Holiday Stories for Young People Part 7

"I second the motion," exclaimed Miss Amy Pierce, rapturously.

"It is moved and seconded that we give a reception at the Academy, with a programme and refreshments. Are there any remarks?"

I should think there were. Why, they flew about like snow-flakes in a hurricane.

"Why in the Academy?"

"Why not in somebody's parlor?"

"What sort of a programme?"

"Tableaux would be splendid!"

"Not tableaux! Charades?"

"Why not have a little play? That would be best, and we could all act."

"What sort of refreshments? A regular supper, or lemonade and cake, or cake and ice-cream?"

At last it was resolved to carry out the reception idea, and to have a little play in which Dot and Dimpsie could be brought in, also a very magnificent Maltese cat belonging to Patty Curtis, and Miss m.u.f.fet's parrot. The cat, arrayed in a lace ruff, with a red ribbon, would be an imposing figure, and the parrot would look well as one of the properties. Miss m.u.f.fet herself, in some character, probably as a Yankee school-mistress, must be persuaded to appear.

Well, you may imagine what a flutter we were in! We trimmed the old Academy with ferns and running pine and great wreaths of golden-rod, while feathery clematis was looped and festooned over the windows and around the portraits of former teachers, which adorned the walls.

Our play was written for us by Mr. Robert Pierce, Amy's brother, who goes to Harvard, and he brought in both our pets, and the cat and parrot, and had in ever so many hits which Bloomdale folks could enjoy, knowing all about them.

The only thing which interfered with my pleasure was that mother was not here, and I had expected her home. I nearly cried into the lemonade, and almost blistered the icing of the pound-cake with tears; but seeing grandmamma gaze at me with a whole exclamation point in her eyes, I gave myself a mental shake, and said, not aloud, but in my mind: "Don't be a baby, Milly Van Doren! A big girl like you! Be good! There, now!"

But I was not the most unhappy girl when, just after my part in the play was over, I heard a little movement in the audience, and saw a stirring as of surprise at the other end of the room.

Who was that? A sweet face in a Quaker bonnet, a white kerchief folded primly over a gown of dove-colored satin, a pure plain dress, looking very distinguished, for all its simplicity, among the gay toilet of the "world's people."

Surely, no--yes, it was, it could be no one but mother!

I threaded my way through the crowded aisles, gentlemen and ladies opening a path for me, and before everybody I was clasped in her dear arms. And there was father smiling down at me, and saying, as mother told me, to be composed, for I was half crying, half laughing: "Of course she'll be composed. I have always said thee could trust our little la.s.s."

I squeezed myself into a seat between the two darlings, forgetful that I was the President of the Clover Leaf Club; and there I sat till the play was over, when something happened that was not on the programme.

A tall shabby form advanced to the front of the room, and mounted the stage.

It was Jack Roper! We held our breath. What did this mean?

"I want, fellow-townsmen and ladies," said Jack, with the utmost coolness, "to return thanks to the Clover Leaf young ladies for the good example they've been a settin' our wives and darters. Them girls is trumps!"

Down sat Jack in a storm of applause. This speech, if not elegant, was at least sincere.

He was followed by a very different personage. No less a man than Judge Curtis arose and gave us a little address, after which Amy Pierce and Lois Partridge played a duet on the piano.

Then the refreshments were distributed. There was a merry time talking and laughing over the feast, and we all went home. Miss m.u.f.fet looked radiant, she had so many compliments, and Aunt Hetty, who appeared in her stiffest calico, was not backward in accepting some for herself.

Though what she had done, except try my patience, it was puzzling to us to tell.

My precious mother had the very prettiest surprise of all for us when her trunks were opened. It is her way to make people happy, and she goes through the world like an angel.

For every girl in the club she had brought home a silver pin in the shape of a four-leaved clover. "Whether you keep up the club or not,"

she said, "it will be a pretty souvenir of a very happy summer."

I don't know whether I have made mother's way plain to all my readers, but I hope they see it is a way of taking pains, of being kind, of being honest and diligent, and never doing with one hand what ought to be done with both. If I learn to keep house in mother's way I shall be perfectly satisfied.

Father says: "Thee certainly may, dear child! For my part, I trust my little la.s.s."

The Lighthouse Lamp.

BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER.

The winds came howling down from the north, Like a hungry wolf for prey, And the bitter sleet went hurtling forth, In the pallid face of the day.

And the snowflakes drifted near and far, Till the land was whitely fleeced, And the light-house lamp, a golden star, Flamed over the waves' white yeast.

In the room at the foot of the light-house Lay mother and babe asleep, And little maid Gretchen was by them there, A resolute watch to keep.

There were only the three on the light-house isle, But father had trimmed the lamp, And set it burning a weary while In the morning's dusk and damp.

"Long before night I'll be back," he said, And his white sail slipped away; Away and away to the mainland sped, But it came not home that day.

The mother stirred on her pillow's s.p.a.ce, And moaned in pain and fear, Then looked in her little daughter's face Through the blur of a starting tear.

"Darling," she whispered, "it's piercing cold, And the tempest is rough and wild; And you are no laddie strong and bold, My poor little maiden child.

"But up aloft there's the lamp to feed, Or its flame will die in the dark, And the sailor lose in his utmost need The light of our islet's ark."

"I'll go," said Gretchen, "a step at a time; Why, mother, I'm twelve years old, And steady, and never afraid to climb, And I've learned to do as I'm told."

Then Gretchen up to the top of the tower, Up the icy, smooth-worn stair, Went slowly and surely that very hour, The sleet in her eyes and hair.

She fed the lamp, and she trimmed it well, And its clear light glowed afar, To warn of reefs, and of rocks to tell, This mariner's guiding star.

And once again when the world awoke In the dawn of a bright new day, There was joy in the hearts of the fisher folks Along the stormy bay.

When the little boats came sailing in All safe and sound to the land, _To the haven the light had helped them win, By the aid of a child's brave hand._

The Family Mail-bag.