to the farm in July. That'sall,--not a bit interesting, but it came to me, and I did it, thoughonly small chore."
"I'm sure the helping of five poor souls is a fine work, and you maywell be proud of it, Ida. Now I know why you wouldn't go to matineeswith me, and buy every pretty thing we saw as you used to. The pocketmoney went for coal and food, and your fancy-work was little clothes forthese live dolls of yours. You dear thing! how good you were to cook,and grub, and prick your fingers rough, and give up fun, for this kindwork!"
Maggie's hearty kiss, and the faces of her friends, made Ida feel thather humble task had its worth in their eyes, as well as in her own; andwhen the others had expressed their interest in her work, all composedthemselves to hear what Marion had to tell.
"I have been taking care of a scarlet runner,--a poor oldfrost-bitten, neglected thing; it is transplanted now, and doing well,I'm happy to say."
"What _do_ you mean?" asked Ella, while the rest looked very curious.
Marion picked up a dropped stitch in the large blue sock she wasknitting, and continued, with a laugh in her eyes: "My dears, that iswhat we call the Soldiers' Messenger Corps, with their red caps and busylegs trotting all day. I've had one of them to care for, and a gorgeoustime of it, I do assure you. But before I exult over my success, I musthonestly confess my failures, for they were sad ones. I was so anxiousto begin my work at once, that I did go out and collar the first pauperI saw. It was an old man, who sometimes stands at the corners of streetsto sell bunches of ugly paper flowers. You've seen him, I dare say, andhis magenta daisies and yellow peonies. Well, he was rather a forlornobject, with his poor old red nose, and bleary eyes, and white hair,standing at the windy corners silently holding out those horrid flowers.I bought all he had that day, and gave them to some colored children onmy way home, and told him to come to our house and get an old coat Mammawas waiting to get rid of. He told a pitiful story of himself and hisold wife, who made the paper horrors in her bed, and how they neededeverything, but didn't wish to beg. I was much touched, and flew home tolook up the coat and some shoes, and when my old Lear came creeping inthe back way, I ordered cook to give him a warm dinner and somethingnice for the old woman.
"I was called upstairs while he was mumbling his food, and blessing mein the most lovely manner; and he went away much comforted, I flatteredmyself. But an hour later, up came the cook in a great panic to reportthat my venerable and pious beggar had carried off several of Papa'sshirts and pairs of socks out of the clothes-basket in the laundry, andthe nice warm hood we keep for the girl to hang out clothes in.
"I was _very_ angry, and, taking Harry with me, went at once to theaddress the old rascal gave me, a dirty court out of Hanover Street. Nosuch person had ever lived there, and my white-haired saint was ahumbug. Harry laughed at me, and Mamma forbade me to bring any morethieves to the house, and the girls scolded awfully.
"Well, I recovered from the shock, and, nothing daunted, went off to thelittle Irishwoman who sells apples on the Common,--not the fat, coseyone with the stall near West Street, but the dried-up one who sits bythe path, nodding over an old basket with six apples and four sticks ofcandy in it. No one ever seems to buy anything, but she sits there andtrusts to kind souls dropping a dime now and then, she looks so feebleand forlorn, 'on the cold, cold ground.'
"She told me another sad tale of being all alone and unable to work, and'as wake as wather-grewl, without a hap-worth av flesh upon me bones,and for the love of Heaven gimme a thrifle to kape the breath av loifein a poor soul, with a bitter hard winter over me, and niver a chick orchild to do a hand's turn.' I hadn't much faith in her, remembering myother humbug, but I did pity the old mummy; so I got some tea and sugar,and a shawl, and used to give her my odd pennies as I passed. I nevertold at home, they made such fun of my efforts to be charitable. Ithought I really was getting on pretty well after a time, as my oldBiddy seemed quite cheered up, and I was planning to give her some coal,when she disappeared all of a sudden. I feared she was ill, and askedMrs. Maloney, the fat woman, about her.
"'Lord love ye, Miss dear, it's tuk up and sint to the Island for treemonths she is; for a drunken ould crayther is Biddy Ryan, and niver acint but goes for whiskey,--more shame to her, wid a fine bye av her ownready to kape her daycint.'
"Then I _was_ discouraged, and went home to fold my hands, and see whatfate would send me, my own efforts being such failures."
"Poor thing, it _was_ hard luck!" said Elizabeth, as they sobered downafter the gale of merriment caused by Marion's mishaps, and her cleverimitation of the brogue.
"Now tell of your success, and the scarlet runner," added Maggie.
"Ah! that was _sent_, and so I prospered. I must begin ever so far back,in war times, or I can't introduce my hero properly. You know Papa wasin the army, and fought all through the war till Gettysburg, where hewas wounded. He was engaged just before he went; so when his fatherhurried to him after that awful battle, Mamma went also, and helpednurse him till he could come home. He wouldn't go to an officer'shospital, but kept with his men in a poor sort of place, for many ofhis boys were hit, and he wouldn't leave them. Sergeant Joe Collins wasone of the bravest, and lost his right arm saving the flag in one of thehottest struggles of that great fight. He had been a Maine lumberman,and was over six feet tall, but as gentle as a child, and as jolly as aboy, and very fond of his colonel.
"Papa left first, but made Joe promise to let him know how he got on,and Joe did so till he too went home. Then Papa lost sight of him, andin the excitement of his own illness, and the end of the war, and beingmarried, Joe Collins was forgotten, till we children came along, andused to love to hear the story of Papa's battles, and how the bravesergeant caught the flag when the bearer was shot, and held it in therush till one arm was blown off and the other wounded. We have fightingblood in us, you know, so we were never tired of that story, thoughtwenty-five years or more make it all as far away to us as the oldRevolution, where _our_ ancestor was killed, at _our_ Bunker Hill!
"Last December, just after my sad disappointments, Papa came home todinner one day, exclaiming, in great glee: 'I've found old Joe! Amessenger came with a letter to me, and when I looked up to give myanswer, there stood a tall, grizzled fellow, as straight as a ramrod,grinning from ear to ear, with his hand to his temple, saluting me inregular style. "Don't you remember Joe Collins, Colonel? Awful glad tosee you, sir," said he. And then it all came back, and we had a goodtalk, and I found out that the poor old boy was down on his luck, andalmost friendless, but as proud and independent as ever, and bound totake care of himself while he had a leg to stand on. I've got hisaddress, and mean to keep an eye on him, for he looks feeble and can'tmake much, I'm sure.'
"And there stood a tall grizzly man, saluting in regularstyle."]
"We were all very glad, and Joe came to see us, and Papa sent him onendless errands, and helped him in that way till he went to New York.Then, in the fun and flurry of the holidays, we forgot all about Joe,till Papa came home and missed him from his post. I said I'd go and findhim; so Harry and I rummaged about till we did find him, in a littlehouse at the North End, laid up with rheumatic fever in a stuffy backroom, with no one to look after him but the washerwoman with whom heboarded.
"I was _so_ sorry we had forgotten him! but _he_ never complained,only said, with his cheerful grin, 'I kinder mistrusted the Colonel wasaway, but I wasn't goin' to pester him.' He tried to be jolly, though indreadful pain; called Harry 'Major,' and was so grateful for all webrought him, though he didn't want oranges and tea, and made us shoutwhen I said, like a goose, thinking that was the proper thing to do,'Shall I bathe your brow, you are so feverish?'
"'No, thanky, miss, it was swabbed pretty stiddy to the horsepittle, andI reckon a trifle of tobaccer would do more good and be a sight morerelishin', ef you'll excuse my mentionin' it.'
"Harry rushed off and got a great lump and a pipe, and Joe layblissfully puffing, in a cloud of smoke, when we left him, promising tocome again. We did go nearly every day, and
had lovely times; for Joetold us his adventures, and we got so interested in the war that I beganto read up evenings, and Papa was pleased, and fought all his battlesover again for us, and Harry and I were great friends reading together,and Papa was charmed to see the old General's spirit in us, as we gotexcited and discussed all our wars in a fever of patriotism that madeMamma laugh. Joe said I 'brustled up' at the word _battle_ like awar-horse at the smell of powder, and I'd ought to have been a drummer,the sound of martial music made me so 'skittish.'
"It was all new and charming to us young ones, but poor old Joe had ahard time, and was very ill. Exposure and fatigue, and scanty