"Well," said she, "did you have a nice time at Hannah Maria's?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"What makes you look so sober?"

Mehitable said nothing.

"Did you play dolls?"

"Hannah Maria's too big."

"Stuff!" cried Aunt Susy. Then her shortcake was burning, and she had to run in to see to it.

Mehitable took her china doll out of the carriage, set her carefully on the step, and then lugged the carriage laboriously to a corner of the piazza, where she always kept it. It was a very nice large carriage, and rather awkward to be kept in the house. Then she took her doll and went in through the kitchen to the sitting-room. Her mother and grandmother and other aunt were in there, and they were all glad to see her, and inquired if she had had a nice time at Hannah Maria's. But Mehitable was very sober. She did not seem like herself. Her mother asked whether she did not feel well, and, in spite of her saying that she did, would not let her eat any of her aunt Susy's shortcake for supper. She had to eat some stale bread, and shortly after supper she had to go to bed. Her mother went up-stairs with her, and tucked her in.

"She's all tired out," she said to the others, "it's quite a little walk over to the Greens', and I s'pose she played hard. I don't really like to have her play with a girl so much older as Hannah Maria. She isn't big enough to run and race."

"She didn't seem like herself when she came into the yard," said Aunt Susy.

"I should have given her a good bowl of thoroughwort tea, when she went to bed," said her grandmother.

"The kitchen fire isn't out yet; I can steep some thoroughwort now," said Aunt Susy, and she forthwith started. She brewed a great bowl of thoroughwort tea and carried it up to Mehitable. Mehitable's wistful innocent blue eyes stared up out of the pillows at Aunt Susy and the bowl.

"What is it?" she inquired.

"A bowl of nice hot thoroughwort tea. You sit up and drink it right down, like a good little girl."

"I'm not sick, Aunt Susy," Mehitable pleaded, faintly. She hated thoroughwort tea.

"Well, never mind if you're not. Sit right up. It'll do you good."

Aunt Susy's face was full of loving determination. So Mehitable sat up. She drank the thoroughwort tea with convulsive gulps. Once in a while she paused and rolled her eyes piteously over the edge of the bowl.

"Drink it right down," said Aunt Susy.

And she drank it down. There never was a more obedient little girl than Mehitable Lamb. Then she lay back, and Aunt Susy tucked her up, and went down with the empty bowl.

"Did she drink it all?" inquired her grandmother.

"Every mite."

"Well, she'll be all right in the morning, I guess. There isn't anything better than a bowl of good, hot, thoroughwort tea."

The twilight was deepening. The Lamb family were all in the sitting-room. They had not lighted the lamp, the summer dusk was so pleasant. The windows were open. All at once a dark shadow appeared at one of them. The women started—all but Grandmother Lamb. She was asleep in her chair.

"Who's there?" Aunt Susy asked, in a grave tone.

"Have you seen anything of Hannah Maria?" said a hoarse voice. Then they knew it was Mr. Green.

Mrs. Lamb and the aunts pressed close to the window.

"No, we haven't," replied Mrs. Lamb. "Why, what's the matter?"

"We can't find her anywheres. Mother went over to Lawrence this afternoon, and I was down in the east field hayin'. Mother, she got home first, and Hannah Maria wasn't anywhere about the house, an' she'd kind of an idea she'd gone over to the Bennets'; she'd been talkin' about goin' there to get a tidy-pattern of the Bennet girl, so she waited till I got home. I jest put the horse in again, an' drove over there, but she's not been there. I don't know where she is. Mother's most crazy."

"Where is she?" they cried, all altogether.

"Sittin' out in the road, in the buggy."

Mrs. Lamb and the aunts hurried out. They and Mr. Green stood beside the buggy, and Mrs. Green thrust her anxious face out.

"Oh, where do you suppose she is?" she groaned.

"Now, do keep calm, Mrs. Green," said Mrs. Lamb, in an agitated voice. "We've got something to tell you. Mehitable was over there this afternoon."

"Oh, she wasn't, was she?"

"Yes, she was. She went about four o'clock, and she stayed an hour and a half. Hannah Maria was all right then. Now, I tell you what we'll do, Mrs. Green: you just get right out of the buggy, and Mr. Green will hitch the horse, and we'll go in and ask Mehitable just how she left Hannah Maria. Don't you worry. You keep calm, and we'll find her."

Mrs. Green stepped tremblingly from the buggy. She could scarcely stand. Mrs. Lamb took one arm and Aunt Susy the other. Mr. Green hitched the horse, and they all went into the house, and up-stairs to Mehitable's room. Mehitable was not asleep. She stared at them in a frightened way as they all filed into the room. Mrs. Green rushed to the bed.

"Oh, Mehitable," she cried, "when did you last see my Hannah Maria?"

Mehitable looked at her and said nothing.

"Tell Mrs. Green when you last saw Hannah Maria," said Mrs. Lamb.

"I guess 'twas 'bout five o'clock," replied Mehitable, in a quavering voice.

"She got home at half-past five," interposed Mehitable's mother.

"Did she look all right?" asked Mrs. Green.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Nobody came to the house when you were there, did there?" asked Mr. Green.

"No, sir."

Aunt Susy came forward. "Now look here, Mehitable," said she. "Do you know anything about what has become of Hannah Maria? Answer me, yes or no."

Mehitable's eyes were like pale moons; her little face was as white as the pillow.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, what has become of her?"

Mehitable was silent.

"Why, Mehitable Lamb!" repeated Aunt Susy, "tell us this minute what has become of Hannah Maria!"

Mehitable was silent.

"Oh," sobbed Mrs. Green, "you must tell me. Mehitable, you'll tell Hannah Maria's mother what has become of her, won't you?"

Mehitable's mother bent over her and whispered, but Mehitable lay there like a little stone image.

"Oh, do make her tell!" pleaded Mrs. Green.

"Come, now, tell, and I'll buy you a whole pound of candy," said Mr. Green.

"Mehitable, you must tell," said Aunt Susy.

Suddenly Mehitable began to cry. She sobbed and sobbed; her little body shook convulsively. They all urged her to tell, but she only shook her head between the sobs.

Grandmother Lamb came into the room. She had awakened from her nap.

"What's the matter?" she inquired. "What ails Mehitable? Is she sick?"

"Hannah Maria is lost, and Mehitable knows what has become of her, and she won't tell," explained Aunt Susy.

"Massy sakes!" Grandmother Lamb went up to the bed. "Tell grandmother," she whispered, "an' she'll give you a pep'mint."

But Mehitable shook her head and sobbed.

They all pleaded and argued and commanded, but they got no reply but that shake of the head and sobs.

"The child will be sick if she keeps on this way," said Grandmother Lamb.

"She deserves to be sick!" said Hannah Maria's mother, in a desperate voice; and Mehitable's mother forgave her.

"We may as well go down," said Mr. Green, with a groan. "I can't waste any more time here; I've got to do something."

"Oh, here 'tis night coming on, and my poor child lost!" wailed Hannah Maria's mother.

Mehitable sobbed so that it was pitiful in spite of her obstinacy.

"If that child don't have somethin' to take, she'll be sick," said her grandmother. "I dunno as there's any need of her bein' sick if Hannah Maria is lost." And she forthwith went stiffly down-stairs. The rest followed—all except Mrs. Lamb. She lingered to plead longer with Mehitable.

"You're mother's own little girl," said she, "and nobody shall scold you whatever happens. Now, tell mother what has become of Hannah Maria."

But it was of no use. Finally, Mrs. Lamb tucked the clothes over Mehitable with a jerk, and went down-stairs herself. They were having a consultation there in the sitting-room. It was decided that Mr. Green should drive to Mr. Pitkin's, about a quarter of a mile away, and see if they knew anything of Hannah Maria, and get Mr. Pitkin to aid in the search.

"I wouldn't go over to Timothy's to-night, if I were you," said Mrs. Green. "Jenny's dreadful nervous, and it would use her all up; she thought so much of Hannah Maria."

Mrs. Green's voice broke with a sob.

"No, I'm not going there," returned Mr. Green. "It isn't any use. It isn't likely they know anything about her. It's a good five mile off."

Mr. Green got into his buggy and drove away. Mrs. Green went home, and Aunt Susy and the other aunt with her. Nobody slept in the Lamb or the Green house that night, except Grandmother Lamb. She dozed in her chair, although they could not induce her to go to bed. But first she started the kitchen fire, and made another bowl of thoroughwort tea for Mehitable.

"She'll be sick jest as sure as the world, if she doesn't drink it," said she. And Mehitable lifted her swollen, teary face from the pillow and drank it. "She don't know any more where that Green girl has gone to than I do," said Grandmother Lamb, when she went down with the bowl. "There isn't any use in pesterin' the child so."

Mrs. Lamb watched for Mr. Green to return from Mr. Pitkin's, and ran out to the road. He had with him Mr. Pitkin's hired man and eldest boy.

"Pitkin's harnessed up and gone the other way, over to the village, and we're goin' to look round the place thorough, an'—look in the well," he said, in a husky voice.

"If she would only tell," groaned Mrs. Lamb. "I've done all I can. I can't make her speak."

Mr. Green groaned in response, and drove on. Mrs. Lamb went in, and stood at her sitting-room window and watched the lights over at the Green house. They flitted from one room to another all night. At dawn Aunt Susy ran over with her shawl over her head. She was wan and hollow-eyed.

"They haven't found a sign of her," said she. "They've looked everywhere. The Pitkin boy's been down the well. Mr. Pitkin has just come over from the village, and a lot of men are going out to hunt for her as soon as it's light. If Mehitable only would tell!"

"I can't make her," said Mrs. Lamb, despairingly.

"I know what I think you'd ought to do," said Aunt Susy, in a desperate voice.

"What?"

"Whip her."

"Oh, Susy, I can't! I never whipped her in my life."

"Well, I don't care. I should." Aunt Susy had the tragic and resolute expression of an inquisitor. She might have been proposing the rack. "I think it is your duty," she added.

Mrs. Lamb sank into the rocking-chair and wept; but within an hour's time Mehitable stood shivering and sobbing in her night-gown, and held out her pretty little hands while her mother switched them with a small stick. Aunt Susy was crying down in the sitting-room. "Did she tell?" she inquired, when her sister, quite pale and trembling, came in with the stick.

"No," replied Mrs. Lamb. "I never will whip that dear child again, come what will." And she broke the stick in two and threw it out of the window.

As the day advanced teams began to pass the house. Now and then one heard a signal horn. The search for Hannah Maria was being organized. Mrs. Lamb and the aunts cooked a hot breakfast, and carried it over to Mr. and Mrs. Green. They felt as if they must do something to prove their regret and sympathy. Mehitable was up and dressed, but her poor little auburn locks were not curled, and the pink roundness seemed gone from her face. She sat quietly in her little chair in the sitting-room and held her doll. Her mother had punished her very tenderly, but there were some red marks on her little hands. She had not eaten any breakfast, but her grandmother had kindly made her some thoroughwort tea. The bitterness of life seemed actually tasted to poor little Mehitable Lamb.

It was about nine o'clock, and Mrs. Lamb and the aunts had just carried the hot breakfast over to the Green's, and were arranging it on the table, when another team drove into the yard. It was a white horse and a covered wagon. On the front seat sat Hannah Maria's aunt, Jenny Dunn, and a young lady, one of Hannah Maria's cousins. Mrs. Green ran to the door. "Oh, Jenny, have you heard?" she gasped. Then she screamed, for Hannah Maria was peeking out of the rear of the covered wagon. She was in there with another young lady cousin, and a great basket of yellow apples.

"Hannah Maria Green, where have you been?" cried her mother.

"Why, what do you think! That child walked 'way over to our house last night," Aunt Jenny said, volubly; "and Timothy was gone with the horse, and there wasn't anything to do but to keep her. I knew you wouldn't be worried about her, for she said the little Lamb girl knew where she'd gone, and—"

Mrs. Green jerked the wagon door open and pulled Hannah Maria out. "Go right into the house!" she said, in a stern voice. "Here she wouldn't tell where you'd gone. And the whole town hunting! Go in."

Hannah Maria's face changed from uneasy and deprecating smiles to the certainty of grief. "Oh, I made her promise not to tell, but I s'posed she would," she sobbed. "I didn't know 'twas going to be so far. Oh, mother, I'm sorry!"

"Go right in," said her mother.

And Hannah Maria went in. Aunt Susy and Mrs. Lamb pushed past her as she entered. They were flying home to make amends to Mehitable, with kind words and kisses, and to take away the taste of the thoroughwort tea with sponge-cake and some of the best strawberry jam.

Later in the forenoon Mehitable, with the row of smooth water-curls round her head, dressed in her clean pink calico, sat on the door-step with her doll. Her face was as smiling as the china one. Hannah Maria came slowly into the yard. She carried a basket of early apples. Her eyes were red. "Here are some apples for you," she said. "And I'm sorry I made you so much trouble. I'm not going to eat any."

"Thank you," said Mehitable. "Did your mother scold?" she inquired, timidly.

"She did first. I'm dreadful sorry. I won't ever do so again. I—kind of thought you'd tell."

"I'm not a telltale," said Mehitable.

"No, you're not," said Hannah Maria.

THE END.



* * * * *



HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE SERIES.

Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 25 per Volume.

CANOE-MATES.—CAMP-MATES. By KIRK MUNROE.

YOUNG LUCRETIA, and OTHER STORIES. By MARY E. WILKINS.

A BOY'S TOWN. By W. D. HOWELLS.

PHIL AND THE BABY, ETC. By LUCY C. LILLIE.

THE MOON PRINCE, and OTHER NABOBS. By R. K. MUNKITTRICK.

THE MIDNIGHT WARNING and OTHER STORIES. By E. W. HOUSE.

DIEGO PINZON. By J. R. CORYELL.

FLYING HILL FARM. By SOPHIE SWETT.

Illustrated. Square 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 00 per Volume.

LUCY C. LILLIE.—THE HOUSEHOLD OF GLEN HOLLY.—THE COLONEL'S MONEY.—MILDRED'S BARGAIN, ETC.—NAN.—ROLF HOUSE.—JO'S OPPORTUNITY.—THE STORY OF MUSIC AND MUSICIANS.

JAMES OTIS.—SILENT PETE.—TOBY TYLER.—TIM AND TIP.—MR. STUBBS'S BROTHER.—LEFT BEHIND.—RAISING THE PEARL.

DAVID KER.—THE LOST CITY.—INTO UNKNOWN SEAS.

WILLIAM BLACK.—THE FOUR MACNICOLS.

KIRK MUNROE.—CHRYSTAL, JACK & CO., AND DELTA BIXBY.—DERRICK STERLING.—WAKULLA.—THE FLAMINGO FEATHER.—DORYMATES.

JOHN HABBERTON.—WHO WAS PAUL GRAYSON?

ERNEST INGERSOLL.—THE ICE QUEEN.

W. O. STODDARD.—THE TALKING LEAVES.—TWO ARROWS.—THE RED MUSTANG.

MRS. W. J. HAYS.—PRINCE LAZYBONES, ETC.

G. C. EGGLESTON.—STRANGE STORIES FROM HISTORY.

GEORGE B. PERRY.—UNCLE PETER'S TRUST.

SOPHIE SWETT.—CAPTAIN POLLY.

W. L. ALDEN.—A NEW ROBINSON CRUSOE.—THE ADVENTURES OF JIMMY BROWN.—THE CRUISE OF THE CANOE CLUB.—THE CRUISE OF THE "GHOST."—THE MORAL PIRATES.

PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK.

Any of the above works will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price.

By THOMAS W. KNOX.

THE "BOY TRAVELLERS" SERIES.

ADVENTURES OF TWO YOUTHS— IN THE FAR EAST. Five Volumes: In Japan and China—In Siam and Java—In Ceylon and India—In Egypt and Palestine—In Central Africa. IN SOUTH AMERICA. IN MEXICO. IN THE RUSSIAN EMPIRE. IN GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND. ON THE CONGO. IN AUSTRALASIA. IN NORTHERN EUROPE. IN CENTRAL EUROPE.

COPIOUSLY ILLUSTRATED. SQUARE 8VO, CLOTH, ORNAMENTAL, $3 00 PER VOLUME. VOLUMES SOLD SEPARATELY.

HUNTING ADVENTURES ON LAND AND SEA. Two Volumes. Copiously Illustrated. Square 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $2 50 each. Each volume complete in itself. The volumes sold separately.

THE YOUNG NIMRODS IN NORTH AMERICA.

THE YOUNG NIMRODS AROUND THE WORLD.

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.

Any of the above works will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price.

By MARY E. WILKINS.

A NEW ENGLAND NUN, And Other Stories. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 25.

Always there is a freedom from commonplace, and a power to hold the interest to the close, which is owing, not to a trivial ingenuity, but to the spell which her personages cast over the reader's mind as soon as they come within his ken.... The humor, which is a marked feature of Miss Wilkins's stories, is of a pungent sort.—Atlantic Monthly.

What can we say that will express our sense of the beauty of "A New England Nun, and Other Stories"? So true in their insight into human nature, so brief and salient in construction, so deep in feeling, so choice in expression, these stories rank even with the works of Mrs. Stowe and Miss Jewett—Critic, N. Y.

The unerring skill, the faultless delicacy, and the almost touching fidelity with which these little stories are told cannot be too highly commended.—Epoch, N. Y.

A HUMBLE ROMANCE, And Other Stories. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 25.

Only an artistic hand could have written these stories, and they will make delightful reading.—Evangelist, N. Y.

The author has the unusual gift of writing a short story which is complete in itself, having a real beginning, a middle, and an end. The volume is an excellent one.—Observer, N. Y.

All who enjoy the bright and fascinating short story will welcome this volume.—Boston Traveller.

A gallery of striking studies in the humblest quarters of American country life. No one has dealt with this kind of life better than Miss Wilkins. Nowhere are there to be found such faithful, delicately drawn, sympathetic, tenderly humorous pictures.—N.Y. Tribune.

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.

The above works are for sale by all booksellers, or will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price.

By CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN.

These are not books for boys alone, but well-arranged and carefully prepared histories of war, profusely illustrated, with authentic sketches of battle-fields, historic places, and buildings.—Observer, N.Y.

Mr. Coffin uses abundance of incident; his style is pictorial and animated; he takes a sound view of the inner factors of national development and progress; and his pages are plentifully sprinkled with illustrations.—Literary World, Boston.

THE BOYS OF '76. A History of the Battles of the Revolution.

THE STORY OF LIBERTY.

OLD TIMES IN THE COLONIES.

BUILDING THE NATION. Events in the History of the United States from the Revolution to the Beginning of the War between the States.

A HISTORY OF THE REBELLION:

DRUM-BEAT OF THE NATION. MARCHING TO VICTORY. REDEEMING THE REPUBLIC. FREEDOM TRIUMPHANT.

Illustrated. Square 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $3 00 per volume.

LIFE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. Illustrated. Square 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $3 00.

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.

Any of the above works will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price.

THE END