Harper's Young People, January 11, 1881

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.

"Why, what is the matter, little one?" he asked, in a kindly voice.

The child looked up into the pleasant face and answered:

"They are always worrying me at home; they are always taking my things, and when I ask for them they get mad, and if I take any of their things, they come and take them away, and then if I don't like it, they tell mother; and oh! I declare it's too mean for anything. It wasn't her doll, anyway, for Cousin May left it behind, and she didn't give it to anybody, and she'd had it all day; and then she took my sun-shade, and broke the hook off, and because I asked her for it she got mad and wanted the doll, and it wasn't her doll, and then mother made me give it up, and I think it's real mean – that's just what I think it is."

"Well, well, well, that was too bad. I think it was real mean myself," said the old gentleman. "But I tell you what you should do – you should keep two bears, as I do, and then you would be happy all the time."

"Two bears?" ejaculated the little girl, opening her large round blue eyes.

"Yes, two bears. We have two bears up at my house, and they make us so happy!"

"Don't they bite?"

"Oh no, they don't bite a mite."

"But they growl, don't they?"

"Oh, no, no; they don't growl either. But if you like to come home with me, I will show them to you."

In an instant the little girl's hand was in that of the old gentleman, and they were trotting along the road side by side. There was something so kind and gentle and yet so jovial in his manner that it never entered her head to be afraid of him. After turning down one road and up another, and walking about a mile altogether, they at last came to a long low house, with large windows, which were filled with bright flowers, and draped with red curtains, and in every window hung a bird-cage with some strange or beautiful bird.

A number of children came running out of the house, crying, "Oh, papa! papa! here's papa!" as they gathered round him, clinging to his arms.

"Children," he said, "I have brought a little stranger to visit you. I do not know her name, but I am sure you will be kind to her, and show her the two bears, which I have promised she should see."

They entered a large, comfortable sitting-room, hung round with pictures and bird-cages; in the centre was a long table covered with books, and on each side of the fire-place, in a big easy-chair, sat a great rough bear; one was brown, and the other was black.

The old gentleman led the little girl up to the brown bear, and said, "Brown Bear, here is a little girl who is very miserable. I have told her that you and Black Bear have made us all so happy, and that perhaps you can help her to be happy too."

Brown Bear gave a good-humored sort of sniff, and put his big paw gently on the head of the little stranger.

"What is your name, child?" asked the gentleman: "you have not told me that yet."

"Frances Louisa Caroline Bounce, but they call me Fanny. What a nice bear! Will he be angry if I feel his fur?"

"No, indeed, not even though you rub it the wrong way."

After she was introduced to both bears, she played with the children, Carry and Sarah, George and Philip, and then they all went into another room to dinner. On their way, however, Philip, who had a long switch, with which he had been amusing himself, persisted in tickling the back of his sister Sarah's ear with it, until she grew out of patience, and, turning round, told him, rather sharply, to stop; but Philip, who was only in fun, seemed somewhat nettled at being scolded, and was just on the point of repeating the offense, when Black Bear, who was walking behind, put his paw gently on his shoulder, while at the same moment Brown Bear took Sarah by the arm and led her into the dining-room. Philip threw away his switch, both burst into a merry laugh, and sat down to the table with smiling faces. During the dinner both bears kept walking round the table, looking so kind and gentle that they seemed to put every one in good-humor. When Carry upset a tumbler of water over Sarah's frock, Brown Bear immediately picked it up, while Carry begged pardon, and Sarah laughed. When George was going to tell some little tale out of school about Philip, Black Bear put his big paw in front of his mouth, and George stopped at once.

After dinner they all went out into the snow to have some coasting down a hill close to the house. Both the boys had sleds, but Philip's was a bright new one, while George's was old and rather clumsy. Philip had been saving up his money for some time to buy this treasure, and was very proud of it; therefore when George seized his new sled and ran off with it, he called after him with some anger to bring it back, and not to use it; but George had reached the top of the hill, and had just planted the sled, ready to start down hill, when Brown Bear came to the side of the angry Philip, and touched him with his paw. Phil's manner and voice changed at once, as he called out, "Well, brother George, you can use my sled, and I'll use yours." But Black Bear had reached the top of the hill nearly as soon as George, and with his great big paw patted him on the back, and grunted something in his ear. George took up the sled very quietly, and carried it back to his brother, saying, "I am sorry, Phil; here is your sled."

After that all was fun, tumbles, and laughter, the two bears joining in it as actively and enjoying it just as much as the children. In fact, the bears seemed to make the whole party happy. At last it became time for Frances Louisa Caroline Bounce to go home. She felt sad at the thought of leaving the bears, and of going to her own home, where there were no bears at all.

"Well," said the old gentleman, "how do you like our bears, Fanny?"

"Oh, I think they are just too splendid for anything. I wish we had a bear, even if it was only a little one."

"Well, you can easily have bears. All children can have them if they like. Perhaps you would be obliged to begin with young ones; but then they would be sure to grow up if you only took care of them."

"Oh, dear, dear! is that really so?" cried Fanny, in an ecstasy.

"Yes, my child, it is really so; every one can have two bears in his or her house, like mine. But do you know what we call those bears which make us all so happy? Bear and Forbear."

"Bear and Forbear!" echoed Fanny. "Oh, I will try to get two of those bears in our house, and if they are ever so weak and sickly, I will feed them and nurse them till they grow big and strong like yours."

Fanny trotted home with the old gentleman, and told her brothers and sisters everything about the two good-natured bears; and they all agreed that they would try to raise a pair like them.

I am happy to add that Fanny and her family have a pair of very promising young bears, which already afford them a great deal of happiness, and bid fair in the future to be fine healthy animals.

New York City.

I am making a steam-engine according to the directions given in Young People No. 49. I have just soldered on the lid, and have made the hole for the water to be let into the engine. I hope to finish it soon. I am eight years old. I go to school, and I like Young People very much. I like to read the letters from the children, so I thought I would send one, and thank the "Professor" for writing about the steam-engine.

John A. J.Cresco, Iowa.

I have just commenced taking Young People, and we all like it very much. The story of "Paul Grayson" was splendid, but I think "Toby Tyler" is the best of all. My brother Charlie and I each have an Indian pony. Charlie's pony has been trained by the Indians to stand wherever you leave her, without being tied. And if any one is riding her and falls off, no matter how fast she is going, she will stop, and not move one step farther until her rider mounts again. My pony throws me over her head sometimes, but she will not stop until she gets to the barn.

Allie C.Nacoochee, Georgia.

I send an experiment for the chemistry club. To make cyanogen gas the apparatus necessary is this: one test-tube, a cork, six inches of glass tube one-quarter of an inch in diameter, an alcohol lamp, and a round file. Now hold the glass tube over the flame of the lamp until the glass is soft, when by pulling it apart you will have two tubes, with one end of each drawn to a fine point. Break off the point of one, and you will have a tiny jet. Make a hole in the cork just large enough for the large end of the tube to go into. Put into the test-tube as much cyanide of mercury as will lie on the point of a penknife. Fit the cork tightly in the test-tube. Wave the test-tube over the flame of the lamp for five or ten minutes, and then apply a lighted match to the jet, when the gas will burn with a bluish flame. Pour some melted tallow or bees-wax over the cork to keep the gas from escaping before reaching the jet.

John R. G.Nashville, Tennessee.

I read the letters in the Post-office Box with so much pleasure! I have every number of Young People. All my young friends that read it like it very much. We have formed a juvenile club, and I am president. Reading Young People is a part of our programme.

Randolph H.San Francisco, California.

I thought I would write and tell you about our club. It is called the "Silver Crescent Dramatic Club." We were going to call it "Golden Crescent," but when the club gets a little richer it is going to buy some medals for each member to wear; they will be the shape of a crescent, and if they had to be of gold, they would cost more than silver ones. We meet once every week, and make by-laws and suggestions, and vote on them, and we rehearse. We also have a monthly paper; it is called "The Monthly Crescent." Of course it is not printed, and we have only one copy. Each member edits it in turn, and the others send in contributions. Everything has to be original. The paper is read at every fourth meeting.

We charge five cents to join the club, and every two months each member has to pay five cents dues. New members are voted for, and the majority rules. We have five officers – a president, vice-president, treasurer, secretary, and stage-manager. I am the secretary.

We prepared a grand entertainment for the Christmas holidays. It was a tragedy in three acts. I arranged it. In the first part of Little Women, by Miss Alcott, they had a play called the "Witch's Curse." Only the plot was given. I took it and made up the dialogue, added some more characters, and changed it to make it turn out differently. It makes a very nice little play.

Ida B. D.Argenta, Illinois.

I am a little girl ten years old. I think Young People is a very nice paper. My sister and I go to school. We have a very nice teacher. I like to go very much. We study pieces from Young People to speak in school. My teacher says all little boys and girls ought to take it.

Minnie S.Downieville, California.

I thought I would try to describe a trip I took with auntie to a little town called Eureka. After a short ride we came to the main trail leading from Downieville to the northern part of Sierra County. The trail winds in and out, following every curve and bend of the mountain. In some places it is quite steep, and in others almost level. How tired I was when we got to Eureka, having been two hours in the saddle! When we reached the ridge, we heard some one playing on some instrument, and it sounded so sweet that we stopped a few minutes to listen to it.

Uncle tells me that Eureka used to be quite a large place, with hotels, stores, private houses, a school-house, and a Masonic Hall; but now it consists of only half a dozen dwellings and the school-house.

A little girl has written to Young People that she found two peach blossoms in September, and she wants to know if any other little girl has found any so late. Now I want to know if any little girl or boy has ever picked ripe peaches near the 13th of November, as I have.

Mary A. R.Vicksburg, Mississippi.

I have only been taking Harper's Young People a short time, but I think it is a very nice little paper. I saw that one of the little girls said that she had seen a peach blossom in September. Here we often have figs in December.

Lily V. F.Brooklyn, Long Island.

I am eleven years old; but my eyes are not strong, and mamma has not thought it best to send me to school till this fall, so that I can not write very well. I would like to tell Reba H. that there were apple blossoms on our tree in Oil City, Pennsylvania, in September, 1879.

Winifred C.Bath, New Hampshire.

I have just finished the embroidery of Fig. 12 in Young People No. 59. I received the paper Tuesday night, and if I had had all the crewels, I could have finished it on Thursday. But I had to send to Boston for some of them, and wait nearly four days before they came.

The day I began the embroidery mamma went up garret, and found an old quilt of my grandmother's, all embroidered with the same stitch. I have done a table-cover in the South Kensington stitch, but I think the New England stitch is prettier, easier, and takes less time.

I did pattern No. 12 on a bureau-cover of Russian crash. I am very glad you print the articles on embroidery. They are a great help. I enjoy fancy-work very much, and do a great deal of it. I was fourteen last July.

Helen C.

This is the first report on embroidery, and, according to promise, the old embroidery pattern has been sent to the writer.

Sullivan, Indiana.

I am almost eight years old. I do not go to school. I have two little sisters. My papa prints a newspaper. I take Young People, and I think it is the best paper in the world, except papa's. I get papa to read it to me, and then I send it to a little boy who has no money to buy it.

Harald C. H.East Canaan, New Hampshire.

I am only six years old, but I can read all the stories in Young People alone. I have some very playful kittens, and one night they tipped over the big rocking-chair. I had six white geese, but one died.

Lester O. B.Passaic, New Jersey.

I am ten years old. I have two pretty kittens, exactly alike. They are yellow and white. The other day I got a pretty dove from the dove-house, and kept him in a large cage; but I felt sorry for him, and one day opened the window and let him out. He flew to the top of the carriage-house, and all of the doves came to meet him and kept flying around him. I like Harper's Young People so much that I can not wait patiently until it comes.

Willie G.Foster Brook, Pennsylvania.

I am spending the winter very pleasantly out among the Red Rock Mountains. Our cottage is in a valley, surrounded by high hills, which are covered with wintergreen berries from one year's end to another. During the winter months the berries swell very large, and they are delicious fruit in the spring. There is a great deal of iron ore here, and also a great deal of snow. We live in a very small house, with only four rooms; but, for all that, it is very cozy. I look forward with much pleasure every week for the coming of Young People.

M. Ada T.Clanton, Alabama.

My brother and I take Young People, and like it very much. We had a pet 'coon, which got very thirsty one day, and crawled into our big glass water-pitcher head first. After helping himself to water, he turned round in the pitcher, and came out again. Afterward the cat killed him.

St. Clair T.Brookhaven, Mississippi.

My papa takes Harper's Magazine, and I take Young People, which I like very much, especially the letters written by the children. I wish all the boys and girls in the South could get your paper.

I am eight years old, and go to school. There is a great deal of cotton shipped from here to New Orleans, and a great deal of lumber to St. Louis and Chicago. I have two little sisters younger than I.

Archie McM.Windsor Heights, Maryland.

I have taken Young People since the story called "Who was Paul Grayson?" began. My brother and I have for pets a flock of pigeons, which are quite tame, two pair of rabbits, and two dogs, named "Duke" and "Terry." Duke will go into the corn-patch, select a soft ear of corn, and husk and eat it. He sometimes goes to the blackberry bushes, and holds down a branch with one paw while he eats the berries. He is also very fond of persimmons.