"There, there, dear, don't cry."

"I oughtn't to stayed up-stairs yesterday in the cold," went on Flaxie, determined to free her mind. "That was the wickedest thing! But you were just as good as you could be, if you did trim the church; and I'll never do so again!"

"Oh, hush, dear; you shake the bed."

"I'm real bad in here, in my s-o-ul!" wailed Flaxie, squeezing her eyelids together tight, and laying her hand on her stomach. "Why don't God make me beautiful inside o' my soul?"

"Ask Him, dear child!"

"Will He?" said Flaxie, earnestly. "Oh, yes, I know;" and her eager face fell. "But He'll have to make me homely to do it, just like Miss Pike."

"Oh, no, my darling."

"Won't He? See what a orful cole-sore I've got on my mouth. If it would stay there, and stick on always, do you s'pose I'd grow good?" asked Flaxie, thoughtfully.

Aunt Charlotte almost smiled.

"'Cause I'm willing to be a little homely,—now truly—if I can have a nice so-o-ul," added the child, with a true and deep feeling of her own naughtiness that I am sure the angels must have been glad to see.

But she was shaking the bed again, and Uncle Ben drew her gently away, and took her down stairs in his arms to finish the rest of her "crazy Christmas."



CHAPTER IX.

MILLY VISITING.

Winter passed, spring came, and April was half over before the twin cousins met again. Then it was Milly's turn to go to Laurel Grove to see Flaxie. She had written a postal-card slowly, and with great pains, to say "she should be there to-morrow if it was pleasant."

But how it did rain! It had rained for two days as if the sky meant to pour itself away in tears; but on Wednesday the sun came rushing through the clouds, his face all aglow with smiles, and put an end to such dismal business. The rain ceased, the clouds scampered away and hid themselves, and the sky cleared up as bright as if nothing had ever been the matter.

Sweet little Milly looked out of the window, heard the birds sing, and whispered in her heart:

"Oh, how kind God is to give me a good day to go to Laurel Grove!"

She didn't own a pretty valise of brown canvas with leather straps like Flaxie's. All in the world she had was an old bandbox trunk that belonged to her mother, and she took no care of that, for Milly never "travelled alone."

"Well, little sobersides," said her father, putting the check in his pocket, the ticket in his hat, and opening a car-window before he sat down beside Milly. "Well, little sobersides, are you glad you're going visiting?"

"Yes, sir," said she, her eyes shining. She didn't laugh and clap her hands quite as much as Flaxie did, but you always knew when she was happy by the glad look in her eyes.

"I hope you two little folks won't get into too much mischief at Laurel Grove. Are you going to school?"

"Yes, sir; and oh, it's such an elegant schoolhouse!"

"Well, don't set it on fire."

Milly blushed.

"But the teacher isn't half so nice as Miss Pike."

The dear little girl had not been at Laurel Grove for a long while, but all the people in town seemed to remember her,—Mr. Lane the minister, Mr. Snow the postmaster, and everybody they met in the street. Her father noticed how they smiled upon her, as if they loved her, and it made his heart glad.

Preston drove his uncle and cousin home from the depot, but he almost ran into a lumber-wagon, and Mr. Allen thought he was too young a boy to be trusted with such a fiery horse as Whiz. Flaxie sat with him on the front seat of the carriage, dancing up and down, and turning around to say to Milly:

"Oh, I'm so happy I can't keep still." She looked like a bluebird, in her blue dress and sash, with a white chip bonnet, blue ribbon and blue feather, and Milly thought there was not another such girl in the world.

It was a charming place at Dr. Gray's, and the house was full of beautiful things, such as Milly did not see at her own home; but that never made her discontented or unhappy. If God gave Flaxie prettier things than He gave her, it was because He thought best to do so, and that was enough for Milly.

"O Aunt Emily, are you glad to see me?" said she, as Mrs. Gray kissed her over and over again.

"Yes, I'm just as glad as I can be, and I wish you were my own little girl," said Mrs. Gray, who had five children already.

The "little bit-of-est" one was a year old now, and didn't know Milly at all, but Phil know her and prattled away to her so fast that nobody else could be heard.

That afternoon she and Flaxie were in the stable, feeding Whiz with lumps of sugar, while the dog, Tantra Bogus, capered about them, giving their cheeks a "thou-sand" kisses with his long, loving tongue.

"Stop, Tantra Bogus; now we'll have to go and wash our faces," said Flaxie.

As they entered the kitchen by the outside door they met Mrs. Gray standing there talking to Preston.

"Here is a cup of jelly," said she, "and I'd like to have you take it to Sammy Proudfit."

This was Wednesday afternoon, and Preston was starting to go about half a mile up town to recite an extra lesson to his teacher, Mr. Garland.

"Oh, you're coming too, are you?" said he, looking around at Flaxie and Milly, who were skipping along behind him, drawing a handsome doll's carriage.

"Yes, we are going up on the bank to play with Blanche Jones and Fanny Townsend: mamma said we might," replied Flaxie, dancing.

Preston was very glad of the company of two such happy little girls, only he forgot to say so.

"And we've built a house of birch bark under the trees. But it hasn't any stove-pipe!" said Flaxie, who had never forgotten that unfortunate house that Jack built.

"And we're going to have a doll's party in it," remarked Milly.

"Oh, no, not a party, it's a reception," corrected Flaxie; "that's what Fanny Townsend says they call 'em in Washington. My biggest dolly, Christie Gretchen, is going to receive. Oh, you don't know how beautifully she's dressed! And all the other dollies are coming to call on her, with the cunningest little cards in their pockets."

"Oh, do your dollies play cards?"

"No, indeed; it's visiting cards,—don't you know?—with their names printed on them, just like ladies. Ninny did that."

As they chattered in this way they were drawing near the Proudfit house, which stood at the foot of the hill, and little Milly sang,

"There was an old woman lived under the hill;"

Preston sang to the same tune:

"And she had a little boy who was not very ill, And he went to bed, and he lies there still."

"Why, Preston Gray, did you make that all up yourself?" cried Flaxie, amazed at his genius.

But there was no time for more poetry, even if Preston had been able to make it, for they were standing now at the door. It was an old, tumble-down house. The children called it black, and in fact it was a sort of slate-color, though it had never been painted at all, except by the sun, wind, and rain. In the road before it three dirty children were poking sand, and they looked so shabby that Milly whispered:

"I shouldn't think they'd be called Proudfits: they don't look very proud!"

"No," replied Preston, trying to be witty, "the name doesn't fit."

Mrs. Proudfit was changing Sammy's pillow-cases when she heard the children knock, and came to the door with a pillow between her teeth. She was "proper glad of the jelly," as Preston thought she ought to be.

There was a smell of hot gingerbread in the air, which reminded Flaxie of the time ever so long ago, when she had taken supper in that house without leave; and there was Patty at the window this minute making faces. It is strange how things change to you as you grow older! Flaxie never cared to visit at that house now, for Patty wasn't a nice little girl at all; she not only teased away your playthings, but told wrong stories.

"Our baby's two months old, and he's got two teeth!" cried she, as Flaxie turned away; but nobody believed her.

The twin cousins and their little friends had a gay time that afternoon on the bank, and Christie Gretchen "received" with great dignity; but I have no time to talk of that now, I want to tell you something about Preston.

When they reached Mr. Garland's house, the little girls left him, and he walked up the gravel path to Mr. Garland's front door and rang the bell with a sober face.

"I don't believe I can say my lesson, and Mr. Garland will think I'm a dunce," said he to himself, with a quivering lip.

Now Preston Gray was remarkably handsome, and one of the dearest boys that ever lived, but not a great scholar. He could whittle chairs and sofas and churns for Flaxie with a jackknife, and I don't know how many ships and steam-engines he had made; but he did not learn his lessons very well.

To-day, after the recitation was over, Mr. Garland walked with him along the bank of the river.

"Preston, my fine little fellow," said he, kindly, "I can't bear to scold a boy I love so dearly; but I've been afraid for some time that you don't study this term as hard as usual; what's the matter?"

Tears sprang to Preston's eyes, but he brushed them off and pretended to be looking the other way.

"Now, seriously, what do you suppose boys were made for?" went on Mr. Garland, without the least idea Preston was crying; "you don't suppose they were made on purpose to play and have a good time?"

"I don' know, sir," replied Preston, clearing his throat, and trying to laugh; "perhaps they were made to play a good deal, you know, because they can't play when they grow to be men."

"Ah, Preston, Preston, I am not joking with you at all. If you were a small child like your sister Flaxie it would not matter so much whether you studied or not, but your father expects a great deal of his oldest son, and it grieves me to have to say to him—"

"Oh, don't, don't," wailed poor little Preston, "I'll do anything in the world if you won't talk to my father; I'll take my books home, I'll—I'll—"

"There, there, never mind it," said soft-hearted Mr. Garland, moved by the boy's distress, "if you really mean to do better—Why, look out, child, you'd have fallen over that stump if I hadn't pulled you back. Where in the world were your eyes?"

"I was looking at that big woman across the street," stammered Preston; "how funny she walks!"

"Woman? What woman? Why, that's a boy with a wheelbarrow," exclaimed Mr. Garland, in great surprise.

Preston blushed with all his might and dropped his chin.

"Please, don't tell anybody I took a wheelbarrow for a woman! They'd laugh at me. Of course I knew better as soon as I came to think."

Mr. Garland stopped suddenly and stared at Preston.

"Look up here into my face, my boy."

Preston raised his beautiful brown eyes,—those good eyes, which won everybody's love and trust; and his teacher gazed at them earnestly.

But Mr. Garland was not admiring their beauty or their gentle expression. He saw something else in Preston's eyes which startled him and gave him a pang. Not tears, for those had been dashed away, but a sort of thin mist lay over them, like that which veils the sun in cloudy weather.

"Can it be possible? Why, Preston, why, Preston, my boy," said Mr. Garland, taking the young face gently between his hands, "when did things begin to blur so and look dim to you?"

Preston did not answer.

"Tell me; don't be afraid."

"It's been," replied Preston, choking, "it's been a long while. The sun isn't so bright somehow as it was; and oh, Mr. Garland, the print in my books isn't so black as it used to be! But I didn't want to make a fuss about it, and have father know it."

"Why not?"

"Oh, he'd give me medicine, I suppose."

"My boy, my poor boy, you ought to have told him."

"Do you think so? Well, I hoped I'd get better, you know."

"Preston, is this the reason you don't learn your lessons any better?"

"I don't know. Yes, sir, I think so. I can't read the words in my books very well."

"You poor, blessed child! Growing blind," thought Mr. Garland; but did not say the words aloud.

"And I have to sit in the sun to see."

"I wish I had known this before, and I wouldn't have complained when you had bad lessons. Why didn't you tell me, you patient soul!"

"Oh, I don't know, sir; you didn't ask me."

"Good night," said Mr. Garland, in an unsteady voice. "And don't you study to-morrow one word. You may sit and draw pictures all day long if you like."

Preston smiled. He did not know what made his dear teacher say this, and place his hand on his shoulder so tenderly; but he was glad of it, very glad; for now it was certain that Mr. Garland would not blame him any more; and he ran home with a light heart.



CHAPTER X.

BLACKDROP.

"Oh, we had such an elegant time up there on the bank! only the boys came and plagued us," cried Flaxie, bursting into the house, followed by Milly.

She said it to her papa, but he did not appear to listen. He sat holding Preston on his knee, and looking at him sadly.

Then Flaxie turned to her mother.

"Why, mamma, Willy Patten threw kisses to me when he was a boy, and wasn't my cousin!"

But Mrs. Gray did not listen either. She too was looking at Preston. Mr. Garland had just been at the house talking with them about the dear child's eyes, and she and Dr. Papa were heavy at heart. Flaxie did not know of this, but she felt vaguely that something was wrong.

Milly felt it too, and almost wished she had gone home with her father in the afternoon train.

"What has mamma been crying about?" thought Julia. "I'm afraid Preston has been a naughty boy, for she and papa have looked very sober ever since Mr. Garland was here."

Preston himself understood the case a little better, and was saying to himself: "I guess there's something awful the matter with my eyes, or father wouldn't have told Mr. Garland he should take me to New York."

There were cold turkey, and pop-overs, and honey for supper, but it wasn't a pleasant meal; there was no chatting and laughing; and Dr. Papa hurried away from the table as soon as possible to go to see a sick lady up town.

It was some time before the children were told the dreadful news that Preston was losing his sight. They wondered the next week why he should be allowed to stay out of school and play, and why his father, who was always kind to him, should be so very gentle now, almost as gentle as he was to little Phil.

One day Dr. Gray took Preston to New York to see an oculist. An oculist is a physician who treats diseases of the eye.

When Dr. A. called Preston up to him, and looked at the beautiful eyes over which a veil was slowly stealing, he shook his head.

Poor little Preston! Not twelve years old, yet growing blind like an old man of ninety!

"But after he is blind, we can help him," said Dr. A., stroking the boy's white forehead. "When that dreadful veil, which is stealing over his eyes, has grown thick enough, then we can take it off, and he can see. But it is not thick enough yet. He must go home and wait."

Dr. Gray was not at all surprised by this. He had known all the while that Preston's eyes must grow worse before they could be made better. But how long the boy must wait, the oculist could not say; some months, at any rate, and perhaps a year.

It was a sorrowful time for the whole family when Dr. Gray took Preston home with him that night and told the story. Julia put her arms around her dear brother as if she wanted to hold him safe from this trial. Loving Julia! if darkness was coming upon him, she would surely be, as Uncle Ben had said:

"Like a little candle burning in the night."

And what would Flaxie be? I am afraid Preston did not expect much of Flaxie, she was such a flyaway child.

She cried bitterly now, and said:

"Oh, I wish 'twas my eyes, 'cause I'm a naughty little girl; but Preston is splendid!"

Milly didn't say a word, she only laid her soft cheek against Preston's hand to let him know she pitied him.

"There, there, don't feel so bad, all of you," said he, holding up his head grandly. "I can bear it, you see if I can't."

How they all loved him for that! And he did bear it nobly and patiently, and the whole family helped him. That is one comfort of having a father and mother, and brothers and sisters; they always do help you bear your troubles.

"Let's read to him," said Milly to Flaxie. So they read,—first one of them, and then the other,—whenever he wished. This would have been very pleasant if he had liked "nice books" such as little girls enjoy; but no, he chose stories of lion-tamers, and sea-serpents, and wild, dreadful Indians.

"Isn't it just awful?" said Flaxie to Milly; but they read away like young martyrs.

On the whole, as the family was so large, and every member of it so kind, Preston had a very good time, and seldom thought of his eyes.

One day the twin cousins were in the shade of the apple-blossoms, in what was called the "orchard garden," driving a carriage full of dolls to a "wedding picnic." Flaxie's dolls led a very gay life, and perhaps that was one reason they all faded so young.

Just as "Christie Gretchen" was alighting from the carriage, assisted by her young husband, "Dr. Preston Smith," and just as Milly had sweetened the lemonade exactly to the bride's taste, and was cutting the cake, there was a quick call from Preston.

"Girls, girls, come here?"

"Oh, dear," said Flaxie to Milly, "when the picnic is beginning so beautifully!"

But then they both remembered that Preston was growing blind and they must be kind to him; therefore Flaxie dropped Dr. Smith, and Milly dropped the cake, and they ran along to the stable.

Before they reached it, however, they had forgotten all about the picnic, for right in the stable-door stood a shaggy mustang pony, harnessed to a basket-phaeton; and in the phaeton sat Preston holding the reins, while Dr. Papa, mamma, and Julia stood looking on and smiling.

"Oh, I never did see anything so cunning," cried Flaxie, forgetting she had seen several just such ponies when she went to the seaside with Mrs. Prim.

"Whoa! Jump in, both of you," said Preston, turning the phaeton half round. His face was all aglow with delight.

"Yes, jump in," said Dr. Papa and mamma.

"It's Preston's pony," cried Julia, who had kept the secret for a whole day and night, till it "seemed as if she should fly."

The way that gentle little beast walked out of the yard, the way he trotted after he turned into the road! I really cannot give a proper account of it myself; it needs a little girl about Flaxie's age to describe a pony.

"Oh, he's a darling, a beauty, the sweetest little thing, not half as big as Whiz! Why, Preston, aren't you just as happy? Is it your carriage? Where's the whip? Oh, the silver reins! Didn't they cost a thou-sand dollars? What do you call the pony? May I drive?"



"Yes, by and by, when my eyes grow so bad that I can't see," replied Preston, a little sadly in spite of his joy; "but father says I may drive now."

Flaxie had reached out for the reins, but Milly pinched her,—one of those sly pinches that both the cousins understood,—and she folded her little hands to keep them still. She did want to drive this very minute, but she wouldn't plague Preston.

"Who is going to take care of your pony?" she asked.

They had a boy, Henry Mann, who took care of Whiz and Hiawatha.

"I shall attend to my pony myself," replied Preston, driving off at high speed.

"Well, you must give him a quart of granary as quick as we get home," said Miss Frizzle, looking wondrous wise; "Johnny Townsend feeds his pony with granary—a whole quart."

Preston laughed and chirrupped. He was "just as happy," there was no doubt about that.

"I guess I'll call him Blackdrop, wouldn't you, though?"

The little girls thought it was a queer name, but they said:

"Oh, yes, if you want to call him Blackdrop, I would."

"It won't do any hurt," added Flaxie encouragingly.

I wish Blackdrop could have known how happy he made the whole family. Milly didn't say much, but her eyes shone as she patted his neck, Julia sang every time she saw him, Phil "hugged him grizzly," and Grandma Gray who was very timid about horses, said she wasn't any more afraid of him than if he had been a Newfoundland dog.

It was the funniest thing, but really and truly, before many days that dear old lady used to step into the pony carriage and let little Flaxie drive her all around the town! Everybody nodded and smiled as the couple passed by, and said it was "the cunningest sight," for grandma wasn't so very much bigger than Flaxie, and they looked like two little girls riding out, only grandma's hair was silver-white, and Flaxie's spun gold.

Through the whole summer Preston's eyes grew worse and worse. It was all twilight to him now, or, as somebody calls it, "the edge of the dark." He still took care of Blackdrop, by the help of Henry, but he could not ride out unless somebody else held the reins.

"But then this sort of thing won't last always," said he to his particular friend, Bert Abbott. "Just wait a year or two, sir, and I shall be as good as anybody."



CHAPTER XI.

FLAXIE A COMFORT.

The days went on, and still Preston's eyes were not "ready." Winter came, then spring, and Milly paid another visit to Laurel Grove. She was one of those quiet, happy little girls, who make hardly any more noise than a sunbeam; but everybody likes to see a sunbeam, and everybody was glad to see Milly.

She was even more welcome than usual at Laurel Grove just now, for by this time Preston's eyes were "ready," and his father was about taking him to New York.

There were four grown people left in the house, and five children beside Milly; still it seemed lonesome, for everybody was thinking about Preston, and wondering if the doctor would hurt him very much.

"He can't see what the doctor is doing to him," said Flaxie to Milly; "I shouldn't think God would let my brother be blind, my good brother Preston!"

"God knows what is best," replied Milly, meekly.

"Yes, but, oh dear, I feel so bad! Let's go out in the kitchen and see what Dodo is doing."

Grandma, mamma, and Julia looked sadder than ever to hear Flaxie talk in this way and run out of the parlor crying.

Dora stood by the kitchen-table ironing very cheerfully.

"Dodo," said Flaxie, "what shall we do to have a good time?"

"Such a funny child as you are, Miss Flaxie," said the girl, trying another flatiron; "haven't you everything to your mind, and haven't you always had ever since you were born?"

"No, indeed, Dodo," said Flaxie, mournfully, breaking off a corner from a sheet of sponge-cake which stood cooling in the window; "I don't want my brother to be blind."

"Well, but you can't help it, though. So you'd better not go round the house, moping in this way and worrying your mother," returned Dora, making a quick plunge with her flatiron into the folds of a calico dress.

Worrying her mother! Flaxie had not thought of that. She supposed she was showing very kind and tender feelings when she cried about Preston.

"Let's go back to the parlor," said Milly; "perhaps Aunt Emily will feel better if we talk and laugh and play with the baby."

"That's the nicest little thing I ever saw," thought Dora, gazing after Milly; "she don't fret about her own feelings, but tries to make other folks happy."

This was very true, but you mustn't suppose that Flaxie didn't also try to make other people happy. She did whenever she could think of it. She was really learning lessons in unselfishness every day; and how could she help it when everybody in the house set her such a good example?

She and Milly went back to the parlor now, and talked to grandma about their western cousins, Pollio and Posy Pitcher; and then they made little Phil eat apples like a squirrel,—a very funny performance. After that they told him to go into the middle of the room, make a bow, and "speak his piece." That was funny too, and Ethel joined in on a high key:

"Poor little fish, I know you wish To live as well as I; I will not hook you from the brook, Or even wish to try.

"And you, old frog, behind the log, I will not stop your song; Your great round eyes may watch the flies, I will not do you wrong."

Mrs. Gray and grandma did not know this exhibition was called for on purpose to amuse them, but they laughed heartily, and felt the better for it; and so did Flaxie and Milly. Wasn't it much better than sitting in silence and thinking about Preston, when they couldn't help him at all?

You may know it was a very sad day for the poor boy. When he found himself in the "awful chair," his heart failed him and he sprang out of it.

"No, no, he never could have his eyes cut with little daggers. Even if they did give him ether, he couldn't; Papa must take him right home again. It was of no use!"

It was pitiful to see Preston's struggles with himself, and the still greater struggles of the father, who tried to hide his feelings for his boy's sake.

"Wait till to-morrow," said Preston; "just wait, and I will!"

So they waited.

All the afternoon Preston's heart kept sinking down, down, like a plummet let into the sea, and his father's heart sank with it, for a child cannot feel a sorrow that does not touch his parent too.

But it chanced in the night, as Preston lay awake, that he fell to thinking how his father loved him.

"He would do anything in this world for me. He'd take his eyes right out and give them to me if he could."

And then Preston wondered if it were really true that God loved him better yet?

Oh, yes, loved him so that he would never, never let anything really bad happen to his little boy.

"So this isn't really bad," thought he, clapping his hands softly under the coverlet; "it seems awful, but it isn't. God sent it, and I can bear it—yes, for his sake and father's sake!"

"Surely what He wills is best, Happy in His will I rest,"

repeated Preston, and went quietly to sleep "like closing flowers at night."

Dr. Gray was joyfully surprised at his bright looks next morning.

"Smile up your face, Dr. Papa," said he, playfully. This was what Flaxie used to say in her baby days, when they didn't call her Flaxie Frizzle, but Pinky Pearly. "Smile up your face, Dr. Papa, and see what Preston Gray can do."

The horror was over then for Dr. Gray; his son was going to behave like a man.

He did not know when he saw Preston take his seat so calmly in that "awful chair," that he was strong because he felt God's arms about him.

But when Preston left that chair, the trouble was not all over. He could not bear any light yet, so he had to go home a few days afterwards with a bandage over his eyes, and stay in a dark room for many weeks.

But didn't they make the room pleasant for him? Didn't they treat him like a prince? Didn't Bert Abbott and the other boys go up and down on that stair-carpet till they nearly wore it out?

Of course Julia was good to the young prisoner; you would have expected that. Flaxie was good too. She seemed at this time to have forgotten all her little fretful, troublesome ways, and was always willing to stay in Preston's chamber, and tell him everything that happened in the house or out of it; just how the pony looked and acted, and how he coughed a little dot of a mouse out of his nose, supposed to have run up his nostril when he was eating his "granary." Flaxie could be very interesting when she chose, and Preston's face began to light up at the sound of her little feet on the stairs.

She had never loved her brother so well as she did now that she had become useful to him, and it made her very happy to hear Preston tell his mother that "Flaxie grew better and better; she was almost as good now as Julia."

Milly had gone home, but she came back again in June. You see that the twin cousins were not very particular about taking turns in their visits, but went and came just as their two mothers found it most convenient.

By this time Preston could venture out of doors on a dark day or in the evening; but I am sorry to say he was obliged to wear spectacles. This amused the little ones, Phil and Ethel, but Flaxie was very sorry.

"I do pity those spectacles," said she to Milly in a low voice, as they walked under the apple-trees with their arms around each other's waist.

"Oh, well," returned Milly brightly, "he won't have to wear them always."

"Yes, he will. He said he was afraid the boys would laugh when they saw him, but they didn't. Some of them cried though; I saw Bert Abbott wiping his eyes."

After a while, the little girls, and indeed all Preston's friends, became so accustomed to seeing him in glasses that they did not mind it all. He could see perfectly well, and was as happy as ever; so it didn't seem worth while to "pity his spectacles."

And now I must tell you one thing more about this dear boy, and then my story will be done.



CHAPTER XII.

BRAVE PRESTON GRAY.

"Never saw such folks for jelly; they eat it by the quart. Wish I could be sick once in a while, and get some myself," muttered Preston, as he settled his school-book under his arm, and took the cup his mother had brought to the door.

It was Jimmy Proudfit who was sick now, and Mrs. Gray was in the habit of sending him little dainties by Preston, who often grumbled about it, and said he was "tired of the whole Proudfit family." Mrs. Gray never took any notice of these unfeeling remarks, knowing they meant nothing, for Preston was an extremely kind-hearted boy. He had a few faults, of course, and one of them was a strong dislike for doing errands. He was on his way now to recite a Latin lesson to his kind teacher, Mr. Garland; and, as usual, the twin cousins were close at his heels, skipping and dancing, for they never could walk when they felt truly gay.

"Where are you going?" asked Preston, looking back through his spectacles.

"Going up on the bank to play 'Uncle Tom.' Blanche Jones and Fanny Townsend and everybody else is going, and 'twill be just splendid," replied Flaxie, as Preston walked up to Mrs. Proudfit's door to deliver the jelly.

There were four children playing in the sand this time, and one of them was Patty. The twin cousins thought they would go by them without turning their heads, but Patty called out, "Where are you running to in such a hurry?"

"Oh, we're going up to play on the bank there somewhere," replied Flaxie, trying to shake off the baby, who had been eating candy and was pulling at her frock with his sticky fingers.

"Up on the bank? Well, I'm agoin' too," said that black-eyed, disagreeable Patty.

And without waiting to see whether she was wanted or not, she followed along with her two dirty sisters; and behind them toddled the baby!

Preston marched on in front, looking very much amused; but Flaxie's face was quite red. She pinched Milly's arm, and then Milly pinched hers. It was a strange way to go to a party—the party of the season; and Flaxie had a great mind to run home; only her mother had charged her again and again not to be rude; so she said in a very calm, polite manner:

"Patty, don't you think 'twould be a good plan for you to go in the house and see Jimmy? He's sick."

Patty only laughed, and the four children scuffled along just the same behind Flaxie and Milly, making the dirt fly with their bare toes.

Oh, it was all very well for Preston to whistle! It didn't trouble him, of course, for he wasn't going to the party! He stopped in a few minutes at Mr. Garland's beautiful brown house with the green vines around it, and made a low bow as he said "Good-bye."

Flaxie scowled. What would Fanny Townsend and Blanche Jones and all the other nice girls say to see her bringing along such a train of dirty gypsies? She and Milly kept close together, never turning their heads till they came to the place "on the bank up there somewhere," where they were to have the party.

Fanny and Blanche, and nearly everybody else, had arrived already, in clean frocks, with faces just washed; and, dear! dear! who wanted those Proudfits? But the little girls in Laurel Grove were for the most part very well-bred, so they said, "How do you do, Patty?" and "How do you do, Gretty?" and "How do you do, Baby?" just as if they had expected the whole family; though it was really a picnic party, and nobody had a right to come to it without an invitation. Patty kept close beside Flaxie; but Bubby, the fourteen months' old baby, made himself generally disagreeable by wiping the candy and sand off his hands upon the little girls' skirts.

"Let's play something," said Flaxie nervously.

It was a beautiful place to play. There were trees for hide-and-seek, flat spots for croquet, and little hills and hollows for everything else. The village children used this for a sort of park, and the river seemed to look on and laugh to see them so gay. It was a very sober, steady river above and below, but right here it went leaping and tumbling over some rocks, making a merry cascade,—just for fun, you would think. The children liked to skip stones and see them spin up and down in the foam; but they had been warned not to go too near the bank. Nobody had ever fallen in yet, but it wasn't a safe place for very little folks, certainly not for roly-poly babies like Bubby Proudfit. He was very clumsy, falling down, rolling over, and picking himself up again every five minutes. Patty meant to watch him, but he was not very interesting, and the little girls quite bewitched her with their kind smiles and pretty ways.

Flaxie Frizzle was one of the youngest, but led off in most of the games. She was little Eva, and died on a bed of grass "elegantly," while everybody else groaned and howled, especially poor Uncle Tom. Uncle Tom was Milly, in a black mask of Preston's, which had been played with till it was cracked in fifty places, and made Uncle Tom look about two hundred years old.

Then they had the "Old Woman in the Shoe," and Flaxie was a fierce and cruel mother, whipping her children so "soundly" that you could hear them scream half a mile off.

Patty thought all this was beautiful, and a longing look came into her bold black eyes, as she gazed at the old woman.

"Oh, if I could wear red stockings, with flowers on them, like Flaxie! If I could be a doctor's little girl, and live in a house with blinds and trees and flowers, and have a cousin come to see me!"

It wasn't strange that Patty should feel like this, and want to cover up her bare feet in the grass; but in admiring Flaxie she forgot entirely to watch Bubby, and that was a great mistake. He didn't care, he never liked to be watched; it was fine fun to see the whole world before him and go just where he chose. Didn't the trees and grass and flowers all belong to him! To be sure they did, and he meant to carry some of them home. But while he was trudging about, and making up his little mind where he would begin to pull, he espied the river sparkling in the sun, and that was finest of all. "Pitty, pitty!" cried he, and thought he would carry the river home too. How nice it would be to splash in! He fairly shouted at the idea, for having never seen a bath-tub, he hadn't learned to be afraid of soap and water. "Pitty, pitty!" said he, toddling down with outstretched hands toward the dashing, dancing, merry, white cascade; while the children, running away from the terrible old woman, and trying to see which could scream loudest, never saw or heard him at all.

Ah, baby, foolish baby, do you think you can seize that bright river and carry it home? No, it is the bright river that is going to seize you, unless somebody stops your little feet before they get to the brink!

About this time Preston Gray had finished reciting his lesson. It was not a very good one, though his teacher found no fault whatever; and now instead of going home, Preston strolled along toward the "Children's Park," thinking how strange it was that little girls should scream so much louder than boys at their games.

"Flaxie is a gay one," said he, as he saw her chasing her children with a white birch switch; but at that moment he saw something else that made his heart stand still. The Proudfit baby was scrambling down the bank, just above the falls!

Preston called out, but it was of no use; there was not a man to be seen, and if there had been twenty men they could have heard nothing, while the little girls were making such a noise. He ran with all his might, but by the time he reached the bank, the baby had tumbled headlong into the river!

What was to be done? Preston was only a little boy himself, let me tell you, and though he had learned to swim, the current was strong right here, and there was great danger of his being carried over the falls.

What would you have done, my little reader? Perhaps you would have stopped to think a good many times, saying to yourself:

"Oh, I don't dare, I don't dare!"

And then, ah, then, it might have been too late!

Preston was called a slow boy, but he didn't stop to think once; he did his thinking while he was pulling off his shoes.

"I must do it!" that was all he thought. And then he dashed in.

Bubby was in deep water already, and his struggles were carrying him down stream. Preston seized him by his calico frock, and tried to drag him toward the bank; but that dreadful baby had always had a habit of nipping at everything like a snapping-turtle, and now he caught Preston's throat between his thumb and forefinger, half strangling him. And, oh, the current was so swift!

For a moment it was life or death with both of them; but Preston managed to unclasp the tiny hand, hold it down, and land the poor little fellow safe at last.

"God helped me—I knew he would!" thought brave Preston Gray, as he drew his first long breath on the bank.

Of course all the little girls had gathered around him, screaming in chorus, and it was a noisy procession that followed the weeping Patty down the street, with the dripping baby in her arms.

"'Twas my brother that saved him, 'twas my brother Preston!" cried Flaxie to everybody they met. "He jumped into the river and pulled out the baby!"

That wasn't the end of it. There was another procession in the evening, and this one stopped at Dr. Gray's gate. It was the Brass Band, out in uniform; but Preston hadn't the least idea what for, till the men paused at the end of a tune, swung their caps, and gave "Three cheers for Master Preston Gray!"

Even then he didn't understand. He hid behind his father and thought he should like to know what his mother was crying about.

"Hurrah!" said the leader again, Major Patten, swinging his tall fur cap, which was the pride of the whole company; "hurrah for the boy that risked his life to save a drowning baby!"

"Oh, is that it? Anybody'd have done that!" thought little Preston, hiding again. He was a modest boy; but his sister Flaxie, you know, was quite too bold.

"Why don't he come out?" whispered she, pulling at his sleeve.

"Hush, let him alone," said Dr. Gray, with tears in his eyes.

And then he raised the noble boy in his arms, so the men could see him, for that was what they wanted. But still Preston hid his face. His heart was full, and he couldn't look up when those people were praising him so.

By this time there were lamps lighted in every window of Dr. Gray's house, and even in the trees; and though the moon was shining her best, Major Patten, with the wonderful fur cap, asked Preston to stand beside him and hold a lamp, that he might see to read his music.

Preston stood there with the light shining on his pure, good face; and then the men played, "See the Conquering Hero comes," the "Marsellaise," and a dozen other tunes, while their uniforms made such a dazzle of red and gold that Flaxie could not help dancing about like a wild thing for joy.

It was not so with thoughtful Milly. She snuggled down on the piazza beside Julia, and looked on quietly.

"I'm glad Preston was so good," thought she; "perhaps he wouldn't have been so very good if he hadn't had those blind eyes and spectacles. How God must love him! Papa says Julia is like a little candle, and I'm sure Preston is like a candle too. Why, where is Flaxie going now?"

Flaxie was flying down the hill after Henry, the stable-boy. She had heard her papa tell him to go to Mr. Springer's for some ice-cream, and she wanted to say: "Get it pink, Henry; get the pinkest ice-cream you can find!"

Then when the men were seated all about the yard and on the piazza, eating their pink ice-cream, somebody threw up a rocket; and that was the end of the gayest, brightest evening our little friend Flaxie Frizzle had ever known in her life.



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SOPHIE MAY'S "LITTLE-FOLKS" BOOKS



Illustrated, Comprising:—

"The authoress of The Little Prudy Stories would be elected Aunty-laureate if the children had an opportunity, for the wonderful books she writes for their amusement. She is the Dickens of the nursery, and we do not hesitate to say develops the rarest sort of genius in the specialty of depicting smart little children."—Hartford Post.

LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS, BOSTON.

COPYRIGHT, 1884, BY LEE AND SHEPARD.

SOPHIE MAY'S "LITTLE-FOLKS" BOOKS



"The children will not be left without healthful entertainment and kindly instruction so long as Sophie May (Miss Rebecca S. Clarke) lives and wields her graceful pen in their behalf, Miss Clarke has made a close and loving study of childhood, and she is almost idolized by the crowd of 'nephews and nieces' who claim her as aunt. Nothing to us can ever be quite so delightfully charming as were the 'Dotty Dimple' and the 'Little Prudy' books to our youthful imagination, but we have no doubt the little folks of to-day will find the story of 'Flaxie Frizzle' and her young friends just as fascinating. There is a sprightliness about all of Miss Clarke's books that attracts the young, and their purity, their absolute cleanliness, renders them invaluable in the eyes of parents and all who are interested in the welfare of children."— Morning Star.

"Genius comes in with 'Little Prudy.' Compared with her, all other book-children are cold creations of literature; she alone is the real thing. All the quaintness of children, its originality, its tenderness and its teasing, its infinite uncommon drollery, the serious earnestness of its fun, the fun of its seriousness, the naturalness of its plays, and the delicious oddity of its progress, all these united for dear Little Prudy to embody them."—North American Review.

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SOPHIE MAY'S "LITTLE-FOLKS" BOOKS



Illustrated, Comprising:—

LITTLE PRUDY. LITTLE PRUDY'S SISTER SUSIE. LITTLE PRUDY'S CAPTAIN HORACE. LITTLE PRUDY'S COUSIN GRACE. LITTLE PRUDY'S STORY BOOK. LITTLE PRUDY'S DOTTY DIMPLE.

In neat box. Price 75 cents per volume.

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SOPHIE MAY'S "LITTLE-FOLKS" BOOKS

LITTLE PRUDY.

"I have been wanting to say a word about a book for children, perfect of its kind—I mean Little Prudy. It seems to me the greatest book of the season for children. The authoress has a genius for story-telling. Prudy's letter to Mr. 'Gustus Somebody must be genuine; if an invention, it shows a genius akin to that of the great masters. It is a positive kindness to the little ones to remind their parents that there is such a book as Little Prudy."—Springfield Republican.

LITTLE PRUDY'S SISTER SUSIE.

"Every little girl and boy who has made the acquaintance of that funny 'Little Prudy' will be eager to read this book, in which she figures quite as largely as her bigger sister, though the joys and troubles of poor Susie make a very interesting story."—Portland Transcript.

"Certainly one of the most cunning, natural, and witty little books we ever read."—Hartford Press.

LITTLE PRUDY'S CAPTAIN HORACE.

"These are such as none but Sophie May can write, and we know not where to look for two more choice and beautiful volumes—Susie for girls and Horace for boys. They are not only amusing and wonderfully entertaining, but teach most effective lessons of patience, kindness, and truthfulness. Our readers will find a good deal in them about Prudy, for so many things are always happening to her that the author finds it impossible to keep her out."

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SOPHIE MAY'S "LITTLE-FOLKS" BOOKS



SPECIMEN OF "LITTLE PRUDY" CUTS.

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SOPHIE MAY'S "LITTLE-FOLKS" BOOKS

LITTLE PRUDY'S STORY BOOK.

"This story book is a great favorite with the little folks, for it contains just such stories as they like to hear their aunt and older sister tell; and learn them by heart and tell them over to one another as they set out the best infant tea-set, or piece a baby-quilt, or dress dolls, or roll marbles. A book to put on the book-shelf in the playroom where Susie and Prudy, Captain Horace, Cousin Grace, and all the rest of the 'Little Prudy' folks are kept."—Vermont Record.

LITTLE PRUDY'S COUSIN GRACE.

"An exquisite picture of little-girl life at school and at home, and gives an entertaining account of a secret society which originated in the fertile brain of Grace, passed some comical resolutions at first, but was finally converted into a Soldier's Aid Society. Full of life, and fire, and good advice; the latter sugar-coated, of course, to suit the taste of little folks."—Press.

LITTLE PRUDY'S DOTTY DIMPLE.

"Dotty Dimple is the plague of Prudy's life, and yet she loves her dearly. Both are rare articles in juvenile literature, as real as Eva and Topsy of 'Uncle Tom' fame. Witty and wise, full of sport and study, sometimes mixing the two in a confusing way, they ran bubbling through many volumes, and make everybody wish they could never grow up or change, they are so bright and cute."

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SOPHIE MAY'S "LITTLE-FOLKS" BOOKS



"You wide-awake little boys, who make whistles of willow, and go fishing and training,—Horace is very much like you, I suppose. He is by no means perfect, but he is brave and kind, and scorns a lie. I hope you and he will shake hands and be friends."

SPECIMEN OF ILLUSTRATIONS TO PRUDY BOOKS.

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SOPHIE MAY'S "LITTLE-FOLKS" BOOKS



Six Volumes. Illustrated. Comprising:—

DOTTY DIMPLE AT HER GRANDMOTHER'S. DOTTY DIMPLE OUT WEST. DOTTY DIMPLE AT HOME. DOTTY DIMPLE AT PLAY. DOTTY DIMPLE AT SCHOOL. DOTTY DIMPLE'S FLYAWAY.

In a neat box. Price 75 cents per volume.



"'Please stop,' said Dotty faintly, and the boy came to her, elbowing. 'I want some of that pop-corn so much! I could buy it if you'd hold this baby till I put my hand in my pocket.' The youth laughed, but for the sake of 'making a trade' set down his basket and took the 'enfant terrible.' There was an instant attack upon his hair, which was so long and straggling as to prove an easy prey to the enemy."

SPECIMEN OF "DOTTY DIMPLE" ILLUSTRATIONS

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SOPHIE MAY'S "LITTLE-FOLKS" BOOKS

DOTTY DIMPLE AT HER GRANDMOTHER'S.

"Sophie May's excellent pen has perhaps never written anything more pleasing to children, especially little girls, than Dotty Dimple. If the little reader who follows Dotty through these dozen chapters,—from her visit to her grandmother to the swing under the trees,—he or she will say: 'It has been a treat to read about Dotty Dimple, she's so cunning.'"—Herald of Gospel Liberty.

DOTTY DIMPLE OUT WEST.

"Dotty's trip was jolly. In the cars where she saw so many people that she thought there'd be nobody left in any of the houses, she offers to hold somebody's baby, and when it begins to cry she stuffs pop-corn into its mouth, nearly choking it to death. Afterwards, in pulling a man's hair, she is horrified at seeing his wig come off, and gasps out 'O dear, dear, dear, I didn't know your hair was so tender.' Altogether, she is the cunningist chick that ever lived."—Oxford Press.

DOTTY DIMPLE AT HOME.

"This little book is as full of spice as any of its predecessors, and well sustains the author's reputation as the very cleverest of all writers of this species of children's books. Were there any doubt on this point, the matter might be easily tested by inquiry in half the households in the city, where the book is being revelled over."—Boston Home Journal.

SOPHIE MAY'S "LITTLE-FOLKS" BOOKS

[Illustration: "As Dotty seized two locks of the Major's hair, one in each hand, and pulled them both as if she meant to draw them out by the roots, out they came! Yes, entirely out; and more than that, all the rest of his hair came too. His head was left as smooth as an apple. You see how it was. He wore a wig, and just for play had slyly unfastened it, and allowed Miss Dotty to pull it off. The perfect despair of her little face amused him vastly, but he did not smile; he looked very severe. 'See what you have done,' said he. Major Laydie's entire head of hair lay at her feet, as brown and wavy as ever it was. Dotty looked at it with horror. The idea of scalping a man."

SPECIMEN OF "DOTTY DIMPLE" ILLUSTRATIONS.

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SOPHIE MAY'S "LITTLE-FOLKS" BOOKS

DOTTY DIMPLE AT SCHOOL.

"Miss Dotty is a peremptory little body, with a great deal of human nature in her, who wins our hearts by her comic speeches and funny ways. She complains of being bewitched by people, and the wind 'blows her out,' and she thinks if her comrade dies in the snow-storm she will be 'dreadfully 'shamed of it,' and has rather a lively time with all her trials in going to school."—New York Citizen.

DOTTY DIMPLE AT PLAY.

"'Charming Dotty Dimple' as she is so universally styled, has become decidedly a favorite with young and old, who are alike pleased with her funny sayings and doings. Dotty At Play will be found very attractive, and the children, especially the girls, will be delighted with her adventures."—Boston Express.

DOTTY DIMPLE'S FLYAWAY.

"This is the final volume of the Dotty Dimple Series. It relates how little Flyaway provisioned herself with cookies and spectacles and got lost on a little hill while seeking to mount to heaven, and what a precious alarm there was until she was found, and the subsequent joy at her recovery, with lots of quaint speeches and funny incidents."—North American.

"A Little Red Riding-Hoodish story, sprightly and takingly told." —American Farmer.

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SOPHIE MAY'S "LITTLE-FOLKS" BOOKS



Six Volumes. Illustrated. Comprising:—

LITTLE FOLKS ASTRAY. PRUDY KEEPING HOUSE. AUNT MADGE'S STORY. LITTLE GRANDMOTHER. LITTLE GRANDFATHER. MISS THISTLEDOWN.

Price 75 cents per volume.

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SOPHIE MAY'S "LITTLE-FOLKS" BOOKS

LITTLE FOLKS ASTRAY.

"This is a book for the little ones of the nursery or playroom. It introduces all the old favorites of the Prudy and Dotty books with new characters and funny incidents. It is a charming book, wholesome and sweet in every respect, and cannot fail to interest children under twelve years of age."—Christian Register.

PRUDY KEEPING HOUSE.

"How she kept it, why she kept it, and what a good time she had playing cook, and washerwoman, and ironer, is told as only Sophie May can tell stories. All the funny sayings and doings of the queerest and cunningest little woman ever tucked away in the covers of a book will please little folks and grown people alike."—Press.

AUNT MADGE'S STORY.

"Tells of a little mite of a girl, who gets into every conceivable kind of scrape and out again with lightning rapidity, through the whole pretty little book. How she nearly drowns her bosom friend, and afterwards saves her by a very remarkable display of little-girl courage. How she gets left by a train of cars, and loses her kitten and finds it again, and is presented with a baby sister 'come down from heaven,' with lots of smart and funny sayings."—Boston Traveller.

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SOPHIE MAY'S "LITTLE-FOLKS" BOOKS



SPECIMEN CUT TO "LITTLE PRUDY'S FLYAWAY SERIES."

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SOPHIE MAY'S "LITTLE-FOLKS" BOOKS

LITTLE GRANDMOTHER.

"Grandmother Parlen when a little girl is the subject. Of course that was ever so long ago, when there were no lucifer matches, and steel and tinder were used to light fires; When soda and saleratus had never been heard of, but people made their pearl ash by soaking burnt crackers in water; when the dressmaker and the tailor and the shoemaker went from house to house twice a year to make the dresses and coats of the family."—Transcript.

LITTLE GRANDFATHER.

"The story of Grandfather Parlen's little boy life, of the days of knee breeches and cocked hats, full of odd incidents, queer and quaint sayings, and the customs of 'ye olden time.' These stories of Sophie May's are so charmingly written that older folks may well amuse themselves by reading them. That same warm sympathy with childhood, the earnest naturalness, the novel charm of the preceding volumes will be found in this."—Christian Messenger.

MISS THISTLEDOWN.

"One of the queerest of the Prudy family. Read the chapter heads and you will see just how much fun there must be in it: 'Fly's Heart,' 'Taking a Nap,' 'Going to the Fair,' 'The Dimple Dot,' 'The Hole in the Home,' 'The Little Bachelor,' 'Fly's Bluebeard,' 'Playing Mamma,' 'Butter Spots,' 'Polly's Secret,' 'The Snow Man,' 'The Owl and the Humming- Bird,' 'Talks of Hunting Deer,' and 'The Parlen Patchwork.'"

THE END