Read Ebook: St. Nicholas Magazine for Boys and Girls Vol. 5 No. 07 May 1878 Scribner's Illustrated by Various Dodge Mary Mapes Editor

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Ebook has 610 lines and 48137 words, and 13 pages

"Course it would!" said Bub, emphatically.

But the "Cap'n," who was not so good-natured that he liked to have small boys answer for him, gravely considered the matter while he settled his oars in the rowlocks.

"Wal, it's some trouble, perhaps; but I don't mind puttin' myself out once in a while for a nice little gal. Step lively now, young man! Come along, sissy!"

Mandy sat radiant in the little bow-seat, as the boat pushed off. A great Albany "tow" was passing,--a whole fleet of barges and canal-boats lashed together,--with calves and sheep bellowing and bleating, cables creaking, clothes flapping on the lines; a big steamboat, with a freight-barge under each wing, plowing the water on ahead, and sending the waves chasing each other in shore.

The little boat danced gayly on the "rollers." A fresh wind blew toward them, and brought with it a shout of "Boat ahoy! Hello, Cap'n! Got any good stuff aboard?"

"Come alongside, then!"

The "Cap'n" condescended to lean a little on his oars in pursuit of a bargain, and sent the little boat spinning over the water toward one of the barges in the rear part of the "tow."

Some men in a row were lounging over the rail; one of them threw a rope, which hissed and splashed close to the boat. Perry caught it, and they were soon under the lee of the floating village.

While the store was unlocked, and its wares handed out, Mandy noticed, on the deck above, a woman washing a little boy three or four years old. He stood in an old wooden pail, with a rope tied to the handle,--his little white body, all naked and slippery, shining in the sun. One could hardly help noticing him, he screamed so lustily as the water was dashed over his head and shoulders.

Mandy saw how his face showed red and flushed with crying, under the dripping yellow locks.

She thought uneasily of the baby, lying all alone on the old dock; wondered if the sun had got round so as to shine in his face, and how long the "Cap'n" would stand there, talking with those men. She was happy again when the boat dropped behind and the "Cap'n" turned toward the shore.

"Perry," he said, "just look at my watch--there in my weskit-pocket on the starn-seat. What time's it got to be?"

"Twenty minutes to one," said Perry.

"What time'd I say we'd have them shad up there? One o'clock? Wal, one o'clock it'll be, then. Only we can't leave this little gal ashore till we come back."

"Never mind, sissy; baby's all right. Bless my soul! who'd want to carry off a baby? There aint no wild beasts roamin' round, and most of us's got babies enough o' our own to hum, without borryin of the neighbors. You'll find him there all safe enough when we get back. Them shad, ye see, was promised at one o'clock up to the hotel. Cap'n Kent, ye know, he never breaks his word."

"You'd better keep quiet, Mandy. You would come, 'n' now I hope you'll get enough of it!"

That was a very long twenty minutes to Mandy, while they drew slowly nearer and nearer to the steamboat-landing, and the little white and brown houses of the fishermen, scattered along shore, one by one were left behind.

"Now, Perry," the "Cap'n" said, as he unshipped his oars, while the children clambered out of the boat, "just look at that ere watch again. See if the Cap'n aint as good as his word. Five minutes to one, eh? Didn't I tell ye? Hello, sissy! Where's that gal goin' to now? What's your hurry? I'll take ye back in half an hour."

But Mandy was off, running like a young fox along the edge of the wharf.

"Cap'n," said Bub, "we're much obliged to you, sir, and I guess I'll go on too. Mandy's awful scared about the baby, and--"

"Lord, what a fuss 'bout a baby!" the "Cap'n" broke in with his loud voice, "Babies aint so easy got rid of. Wal, may be you'll go rowin' with the Cap'n again, some day. Tell yer Ma I've got some first-class lemons, if she wants to make pies for Sunday. Can't get no such lemons at the store."

But the "Cap'n's" last words were wasted, for Bub was already speeding off after Mandy.

When he reached the fishing-dock, there she sat, a dismal little heap, on the ground between the net-poles. She had lost her bonnet; she had fallen down and rubbed dust in her hair. Now she sat rocking herself to and fro, and sobbing.

"Oh, Bub! The baby!" was all she could say.

"Look here, Mandy! Stop cryin' a minute, will you?" said Bub. "It's after one o'clock; may be mother had only half a day at Hillard's, and come home 'n' found the baby down here; she could see the shawl from the house."

Mandy jumped up, "Let's go see. Quick!" she cried. But the string of one shoe was broken, and the shoe slipped at every step. She stooped to fasten it. "Don't wait, Bub. Go on, please!" Then she felt so tired and breathless with running and crying, that she dropped down on the ground again to wait for Bub's return.

She heard his feet running down the hill, and wondered if they brought good news.

No; the house was empty. No baby or mother there!

"I must go to Hillard's," said Bub. "You'd better stay, Mandy; you look 'most beat out."

His voice was very gentle, and Mandy could not bear it.

It was dreadful, sitting there alone, after Bub's footsteps died away in the distance, thinking and wondering hopelessly about the baby. Mandy remembered how his little head, heavy with sleep, had drooped lower and lower, and tired her arms. How gladly would she feel that ache if she could only hold the warm little body in her arms again!

Hark! What noise was that under the drooping curtain of nets? Now she does not hear it; but presently it comes again--a soft, happy little baby voice, cooing and talking to itself.

With joyful haste, Mandy lifted the heavy festoon of nets, and crawled under. There, in the warm, sunny gloom, lying all rosy and tumbled, with his clothes around his neck, and the old red shawl hopelessly tangled round the bare and active legs, lay baby, cramming his fists in his mouth or tossing them about, while he talked stories to the gleams of sunlight that flickered down through the meshes of the nets.

How he had managed to roll so far, Mandy did not stop to wonder about. She scooped him up into her arms, the bare legs kicking and struggling, and crawled with him into the open air.

There she sat, hugging him close, with her cheek resting on his head, when the tired, anxious mother, hurrying on ahead of Bub, came running down the hill.

Many times after that, the baby was a "bother" to Mandy, but she was never heard to call him so.

THE SILLY GOOSE.

BY E.A. SMULLER.

There's a queer old story which you shall hear. It happened, once on a time, my dear, That a goose went swimming on a pond, A pleasure of which all geese are fond. She sailed about, and to and fro, The waves bent under her breast of snow, And her red feet paddled about below, But she wasn't a happy goose--oh no!

It troubled her more than she could tell, That in the town where she chanced to dwell, The saying of "stupid as a goose," Was one that was very much in use. For sneers and snubbing are hard to bear, Be he man or beast I do not care, Or pinioned fowl of the earth or air, We're all of the same opinion there.

Now, as she pondered the matter o'er, A fox came walking along the shore; With a pleasant smile he bowed his head, "Good-evening, Mrs. Goose!" he said. "Good-evening, Mr. Fox!" quoth she, Looking across at him tremblingly, And, fearing he had not had his tea, Pushed a trifle farther out to sea.

She had little harm to fear from him; For, with all his tricks, he could not swim, And, indeed, his voice was sweet and kind. "Dear Mrs. Goose, you've a troubled mind; I only wish I could help you through, There's nothing I would not gladly do For such a beautiful bird as you." Which sounded nice, and was really true.

"Now, would you, indeed!" Renard replied As the floating fowl he slyly eyed; "I hardly know what 'tis best to say, Let's think about it a moment, pray, I may help you yet, my dear, who knows?" So he struck a meditative pose, And thoughtfully laid his small, red toes, Up by the side of his pointed nose.

"Ah, yes!" he cried, "I have it at last: Your troubles, dear Mrs. Goose, are past; There is a school-master, wise and good, I know where he lives in yonder wood, To-morrow evening, you shall see In yon broad meadow his school will be, He'll bring you a book with the A, B, C, And he'll give his little lesson free."

But now just listen, and you shall hear About that fox; he went off, my dear, And he bought a coat, and a beaver hat, And a pair of specs, and a black cravat. Next evening he came dressed up to charm, With the little "Reader" under his arm, Where the goose stood waiting without alarm, For, indeed, she hadn't a thought of harm.

The school-master opens wide his book, The goose makes a long, long neck, to look, He opens his mouth, as if to cough, When, snippety-snap! her head flies off. Now, cackle loudly her sisters fond, Who are watching proudly from the pond, While off to the town that lies beyond, The whole of the frightened flock abscond.

That day, the geese made a solemn vow, Which their faithful children keep till now, That, never shall goose or gosling look At any school-master or his book. So, if ever you should chance to hear Them talking of school, don't think it queer If they say some hard things, or appear To show a certain degree of fear; It is always so with geese, my dear.

PARISIAN CHILDREN.

BY HENRY BACON.

Parisians adore the sunshine. On a sunny day the many squares and parks are peopled by children dressed in gay costumes, always attended by parents or nurses. The old gingerbread venders at the gates find a ready sale for chunks of coarse bread , hoops, jump-ropes, and wooden shovels,--for the little ones are allowed to dig in the public walks as if they were on private grounds and heirs of the soil. Here the babies build their miniature forts, while the sergents-de-ville , who are old soldiers, look kindly on, taking special care not to trample the fortifications as they pass to and fro upon their rounds.

Here future captains and admirals sail their miniature fleet, and are as helplessly horror-stricken when the graceful swans sally out and attack their little vessels, as when from Fortress Monroe the spectators watched the "Merrimac" steam down upon the shipping in the roads.

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