Harper's Young People, June 29, 1880 Part 7

"No, she was not on the hay-cart."

"Then she must be with the boys."

"No; they are in the barn."

"Then she is hiding. Go and look for her. I must get your rooms in order now." So nurse went in.

Quillie tried to read, but her thoughts were like thistle-down. Where could Julie be? She sought her all about the house; peeped into all sorts of corners. Then she went to the barn. Had the boys seen Julie?

No; and they were whittling, making a boat, and couldn't be bothered.

"I wish, Fred, that you had not been so rude to Julie."

Fred looked up, surprised. "Rude! when was I rude?"

"You called her 'little Frenchy,' and imitated her."

"Did I? Oh yes, I remember something of that sort. But she isn't huffy, you know; she's a bright little chick."

Quillie thought so too, and was getting very lonely.

As the afternoon shadows lengthened, and the great conch sh.e.l.l was blown for the men to come in to their early supper, nurse came down to summon the children in to tidy themselves; and when she found Quillie crying in a corner, and no Julie yet to be seen, she too became uneasy. Where could the child have gone? She questioned everybody. No one had seen her. All remembered the little brown hat with its wreath of daisies.

Fortunately the farm was a safe place; there was no water to fear.

Perhaps she had fallen asleep somewhere. All would hunt for her after supper. And all did hunt, but no one found her.

The moon, like a silver sickle, hung in the sky; the frogs croaked; the soft sweet air puffed out the muslin curtains, and brought in the fragrance of the new-mown hay. The children, too tired to be much alarmed, went to their beds without their usual gambols. Mr. Brown hitched his weary horses, and declared his intention of remaining out all night unless he found Julie. Poor nurse was in a fever of anxiety.

She reproached herself in many quite unnecessary ways. She had talked the matter over with Mrs. Brown until both were exhausted, and now she was pacing the piazza in weary restlessness.

Quillie, unable to sleep, came trotting out in her night-gown, and seeing poor nurse's sad face, went up to her, and whispered something about "G.o.d being able to take care of little Julie wherever she might be," when far away came the sound of wheels.

"Hark!" said nurse, "is that wagon coming here?"

"Yes," said Quillie, listening, "it is coming here."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: STABLE TALK--DRAWN BY FRANK BELLEW, JUN.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]

PORTLAND, CONNECTICUT.

I have both wild and tame pets. This spring a pair of brown-headed birds built their nest in the _Akebia quinata_. The old birds have grown so tame that they will come up to my feet to eat crumbs.

Their young are fully fledged now. The robins have a brood in the apple-tree, and now another pair of small birds have begun to build in one of our evergreens. My tame pets are a pair of jonquil canaries, Nedy and Barbra. They hatched four eggs, but all the little birds died. Now Barbra has a nest of five eggs, and yesterday one bird was hatched, and to-day another. I have a few choice varieties of roses and other plants. The roses and honeysuckles in the garden are in bloom. I am ten years old.

ALTIA R. A.

GENEVA, NEW YORK.

We have four old canaries, and one of them, named f.a.n.n.y, laid two eggs, and now there are two little birds. They keep d.i.c.k busy feeding them all the time. We give them bread and milk and boiled egg. This spring we had a pair of twin lambs, and the mother sheep did not like but one, so we had to feed the other. My brother Herbert is the one who feeds it, and it will follow him everywhere. The other day it walked into the dining-room after him. It will not come to me. We have over forty little chickens, and twelve turkeys. The turkeys are just as pretty as they can be.

GRACE ELEANOR.

JERSEY CITY, NEW JERSEY.

I am ten years old. I would like you to know how much I like YOUNG PEOPLE. I do so love to read the letters from the little girls and boys. I have a canary named Beauty, and a cat named Charlie.

LILLIE C. L.

GRANVILLE, OHIO.

My papa subscribed for YOUNG PEOPLE for my birthday present. I am just getting over scarlet fever, and I look forward eagerly every week for my paper, for my playmates are afraid to come to see me, and it is the best young friend I have. I am eight years old.

MAY A.

PORT REPUBLIC, MARYLAND.

I saw the letters in YOUNG PEOPLE about pets, and thought I would write about mine. I have two dogs. One is named Topsy and the other Frank. But best of all is my horse, named Ella. I am eight years old.

"LITTLE BROTHER."

I live in the northwestern part of Minnesota, in the town of Detroit. I think I must be one of the most northern subscribers to YOUNG PEOPLE in the United States. This winter has been very severe. The snow staid on the ground nearly five months. We have no spring here, only a winter and a summer, with a very short autumn. Two years ago I saw a flock of Bohemian wax-wings, which are very rare in the United States. I would like to know if any other correspondents have ever seen them. They are pretty birds.

Some honeysuckles and blue, white, and yellow violets grow here in the woods.

JAY H. M.

CRUGERS, NEW YORK.

My aunt sends me YOUNG PEOPLE, and I like it very much. We have a squirrel round our house that is pure white, but its mother is a common red one. We think that is very odd. Our gardener calls the young one a dandy. The squirrels and rabbits in our yard are very tame, and do not mind people a bit; and a little wren builds its nest in the horse post by the stoop every year. We never frighten or hurt our wild pets.