AAS soon as they were all once more in the carriage, and the horses' heads turned homeward, Fred told what Ernest had proposed. Mr. Bradford willingly gave permission for his children to join their cousins in preparing for the flower show, and promised to furnish whatever seeds and plants it would be best for them to have, in case Mr. Porter could give them the ground.

"That I will," said the old man readily. "And, by the way, there's a plot in the lower part of the garden that will be just about the right thing for you. There's nothing planted there yet, for I only took it in this spring, but it has been all dug and raked over, and is ready for whatever is to go in it. I'll give you boys each ten feet square, and the girls six. I guess that's about as much as they can manage."

"More, I fear," said Mrs. Bradford, "at least such little hands as those of my Bessie, are scarcely strong enough for work that could raise any flowers fit to take a prize."

"But we will help her, mamma," said Fred "and if she tries, and cousin Alexander thinks she has done her best, that is all that is necessary." And he told the story of little Katy and her zinnia.

"I may try, mamma, may I not?" said Bessie earnestly, "Katy is a very little girl, only four years old; and I am quite old, you know, for I was six last month."

"Certainly you may try, my very old girl," said mamma, kissing the little, eager, upturned face; "and I will do all I can to help you; but then if you and Maggie do not take the prizes you must not be too much disappointed."

"Oh! no, and I can have satis—fac—tion in my garden any way, mamma," said Bessie, "in 'tending to it and watering it; and then I can give my flowers to you and Aunt May and every one else I love, and that will be enough of pleasure for me."

Mamma smiled and thanked her, and thought if her dear little girl were to give flowers to every one who loved her she would need a very large garden with a great many blossoms in it.

Mr. Porter knew that Frankie had been in the water, but he had not heard how the accident came about, nor of its after consequences; and now as he saw Fred moving restlessly to ease his aching knee, he asked him how he had been hurt.

Fred told the story of Frankie's ducking, of his own chase after the mischief-makers, and of what had happened to himself.

"Whew—ew—ew!" said Mr. Porter, as he finished, "I am sorry to hear this; sorry enough, sorry enough. Can you tell me what kind of looking boy and girl they were?"

Fred described the boy and girl, as nearly as he could, and Mr. Porter gave another long dismayed whistle.

"Yes, I thought so," he said, "there's no one here about but those two who would have been up to such an ugly trick as that. So, they're back again. I hoped we were rid of them for good and all."

"Who are they?" asked Mr. Bradford.

"Lem and Dolly Owen, sir; as bad a pair, and the children of as bad a father as one could find on a long summer day. Poor neglected creatures, they are to be pitied too; but it is useless to try to do anything for them, for all help is worse than thrown away. They live in a little tumble-down shanty back of the rocks at the lower end of the lake, and a terrible nuisance they are to me and every one in the neighborhood. The father is a drunkard of the worst sort, the mother long since dead, and these two children, liars, vagabonds and thieves, up to every sort of wicked mischief, and a terror to all the children in Chalecoo. They live as they can, by robbing orchards, hen-roosts, dairies and cornfields during the summer; picking up odd bits, and stealing whatever they can lay their fingers on in the winter, half starved and half frozen the most of the time."

"Can nothing be done for them?" asked Mr. Bradford.

"No, sir; as I say, it is not worth while to try to help them. All that the father can lay his hands on he spends in drink. My wife was distressed about the children, especially the girl, to think she should be growing up in such wickedness and misery; and last winter she fixed up a suit of warm clothes for her, and coaxing her into the house with a deal of trouble, for she is as wild as a hawk, she dressed her in them, and promised to give her and her brother a good meal every day if they would come quietly to the house and get it. My dear old woman hoped she might do them both some good if she could but keep a hold on them in this way. But the girl just took what she could get that day as sullenly as you please, never speaking a word of thanks, and making no promises, though she did look mighty proud of her new clothes, and hugged herself up in them as if she were glad to feel herself in something warm and comfortable. My wife, knowing what a thief she was, watched her all the time, and thought she could not possibly carry off anything; but somehow the sly creature got the better of her, and she had scarcely gone when a china plate was missed. Now my wife set a deal by that plate, for it had been hers when she was a little child, and the boys set out at once in search of Dolly. Well, will you believe it? no sooner did she catch sight of them, and guess what they were after, than she just dashed the plate down on the rocks, smashing it to atoms, and ran like a deer. They'd promised their mother not to hurt her, so they let her go; but the next day she was seen in all her old rags, and we found the new clothes had been sold by Owen at the next village. Of course they went for liquor, and that's the way everything goes. Kindness is all wasted on the children; they'll take what you give them with one hand, and steal from you with the other, and then abuse you for what you've done for them."

"Did Dolly and her brother come to get the nice meal kind Mrs. Porter promised them?" asked Bessie.

"No, indeed; they've kept clear enough of the family ever since; not that they are ashamed, but afraid."

"I should think they ought to be ashamed," said Maggie, indignantly. "I never heard of such ungratefulness, and Mrs. Porter ought to serve Dolly right, and never do another thing for her; she don't deserve it."

"Ah! my little girl, if we were all served right, and had nothing but what we deserve, where would we be?" said the old man. "But that did just discourage my wife, and she has left the wretched creatures to themselves since. She saw it was of no use. Owen won't leave his children a decent thing to their backs, a bed to sleep on, or a cup or plate to eat from. My old woman is not the first that has taken pity on them, and tried to make them a little comfortable; but whatever is given them just goes for drink, drink; and we have all given it up as a hopeless job. Besides, the children themselves are so lawless and thankless, that every kindness that is done for them they only turn into a means of mischief."

"Does the father ill-treat them?" asked Mrs. Bradford.

"Yes, he not only encourages them to steal and lie, but beats them when they bring nothing home which he can exchange for liquor. We often hear their cries away up at my house, but there's no way of stopping it, as I see."

"And must these poor children just be left to go to ruin?" asked Mrs. Bradford, sadly.

"There's no one can reach them to teach them better, I am afraid," said Mr. Porter. "You'll just get hard words and worse for your pains if you try it. Why, there was the clergyman from down in the village, came up to see them, and he brought along a bundle of good things and gave them to Dolly; and while he was talking kindly to her, he got a blow on the back with a big stone, and others came about him thick and fast. He knew it was Lem, but what could he do? He could not see the boy or fix it on him. And that's the way; they are both so sly and artful, they are seldom or never caught in the act; so though when a melon patch or hen-roost is robbed, or some fine young trees are hacked to pieces, every one feels sure it was Lem or Dolly who did the mischief, yet it is difficult to prove it on them. Lem has had more thrashings than any boy of his size that ever lived, I believe, but what's the use? It only makes him worse than ever. Farmer Grafton caught him once stealing clothes from the bleaching-ground, and handed him over to the constable for a few days; but that night his hay-ricks were burnt down. Folks first thought it was Owen that did it, but he was proved to have lain dead drunk all night in the liquor shop down in the village; and then everybody believed it was Doll, and with reason too, for she's just bad enough to do it, young as she is. Last March they all went off, father and children, and I did hope we should see no more of them; but here the young ones are back, it seems. I trust Owen is not with them. If you little ones come to me to-night, I'll tell you what old Sol here did for that fellow, and how the dumb beast showed himself the wisest of the two."

"I am very sorry for Lem and Dolly," said Bessie. "If their mother had not died maybe they would not have been so naughty. It's very sorrowful for children not to have any mamma to teach them better. Don't they have any one to love them, Mr. Porter?"

"Well, they seem to love one another after their own rude fashion," answered Mr. Porter. "It's about the only mark of good that's left in them."

"I wish we could do something to make them a little better," said Bessie.

"The Lord love you for the wish," said Mr. Porter, looking kindly around at her, "but you could never do anything, you little lamb. Why, they'd tease you out of your senses if you went to speak to them, and they're not fit for the like of you to notice either. Just you keep out of their way as much as you can, dearie, or they'll do you a mischief if they find the chance."

Mr. Bradford here began to talk of something else, and they all forgot Lem and Dolly for the time. But as they were about half way home, Fred, who was sitting in front with Mr. Porter, suddenly exclaimed,—

"There are those children!" and looking before them, they all saw the ragged, miserable boy and girl standing on a stone at a little distance from the road side.

As the carriage approached, they darted away into the woods, but soon after a shower of gravel and sand flying into the carriage, as it slowly toiled up a hill between two walls of rock, made it known in a very disagreeable manner that they had returned to annoy our party by further mischief. They kept out of sight behind the trees and rocks, however; and when Fred, who was furiously angry, begged Mr. Porter to go after them with his long whip, the loud, taunting laugh which rang from above told that their tormentors felt themselves secure from punishment.

The carriage was soon beyond this narrow pass, and they saw and heard no more of Lem and Dolly, and reached home without further mischief.

"Why, how long you stayed," said good Mrs. Porter, coming out as they drove up to the door. "I waited to feed the chickens, as I promised the dear little girls here; but I am afraid they want their supper badly. Come along, my darlings," and with a pan in each hand, and followed by Maggie, Bessie and Frankie, the kind old lady went out to feed the fowls.

"Margaret and Bessie, come here," said Mr. Stanton, calling his wife and sister to the door as they passed through the hall. "Is not that a picture?"

A picture it was indeed, and one which mamma thought so pretty that she had to call the rest of the family to enjoy it. Beneath a great spreading pear-tree sat the motherly old lady, the last golden rays of the setting sun falling over her ample figure, in her neat black gown, white apron, and snowy kerchief folded over her bosom, spectacles in hand, and in her lap the pan which held the corn and barley; while around her were the three little ones dipping their chubby hands into the measure, and scattering the contents among the noisy, scrambling crowd of fowls, themselves full of glee and happiness at this, to them, new pleasure.

There was one jealous old fellow, a pet rooster and a great beauty, who would take his supper from no hand but that of his mistress; and flying on the bench beside her, he courted her notice and a supper by himself. Mrs. Porter was about to indulge him, but Flossy, who was seated by her, watching with great satisfaction the feeding of the chickens, seemed to think it quite unfair that he should not take his chance with the others, and soon chased him from the bench. Upon which the rooster refused to eat at all, and after pecking one or two of the smaller chickens pretty severely, he strutted away with his neck stretched very straight, and expressing his displeasure in a loud and by no means pleasant voice. In vain did Mrs. Porter call him by his name, "Coxcomb," which he knew quite well; he only flapped his wings and walked farther away, screaming louder than ever.

"He is a very naughty bird, and now he must just go without any supper," said Maggie.

"Ah! my poor Coxcomb," said Mrs. Porter, "don't you think he is pretty?"

"Yes," said Maggie, "he is very pretty but he is not a bit good. He is not at all 'handsome is that handsome does—' pecking that dear little yellow chicken! I'd rather be that brown guinea hen who is so nice and good, even if she is not so very pretty."

"Yes, yes," said Mrs. Porter, "that is the way, all the beauty in the world will not make us loved if we are not kind and sweet."

The feeding of the fowls was scarcely done when they were called in to their own supper; and when this was over, our little girls with their elder brothers ran off to find Mr. Porter, and beg for the story about old Sol.

The old man was seated outside the kitchen door, enjoying the lovely summer twilight, and waiting, he said, to see if the children would not come to claim his promise. He took Bessie upon his knee, and bade Fanny bring a stool for Maggie, while Harry and poor limping Fred, who came slowly after the others, sat upon the curb stone which ran around the old well.

"It was just about this time last year," began Mr. Porter, when they were all settled, "that I hired a new farm hand. His name was Ted, and he was a simple, half witted fellow, easily led by those about him. I don't think he had much judgment or conscience of his own, poor lad, but was ready to do either right or wrong according as he was persuaded at the moment. Tell him to do a certain thing in a certain way and he would obey, unless some one else came along and told him differently; when he would do as the last speaker said, and forget all his former orders. He meant to be faithful, but of course he was not to be trusted without a good deal of watching to make sure he was not interfered with, and there were folks enough, bad boys and girls, who were always ready to meddle with him and set him up to some mischief, just for the bit of fun it would make for themselves. He was the son of a poor widow in the village, who had hard work to keep herself and her seven children fed and warmed through the winter; and Ted, who was ready enough to help his mother so far as he knew how, could get no steady work. No one had patience with the simple lad who was so easily led astray without intending to do wrong; and who would come and confess his mistakes with the most triumphant air, believing that he must have done right since he had obeyed the last orders he had received.

"But I thought with me and the boys to look after him, he could get along here, so I hired him. He was a capital hand with horses, and his work was mostly about the stable, feeding the horses, rubbing them down and the like. He used to pet the dumb creatures and talk to them as if they were human beings, and it was wonderful to see how fond they all became of him, old Sol in particular. He would run to meet Ted, and follow him about the fields just as your little Flossy there follows you; or if he was in the stable would whinny with delight the moment he heard his step.

"Ted had a way of curling himself up in Sol's manger and going to sleep when his work was done, and the horse would never suffer any one to come near or disturb him till he had had his nap out.

"Well, so Ted was doing very well, being obedient and industrious, when one day about Christmas time my son Bill went down to the steamboat landing to bring up a load of stores which had been brought from the city. There was a deep snow on the ground, with a prospect of more to come that day, and I did not feel just so willing to have him caught in the storm. A snow storm on these mountain roads is not a nice thing to be out in, I can tell you; but some of the stores were pretty badly wanted, and we were afraid they would spoil, lying on the dock.

"So Bill started off, taking Ted with him to help him load up, and driving Sol and Nero before the sledge.

"When he reached the village he went to the post-office, where he found a letter to himself, telling him his favorite brother Walter, who was at college in the city, was very ill and wanted to see him. There was but an hour or two before the train would be along, not time enough for him to come up home and go back again; so he went to the dock, loaded up the sledge, and giving the reins to Ted, bade him go straight home and stop for nothing.

"Ted would have done this had he been let alone; but as he came back through the village, a lot of mischievous fellows got hold of him and told him he was to stop at the public house and rest his horses before they set out for their pull up the mountain. When they had persuaded him they led him on to drink, till he became noisy and more foolish than ever; and when they had had their fun with him they let him go.

"As he was leaving, Seth Owen came out with his jug of whiskey and begged to be taken up the mountain. Now I had many times warned Ted against Owen, for I knew he was just the one to lead the poor fellow wrong if it was only to spite me; but he told Ted I had sent orders he was to take him home, and the lad was persuaded to do it.

"I suppose after they were on their way, Owen drank afresh himself, and led Ted to do the same. However that was, the hours went by, and when Bill did not come I began to be uneasy, all the more as by this time it was snowing heavily. I was standing on the piazza, looking down the road, and thinking if it was not best to yoke up a team of oxen and go in search of my boy, when I saw the sledge coming up the side of the lake. But no Bill and no Ted were with it, the horses were alone, plodding along through the snow, and if ever it was said without words, 'there's something wrong, come as quick as you can,' old Sol said it that day. We pitched off the load, quick as lightning, and I, with my other boys, started in search of Ted. My fears for Bill were set at rest by finding, pinned to one of the bags, a note saying where he had gone; for the dear thoughtful fellow had been afraid Ted would forget to give it to me, and so put it where he knew I must see it.

"Sol and Nero went straight ahead without orders or guidance, for I just let them have the rein, thinking the faithful creatures knew better than I did where they should go. Half way down the mountain they went, and night was just beginning to fall, when they stopped short in one of the most break-neck places on the whole road. We looked about us, and there, sticking up out of the snow, was a man's leg. We pulled him out in less than no time, but it was not poor Ted, but Seth Owen. We searched all about for the poor lad in vain; when, seeing old Sol was mighty uneasy, and stretching his neck out as if he wanted to get free, I took him out of the harness, thinking the creature might help us.

"Sure enough, he turned about, and going to a spot where the mountain fell sheer down a hundred feet or so, he pawed away the snow, and there, half on, half over the edge of the precipice, hung Ted, his clothes caught by a bush, and holding him back from sure destruction. He, as well as Owen, was dead drunk.

"We were putting him on the sledge when I saw Sol, who had trotted back to the place where we found Owen, pawing away once more at the snow, snorting and sniffing as if he were displeased. I went to see what he was about, thinking here was some other fellow buried in the snow; but as I came up to him, he uncovered the whiskey jug, the cause of all this mischief. He smelled about it for a moment, and then, with a snort of disgust, turned about, and dashing his heels upon it, sent it flying over the cliff, then walked quietly to the sledge, and placed himself ready to be harnessed, with an air which said, 'That can do no more harm.' We lost no time in getting home, where Ted, and Owen too, were brought round with difficulty. An hour more and they would both have been frozen to death. So you may believe we have cause to think much of old Sol."

"But how did the two men happen to fall from the sledge so nearly in the same place?" said Harry.

"We supposed they were both stupefied, partly by drink, partly with the cold, and that the sledge had run upon the bank, causing it to tip sideways, and they had slipped off, while the load being securely fastened with ropes had remained in its place."

"And did Ted ever get drunk again?" Bessie.

"Not while he was with me," said Mr. Porter, "and I hope he never will again. When he was told of his narrow escape and of what old Sol had done, he said, 'Nice old horse, nice old horse, he knew better than Ted. He teach Ted never touch whiskey stuff again.' His mother moved out west this spring, and he went with her; but I think his poor dull brain has received a lesson it will never forget."

"And what did Owen say about his jug?" asked Fred.

"He was very angry, and swore he would make me pay for it, seeming to think little of the saving of his life since he had lost that. He managed to pick up another one in a day or two, and the lesson did him no good."