Holiday Stories for Young People Part 12

You should have heard the Hamelin people Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple.

"Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles, Poke out the nests and block up the holes!

Consult with carpenters and builders, And leave in our town not even a trace Of the rats!"--when suddenly, up the face Of the Piper perked in the market-place, With a--"First, if you please, my thousand guilders!"

IX.

A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue; So did the Corporation too.

For council dinners made rare havoc With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock; And half the money would replenish Their cellar's biggest b.u.t.t with Rhenish.

To pay this sum to a wandering fellow With a gypsy coat of red and yellow!

"Beside," quoth the Mayor, with a knowing wink, "Our business was done at the river's brink; We saw with our eyes the vermin sink, And what's dead can't come to life, I think.

So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink From the duty of giving you something for drink, And a matter of money to put into your poke; But as for the guilders, what we spoke Of them, as you very well know, was in joke.

Beside, our losses have made us thrifty: A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!"

X.

The Piper's face fell, and he cried, "No trifling! I can't wait, beside!

I've promised to visit by dinner-time Bagdad, and accept the prime Of the head-cook's pottage, all he's rich in, For having left, in the caliph's kitchen, Of a nest of scorpions, no survivor: With him I proved no bargain-driver, With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver!

And folks who put me in a pa.s.sion May find me pipe to another fas.h.i.+on."

XI.

"How?" cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I'll brook Being worse treated than a cook?

Insulted by a lazy ribald With idle pipe and vesture piebald?

You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst, Blow your pipe there till you burst!"

XII.

Once more he stept into the street, And to his lips again Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane; And ere he blew three notes (such sweet Soft notes as yet musician's cunning Never gave the enraptured air) There was a rustling that seemed like a bustling Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling, Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering, Little hands clapping and little tongues chattering, And, like fowls in a farmyard when barley is scattering, Out came the children running.

All the little boys and girls, With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls, And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls, Tripping and skipping ran merrily after The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.

XIII.

The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood As if they were changed into blocks of wood, Unable to move a step, or cry To the children merrily skipping by-- --Could only follow with the eye That joyous crowd at the Piper's back.

And now the Mayor was on the rack, And the wretched Council's bosoms beat, As the Piper turned from the High Street To where the Weser rolled its waters Right in the way of their sons and daughters!

However he turned from south to west, And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed And after him the children pressed; Great was the joy in every breast.

"He never can cross that mighty top!

He's forced to let the piping drop, And we shall see our children stop!"

When, lo, as they reached the mountain-side, A wondrous portal opened wide, As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed; And the Piper advanced and the children followed, And when all were in to the very last, The door in the mountain-side shut fast.

Did I say, all? No! One was lame, And could not dance the whole of the way; And in after years, if you would blame His sadness, he was used to say,-- "It's dull in our town since my playmates left!

I can't forget that I'm bereft Of all the pleasant sights they see, Which the Piper also promised me.

For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, Joining the town and just at hand, Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew, And flowers put forth a fairer hue, And everything was strange and new; The sparrows were brighter than peac.o.c.ks here, And their dogs outran our fallow deer, And honey-bees had lost their stings, And horses were born with eagles' wings: And just as I became a.s.sured My lame foot would be speedily cured, The music stopped and I stood still, And found myself outside the hill, Left alone against my will, To go now limping as before; And never hear of that country more!"

XIV.

Alas, alas for Hamelin!

There came into many a burgher's pate A text which says that heaven's gate Opes to the rich at as easy rate As the needle's eye takes a camel in!

The Mayor sent East, West, North and South, To offer the Piper, by word of mouth, Wherever it was man's lot to find him, Silver and gold to his heart's content, If he'd only return the way he went, And bring the children behind him.

But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavor, And Piper and dancers were gone forever, They made a decree that lawyers never Should think their records dated duly If, after the day of the month and year, These words did not as well appear: "And so long after what happened here On the twenty-second of July, Thirteen hundred and seventy-six:"

And the better in memory to fix The place of the children's last retreat, They called it the Pied Piper's Street-- Where any one playing on pipe or tabor Was sure for the future to lose his labor.

Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern To shock with mirth a street so solemn; But opposite the place of the cavern They wrote the story on a column, And on the great church-window painted The same, to make the world acquainted How their children were stolen away, And there it stands to this very day.

And I must not omit to say That in Transylvania there's a tribe Of alien people that ascribe The outlandish ways and dress On which their neighbors lay such stress, To their fathers and mothers having risen Out of some subterraneous prison Into which they were trepanned Long time ago in a mighty band Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land, But how or why, they don't understand.

XV.

So, w.i.l.l.y, let me and you be wipers Of scores out with all men--especially pipers!

And, whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice, If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise!

A Girl Graduate.

BY CYNTHIA BARNARD.

I.

It was examination week at Mount Seward College, but most of the work was over, and the students were waiting in the usual fever of anxiety to learn the verdict on their papers, representing so much toil and pains.

Some of the girls were nearly as much concerned about their graduating gowns as about their diplomas, but as independence was in the air at Mount Seward, these rather frivolous girls were in the minority. During term time most of the students wore the regulation cap and gown, and partly owing to the fact that Mount Seward was a college with traditions of plain living and high thinking behind it, and partly because the youngest and best-loved professor was a woman of rare and n.o.ble characteristics, a woman who had set her own stamp on her pupils, and furnished them an ideal, dress and fas.h.i.+on were secondary considerations here. There were no low emulations at Mount Seward.

A group of girls in a bay-window over-looking the campus were discussing the coming commencement. From various rooms came the steady, patient sound of pianos played for practice. On the green lawn in front of the president's cottage two or three intellectual looking professors and tutors walked up and down, evidently discussing an affair that interested them.

The postman strolled over the campus wearily, as who should say, "This is my last round, and the bag is abominably heavy."

He disappeared within a side door, and presently there was a hurrying and scurrying of fresh-faced young women, bright-eyed and blooming under the mortar-caps, jauntily perched over their braids and ringlets, rus.h.i.+ng toward that objective point, the college post-office. One would have fancied that letters came very seldom, to see their excitement.

Margaret Lee received two letters. She did not open either in the presence of her friends, but went with a swift step and a heightened color to her own suite of rooms. Two small alcoves, curtained off from a pleasant little central sitting-room, composed the apartment Margaret shared with her four years' chum Alice Raynor. Alice was not there, yet Margaret did not seat herself in the room common to both, but entered her own alcove, drew the portiere, and sat down on the edge of the iron bed, not larger than a soldier's camp cot. It was an austere little cell, simple as a nun's, with the light falling from one narrow window on the pale face and brown hair of the young girl, to whom the unopened letters in her hand signified so much.

Which should she read first? One, in a large square envelope, addressed in a bold, business-like hand, bore a Western postmark, and had the printed order to return, if not delivered in ten days, to Hilox University, Colorado. The other, in a cramped, old-fas.h.i.+oned hand, bore the postmark of a hamlet in West Virginia. It was a thin letter, evidently belonging to the genus domestic correspondence, a letter from Margaret's home.

Which should she open first? There was an evident struggle, and a perceptible hesitation. Then she laid the home letter resolutely down on the pillow of her bed, and, with a hair-pin, that woman's tool which suits so many uses, delicately and dexterously cut the envelope of the letter from Hilox. It began formally, and was very brief:

"MY DEAR MISS LEE:--The trustees and faculty of Hilox University have been looking for a woman, a recent graduate of distinction from some well-established Eastern college, to take the chair of Greek in our new inst.i.tution. You have been recommended as thoroughly qualified for the position. The salary is not at present large, but our university is growing, and we offer a tempting field to an energetic and ambitious woman. May we write you more fully on the subject, if you are inclined to take our vacancy into your favorable consideration?

"Very respectfully yours."

Then followed the signature of the president of Hilox, a man whose name and fame were familiar to Margaret Lee.

The girl's cheek glowed; her dark eyes deepened; a look of power and purpose settled upon the sweet full lips. For this she had studied relentlessly; to this end she had looked; with this in view her four years' course had been pursued with pluck and determination. The picture of Joanna Baker, as young as herself, climbing easily to the topmost round of the ladder, had fired and stimulated _her_, and she had allowed it to be known that her life was dedicated to learning, and by-and-by to teaching.

All the faculty at Mount Seward knew her aspirations, and several of the professors had promised their aid in securing her a position, but she had not expected anything of this kind so soon.

Why, her diploma would not be hers until next week! Surely there must be some benignant angel at work in her behalf. But--Hilox? Had she ever met any one from Hilox?

Suddenly the light went out of the ardent face, and a frown crinkled the smooth fairness of her brow. This, then, _he_ had dared to do!

Memory recalled an episode two years back, and half-forgotten. Margaret had been spending her vacation at home in the West Virginia mountains, and a man had fallen in love with her. There was nothing remarkable in this, for a beautiful girl of seventeen, graceful, dignified, accomplished, and enthusiastic, is a very lovable creature. A visiting stranger in the village, the minister's cousin, had been much at her father's house, had walked and boated with her, and shared her rides over the hills, both on sure-footed mountain ponies. As a friend Margaret had liked Dr. Angus, as a comrade had found him delightful, but her heart had not been touched. What had she, with her Greek professorate looming up like a star in mid-heaven before her--what had she to do with love and a lover? She had managed to make Dr. Angus know this before he had quite committed himself by a proposal; but she had understood what was in his thought, and she knew that he knew that she knew all about it. And Dr. Angus had remained and settled down as a pract.i.tioner in the little mountain town. The town had a future before it, for two railroads were already projected to cross it, and there were coal mines in the neighborhood, and, altogether, a man might do worse than drive his roots into this soil. She had heard now and then of Dr.

Angus since that summer--her last vacation had been pa.s.sed with cousins in New England--and he was said to be courting a Mrs. Murray, a rich and charming neighbor of her father's.