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[Illustration: LITTLE LUCY'S WONDERFUL GLOBE]




LITTLE LUCY'S WONDERFUL GLOBE.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: "I'm looking at the great big globe that Uncle Joe said I
might touch," said Lucy.

_Frontispiece; see page 14._]




LITTLE LUCY'S WONDERFUL GLOBE


PICTURED BY

L. FROLICH,

AND NARRATED BY

CHARLOTTE M. YONGE

AUTHOR OF "THE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE."

          _"Young fingers idly roll_
              _The mimic earth, or trace,_
           _In picture bright of blue and gold,_
           _The orbs that round the sky's deep fold_
              _Each other circling chase."_--KEBLE.

NEW EDITION

          =New York=
          THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
          LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd.
          1906

New edition September, 1906.




CONTENTS.


CHAPTER I.

                                            PAGE
  MOTHER BUNCH                                 1

  CHAPTER II.
  VISITORS FROM THE SOUTH SEAS.               14

  CHAPTER III.
  ITALY                                       36

  CHAPTER IV.
  GREENLAND                                   43

  CHAPTER V.
  TYROL                                       50

  CHAPTER VI.
  AFRICA                                      57

  CHAPTER VII.
  LAPLANDERS                                  63

  CHAPTER VIII.
  CHINA                                       70

  CHAPTER IX.
  KAMSCHATKA                                  79

  CHAPTER X.
  THE TURK                                    83

  CHAPTER XI.
  SWITZERLAND                                 96

  CHAPTER XII.
  THE COSSACK                                102

  CHAPTER XIII.
  SPAIN                                      108

  CHAPTER XIV.
  GERMANY                                    114

  CHAPTER XV.
  PARIS IN THE SIEGE                         120

  CHAPTER XVI.
  THE AMERICAN GUEST                         126

  CHAPTER XVII.
  THE DREAM OF ALL NATIONS                   137




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.


                                                        PAGE

  "I'M LOOKING AT THE GREAT BIG GLOBE THAT UNCLE JOE
     SAID I MIGHT TOUCH," SAID LUCY                  _Front._

  "DO PLEASE SIT DOWN, THERE'S A GOOD MOTHER BUNCH,
     AND TELL ME ALL ABOUT THEM?"                        19

  LUCY HAD A GREAT SNEEZING FIT, AND WHEN SHE LOOKED
     AGAIN INTO THE SMOKE, WHAT DID SHE SEE BUT TWO
     LITTLE BLACK FIGURES                                23

  "I'M SO GLAD TO SEE YOU: HUSH, DON! DON'T BARK SO"     26

  "I CAN EAT MUCH BETTER WITHOUT," SAID LAVO             31

  LAVO HAD CLIMBED UP THE SIDE OF THE DOOR, AND WAS
     SITTING ASTRIDE ON THE TOP OF IT                    34

  "AH! CECCO, CECCO!" CRIED THE LITTLE GIRL, PAUSING
     AS SHE BEAT HER TAMBOURINE                          39

  "IS THAT THE WAY YOU GET FISH?" SHE ASKED              46

  "HELP ME: I'M AFRAID," SAID LUCY                       53

  HARK! THERE'S A CRY, AND OUT JUMPS A LITTLE BLACK
     FIGURE, WITH A STOUT CLUB IN HIS HAND               59

  AND HERE BESIDE HER WAS A LITTLE FELLOW WITH A
     BOW AND ARROWS SUCH AS SHE HAD NEVER SEEN
     BEFORE                                              65

  "IS IT NOT GOOD?" SAID THE LITTLE HOSTESS              73

  WHISKING OVER THE SNOW, WITH ALL HER MIGHT AND
     MAIN, MUFFLED UP IN CLOAKS AND FURS                 78

  "MARRIED! OH NO, YOU ARE JOKING"                       87

  "I WILL SHOW YOU WHERE YOU LIVE--THIS IS
     CONSTANTINOPLE"                                     93

  "I CUT IT OUT WITH MY KNIFE; ALL MYSELF"               99

  WHILE HE JERKED OUT HIS ARMS AND LEGS AS IF THEY
     WERE PULLED BY STRINGS                             103

  "SEE NOW," CRIED THE SPANIARD; "STAND THERE! AH!
     HAVE YOU NO CASTANETS?"                            111

  "WHAT ARE YOU ABOUT, LITTLE BOY?"                     115

  "AH! MADEMOISELLE, GOOD MORNING; ARE YOU COME HERE
     TO TAKE SHELTER FROM THE SHELLS?"                  122

  "WHAT CAN THAT BE, COMING AT THIS TIME OF DAY?"       127

  "GOOD MORNING, WHERE DO YOU COME FROM?"               130

  OH! SUCH A DIN                                        136




LITTLE LUCY'S WONDERFUL GLOBE.




CHAPTER I.

MOTHER BUNCH.


THERE was once a wonderful fortnight in little Lucy's life. One evening
she went to bed very tired and cross and hot, and in the morning when
she looked at her arms and legs they were all covered with red spots,
rather pretty to look at, only they were dry and prickly.

Nurse was frightened when she looked at them. She turned all the little
sisters out of the night nursery, covered Lucy up close, and ordered
her not to stir, certainly not to go into her bath. Then there was a
whispering and a running about, and Lucy was half alarmed, but more
pleased at being so important, for she did not feel at all ill, and
quite enjoyed the tea and toast that Nurse brought up to her. Just as
she was beginning to think it rather tiresome to lie there with nothing
to do, except to watch the flies buzzing about, there was a step on the
stairs and up came the doctor. He was an old friend, very good-natured,
and he made fun with Lucy about having turned into a spotted leopard,
just like the cowry shell on Mrs. Bunker's mantelpiece. Indeed, he said
he thought she was such a curiosity that Mrs. Bunker would come for her
and set her up in the museum, and then he went away. Suppose, oh,
suppose she did!

Mrs. Bunker, or Mother Bunch, as Lucy and her brothers and sisters
called her, was housekeeper to their Uncle Joseph. He was really their
great uncle, and they thought him any age you can imagine. They would
not have been much surprised to hear that he had sailed with Christopher
Columbus, though he was a strong, hale, active man, much less easily
tired than their own papa. He had been a ship's surgeon in his younger
days, and had sailed all over the world, and collected all sorts of
curious things, besides which he was a very wise and learned man, and
had made some great discovery. It was _not_ America. Lucy knew that her
elder brother understood what it was, but it was not worth troubling her
head about, only somehow it made ships go safer, and so he had had a
pension given him as a reward; and had come home and bought a house
about a mile out of the town, and built up a high room to look at the
stars from with his telescope, and another to try his experiments in,
and a long one besides for his museum; yet, after all, he was not much
there, for whenever there was anything wonderful to be seen, he always
went off to look at it and; whenever there was a meeting of learned
men--scientific men was the right word--they always wanted him to help
them make speeches and show wonders. He was away now: he had gone away
to wear a red cross on his arm, and help to take care of the wounded in
the sad war between the French and Germans.

But he had left Mother Bunch behind him. Nobody knew exactly what was
Mrs. Bunker's nation, indeed she could hardly be said to have had any,
for she had been born at sea, and had been a sailor's wife; but whether
she was mostly English, Dutch, or Danish, nobody knew and nobody cared.
Her husband had been lost at sea, and Uncle Joseph had taken her to look
after his house, and always said she was the only woman who had sense
and discretion enough ever to go into his laboratory or dust his museum.

She was very kind and good-natured, and there was nothing that the
children liked better than a walk to Uncle Joseph's, and, after a game
at play in the garden, a tea-drinking with her--such quantities of
sugar! such curious cakes made in the fashion of different countries!
such funny preserves from all parts of the world! and more delightful to
people who considered that looking and hearing was better sport than
eating, and that the tongue is not _only_ meant to taste with, such
cupboards and drawers full of wonderful things, such stories about them!
The lesser ones liked Mrs. Bunker's room better than Uncle Joseph's
museum, where there were some big stuffed beasts with glaring eyes that
frightened them, and they had to walk round with hands behind, that they
might not touch anything, or else their uncle's voice was sure to call
out gruffly, "Paws off!"

Mrs. Bunker was not a bit like the smart housekeepers at other houses.
To be sure, on Sundays she came out in a black silk gown with a little
flounce at the bottom, a scarlet China crape shawl with a blue dragon
upon it--his wings over her back, and a claw over each shoulder, so
that whoever sat behind her in church was terribly distracted by trying
to see the rest of him--and a very big yellow Tuscan bonnet, trimmed
with sailor's blue ribbon; but in the week and about the house she wore
a green stuff, with a brown holland apron and bib over it, quite
straight all the way down, for she had no particular waist, and her
hair, which was of a funny kind of flaxen grey, she bundled up and tied
round, without any cap or anything else on her head. One of the little
boys had once called her Mother Bunch, because of her stories; and the
name fitted her so well that the whole family, and even her master, took
it up.

Lucy was very fond of her; but when about an hour after the doctor's
visit she was waked by a rustling and a lumbering on the stairs, and
presently the door opened, and the second best big bonnet--the
go-to-market bonnet with the turned ribbons--came into the room with
Mother Bunch's face under it, and the good-natured voice told her she
was to be carried to Uncle Joseph's and have oranges and tamarinds, she
did begin to feel like the spotted cowry, to think about being set on
the chimney-piece, to cry, and say she wanted Mamma.

The Nurse and Mother Bunch began to comfort her, and explain that the
doctor thought she had the scarlatina; not at all badly; but that if any
of the others caught it, nobody could guess how bad they would be;
especially Mamma, who had just been ill; and so she was to be rolled up
in her blankets, and put into a carriage, and taken to her uncle's; and
there she would stay till she was not only well, but could safely come
home without carrying infection about with her.

Lucy was a good little girl, and knew that she must bear it; so, though
she could not help crying a little when she found she must not kiss any
one, nay not even see them, and that nobody might go with her but
Lonicera, her own washing doll, she made up her mind bravely; and she
was a good deal cheered when Clare, the biggest and best of all the
dolls, was sent in to her, with all her clothes, by Maude, her eldest
sister, to be her companion,--it was such an honour and so very kind of
Maude that it quite warmed the sad little heart.

So Lucy had her little scarlet flannel dressing gown on, and her shoes
and stockings, and a wonderful old knitted hood with a tippet to it, and
then she was rolled round and round in all her bed-clothes, and Mrs.
Bunker took her up like a very big baby, not letting any one else touch
her. How Mrs. Bunker got safe down all the stairs no one can tell, but
she did, and into the fly, and there poor little Lucy looked back and
saw at the windows Mamma's face, and Papa's, and Maude's, and all the
rest, all nodding and smiling to her, but Maude was crying all the time,
and perhaps Mamma was too.

The journey seemed very long; and Lucy was really tired when she was
put down at last in a big bed, nicely warmed for her, and with a bright
fire in the room. As soon as she had had some beef-tea, she went off
soundly to sleep, and only woke to drink tea, and administer supper to
the dolls, and put them to sleep.

The next evening she was sitting up by the fire, and on the fourth day
she was running about the house as if nothing had ever been the matter
with her, but she was not to go home for a fortnight; and being wet,
cold, dull weather, it was not always easy to amuse herself. She had her
dolls, to be sure, and the little dog Don, to play with, and sometimes
Mrs. Bunker would let her make funny things with the dough, or stone the
raisins, or even help make a pudding; but still there was a good deal of
time on her hands. She had only two books with her, and the rash had
made her eyes weak, so that she did not much like reading them. The
notes that every one wrote from home were quite enough for her. What
she liked best--that is, when Mrs. Bunker could not attend to her--was
to wander about the museum, explaining the things to the dolls: "That is
a crocodile, Lonicera; it eats people up, and has a little bird to pick
its teeth. Look, Clare, that bony thing is a skeleton--the skeleton of a
lizard. Paws off, my dear; mustn't touch. That's amber, just like barley
sugar, only not so nice; people make necklaces of it. There's a poor
little dead fly inside. Those are the dear delightful humming-birds;
look at their crests, just like Mamma's jewels. See the shells; aren't
they beauties? People get pearls out of those great flat ones, and dive
all down to the bottom of the sea after them; mustn't touch, my dear,
only look; paws off."

One would think Clare's curved fingers all in one piece, and Lonicera's
blue leather hands had been very movable and mischievous, judging by the
number of times this warning came; but of course it was Lucy herself who
wanted it most, for her own little plump, pinky hands did almost tingle
to handle and turn round those pretty shells. She wanted to know whether
the amber tasted like barley-sugar as it looked, and there was a little
musk deer, no bigger than Don, whom she longed to stroke, or still
better to let Lonicera ride; but she was a good little girl, and had
real sense of honour, which never betrays a trust, so she never laid a
finger on anything but what Uncle Joe had once given all free leave to
move.

This was a very big pair of globes--bigger than globes commonly are now,
and with more frames round them--one great flat one, with odd names
painted on it, and another brass one, nearly upright, going half-way
round from top to bottom, and with the globe hung upon it by two pins,
which Lucy's elder sisters called the poles, or the ends of the axis.
The huge round balls went very easily with a slight touch, and there was
something very charming in making them go whisk, whisk, whisk; now
faster, now slower, now spinning so quickly that nothing on them could
be seen, now turning slowly and gradually over and showing all that was
on them.

The mere twirling was quite enough for Lucy at first, but soon she liked
to look at what was on them. One she thought much more entertaining than
the other. It was covered with wonderful creatures: one bear was
fastened by his long tail to the pole; another bigger one was trotting
round; a snake was coiling about anywhere; a lady stood disconsolate
against a rock; another sat in a chair; a giant sprawled with a club in
one hand and a lion's skin in the other; a big dog and a little dog
stood on their hind legs; a lion seemed just about to spring on a young
maiden's head; and all were thickly spotted over, just as if they had
Lucy's rash, with stars big and little: and still more strange, her
brothers declared these were the stars in the sky, and this was the way
people found their road at sea; but if Lucy asked how, they always said
she was not big enough to understand, and it had not occurred to Lucy
to ask whether the truth was not that they were not big enough to
explain.

The other globe was all in pale green, with pink and yellow outlines on
it, and quantities of names. Lucy had had to learn some of these names
for her geography, and she did not want to think of lessons now, so she
rather kept out of the way of looking at it at first, till she had
really grown tired of all the odd men and women and creatures upon the
celestial sphere; but by and by she began to roll the other by way of
variety.




CHAPTER II.

VISITORS FROM THE SOUTH SEAS.


"MISS Lucy, you're as quiet as a mouse. Not in any mischief?" said Mrs.
Bunker, looking into the museum; "why, what are you doing there?"

"I'm looking at the great big globe, that Uncle Joe said I might touch,"
said Lucy: "here are all the names just like my lesson book at home;
Europe, Asia, Africa, and America."

"Why, bless the child! where else should they be? There be all the
oceans and seas besides that I've crossed over, many's the time, with
poor Ben Bunker, who was last seen off Cape Hatteras."

"What, all these great green places, with Atlantic and Pacific on them;
you don't really mean that you've sailed over them! I should like to
make a midge do it in a husk of hemp-seed! How could you, Mother Bunch?
You are not small enough."

"Ho! ho!" said the housekeeper, laughing; "does the child think I sailed
on that very globe there?"

"I know one learns names," said Lucy; "but is it real?"

"Real! Why, Missie, don't you see it's a sort of a picture? There's your
photograph now, it's not as big as you, but it shows you; and so a
chart, or a map, or a globe, is just a picture of the shapes of the
coast-line of the land and the sea, and the rivers in them, and
mountains, and the like. Look you here:" and she made Lucy stand on a
chair and look at a map of her own town that was hanging against the
wall, showing her all the chief buildings, the churches, streets, the
town hall, and market cross, and at last helping her to find her own
Papa's house.

When Lucy had traced all the corners she had to turn in going from home
to Uncle Joe's, and had even found little frizzles for the five
lime-trees before the Vicarage, she understood that the map was a small
picture of the situation of the buildings in the town, and thought she
could find her way to some new place, suppose she studied it well.

Then Mrs. Bunker showed her a big map of the whole country, and there
Lucy found the river, and the roads, and the names of the villages near,
as she had seen or heard of them; and she began to understand that a map
or globe really brought distant places into an exceedingly small
picture, and that where she saw a name and a spot she was to think of
houses and churches; that a branching black line was a flowing river
full of water; a curve in, a pretty bay shut in with rocks and hills; a
point jutting out, generally a steep rock with a lighthouse on it.

"And all these places are countries, Bunchey, are they, with fields and
houses like ours?"

"Houses, ay, and fields, but not always so very like ours, Miss Lucy."

"And are there little children, boys and girls, in them all?"

"To be sure there are, else how would the world go on? Why, I've seen
'em by swarms, white or brown or black, running down to the shore, as
sure as the vessel cast anchor; and whatever colour they were, you might
be sure of two things, Miss Lucy, that they were all alike in."

"Oh, what, Mrs. Bunker?"

"Why, in plenty of noise for one, and the other for wanting all they
could get to eat. But they were little darlings, some of them, if I only
could have got at them to make them a bit nicer. Some of them looked for
all the world like the little bronze images Master has got in the
museum, brought from Italy, and hadn't a rag more clothing neither. They
were in India. Dear, dear, to see them tumble about in the surf!"

"O, what fun! what fun! I wish I could see them. Suppose I could."

"You would be right glad, Missie, I can tell you, if you had been three
or four months aboard with nothing but dry biscuits and salt junk, and
may be a tin of preserved vegetables just to keep it wholesome, to see
the black fellows come grinning alongside with their boats and canoes
all full of oranges and limes and shaddocks and cocoa-nuts. Doesn't
one's mouth fairly water for them?"

"Do please sit down, there's a good Mother Bunch, and tell me all about
them? Come, suppose you do."

"Suppose I did, Miss Lucy, and where would your poor uncle's preserved
ginger be, that no one knows from real West Indian?"

[Illustration: "Do please sit down, there's a good Mother Bunch, and
tell me all about them."

_Page 18._]

"Oh, let me come into your room, and you can tell me all the time you
are doing the ginger."

"It is very hot there, Missie."

"That will be more like some of the places. I'll suppose I'm there!
Look, Mrs. Bunker, here's a whole green sea, all over the tiniest little
dots. There can't be people in them."

"Dots? You'd hardly see all over one of those dots if you were in one.
That's the South Sea Miss Lucy, and those are the loveliest isles,
except, may be, the West Indies, that ever I saw."

"Tell me about them, please," entreated Lucy "Here's one; its name
is--is Ysabel--such a little wee one."

[Illustration: Lucy had a great sneezing fit, and when she looked again
into the smoke, what did she see but two little black figures.

_Page 22._]

"I can't tell you much of those South Sea Isles, Missie, being that I
only made one voyage among them, when Bunker chartered the _Penguin_ for
the sandal-wood trade; and we did not touch at many, being that the
natives were fierce and savage, and made nothing of coming down with
arrows and spears at a boat's crew. So we only went to such islands as
the missionaries had been at, and got the people to be more civil and
conformable."

"Tell me all about it," said Lucy, following the old woman hither and
thither as she bustled about, talking all the time, and stirring her pan
of ginger over the hot plate.

How it happened, it is not easy to say; the room was very warm, and
Mother Bunch went on talking as she stirred, and a steam rose up, and by
and by it seemed to Lucy that she had a great sneezing fit, and when she
looked again into the smoke, what did she see but two little black
figures, faces, heads, and feet all black, but with an odd sort of white
garment round their waists, and some fine red and green feathers
sticking out of their woolly heads.

"Mrs. Bunker, Mrs. Bunker," she cried, "what's this? who are these ugly
figures?"

[Illustration: "I am so glad to see you. Hush, Don! don't bark so!"

_Page 27._]

"Ugly!" said the foremost; and though it must have been some strange
language, it sounded like English to Lucy. "Is that the way little
white girl speaks to boy and girl that have come all the way from Ysabel
to see her?"

"Oh, indeed! little Ysabel boy, I beg your pardon. I didn't know you
were real, nor that you could understand me! I am so glad to see you.
Hush, Don! don't bark so!"

"Pig, pig, I never heard a pig squeak like that," said the black
stranger.

"Pig! It is a little dog. Have you no dogs in your country?"

"Pigs go on four legs. That must be pig."

"What, you have nothing that goes on four legs but a pig! What do you
eat, then, besides pig?"

"Yams, cocoa-nut, fish--oh, so good, and put pig into hole among hot
stones, make a fire over, bake so nice!"

"You shall have some of my tea and see if that is as nice," said Lucy.
"What a funny dress you have; what is it made of?"

"Tapa cloth," said the little girl. "We get the bark off the tree, and
then we go hammer, hammer, thump, thump, till all the hard thick stuff
comes off;" and Lucy, looking near, saw that the substance was really
all a lacework of fibre, about as close as the net of Nurse's caps.

"Is that all your clothes?" she asked.

"Yes, till I am a warrior," said the boy; "then they will tattoo my
forehead, and arms, and breast, and legs."

"Tattoo! what's that?"

"Make little holes, and lines all over the skin with a sharp shell, and
rub in juice that turns it all to blue and purple lines."

"But doesn't it hurt dreadfully?" asked Lucy.

"Hurt! to be sure it does, but that will show that I am brave. When
Father comes home from the war, he paints himself white."

"White!"

"With lime made by burning coral, and he jumps and dances and shouts: I
shall go to the war one of these days."

"Oh no, don't!" said Lucy, "it is horrid."

The boy laughed, but the little girl whispered, "Good white men say so.
Some day Lavo will go and learn, and leave off fighting."

Lavo shook his head. "No, not yet; I will be brave chief and warrior
first,--bring home many heads of enemies."

"I--I think it nice to be quiet," said Lucy; "and--and--won't you have
some dinner?"

"Have you baked a pig?" asked Lavo.

"I think this is mutton," said Lucy, when the dish came up,--"it is
sheep's flesh."

Lavo and his sister had no notion what sheep were. They wanted to sit
cross-legged on the floor, but Lucy made each of them sit in a chair
properly; but then they shocked her by picking up the mutton-chops and
stuffing them into their mouths with their fingers.

"Look here!" and she showed the knives and forks.

"Oh!" cried Lavo, "what good spikes to catch fish with! and
knife--knife--I'll kill foes! much better than shell knife."

[Illustration: "I can eat much better without," said Lavo.

_Page 30._]

"And I'll dig yams," said the sister.

"Oh no!" entreated Lucy, "we have spades to dig with, soldiers have
swords to fight with, these are to eat with."

"I can eat much better without," said Lavo, but to please Lucy his
sister did try; slashing hard away with her knife, and digging her fork
straight into a bit of meat. Then she very nearly ran it into her eye,
and Lucy, who knew it was not good manners to laugh, was very near
choking herself. And at last, saying the knife and fork were "great
good--great good; but none for eating," they stuck them through the
great tortoiseshell rings they had in their ears and noses. Lucy was
distressed about Uncle Joseph's knives and forks, which she knew she
ought not to give away; but while she was looking about for Mrs. Bunker
to interfere, Don seemed to think it his business, and began to growl
and fly at the little black legs.

[Illustration: Lavo had climbed up the side of the door, and was sitting
astride on the top of it.

_Page 35._]

"A tree, a tree!" cried the Ysabelites, "where's a tree?" and while
they spoke, Lavo had climbed up the side of the door, and was sitting
astride on the top of it, grinning down at the dog, and his sister had
her feet on the lock, going up after him.

"Tree houses," they cried; "there we are safe from our enemies."

And Lucy found rising before her, instead of her own nursery, a huge
tree, on the top of a mound.[1] Basket-work had been woven between the
branches to make floors, and on these were huts of bamboo cane; there
were ladders hanging down made of strong creepers twisted together, and
above and around the cries of cockatoos and parrots and the chirp of
grasshoppers rang in her ears. She laid hold of the ladder of creeping
plants and began to climb, but soon her head swam, she grew giddy, and
called out to Lavo to help her. Then suddenly she found herself curled
up in Mrs. Bunker's big beehive chair, and she wondered whether she had
been asleep.

FOOTNOTE:

[1] See the _Net_, June 1, 1867.




CHAPTER III.

ITALY.


"SUPPOSE and suppose I could have such another funny dream," said Lucy.
"Mother Bunch, have you ever been to Italy?" and she put her finger on
the long leg and foot, kicking at three-cornered Sicily.

"Yes, Missie, that I have; come out of this cold room and I'll tell
you."

Lucy was soon curled in her chair; but no, she wasn't! she was under
such a blue, blue sky, as she had never dreamt of: clear sharp purple
hills rose up against it. There was a clear rippling little fountain,
bursting out of a rock, carved with old, old carvings, broken now and
defaced, but shadowed over by lovely maidenhair fern and trailing
bindweed; and in a niche above a little roof, sheltering a figure of the
Blessed Virgin. Some way off stood a long low house propped up against
the rich yellow stone walls and pillars of another old, old building,
and with a great chestnut-tree shadowing over it. It had a balcony, and
the gable end was open, and full of big yellow pumpkins and clusters of
grapes hung up to dry, and some goats were feeding round.

Then came a merry, merry voice singing something about _la vendemmia_;
and though Lucy had never learnt Italian, her wonderful dream knowledge
made her sure that this meant the vintage, the grape-gathering; and
presently there came along a little girl dancing and beating a
tambourine, with a basket fastened to her back, filled to overflowing
with big, beautiful bunches of grapes: and a whole party of other
children, all loaded with as many grapes as they could carry, came
leaping and singing after her; their black hair loose, or sometimes
twisted with vine-leaves; their big black eyes dancing with merriment,
and their bare brown legs with glee.

[Illustration: "Ah! Cecco, Cecco!" cried the little girl, pausing as she
beat her tambourine.

_Page 38._]

"Ah! Cecco, Cecco!" cried the little girl, pausing as she beat her
tambourine, "here's a stranger who has no grapes; give them here!"

"But," said Lucy, "aren't they your Mamma's grapes; may you give them
away?"

"Ah, ah! 'tis the _vendemmia_! all may eat grapes; as much as they will.
See, there's the vineyard."

Lucy saw on the slope of the hill above the cottage long poles such as
hops grow upon, and vines trained about hither and thither in long
festoons, with leaves growing purple with autumn, and clusters hanging
down. Men in shady battered hats, bright sashes and braces, and white
shirt sleeves, and women with handkerchiefs folded square over their
heads, were cutting the grapes down, and piling them up in baskets;
and a low cart drawn by two mouse-coloured oxen, with enormous wide
horns and gentle-looking eyes, was waiting to be loaded with the
baskets.

"To the wine-press! to the press!" shouted the children, who were
politeness itself and wanted to show her everything.

The wine-press was a great marble trough with pipes leading off into
other vessels around. Into it went the grapes, and in the midst were men
and boys and little children, all with bare feet and legs up to the
knees, dancing and leaping, and bounding and skipping upon the grapes,
while the red juice covered their brown skins.

"Come in, come in; you don't know how charming it is!" cried Cecco. "It
is the best time of all the year, the dear vintage; come and tread the
grapes."

"But you must take off your shoes and stockings," said his sister,
Nunziata; "we never wear them but on Sundays and holidays."

Lucy was not sure that she might, but the children looked so joyous, and
it seemed to be such fun, that she began fumbling with the buttons of
her boots, and while she was doing it she opened her eyes, and found
that her beautiful bunch of grapes was only the cushion in the bottom of
Mother Bunch's chair.




CHAPTER IV.

GREENLAND.


"SUPPOSE and suppose I tried what the very cold countries are like!"

And Lucy bent over the globe till she was nearly ready to cut her head
off with the brass meridian, as she looked at the long jagged tongue,
with no particular top to it, hanging down on the east side of America.
Perhaps it was the making herself so cold that did it, but she found
herself in the midst of snow, snow, snow. All was snow except the sea,
and that was a deep green, and in it were monstrous floating white
things, pinnacled all over like the Cathedral, and as big, and with
hollows in them of glorious deep blue and green, like jewels; Lucy knew
they were icebergs. A sort of fringe of these cliffs of ice hemmed in
the shore. And on one of them stood what she thought at first was a
little brown bear, for the light was odd, the sun was so very low down,
and there was so much glare from the snow that it seemed unnatural.
However, before she had time to be afraid of the bear, she saw that it
was really a little boy, with a hood and coat and leggings all of thick,
thick fur, and a spear in his hand, with which he every now and then
made a dash at a fish,--great cod fish, such as Mamma had, with oysters,
when there was a dinner-party.

Into them went his spear, up came the poor fish, and was strung with
some others on a string the boy carried. Lucy crept up as well as she
could on the slippery ice, and the little Esquimaux stared at her with a
kind of stupid surprise.

[Illustration: "Is that the way you get fish?" she asked.

_Page 47._]

"Is that the way you get fish?" she asked.

"Yes, and seals; Father gets them," he said.

"Oh, what's that, swimming out there?"

"That's a white bear," he said, coolly; "we had better get home."

Lucy thought so indeed; only where was home? that puzzled her. However,
she trotted along by the side of her companion, and presently came to
what might have been an enormous snowball, but there was a hole in it.
Yes, it was hollow; and as her companion made for the opening, she saw
more little stout figures rolled up in furs inside. Then she perceived
that it was a house built up of blocks of snow, arranged so as to make
the shape of a beehive, all frozen together, and with a window of ice.
It made her shiver to think of going in, but she thought the white bear
might come after her, and in she went. Even her little head had to bend
under the low doorway, and behold it was the very closest, stuffiest, if
not the hottest place she had ever been in! There was a kind of lamp
burning in the hut; that is, a wick was floating in some oil, but there
was no glass, such as Lucy had been apt to think the chief part of a
lamp, and all round it squatted upon skins these queer little stumpy
figures, dressed so much alike that there was no knowing the men from
the women, except that the women had much the biggest boots, and used
them instead of pockets, and they had their babies in bags of skin upon
their backs.

They seemed to be kind people, for they made room by their lamp for the
little girl, and asked her where she had been wrecked, and then one of
the women cut off a great lump of raw something--was it a walrus, with
that round head and big tusks?--and held it up to her; and when Lucy
shook her head and said, "No, thank you," as civilly as she could, the
woman tore it in two, and handed a lump over her shoulder to her baby,
who began to gnaw it. Then her first friend, the little boy, hoping to
please her better, offered her some drink. Ah! it was oil, just like
the oil that was burning in the lamp!--horrid train-oil from the whales!
She could not help shaking her head, so much that she woke herself up!




CHAPTER V

TYROL.


"SUPPOSE and suppose I could see where that dear little black chamois
horn came from! But Mother Bunch can't tell me about that I'm afraid,
for she always went by sea, and here's the Tyrol without one bit of sea
near it. It's just one of the strings to the great knot of mountains
that tie Europe up in the middle. Oh! what is a mountain like?"

Then suddenly came on Lucy's ears a loud blast like a trumpet; another
answered it farther off, another fainter still, and as she started up
she found she was standing on a little shelf of green grass with steep
slopes of stones and rock above, below, and around her; and rising up
all round huge, tall hills, their smooth slopes green and grassy, but in
the steep places, all steep, stern cliff and precipice, and as they were
seen further away they were of a beautiful purple, like a thunder-cloud.
Close to Lucy grew blue gentians like those in Mamma's garden, and
Alpine roses, and black orchises; but she did not know how to come down,
and was getting rather frightened when a clear little voice said,
"Little lady, have you lost your way? Wait till the evening hymn is
over, and I'll come and help you;" and then Lucy stood and listened,
while from all the peaks whence the horns had been blown there came the
strong sweet sound of an evening hymn, all joining together, while there
arose distant echoes of others farther away. When it was over, one shout
of "Jodel" echoed from each point, and then all was still except for the
tinkling of a little cow-bell. "That's the way we wish each other good
night," said the little girl, as the shadows mounted high on the tops of
the mountains, leaving them only peaks of rosy light. "Now come to the
châlet, and sister Rose will give you some milk."

[Illustration: "Help me, I'm afraid," said Lucy.

_Page 52._]

"Help me. I'm afraid," said Lucy.

"That is nothing," said the mountain maiden springing up to her like a
kid, in spite of her great heavy shoes; "you should see the places
Father and Seppel climb when they hunt the chamois."

"What is your name?" asked Lucy, who much liked the looks of her little
companion in her broad straw hat, with a bunch of Alpine roses in it,
her thick striped frock, and white body and sleeves, braced with black
ribbon; it was such a pleasant, fresh, open face, with such rosy cheeks
and kindly blue eyes, that Lucy felt quite at home.

"I am little Katherl. This is the first time I have come up with Rose to
the châlet, for I am big enough to milk the cows now. Ah! do you see
Ilse, the black one with a white tuft? She is our leading cow, and she
knows it, the darling. She never lets the others get into dangerous
places they cannot come off; she leads them home, at a sound of the
horn; and when we go back to the village, she will lead the herd with a
nosegay on the point of each horn, and a wreath round her neck. The men
will come up and fetch us, Seppel and all; and may be Seppel will bring
the medal for shooting with the rifle."

"But what do you do up here?"

"We girls go up for the summer with the cows to the pastures, the grass
is so rich and good on the mountains, and we make butter and cheese.
Wait, and you shall taste. Sit down on that stone."

Lucy was glad to hear this promise, for the fresh mountain air had made
her hungry. Katherl skipped away towards a house with a projecting
wooden balcony, and deep eaves, beautifully carved, and came back with a
slice of bread and delicious butter, and a good piece of cheese, all on
a wooden platter, and a little bowl of new milk. Lucy thought she had
never tasted anything so nice.

"And now the gracious little lady will rest a little while," said
Katherl, "whilst I go and help Rosel to strain the milk."

So Lucy waited, but she felt so tired with her scramble that she could
not help nodding off to sleep, though she would have liked very much to
have stayed longer with the dear little Tyrolese. But we know by this
time where she always found herself when she awoke.




CHAPTER VI.

AFRICA.


OH! oh! here is the little dried crocodile come alive, and opening a
horrible great mouth lined with terrible teeth at her.

No, he is no longer in the museum; he is in a broad river, yellow,
heavy, and thick with mud; the borders are crowded with enormous reeds
and rushes; there is no getting through; no breaking away from him; here
he comes; horrid, horrid beast! Oh, how could Lucy have been so foolish
as to want to travel in Africa up to the higher parts of the Nile? How
will she ever get back again? He will gobble her up, her and Clare, who
was trusted to her, and whatever will Mamma and sister do?

[Illustration: Hark! There's a cry, and out jumps a little black figure,
with a stout club in his hand.

_Page 58._]

Hark! There's a cry, a great shout, and out jumps a little black figure,
with a stout club in his hand: smash it goes down on the head of master
crocodile; the ugly beast is turning over on its back and dying. Then
Lucy has time to look at the little Negro, and he has time to look at
her. What a droll figure he is, with his woolly head and thick lips, the
whites of his eyes and his teeth gleaming so brightly, and his fat
little black person shining all over, as well it may, for he is rubbed
from head to foot with castor-oil. There it grows on that bush, with
broad, beautiful, folded leaves and red stems and the pretty grey and
black nuts. Lucy only wishes the negroes would keep it all to polish
themselves with, and not send any home.

She wants to give the little black fellow some reward for saving her
from the crocodile, and luckily Clare has on her long necklace of blue
glass beads. She puts it into his hand, and he twists it round his
black wool, and cuts such dances and capers for joy that Lucy can hardly
stand for laughing; but the sun shines scorching hot upon her, and she
gets under the shade of a tall date palm, with big leaves all shooting
out together at the top, and fine bunches of dates below, all fresh and
green, not dried like those Papa sometimes gives her at dessert.

The little negro, Tojo, asks if she would like some; he takes her by the
hand, and leads her into a whole cluster of little round mud huts,
telling her that he is Tojo, the king's son; she is his little sister,
and these are all his mothers! Which is his real mother Lucy cannot
quite make out, for she sees an immense party of black women, all shiny
and polished, with a great many beads wound round their heads, necks,
ankles, and wrists; and nothing besides the tiniest short petticoats:
and all the fattest are the smartest; indeed, they have gourds of milk
beside them, and are drinking it all day long to keep themselves fat. No
sooner however is Lucy led in among them, than they all close round,
some singing and dancing, and others laughing for joy, and crying,
"Welcome little daughter, from the land of spirits!" and then she finds
out that they think she is really Tojo's little sister, who died ten
moons ago, come back again from the grave as a white spirit.

Tojo's own mother, a very fat woman indeed, holds out her arms, as big
as bed-posts and terribly greasy, gives her a dose of sour milk out of a
gourd, makes her lie down with her head in her lap, and begins to sing
to her, till Lucy goes to sleep; and wakes, very glad to see the
crocodile as brown and hard and immovable as ever; and that odd round
gourd with a little hole in it, hanging up from the ceiling.




CHAPTER VII.

LAPLANDERS.


"IT shall not be a hot country next time," said Lucy, "though, after
all, the whale oil was not much worse than the castor oil.--Mother
Bunch, did your whaler always go to Greenland, and never to any nicer
place?"

"Well, Missie, once we were driven between foul winds and icebergs up
into a fiord near North Cape, right at midsummer, and I'll never forget
what we saw there."

[Illustration: And here beside her was a little fellow with a bow and
arrows, such as she had never seen before.

_Page 64._]

Lucy was not likely to forget, either, for she found herself standing by
a narrow inlet of sea, as blue and smooth as a lake, and closely shut
in, except on the west, with red rocky hills and precipices with
pine-trees growing on them, except where the bare rock was too steep, or
where on a somewhat smoother shelf stood a timbered house, with a
farm-yard and barns all round it. But the odd thing was that the sun was
where she had never seen him before,--quite in the north, making all the
shadows come the wrong way. But how came the sun to be visible at all so
very late? Ah! she knew it now; this was Norway, and there was no night
at all!

And here beside her was a little fellow with a bow and arrows, such as
she had never seen before, except in the hands of the little Cupids in
the pictures in the drawing-room. Mother Bunch had said that the little
brown boys in India looked like the bronze Cupid who was on the
mantelshelf, but this little boy was white, or rather sallow-faced, and
well dressed too, in a tight, round, leather cap, and a dark blue
kind of shaggy gown with hairy leggings; and what he was shooting at
was some kind of wild-duck or goose, that came tumbling down heavily
with the arrow right across its neck.

"There," said the boy, "I'll take that, and sell it to the Norse
bonder's wife up in the house above there."

"Who are you, then?" said Lucy.

"I'm a Lapp. We live on the hills, where the Norseman has not driven us
away, and the reindeer find their grass in summer and their moss in
winter."

"Oh! have you got reindeer? I should so like to see them and to drive in
a sledge!"

The boy, whose name was Peder, laughed, and said, "You can't go in a
sledge except when it is winter, with snow and ice to go upon, but I'll
soon show you a reindeer."

Then he led the way, past the deliciously smelling, whispering
pine-woods that sheltered the Norwegian homestead, starting a little
aside when a great, tall, fair-faced, fair-haired Norse farmer came
striding along, singing some old old song, as he carried a heavy log on
his shoulder, past a seater or mountain meadow where the girls were
pasturing their cows, much like Lucy's friends in the Tirol, out upon
the grey moorland, where there was an odd little cluster of tents
covered with skins, and droll little, short, stumpy people running about
them.

Peder gave a curious long cry, put his hand in his pocket, and pulled
out a lump of salt. Presently, a pair of long horns appeared, then
another, then a whole herd of the deer with big heads and horns growing
a good deal forward. The salt was held to them, and a rope was fastened
to all their horns that they might stand still in a line, while the
little Lapp women milked them. Peder went up to one of the women, and
brought back a little cupful for his visitor; it was all that one deer
gave, but it was so rich as to be almost like drinking cream. He led her
into one of the tents, but it was very smoky, and not much cleaner than
the Esquimaux. It is a wonder how Lucy could go to sleep there, but she
did, heartily wishing herself somewhere else.




CHAPTER VIII.

CHINA.


WAS it the scent of the perfumed tea, a present from an old sailor
friend, which Mrs. Bunker was putting away, or was it the sight of the
red jar ornamented with little black-and-gold men, with round caps, long
petticoats, and pigtails, that caused Lucy next to open her eyes upon a
cane sofa, with cushions ornamented with figures in coloured silks? The
floor of the room was of shining inlaid wood; there were beautifully
woven mats all round; stands made of red lacquer work, and seats of cane
and bamboo; and there was a round window, through which could be seen a
beautiful garden, full of flowering shrubs and trees, a clear pond lined
with coloured tiles in the middle, and over the wall the gilded roof of
a pagoda, like an umbrella, only all in ridge and furrow, and with a
little bell at every spoke. Beyond, were beautifully and fantastically
shaped hills, and a lake below with pleasure boats on it. It was all
wonderfully like being upon a bowl come to life, and Lucy knew she was
in China, even before there came into the room, toddling upon her poor
little tiny feet, a young lady with a small yellow face, little slips of
eyes sloping upwards from her flat nose, and back hair combed up very
tight from her face, and twisted up with flowers and ornaments. She had
ever so many robes on, the edge of one peeping out below the other, and
at the top a sort of blue China-crape tunic, with very wide loose
sleeves drooping an immense way from her hands. There was no gathering
in at the waist, and it reached to her knees, where a still more
splendid white silk, embroidered, trailed along. She had a big fan in
her hand, but when she saw the visitor she went up to a beautiful little
low table, with an ivory frill round it, where stood some dainty,
delicate tea-cups and saucers. Into one of these she put a little ball,
about as big as an oak-apple, of tea-leaves; a maid dressed like herself
poured hot water on it, and handed it on a lacquer-work tray. Lucy took
it, said, "Thank you," and then waited.

[Illustration: "Is it not good?" said the little hostess.

_Page 72._]

"Is it not good?" said the little hostess.

"It must be! You are the real tea people," said Lucy; "but I was waiting
for sugar and milk."

"That would spoil it," said the Chinese damsel; "only outer barbarians
would think of such a thing. And, ah! I see you are one! See, Ki-hi,
what monstrous feet!"

"They are not bigger than your maid's," said Lucy, rather disgusted.
"Why are yours so small?"

"Because my mother and nurse took care of me when I was a baby, and
bound them up that they might not grow big and ugly like the poor
creatures who have to run about for their husbands, feed silkworms, and
tend ducks!"

"But shouldn't you like to walk without almost tumbling down?" said
Lucy.

"No, indeed! Me, a daughter of a mandarin of the blue button! You are a
mere barbarian to think a lady ought to want to walk. Do you not see
that I never do anything? Look at my lovely nails."

"I think they are claws," said Lucy; "do you never break them?"

"No; when they are a little longer, I shall wear silver shields for
them, as my mother does."

"And do you really never work?"

"I should think not," said the young lady, scornfully fanning herself;
"I leave that to the common folk, who are obliged. Come with me and let
me lean on you, and I will give you a peep through the lattice, that you
may see that my father is far above making his daughter work. See,
there he sits, with his moustachios hanging down to his chin, and his
tail to his heels, and the blue dragon embroidered on his breast,
watching while they prepare the hall for a grand dinner. There will be a
stew of puppy dog, and another of kittens, and birds-nest soup; and then
the players will come and act a part of the nine-night tragedy, and we
will look through the lattice. Ah! Father is smoking opium, that he may
be serene and in good spirits! Does it make your head ache? Ah! that is
because you are a mere outer barbarian. She is asleep, Ki-hi; lay her on
the sofa, and let her sleep. How ugly her pale hair is, almost as bad as
her big feet!"




CHAPTER IX.

KAMSCHATKA.


[Illustration: Whisking over the snow with all her might and main,
muffled up in cloaks and furs.

_Page 79._]

LUCY had been disappointed of a drive with the reindeer, and she had
been telling Don how useful his relations were in other places. Behold,
she awoke in a wide plain, where as far as her eye could reach there was
nothing but snow. The few fir-trees that stood in the distance were
heavily laden; and Lucy herself,--where was she? Going very fast? Yes,
whisking over the snow with all her might and main, and muffled up in
cloaks and furs, as indeed was necessary, for her breath froze upon the
big muffler round her throat, so that it seemed to be standing up in a
wall; and by her side was a little boy, muffled up quite as close, with
a cap or rather hood, casing his whole head, his hands gloved in fur up
to the elbows, and long fur boots. He had an immense long whip in his
hand, and was flourishing it, and striking with it--at what? They were
an enormous way off from him, but they really were very big dogs,
rushing along like the wind, and bearing along with them--what? Lucy's
ambition--a sledge, a thing without wheels, but gliding along most
rapidly on the hard snow; flying, flying almost fast enough to take away
her breath, and leaving birds, foxes, and any creature she saw for one
instant, far behind. And--what was very odd--the young driver had no
reins; he shouted at the dogs and now and then threw a stick at them,
and they quite seemed to understand, and turned when he wanted them.
Lucy wondered how he or they knew the way, it all seemed such a waste of
snow; and after feeling at first as if the rapidity of their course
made her unable to speak, she ventured on gasping out, "Well, I've been
in an express train, but this beats it! Where are you going?"

"To Petropawlowsky, to change these skins for whisky and coffee, and
rice," answered the boy.

"What skins are they?" asked Lucy.

"Bears'--big brown bears that Father killed in a cave--and wolves' and
those of the little ermine and sable that we trap. We get much, much for
the white ermine and his black tail. Father's coming in another sledge
with, oh! such a big pile. Don't you hear his dogs yelp? We'll win the
race yet! Ugh! hoo! hoo! hoo-o-o!--On! on! lazy ones, on, I say! don't
let the old dogs catch the young!"

Crack, crack, went the whip; the dogs yelped with eagerness,--they don't
bark, those Northern dogs; the little Kamschatkadale bawled louder and
louder, and never saw when Lucy rolled off behind, and was left in the
middle of a huge snowdrift, while he flew on with his load.

Here were his father's dogs overtaking her; picking her--some one
picking her up. No, it was Don! and here was Mrs. Bunker exclaiming,
"Well, I never thought to find Miss Lucy in no better a place than on
Master's old bearskin!"




CHAPTER X.

THE TURK.


"WHAT a beautiful long necklace, Mrs. Bunker! May I have it for
Lonicera?"

"You may play with it while you are here, Missie, if you'll take care
not to break the string, but it is too curious for you to take home and
lose. It is what they call a Turkish rosary; they say it is made of
rose-leaves reduced to a paste and squeezed ever so hard together, and
that the poor ladies that are shut up in the harems have little or
nothing to do but to run them through their fingers."

"It has a very nice smell," said Lucy, examining the dark brown beads,
which hung rather loosely on their string, and letting them fall one by
one through her hands, till of course that happened which she was hoping
for: she woke on a long low sofa, in the midst of a room all carpet and
cushions, in bright colours and gorgeous patterns, curling about with no
particular meaning; and with a window of rich brass lattice-work.

And by her side there was an odd bubbling, that put her in mind of
blowing the soap-suds into a honey-comb when preparing them for bubble
blowing; but when she looked round she saw something very unlike the
long pipes her brother called "churchwardens," or the basin of
soap-suds. There was a beautifully shaped glass bottle, and into it went
a long, long twisting tube, like a snake coiled on the floor, and the
other end of the serpent, instead of a head, had an amber mouth-piece
which went between a pair of lips. Lucy knew it for a hubble-bubble or
narghilhe, and saw that the lips were in a brown face, with big black
eyes, round which dark bluish circles were drawn. The jet-black hair was
carefully braided with jewels, and over it was thrown a great
rose-coloured gauze veil; there was a loose purple satin sort of pelisse
over a white silk embroidered vest, tied in with a sash, striped with
all manner of colours, also immense wide white muslin trousers, out of
which peeped a pair of brown bare feet, which, however, had a splendid
pair of slippers curled up at the toes.

The owner seemed to be very little older than Lucy, and sat gravely
looking at her for a little while, then clapped her hands. A black woman
came, and the young Turkish maiden said, "Bring coffee for the little
Frank lady."

So a tiny table of mother-of-pearl was brought, and on it some exquisite
little striped porcelain cups, standing not in saucers, but in silver
filigree cups into which they exactly fitted. Lucy remembered her
Chinese experience, and did not venture to ask for milk or sugar, but
she found that the real Turkish coffee was so pure and delicate that she
could bear to drink it without.

[Illustration: "Married! Oh, no, you are joking."

_Page 86._]

"Where are your jewels?" then asked the little hostess.

"I'm not old enough to have any?"

"How old are you?"

"Nine."

"Nine! I'm only ten, and I shall be married next week----"

"Married! Oh, no, you are joking."

"Yes, I shall. Selim Bey has paid my father the dowry for me, and I
shall be taken to his house next week."

"And I suppose you like him very much."

"He looks big and tall," said the child with exultation. "I saw him
riding when I went with my mother to the Sweet Waters. 'Amina,' she
said, 'there is your lord, in the Frankish coat--with the white horse.'"

"Have you not talked to him?"

"What should I do that for?"

"Aunt Bessie used to like to talk to nobody but Uncle Frank before they
were married."

"I shall talk enough when I am married. I shall make him give me plenty
of sweetmeats, and a carriage with two handsome bullocks, and the
biggest Nubian black slave in the market to drive me to Sweet Waters, in
a thin blue veil, with all my jewels on. Father says that Selim Bey will
give me everything, and a Frank governess. What is a governess? Is it
anything like the little gold case you have round your neck?"

"My locket with Mamma's hair? Oh, no, no," said Lucy, laughing; "a
governess is a lady to teach you."

"I don't want to learn any more," said Amina, much disgusted; "I shall
tell him I can make a pillau, and dry sweetmeats, and roll rose-leaves.
What should I learn for?"

"Should you not like to read and write?"

"Teaching is only meant for men. They have got to read the Koran, but it
is all ugly letters; I won't learn to read."

"You don't know how nice it is to read stories, and all about different
countries. Ah! I wish I was in the schoolroom, at home, and I would show
you how pleasant it is."

And Lucy seemed to have her wish all at once, for she and Amina stood in
her own schoolroom, but with no one else there. The first thing Amina
did was to scream, "Oh, what shocking windows! even men can see in; shut
them up." She rolled herself up in her veil, and Lucy could only satisfy
her by pulling down all the blinds, after which she ventured to look
about a little. "What have you to sit on?" she asked, with great
disgust.

"Chairs and stools," said Lucy, laughing and showing them.

"These little tables with four legs! How can you sit on them?"

Lucy sat down and showed her. "That is not sitting," she said, and tried
to curl herself up cross-legged; "I can't dangle down my legs."

"Our governess always makes us write out a tense of a French verb if
she sees us sitting with our legs crossed," said Lucy, laughing with
much amusement at Amina's attempts to wriggle herself up on the stool
whence she nearly fell.

"Ah, I will never have a governess!" cried Amina. "I will cry, and cry,
and give Selim Bey no rest till he promises to let me alone. What a
dreadful place this is! Where can you sleep?"

"In bed, to be sure" said Lucy.

"I see no cushions to lie on."

"No; we have bedrooms, and beds there. We should not think of taking off
our clothes here."

"What should you undress for?"

"To sleep, of course."

"How horrible! We sleep in all our clothes wherever we like to lie down.
We never undress but for the bath. Do you go to the bath?"

"I have a bath every morning, when I get up, in my own room."

[Illustration: "I will show you where you live. This is Constantinople."

_Page 92._]

"Bathe at home! Then you never see your friends? We meet at the bath,
and talk and play and laugh."

"Meet bathing! No, indeed! We meet at home, and out of doors," said
Lucy; "my friend Annie and I walk together."

"Walk together! what, in the street? Shocking! You cannot be a lady."

"Indeed I am," said Lucy, colouring up. "My Papa is a gentleman. And see
how many books we have, and how much we have to learn! French, and
music, and sums, and grammar, and history, and geography."

"I _will_ not be a Frank! No, no! I will not learn," said the alarmed
Amina on hearing this catalogue poured forth.

"Geography is very nice," said Lucy; "here are our maps. I will show you
where you live. This is Constantinople."

"I live at Stamboul," said Amina, scornfully.

"There is Stamboul in little letters below--look."

"That Stamboul! The Frank girl is false; Stamboul is a large, large,
beautiful place; not a little black speck. I can see it from my lattice.
White houses and mosques in the sun, and the blue Golden Horn, with the
little caiques gliding."

Before Lucy could explain, the door opened, and one of her brothers put
in his head. At once Amina began to scream and roll herself in the
window curtain. "A man in the harem! Oh! oh! oh! Were there no slippers
at the door?" And her screaming brought Lucy awake at Uncle Joe's
again.




CHAPTER XI.

SWITZERLAND.


"I LIKED the mountain girl best of all," thought Lucy. "I wonder whether
I shall ever get among the mountains again. There's a great stick in the
corner that Uncle Joe calls his alpenstock. I'll go and read the names
upon it. They are all the mountains where he has used it."

She read Mount Blanc, Mount Cenis, the Wengern, and so on; and of course
as she read and sung them over to herself, they lulled her off into her
wonderful dreams, and brought her this time into a meadow, steep and
sloping, but full of flowers, the loveliest flowers, of all kinds,
growing among the long grass that waved over them. The fresh clear air
was so delicious that she almost hoped she was gone back to her dear
Tyrol; but the hills were not the same. She saw upon the slope
quantities of cows, goats, and sheep, feeding just as on the Tyrolese
Alps; but beyond was a dark row of pines, and up above, in the sky as it
were, rose all round great sharp points--like clouds for their
whiteness, but not in their straight jagged outlines; and here and there
the deep grey clefts between seemed to spread into white rivers, or over
the ruddy purple of the half-distance came sharp white lines darting
downwards.

As she sat up in the grass and looked about her, a bark startled her. A
dog began to growl, bark, and dance round her, so that she would have
been much frightened if the next moment a voice had not called him
off--"Fie, Brilliant, down; let the little girl alone. _Fi donc._ He is
good, Mademoiselle, never fear. He helps me keep the cows."

[Illustration: "I cut it out with my knife, all myself."

_Page 98._]

"Who are you, then?"

"I am Maurice, the little herd-boy. I live with my grandmother, and work
for her."

"What, in keeping cows?"

"Yes; and look here!"

"O the delicious little cottage! It has eaves, and windows, and
balconies, and a door, and little cows and sheep, and men and women, all
in pretty white wood! You did not make it, Maurice?"

"Yes, truly, I did; I cut it out with my knife, all myself."

"How clever you must be. And what shall you do with it?"

"I shall watch for a carriage with ladies winding up that long road; and
then I shall stand and take off my hat, and hold out my cottage. Perhaps
they will buy it, and then I shall have enough to get grandmother a warm
gown for the winter. When I grow bigger I will be a guide, like my
father."

"A guide?"

"Yes, to lead travellers up to the mountain-tops. There is nowhere you
English will not go. The harder a mountain is to climb, the more bent
you are on going up. And oh, I shall love it too! There are the great
glaciers, the broad streams of ice that fill up the furrows of the
mountains, with the crevasses so blue and beautiful and cruel. It was in
one of them my father was swallowed up."

"Ah! then how can you love them?" said Lucy.

"Because they are so grand and so beautiful," said Maurice. "No other
place has the like, and they make one's heart swell with wonder, and joy
in the God who made them. And it is only the brave who dare to climb
them!"

And Maurice's eyes sparkled, and Lucy looked at the clear, stern glory
of the mountain points, and felt as if she understood him.




CHAPTER XII.

THE COSSACK.


[Illustration: While he jerked out his arms and legs as if they were
pulled by strings.

_Page 102._]

CAPER, caper; dance, dance. What a wonderful dance it was, just as if
the little fellow had been made of cork, so high did he bound the moment
he touched the ground; while he jerked out his arms and legs as if they
were pulled by strings, like the Marionettes that had once performed in
the front of the window. Only, his face was all fun and life, and he did
look so proud and delighted to show what he could do; and it was all in
clear, fresh, open air, the whole extent covered with short green grass,
upon which were grazing herds of small lean horses, and flocks of sheep
without tails, but with their wool puffed out behind into a sort of
bustle or _panier_. There was a cluster of clean, white-looking houses
in the distance; and Lucy knew that she was in the great plains called
the Steppes, that lie between the rivers Volga and Don, and may be
either in Europe or Asia, according as you look at an old map or a new.

"Do you live there?" she asked, by way of beginning the conversation.

"Yes; my father is the hetman of the Stantitza, and these are my
holidays. I go to school at Tcherkask most part of the year."

"Tcherkask! Oh, what a funny name!"

"And you would think it a funny town if you were there. It is built on a
great bog by the side of the river Volga; all the houses stand on piles
of timber, and in the spring the streets are full of water, and one has
to sail about in boats."

"Oh! that must be delicious."

"I don't like it as much as coming home and riding. See!" and as he
whistled, one of the horses came whinnying up, and put his nose over the
boy's shoulder.

"Good fellow! But your horses are thin; they look little."

"Little!" cried the young Cossack. "Why, do you know what our little
horses can do? There are not many armies in Europe that they have not
ridden down, at one time or another. Why, the church at Tcherkask is
hung all round with Colours we have taken from our enemies. There's the
Swede--didn't Charles XII. get the worst of it when he came in his big
boots after the Cossack?--ay, and the Turk, and the Austrian, and the
German, and the French? Ah! doesn't my grandfather tell how he rode his
good little horse all the way from the Volga to the Seine, and the good
Czar Alexander himself gave him the medal with 'Not unto us, but unto
Thy Name be the praise'? Our father the Czar does not think so little of
us and our horses as you do, young lady."

"I beg your pardon," said Lucy; "I did not know what your horses could
do."

"Oh, you did not! That is some excuse for you. I'll show you."

And in one moment he was on the back of his little horse, leaning down
on its neck, and galloping off over the green plain like the wind; but
it seemed to Lucy as if she had only just watched him out of sight on
one side before he was close to her on the other, having whirled round
and cantered close up to her while she was looking the other way. "Come
up with me," he said; and in one moment she had been swept up before him
on the little horse's neck, and was flying so wildly over the Steppes
that her breath and sense failed her, and she knew no more till she was
safe by Mrs. Bunker's fireside again.




CHAPTER XIII.

SPAIN.


"SUPPOSE and suppose I go to sleep again; what should I like to see
next? A sunny place, I think, where there is sea to look at. Shall it be
Spain, and shall it be among the poor people? Well, I think I should
like to be where there is a little lady girl. I hope they are not all as
lazy and conceited as the Chinese and the Turk."

So Lucy awoke in a large cool room with a marble floor and heavy
curtains, but with little furniture except one table, and a row of
chairs ranged along the wall. It had two windows, one looking out into
a garden,--such a garden!--orange-trees with shining leaves and green
and golden fruit and white flowers, and jasmines, and great lilies
standing round about a marble court, in the midst of which was a basin
of red marble, where a fountain was playing, making a delicious
splashing; and out beyond these sparkled in the sun the loveliest and
most delicious of blue seas--the same blue sea, indeed, that Lucy had
seen in her Italian visit.

That window was empty; but the other, which looked out into the street,
had cushions laid on the sill, an open-work stone ledge beyond, and
little looking-glasses on either side; and leaning over this sill there
was seated a little maiden in a white frock, but with a black lace veil
fastened by a rose into her jet-black hair, and the daintiest,
prettiest-shaped little feet imaginable in white satin shoes, which
could be plainly seen as she knelt on the window-seat.

"What are you looking at?" asked Lucy, coming to her side.

[Illustration: "See now," cried the Spaniard, "stand there. Ah! have you
no castanets?"

_Page 110._]

"I'm watching for the procession. Then I shall go to church with Mamma.
Look! That way we shall see it come; these two mirrors reflect
everything up and down the street."

"Are you dressed for church?" asked Lucy. "You have no hat on."

"Where does your grace come from not to know that a mantilla is what is
fit for church? Mamma is being dressed in her black silk and her black
mantilla."

"And your shoes?"

"I could not wear great, coarse, hard shoes," said the little Doña Iñes;
"it would spoil my feet. Ah! I shall have time to show the Senorita what
I can do. Can your grace dance?"

"I danced with Uncle Joe at our last Christmas party," said Lucy, with
great dignity.

"See now," cried the Spaniard; "stand there. Ah! have you no castanets?"
and she quickly took out two very small ivory shells or bowls, each pair
fastened together by a loop, through which she passed her thumb so that
the little spoons hung on her palm, and she could snap them together
with her fingers.

Then she began to dance round Lucy in the most graceful swimming way,
now rising, now falling, and cracking her castanets together at
intervals. Lucy tried to do the same, but her limbs seemed like a wooden
doll's compared with the suppleness and ease of Iñes. She made sharp
corners and angles, where the Spaniard floated so like a sea-bird that
it was like seeing her fly or float rather than merely dance, till at
last the very watching her rendered Lucy drowsy and dizzy, and as the
church bells began to ring, and the chant of the procession to sound,
she lost all sense of being in sunny Malaga, the home of grapes.




CHAPTER XIV.

GERMANY.


[Illustration: "What are you about, little boy?"

_Page 114._]

THERE was a great murmur and buzz of learning lessons; rows upon rows of
little boys were sitting before desks, studying; very few heads looked
up as Lucy found herself walking round the room--a large clean room,
with maps hanging on the walls, but hot and weary-feeling, because there
were no windows open and so little fresh air.

"What are you about, little boy?" she asked.

"I am learning my verb," he said; "_moneo_, _mones_, _monet_."

Lucy waited no longer, but moved off to another desk. "And what are you
doing?"

"I am writing my analysis."

Lucy did not know what an analysis was, so she went a little further.
"What are you doing here?" she said timidly, for these were somewhat
bigger boys.

"We are drawing up an essay on the individuality of self."

That was enough to frighten any one away, and Lucy betook herself to
some quite little boys, with fat rosy faces and light hair. "Are you
busy, too?" she said.

"Oh yes; we are learning the chief cities of the Fatherland."

Lucy felt like the little boy in the fable, who could not get either the
dog, or the bird, or the bee, to play with him.

"When do you play?" she asked.

"We have an hour's interval after dinner, and another at supper-time,
but then we prepare our work for the morrow," said one of the boys,
looking up well satisfied.

"Work! work! Are you always at work?" exclaimed Lucy; "I only learn
from nine to half-past twelve, and half an hour to get my lessons in the
afternoon."

"You are a maiden," said the little boy with civil superiority; "your
brothers learn more hours."

"More; yes, but not so many as you do. They play from twelve till
half-past two, and have two half-holidays in the week."

"So, you are not industrious. We are. That is the reason why we can all
act together, and think together, so much better than any others; and we
all stand as one irresistible power, the United Germany."

Lucy gave a little gasp! it was all so very wise.

"May I see your sisters?" she said.

The little sisters, Gretchens and Kätchens were learning away almost as
hard as the Hermanns and Fritzes, but the bigger sisters had what Lucy
thought a better time of it. One of them was helping in the kitchen, and
another in the ironing; but then they had their books and their music,
and in the evening all the families came out into the pleasure gardens,
and had little tables with coffee before them, and the mammas knitted,
and the papas smoked, and the young ladies listened to the band. On the
whole, Lucy thought she should not mind living in Germany, if they would
not do so many lessons.




CHAPTER XV.

PARIS IN THE SIEGE.


"AND Uncle Joe is in France, where the fathers and brothers of those
little Prussian boys have been fighting. Suppose and suppose I could see
it."

There was a thunder and a whizzing in the air and a sharp rattling noise
besides; a strange, damp, unwholesome smell too, mixed with that of
gunpowder; and when Lucy looked up, she found herself down some steps in
a dark, dull, vaulted-looking place, lined with stone, however, and open
to the street above. A little lamp was burning in a corner, piles of
straw and bits of furniture were lying about, and upon one of the
bundles of straw sat a little rough-haired girl.

[Illustration: "Ah! Mademoiselle, good morning. Are you come here to
take shelter from the shells?"

_Page 123._]

"Ah! Mademoiselle, good morning," she said. "Are you come here to take
shelter from the shells? The battery is firing now; I do not think Mamma
will come home till it slackens a little. She is gone to the
distribution of meat, to get a piece of horse for my brother, who is
weak after his wounds. I wish I could offer you something, but we have
nothing but water, and it is not even sugared."

"Do you live down here?" asked Lucy, looking round at the dreary place
with wonder.

"Not always. We used to have a pretty little house up over, but the
cruel shells came crashing in, and flew into pieces, tearing everything
to splinters, and we are only safe from them down here. Ah, if I could
only have shown you Mamma's pretty room! but there is a great hole in
the floor now, and the ceiling is all tumbling down, and the table
broken."

"But why do you stay here?"

"Mamma and Emily say it is all the same. We are as safe in our cellar as
we could be anywhere, and we should have to pay elsewhere."

"Then you cannot get out of Paris?"

"Oh no, while the Prussians are all round us, and shut us in. My
brothers are all in the Garde Mobile, and, you see, so is my doll. Every
one must be a soldier now. My dear Adolphe, hold yourself straight" (and
there the doll certainly showed himself perfectly drilled and
disciplined). "March--right foot forward--left foot forward." But in
this movement, as may be well supposed, little Coralie had to help her
recruit a good deal.

Lucy was surprised. "So you can play even in this dreadful place?" she
said.

"Oh yes! What's the use of crying and wearying oneself? I do not mind as
long as they leave me my kitten, my dear little Minette."

"Oh! what a pretty long-haired kitten! but how small and thin!"

"Yes, truly, the poor Minette! The cruel people ate her mother, and
there is no milk--no milk, and my poor Minette is almost starved, though
I give her bits of my bread and soup; but the bread is only bran and
sawdust, and she likes it no more than I."

"Ate up her mother!"

"Yes. She was a superb Cyprus cat, all grey; but, alas I one day she
took a walk in the street, and they caught her, and then indeed it was
all over with her. I only hope Minette will not get out, but she is so
lean that they would find little but bones and fur."

"Ah, how I wish I could take you and her home to Uncle Joe, and give you
both good bread and milk! Take my hand, and shut your eyes, and we will
suppose and suppose very hard, and, perhaps, you will come there with
me. Paris is not so very far off."




CHAPTER XVI.

THE AMERICAN GUEST.


[Illustration: "What can that be, coming at this time of day?"

_Page 126._]

NO; supposing very hard did not bring poor little French Coralie home
with Lucy; but something almost as wonderful happened. Just at the time
in the afternoon, blind man's holiday, when Lucy had been used to ride
off on her dream to visit some wonderful place, there came a knock at
the front door; a quite real substantial English knock and ring, that
did not sound at all like any of the strange noise of the strange worlds
that she had lately been hearing, but had the real tinkle of Uncle Joe's
own bell.

[Illustration: "Good morning. Where do you come from?"

_Page 131._]

"Well," said Mrs. Bunker, "what can that be, coming at this time of day?
It can never be the doctor coming home without sending orders!
Don't you be running out, Miss Lucy; there'll be a draught of cold right
in."

Lucy stood still; very anxious, and wondering whether she should see
anything alive, or one of her visitors from various countries.

"There is a letter from Mr. Seaman," said a brisk young voice, that
would have been very pleasant if it had not gone a little through the
nose; and past Mrs. Bunker there walked into the full light a little
boy, a year or two older than Lucy, holding out one hand as he saw her
and taking off his hat with the other. "Good morning," he said, quite at
his ease; "is this where you live?"

"Good morning," returned Lucy, though it was not morning at all; "where
do you come from?"

"Well, I'm from Paris last; but when I'm at home, I'm at Boston. I am
Leonidas Saunders, of the great American Republic."

"Oh, then you are not real, after all?"

"Real! I should hope I was a genuine article."

"Well, I was in hopes that you were real, only you say you come from a
strange country, like the rest of them, and yet you look just like an
English boy."

"Of course I do! my great grandfather came from England," said Leonidas;
"we all speak English as well, or better, than you do in the old
country."

"I can't understand it!" said Lucy; "did you come like other people, by
the train, not like the children in my dreams?"

And then Leonidas explained all about it to her: how his father had
brought him last year to Europe and had put him to school at Paris; but
when the war broke out, and most of the stranger scholars were taken
away, no orders came about him, because his father was a merchant and
was away from home, so that no one ever knew whether the letters had
reached him.

So Leonidas had gone on at school without many tasks to learn, to be
sure, but not very comfortable: it was so cold, and there was no wood to
burn; and he disliked eating horses and cats and rats, quite as much as
Coralie did, though he was not in a part of the town where so many
shells came in.

At last, when Lucy's uncle and some other good gentlemen with the red
cross on their sleeves, obtained leave to go and take some relief to the
poor sick people in the hospitals, the people Leonidas was with told
them that he was a little American left behind. Mr. Seaman, which was
Uncle Joe's name, went to see about him, and found that he had once
known his father. So, after a great deal of trouble, it had been managed
that the boy should be allowed to leave the town. He had been driven in
an omnibus, he told Lucy, with some more Americans and English, and with
flags with stars and stripes or else Union Jacks all over it; and
whenever they came to a French sentry, or afterwards to a Prussian,
they were stopped till he called his corporal, who looked at their
papers and let them go on. Mr. Seaman had taken charge of Leonidas, and
given him the best dinner he had eaten for a long time, but as he was
going to Blois to other hospitals, he could not keep the boy with him;
so he had put him in charge of a friend who was going to London, to send
him down to Mrs. Bunker.

Fear of Lucy's rash was pretty well over now, and she was to go home in
a day or two; so the children were allowed to be together, and they
enjoyed it very much. Lucy told about her dreams, and Leonidas had a
good deal to tell of what he had really seen on his travels. They wished
very much that they could both see one of these wonderful dreams
together, only--what should it be?




CHAPTER XVII.

THE DREAM OF ALL NATIONS.


[Illustration: Oh! such a din!

_Page 137._]

WHAT should it be? She thought of Arabs with their tents and horses, and
Leonidas told her of Red Indians with their war-paint, and little
Negroes dancing round the sugar-boiling, till her head began quite to
swim and her ears to buzz; and all the children she had seen and she had
not seen seemed to come round her, and join hands and dance. Oh, such a
din! A little Highlander in his tartans stood on a whisky-barrel in the
middle, making his bagpipes squeal away; a Chinese with a bald head and
long pigtail beat a gong, and capered with a solemn face; a Norwegian
herd-boy blew a monstrous bark cow-horn; an Indian juggler twisted
snakes round his neck to the sound of the tom-tom; and Lucy found
herself and Leonidas whirling round with a young Dutch planter between
them, and an Indian with a crown of feathers upon the other side of her.

"Oh!" she seemed to herself to cry, "what are you doing? how do you all
come here?"

"We are from all the nations who are friends and brethren," said the
voices; "we all bring our stores: the sugar, rice, and cotton of the
West; the silk and coffee and spices of the East; the tea of China; the
furs of the North: it all is exchanged from one to the other, and should
teach us to be all brethren, since we cannot thrive one without the
other."

"It all comes to our country, because we are clever to work it up, and
send it out to be used in its own homes," said the Highlander; "it is
English and Scotch machines that weave your cottons, ay, and make your
tools."

"No; it is America that beats you all," cried Leonidas; "what had you to
do, but to sit down and starve, when we sent you no cotton?"

"If you send cotton, 'tis we that weave it," cried the Scot.

Lucy was almost afraid they would come to blows over which was the
greatest and most skilful country. "It cannot be buying and selling that
make nations love one another, and be peaceful," she thought. "Is it
being learned and wise?"

"But the Prussian boys are studious and wise, and the French are clever
and skilful, and yet they have that dreadful war: I wonder what it is
that would make and keep all these countries friends!"

And then there came an echo back to little Lucy: "For out of Zion shall
go forth the Law, and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem. And He shall
judge among the nations, and shall rebuke many people; and they shall
beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into
pruning-hooks: nations shall not lift up sword against nation, neither
shall they war any more."

Yes; the more they learn and keep the law of the Lord, the less there
will be of those wars. To heed the true law of the Lord will do more for
peace and oneness than all the cleverness in book-learning, or all the
skilful manufactures in the world.




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          Cary Eggleston. 12mo. Illustrated. xi + 251 pages.

Forty-seven stories illustrating the heroism of those brave Americans
who fought on the losing side in the Civil War. Humor and pathos are
found side by side in these pages which bear evidence of absolute truth.


          =ELSON. SIDE LIGHTS ON AMERICAN HISTORY.=

This volume takes a contemporary view of the leading events in the
history of the country from the period of the Declaration of
Independence to the close of the Spanish-American War. The result is a
very valuable series of studies in many respects more interesting and
informing than consecutive history.


          =GAYE. THE GREAT WORLD'S FARM.= Some Account of
          Nature's Crops and How they are Sown. By Selina
          Gaye. 12mo. Illustrated. xii + 365 pages.

A readable account of plants and how they live and grow. It is as free
as possible from technicalities and well adapted to young people.


          =GREENE. PICKETT'S GAP.= By Homer Greene. 12mo.
          Illustrated. vii + 288 pages.

A story of American life and character illustrated in the personal
heroism and manliness of an American boy. It is well told, and the
lessons in morals and character are such as will appeal to every honest
instinct.


          =HAPGOOD. ABRAHAM LINCOLN.= By Norman Hapgood.
          12mo. Illustrated. xiii + 433 pages.

This is one of the best one-volume biographies of Lincoln, and a
faithful picture of the strong character of the great President, not
only when he was at the head of the nation, but also as a boy and a
young man, making his way in the world.


          =HAPGOOD. GEORGE WASHINGTON.= By Norman Hapgood.
          12mo. Illustrated. xi + 419 pages.

Not the semi-mythical Washington of some biographers, but a clear,
comprehensive account of the man as he really appeared in camp, in the
field, in the councils of his country, at home, and in society.


          =HOLDEN. REAL THINGS IN NATURE.= A Reading Book of
          Science for American Boys and Girls. By Edward S.
          Holden. Illustrated. 12mo. xxxviii + 443 pages.

The topics are grouped under nine general heads: Astronomy, Physics,
Meteorology, Chemistry, Geology, Zoölogy, Botany, The Human Body, and
The Early History of Mankind. The various parts of the volume give the
answers to the thousand and one questions continually arising in the
minds of youths at an age when habits of thought for life are being
formed.


          =HUFFORD. SHAKESPEARE IN TALE AND VERSE.= By Lois
          Grosvenor Hufford. 12mo. ix + 445 pages.

The purpose of the author is to introduce Shakespeare to such of his
readers as find the intricacies of the plots of the dramas somewhat
difficult to manage. The stories which constitute the main plots are
given, and are interspersed with the dramatic dialogue in such a manner
as to make tale and verse interpret each other.


          =HUGHES. TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL DAYS.= By Thomas
          Hughes. 12mo. Illustrated. xxi + 376 pages.

An attractive and convenient edition of this great story of life at
Rugby. It is a book that appeals to boys everywhere and which makes for
manliness and high ideals.


          =HUTCHINSON. THE STORY OF THE HILLS.= A Book about
          Mountains for General Readers. By Rev. H. W.
          Hutchinson. 12mo. Illustrated. xv + 357 pages.

"A clear account of the geological formation of mountains and their
various methods of origin in language so clear and untechnical that it
will not confuse even the most unscientific."--_Boston Evening
Transcript._


          =ILLINOIS GIRL. A PRAIRIE WINTER.= By an Illinois
          Girl. 16mo. 164 pages.

A record of the procession of the months from midway in September to
midway in May. The observations on Nature are accurate and sympathetic,
and they are interspersed with glimpses of a charming home life and bits
of cheerful philosophy.


          =INGERSOLL. WILD NEIGHBORS. OUTDOOR STUDIES IN THE
          UNITED STATES.= By Ernest Ingersoll. 12mo.
          Illustrated. xii + 301 pages.

Studies and stories of the gray squirrel, the puma, the coyote, the
badger, and other burrowers, the porcupine, the skunk, the woodchuck,
and the raccoon.


          =INMAN. THE RANCH ON THE OXHIDE.= By Henry Inman.
          12mo. Illustrated. xi + 297 pages.

A story of pioneer life in Kansas in the late sixties. Adventures with
wild animals and skirmishes with Indians add interest to the narrative.


          =JOHNSON. CERVANTES' DON QUIXOTE.= Edited by
          Clifton Johnson. 12mo. Illustrated. xxiii + 398
          pages.

A well-edited edition of this classic. The one effort has been to bring
the book to readable proportions without excluding any really essential
incident or detail, and at the same time to make the text
unobjectionable and wholesome.


          =JUDSON. THE GROWTH OF THE AMERICAN NATION.= By
          Harry Pratt Judson. 12mo. Illustrations and maps.
          xi + 359 pages.

The cardinal facts of American History are grasped in such a way as to
show clearly the orderly development of national life.


          =KEARY. THE HEROES OF ASGARD: TALES FROM
          SCANDINAVIAN MYTHOLOGY.= By A. and E. Keary. 12mo.
          Illustrated. 323 pages.

The book is divided into nine chapters, called "The Æsir," "How Thor
went to Jötunheim," "Frey," "The Wanderings of Freyja," "Iduna's
Apples," "Baldur," "The Binding of Fenrir," "The Punishment of Loki,"
"Ragnarök."


          =KING. DE SOTO AND HIS MEN IN THE LAND OF
          FLORIDA.= By Grace King. 12mo. Illustrated. xiv +
          326 pages.

A story based upon the Spanish and Portuguese accounts of the attempted
conquest by the armada which sailed under De Soto in 1538 to subdue this
country. Miss King gives a most entertaining history of the invaders'
struggles and of their final demoralized rout; while her account of the
native tribes is a most attractive feature of the narrative.


          =KINGSLEY. MADAM HOW AND LADY WHY: FIRST LESSONS
          IN EARTH LORE FOR CHILDREN.= By Charles Kingsley.
          12mo. Illustrated. xviii + 321 pages.

Madam How and Lady Why are two fairies who teach the how and why of
things in nature. There are chapters on Earthquakes, Volcanoes, Coral
Reefs, Glaciers, etc., told in an interesting manner. The book is
intended to lead children to use their eyes and ears.


          =KINGSLEY. THE WATER BABIES: A FAIRY TALE FOR A
          LAND BABY.= By Charles Kingsley. 12mo.
          Illustrated. 330 pages.

One of the best children's stories ever written; it has deservedly
become a classic.


          =LANGE. OUR NATIVE BIRDS: HOW TO PROTECT THEM AND
          ATTRACT THEM TO OUR HOMES.= By D. Lange. 12mo.
          Illustrated. x + 162 pages.

A strong plea for the protection of birds. Methods and devices for their
encouragement are given, also a bibliography of helpful literature, and
material for Bird Day.


          =LOVELL. STORIES IN STONE FROM THE ROMAN FORUM.=
          By Isabel Lovell. 12mo. Illustrated. viii + 258
          pages.

The eight stories in this volume give many facts that travelers wish to
know, that historical readers seek, and that young students enjoy. The
book puts the reader in close touch with Roman life.


          =McFARLAND. GETTING ACQUAINTED WITH THE TREES.= By
          J. Horace McFarland. 8vo. Illustrated. xi + 241
          pages.

A charmingly written series of tree essays. They are not scientific but
popular, and are the outcome of the author's desire that others should
share the rest and comfort that have come to him through acquaintance
with trees.


          =MAJOR. THE BEARS OF BLUE RIVER.= By Charles
          Major. 12mo. Illustrated. 277 pages.

A collection of good bear stories with a live boy for the hero. The
scene is laid in the early days of Indiana.


          =MARSHALL. WINIFRED'S JOURNAL.= By Emma Marshall.
          12mo. Illustrated. 353 pages.

A story of the time of Charles the First. Some of the characters are
historical personages.


          =MEANS. PALMETTO STORIES.= By Celina E. Means.
          12mo. Illustrated. x + 244 pages.

True accounts of some of the men and women who made the history of South
Carolina, and correct pictures of the conditions under which these men
and women labored.


          =MORRIS. MAN AND HIS ANCESTOR: A STUDY IN
          EVOLUTION.= By Charles Morris. 16mo. Illustrated.
          vii + 238 pages.

A popular presentation of the subject of man's origin. The various
significant facts that have been discovered since Darwin's time are
given, as well as certain lines of evidence never before presented in
this connection.


          =NEWBOLT. STORIES FROM FROISSART.= By Henry
          Newbolt. 12mo. Illustrated. xxxi + 368 pages.

Here are given entire thirteen episodes from the "Chronicles" of Sir
John Froissart. The text is modernized sufficiently to make it
intelligible to young readers. Separated narratives are dovetailed, and
new translations have been made where necessary to make the narrative
complete and easily readable.


          =OVERTON. THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER.= By Gwendolen
          Overton. 12mo. Illustrated. vii + 270 pages.

A story of girl life at an army post on the frontier. The plot is an
absorbing one, and the interest of the reader is held to the end.


          =PALGRAVE. THE CHILDREN'S TREASURY OF ENGLISH
          SONG.= Selected and arranged by Francis Turner
          Palgrave. 16mo. viii + 302 pages.

This collection contains 168 selections--songs, narratives, descriptive
or reflective pieces of a lyrical quality, all suited to the taste and
understanding of children.


          =PALMER. STORIES FROM THE CLASSICAL LITERATURE OF
          MANY NATIONS.= Edited by Bertha Palmer. 12mo. xv +
          297 pages.

A collection of sixty characteristic stories from Chinese, Japanese,
Hebrew, Babylonian, Arabian, Hindu, Greek, Roman, German, Scandinavian,
Celtic, Russian, Italian, French, Spanish, Portuguese, Anglo-Saxon,
English, Finnish, and American Indian sources.


          =RIIS. CHILDREN OF THE TENEMENTS.= By Jacob A.
          Riis. 12mo. Illustrated. ix + 387 pages.

Forty sketches and short stories dealing with the lights and shadows of
life in the slums of New York City, told just as they came to the
writer, fresh from the life of the people.


          =SANDYS. TRAPPER JIM.= By Edwyn Sandys. 12mo.
          Illustrated. ix + 441 pages.

A book which will delight every normal boy. Jim is a city lad who learns
from an older cousin all the lore of outdoor life--trapping, shooting,
fishing, camping, swimming, and canoeing. The author is a well-known
writer on outdoor subjects.


          =SEXTON. STORIES OF CALIFORNIA.= By Ella M.
          Sexton. 12mo. Illustrated. x + 211 pages.

Twenty-two stories illustrating the early conditions and the romantic
history of California and the subsequent development of the state.


          =SHARP. THE YOUNGEST GIRL IN THE SCHOOL.= By
          Evelyn Sharp. 12mo. Illustrated. ix + 326 pages.

Bab, the "youngest girl," was only eleven and the pet of five brothers.
Her ups and downs in a strange boarding school make an interesting
story.


          =SPARKS. THE MEN WHO MADE THE NATION: AN OUTLINE
          OF UNITED STATES HISTORY FROM 1776 TO 1861.= By
          Edwin E. Sparks. 12mo. Illustrated. viii + 415
          pages.

The author has chosen to tell our history by selecting the one man at
various periods of our affairs who was master of the situation and about
whom events naturally grouped themselves. The characters thus selected
number twelve, as "Samuel Adams, the man of the town meeting"; "Robert
Morris, the financier of the Revolution"; "Hamilton, the advocate of
stronger government," etc., etc.

       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber's Notes:

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

Frontispiece, word "I'm" inserted into text. (I'm looking at the)

Page viii, "83" inserted into text for location of chapter X.

Page ix, "I'm" changed to "I am" to match illustration and
         text. (I am so glad)