Harper's Round Table, October 22, 1895 Part 5

"And now where are the girls?" demanded Neal, with a view to changing the subject. "I want to see them."

His sister called them in from the next room, and they had a merry meeting.

"How funny it is," thought Cynthia. "The last time I saw Neal we were like two drenched water-rats on the river at home. Whoever thought we should meet away off here in a strange house and a strange city, where all is so different? I believe things are really going to come right after all, and that day I was perfectly certain they never would. Here is Edith well and strong when I thought she was surely going to die, and mamma has seen Neal and seems as happy as a lark, and Neal himself looks fine. Somehow he seems more like a man. I'm proud of him."

All of which train of thought took place while Cynthia was indulging in an unwonted fit of silence.

Neal soon suggested that they should take a walk, and the girls acceding to it, the three set forth, Neal feeling extremely proud of the two pretty maidens with whom he was walking.

"Philadelphia has an awfully forlorn look in summer," he said, with the air of having been born and brought up a Philadelphian. "You see, everybody goes out of town, and the houses are all boarded up. You're here at just the wrong time."

"We are certainly here at a very hot time," remarked Edith, as she raised her parasol.

"They call it very cool for this time of year," said Neal. "You forget you are farther south than old Ma.s.sachusetts. It is a dandy place, I think, though I wouldn't mind knowing a few people that are not Friends."

"How can you know people unless they are friends?" asked Cynthia, gayly.

"Cynth, what a pun!" said Neal, with an attempt at a frown. "I say, though, it's awfully jolly to have you two girls here, even if Cynthia does keep at her old tricks and make very poor puns. How long are you going to stay?"

"As long as we're bidden, I suppose," returned Cynthia, with one of her well-known little skips, as they set foot on Walnut Street Bridge.

It was six o'clock, but being June the sun was still high above the horizon. A gentle breeze came off the river, and the afternoon light threw a soft radiance over the masts of the vessels which lay at anchor at the wharves, and the spires and chimneys of the town.

They wandered through the pretty streets of West Philadelphia; Neal, happy in having companions of his own age again, laughing and talking in his old way, care-free and fun-loving once more.

To Cynthia the past year seemed a hideous dream, now to be blotted out forever.

She and Neal had one conversation alone together. It was the night before the visitors were to leave Philadelphia, and the two were in the old garden that was at the back of Mr. Carpenter's house. It was not like Aunt Betsey's garden, nor the more modern one at Oakleigh, but the roses and the lilac blossoms suggested a bit of country here among city bricks and mortar.

Neal was very quiet, and Cynthia rallied him for being so, as she herself laughed heartily at one of her own jokes.

"Well, perhaps I am rather glum," said he; "but I think you are horribly heartless, Cynthia, laughing that way when you're going off to-morrow, and n.o.body knows when I shall see you again."

Cynthia was sobered in a moment.

"Neal, I want to tell you something," she said. "Mamma told me that you have decided to stay here and work instead of going to college, and I admire you for doing it. Of course, it's a great pity for a boy not to go to college, but then yours is a peculiar case, and I'm proud of you, Neal. Yes, I am! You're plucky to stick it out."

"Wait until I do stick it out," said Neal, coloring hotly at the unexpected praise. "But it's rather nice to hear you tell me I'm something besides a coward."

"Hus.h.!.+ Don't remember what I said that day. Just forget it all."

"Indeed, I won't! It is written down in my brain, every word of it, in indelible ink. There was something else you said, Cynth. You said you had faith in me. I mean to show you that you didn't make a mistake. It will be harder work than ever now, though. Having seen you all makes the idea of toiling and moiling here pretty poky. My mind is made up. I _will_ stick it out!"

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

IN THE VALLEY.

The night has filled the valley up Brimful of darkness, like a cup; But day will spill the mists again Over the brim--in driving rain.

MARRION WILc.o.x.

A PARSLEY BED.

BY EMMA J. GRAY.

"I wish _I_ could make a little money," said confidential Florence to her friend Annette.

Now Annette was notably practical, and though a diligent student, managed to find time for apparently everything else, money-making included. Indeed, had she not been as enterprising, much of her enjoyment would necessarily have been left out. Her father and mother had many conferences to contrive ways and means to supply their children's needs. And stern necessity made frequent entertainments and many dainty gifts quite impossible. So Florence appealed to the right person, and her friend's advice would apply to any boy or girl who, like Florence, would like to make a little money.

"Raise parsley." And Annette smilingly nodded her bright little head.

"Why, how could I make any money out of parsley?" was the doubting query.

"If, Florie dear, you'll do exactly as I will tell you, you will see.

Now listen:

"Next spring have your ground turned to the depth of one foot. And be sure to have it well manured, for parsley loves a rich soil. Some people put soot around the young plants, and think it is very helpful. Before planting your seeds soak them for an hour in warm water. Cover them half an inch with soil, and watch carefully. The ground must never be allowed to become parched, for your parsley would die. Raise as much as you can, and if the supply is greater than the demand, dry some. Cut off close to the roots, and dry in a shallow tin pan in a moderate oven. It will scorch very easily, so look out. When it is dry, powder it in your fingers, and pack in paper or tin boxes. You will find the dried parsley will help out your winter supply wonderfully."

"But, Annette," interrupted Florence, "surely you cannot raise parsley in the house?"

"Why not? Of course you can. During September, and later at intervals, plant seeds in boxes and pots, and place in your sunny windows. It will grow beautifully all winter, and you'll find you can get good prices for it. By-the-way, so that your prices may be honest, inquire in any grocery store, and aim to sell at the same figure. Of course in summer it will be much cheaper.

"About customers. Arrange for them while your plants are growing. Your family and friends will do to start with, and soon you will find more and yet more. For parsley has such multiplied uses. For soups, fish, entrees, meat, and game, for flavoring and garnis.h.i.+ng. You know people must have it. And remember parsley may be cut down to the root again and again, and up it will come bravely each time. But frost is a great enemy. Before its approach gather all you can and try transplanting the roots. They may not always be depended upon, but often they will live and flourish from season to season."

THE EAST-SIDE BOY AND HIS GAMES.

BY REV. JOHN T. WILDS, D.D.

Being a boy in a crowded city and being a boy in a village are two different things, though boys the world over are always boys. The balance of fun and sport is, after all, in favor of the city lad, the offspring of the tenement-house.

After spending my boyhood in a delightful mountain village, and after being much of a boy, although a man, for years in the crowded tenement section of the East Side of New York, I am inclined to believe that pity is greatly misplaced when a youthful reader of the Round Table spreads himself in summer days under a great tree, feels sorry for the poor East-sider of New York, and says, "It's too bad he can't be here with me." Right now, my delightful friend under the tree, shouts of merriment ring in my ears from boys who last night slept in a close room, or possibly on the fire-escape, whose breakfast was most meagre because their parents are poor and honest. They are as happy as the day is long.

They are happier longer than the day, because they never go to bed until ten o'clock, and they only go then because the hall light is turned out at that hour, and they don't like to climb up to the top story, or go through a long alleyway in the dark any more than you enjoy going through a graveyard in the night-time.

Necessity keeps the East-sider active. If he lolls on the street the police stir him; if he hangs about a store the keeper chases him away; but they tolerate him when he is playing. Necessity also make him inventive. They make their games and have them in season. They would as soon think of wearing an ulster in summer-time as play top in July. I don't know but that they have a code quite as reasonable as the high-cla.s.sed youth who patterns after the dude.

Our happy lad of the tenement, until he is fourteen when he leaves school and goes to work, is compelled to play in crowded streets where hundreds of children swarm like bees, and necessarily within a narrow s.p.a.ce. But he has broad ideas, and insists upon doing, accommodating the s.p.a.ce in some way, whatever others do. The asphalt pavements are of the greatest blessing--far better than roof-gardens, and since we cannot have many parks, they are of greater importance to all concerned than the little squares that dot our city. At evening-time, when the street-organs have not gathered all the girls of the block for a dance and during the day on the sunny side of the street one may find a most energetic crowd of boys, eager, and intensely excited over a game. The streets and pavements are all marked over with strange diagrams, each one of which tells of a conflict. "Tip Cat" is always popular, but played, as a rule, in the morning; so also is "Kicking the Stick or Can." When the sun is hot they get on the shady side and play "Long Branch" and "War." Later on they have the "Hopping Game" and "Spread the Woman." Then when night comes--and it is not night, for the streets are as light as day because of the electric-light or gas--they dart about as detectives and robbers playing "Relievio."