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hoppers, and looked longingly at an unattainable squirrel, who was flying from tree-top to tree-top; then they went slowly on.
About noon they came to a bit of a brook. June scooped up the water in her hands, and Hungry lapped it with her pink tongue. But there was no dinner to be found, and no sign of Massa Linkum; the sun was like a great ball of fire above the tree-tops, and the child grew faint and weak.
“I did n’t 'spect it was so fur," gr ned poor June. “But don' yer be 'feard now, Hungry. 'Pears like we 'll fine him bery soon."
The sun went down, and the twilight came. No supper, and no sign of Massa Linkum yet. Nothing but the great forest and the swamps and the darkening shadows and the long, hungry night. June lay down once more on the damp ground where the poisonous snakes hid in the bushes, and hugged, Hungry with her weak little arms, and tried to speak out bravely: “We 'll fine him, Hungry, sure, to-morrer. He 'll jes' open de door an' let us right in, he will; an' he 'll hab breakfas' all ready an’ waitin', 'pears like he 'll hab a dish ob milk up in de corner for you now, – tink o' dat ar, Hungry!” and then the poor little voice that tried to be so brave broke down into a great sob. “Ef I only jes' had one little mouthful now, Hungry!on'y one!”
So another night passed, and another morning came. A faint noise woke June from her uneasy sleep, when the sun was hardly up. It was Hungry, purring loudly at her ear. A plump young robin lay quivering between her paws. She was tossing it to and fro with curves and springs of delight. She laid the poor creature down by June's face, looking proudly from June to it, saying as plainly as words could say, “Here 's a fine breakfast. I got it on purpose for you. Why don't you eat, for pity's sake ? There are plenty more where this came from !”
But June turned away her eyes and moaned ; and Hungry, in great perplexity, made way with the robin herself.
Presently June crawled feebly to her feet, and pushed on through the brambles. The kitten, purring in her arms, looked so happy and contented with her breakfast that the child cried out at the sight as if in sudden pain.
“O, I tought we 'd git dar 'fore now, an' I tought he'd jes' be so glad to see us !” — and then presently, “ He jes' look so kinder smilin' right out ob his eyes, Hungry!”
A bitter wind blew from the east that day, and before noon the rain was falling, dreary and chilly and sharp. It soaked June's feet and ragged dress, and pelted in her face. The wind blew against her, and whirled about her, and tossed her to and fro, — she was such a little thing, and so weak now and faint.
Just as the early twilight fell from the leaden sky, and the shadows began to skulk under the bushes, and the birds gathered to their nests with sleepy twitter, she tripped over a little stone, fell weakly to the ground, and lay still. She had not the strength to get to her feet again.
But somehow June felt neither troubled nor afraid. She lay there with her face upturned to the pelting rain, watching it patter from leaf to leaf, listening to the chirp of the birds in the nests, listening to the crying of the wind. She liked the sound. She had a dim notion that it was like an old camp-meeting hymn that she had heard Creline sing sometimes. She never understood the words, but the music came back like a dream. She wondered if Massa Linkum ever heard it. She thought he looked like it. She should like to lie there all night and listen to it; and then in the morning they would go on and find him, — in the morning ; it would come very
The twilight deepened, and the night came on. The rain fell faster, and the sharp wind cried aloud.
“It's — bery cold,” said June, sleepily, and turned her face over to hide it on the kitten's warm, soft fur. “Goo' night, Hungry. We 'll git dar to-morrer. We 's mos' dar, Hungry.”
Hungry curled up close to her cold, wet cheek — Hungry did not care how black it was — with a happy answering mew; but June said nothing
The rain fell faster, and the sharp wind cried aloud. The kitten woke from a nap, and purred for her to stir and speak; but June said nothing
Still the rain fell, and the wind cried; and the long night and the storm and the darkness passed, and the morning came.
Hungry stirred under June's arm, and licked her face, and mewed piteously at her ear. But June's arm lay still, and June said no word.
Somewhere, in a land where there was never slave and never mistress, where there were no more hungry days and frightened nights, little June was laughing softly, and had found some one to love her at last.
And so she did not find Massa Linkum after all ?
Ah ! — who would have guessed it? To that place where June had gone, where there are no masters and no slaves, he had gone before her.
And don't I suppose his was the first face she saw, as she passed through the storm and the night to that waiting, beautiful place ? And don't I suppose he smiled as he had smiled before, and led her gently to that other Face, that thorn-crowned Face, of which poor little June had known nothing in all her life. Of course I do.
E. Stuart Phelps.
have described it any better myself. But, between you and me, if Mr. Longfellow had had to make his way out there as I did, he never could have written this beautiful poem of Hiawatha. So, on the whole, I am quite glad Mr. Lo fellow had the wings instead of myself. As for me, I was jerked and twitched all the way from Long Island Sound to the Big-Sea-Water.
My easiest position was being tied by the legs to the handle of the lunchbasket, head downward to be sure, but then it steadied me a little. Most of the day I was being sat upon by grandmamma, or dropped here and there on the car floor by mamma, to be pranced over by crazy men, women, and children, or jammed into " Hoppergrass's” pocket (did n't I tell you before that Queenie had — nobody knew why — given that odd name to her auntie?) and all the time being hunted for and snatched at by Queenie, while the terrible giant who was flying away with us snorted and roared, and tossed us about at his will, without rest day or night.
At night I was supposed to be sweetly asleep in Queenie's arms, but I was just smothered. One horrid night I remember particularly, because a great boot came crashing down upon me from the berth above, and then I had to lie under it all night. And when, after a long search by grandmamma and " Hoppergrass” and mamma and the steward and several interested strangers, the big boot and I were discovered tightly squeezed together in the sleeping Queenie's arms, O, that was considered a great joke, although I was crushed to that degree that, if I had been made of such poor stuff as those that laughed at us were, I should have been nothing but jelly, – and Queenie did n't like their laughing any better than I.
Among the Buckeyes we took breath a moment, and there I found one of my own species, and also a new name for myself. My brother (whose name was Jimmy) and I were as like as “ two peas,” they said. Perhaps so; all I can say is that the other“ pea” was n't a beauty. But then he was loved dearly by two dear little curlyheads, and they and Queenie weighed and measured and compared us together, till I hardly knew which was which, and not at all which end my tassel was on. But, trying as this was, it was greatly better than the horrible roaring monster who came back after us, and caught us away again toward the sunset.
Now, what do you suppose I had brought away with me from the curlyheads' house? Why, the name of that man and brother I saw there, “ Jimmy.” Queenie was n't going to be outdone by a pair of bright-eyed westerners, so, if their Jack was Jimmy, her Jack must be JIMMY-JACK. And JIMMY-JACK has been my name ever since, except when she loves me never so dearly, and then it's “MY Jimmy-Jack," and that “ my” weighs more than you could ever lift.
But there comes an end to all things, even to a trip across the United States of America. And so we awoke one morning in good old Nokomis's wigwam, from which we looked down upon Gitche Gumee for many months.
Of course Queenie and I felt as much at home here as anywhere, for had n't we each other?
Old Nokomis had a beautiful new red pocket-handkerchief (Queenie knew better than to call it " ponhanfuss," as her mother did before her, she always said, and says to this day, “ pockyhanfuss," as distinctly as you could !) which Queenie borrowed at once for a blanket for me, as also a little rocking-chair, in which she soon sung me fast asleep. She was just twenty months old now, and getting very fond of Mr. Tennyson's poetry; so the people need n't have laughed so much when she unrolled the “pockyhanfuss” and kissed me awake, and then with her red lips folded into the tiniest of rosebuds, and her eyes expanded into the biggest of violets, gazed lovingly at me, and cooed out, “ Good mornin', darlin'! Pitty well ?
What does little Birdie say
In he nest at dawn o' day?'” As if big thumbs, and crooked noses, and being “queer in the legs,” kept one from being a “darlin'" and a “birdie" to a loving heart! That comes, again, of not having the sense well knit into you in the beginning, but "growing up just as it happens.” I am so sorry for people !
. What lovely days those were! November, the “ Moon of Snow-shoes," had come, and yet the skies were bright and warm, and as yet underfoot there was only shining snow-white sand, sand so deep and clinging that it would take all the spirit out of Flora Temple, and makes one long for sevenleague boots.
Ugh! how we used to go plodding wearily through the sand-drifts, whether we walked or drove! But every day Queenie and I were taken out in her little carriage to spend the long mornings in that wonderful air ; and when once we had fought our way through the sand to the old pine forests, or the shore of the Big-Sea-Water, our troubles were over. On the beach there was, to be sure, the same white shining sand; but the busy waves had moulded it into beautiful marble, inlaid with an ever-changing mosaic of many-colored pebbles. Here we loved to sit and watch the solemn march of the waves, and the idle little ripples climbing playfully over their shoulders as they came and went. Two or three times each day the ocean (whose water is as pure and sweet as any mountain-brook) was disturbed by the “Canoes of Thunder" hastening to and fro before winter should seal up the harbors, leaving with us cargoes of green-groceries, and carrying away nothing but stones. For we were now in a land where little beside iron and copper can grow, — where the children read of our common fruit and shade trees with as little idea of how they really look as you have of the fig-trees of the Garden of Eden ! Is n't that sad? Why, Miskodeed (she takes “Our Young Folks,” so I dare not say half that I long to say about her own sweet self, or give her own sweet name) has a dear little brother whom Queenie called “Peckett,” who, when he was five years old, went sailing down Gitche Gumee in one of these great “ Canoes of Thunder " which I and Mr. Longfellow have already told you about. When they passed into the Sault Sainte Marie, the shores came near to greet them, waving boughs of green with red and golden fruit.
“ Look ! look !” cried Peckett's mamma, pointing to the beautiful orchards; see what you never saw before, - apples growing.” The little fellow's eyes grew very big as he stared at the wonderful sight.
Ap-apples ?” he stammered out at last, "do apples grow on trees ? I thought they always grew in barrels ! ”
But we who lived upon Gitche Gumee had our laugh when we saw tourists from the great apple-country below rushing off the canoes, as soon as they touched our shore, to scramble up armfuls of common stones or bits of coal which happened to be lying around, and steaming off again with their “specimens."
But although nothing green was to be seen from our windows but pines and spruces and firs, yet the “shining Big-Sea-Water,” always changing, and always beautiful, swept away all regrets for the “ leeks and onions” (you see I was from Connecticut) we had left behind us.
Queenie and I liked, better than even our rides to the beach, to go into the great pine forests, particularly as the winter came nearer. A camp was chosen in some snug nook, sheltered from the wind, and carpeted with the soft brown leaves of the pine. Papa made a fire as quickly as he could with