Lost Nellie : and other stories

By Pansy Alden

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Title: Lost Nellie
        and other stories

Author: Pansy Alden

Release date: November 16, 2025 [eBook #77247]

Language: English

Original publication: Boston: Lothrop Publishing Company, 1887


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOST NELLIE ***

Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.



[Illustration]



                             LOST NELLIE

                          AND OTHER STORIES


                               BY PANSY

                          _[Isabella Alden]_


                            _ILLUSTRATED_


                                BOSTON
                      LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY



                            COPYRIGHT, 1887,
                                  BY
                          D. LOTHROP COMPANY.



                               CONTENTS.

   LOST NELLIE

   AN OLD STORY

   OUR JESSIE

   TRYING TO AMUSE WILLIE

   TROUBLE

   BEING GOOD

   LULIE'S TROUBLES

   WHO'LL SETTLE IT



                             LOST NELLIE

                          AND OTHER STORIES



                             LOST NELLIE.

      POOR little Nellie!
      Sweet little Nellie!
   Why are you here now, my dear?
      What does it mean?
      Pray where have you been?
   And where is mamma? Can't she hear?

      Under the oak tree!
      Giant old oak tree!
   Far from your home, never fear,—
      The dear Father sees,
      Little Nell on her knees,
   And "loves" her; yes, loves her "so" dear!

      Strayed from dear mamma,
      Strayed from dear papa,—
   She prays to "Our Father" above;
      In Heaven he hears,
      And quiets her fears;
   For you know, He's a father of "love!"

      The moon rises high,
      As she rides in the sky,
   But the prayer rises faster, on high!
      The moon sheds her light,
      To gladden the night:
   But a brighter light shines in the sky.

      An angel was sent,
      And speedily went,
   And whispered to papa the way;
      And here on the ground,
      His Nellie was found!
   Though she'd wandered so far, "far" away!

[Illustration]



                             AN OLD STORY.

ONCE there was a storm; it rained, and rained, and rained, for forty
days and nights, without stopping. Think of that! There was a great
boat built for all the people who were afraid of the rain, and would
go in it and be shut up, before the rain began to come; for a good
man told them it was coming, and begged them to get ready; but they
wouldn't, so the good man took his family and went in alone.

After it had rained so long, and the water covered over everything, and
all the people were drowned, then the rain stopped; but the good man
could not come out of his boat, because there was no place for him to
step—all the ground was covered with water.

[Illustration]

Months went by, and still this good man and his family were shut into
the boat. At last, he saw the water was drying off so fast that he
opened a window of his boat, and sent a raven out to see about it.

Did I tell you that he had every kind of bird and animal in his boat
with him? They had sense enough to want to be saved, though the people
didn't. But the raven didn't come back to tell him anything about it.
And he sent a little gentle dove to see what she would find; but the
poor dove flew up and down the world, and couldn't find any place to
rest her tired feet, for everything was covered with water, so she said
to herself: "I will go back to that nice safe boat; there is no place
here for me." So she came and tapped at the window of the boat, and the
good man opened the window, and put out his hand, and took her in.

Then he waited seven days, and he thought: "Perhaps the water is dried
off now; I will send my dovie out to see." So he let her go, and she
stayed away all day. I guess he almost thought she wasn't coming back;
but when it began to grow dusk, she came tapping at the window, and in
her mouth she brought a leaf from an olive tree.

"Ah!" said the good man. "Dovie found an olive tree, to rest on; the
water is drying off; but it isn't very dry yet, for my dovie couldn't
find any place to make a home; she had to come back to me."

So he waited seven days more, then he opened the window, and sent out
the dove to take another journey; at night he watched for her, but she
did not come; in the morning he looked for her, but she did not come;
days passed by, and dovie came back no more.

"Ah!" said the good man. "My dovie has found a place to make her a
home; the earth is getting dry."

Did he go on? No, not yet; he waited for the One who told him about
this rain, and told him how to build his boat, and shut the door after
him when he went in, to come and tell him when to go out. Whom do you
think it was? Let me tell you: It was the great God! Would you like to
hear the rest of this story? How the good man, and his family went out,
and what they did, and what happened to them after that? Let me tell
you where to find it; open the big Bible to the first book in it, and
you will find the wonderful story.

[Illustration]



                              OUR JESSIE.

   PEEKING through the tall grain,—
     Don't you see my posies?
   Guess they're sweet as pansies;
     Beautiful as roses.
   Found them all myself, so;
     Picked them "all" for you!
   Won't you please to have some?
     Don't you think they'll do?

   Thought that was my mamma!
     Sakes! it's just a stump!
   Looked like it was someone,
     Standing like a pump!
   Where'd you s'pose the house is?
     Wonder if mamma is lost?
   My! I've tored my dress so!
     Wonder what it cost?

[Illustration]

   Guess I ain't afraid, though;
     Jesus—"He" can see,—
   Jesus knows about me,
     Knows just where I be;
   Jesus made these flowers,
     All so sweet and bright;
   He'll take care of Jessie,—
     An' bring me home all right.

   I'll ask Him—'cause he hears me;
     I ask Him every day,—
   "Dear Jesus, please to lead me,
     Show Jessie the right way;"
   And tell me where mamma is,
     Before my flowers are dead?
   Hark! there she comes! He heard me!
     It's "just" as mamma said.



                        TRYING TO AMUSE WILLIE.

PERHAPS you think it was an easy thing to do. I can tell you his
sister Fanny did not think so; every bone in her body ached before
the afternoon was over. You see the way of it was: Willie had been
sick, now he was well enough to be down in the sitting room, and not
well enough to be out doors; and he "wanted" to be out doors, and had
made up his mind that nothing else could possibly please him; that is
what made it such hard work. Mamma, the one who knew how to please
everybody, had gone down town on errands that must be done, and Fanny
had stayed from school on purpose to amuse Willie.

[Illustration]

She tried everything; playing ball, playing marbles, reading stories;
nothing suited. Willie said it was no fun to play ball on a carpet,
and that she played marbles just like a girl, though how else he could
have expected his sister to play them, I am sure I don't know. He said
the stories were silly, and that Fanny was a little goose, and, for the
matter of that, all girls were geese.

After that, Fanny concluded to try music, and see if that would soothe
his savage breast. You see the result: Master Willie seated himself on
the foot-rest, turned his back to the nice little musician, and pressed
both hands over his ears, determined not to hear a note if he could
help it. As for Fanny, not knowing what else to do, she played away, as
loud as she possibly could, in the hope that a touch of sweetness would
coax its way behind those naughty hands, and steal into the naughty
heart. He did get tired of his silliness after a while, and settled
down with a sigh, on the sofa, and let Fanny read to him; but he didn't
enjoy it very well, because, you see, he had made up his mind that he
"wouldn't" enjoy anything, and when a boy makes up his mind to that, it
is very hard indeed to amuse him.

"Have you had a pleasant time?" was the very first question that mamma
asked, when she came home; and before either of them could answer, she
said:

"I was a little worried about you, and walked quite fast. How came you
not to let Albert Miller in?"

"Let him in?" said Willie, sitting up straight. "Why, he hasn't been
here."

"Yes, he has, dear; I stopped into Mrs. Miller's and asked her to let
Albert come down and stay till I got back; then she asked me to get a
spool of silk for her, and when I stopped to give it to her, she said
Albert had been around here, and knocked and couldn't get in; I should
have felt real frightened, only he said the piano was going; so I
suppose you didn't hear. But, Willie, I should have thought you would
have heard the knock; you were not playing, were you?"

"Pshaw!" said Willie. "Now isn't that mean? I wanted to see Albert,
dreadfully; if you hadn't been playing that old piano, you would have
heard him."

"And if you hadn't been poking both hands into your ears, you would
have heard him," said Fanny, and she could not help laughing.

Now let me tell you something nice about Willie; he had the good sense
to laugh too.

"It's all my own fault," he said; "I needn't have been so hateful.
Mamma, she tried real hard to please me, but I was awful."

[Illustration]



                                TROUBLE.

DREADFUL trouble, too! Poor Harry Stuart all alone at the north end of
the big city, and accused of stealing the largest and handsomest book
in the great book store. No wonder he buried his face in his hands and
let the big tears trickle through them! How was he going to prove that
he did no such thing? He had no father to help him, and his mother was
only a poor sewing woman whom nobody knew.

What made them think that he took the book? Why, he came there
yesterday, on an errand for his mother's mistress, and the beautiful
book in its elegant brown and gold binding, lay on the counter, and
there wasn't another customer in sight, and when Harry left, the book
was gone! They hadn't found it, to be sure, but of course he had hidden
it somewhere, and meant to sell it at a secondhand book store.

"Which would be a very silly thing to do," said the junior partner,
sternly; "he might much better confess to us where the book is, and
bring it back; you can never sell it, my boy; it is too elegant and
expensive a book to be taken without questions. Your safest way will be
to confess to us all about it."

But Harry had no answer to make to this: he could only sit still, and
let the big tears fall; how was "he" to tell where a book was, that he
had never seen in his life? He did not even remember seeing it on the
counter. He had said so, as earnestly as he could, but of course they
didn't believe him.

Just then came Mr. Henderson, the great man in the great book store.
"What's the matter here?" he asked, and then they told him the whole
story, and Harry had to sit still and hear it told, how "he" had stolen
a book. "Look here," said Mr. Henderson, interrupting, "there is some
mistake; did you say his name was Harry Stuart? My boy, where do you go
to Sunday-school?"

"To the Seventh Street Church," murmured Harry, in a choked voice.

"I thought so; I thought I knew the boy; Mr. Wilson, whoever has the
book, it is not this lad, and if he 'says' he knows nothing about
it, you can take my word for it, that he doesn't. Last Sabbath I was
visiting at his Sunday-school, and he was pointed out to me as the
boy who was always there, always had his lesson, and always attentive
and respectful, always went from the Sunday-school to the church, and
always went to the Thursday evening prayer meeting. Such a boy neither
steals nor lies; the same things don't go together. Look up here, my
son; do you know anything about that book?"

[Illustration]

"No, sir," said Harry, lifting his head, and his voice was firm now,
and as clear as a bell.

"All right. We beg your pardon for being unjust to you; go home and
tell your mother to be glad that she has a son whose character can
speak for him, when things look against him."

[Illustration]



                              BEING GOOD.

IT is little Gracie Marks; she was curled, and slippered, and ribboned,
and set up in a chair in Aunt Laura's room, away from all mischief, to
"be good" while mamma and Aunt Laura dressed. Then they were going out.

"Now, Gracie, I am going down stairs a minute," Aunt Laura said; "you
will be a very good girl till I come back, won't you?"

"Oh, yes indeed," said Gracie; she always said that, and meant it, too,
I do believe.

"You won't get out of your chair?"

"Oh, no indeed, Aunt Laura; not at all."

So Aunt Laura went. She was gone longer than she meant to be; Gracie
grew lonesome; she looked about for something to do. A bottle of
cologne stood on the table; she leaned forward to see if she could
reach it; on no account would she get down from her chair; yes she
could reach it; what fun it would be to pour it into the tumbler; that
wouldn't be naughty. She had the misfortune to spill a good deal of
it; that wasn't part of her plan; she was afraid it might be called
"naughty." Perhaps it would take the color all out of the marble. She
heard mamma say that morning, that the drops of tea had taken the color
out of her dress; the cologne must be wiped up. She looked about for
something to do it with. There was a towel, and a handkerchief; in fact
the rack was full of towels, but all out of reach, unless she got down
from her chair; and that was not to be thought of.

[Illustration]

"My sakes!" she said. "This must be wiped up, before the color goes out
of that marble. I might take a piece of the curtain, if I could get
it; that is too awful long; see how it drags on the floor; I know it
wouldn't do any hurt to cut that off, if I only had the scissors!"

What a lucky thing Gracie thought it was that just then she spied the
scissors, on the floor, under the edge of her footstool! By means of
very careful reaching, and a narrow escape from a pitch over, head
first, she got hold of the scissors without getting down from the
chair; then she dived after the curtain, and gouged a nice large piece
out of the heavy damask; it was so awful long, you know!

Then with a satisfied face she mopped up the cologne, and had
everything in order before Aunt Laura came back.

"Were you a good girl?" she asked, as she came in.

"Um," said Gracie; "I didn't get down at all; I didn't put a single
foot down; I poured the cologne into the tumbler, to amuse me, and it
spilled over a big puddle, and I was afraid it would take the color out
of the marble, so I wiped it up."

"With what?" asked Auntie, looking around her quickly, and feeling a
good deal startled.

"Why, with that too long part, to the curtain, where it drags on the
floor, and doesn't look nice. I cut it off, and now it's just right."

"Oh, my patience!" said Auntie.

[Illustration]



                           LULIE'S TROUBLES.

HERE she sits, all curled up in a heap in the arm-chair; her dollie,
dressed in its best, sits on the floor at her feet. Lulie doesn't care
anything about her dollie; she is in trouble. Her pretty face is all
snarled up. Brother Will has advised her this very morning to let him
take the large flat iron and iron it out.

What do you suppose is the matter? You could never guess. Yesterday
she went to Grandpa Knowelson's to spend the day. Grandpa Knowelson is
an old man, over eighty; his hair is as white as snow, but it is long,
and soft, and beautiful. Lulie thinks it is the prettiest hair she ever
saw in her life. She has wished, a great many times, that her hair was
white, like grandpa's, and she has tried flour and salt, and sugar, and
every other white thing she can get hold of, to make her hair look like
grandpa's, but they all slip off, and leave it as brown as ever.

Yesterday she discovered something new about grandpa, which is the
cause of all her grief. She found that he could take his hair off; he
just slipped a string, and off it came, as smooth and nice, without any
bleed, or anything, and he hung it on the bedpost, and brushed it till
it looked like white silk. Now Lulie's hair is curly, and long, and it
snarls dreadfully, and mamma, when she combs it, be as careful as she
can, sometimes pulls most horribly. Lulie dreads the time for the hair
combing and curling. But yesterday she was glad and happy.

"Why, grandpa," she said, "I didn't know people's hairs comed off! How
funny. It doesn't pull a bit now, does it? I wonder mamma doesn't take
mine off; does it hurt to do it, grandpa?"

"Not a bit," said grandpa, but then he went off into a great laugh, and
didn't explain any more.

Lulie thought about it a great many times. This morning she had been
trying it; she has been up on a chair, hunting before the glass for the
string under the hair, that grandpa takes hold of, but she couldn't
find it. Then she pulled at her brown curls, till it almost seemed as
if they would come out by the roots, they hurt her so horribly; but the
hair stuck fast.

[Illustration]

Pretty soon she went to her mamma, and learned to her great grief and
dismay, that "her" hair wasn't made like grandpa's at all, but was
fastened on, so it would be impossible ever to get it off, as he did
his.

Poor Lulie! After all her pulling and snarling. She is dreadfully
disappointed. It seems to her that she cannot get over it. She thinks
she is an ill-used person; why "couldn't" her hair have been made like
grandpa's when she would have liked it so much?

Mamma can't help laughing about it, but she says:

"Poor child, I am sorry for her; her trouble looks as big to her, as
some of mine do to me, I dare say."



                           WHO'LL SETTLE IT.

"THIS makes the sixth time I've caught it, without missing," Jessie
Knowlton said, as she spread her pretty sticks to catch the bright
colored hoop.

"The fifth, you mean," Laura Jennings said, preparing to throw.

"Why, no I don't. I mean the sixth; I've caught it five times before."

"Oh, no; you are mistaken, I've been counting; you have caught it four
times."

The red on Jessie's cheeks began to grow brighter. "I'll leave it to
Nettie," she said, turning to the girl who was looking on; "haven't I
caught the hoop five times?"

"I guess so; I haven't been counting."

"Ned," said Laura, turning to her brother, who sat on the grass, "isn't
it just four times that she has caught this hoop?"

Ned laughed and glanced towards Nettie, with a mischievous wink in his
handsome eyes. "I guess so," he said. "I've been looking the other way
most of the time; but then, I've no doubt you are both right; I am
willing to agree, first with one, and then with the other."

"Oh, well," said Jessie, "there is no use in leaving it to anybody! Of
course 'I' know for myself how many times I have caught a hoop, without
being watched by anybody. I wouldn't cheat, about such a silly thing as
that, at least."

"Who supposed you would cheat? What is the use in being so foolish? I
say you are mistaken, and that you haven't caught this hoop but four
times."

"And 'I' say I am 'not' mistaken; I know I have caught it five times."

How fast they were getting on! The cheeks of both were like glowing
roses. How was it going to end? They had stopped playing, and were
looking crossly at each other; and the boy on the grass, and the girl
behind them were both beginning to feel uncomfortable.

"Pshaw!" Ned said. "What difference does it make, Laura, how many times
she has caught it?"

"It makes no difference to me, of course;" Laura said, stiffly—"I just
happened to speak of it, and she took me up so suddenly. I 'know' it is
but four times, but I don't see why she cares."

"Bow! wow! wow!" said Towzer, getting up, and shaking his coat, and
looking fiercely at Laura; he was Jessie's dog, and he began to think
it was time to interfere. He looked so funny that Laura, as she turned
to see what was the matter with him, could not help laughing. No sooner
did she begin to laugh, than Jessie joined in with all her might; the
others helped, and before they knew it, they were all down on the
grass, in a perfect tumult of fun.

"Perhaps I am mistaken," Jessie said, at last, as soon as she could
speak; "I'm sure I thought I had caught it five times."

"Well, 'I' thought it wasn't but four; but, then, of course it may be I
that is mistaken; what difference does it make anyhow? Oh, Jessie, how
funny Towzer 'did' look!"

And then they all laughed again. So Towzer was the one, at last, who
settled the dispute; and I think he did it in a very ingenious way.








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