute before setting the table. But she flew out of her old rocking chair when the excited children told the wonderful tale, exclaiming as they ended. Where is he? Go bring him here. I declare it fairly takes my breath away. Before Babb could obey, or her mother compose herself, Sancho bounced in and spun round like an insane top, trying to stand on his head, walk upright, waltz and bark all at once, for the good old fellow had so lost his head that he forgot the loss of his tail. They're coming! They're coming! See, Ma, what a nice man he is, said Babb, hopping about on one foot as she watched the slowly approaching pair. My patience, don't they look alike? I should know he was Ben's pot anywhere, said Mrs. Moss, running to the door in a hurry. They certainly did resemble one another, and it was almost comical to see the same curve in the legs, the same wide-awake style of wearing the hat, the same sparkle of the eye, good-natured smile, an agile motion of every limb. Old Ben carried the bag in one hand, while young Ben held the other fast, looking a little shame-faced at his own emotion now, for there were marks of tears on his cheeks, but too glad to repress the delight he felt that he really had found daddy this side of heaven. Mrs. Moss unconsciously made a pretty little picture of herself as she stood at the door, with her honest face shining in both hands out, saying in a hearty tone, which was a welcome in itself. I'm real glad to see you safe and well, Mr. Brown. Come right in and make yourself to home. I guess there isn't a happier boy living than Ben is tonight. And I know there isn't a gratefuler man living than I am, for your kindness to my poor, forsaken little feller, answered Mr. Brown, dropping both his burdens to give the comely woman's hands a hard shake. Now don't say a word about it, but sit down and rest, and we'll have tea in less than no time. Ben must be tired and hungry, though he's so happy I don't believe he knows it, laughed Mrs. Moss, bustling away to hide the tears in her eyes, anxious to make things sociable and easy all round. With this end in view she set forth her best china and covered the table with food enough for a dozen, thanking her stars that it was baking day, and everything had turned out well. Ben and his father sat talking by the window till they were bitten to draw up and help themselves, with such hospitable warmth that everything had an extra relish to the hungry pair. Ben paused occasionally to stroke the rusty coat sleeve with bread and buttery fingers to convince himself that Daddy had really come, and his father disposed of various inconvenient emotions by eating as if food was unknown in California. Mrs. Moss beamed on everyone from behind the big teapot, like a mild full moon, while Bab and Betty kept interrupting one another in their eagerness to tell something new about Ben and how Sanch lost his tail. Now you let Mr. Brown talk a little, we all want to hear how he came alive, as you call it, said Mrs. Moss, as they drew round the fire in the setting room, leaving the tea things to take care of themselves. It was not a long story, but a very interesting one to this circle of listeners. All about the wild life on the plains trading for mustangs, the terrible kick from a vicious horse that nearly killed Ben Sr., the long months of unconsciousness in the California hospital, the slow recovery, the journey back, Mr. Smithers' tale of the boy's disappearance, and then the anxious trip to find out from Squire Allen where he now was. I asked the hospital folks to write and tell you as soon as I knew whether I was on my head or my heels, and they promised, but they didn't. So I came off the minute I could and worked my way back, expecting to find you at the old place. I was afraid you'd have worn out your welcome here and gone off again, for you are as fond of traveling as your father. I wanted to sometimes, but the folks here were so dreadful good to me I couldn't, confessed Ben, secretly surprised to find that the prospect of going off with Daddy even cost him a pang of regret, for the boy had taken root in the friendly soil and was no longer a wandering thistle-down, tossed about by every wind that blew. I know what I owe him, and you and I will work hard that debt before we die, or our name isn't B. B., said Mr. Brown, with an emphatic slap on his knee, which Ben imitated half unconsciously as he exclaimed heartily, that's so, adding more quietly. What are you going to do now? Go back to Smithers and the old business? Not likely, after the way he treated you, Sonny. I've headed out with him, and he won't want to see me again in a hurry, answered Mr. Brown, with a sudden kindling of the eye that reminded B. of Ben's face when he shook her after losing Sancho. There's more circuses than his in the world, but I'll have to limber out ever so much before I'm good for much in that line, said the boy, stretching his stout arms and legs with a curious mixture of satisfaction and regret. You've been living in clover and got fat, you rascal, and his father gave him a poke here and there, as Mr. Squeers did the plump whackford when displaying him as a specimen of the fine diet at the Do the Boy's Hall. Don't believe I could put you up now if I tried, for I haven't got my strength back yet, and we are both out of practice. It's just as well, for I've about made up my mind to quit the business and settle down somewhere for a spell. If I can get anything to do, continued the rider, folding his arms and gazing thoughtfully into the fire. I shouldn't wonder, might, if you could write here, for Mr. Town has a great boarding stable over Yonder, and he's always wanting men, said Mrs. Moss, eagerly, for she dreaded to have Ben go, and no one could forbid it if his father chose to take him away. That sounds likely. Thank you, ma'am. I'll look up the concern and try my chance. Would you call it too great a come down to have a father and Osler, after being first rider in the great Golden Menagerie, Circus and Coliseum, a Ben? asked Mr. Brown, quoting the well remembered showbill with a laugh. No, I shouldn't. It's real jolly up there when the big barn is full, and eighty horses have to be taken care of. I love to go and see him. Mr. Town asked me to come and be stable boy when I rode the Kicking Gray the rest were afraid of. I hankered to go, but Miss Celia had just got my new books, and I knew she'd feel bad if I gave up going to school. Now I'm glad I didn't, for I get on first rate and like it. You done right, boy, and I'm pleased with you. Don't you ever be ungrateful to them that befriended you if you want to prosper. I'll tackle the stable business the Monday and see what's to be done. Now I ought to be walking, but I'll be round in the morning, ma'am. If you can spare Ben for a spell tomorrow. We'd like to have a good Sunday tramp and talk, wouldn't we, sonny? And Mr. Brown rose to go with his hand on Ben's shoulder, as if loath to leave him even for the night. Mrs. Ma saw the longing in his face and forgetting that he was an utter stranger spoke right out of her hospitable heart. It's a long peace to the tavern, and my little back bedroom is always ready. It won't make a mind of trouble if you don't mind a plain place, and you're heartily welcome. Mr. Brown looked pleased but hesitated to accept any further favour from the good soul who had already done so much for him and his. Ben gave him no time to speak, however, for running to a door he flung it open and beckoned, saying eagerly, Do stay, father, it will be so nice to have you. This is a tip-top room. I slept here the night I came, and that bed was just splendid after bare ground for a fortnight. I'll stop, and as I'm pretty well done up, I guess we may as well turn in now, answered the new guest. Then, as if the memory of that homeless little lad so kindly cherished made his heart overflow in spite of him, Mr. Brown paused at the door to say hastily, with a hand on Bab and Betty's heads, as if his promise was a very earnest one. I don't forget, ma'am, these children shall never want a friend while Ben Brown's alive. Then he shut the door so quickly that the other Ben's prompt, Here, here, was cut short in the middle. I suppose he means that we shall have a piece of Ben's father because we gave Ben a piece of our mother, said Betty softly. Of course he does, and it's all fair, answered Bab decidedly. Isn't he a nice man, ma? Go to bed, children, was all the answer she got. But when they were gone, Mrs. Moss, as she washed up her dishes, more than once glanced at a certain nail where a man's hat had not hung for five years, and thought with a sigh what a natural, protecting air that slouched felt had. If one wedding were not quite enough for a children's story, we might hear hint what no one dreamed of then. That before the year came round again Ben had found a mother, Betty and Bab a father, and Mr. Brown's hat was quite at home behind the kitchen door. But on the whole it is best not to say a word about it. Under the lilacs by Luisa May Alcott, Chapter 24 The Great Gate is opened. The Browns were up and out so early the next morning that Bab and Betty were sure they had run away in the night. But on looking for them, they were discovered in the coach-house, criticizing Lita, both with their hands in their pockets, both chewing straws, and looking as much alike as a big elephant and a small one. That's as pretty a little span as I have seen for a long time, said the elder Ben, as the children came trotting down the path hand in hand, with the four blue bows at the end of their braids bobbing briskly up and down. The nigh one is my favorite, but the off one is the best goer, though she's dreadfully hard-bitted, answered Ben the younger, with such a comical assumption of a jockey's important heir that his father laughed as he said in an undertone, Come, boy, we must drop the old slang since we've given up the old business. These good folks are making a gentleman of you, and I won't be the one to spoil their work. Hold on, my dears, and I'll show you how they say good morning in California, he added, beckoning to the little girls who now came up rosy and smiling. Breakfast is ready, sir, said Betty, looking much relieved to find them. We thought you'd run away from us, explained Bab, as both put out their hands to shake those extended to them. That would be a mean trick, but I'm going to run away with you, and Mr. Brown whisked a little girl to either shoulder before they knew what had happened, while Ben, remembering the day, with difficulty restrained himself from turning a series of triumphant somersaults before them all the way to the door, where Mrs. Moss stood waiting for them. After breakfast Ben disappeared for a short time, and returning in his Sunday suit, looking so neat and fresh that his father surveyed him with surprise and pride, as he came in full of boyish satisfaction in his trimmeray. Here's a smart young chap. Did you take all that trouble just to go to walk with old Daddy? asked Mr. Brown, stroking the smooth head, for they were alone just then, Mrs. Moss and the children being upstairs, preparing for church. I thought maybe you'd like to go to meeting first, answered Ben, looking up at him with such a happy face that it was hard to refuse anything. I'm too shabby, sonny, else I'd go in a minute to please you. Miss Celia said God didn't mind poor clothes, and she took me when I looked worse than you do. I always go in the morning, she likes to have me, said Ben, turning his hat about as if not quite sure what he ought to do. Do you want to go? asked his father in a tone of surprise. I want to please her, if you don't mind. We could have our tramp this afternoon. I haven't been to meeting since mother died, and it don't seem to come easy. Though I know I ought to, see and I'm alive and here, said Mr. Brown, looking soberly out at the lovely autumn world, as if glad to be in it after his late danger and pain. Miss Celia said church was a good place to take our troubles, and to be thankful in. I went when I thought you were dead, and now I'd love to go when I've got my daddy safe again. No one saw him, so Ben could not resist giving his father a sudden hug, which was warmly returned, as the man said earnestly. I'll go, and thank the Lord Hardy for giving me back my boy better than I left him. For a moment nothing was heard but the tick of the old flock, and a mournful whine, consancho, shut up in the shed lest he should go to church without an invitation. Then, as steps were heard on the stairs, Mr. Brown caught up his hat, saying hastily, I ain't fit to go with them, you tell them, and I'll slip into a back seat after folks are in. I know the way. And before Ben could reply he was gone. Nothing was seen of him along the way, but he saw the little party, and rejoiced again over his boy, changed in so many ways for the better, for Ben was the one thing which had kept his heart soft, through all the trials and temptations of a rough life. I promised Mary I'd do my best for the poor baby she had to leave, and I tried. But I guess a better friend than I am has been raised up for him when he needed her most. It won't hurt me to follow him in this road, thought Mr. Brown, as he came out into the highway from his stroll across lots, feeling that it would be good for him to stay in this quiet place, for his own as well as his son's sake. The bell had done ringing when he reached the green, but a single boy sat on the steps in rail to meet him, saying with a reproachful look, I wasn't going to let you be alone, and have folks think I was ashamed of my father. Come, Daddy, we'll sit together. So Ben led his father straight to the squire's pew, and sat beside him with a face so full of innocent pride and joy, that people would have suspected the truth if he had not already told many of them. Mr. Brown, painfully conscious of his shabby coat, was rather taken aback, as he expressed it. But the squire's shake of the hand, and Mrs. Allen's gracious nod, enabled him to face the eyes of the interested congregation, the younger portion of which stared steadily at him all sermon time, in spite of paternal frowns and maternal tweakings in the rear. But the crowning glory of the day came after church, when the squire said to Ben and Sam heard him, I've got a letter from you from Miss Celia, come home with me, and bring your father. I want to talk to him. The boy proudly escorted his parent to the old cariol, and, tucking himself in behind with Mrs. Allen, had the satisfaction of seeing the slouched felt hat, side by side, with the squire's sunday beaver in front. As they drove off at such an unusually smart pace, it was evident that Duke knew there was a critical eye upon him. The interest taken in the father was owing to the son at first, but, by the time the story was told, old Ben had won friends for himself, not only because of the misfortunes which he had evidently borne in a manly way, but because of his delight in the boy's improvement, and the desire he felt to turn his hand to any honest work that might keep Ben happy and contented in this good home. I'll give you a line to town. Smithers spoke well of you, and your own ability will be the best recommendation, said the squire, as he parted from them at his door, having given Ben the letter. Miss Celia had been gone a fortnight, and everyone was longing to have her back. The first week brought Ben a newspaper, with a crinkly line drawn round the marriages, to attract attention to that spot, and one was marked by a black frame, with a large hand pointing at it from the margin. Thorny sent that, but the next week came a parcel for Mrs. Moss, and in it was discovered a box of wedding cake for every member of the family, including Sancho, who ate his at one gulp, and chewed up the lace paper which covered it. This was the third week, and, as if there could not be happiness enough crowded into it for Ben, the letter he read on his way home told him that his dear mistress was coming back on the following Saturday. One passage particularly pleased him. I want the great gate open, so that the new master may go in that way. Will you see that it is done and made neat afterward? Randall will give you the key, and you may have out all your flags if you like, for the old place cannot look too gay for this homecoming. Sunday though it was, Ben could not help waving the letter over his head, as he ran in to tell Mrs. Moss the glad news, and begin at once to plan the welcome they would give Miss Celia, for he never called her anything else. During their afternoon stroll in the mellow sunshine, Ben continued to talk of her, never tiring of telling about his happy summer under her roof, and Mr. Brown was never weary of hearing, for every hour showed him more plainly what a lovely miracle her gentle words had wrought, and every hour increased his gratitude, his desire to return the kindness in some humble way. He had his wish, and did his part handsomely, when he least expected to have a chance. On Monday he saw Mr. Town, and, thanks to the squire's good word, was engaged for a month on trial, making himself so useful, that it was soon evident he was the right man in the right place. He lived on the hill, but managed to get down to the little brown house in the evening for a word with Ben, who just now was as full of business as if the President and his cabinet were coming. Everything was put in apple pie order, in and about the old house, the great gate, with much creaking of rusty hinges and some clearing away of rubbish, was set wide open, and the first creature who entered it was Sancho, solemnly dragging the dead mullion, which long ago had grown above the keyhole. October frosts seemed to have spared some of the brightest leaves for this special occasion, and on Saturday the arched gateway was hung with gay reeds, red and yellow sprays, strewed the fags, and the porch was a blaze of color with the red woodbine that was in its glory when the honeysuckle was leafless. Fortunately it was a half-holiday, so the children could trim and chatter to their heart's content, and the little girls ran about sticking funny decorations where no one would ever think of looking for them. Ben was absorbed in his flags, which were sprinkled all down the avenue with a lavish display, suggesting several fourths of Julys rolled into one. Mr. Brown had come to lend a hand, and did so most energetically, for the breakneck things he did with his son during the decoration fever would have terrified Mrs. Moss out of her wits if she had not been in the house giving the last touches to every room, while Randa and Kathy set forth a sumptuous tea. All was going well, and the train would be due in an hour, when luckless bad nearly turned the rejoicing into mourning, the feast into ashes. She heard her mother say to Randa, there ought to be a fire in every room, it looks so cheerful, and the air is chilly spite of the sunshine. And never waiting to hear the reply that some of the long unused chimneys were still not safe till cleaned, off went Bab with an apron full of old shingles and made a roaring blaze in the front room fireplace, which was, of all others, the one to be let alone, as the flu was out of order. Charmed with the brilliant light and the crackle of tindery fuel, Miss Bab refilled her apron, and fed the fire till the chimney began to rumble ominously, sparks to fly out at the top, and soot and swallow's nest to come tumbling down upon the hearth. Then, scared at what she had done, the little mischief maker, hastily buried her fire, swept up the rubbish and ran off, thinking no one would discover her prank if she never told. Everybody was very busy, and the big chimney blazed and rumbled unnoticed till the cloud of smoke caught Ben's eye, as he festooned his last effort in the flag line. Part of an old sheet with the words, Father has come, in red cambrick letters half a foot long sewed upon it. Hello? I do believe they've got a bonfire without asking my leave. Miss Celia would never let us, because the sheds and roofs are so old and dry. I must see about it. Catch me, Daddy, I'm coming down, cried Ben, dropping out of the elm with no more thought of where he might light than a squirrel swinging from bow to bow. His father caught him and followed in haste, as his nimble-footed son raced up the avenue to stop in the gateway, frightened at the prospect before him, for falling sparks had already kindled the roof here and there, and the chimney smoked and roared like a small volcano, while Katie's wails and Randa's cries for water came from within. Up there with wet blankets while I get out the hose, cried Mr. Brown, as he saw at a glance what the danger was. Ben vanished, and before his father got the garden hose rigged, he was on the roof with a dripping blanket over the worst spot. Mrs. Moss had her wits about her in a minute, and ran to put in the fireboard and stop the draught. Then, stationing Randa to watch that the falling cinders did no harm inside, she hurried off to help Mr. Brown, who might not know where things were. But he had roughed it so long that he was the man for emergencies and seemed to lay his hand on whatever he needed, by a sort of instinct. Finding the hose was too short to reach the upper part of the roof, he was on the roof in a jiffy with two pails of water and quenched the most dangerous spots before much harm was done. This he kept up till the chimney burned itself out, while Ben dodged around among the gables with a watering pot, lest some stray sparks should be overlooked and break out afresh. While they worked there, Betty ran to and fro with a dipper of water trying to help, and Sancho barked violently as if he objected to this sort of illumination. But where was Bab, who reveled in flurries? No one missed her till the fire was out, and the tired, sooty people met to talk over the danger just escaped. Poor Miss Celia wouldn't have had a roof over her head if it hadn't been for you, Mr. Brown, said Mrs. Moss, sinking into a kitchen chair, pale with the excitement. It would have burnt lively, but I guess it's all right now. Keep an eye on the roof, Ben, and I'll step up Garrett and see if it's all safe there. Didn't you know the chimney was foul, ma'am? asked the man as he wiped the perspiration off his grimy face. Randa said it was. An eye in surprise she made a fire in there, began Mrs. Moss, looking at the maid who just then came in with a pan full of soot. Bless you, ma'am. I never thought of such a thing, nor Katie either. That naughty Bab must have done it, and so don't dare show herself, answered the irate Randa, whose nice room was a mess. Where is the child? asked her mother, and a hunt was immediately instituted by Betty and Sancho while the elders cleared up. Anxious Betty searched high and low, called and cried but all in vain, and was about to sit down and despair when Sancho made a bolt into his new kennel and brought out a shoe with a foot in it while a doleful squeal came from the straw within. Oh, Bab, how could you do it? Ma was frightened dreadfully, said Betty, gently tugging at the striped leg as Sancho poked his head in for another shoe. Is it all burnt up? demanded a smothered voice from the recesses of the kennel. Only pieces of the roof, Ben and his father put it out, and I helped, answered Betty, cheering up a little as she recalled her noble exertions. What do they do to folks who set houses afire? asked the voice again. I don't know, but you needn't be afraid. There isn't much harm done, I guess, and Miss Celia will forgive you. She's so good. Thornie won't. He calls me a botheration, and I guess I am, more in the unseen culprit, with sincere contrition. I'll ask him. He is always good to me. They will be here pretty soon, so you better come out and be made tidy, suggested the comforter. I never can come out, for everyone will hate me, sobbed bad among the straw, as she pulled in her foot, as if retiring forever from an outraged world. Ma won't. She's too busy cleaning up, so it's a good time to come. Let's run home, wash our hands, and be all nice when they see us. I'll love you, no matter what anybody else does, said Betty, consoling the poor little sinner and proposing the sort of repentance most likely to find favor in the eyes of the agitated elders. Perhaps I'd better go home, for Santa will want his bed, and Bab gladly availed herself of that excuse to back out of her refuge a very crumpled, dusty young lady, with a dejected face and much straw sticking in her hair. Betty led her sadly away, for she still protested that she never should dare to meet the offended public again, but in fifteen minutes both appeared in fine order and good spirits, and Naughty Bab escaped a lecture for the time being, as the train would soon be due. At the first sound of the car whistle everyone turned, good-natured as if by magic, and flew to the gate smiling as if all mishaps were forgiven and forgotten. Mrs. Moss, however, slipped quietly away and was the first to greet Mrs. Celia, as the carriage stopped at the entrance of the avenue, so that the luggage might go in by way of the lodge. We will walk up and you shall tell us the news as we go, for I see you have some, said the young lady, in her friendly manner, when Mrs. Moss had given her welcome and paid her respects to the gentleman, who shook hands in a way that convinced her he was indeed what Thornie called him, regularly jolly, though he was a minister. That being exactly what she came for, the good woman told her tidings as rapidly as possible, and the newcomers were so glad to hear of Ben's happiness, they made very light of Bab's bonfire, though it had nearly burnt their house down. We won't say a word about it, for everyone must be happy today, said Mr. George, so kindly that Mrs. Moss felt a load taken off her heart at once. Bab was always teasing me for fireworks, but I guess she has enough for the present, laughed Thornie, who was gallantly escorting Bab's mother up the avenue. Everyone is so kind. Teacher was out with the children to cheer us up as we passed, and here you are making things pretty for me, said Mrs. Celia, smiling with tears in her eyes as they drew near the great gate, which certainly did present an animated if not an imposing appearance. Randa and Katie stood on one side, all in their best, bobbing delighted curtsies. Mr. Brown, half hidden behind the gate on the other side, was keeping Sancho erect so that he might present arms promptly when the bride appeared. As flowers were scarce, on either post stood a rosy little girl clapping her hands, while out from the thicket of red and yellow bows, which made a grand bouquet in the lantern frame, came Ben's head and shoulders as he waved his grandest flag with his gold paper. Welcome home on a blue ground. Isn't it beautiful? cried Mrs. Celia, throwing kisses to the children, shaking hands with her maids, and glancing brightly at the stranger who is keeping Sanch quiet. Most people adorn their gate posts with stone balls, vases or griffins. Your living images are a great improvement love, especially the happy boy in the middle, said Mr. George, eyeing Ben with interest as he nearly tumbled overboard, top heavy with his banner. You must finish what I've only begun, answered Celia, adding galey as Sancho broke loose and came to offer his paw and his congratulations. Sanch, introduce your master, that I may thank him for coming back in time to save my old house. If I'd saved a dozen, it wouldn't have half paid for all you've done for my boy, ma'am, answered Mr. Brown, bursting out from behind the gate quite red with gratitude and pleasure. I loved to do it, so please remember that this is still his home till you make one for him. Thank God he is no longer fatherless, and her sweet face said even more than her words as the white hand cordially shook the brown one with a burn across the back. Come on, sister, I see the tea-table already and I'm awfully hungry, interrupted Thornie, who had not a ray of sentiment about him, though very glad Ben had got his father back again. Come over by and by, little friends, and let me thank you for your pretty welcome. It certainly is a warm one, and Mrs. Celia glanced merrily from the three bright faces above her to the old chimney, which still smoked sullenly. Oh, don't! cried Bab, hiding her face. She didn't mean to, added Betty pleadingly. Three cheers for the bride, roared Ben, dipping his flag as leaning on her husband's arm his dear mistress passed under the gay arch along the leaf-strewn walk over the threshold of the house which was to be her happy home for many years. The closed gate where the lonely little wanderer once lay was always to stand open now, and the path where the children played before was free to all-comers, for a hospitable welcome henceforth awaited rich and poor, young and old, sad and gay, under the lilacs. End of Chapter 24 An End of Under the Lilacs by Louisa May Alcott