Lily's Birthday.

BY

AUNT HATTIE [MADELINE LESLIE]

AUTHOR OF THE "BROOKSIDE SERIES," ETC.

"Be kindly affectioned one to another."—PAUL

BOSTON: PUBLISHED BY GRAVES & YOUNG

24 CORNHILL.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by REV. A. R. BAKER, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts.

ROCKWELL & ROLLINS, STEREOTYPERS, 122 Washington Street.

To

NELLIE, ROLAND COTTON, ANNIE, AND FULLER APPLETON,

CHILDREN OF MY BELOVED NEPHEW,

THE REV. JOHN COTTON SMITH, D.D.,

THESE SMALL VOLUMES ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED, WITH THE EARNEST PRAYER THAT THEIR LIVES MAY PROVE THEM TO BE LAMBS IN THE FOLD OF THE GREAT AND GOOD

Shepherd of Israel.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I. THE BIRTHDAY

CHAPTER II. LILY'S CITY HOME

CHAPTER III. THE TEA-PARTY

CHAPTER IV. MAMMA'S DRIVE

CHAPTER V. LILY'S COUSIN STUART

CHAPTER VI. COUSIN STUART'S STORY

CHAPTER VII. BILLY'S CLEAN FACE

CHAPTER VIII. THE AUGUST TREE

LILY'S BIRTHDAY.

CHAPTER I.

THE BIRTHDAY.

IT was cold weather; but the day was bright and beautiful. Baby Lily in her warm bed rubbed her eyes, and tried to wake herself up. She knew something pleasant was going to happen; but for a minute or two she couldn't recollect what it was, and lay digging into her sleepy eyes with her tiny, dimpled hand, when a soft voice across the chamber, whispered—

"Baby Lily! Baby Lily! Wake up! Wake up! It's your birthday!"

"Oh, yes, Helen!" cried the child, starting up. "So it is!"

Helen rose from her couch and, walking softly across the chamber, kissed her sister four times.

"Aren't you glad, you little darling, that the day has come; and wont we have a splendid time at your birthday party?"

Baby Lily's eyes sparkled,—I wish you could have seen them,—and her cheeks grew such a pretty pink, you would have thought the roses had been kissing them. It was still very early; but Lily was impatient for the pleasures of the day to begin; so she slipped down the side of the bed, saying,—

"Sarah! Sarah! Can't I go downstairs? I want to. Oh, I'm so glad my birthday has come!"

"I'm afraid you'll wake baby brother, pet."

"Oh," exclaimed Helen, "I heard him cooing long ago."

So Sarah reached from the chair at the side of the bed a pair of stockings, and oh, such tiny shoes! And, having arrayed her little charge in them, sent her down to the nursery to be dressed, while she herself took another nap.

Helen caught up her clothes and pattered down after her sister. I suppose if you had caught a glimpse of Helen in her long white nightdress, and her curls floating like a veil about her, you would have thought her smiles were on account of the expected party; but they were not. They were always there. Indeed, I can't imagine how her mouth would have looked without smiles. It was just like a fresh sunbeam to see her come dancing into the room.

The nursery was very warm and pleasant, for there was a bright fire crackling and blazing away in the grate, as if it knew that this was a birthday, and meant to help celebrate it.

Margery sat in a low chair before the fire with Master Berty, a stout urchin of six months, springing and jumping in her arms.

Both Helen and Lily made their first addresses to the family pet, who cooed out his welcome in the very sweetest tones you ever heard. Certainly his little sisters thought no music was ever half so sweet. And there they stood bowing and catchooing, and laughing, while baby, every time Helen came near enough, would make a dive at her curls. It would have done you good to have seen them.

All this while Margery was laughing and enjoying the fun; but now, she tried to hurry them with their dressing.

"Come, Miss Helen," she urged, "if you play with baby any longer, you'll never be in season for breakfast. Baby Lily, bring me your skirt, and let me fasten it."

In one minute there was a dreadful scream. Margery tried to button the waist with her arm around the baby, when he gave a sudden spring, and over he went on to the rug, making a dreadful bump on his forehead, and cheek.

Poor Margery had scarcely time to catch him up before mamma rushed from the chamber adjoining, and grandma from her room, frightened almost out of their senses, for fear he had fallen into the fire.

Baby cried dreadfully, and held his breath; and all the while the bump was growing larger and more red, until at last he was so tired he was glad to lay his poor aching head on his mamma's shoulder to rest. But even here, he couldn't forget, and turned his red, swollen eyes from one to another, with such an expression, that they pitied him very, very much.

Little Lily forgot that it was her birthday, and her eyes were full of tears; and her lip quivered so that she could scarcely speak.

Surely I don't know who dressed the children, for everybody was so confused by the sad accident, and so sorry for Master Berty, that they could think of nothing else; so the sun went on rising higher and higher, until he could peep into the nursery windows; and then Helen laughed softly as she said,—

"O Lily! Aren't you glad it's going to be a pleasant day?"

In a few minutes the room was all quiet; for mamma, who was still weak from her recent illness, had gone back to bed, and papa was trying to obey the doctor's directions, and get all the rest he could. The children were very happy when baby so far forgot his trouble that he could play again. Helen let him pull her curls, exclaiming, "So you shall, darling; you shall pull Helen as much as you want to."

He had just got his little fingers nicely tangled in the closely curling locks, and was cooing out his delight, when there was another surprise; but this time it was a pleasant one, for the door softly opened, and there stood Aunt Hatty.

Helen flew to meet her, followed by Russell, who asked,—

"Where's Frankie,—hasn't he come?"

And then Frankie, who had been hiding behind the door, burst in, and was as warmly welcomed as his mother had been.

The new comers had been travelling all night, and were very tired; but they dearly loved these friends, and they were both glad that they had come in season for the birthday party.

CHAPTER II.

LILY'S CITY HOME.

BEFORE I go on to relate what happened on that pleasant day, I must tell you some things about baby Lily and her home.

She did not always live in the city, though her father was Rector of a large and wealthy parish there. In the summer they went a long way into the country, down near the sea-side, where the children could fill their lungs with nice, fresh air, and where the father and mother could gain new strength for the performance of their arduous duties. Some time I may tell you of the delights of their country home; but now I will say that the parsonage or rectory was a large, commodious mansion, joined to the rear end of the church.

The channel, the pulpit, and the reading desk were in a deep, wide recess. There were quaint, old-fashioned rooms in the house, formed out of the space at the side of the chancel. One of these rooms on the lower floor, the pastor occupied for his study. It had a high Gothic window, with small, diamond panes of glass; and the walls were wholly lined with cases containing books. There were large, elegantly bound volumes on the lower shelves; then on the others, the books were smaller and smaller to the very top shelf, which could only be reached by a pair of high steps.

There was one large bust, too, which the children often gazed at, because it looked so peaceful and smiling. This was a bust of their great grandfather, an eminent divine, and teacher of theology.

But I cannot stop to tell you all the wonders of the study, nor to describe the Rector, who sat long hours at the table in the centre of the room, poring over the old-fashioned volumes, and writing the sermons which he prayed God might help to fit his beloved people for heaven. I must go on to tell you about the chamber over the study, which was called the church-room. This was lighted by a continuation of the same window with its funny little panes of glass, through which the sunlight streamed in so gloriously.

The room in the third story over this was devoted to the children, for their toys; and well it was filled with all sorts, from tin horses harnessed in pedlers' carts, to the family of Noah just walking out of the ark.

Besides the pastor and his wife, there belonged to the family four children,—Helen, Russell, Lily, and baby Herbert.

There had been another loved one, the first-born, the dearest treasure known on earth.

"Lovely as an angel's dream, Her chestnut locks with sunlight all agleam, Her holy eyes with heaven in their beam." * * * * * * "But when the elder Shepherd of the fold Came, covered with the storm, and pale and cold, And begged for one of the sweet lambs to hold, The parents knelt to pray! Is it thy will? Ah, how they wept at the last word 'farewell!'"

As I told you in the first chapter, the birthday dawned clear and bright. The children had scarcely finished their breakfast when there was a ring at the door; and who should it be, but Miss Norton; with a box for baby Lily.

This little girl now began to realize that birthdays were delightful. Her violet eyes opened wider and wider as Sarah untied the box, and took from it a beautiful plated tea-set, shining like silver.

"Oh," exclaimed Russell, "wont we have nice times now? Mamma, can't we have our tea-party right away?"

Mamma smiled. "Yes, darling," she said, "as soon as Margery has cleared the room."

At this moment Sarah came in, bringing baby brother fresh from his bath, and all the children forgot their play in their eagerness to get a kiss. Baby jumped, and cooed, and laughed such funny little laughs, drawing in his breath, and then stopping to catch Helen's curls, as she pressed closer to him.

"Come, Frankie," cried Russell at last, "let's go and set the table now."

"I think real, live babies are better than all the tea-parties in the world," answered Frank, warmly. "Oh, I love to hear them laugh!"

There was a low table in the nursery, on which the little folks used to take their supper before they were old enough to dine with papa and mamma. This was now covered with wooden horses and sheep; and Frankie helped to pack the animals away in the box where they belonged.

"Please, Sarah," asked Russell, "may we have a table-cover?"

"Certainly, dear," and she gave him one from the drawer.

Before the cups and saucers and plates were arranged in order on the pretty tray, there was another ring, followed by the sound of merry voices in the hall.

"It's Aunt Mary!" was the joyful shout. "It's Aunt Mary, with Ida and Rose."

"Yes, it is," repeated Russell, running to the window, "and there's Pat bringing a great bundle from the carriage."

The door opened, and there stood Aunt Mary with her arms full of parcels, and behind her, Ida and Rose, looking as smiling as the month of June.

"Look, look, see Lily's new tea-set!"

But Aunt Mary could see nothing till she had laid the bundles carefully on the table. Then she stooped to give baby a kiss; after which, she was ready to attend to the children.

CHAPTER III.

THE TEA-PARTY.

"PUT the waiter that side," said Sarah. "Lily must sit there, and pour out the tea, because it's her birthday."

Russell was watching the untying of the parcels Aunt Mary had brought, and clapped his hands when he saw the nice light cakes and the cream-colored candy.

Sarah well understood how to prevent unkindness between the children, and so she superintended the distribution of the feast, while the little girl sat in state behind the tiny tray, mixing sugar, cream, and water in the pretty cups.

At last every one was served; and then what pleasant talk, what shouts of mirth, what merry peals of laughter echoed through the room! Mamma, grandma, Aunt Mary, and Aunt Hatty laughed, and enjoyed the feast almost as well as the children did. Mammas always do enjoy their children's sports, when the little ones are generous, kind, and loving, as these children were.

I wish I were an artist, and could paint the scene as it occurred. I think you would say, as Aunt Hatty did, that there never were brighter, happier faces than surrounded that little table; and there never were friends more sympathizing than those who witnessed the joy of the merry party.

"Sarah," called out Russell at last, "Rose has eaten all her cake. May I give her some of mine?"

"There is plenty more. Why don't you eat your own? Here, Rose, pass me your plate. Helen, what are you and Ida laughing about? Don't you want another piece of cake, Lily?"

Every plate was held up now to be refilled; and then baby Lily had as much as she could do to pour coffee, as she called it, for all her guests. She looked very serious as she set about her task, putting in a little more sugar, a little more milk; then stirring and tasting, to be sure it was right; while Helen and Ida, as the oldest of the company, tried hard to look sober, too, so as not to confuse the anxious miss.

"Hurrah! We've done!" shouted Russell, rising and clapping his hands. "Now let's have some fun!"

"Oh, look at baby?" exclaimed Helen. "See how he wants to play, too. Oh, I wish he had sat at the table with us!"

"I rather think he would have wanted all the cups," said mamma, smiling. "You know he has never been into society, and would not understand how to conduct with propriety at dinner-parties."

"Isn't he a darling?" asked Helen, as baby shouted, and cooed his delight at having her near him.

"I think babies are splendid," rejoined Frankie, coming forward for a share of notice from the pet.

"They are household angels," murmured Aunt Hatty, softly.

Presently there was a great shout of laughter, in the midst of which Russell walked into the room, bowing. "This is the bride of the church," he said, introducing his sister, whom he had arrayed in a long, white skirt. "I hope you will excuse the black on her dress, because her husband has just died."

Baby Lily walked forward with great dignity, bowing and smiling, while her brother, who had once more disappeared, soon returned, and made every one shout again, as he promenaded the room dressed in a black gown, and gave out notice of a service in the church in the evening.

At last the door-bell rung, and Pat sent up word that the carriage was ready to take Aunt Mary and the children home.

"How quick the morning has gone!" exclaimed Ida. "I thought we should have a good deal longer to stay."

"So I did," said Rose, shaking back her heavy curls, and getting ready to go.

Aunt Mary hurried to array her young charge for the ride, Helen and Frank helping to find hats, furs, and gloves.

Lily, as directed by mamma, sent her thanks to Aunt Josephine for letting her cousins come, and for the present of cake, and then the good-by kisses were given, Russell shouting after them as they went downstairs,—

"Haven't we had nice fun?"

"And not one word of unkindness or quarrelling. That is the reason you have all enjoyed yourselves so thoroughly," suggested Aunt Hatty, kissing the merry boy.

CHAPTER IV.

MAMMA'S DRIVE.

IN the afternoon, just as mamma had finished her dinner, a beautiful carriage with two prancing horses drove up to the door. A lady had called to take her out for a drive in the park.

Mamma hesitated. She was timid about riding; and then it was Lily's birthday, and there were so many little ones in the nursery.

But papa came from the study, and ended the matter by saying,—

"You must go, my dear. The bracing air will do you good."

While she was absent, the children had various games. Sometimes they dressed up, and played they were visitors from the country. Helen was the lady of the house, and Frank and Russell made her a call; while Lily sat in a low chair, and rocked her dolly; and then they brought in the rocking-horse, and played go a journey.

By and by they grew tired, and were contented to sit quietly on the sofa, while Aunt Hatty told them a story. She had only just finished, when mamma returned, not refreshed, but pale and weary.

"What has happened?" asked Sarah, eagerly.

"Such a scene as I have witnessed!" exclaimed mamma, falling back in a chair quite exhausted. "I was so glad I didn't take Lily."

"Please, mamma, tell us about it," asked Helen.

"In the first place," began mamma, "Mrs. Groves' horses were perfectly furious, and would not allow anything to pass them. I grew very nervous, when all at once there was a crashing of wheels; and there we were locked in with a great team.

"I imagined Mrs. Groves wished herself anywhere but riding with a nervous woman, and I'm sure I was sorry that I had consented to go. We backed, and the teamster backed, ha'ing and geeing lustily, and at last we were relieved.

"Now, I thought, we shall have a clear space; and I'll try to be brave. But presently we heard a great outcry and shouting behind us.

"'Stop them! Oh, stop them!'

"I looked from the window, and saw everybody running; then they all began to press to the sides of the street, and drivers urged their horses forward at their utmost speed.

"'What is it, James?' screamed Mrs. Groves through the speaking-trumpet.

"'It is horses running away, ma'am,' he answered back.

"'Stop, then; and we'll get out.'

"'You'd be smashed entirely, ma'am, in the crowd.'

"Just at this moment, and when I was trembling all over, a pair of magnificent horses dashed past, in an open barouche; and there, standing in it, with her hands stretched out in supplication, was a dear little girl just about as old as Lily. As they rushed past, I heard her say,—

"'Oh, do stop them! Do please stop them!'

"I couldn't help it; I just put my handkerchief to my face, and had a good cry."

"Did the little girl pray to God to make the horses stop running?" faltered Lily, her lip quivering as she winked back her tears.

"I don't know, darling, but she looked like a child who had been taught to pray."

"I would pray for her, mamma, I would."

"My love, I did pray that the good God might spare her life; and I thanked him that my own darlings were not in such danger."

"Was she killed then?" asked Helen, her eyes growing very large.

"No, dear. Mrs. Groves told James to drive on as fast as he could. I forgot all about my own fright, in my anxiety to find out whether the poor little child was saved."

"Why didn't somebody stop the horses, mamma?"

"They did try again and again, Helen; but with no success. Presently another carriage dashed by, the driver whipping the horse to his utmost speed. I saw a poor man leaning back on the seat, looking very pale, while the blood was oozing from a wound on his head. The crowd screamed out that it was the father of the little girl who had been thrown from the barouche. A gentleman picked him up and wanted to do something for him; but he only pointed up the street, and gasped out,—

"'My child!'"

Poor Lily could keep back her tears no longer, and laying her head in Sarah's lap began to sob.

"Lily," said her mamma, "look up, and hear me finish the story.

"We followed the other carriages until we came to a great crowd of policemen, who were standing about the barouche. The brave little girl had been taken out as soon as the horses were stopped, and there she was in her father's arms. Oh, how he strained her to his breast, as he said,—

"'Thank God! She is spared to me!'"

"Did his head bleed then, mamma?"

"Yes, Helen; but he did not seem to think of himself at all. Tears were running down the cheeks of many who stood by."

"How did they get home, mamma?"

"The gentleman who picked up the father offered to take them to their house, and the policemen took care of the horses till the driver came up."

"I guess the little girl will say a good many prayers to God to-night," exclaimed Lily, looking up with a brightening face.

CHAPTER V.

LILY'S COUSIN STUART.