Harper's Young People, January 11, 1881

"When I was alone at home with my parents, I used to amuse myself during my play-time, which I always spent out-of-doors, by trying to tame the wild birds. I nailed a little wooden tray against an oak that had twigs growing out of its trunk for the birds to perch on. It stood just inside a wood on one side of the drive, but not too much exposed to the view of the passers-by. Every morning regularly I filled the tray with bread-crumbs and bird-seed, with a little piece of raw meat now and then for a great treat. I watched anxiously to see what birds would come first, and in a few days had the pleasure of finding three tomtits hopping about my tree, and carrying off the crumbs and seeds. It was delightful to have these pretty, sprightly little fellows, with their bright yellow and black breasts and white cheeks, for my visitors, instead of the rather vulgar-looking sparrows, that are generally only too eager to secure any food that may be awaiting hungry mouths. The next birds that came were a pair of chaffinches: the cock never became very tame, but his little mate was soon a great pet with every one. After a time I had twelve birds that fed regularly at my box; they were a pair of tomtits, the chaffinches, a pair of nut-hatches, a pair of coal-tits, a pair of marsh-titmice, a robin, and a hedge-sparrow. In the cold weather my birds used to meet me as I came out of the house, and fly after me to the wood. They were not at all afraid of Carlo, my large dog, who generally accompanied me, and sat by the tree quite quietly, expecting his little share of the feast. In the spring the chaffinches built their nest in an oak-tree within sight of the box, and when their young ones were hatched, they carried off nice large crumbs to them.

"A robin that fed at the box used also to keep us company when we were out, and hop about on our feet as we sat on the lawn. The dear little thing came in-doors whenever he found a window open. He was particularly fond of flying into my mother's bedroom, in which he thought he had discovered a rival favorite. Day after day he attacked it most fiercely, but as the rival was his own reflection in the mirror, the poor bird only got a great many hard knocks against the glass in his efforts to revenge himself on his fancied enemy. The mirror was sometimes smeared with his blood."

[Begun in Young People No. 58, December 7.]

MILDRED'S BARGAIN

A Story for Girls

BY MRS. JOHN LILLIE

Chapter V

"Milly," said little Kate, greeting her elder sister one evening about a week after Miss Jenner's party, "there's a woman waiting to see you in the parlor."

Mildred instinctively kept the child back as she made her way into the room, shutting the door after her with a firm hand. There sat the peddler, or "Widow Robbins," as she called herself; and, oh! how she seemed to Milly to take the warmth and life out of the pretty little room with her air of vulgar obtrusiveness! Milly stood still in the middle of the room a moment, while Mrs. Robbins spoke. "Called for the first payment, my dear," she said, jocularly.

"Certainly," answered Milly, drawing her purse from her pocket; "and," she continued, "I thought I might as well pay you four weeks in advance. I have that much to spare."

She came forward, holding out two crisp bills; but, to her surprise, "Widow Robbins" motioned her back. "Ah, no, my dear," she said, gravely; "that wasn't in our agreement. I can't take more'n the fifty cents. Now give me just that, and I'll sign my name to your paper."

Milly remonstrated, all in vain, and then, completely disgusted by the coarse vulgarity of the woman, her loud tone and half-sarcastic laugh, she produced her "agreement," allowing Mrs. Robbins to sign a receipt for fifty cents, and take her leave. Poor Milly, though vexed and puzzled, did not see into the deeper motive of the peddler in this transaction. By only receiving the half-dollar weekly, Mrs. Robbins prolonged her power over Milly, well knowing a day might come when even that sum would not be in Milly's possession to give her. If such a remote chance ever occurred to Mildred, she dismissed it as too absurd to contemplate for an instant. The next week passed by quickly enough, for in her mother's absence Mildred had many home cares added to her usual ones and the work at the store. One fact relieved her greatly. "Mr. Tom's" attentions had nearly ceased, and she was allowed to come and go to her daily work without subjecting herself to any special insolence from him. Widow Robbins appeared again on the following Monday, and was promptly paid and dismissed. The same evening Mrs. Lee returned from her visit, full of exhilaration from the change, and ready to hear Milly's account of Miss Jenner's party. It cost the girl an effort not to tell of her new dress; but Mrs. Lee did not observe the slight confusion in her daughter's manner, being fully entertained by hearing an account of the fine house.

Early the next evening Mildred paid a call at the brick house, and renewed her sociable intercourse with Alice and Roger, who welcomed her so cordially that Miss Jenner, though in a rather stiff way, asked Mildred to spend an evening with them once a week. It was a new era in Milly's life. How she looked forward to those Wednesday evenings, when, leaving the store at the earliest moment possible, she would hasten home, make a quick toilette, chatting with her mother the while, and then go out into the dusky streets, threading her way eagerly to Lane Street, where lights twinkled in the old-fashioned windows of Miss Jenner's house, and where she was sure to find a kindly welcome!

Sometimes the three young people sat in Alice's pretty sitting-room up stairs, which to Milly's eyes was like an enchanted palace. Although blind, Alice delighted in feeling soft hangings, luxurious coverings to her chairs and sofas, and the consciousness that her walls were hung with pretty pictures. Mildred had inherited from her father an exquisitely fine taste, and Alice Jenner's surroundings seemed to fill her with a sense of refinement which made her own dull life easier to bear when she went away. Gradually Miss Jenner's manner thawed to Mildred, and before Christmas came around, the young girl had been half a dozen times invited to the cozy supper table of the good lady, who on these occasions strove to make Milly feel perfectly at home, while she contrived to learn all the story of her life from the young girl's lips. Milly's one penance was Mrs. Robbins's weekly visit, and the consciousness that up in her bureau drawer, carefully locked and guarded, was the gray silk dress. By Christmas-time only six dollars had been paid on it, yet a certain security of the future made Milly feel sure no disaster could occur. Mrs. Robbins's calls were now all made at the store, and about the Christmas season "Mr. Tom" inquired, rather sneeringly, whether "Miss Lee's great-aunt" meant to give them her custom. Milly answered nothing, yet it aroused her fears, and on one Tuesday, after the peddler's customary call, she left the store determined to appoint some different place of meeting. There was something unusual, Milly thought, about the look of the cottage as she entered; first a rush, then a confusion of smothered voices. Mildred ran into the parlor, thence to the kitchen, where she found the children gathered mysteriously together.

"Willy's got the bronchitis," exclaimed Kate. "He must have caught it down at the marshes."

Mildred asked no further questions, but ran up stairs, tossing aside her hat, and going cautiously into her mother's room, where Willy lay suffering intensely. Mrs. Lee was glad to put all the responsible care into Mildred's hands, and so she devoted nearly all the night to the care of her little brother, appearing the next day haggard and heavy-eyed at Mr. Hardman's store. Days passed in hard work at the store, and nights of broken rest; and then came an evening when, on Mildred's return home, she was met with the news of her mother's illness. Poor Mrs. Lee, at no time strong, had succumbed to her anxiety and hard work, and Milly found her utterly prostrated, the doctor standing beside her, not able to pronounce on her disease, but looking so anxious that Milly had difficulty in hiding her tears. Willy was better, but the new trouble was terrible to contemplate. That night she wrote hurriedly to her mother's pupils, and the next morning she arose after a wakeful night with the consciousness that she had six people to support on five dollars a week.

Mildred felt too proud to tell Miss Jenner of her troubles. She dreaded a rebuff besides. Roger was not well, and she knew the brick house was in some confusion over his illness. It had been a trying season at Milltown, and few families had escaped; but Mildred thought her visitation hardest to bear.

The second day of her mother's illness Mildred came home very early, and after getting the children to bed, counted over her slender store of money while she sat in her mother's room, letting faithful Deborah have a rest. Just three dollars remained of her weekly earnings, and of this sum fifty cents must be saved for the terrible Widow Robbins. "I know what I'll do," thought Milly, almost aloud; "I'll see if she won't take her silk back. I can't spare a penny of my salary." This hope kept poor Mildred up until the peddler's next visit. It was in the little cottage parlor, and Mildred falteringly told her of her mother's illness, and their great need of money.

"That's neither here nor there," said the woman, shortly. "I can't lose my bread and butter. You say your dress is stained; that ends my taking it back; so any week – " The peddler stopped short rather ominously and glanced around the cottage parlor. It was a very pretty room. From the wreck of their fortunes Mrs. Lee and Milly had saved several – to them – priceless household treasures. On the mantel were the heavy old-fashioned silver candlesticks which Milly remembered all her life; some fine china was in the cabinet between the windows; the modest book-shelves were full of valuable volumes; one or two exquisite engravings hung upon the walls; here and there were a few excellent pieces of old family furniture. Altogether it was a room which not only charmed the eye, but showed such signs of "better days" that the few neighbors who had called upon the Lees held them in high esteem. Mrs. Robbins's glance was evidently highly satisfactory to herself.

"Well," she said, pocketing her fifty cents with an air of great condescension, "I will just wait a bit and see."

It was after six o'clock, and Milly felt worried and perplexed as she sat with the children over their simple tea, and then went up to her mother's sick-room, in which she passed nearly all the night. Deborah followed her, and beckoning her to the window, said, in a grave whisper,

"Mildred, my child, who's that queer woman keeps coming here?"

Milly felt inclined to cry.

"Oh, Debby," she said, piteously, "don't bother me; it's just a woman who – has business with me."

Debby was silenced, but by no means satisfied. She determined to settle the question for herself.

Before the next week came around, every penny of Milly's money was spent, and, more than that, they were heavily in debt to the butcher and the grocer and the chemist. The best of port-wine was ordered for Mrs. Lee; the strongest beef tea; the most nourishing jellies; iron and quinine regularly. Poor Milly used to feel as if she was walking over fire on her way to and from the store, so harassed had she become, and she and Deborah bemoaned the state of affairs whenever they were alone.

"Something must be done, honey!" Deborah said, one wet Tuesday evening, when Milly stopped in the kitchen to dry her clothes and warm her feet before going up stairs. "I've next to nothing in the house, and your mother must have some more port."

Milly was disconsolately thinking the question over, when she was roused by Mrs. Robbins's well-known "rat-tat-tat" on the front door. She ran out, hastily admitting the peddler, who soon perceived the state of affairs by Milly's expression. The young girl tried to say, calmly, that she had not the money.

"Well," said Mrs. Robbins, "I'll hold off a day or two; but just you read the paper you signed, and you'll see you agree to pay the full amount if you miss a week – if the dress isn't fit to be took back."

Mildred read the paper over and again when the woman was gone, and found herself indeed bound to a very Shylock. "That dress is just like the pound of flesh," she thought, as she sat in the dim light by her mother. "Oh, why did I ever buy it; and who cared at Miss Jenner's what I wore!"

The next week Mrs. Robbins made her appearance at the store on a day when Mildred's peace of mind was so exhausted by home cares it was all she could do to serve the most civil of customers. Milly contrived to see her in the cloak-room, but the peddler refused to subdue her voice.

"I can have fifty cents stopped out of your pay, and I will," she said, resolutely. "I don't want anything but my rights."

Mildred had not five cents to offer her. All her most earnest pleading only induced Mrs. Robbins to defer what she called "proceedings" for three days. In the mean time she resolved to call upon Miss Jenner. It was late on the Friday evening before she got a chance to go to the Brick House, and there the unwelcome news greeted her that Miss Jenner had fallen a victim to the lung disease prevalent in Milltown. She was leaving the house full of dejection, when to her horror she beheld the tall, gaunt figure of Mrs. Robbins striding up the box-path from the gate. Milly asked her to walk on with her.

"No," said the woman, "here I am. I've followed you here, and here I mean to have my say. Before next Tuesday I demand my money – twenty-two dollars – or you shall hear from me in a way you least expect."

It was nearly dark, but Milly could see the wicked expression on the woman's face. She was faint and tired, and bitterly disappointed at not seeing Miss Jenner, but she could not let the peddler see what she felt.

"Very well," she answered, in a constrained voice, "I can try; but how I am going to get twenty-two dollars is more than I can imagine. Oh, that wretched gray silk dress!" she added. "If only it had not been spoiled that first evening!"

Mrs. Robbins walked out of the gate by her side, and down the road some little distance, threatening Milly all the time as to what she could do, and what she would do. Left alone, Milly hurried home, knowing that she must before morning devise some means of raising the money. Mrs. Robbins had said she would "look in" during the morning at the store, and already Milly felt sure she had betrayed her secret to "Mr. Tom."

"Milly," Debby said, in a mournful tone, "I've been thinking we must part with something. Your mother's sinking for what we've no money to pay for. I've seen you all in better days, lovey, and I'm as fond of everything in the house as you are, but I see no way out of it. In fact, I saw a man to-day – he's only waiting for your word – and he'll look over the things in the parlor to-morrow."

A lump rose and filled Milly's throat. Oh, if she were not burdened with this miserable private debt, how easy it would seem even to ask a loan from old Mr. Hardman! But no, the home necessities were by no means all.

"Yes, yes, Debby," exclaimed Mildred, with a sudden rush of tears; "it must be done – it must be done."

When Milly returned the next evening from the store, the once cozy parlor looked desolate enough. The heavy furniture was nearly all gone, and the children clustered about her with an eager account of the man who had carried the sofa and chairs and best table away in his cart.

"Never mind," said Mildred, trying to be cheerful. "We must sit in the dining-room. Besides, dears, think how ill mamma is."

"Only forty dollars," whispered Deborah, "and I've paid out thirty of it."

So she could not even borrow part of that sum for her debt. Milly turned away, and went into her mother's room, feeling faint, heart and body, and there tried to find some consolation in reading aloud their usual evening chapter; but all the time a sense of her own folly oppressed her. Suffering from necessity she could have borne, but not that which her own sin had brought upon her.

Poor Mildred! she knelt at her mother's side, humbly praying, almost aloud. On the next day she knew she must "settle" with the dreaded Widow Robbins.

[to be continued.]

THE TWO BEARS

BY FRANK BELLEW

The snow was on the ground – the lovely white snow, the peaceful snow, which covered the country landscape with billows of alabaster. In the distance the feathery woods made a purple fringe between the earth and sky, while in the foreground a crinkled rail fence ran irregularly along the side of the country road, and near it stood a splotch of red and black, the only marked color in the whole landscape. The red and black was crying bitterly, for the red and black represented a little girl with a scarlet hood, and crimson stockings, and a bundle of books. She was on her way to school, and in great grief.

While she still stood by the fence, sobbing, a black object appeared over the brow of the hill, and slowly moved toward the foreground, until, pausing in front of the weeping child, it stood, as jolly, as genial, as comfortable an old gentleman as ever wore broadcloth.