It was now autumn. The trees couldn't keep green any longer, for their time had come; so they just made the best of it, like sad faces laughing through tears, and glowed and flushed in a perfect blaze of glory, making believe they were having splendid times all by themselves, and didn't care for what was coming. The Parlin children had stayed a great deal longer than their parents at first meant they should stay, and now they must really go back to Portland. The little cousins were sorry to part, for you know they had learned to love one another "O Susy," sobbed Grace, "don't you forget these good times! Remember to write, no matter how it looks. I wish I hadn't got to go 'way off out West. I never did have such times in any place as we've had here at grandma's." "Nor I either," said Susy, looking sorrowfully at the barn, the seat in the trees, and the clover patch. "Remember, you're coming back in just two years. Won't it be splendid?—O dear, but two years is 'most forever!" added Susy, suddenly breaking down. "Good by, Prudy," said Horace, climbing into the stage-coach, quite out of breath. He had run all the way to the post office just for the sake of seeing her again. "Good by, Prudy. You're the cunningest Nobody knew whether Horace cried or not, for nobody saw him till dinner time, but then he looked very sober indeed. He and Grasshopper had been building a fort, he said; and after he had told so much, he seemed not to care about talking. He felt captain of a little company, and such a brave soldier that he would not even say he felt sorry Prudy was gone. Grace talked a great deal about Susy, and asked her mamma if she might not invite her to go out West some time. Mrs. Clifford said she should be very glad, indeed, to have a visit from both the children, and who knew but it might happen so? for Mr. Parlin, Susy's father, often took journeys out West on business. This idea struck Grace very pleasantly, "They'll be there my birthday—what'll you bet?" said Horace. "I shall wear my tippet when we go to the depot, and have a new hood," said Grace. "I don't know what my dress will be, though." "I'll make a bow-arrow, and a gun, and a steamboat for Prudy." "And I'll give Susy my large doll, and make a blue dress for it, with flowing sleeves. She shall put all her things into my cabinet." "What'll we have to eat? Pecans, and 'simmons, and raisins, and figs." "O, we shall have plenty to eat, Horace, we always do. We'll give 'em canned peaches with cream. Susy likes cream as well as a cat." "I'd like to see Prudy eat a 'simmon—a green one, I mean," cried Horace, laughing aloud. "Seems like I can see her mouth puckering up now." Susy and Prudy, all this while, were riding home in the cars, under the care of the conductor. "O," sighed Susy, "I wish we were going backwards, just the other way. Grandma is going to let Grace boil some candy to-night, and put oilnuts in it." "I guess they'll want me to help 'em pull it," said Prudy. "There, now, we've got to Brunswick," "No, indeed," replied Prudy. "I'm glad we're goin' home to see mother and the rest of 'em. What do you s'pose the baby'll say?" But their speech was cut short by some large pieces of sponge cake, which the smiling conductor brought to them wrapped in a newspaper. Susy and Prudy reached home safely, and there is nothing more to be said about them at present. I think I will copy the letter which Prudy wrote to her dear friend, Mr. Allen, or which she got aunt Madge to write the next time she went to Portland. Christmas Day. Dear Mr. 'Gustus Allen: When you went off to the wars aunt Madge cried some, for I saw her wiping her eyes. You asked me if I loved you for the candy, but I didn't; I loved you for the nuts and oranges. I think you was real good to write me a letter. I had just as lief kiss you as not if you wasn't my father; and aunt Madge says she'll answer it, 'cause you couldn't read my writing; but I hain't got any pig! He was a pinky winky little thing, but grandpa kept a keepin' him eatin', and he got so big once when I was gone that they had to kill him. But he didn't go to heaven, and I'm glad, for I don't ever want to see him again. That was last summer, when I was a little girl. I don't like pigs now. Of course I'm going on five, for if I wasn't most five my grandpa Read wouldn't be dead most two years. I've got my presents, but they ain't took off the tree yet. Mother gave me a tea-set. O, I wish you could see it, 'cause you wouldn't break a single thing. And I had a doll, and lots of candy and books, and a new dress, and a scarf, and some shiny shoes. I'm glad you wrote me that darling letter. I can't think of any thing to think of. The skeeters bit me when I was to grandma's. I hate live skeeters. They might be flies, and I wouldn't care then. They used to get into my skin just as easy, and sting me all up. Won't you write me another letter? Please to. Susy fastened her tooth to the door-latch once. It got so loose it shook in her mouth, and it hurt her so I had to cry. But my teeth are drove in real hard. I mean it hurt her when 'twas pulled, that's what I mean. I saw a cow the other day in the road, that wasn't hitched. Susy said, "Go long goff, sir," but he didn't, and then a man shoo-brauded him, and he went. We had a dear little toady in the garden, and when I talked to him he winked. He had a nest in the flower-bed last summer. I like to stay at grandma's, so I can jump off of something. Mother won't let us hunt for any eggs to Portland—'cause we haven't any hens. Horace was a captain to his men. He I've got a bad cold, but Susy hasn't. My head is all snuffed up. When are you goin' to come home? I haven't seen Grace and Horace for so long! They went home after the baby died. God has got the baby up in heaven, but the tired part of him is in the garden. My father is 'most crazy to see me. He is, truly; and when I say truly, I can't lie. He said he wanted to see me so he was 'most crazy, and he's comin' to-night. I s'pose he'll bring me something, for I've been good. When I act cross, it's 'cause I don't feel well. Aunt Madge says to me I've wrote enough, and I'm tired. She's wrote the letter, but I made it up. I wish you a Merry Christmas! She asked me if I forgot to wish it, but I didn't. Good by. From Prudy Parlin. SOPHIE MAY'S "LITTLE-FOLKS" BOOKSDOTTY DIMPLE AT HER GRANDMOTHER'S"Sophie May's excellent pen has perhaps never written anything more pleasing to children, especially little girls, than 'Dotty Dimple.' If the little reader follows Dotty through these dozen chapters—from her visit to her grandmother to the swing under the trees—he or she will say: 'It has been a treat to read about Dotty Dimple, she's so cunning.'"—Herald of Gospel Liberty. DOTTY DIMPLE OUT WEST"Dotty's trip was jolly. In the cars, where she saw so many people that she thought there'd be nobody left in any of the houses, she offers to hold somebody's baby, and when it begins to cry she stuffs pop-corn into its mouth, nearly choking it to death. Afterwards, in pulling a man's hair, she is horrified at seeing his wig come off, and gasps out,'Oh, dear, dear, dear, I didn't know your hair was so tender!' Altogether, she is the cunningest chick that ever lived."—Oxford Press. DOTTY DIMPLE AT HOME"This little book is as full of spice as any of its predecessors, and well sustains the author's reputation as the very cleverest of all writers of this species of children's books. Were there any doubt on this point, the matter might be easily tested by inquiry in half the households in the city, where the book is being revelled over."—Boston Home Journal. DOTTY DIMPLE AT SCHOOL"Miss Dotty is a peremptory little body, with a great deal of human nature in her, who wins our hearts by her comic speeches and funny ways. She complains of being bewitched by people, and the wind 'blows her out,' and she thinks if her comrade dies in the snow-storm she will be 'dreadfully 'shamed of it,' and has rather a lively time with all her trials in going to school."—New York Citizen. DOTTY DIMPLE AT PLAY"'Charming Dotty Dimple,' as she is so universally styled, has become decidedly a favorite with young and old, who are alike pleased with her funny sayings and doings. 'Dotty at Play' will be found very attractive, and the children, especially the girls, will be delighted with her adventures."—Boston Express. DOTTY DIMPLE'S FLYAWAY"This is the final volume of the 'Dotty Dimple' Series. It relates how little Flyaway provisioned herself with cookies and spectacles and got lost on a little hill while seeking to mount to heaven, and what a precious alarm there was until she was found, and the subsequent joy at her recovery, with lots of quaint speeches and funny incidents."—North American. "A Little Red Riding-Hoodish story, sprightly and takingly told."—American Farmer. LITTLE FOLKS ASTRAY"This is a book for the little ones of the nursery or play-room. It introduces all the old favorites of the Prudy and Dotty books, with new characters and funny incidents. It is a charming book, wholesome and sweet in every respect, and cannot fail to interest children under twelve years of age."—Christian Register. PRUDY KEEPING HOUSE"How she kept it, why she kept it, and what a good time she had playing cook, and washerwoman, and ironer, is told as only Sophie May can tell stories. All the funny sayings and doings of the queerest and cunningest little woman ever tucked away in the covers of a book will please little folks and grown people alike."—Press. AUNT MADGE'S STORY"Tells of a little mite of a girl, who gets into every conceivable kind of scrape and out again with lightning rapidity through the whole pretty little book. How she nearly drowns her bosom friend, and afterwards saves her by a very remarkable display of little-girl courage. How she gets left by a train of cars, and loses her kitten and finds it again, and is presented with a baby sister 'come down from heaven,' with lots of smart and funny sayings."—Boston Traveller. LITTLE GRANDMOTHER"Grandmother Parlen when a little girl is the subject. Of course that was ever so long ago, when there were no lucifer matches, and steel and tinder were used to light fires; when soda and saleratus had never been heard of, but people made their pearl ash by soaking burnt crackers in water; when the dressmaker and the tailor and the shoemaker went from house to house twice a year to make the dresses and coats of the family."—Transcript. LITTLE GRANDFATHER"The story of Grandfather Parlen's little-boy life, of the days of knee breeches and cocked hats, full of odd incidents, queer and quaint sayings, and the customs of 'ye olden time.' These stories of Sophie May's are so charmingly written that older folks may well amuse themselves by reading them. The same warm sympathy with childhood, the earnest naturalness, the novel charm of the preceding volumes will be found in this."—Christian Messenger. MISS THISTLEDOWN"One of the queerest of the Prudy family. Read the chapter heads and you will see just how much fun there must be in it: 'Fly's Heart,' 'Taking a Nap,' 'Going to the Fair,' 'The Dimple Dot,' 'The Hole in the Home,' 'The Little Bachelor,' 'Fly's Bluebeard,' 'Playing Mamma,' 'Butter Spots,' 'Polly's Secret,' 'The Snow Man,' 'The Owl and the Humming-Bird,' 'Talks of Hunting Deer,' and 'The Parlen Patchwork.'" FLAXIE FRIZZLE"Flaxie Frizzle is the successor of Dotty Dimple, Little Prudy, Flyaway, and the other charming child creations of that inimitable writer for children, Sophie May. There never was a healthy, fun-loving child born into this world that, at one stage or another of its growth, wouldn't be entertained with Sophie May's books. For that matter, it is not safe for older folks to look into them, unless they intend to read them through. 'Flaxie Frizzle' will be found as bright and pleasant reading as the others."—Boston Journal. FLAXIE'S DOCTOR PAPA"Sophie May understands children. Her books are not books about them merely. She seems to know precisely how they feel, and she sets them before us, living and breathing in her pages. Flaxie Frizzle is a darling, and her sisters, brothers, and cousins are just the sort of little folks with whom careful mothers would like their boys and girls to associate. The story is a bright, breezy, wholesome narrative, and it is full of mirth and gayety, while its moral teaching is excellent."—Sunday-School Times. FLAXIE'S LITTLE PITCHERS"Little Flaxie will secure a warm place in the hearts of all at once. Here is her little picture: Her name was Mary Gray, but they called her Flaxie Frizzle, because she had light curly hair that frizzled; and she had a curly nose,—that is, her nose curled up at the end a wee bit, just enough to make it look cunning. Her cheeks were rosy red, 'and she was so fat that when Mr. Snow, the postmaster, saw her, he said, "How d'ye do, Mother Bunch?"'"—Boston Home Journal. FLAXIE'S TWIN COUSINS"Another of those sweet, natural child-stories in which the heroine does and says just such things as actual, live, flesh children do, is the one before us. And, what is still better, each incident points a moral. The illustrations are a great addition to the delight of the youthful reader. It is just such beautiful books as this which bring to our minds, in severe contrast, the youth's literature of our early days—the good little boy who died young and the bad little boy who went fishing on Sunday and died in prison, etc., to the end of the threadbare, improbable chapter."—Rural New Yorker. FLAXIE'S KITTYLEEN"'Kittyleen'—one of the 'Flaxie Frizzle' series—is a genuinely helpful as well as delightfully entertaining story. The nine-year-old Flaxie is worried, beloved, and disciplined by a bewitching three-year-old tormenter, whose accomplished mother allows her to prey upon the neighbors. 'Everybody felt the care of Mrs. Garland's children. There were six of them, and their mother was always painting china. She did it beautifully, with graceful vines trailing over it, and golden butterflies ready to alight on sprays of lovely flowers. Sometimes the neighbors thought it would be a fine thing if she would keep her little ones at home rather more; but if she had done that she could not have painted china.'"—Chicago Tribune. FLAXIE GROWING UP"No more charming stories for the little ones were ever written than those comprised in the three series which have for several years past been from time to time added to juvenile literature by Sophie May. They have received the unqualified praise of many of the most practical scholars of New England for their charming simplicity and purity of sentiment. The delightful story shows the gradual improvement of dear little Flaxie's character under the various disciplines of child-life and the sweet influence of a good and happy home. The illustrations are charming pictures."—Home Journal. PENN SHIRLEY'S BOOKSPENN SHIRLEY'S STORIESFOR THE LITTLE ONES"Miss Penn Shirley is a very graceful interpreter of child-life. She thoroughly understands how to reach out to the tender chord of the little one's feelings, and to interest her in the noble life of her young companions. Her stories are full of bright lessons, but they do not take on the character of moralizing sermons. Her keen observation and ready sympathy teach her how to deal with the little ones in helping them to understand the lessons of life. Her stories are simple and unaffected."—Boston Herald. THE LITTLE MISS WEEZY SERIESThree volumes Illustrated Boxed, each 75 cents LITTLE MISS WEEZY"One of the freshest and most delightful, because the most natural, of the stories of the year for children is 'Little Miss Weezy,' by Penn Shirley. It relates the oddities, the mischief, the adventures, and the misadventures of a tiny two-year-old maiden, full of life and spirit, and capable of the most unexpected freaks and pranks. The book is full of humor, and is written with a delicate sympathy with the feelings of children which will make it pleasing to children and parents alike. Really good child literature is not over-plenty, despite the multitude of books that come daily from the press; and it is pleasing to welcome a new author whose first volume, like this one of Penn Shirley, adds promise of future good work to actual present merit."—Boston Courier. LITTLE MISS WEEZY'S BROTHER"This is a good story for young children, bringing in the same characters as 'Little Miss Weezy' of last year, and continuing the history of a very natural and wide-awake family of children. The doings and the various 'scrapes' of Kirke, the brother, form a prominent feature of the book, and are such as we may see any day in the school or home life of a well-cared-for and good-intentioned little boy. There are several quite pleasing full-page illustrations."—The Dial. "We should like to see the person who thinks it 'easy enough to write for children' attempt a book like the 'Miss Weezy' stories. Excepting Sophie May's childish classics, we don't know of anything published as bright as the sayings and doings of the little Louise and her friends. Their pranks and capers are no more like Dotty Dimple's than those of one bright child are like another's, but they are just as 'cute' as those of the little folks that play in your yard or around your neighbor's doorsteps."—Journal of Education. LITTLE MISS WEEZY'S SISTER"It is one of the best of the series, and will please every child who reads it. It is brought out just at the holiday time, and is brimful of good things. Every character in it is true to nature, and the doings of a bright lot of children, in which Miss Mary Rowe figures conspicuously, will entertain grown folks as well as little ones." "It is a thoroughly clever and delightful story of child-life, gracefully told, and charming in its blending of humor and pathos. The children in the book are real children, and the pretty plot through which they move is fully in harmony with the characters. The young ones will find it a storehouse of pleasant things pleasantly related, and a book that will appeal at once to their sentiments and sympathies."—Boston Gazette. "A book that will hold the place of honor on the nursery bookshelf until it falls to pieces from much handling is 'Little Miss Weezy's Sister,' a simple, yet absorbing story of children who are interesting because they are so real. It is doing scant justice to say for the author, Penn Shirley, that the annals of child-life have seldom been traced with more loving care."—Boston Times. |