Various
Harper's Young People, January 25, 1881
At length Souvré saw a faint light glimmering in the distance, and on approaching it he found it came from the hut of a charcoal burner deep in the forest.
The poor charcoal burner was so terrified by the approach of the horsemen that he darted up into his loft by a ladder on the outside, which he drew up after him. The cavaliers shouted and knocked, and knocked and shouted, but all in vain. Not an inch would the charcoal burner stir; so at last they began to batter down the door.
Finally Souvré managed to scramble up to the loft, where he found the poor man crouching in a corner in a perfect agony of terror. He tried to calm his fears by speaking gently, but the strange language only made him more terrified.
So there was nothing for it but to drag him down, and carry him off to the King, which they accordingly did. Henry had learned a few words of the peasants' dialect, so he soon re-assured the poor man, and made him comprehend that they only wanted him for a guide – an office which he readily took upon himself.
He was swung up on a horse in front of one of the cavaliers, and guided them safely to the town of Liszki. Soon after this they came up with Chémerault and the others, who had missed the King in the darkness, and had arrived before him.
In the mean time you can readily imagine that there was a great uproar in the palace at Cracow when the King's flight was discovered. The Senate and the nobles were absolutely beside themselves with rage at having been so outwitted. The French who had been left behind in ignorance of their master's intended flight were deeply indignant with the King for his treacherous betrayal of them. The mob howled and yelled in the streets, and everybody scolded poor Alemanni.
Karnkowski, the Grand Referendary of Poland, was dispatched in a coach and six to bring back the King, accompanied by a troop of Tartar cavalry armed with bows and arrows, and a howling mob, with sticks, stones, and javelins, followed after.
They came in sight of the fugitives at the town of Osweicin, where some of the gentlemen had dismounted to rest and refresh themselves for an hour. But when they caught sight of the Tartar troops they did not tarry long, you may be sure, but put spurs to their horses, and fled as fast as they could.
Then there followed a royal chase, in which the King was the hunted instead of the hunter – the King and his cavaliers urging their tired horses to their utmost speed in front; following fast behind, Karnkowski, in his coach and six, the wild troop of Tartar bowmen, and the disorderly mob bringing up the rear.
Henry and his gentlemen rode fast and well. They crossed the Vistula on a bridge of planks, which the cavaliers destroyed just as their pursuers came up; and as they rode on they left their Tartar enemies howling with rage and gnashing their teeth, as they saw the river rolling between them and the fugitives, and knew they must go six miles around in order to come up with them.
The danger was over now. They did not overtake Henry until after he had passed the frontier town of Plesse, and they dared not capture him on Austrian territory.
Count Teuczin therefore approached the King, accompanied only by five Tartars, and delivered his message from the Senate to entreat him to return, and offering his own fealty to the King. Henry refused to return, but he sent back fair words to the Senate, and they parted amicably, Henry to pursue his journey to Vienna, where he arrived without further adventures, the Count to return sadly to Cracow to announce the escape of their King to the magnates of Poland.
But in my opinion if they had had Henry to rule over them four years instead of four months, far from grieving over his loss, they would have considered themselves well rid of him; for lazy, selfish, cowardly, false, and cruel as he was, they might have sought the wide world over without finding a worse King than Henry III. of Valois.
THE NEW SCHOLAR
BY EMILY H. LELAND
Elbert Collins had never been marked absent or tardy since his first going to school in September, and it was his ambition to finish the whole year without a "mark," partly because he really liked to be prompt, and partly because he thought it would be so nice to see his name in the paper at the end of the school year.
December had come, and the short mornings were very lively ones in his mother's little kitchen, because of so many things to be done before the nine-o'clock bell. There was the wood-box to fill, the canary to feed, and generally the cradle to rock, while the mother attended to such work as could be done best while there was some one to look after the baby.
On this particular morning, however, the mother had gone to Mrs. Brown's, around the corner, for a cup of yeast, and had become so interested in a recipe for chocolate cake, a pattern for a boy's blouse, the pound party at the Methodist minister's, and some new ways for trimming Christmas trees, that she entirely forgot the time of day.
Meanwhile little Elbert, with his overshoes and scarf on, and cap in hand, rocked the cradle, and kept his eyes on the clock. Five, ten, minutes passed away. The long hand was crawling alarmingly near last-bell time. He tied his scarf, pulled his cap over his ears, and rocked harder than ever. Still no mother. Then he went to the door, looked anxiously toward the corner, and sent out a lusty shout – "Mamma-a-a, come ho-o-ome!" but no one responded except the baby. "Oh dear! dear!" he exclaimed, as he rushed back to the cradle; and just then his expectant ears heard the first slow cling-clang of the last bell. It would ring for five minutes; the school-house was only three streets away, and there was time enough yet, if he could only start. One thing was certain – he would never leave his little baby sister. He remembered a story of a poor baby who was almost burned to death because her brother, who had promised to take care of her, left her, and ran out on the street to play.
He went to the door and shouted again. It was something like the case of Casabianca. But when two mothers are talking about patterns and Christmas trees, who ever knew them to notice every little outside noise? Elbert's shout ended in a big sob. A man going to lose his entire fortune couldn't feel worse than this little fellow did, with that dreadful "tardy" mark hanging over his head.
Then a happy thought flashed into his mind. Running to the cradle, he caught up the baby, scattering pillows and blankets right and left, bundled an old shawl over her, and snatching her half-filled milk bottle, dashed out of the house, and ran off in the direction of that clanging bell as fast as his stout young legs could carry him. The baby was a light little mite, only two and a half months old, and Elbert was nearly six years, and large for his age.
He met two women whom he knew, and who commenced making weak remarks, like, "Why, Elbert!" and "What on earth!" but he bounded past them, with no answer but his panting breath, and reached the school-house in such good time that the bell gave its last two clangs just as he handed over his funny burden to his astonished teacher.
"I couldn't leave her, and I couldn't be late," he said, as soon as he could get breath enough to speak. "And she'll go to sleep, and be real good," he continued, as the teacher began to unwind the shawl.
And then the whole room saw a surprised, half-smothered-looking little baby, still in her night-gown, one bare foot sticking out, and her little fists tightly clinched, as if defying anybody to send her home.
The teacher was a good-natured young lady, and she laughed so that she almost dropped the baby on the floor, and then the whole room laughed, and finally Elbert joined in; for he was glad he had escaped the tardy mark, and the baby certainly did look funny in school.
Of course there could be no order. Nearly all the scholars had babies at home, or were well acquainted with those of their neighbors; but they acted as if they had never seen one before, and every movement of the little pink hands and every turn of the small bald head made them scream with laughter, until the principal of the school came into the room to see what the disturbance was, and after trying to look severe for five seconds, he laughed too.
And while all this fun was going on, Elbert's mother was running wildly through the four rooms of her little house, calling her boy's name, and feeling sure that the children were either killed and thrown into the cistern, or else carried off like Charley Ross, and lost forever. The scattered pillows and upset rocking-chair, indeed, made the kitchen appear as if there had been a struggle, and the wide-open door and the gate creaking to and fro had a dreadful look to Elbert's mother. Just then the women whom Elbert had met stopped at the gate, and said to the mother, who was coming hurriedly out, "Is anything the matter, Mrs. Collins?"
"Oh, I don't know where my children are! I left them while I ran into Mrs. Brown's a minute, and the kitchen's all upset, and I'm afraid – "
"Why, we just now met Elbert with the baby, kiting along like the wind, over there by Webster & Green's. Leastways we supposed it was the baby, from the way he carried it. And he never – "
"Merciful man! he's taken her to school!"
About ten minutes later, a flustered little woman rapped at the door of the First Primary Room, and inquired for a baby. It was handed to her, along with an empty milk bottle, and wrapping them both in a red cloak which she carried, she thanked the smiling teacher, and walked quickly home.
At first she had felt very angry toward Elbert; but when she looked at the clock, and remembered his horror of being late, she softened toward him considerably, and by the time she had got the baby home, and found her none the worse for her little run away, she had her laugh also; and being a fair-minded woman, she told Elbert when he came home to dinner that it was very thoughtless in her to have staid so long at Mrs. Brown's. And Elbert gave her a hug, and said he was "glad he didn't leave the baby, 'cause she might have been burned up, you know!"
MILDRED'S BARGAIN
A Story for Girls
BY MRS. JOHN LILLIE
Chapter VII
How long she was unconscious, Milly never knew. She awoke to find herself in a beautiful white bed, in a room she had never seen. All signs of the storm seemed shut out; there was a bright fire on the hearth; the room seemed full of pleasant shadows and flickering beams of light. Milly was only half conscious that some one spoke to her, and gave her something pleasant to drink. Then she drifted off again, with a pleasant confusion of fancies in her mind. When she next awoke, it seemed again to be evening, but she was conscious of a certain change in her surroundings. A little table was drawn near her; half-used medicine bottles were upon it; Deborah was sitting over by the fire, and Miss Jenner was standing in the window.
"Debby," she said, surprised to find her voice so weak; and then she lifted up her hand, and saw it was very thin.
"My blessed lamb!" cried the old woman, hastening to her side, followed quickly by Alice. "So you're better!"
Mildred found she had to keep still a long time before she could say any more. She nearly fell asleep again.
"Debby," she said presently, "is it long since I fainted? What time is it?"
"Oh, my lovey," said the old nurse, "you've lain in that blessed bed two weeks. You've been very ill, but, thank the Lord, you're better."
This was all Mildred knew for days. She had had a fever; and finding out the condition of things at the cottage, Miss Jenner had taken Mrs. Lee's affairs into her own hands. She had kept Milly, as a matter of course, had sent a good servant to care for Mrs. Lee, filled the store closet with every delicacy, and allowed Debby to watch and care for her "child," as she always called Mildred. Sometimes, as she lay still in her comfortable bed, Milly tried to recall the dreadful scene at Mr. Hardman's; and one evening, when she was sitting up for the first time before the fire, and after she had finished a dainty little supper; she ventured to ask Miss Jenner a few questions.
"Miss Jenner," she said, softly, "do you know all about it?"
"Yes," said Miss Jenner, smiling.
"And are they going to take me to court?"
"No," answered the elder lady, emphatically.
"But why not?" Milly persisted. "They said I stole that money."
"And I said you didn't," retorted Miss Jenner. "You let it all out in your fever, my dear. I think I understand it all."
"And you know – " faltered Mildred.
Miss Jenner smiled.
"Just see if I don't know," she said. "One evening a precious old humbug calling herself Widow Robbins came here to find you, and try and get out of you what you owed her – you did owe it, Milly – and my boy Roger was standing behind one of the trees, and heard the conversation; so he knew you were very badly off for twenty-two dollars, and as soon as he could scrape it together, what does he do but send it to you in a private note, saying you can pay it back to him when you like."
"Yes," said Mildred, eagerly, "I found that note one afternoon on my return home; but in it he bound me over not to speak of where I got the money until he came back. I felt dreadfully about it; but as soon as mother got well I intended telling her the whole story, and devising some way of paying Roger right back; and I will yet, Miss Jenner."
There was a moment's pause before Mildred said, "But how about the store – the robbery?"
"My dear," said Miss Jenner, "I am of the opinion that that was all arranged between Tom Hardman and Mrs. Robbins. I've seen her, and she admits she told him the whole story. He was angry because you seemed to snub him; and you made him feel his vulgarity, and so he devised this trick out of revenge. If there was any robbery, he was the thief!"
"And have you seen him?" inquired Milly, tears of gratitude and thankfulness pouring down her cheeks.
"Yes," said Miss Jenner, "and he and his father say the thing 'may blow over'; but that won't do for me. The first day you're well enough, you must drive down there in my carriage, and have them tell you they withdraw the accusation, and apologize for having made it. Now you must not talk any more." And Miss Jenner kissed her young friend, and moved away, taking up a book in a distant part of the room.
Mildred never forgot the two weeks that followed. With Miss Jenner she had long talks, in which she realized not only the folly of her extravagance, but the actual sin of her running into debt. A great many things which she had never thought of as serious now appeared to her in the light of principles, without which, as Miss Jenner told her, she could not live a perfect or even an upright life. When the day came on which she was declared well enough to drive with Miss Jenner to Mr. Hardman's, Mildred felt too humbled to rejoice in being received with any honor.
The girls looked at her, as she followed Miss Jenner into Mr. Hardman's office, nudging each other, and casting half-envious glances toward their former companion. Mary Hardman was nowhere to be seen, but Mr. Tom was with his father, and received Miss Jenner and Mildred with a stiff sort of pompousness. Miss Jenner had very little to say, and it was only later that Milly fully recalled the scene – Mr. Hardman's apologies, and Mr. Tom's surly assent. When they came back to the store, Milly paused to say a few words here and there, and as she walked away, it was some relief to hear a voice saying,