Lib never said another word. She walked up to the entrance, and pulled aside the curtain, and there stood the semblance of a man. In his extended hand was a card, on which was very badly printed:

"_I'm a poor b'y,--I want a home._"

"_References exchanged._"

"_I'll sc.r.a.pe the mud off me boots, if ye'll let me in._"

Lib called, "Come here, Mollie, it's a trick of those boys."

We went in, and there we found the interloper to be a scarecrow from a neighboring field, ingeniously arranged so as to appear very human.

At that moment, a loud laugh above our heads betrayed the presence of the boys in the trees, who clambered down with hilarious expedition, and fairly rolled themselves upon the ground with delight. They had seen all our perturbation; had heard my cowardly cries and expressions; Lib's looking in the window, and her fearful hesitation and scamper behind the fairy bower! The best thing to do was to laugh, and that we did right heartily; we girls, were internally thankful that the intruder was only a scarecrow after all.

We ordered the boys take their silly joke out, and to come in like gentlemen, and make a formal call, and probably they would be invited to take some refreshments.

This news caused them to work with great alacrity. They were dressed up too; Fred having chosen to wear his school uniform, with a gorgeous crimson sash and his sword.

We were never so delighted with any thing as with that afternoon's adventure. For hours we chatted and laughed, and ate our refreshments, until the western light began to take on a ruddy hue, and we closed our little bower and proceeded homeward.

What was our surprise, when we reached there, to find that three young friends from the city with their servant had come to visit us.

Merryvale was not dull after that, I can a.s.sure you.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE NEW SERVANT AT MERRYVALE.]

AUTUMN LEAVES, AND WHAT KATIE DID.

ALEX DUKE BAILIE.

"Oh, Bessie! I've such an idea, _such_ a good one, and _so_ sure, you can't think how it came either, if you guessed and tried for a week!"

"Child, you are always having ideas, but they amount to nothing; you have enough to do at home, without continually fretting your head about what you cannot carry out."

"But, Bessie, this is _just splendid_, and it came to me all of a sudden, and I'm sure as sure can be that it is a real _good_ idea. Now wont you listen!"

"I suppose I must, if I want any peace; but I'm very tired, so if it is like your latest--to catch fish and sell them in the town, or to have your curls cut off and let some city hair-dresser pay you for them--there will be no use to tell it to me."

"Tain't neither, Bessie dear, it's a real clever idea, and I know you wont say 'no' to it. I was looking over some of the old picture papers this morning, and I found a funny picture of a gentleman that had gone fishing with, oh! the greatest lot of lines, and a fine rod, and a basket swung at his back, and he looked ever so nice; but he hadn't caught any thing and he was ashamed to go back to the city with an empty basket; and then there was another picture where he was buying a great string of fish from a bare-footed little country boy, that had caught them all, and had only a rough old pole and an old line on it."

"So it _is_ the fishing idea, again," said Bessie, "but the present variation does not improve on the last."

"No, it just ain't the fishing idea any more; it's this: you know all the excursion parties that come up here, are coming all the time now; well, the ladies all gather autumn leaves, lots and lots, handsful and handsful of them. But they get tired of carrying so many after a while, and by the time they get ready to go back to the cars, their leaves are thrown away, and they are empty-handed. Now just listen! If I go to work and pick out the _very_ prettiest leaves and do them up in the _very_ sweetest bunches, and tie them so they are easy to carry, and meet them when they are starting to go home, I'm _sure_ they will buy them, just like the gentleman did the fish from that boy. Now, ain't that a _real good_ idea?"

"I believe there is something in it, Katie," answered the eldest sister.

"I knew you would," cried Katie, joyously, "and may I try it?"

"If you will be very careful and not talk too much to the people you know nothing of, I have no objections; it can do no harm, at all events," and poor, tired Bessie sighed as she looked at her bright young sister and thought of the time when she too was young and full of hope and gay spirits.

There was quite a family of these Wilsons in the little house at the foot of the mountains, in Pennsylvania. The widowed mother, sickly and almost blind; Bessie, a young lady, the eldest daughter, aged twenty-three, who taught a very large school for very small pay; then Katie not quite twelve, and Robbie, the baby, the pet, the boy, who was only five.

Three years before, their father had been living, and they had enjoyed all that wealth could bring them. Suddenly he sickened and died, and then came the dreadful knowledge that he left nothing for his family; he was deeply in debt to his partner, with whom he had worked a large coal-mine, and this Mr. Moore was what all people called a "hard man,"

he was old and crabbed, and always wanted and would have every cent coming to him. Bessie was to have been married to his son, Philip, but when poverty came to her, the old man refused to let Philip see her more, and the girl was too proud to go into a family where she was not wanted, and, beside, she had her poor mother, who had given up and failed fast after her misfortunes, she had her to look after. So Bessie taught school; Katie attended to the little home into which they had moved from the great house on the hill, a n.o.ble little housekeeper she was; Robbie did about as he pleased and was well content with life, except when neat Katie would seize him and wash his face with plenty of soap in his eyes, and comb his tangled curls with a comb that "allus pulled," as he cried.

It was hard for them to pay the rent, to get food and the many delicacies Mrs. Wilson had always been used to, and now needed more than ever. Bessie's small wages from her school were taken, every cent, for these, and Katie was continually bothering her young head with "ideas" as to how _she_ could make money to help them all. The autumn leaves were the latest, and it really did seem as though there were something in it.

The next day was Sat.u.r.day, Bessie was free from school duties, and so her little sister had more time at her disposal. Friday evening she and Robbie gathered a great quant.i.ty of bright-colored leaves; the next morning, bright and early, they were out again; the little back porch was filled with them.

With her own natural good taste, aided by Bessie's more cultivated judgment, they made up many neat, beautiful bunches of those bright-colored droppings from the forest trees. These she placed in a large but pretty basket that once had been sent, filled with rare fruit, to Bessie, from Philip, and the older girl sighed when she gave it to her sister.

Then Katie started, leaving Robbie behind crying; and with a trembling heart and a big lump in her throat, but bravely as a little soldier, she made her way to the path by which the excursion parties would have to return to the cars. Soon they began to come along, all tired, trying to be merry ladies and gentlemen.

Katie stood with her basket on her arm. She did not know how pretty she looked, with her brown curls floating out from beneath her big sun-bonnet, her pure white ap.r.o.n, her dark dress which Bessie had made from one of her own, with delicate bits of lace at the wrists, a bright bit of ribbon about her throat and a plain little breast-pin clasping it. Her big black eyes looked longingly at the pa.s.sers-by, her red lips tried, many times, to utter some words that would help her sell her wares, but she could not speak, she could only up her hand and _look_ her wants.

"What lovely leaves!" cried a young lady, "these of mine seem all faded by the carrying, and I'm tired of the great load anyhow," and she threw away a great lot tied round with her handkerchief, and hastened toward the little merchant.

"What a pretty girl," said the young man with her.

"How much are these?" inquired the lady.

Bessie had not thought of what she would ask for her bunches, and now, between pleasure and fright, she could not think of any price to put upon them.

"Whatever you please, Miss," she faintly murmured.

"How lovely they are," said the lady, and taking three bunches, she gave two to the young man with her, telling him: "Harry, you must carry these, and pay the child," the third one she kept in her own hand.

The gentleman put his hand in his pocket, drew it out, and dropped into Katie's basket a silver dollar.

The tears almost blinded the little girl--tears of joy over her first success--she could hardly see what the coin was, but when she picked it up she managed to stammer that she "had no change."

"Don't want any, little one," said the young man pleasantly, "the sight of you is worth all the money and more." Then the couple hurried away.

But their stopping had attracted many more, and a dozen bought of Katie, and, though few were as generous as her first customers, she soon disposed of most of her stock at ten cents a bunch, having gained courage to fix and state her price. Quite a number gave her more than that sum, and she began to feel a very rich little girl, indeed.

More than half her stock was sold, when an old gentleman and a young lady came along. The lady, as usual, was the first to admire the bright bunches, she took two, the old gentleman giving Katie fifty cents and telling her that "was right." He seemed a cross old man, but still spoke pleasantly.

"What's your name, child?" he asked.

"Katie Wilson, sir," replied the little girl, faintly.

"Um! um! Come along Helen," said he, hastily, and hurried away.

These were the last of the excursion parties, except an elderly lady having in charge a dozen children, all dressed alike; little ones from a soldiers' orphan school, for whom some kind person had provided a day's pleasure. They were tired and worn out with romping, and dragged along slowly; they looked at Katie's bright face and longingly at the pretty leaves in her basket. The girl's heart was touched; timidly she held out a bunch to a little boy who half stopped in front of her, he took it eagerly; in a moment the others were about her. By good fortune, she had enough to give on to each and an extra bunch to the lady.

With the thanks of these poor children in her heart, an empty basket and a happy jingle in her pocket she ran nearly all the way home, burst in on Bessie, put her arms about her neck and sobbed for happiness.