Our Young Folks at Home and Abroad Part 39

"That is mamma's name, mine is Mabel."

"Lead me to her," he said, hoa.r.s.ely.

Mabel quickly ran before him into the house exclaiming:

"Oh, mamma! I think it is Uncle Ben."

Mrs. Ross would have fallen had she not been caught by the strong arms of the stalwart brother whom she had not seen for twenty years. And then it all came out. Mabel's secret was a secret no longer.

Captain Ben Grayson, old soldier, and retired ranch owner, had come back after twenty years of life in the west to hunt for his sister, his only known relative, whom he had last seen when she was a girl like Mabel. He had been told a Miss Grayson had died from the ravages of an epidemic that swept through the school she had been placed at; and so, when the war ended, he went out west instead of returning to New York as he should have done but for that false report. But he had lately heard, from an old school-friend, he had come across, that she was living, had married, and become a widow, and that was all the information he could get.

By the simplest chance he had stopped at Fairmount. Shortly after rising that morning, he was startled by a parrot hung outside the window of the room next to his, calling out,--"Cheer up! cheer up!"

and shortly after,--"'On Linden when the sun was low,' ha! ha! ha! ha!

ha! Poor Ben!"

"Well," said Uncle Ben, "you can imagine the effect. I knew my parrot could not be living yet; but I thought to myself, _that_ parrot must have learned from my old one or from you, Alice, and I hastened to make the acquaintance of my next-door neighbor, and so _I have found you_."

And Mabel bought her parrot back again, which was now doubly dear, as it had been the means of finding Uncle Ben. And quiet brother Ben was made happy by an artist's outfit, and had the satisfaction of doing Mabel and the parrot in colors, as he had long ago done them with the camera.

When the last gift had been given, the boys, with one accord, threw up their hats and cried,--"Hurrah, for Uncle Ben!"

As for Mrs. Ross, her measure of happiness was full; she had her long lost brother Ben.

WAIF'S ROMANCE.

Several years ago the beautiful Shenandoah valley in West Virginia was the scene of a great freshet. The river overflowed its banks, and the usually placid stream became a mighty torrent, rus.h.i.+ng along with frightful velocity, carrying away houses, barns and cattle. Buildings were washed from their foundations by the resistless current, and sent whirling down the stream with the terrified occupants clinging to the roofs. They had not had timely warning, and many perished, while whole flocks of sheep, and hundreds of cows, horses and oxen were drowned.

The writer visited the valley several years afterward, and could see articles of clothing and even furniture still lodged in the branches of trees, they had been caught and lodged by the receding waters, twenty feet from the ground.

During this visit a most interesting story was told of a poor little kitten who lost home and friends, and was carried by the surging flood far away to find a new home and a genuine lover. It is a true romance of the flood, and it has never been told in print so far. For all gentle lovers of animals, this beautiful romance of Woggy and Waif is given to the world.

In this beautiful valley there lived a lovely family, consisting of father, mother and two children. Edwin was a tall and manly lad of sixteen, and Florence was one year younger. They were children of refined and cultivated parents, and the members of this little home circle displayed such charming affection and thoughtfulness in their intercourse with each other, that it was beautiful to behold. Edwin was pa.s.sionately fond of out-of-door sports, and Florence had deep love for all that was beautiful and interesting in nature. She loved animals, birds and flowers, and it was her delight to ramble with her brother through the woods, gathering the modest wild flowers, or the delicate maiden hair ferns. She took great delight in pets of all kinds, and had numerous rabbits, birds and squirrels that her brother had trapped; she made them all love her; even the tiniest bird or animal can appreciate tenderness and kindness; and Florence's pure little heart was overflowing with love and kindness toward all G.o.d's dumb creatures.

The constant companion of the brother and sister in their rambles was a very frolicsome and handsome dog, which was so remarkable for sagacity and intelligence, that he was known through all the countryside; he was devoted to his young mistress, and, though he was not a very large animal; he had enough of the Shepherd's breed in him to make him very fierce and courageous in her defense whenever she seemed to need it.

At the time of the great freshet, a homeless family, whose house had been swept away by the flood, had been harbored at Florence's home.

Her time and mind was fully occupied by her additional home duties, which to her gentle nature, were labors of love, even if the overflowed valley had prevented her accustomed excursions; but not so with Woggy, he had no duties to keep him, and no wet ground or body of water could keep him from taking his usual runs about the country. For several days after the great flood, he was noticed to leave the house regularly in the morning and not return until evening. This was something unusual; generally his runs were finished in one or two hours; but when he was observed one day to take in his mouth the best part of his breakfast and trot off with it, Edwin's curiosity was excited, and he resolved to unravel the mystery of Woggy's regular absences; he followed his tracks over the wet ground for nearly two miles, until he came to a good sized pond left by the receding waters in a hollow near the river. The first thing that attracted his attention was a partially submerged fir tree near the center of the ford, and lodged against it was a chicken coop. Were there chickens in it, do you ask? No; if there had been when the angry waves picked it up there were none now, but instead, the sweetest little _kitten_ you ever saw; and crouched down on the trunk of the tree, with his aristocratic paws resting on the end of the coop, was the mysterious Woggy, gravely contemplating the kitten, as it minced at the food the generous dog had brought it. How proud Edwin felt of Woggy as he looked and understood the scene. How Woggy, in his solitary rambles, must have discovered the forlorn kitten, who had been suddenly torn from her home, far up the valley perhaps, and borne, half drowned and thoroughly frightened, on the rus.h.i.+ng torrent, until her box, in which the rising waters had found her taking her afternoon nap, had lodged against the tree. Edwin wanted to rescue her, and take her home. This was his first impulse, but how? The pond was wide and deep, and he had no boat, nor any other means of reaching her; so he decided to wait until the water got lower, until he could devise some plan. He returned home in great amazement, and told the story of Woggy's wonderful doings. Florence was all excitement and sympathy in a moment, and wanted to go at once but could not. But what a delicious hugging and petting Woggy got when he returned home that night. When Edwin found them, the kitten was snuggled up as close to her brute protector as the slats would allow; she would put her tongue through and lick his paws, which process seemed to give him the liveliest satisfaction. Edwin whistled to him to come home with him, but he only wagged his bushy tail and looked at his frail charge as much as to say, "I can't go just now." Just think of the idea of protection entering the head of a dog! but it did. Some animals seem almost to reason. We all know a perfect horror of water all cats have, they will not go into water voluntarily. This poor little thing, surrounded by water, must have died of starvation had not kind-hearted Woggy found and cared for her.

The next day, Edwin, provided with a long board and other means of rescuing the distressed stranger, started for the pond. Just as he left the house, with Florence calling out from the porch some parting injunctions of carefulness, what was their astonishment to see Woggy coming along the road with the kitten in his mouth; the sagacious dog had evidently thought that his keepless little charge needed more care than he could give her, and brought her unharmed to his mistress. When he had deposited the kitten at her feet, he looked up in her eyes as though he wanted to tell her something, and he really looked as if he could almost talk. When Florence took up the pretty thing she exclaimed, "You poor little waif! Where did you come from?" The little waif could not tell, but looked as if she wanted to. She was pure white in color, with a water-stained ribbon and tiny silver bell around her neck. Edwin said she should be called Waif, and Waif she was ever after called in that house.

"MAY I GO WITH YOU?"

"May I go with you, Auntie?"

"No, Jo, I do not wish for any company this morning; here's a kiss, and you may feed my poodle if you like." So saying, Aunt Millie, who was spending her vacation at the farm, tied on her garden hat, and sallied forth for a walk, leaving behind her a very disappointed little swain, for Jo generally accompanied her in her rambles, and he and Aunt Millie were sworn allies. Lately she had run off several times without him, and he certainly felt quite disconsolate to-day.

But he could not doubt her love and goodness, so he whistled away his blues.

[Ill.u.s.tration: {PORTRAIT OF A CHILD.}]

Jo was only five years old, and it is no wonder he soon forgot his grievances. About lunch-time he thought he would go down in the meadow, to see if the first strawberries were ripening, as he intended them for mamma's birthday.

Threading his way carefully through the tall gra.s.s and nodding daisies, he suddenly came upon the queerest looking "machine"--as he called it--in front of which sat Auntie.

"Why, Jo!"

"Aunt Millie, what _are_ you doing?" as he caught sight of a photograph of himself, and a large copy on the easel.

"I am crayoning--and" (this last a trifle averse) "I _had_ intended it as a surprise for mamma, to-morrow."

The big blue eyes raised to hers had a suspicion of tears in them--she bent down quickly and gathered the little fellow in her arms.

"Never mind, pet! I was a bit vexed, that you had discovered my secret."

"Is it a _secret_?" in an awed tone; "well, I'll _keep_ it."

"Do you think you really can, Jo?"

"Yes," he said; "and _you_ can keep my strawberries," forgetting he had told her a dozen times before.

"Well, I'll trust you."

Would you believe it, the child _did_ keep his word, although burning many times to tell; and he succeeded in surprising Aunt Millie, as much as he did mamma.

A SUMMER AT WILLOW-SPRING.

The trunks were strapped on the back of the carriage; we children, with Nurse, were bundled inside; the door shut--the driver snapped his whip--and without any time for last good-byes, we were whirled away to the station. How excited and glad we were, for Papa and Mamma were to follow us next day, and we left the city far behind to spend the whole beautiful summer at Willow-spring. The very first day after our arrival, we were out--Willie, my brother, Elsie, our little four-year-old sister, and myself--scouring the premises, and I guess there were not a nook or corner we had not visited by night. It was a lovely place, with broad shady walks through which we raced, or Willie drove us as two spirited young colts, for like most boys he was rather masterful.

I wish I could tell you of the grand time we had that summer. We formed the acquaintance of several little neighbor children, who proved pleasant playmates, and together we would wander through the cool leafy woods, or roam the sunny meadows gathering sweet wild strawberries and armsful of golden-eyed daisies, and taking our treasures home, would have a little treat on the shady veranda, and garland ourselves with long daisy chains, making believe we were woodland fairies. Once in a while the rabbits from the near wood ran across the garden path, timid and shy little creatures at first--they grew quite tame from our feeding--and Elsie dearly loved her bunnies, as she called them.

Rapidly the days flew by, and the time for our departure was at hand.

We felt sorry to leave, but Mamma, to console us in part, planned a little out-door feast for the day before our going, to which our little friends were all invited, and a happy, merry band of children played out under the trees, and ate the goodies so generously provided. Just before breaking up, we all joined in playing our favorite game of "snap the whip," and with screams and laughter, one after another of the weakest ones rolled over in the soft gra.s.s. The last night at Willow-spring wound up with a grand frolic, in which all took part.

GREAT EXPECTATIONS.