"Yes, if mamma has nothing more for me to do," said Nellie; and mamma telling her that there was nothing at present, they were soon ready and on their way; Daisy also being allowed to accompany them on promise of being very, very good and obedient to Nellie.

Nellie, wise, steady little woman that she was, was always to be trusted to take care of the other children, and to keep them out of mischief, so long as she gave her mind to it; and her mother had no fear that it would be otherwise now, after the lesson of last night. Poor Nellie! the sight of that black bump on Daisy's forehead was sufficient reminder in itself, even had she not formed such good resolutions. She felt it, I believe, more than Daisy did.

An unexpected pleasure awaited Nellie and Carrie when they reached the beach, for there they met, not only the little Bradfords, whom they now saw frequently, but also Lily Norris and Belle Powers, who had come to pass the day with their friends, Maggie and Bessie.

Daisy and Frankie Bradford, who were great cronies and allies, were soon busily engaged in making sand-pies, and conveying them in their little wagons to imaginary customers who were supposed to live upon the rocks.

Nellie had brought her doll with her. This was a doll extraordinary, a doll well known and far famed. It had been presented to Nellie by old Mrs. Howard, as a reward for her kind and generous behavior to her little grand-daughter Gracie, at a time when the latter had fallen into trouble and disgrace at school. To the young residents of Newport, the chief claim to distinction of the Ransom family lay in the fact that in their midst resided this wonderful creation of art. Mr. and Mrs. Ransom enjoyed the glorious privilege of being "the father and mother of the girl that has the doll." Nellie herself was considered the most enviable of mortals, while her brothers and sisters shared a kind of reflected glory. To meet Nellie when she had her treasure out for an airing was an event in the day; and frantic rushes were made to windows or down to gates and palings when the announcement was made,—"The doll is coming!"

It was impossible that Nellie should not be gratified by all this flattering homage to her darling, and she received such tributes with a proud but still generous satisfaction, for she would always take pains to walk slowly when she saw some eager eye fastened upon the doll, or carry it so as to afford the best view of all the beauties of its toilet; and, choice and careful as she was of it, she was always ready when she met any of her young friends to allow them to take and nurse it for a while.

Of late, however, even this doll had been neglected and put aside in the press of work which Nellie had laid upon herself; and this was the first time in several days that she had appeared in public. So Nellie was eagerly welcomed, partly on her own account, partly on that of her daughter; and after the latter had been duly admired, and ah'ed and oh'ed over to the heart's content of her mamma and the spectators, she was intrusted to Belle's tender care for a while, Lily having the promise of being allowed to take her afterwards.

Nellie was never a child who cared much for romping play or frolic; quiet games and amusements suited her much better; therefore her playmates were rather surprised when, having seen her doll safe in Belle's keeping, she proposed a race down the length of the beach, to see who could first reach a given rock she pointed out. For Nellie, like many another little child—ay, and grown person too—when they mean to turn over a new leaf, was now disposed to run into the opposite extreme, and to strive to make up for lost time by taking an amount of play and exercise to which she was not accustomed at any time.

Maggie and Lily readily agreed to her proposal, though they were rather surprised at it, as coming from her; but Bessie declined, not being fond of a romp, and Carrie, too, chose to stay with Bessie and Belle.

Nellie, however, soon found that strength and breath gave way, unaccustomed as she had been for weeks past to a proper amount of exercise; and she was forced to sit down upon a stone and watch Lily and Maggie as they sped onwards towards the goal.

They flew like the wind, and it was hard to tell which was there the first, for they fairly ran against one another as they reached it, and, laughing and breathless, turned to look back for Nellie, who smilingly nodded to them from the distance.

Meanwhile Bessie, Belle, and Carrie were amusing themselves more quietly.

"Do you think your mamma would let you come to our house this afternoon?" said Bessie to Carrie. "Mamma said we might ask you."

"Oh, yes! I'm sure she would. She quite approves of your family," answered Carrie.

"I should think she might," said Belle.

"Mamma thought we'd all like to have a good play together," said Bessie. "And, besides, we have some new things to show you, Carrie. We have some white mice that Willie Richards gave us; and they are just as tame, as tame."

"Oh! they're too cunning for any thing," said Belle. "They hide in your pocket, or up your sleeve, or in your bosom if you'll let them, and eat out of your fingers, and are not one bit afraid."

"How did you tame them so?" asked Carrie, who was extremely fond of dumb pets of all kinds.

"We did not do it," said Bessie. "Willie Richards did it before he sent them to us; but white mice can be tamed very easily. Harry says so."

"Gray mice can be tamed too," said Belle.

"Why, no!" said Carrie. "They always scamper away from you as fast as they can go."

"Not always," said Belle, with the air of one who had good authority for her statement. "Not always, do they, Bessie? For there's a little mouse lives in our parlor at the hotel in New York, and he's just as tame as he can be, and he comes out every evening to be fed."

"And do you feed him?" asked Carrie.

"Yes," said Belle. "Every evening I bring a piece of bread or cracker or cake from the dinner table for him, and when papa and I come in the parlor he is always on the hearth waiting for us. Then papa sits down by the table, and the mousey runs up his leg and jumps on the table, and then he takes the crumbs I put down for him. Oh, he's so cunning, and his eyes are so bright! And he even lets me smooth his fur with my finger."

"How did you make him so tame?" asked Carrie.

Belle colored and hesitated, looking down upon the doll in her arms, and seeming as if she would much rather not tell the story; but Carrie, who was not very quick to see where another's feelings were concerned, repeated her question.

"Well," said Belle, slowly at first, and then, as she became interested in her own story, with more ease, "he used to run about the room, but was not one bit tame, and papa told the waiter to set a trap for him. And the man did; and one morning when we went in the room the little mouse was caught. And he looked so cunning and so funny, peeping through the bars of the trap, that I felt very sorry about him; and, when the man was going to take him away to drown him, I cried very hard, and begged papa to let me keep him in the trap. And because I felt so badly papa said I might, but I must feed him, so he would not starve; and he very 'spressly told me I must not lift the door of the trap, for fear the mouse would run out. Papa thought I would soon grow tired of him,—he said so afterwards; but I did not, and I grew very attached to that mouse, and he to me. But—but"—Belle's voice faltered again, and she looked ashamed—"but I disobeyed my papa, and one day I opened the door of the trap a te-en-y little bit, just a very little bit; but the mouse ran out just as quick, as quick, and scampered away to the fireplace where his hole was."

"Did your papa scold you?" asked Carrie, as Belle paused to take breath.

"No," answered Belle, remorsefully, "he didn't scold me, but he looked very sorry when I told him. He always looks sorry at me when I am not good, but he never scolds me, and that makes me feel worse than if he was ever so cross to me."

"Well, what about the mouse?" asked Carrie.

"That very evening I was sitting on papa's knee, talking to him," continued Belle, "and what do you think? why, the first thing I saw was the mouse on the hearth looking right at me. I had a maccaroon, and papa crumbled a little bit of it on the floor, and the mouse came and eat it. Then he played about a little while; we kept very still, and at last he ran away. But the next night, and every night after that, he came; and at last one evening, first thing we knew, he jumped on papa's foot and ran up his leg; and now every evening he does that, and sits on the table till I feed him."

"How cunning!" said Carrie. "I wish I had one; but I'd rather have a white mouse."

"The white mice are prettier, but then they are stupider than Belle's mouse," said Bessie. "They don't do much but eat and go to sleep. I don't think they are so very interesting."

"There's Daisy crying again," said Carrie. "Daisy, what's the matter now?" raising her voice.

Daisy only cried the louder, and the three children ran forward to where she sat upon the sand, the picture of woe; while Frankie, busily engaged in piling sand pies into his wagon, remained sublimely indifferent to her distress. Nellie, Maggie, and Lily came running back also to see what was the matter.

"What are you crying for, Daisy?" asked Nellie. "Frankie, do you know what is the matter with her?"

"He told me he'd marry me if I let him mix the pies," sobbed the distressed Daisy; "and now he won't."

"Now, Daisy, you ought to be ashamed to say that," cried Frankie, stopping short with a pie in each hand, and looking with a much aggrieved air at his little playmate. "Yes, I did promise to marry her if she'd let me make the pies," he continued, turning to Nellie, "and so I will; but I promised three other girls before her, and so I told her she'd have to wait till they were all dead, and she wouldn't have patience, but just went and cried about it. I can't help it if so many girls want to marry me," added the young sultan, tenderly laying his sand pies in the wagon.

Daisy had ceased her cries to listen to Frankie's statement of the case; but her spirits were so depressed at once more hearing this indefinite postponement of her matrimonial prospects that she broke forth into a fresh wail of despair.

"Oh, Daisy!" said Nellie, "what shall we do with you: you're growing to be a real cry-baby."

"Yes," said Master Frankie, seeing his way at once to a peaceful solution of his difficulties. "And I shall never, never marry a cry-baby. You'd better hurry up and be good, Daisy."

At this terrible threat, Daisy's shrieks subsided into broken sobs; and Frankie, touched by the extreme desolation of her whole aspect, farther consoled her, by telling her if she would dry her eyes and be good, he would let her "make two mixes, and marry her besides." At which condescension on the part of her chosen lord and master, Daisy was in another instant beaming with smiles, and thrusting her dimpled hands into the wet sand; and the older children left her and Frankie to their play.

All but Bessie, that is, who lingered behind to give her brother a little moral lecture.

For Bessie's sense of justice had been shocked by Frankie's arrangements, and the hard bargain he had driven with the devoted Daisy, who upon all occasions submitted herself to his whims, and let him rule her with a rod of iron. Moreover, Bessie considered his gallantry very much at fault, and thought it quite necessary to speak her mind on the subject.

"Frankie," she said with gravity, "you are selfish to Daisy, I think. You ought to let her make half the pies."

"I'm letting her do two mixes," said Frankie; "and, besides, she said I needn't let her do any if I'd marry her. That's fair."

"No, it's not. It's not fair, nor polite either," said Bessie, reprovingly. "You oughtn't to make it a compliment for you to marry Daisy. It is a compliment to you."

This was a new view of the subject to Frankie, and, as he stood gazing at Daisy and considering it, Bessie added,—

"Anyhow, you ought to let her do half. You're not good to be so selfish."

Daisy meanwhile had been balancing in her own mind the comparative advantages of the present and the future good, and came to the conclusion that she had made a foolish choice, and that the mixing of sand pies was more to be desired than the promise, whose fulfilment seemed so far distant; and now, with a deprecating look at Frankie, she made known this change in her sentiments.

"I b'lieve I'd rafer mix half the mud than be your wife, Frankie," she said. "I'll just 'scuse myself and do the pies."

"Oh! I'll let you do half," said Frankie, encouragingly, "and marry you too, Daisy. I really will."

But Daisy, before whom Bessie's words had also placed the matter in a new light, now felt the advantage of her position, and was disposed to make the most of it, as she found Frankie inclined to become more yielding.

"I'll see about marrying you," she said coquettishly, "but I will do half the pies."

"Yes, yes, you shall," replied Frankie, now extremely desirous to secure the prize the moment there seemed to be a possibility of its slipping through his fingers; "and you'll really marry me, won't you, Daisy?"

"Maybe so," said Daisy, a little victorious, as was only natural, at finding the tables thus turned.

"Ah! not maybe, Daisy. Say you truly will, dear Daisy, darling Daisy. You shall mix all the pies, Daisy, and I'll be your horse, too."

"I'll tell you anofer time," said Daisy, much enjoying the new position of affairs.

"Ah! no, Daisy," pleaded the now humble suitor: "if you'll promise now, I'll—I'll—Daisy, I'll give you my white mice."

Daisy plumped herself down upon the sand, and gazed at Frankie, astounded at the magnitude of this offer, in return for the promise which, in her secret soul, she was longing to give.

"Maybe your mamma won't let you give 'em away," she said at length; and then, with relenting in her generous little heart, she added, "and I wouldn't like to take 'em from you, Frankie: it's too much."

"Yes, yes, mamma would let me," said Frankie, eagerly. "Bessie has a pair, and Maggie a pair, and I a pair; and mamma said that was too many, and she won't mind one bit if I give you mine. And I don't care for them at all, Daisy, they're such stupid things. I'd just as lieve give them to you."

"Well," said Daisy, shaking her curls at him, "then I'll promise; and I only want to mix half the pies, Frankie, I wouldn't do 'em all, oh! not for any thing."

This amicable agreement being sealed with a kiss, and peace thoroughly restored, Bessie left the two little ones to their "mixes," and went back to the others, whom she entertained with an account of Frankie's complete defeat and submission. They rather rejoiced at it, for the way in which Frankie usually lorded it over the submissive Daisy did not at all agree with their ideas of propriety.

"But do you think Frankie really means to give the white mice to Daisy?" asked Nellie.

"Why, yes," answered Bessie, "he promised, you know."

"But," said Nellie, doubtfully, "I do not think mamma would like Daisy to have them."

"Oh! she needn't mind," said Maggie. "Our mamma did say she was sorry Willie Richards had sent three pair; and Frankie has not really cared for his since the first day. They're too quiet for him. Daisy might just as well have them."

"But I don't know if mamma would care to have them in the house," said Nellie. "She is so afraid of mice."

"What, a grown-up lady afraid of white mice!" said Lily.

"Well, she's afraid of real mice," said Nellie, "and I'm not sure she wouldn't be of white ones."

"Pooh! I don't believe she would be," said Carrie. "I wish we could have them."

"I shouldn't think your mother would mind white mice," said Belle: "you can ask her."

"You're all to come to our house this afternoon, you know," said Maggie, "and then you can see them; and bring Daisy too, Nellie: we want her."

After a little more talk and play, the children separated, Nellie going home with her sisters, and promising to come over to Mrs. Bradford's house as early in the afternoon as possible.

"What makes you go home so soon?" asked Carrie, supposing that it was those "horrid lessons" which took Nellie away.

"I thought mamma might have something else she wanted me to do," said Nellie, "and we have been down on the beach a good while."

"What makes you do the housekeeping," asked Carrie,—"just to help mamma, or because you like to?"

"Mamma asked me to do it to help her," said Nellie, without a thought of her mother's real object in proposing the plan, "but I do like to do it, it is real fun."

"I'd like to do something to help mamma," said Carrie.

"Me too," put in Daisy.

"I think you both could do something to help her, if you chose," said Nellie, with a little hesitation; for she was a modest, rather shy child, who never thought it her place to correct or give advice even to her own brothers and sisters.

"How can I?" asked Carrie, and,—

"How could I?" mimicked Daisy, looking up at her sister as she trotted along by her side.

"Well," said Nellie, "I think you, Carrie, could be more obedient to mamma."

"I'm sure I do mind mamma," said Carrie, indignantly. "I never do any thing she tells me not to."

"No," said Nellie, "you never do the things she tells you you must not do, and you generally do what she says you must do; but—but—perhaps you won't like me to say it, Carrie, but sometimes you do things which mamma has not forbidden, but which we both feel pretty sure she would not like; and then, when she knows it, it makes trouble for her."

Carrie pouted a little, she could not deny Nellie's accusation, but still she was not pleased.

"Pooh!" she said, "I don't mean that. I mean I want to do some very great help for her, something it would be nice to say I had done."

"You're not large enough for that yet," said Nellie, "and I don't believe you could help her more than by being good all the time."

"Then why don't you be good all the time?" said Carrie, not at all pleased. "I shouldn't think it was a great help to mamma to let Daisy fall out of bed."

Nellie colored, but made no reply.

Not so Daisy, who at once took up arms in Nellie's defence. Seizing upon her hand, and holding it caressingly to her cheek, she said to Carrie,—

"Now don't you make my Nellie feel bad about it. That falling out of bed wasn't any thing much; and my bump feels, oh! 'most well this morning. I b'lieve it feels better'n it did before I bumped it. Nellie, what could I do to help mamma?"

"If you tried not to cry so often, Daisy, darling, it would help mamma. It worries her when you cry, and sometimes you cry for such very little things."

"Does she think a bear is eating me up when she hears me cry and can't see me?" asked Daisy, whose mind was greatly interested in these quadrupeds.

"No," said Nellie, "'cause she knows there are no bears here to eat little girls; but it troubles her to hear you cry. Besides, you are growing too big to cry so much, and you don't want people to call you a cry-baby, do you?"

"No, I don't," answered Daisy, emphatically, "'cause then Frankie won't marry me. And I don't want to t'ouble mamma, Nellie. But how can I help crying when I hurt myse'f?"

"Oh! you can cry when you hurt yourself," said Nellie, "but try not to cry for very little things; and we'll all see what we can do to help her. I believe I have been selfish in reading and studying all the time lately, and not thinking much about other people, especially mamma, so I will give up my books for a while, and try to help her about the house; and Daisy will try not to cry so much; and—and Carrie will be careful not to do the things mamma would not like her to do; will you not, Carrie?"

Carrie made no answer; she was not mollified by Nellie's taking blame to herself for her own short-comings, but only resented the gentle reproof she had herself received. Perhaps one reason was that she felt she deserved it.

But pet Daisy took hers in good part.

"I will," she said, clapping her hands, and looking as if tears were always the farthest thing possible from her bright face, "I will try. I won't cry a bit if I can help it, but just laugh, and be good all the time, unless I hurt myse'f, oh! very, very much, indeed. Nellie," pausing in her capers with an air of deep consideration,—"but, Nellie, if somebody cut off my nose, I ought to cry, oughtn't I?"

"Oh, yes! certainly," laughed Nellie.

"And if a bear did come, I could sc'eam very loud, couldn't I?"

"Yes, whenever that bear of yours comes, you can cry as loud as you please," answered Nellie.

"Oh! he's not mine," said Daisy. "He's a black man's, I b'lieve. I 'spect he's an old black Injin man's. There's mamma on the piazza, an' there's two ladies come to see her."