HAPPY DAYS
FOR
BOYS AND GIRLS.
136 ILLUSTRATIONS
CONTRIBUTIONS BY
LOUISA M. ALCOTT, ALICE AND PHŒBE CAREY, C. A. STEPHENS,
MARY N. PRESCOTT, WILLIAM M. THAYER, F. CHESEBORO,
J. G. WOOD, S. W. LANDER, and others.
PHILADELPHIA:
PORTER & COATES,
822 CHESTNUT STREET.
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Copyright, 1877,
By Horace B. Fuller and Porter & Coates.
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PRESS OF
HENRY B. ASHMEAD.
PHILADELPHIA.
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YOUNG FISHERS.
CONTENTS.
PROSE.
PAGE Accident, The Louisa M. Alcott 280 Adventure in the Life of Salvator Rosa L. D. L. 84 African Elephant, The J. G. Wood 319 Animal in Armor, The 75 Aunt Thankful M. H. 253 Barn Swallows W. Wander 194 Birds F. F. E. 25 “Bitters” 203 Books and Reading 36 Bruin at a Maple-Sugar Party C. A. Stephens 313 Camels J. G. Wood 339 Cave at Benton’s Ridge F. E. S. 350 Charley 368 Charlie’s Escape 109 Charlie’s Christmas 79 Crippled Boy, The S. W. Lander 374 Daisy’s Temptation 111 Daring Feat 183 Davy Boys’ Fishing-Pond L. M. D. 130 Envy Punished 271 Every Cloud has a Silver Lining 31 Faithful Friends X. 237 Fairy Bird, The Louisa M. Alcott 207 Fred and Dog Stephen 205POETRY.
All among the Hay 286 Annie 175 Answer to a Child’s Question 113 Bird’s Nest, The Mary. N. Prescott 216 C—A—T 186 Cherry-Time 128 Child’s Petition 392 Child’s Prayer 137 Children 62 Children’s Song 141 Cleopatra Edgar Fawcett 388 Common Things 249 Coral-Workers, The 37 Counting Baby’s Toes 345 Dinner and a Kiss 381 Dream of Summer, A Mary N. Prescott 29 Erl King Mary N. Prescott 241 Faithful unto Death; or, The Sentry of Herculaneum W. B. B. Stevens 230 Flight of the Birds 56 For the Children 58 Forced Rabbit, The 180 From Bad to Worse Alice Cary 331 Frost, The 22 Good-Humor 35 Good Shepherd, The 52 I am Coming 110 Kind to Everything 68 Let him Live Mary R. Whittlesey 300 Little HelpersHAPPY DAYS.
THE ORCHARD’S GRANDMOTHER.
I MUST ask you to go back more than two hundred years, and watch two people in a quiet old English garden.
One is an old lady reading. In her young days she was a famous beauty. That was very long ago, to be sure; but I think she is a beauty still—do not you?
She has such a lovely face, and her eyes are so sweet and bright! and better than that, they are the kind which see pleasant things in everybody, and something to like and be interested in. I hope with all my heart yours are that kind, too.
The other person is a little child. She was christened Mary Brenton, like her grandmother; but she was called Polly all her days, for short; and we will call her so.
She is sitting on the grass with a little cat in her arms, which she is trying to put to sleep. But the kitten is not so accommodating as a doll would be, and just as Polly does not dare to move for fear of waking her, she makes up her mind that a run after a leaf and a play with any chance caterpillar which may be so unlucky as to cross her path, will be very preferable, and tries to get away.
It is one of the most delightful days that ever was. September, and almost too warm, if it were not for the breeze that brings cooler air from the sea. Once in a while some fruit falls from the heavily-laden trees, and the first dead leaves rustle a little on the ground. The bees are busy, making the most of the bright day; for they know of the stormy weather coming. The sky is very blue, and the flowers very bright. Two swallows are playing hide-and-seek through the orchard, and chasing each other in great races, now so close to the ground that it seems as if their feet might catch in the green grass, and now away up in the air over the high walls out towards the hills; and just as one loses sight of them, and turns away, here they are again. And in the kitchen the girls are clattering the dishes and laughing; and do you hear some one singing a doleful tune in a cheery, happy voice?
That is Dorothy, Polly’s dear Dorothy, who waits upon grandmother, with whom she has been to France, and Holland, and Scotland, and who can tell almost as charming stories as grandmother herself.
The house is large and old, with queer-shaped windows, all sizes and all heights from the ground, and a great many of them hidden by the ivy. That is the outside; and if you were to go in, you would find large, low rooms, filled with furniture that you would think queer and uncomfortable. And there are portraits in some of them, one of Polly, probably painted not very long before, in which she is attired after the fashion of those days, and looks nearly as old as she would now if she were living!
Now let us go back to the garden. The kitten has escaped, and Polly is wishing for something to do.
“Where’s Dolly?” says grandmother. “Find her, and then gather some apples and plums, and have a tea drinking.”
The doll had been very ill all day; it was strange in grandmother to forget it. She had fallen asleep just before dinner, and been put carefully in her bed; it would never do to wake her so soon. And besides, a tea party was not amusing when there was no one to sit at the other end of the table. This referred to Tom, Polly’s dearest cousin, who had just left her after a long visit; and she missed him sadly.
“And,” says Polly, “I do not think I should care for it if he were here, if I could have nothing but apples. I’m tired of them. I have eaten one of every kind in the garden to-day, even the great yellow ones by the lower gate. I think they’re disagreeable; but I left them till the very last, and then I was afraid they would feel sorry to be left out. I think I will eat another, though; and I will not have a party—it’s a trouble. Which kind would you take, grandmother?”
“One of the very smallest,” says the old lady, laughing; “but stop a moment. I have one I’ll give you;” and she took a beauty from her pocket,
“That’s the very prettiest apple I ever saw,” says the child. “Where did you get it? Not off our trees. ‘Father gave it to you?’ and where did he find it?”
Grandmother did not know.