to the time than the last, so that progress might be made. The old
beams had became worm-eaten and spongy they lay in dust and ashes.
The body of the mill did not rise out of the dust as they had believed
it would do : they had taken it literally, and all things are not to be
taken literally.




FFJ)'




IN THE NURSERY.

FATHER, and mother, and brothers, and sisters, were gone to the
play ; only little Anna and her grandpapa were left at home.

" A\"e '11 have a play too," he said ; " and it may begin immediately."

" But we have no theatre," cried little Anna, ' : and we have no one to
act for us : my old doll cannot, for she is a fright, and my new one can-
not, for she must not rumple her new clothes."

" One can always get actors if one makes use of what one has," ob-
served grandpapa.

" Xow we '11 go into the theatre. Here we will put up a book, there
another, and there a third, in a sloping row. Now three on the other
side ; so, now we have the side-scenes. The old box that lies yonder
may be the back stairs ; and we '11 lay the flooring on top of it. The
stage represents a room, as every one may see. Now we want the actors.
Let us see what we can find in the plaything-box. First the personages,
and then we will get the play ready : one after the other, that will be
capital! Here's a pipe-head, and yonder an odd glove; they will do
very well for father and daughter."

" But those are only two characters," said little Anna. " Here 's my
brother's old waistcoat could not that play in our piece, too ? "

" It 's big enough, certainly," replied grandpapa. " It shall be the
lover. There 's nothing in the pockets, and that 's very interesting, for
that 's half of an unfortunate attachment. And here we have the nut-
crackers' boots, with spurs to them. Row, dow, dow ! how they can
stamp and strut 1 ! They shall represent the unwelcome wooer, whom
the lady does not like. A\ 7 hat kind of play will you have now ? Shall
it be a tragedy, or a domestic drama ? "

"A domestic drama, please," said little Anna; "for the others are so
fond of that. Do you know one ? "

" I know a hundred," said grandpapa. " Those that are most in favour
rre from the French, but they are not good for little girls. In the mean-
time, we may take one of the prettiest, for inside they 're all very much



In the Nursery.



803



alike. Now I shake the pen ! Cock-a-lorum ! So now, here 's the play,
brin-bran-span new ! Now listen to the play-bill."

And grandpapa took a newspaper, and read as if he were reading
from it :

THE PIPE-HEAD AND THE GOOD HEAD.
A Family Drama in one Act.

CHAEACTZES.

ME. PIPE-HEAD, a father,



Miss GLOVE, a daughter,



MR. WAISTCOAT, a lover,
ME. DE BOOTS, a suitor.



"And now we're going to begin. The curtain rises: we have no
curtain, so it has risen already. All the characters are there, and so
we have them at hand. Now I speak as Papa Pipe-head ! he's angry
'to-day. One can see that he 's a coloured meerschaum.




IDE COMEDY.



" ' Snik, snak, snurre, bassellurre ! I 'in master of this house ! I 'm
the father of my daughter ! "Will you hear what I have to say ? Mr.
de Boots is a person in whom one may see one's face ; his upper part is
of morocco, and he has spurs into the bargain. Snikke, snakke, suak !
He shall have my daughter ! '

" Now listen to what the Waistcoat says, little Anna," said grand-
papa. "Now the AVaistcoat's speaking." The Waistcoat has a lay-
down collar, and is very modest ; but he knows his own value, and has
quite a right to say what he says :

" ' I haven't a spot on me ! Goodness of material ought to be ap-
preciated. I am of real silk, and have strings to me.'

" 'On the wedding day, but no longer ; you don't keep your colour
in the wash.' This is Mr. Pipe-head who is speaking. ' Mr. de Boots
is water-tight, of strong leather, and yet very delicate ; he can creak,
and clank with his spurs, and has an Italian physiognomy '

" But they ought to speak in verses," said Anna, " for I 've heard
that 's the most charming way of all."

2



8 04 Stories Jor the Household.

" They can do that too," replied grandpapa ; " and if tlie public de-
mands it, they \vill talk in that way. Just look at little Miss Glove,
how she 's pointing her fingers !

"'Could I but have my love,
Who then so happy as Glove '.

Ah !

if I from him must part,
I'm sure 'twill break my heart !'
'Bah! :

That last word was spoken by Mr. Pipe-head ; and now it 's Mr. "Waist-
coat's turn :

" ' O Glove, my own dear,
Thoush it cost thee a tear,

Thou must be mine,
For Holger Danske has sworn it:'

' Mr. de Boots, hearing this, kicks up, jingles his spurs, and knocks
down three of the side-scenes."

" That 's exceedingly charming ! " cried little Anna.

" Silence ! silence ! " said grandpapa. " Silent approbation will show
that you are the educated public in the stalls. Now Miss Glove sings
her great song with startling effects :

" ' I can't see, heisho !

Antl therefore I'll crow!
Kikkeriki, in the lofty hall!'

" Now comes the exciting part, little Anna. This is the most impor-
tant in all the play. Mr. Waistcoat undoes himself, and addresses his
speech to you, that you may applaud ; but leave it alone, that 's con-
sidered more genteel.

" ' I am driven to extremities ! Take care of yourself! Now comes
the plot ! You are the Pipe-head, and I am the good head snap ! there
you go ! '

" Do you notice this, little Anna ? " asked grandpapa. " That 's a most
charming scene and comedy. Mr. Waistcoat seized the old Pipe-head,
and put him in his pocket ; there he lies, and the "Waistcoat says :

<; ' You are in my pocket ; you can't come out till you promise to
unite me to your daughter Glove on the left : I hold out my right
hand.' '

" That 's awfully pretty," said little Anna.

" And now the old Pipe-head replies :

"Though I'm all ear,

Very stupid I appear:
Where 's my humour ? Gone, I fear,
And I feel "my hollow stick's not here.

Ah ! never, my dear,

Did I feel so "queer.

Oh ! pray let me out,
And like a' lamb led to slaughter

I'll betroth you.no doubt,
To my daughter.' "

"Is the play over already?" asked little Anna.
" By no means," replied grandpapa. " It 's only all over with Mr
de Boots. Now the lovers kneel down, and one of them sing-s :






and the other,



he Golden Treasure.

" ' Father I '



" ' Come, do as you ought to do,
Eless your son and daughter.'



And they receive his blessing, and celebrate their wedding, and all the
pieces of furniture sing in chorus,

" ' Klink ! clanks !

A thousand thanks;
And now the play is over!*

"And now we'll applaud," said grandpapa. "We'll call them all
out, and the pieces of furniture too, for they are of mahogany."

" And is not our play just as good as those which the others have in
the real theatre ? "

" Our play is much better," said grandpapa. " It is shorter, the per-
formers are natural, and it has passed away the interval before tea-
time."




THE GOLDEN TREASURE.

THE drummer's wife went into the church. She saw the new altar
with the painted pictures and the carved angels: those upon the canvas
and in the glory over the altar were just as beautiful as the carved ones ;
and they were painted and gilt into the bargain. Their hair gleamed
golden in the sunshine, lovely to behold ; but the real sunshine was
more beautiful still. It shone redder, clearer through the dark trees,
when the sun went down. It was lovely thus to look at the sunshine
of heaven. And she looked at the red sun, and she thought about ifc
so deeply, and thought of the little one whom the stork was to bring ;
and the wife of the drummer was very cheerful, and looked and looked,
and wished that the child might have a gleam of sunshine given to it,
so that it might at least become like one of the shining angels over the
altar.



8o5



Stories for the Household.



And when she really had the little child in her arms, and held it up
ko its father, then it was like one of the angels in the church to behold,
with hair like gold the gleam of the setting sun was upon it.

" My golden treasure, my riches, my sunshine !" said the mother ; and
she kissed the shining locks, and it sounded like music and song in the
room of the drummer ; and there was joy, and life, and movement.




A EOLL OF JOY.



The drummer beat a roll a roll of joy. And the Drum said, the Fire-
drum, that was beaten when there was a fire in the town :

" Red hair! the little fellow has red hair! Believe the drum, and
not what your mother says ! Rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub ! "

And the town repeated what the Fire-drum Aad said.

The boy was taken to church, the boy was christened. There was no-
thing much to be said about his name ; he was called Peter. The whole
town, and the Drum too, called him Peter the drummer's boy with the
red hair ; but his mother kissed his red hair, and called him her golden
treasure.

In the hollow way in the clayey bank, many had scratched their names
as a remembrance.

"Celebrity is always something!" said the drummer; and so he
scratched his own name there, and his little son's name likewise.

And the swallows came : they had, on their long journey, seen more
durable characters engraven on rocks, and on the walls of the temples
in Hindostan, mighty deeds of great kings, immortal names, so old that
no one now could read or speak them. Remarkable celebrity !

In the clayey bank the martens built their nest : they bored holes in
the deep declivity, and the splashing rain and the thin mist came and
crumbled and washed the names away, and the drummer's name also, and
Miat of his little son.

" Peter's name will last a full year and a half longer !" said the father.



The Golden Treasure, 807

"Fool!" thought the Fire-drum; but it only said, "Dub, dub, dub,
rub-a-dub ! "

He was a boy full of life and gladness, this drummer's son with the
red hair. He had a lovely voice : he could sing, and he sang like a bird
in the woodland. There was melody, and yet no melody.




PETER SINGING.



"He must become a chorister boy," said his mother. " He shall sing
in the church, and stand among the beautiful gilded angels who are like
him!"

" Fiery cat !" said some of the witty ones of the town.

The Drum heard that from the neighbours' wives.

" Don't go home, Peter," cried the street boys. " If you sleep in the
garret, there '11 be a fire in the house, and the fire-drum will have to be
beaten."

" Look out for the drumsticks," replied Peter ; and, small as he was.
he ran up boldly, and gave the foremost such a punch in the body with
his fist that the fellow lost his legs and tumbled over, and the others
took their legs on" with themselves very rapidly.

The town musician was very genteel and fine. He was the son oi
the royal plate-washer. He was very fond of Peter, and would some
times take him to his home, and he gave him a violin, and taught bin
to play it. It seemed as if the whole art lay in the boy's fingers ; and
he wanted to be more than a drummer he wanted to become musician
to the town.

"I'll be a soldier," said Peter; for he was still quite a little lad, and
it seemed to him the finest thing in the world to carry a gun, and to be
able to march " one, two ; one, two," and to wear a uniform and a sword.



8o8



Stories for the Household.



" Ah, you learn to long for the drum-skin, drum, dum, duin !" said the
Drum.

" Yes, if he could only march his way up to be a general ! " observed
his father ; " but before he can do that there must be war."

" Heaven forbid ! " said his mother.

" "We have nothing to lose," remarked the father.

' Yes, we have my boy," she retorted.

' But suppose he came back a general ! " said the father.

" Without arms and legs ! " cried the mother. " No, I would rather
keep my golden treasure with me."




BOUND FOE THE WAR.



"Drum, duin, dum!" The Fire-drum and all the other drums were
beating, for war had come. The soldiers all set out, and the son of the
drummer followed them. " Ked-head. Golden treasure!"

The mother wept ; the father in fancy saw him " famous ;" the town
musician was of opinion that he ought not to go to war, but should stay
at home and learn music.

" Red-head," said the soldiers, and little Peter laughed ; but when one
of them sometimes said to another " Foxey," he would bite his teeth
together and look another way into the wide world : he did not care
for the nickname.

The boy was active, pleasant of speech, and good humoured ; and that
is the best canteen, said his old comrades.

And many a night he had to sleep under the open sky, wet through
with the driving rain or the falling mist ; but his good humour never
forsook him. The drum-sticks sounded, "Rub-a-dub, all up, all up!"
Yes, he was certainly born to be a drummer.

The day of battle dawned. The sun had not yet risen, but the mom-
ing was come. The air was cold, the battle was hot, there was mist in
the air, but still more gunpowder-smoke. The bullets and shells flexv
over the soldiers' heads, and into their heads, into their bodies and limbs;



The Golden Treasure. 809

but still they pressed forward. Here or there one or other of them
would sink on hjs knees, with bleeding temples and a face as white as
chalk. The little drummer still kept his healthy colour; he had suf-
fered no damage ; he looked cheerfully at the dog of the regiment, which
was jumping along as merrily as if the whole thing had been got up for
his amusement, and as if the bullets were only flying about that he
might have a game of play w r ith them.

" March ! Forward ! March ! " This was the word of command for
the drum. The word bad not yet been given to fall back, though they
might have done so, and perhaps there would have been much sense in
it ; and now at last the word "Retire" was given ; but our little drummer
beat " Forward ! march !" for he had understood the commaud thus, and
the soldiers obeyed the sound of the drum. That was a good roll, and
proved the summons to victory for the men, who had already begun to
give way.

Life and limb were lost in the battle. Bomb-shells tore away the flesh
in red strips ; bomb-shells lit up into a terrible glow the straw-heaps to
which the wounded had dragged themselves, to lie untended for many
hours, perhaps for all the hours they had to live.

It 's no use thinking of it ; and yet one cannot help thinking of it,
even far away in the peaceful town. The drummer and his wife also
thought of it, for Peter was at the war.

" Now, I 'm tired of these complaints," said the Fire-drum.

Again the day of battle dawned ; the sun had not yet risen, but it
was morning. The drummer and his wife were asleep : they had been
talking about their son, as, indeed, they did almost every night, for he
was out yonder, in God's hand. And the father dreamt that the war
was over, that the soldiers had returned home, and that Peter wore a
silver cross on his breast. But the mother dreamt that she had gone
into the church, and had seen the painted pictures and the carved angels
with the gilded hair, and her own dear boy, the golden treasure of her
heart, who was standing among the angels in white robes, singing
so sweetly, as surely only the angels can sing ; and that he had soared
up with them into the sunshine, and nodded so kindly at his mother.

"My golden treasure!" she cried out; and she awoke. "JN T ow the
.good God has taken him to Himself!" She folded her hands, and hid
her face in the cotton curtains of the bed, and wept. " Where does he
rest now ? among the many in the big grave that they have dug for the
dead ? Perhaps he 's in the water in the marsh ! Xobody knows his
grave ; no holy words have been read over it !" And the Lord's Prayer
went inaudibly over her lips ; she bowed her head, and was so weary that
she went to sleep.

And the days days went by, m life as in dreams !

It was evening : over the battle-field a rainbow spread, which touched
the forest and the deep marsh.

It has been said, and is preserved in popular belief, that where the
rainbow touches the earth a treasure lies buried, a golde-n treasure ; and



gio Stories for the Household.

here there was one. No one but his mother thought of the little
drummer, and therefore she dreamt of him.

And the days went by, in life as in dreams !

Not a hair of his head had been hurt, not a golden hair.

" Drum-ma-rum ! drum-ma-rum ! there he is !" the Drum might have
said, and his mother might have sung, if she had seen or dreamt it.

With hurrah and song, adorned with green wreaths of victor}', they
came home, as the war was at an end, and peace had been signed. The
dog of the regiment sprang on in front with large bounds, and made the
way three times as long for himself as it really was.

And days and weeks went by, and Peter came into his parents' room :
he was as brown aa a wild man, and his eyes were bright, and his face
beamed like sunshine. And his mother held him in her arms ; she kissed
his lips, his forehead, his red hair. She had her boy back again ; he had
not a silver cross on his breast, as his father had dreamt, but he had




PETER'S BETURX.



sound limbs, a thing the mother had not dreamt. And what a rejoicing
was there ! They laughed and they wept ; and Peter embraced the old
Fire-drum.

" There stands the old skeleton still ! " he said.

And the father beat a roll upon it.

" One would think that a great fire had broken out here," said the
Fire-drum. " Bright day ! fire in the heart ! golden treasure ! skrat !
skr-r-at ! skr-r-r-r-at ! "

And what then ? What then ! Ask the town musician.

" Peter 's far outgrowing the drum," he said. " Peter will be greater
than I."

And yet he was the son of a royal plate-washer ; but all that he had
learned iu half a lifetime, Peter learned in half a year.




THE FIEE-DECil HOT FOEGOTTEN.



There was something so merry about him, something so truly kind
hearted. His eyes gleamed, and his hair gleamed too there was no
denying that !

" He ought to have his hair dyed," said the neighbour's wife. " That
answered capitally with the policeman's daughter, and she got a husband."

"But her hair turned as green as duckweed, and was always having
to be coloured up."

" She knows how to manage for herself," said the neighbours, " and
so can Peter. He comes to the most genteel houses, even to the burgo-
master's, where he gives Miss Charlotte pianoforte lessons."

He could play ! He could play, fresh out of his heart, the most charm-
ing pieces, that had never been put upon music-paper. He played in
the bright nights, and in the dark nights too. The neighbours declared
it was unbearable, and the Fire-drum was of the same opinion.



8i3 Stories Jor the Household

He played until his thoughts soared up, and burst forth in great
plans for the future :

" To be famous ! "

And burgomaster's Charlotte sat at the piano. Her delicate fingers
danced over the keys, and made them ring into Peter's heart. It seemed
too much for him to bear ; and this happened not once, but many times ;
and at last one day he seized the delicate fingers and the white hand,
and kissed it, and looked into her great brown eyes. Heaven knows
what he said ; but we may be allowed to guess at it. Charlotte blushed
to guess at it. She reddened from brow to neck, and answered not a
single word : and then strangers came into the room, and one of them
was the state councillor's son : he had a lofty white forehead, and carried
it so high that it seemed to go back into his neck. And Peter sat by
her a long time, and she looked at him with gentle eyes.

At home that evening he spoke of travel in the wide world, and of
the golden treasure that lay hidden for him in his violin.

" To be famous ! "




" Tum-me-lum, tum-me-lum, tum-me-lum ! ' said the Fire-drum.
" Peter has gone clean out of his wits. I think there must be a fire in
the house."

Next day the mother went to market.

" Shall I tell you news, Peter ? " she asked when she came home. " A
capital piece of news. Burgomaster's Charlotte has engaged herself to
the state councillor's son ; the betrothal took place yesterday evening."

" Xo!" cried Peter, and he sprang up from his chair. But his mother
persisted in saying "Yes." She had heard it from the baker's wife,
whose husband had it from the burgomaster's own mouth.

And Peter became as pale as death, and sat down again.

" Good Heaven ! what 's the matter with you ? " asked his mother.

" Xothing, nothing ; only leave me to myself," he answered, but the
tears were running down his cheeks.



The Golden Treasure.



"My sweet child, my golden treasure!" cried the mother, and she
wept ; but the Fire-drum sang not out loud, but inwardly,

" Charlotte 's gone ! Charlotte 's gone ! and now the song is done."




DESPAIB.



But the song was not done ; there were many more verses in it, long
verses, the most beautiful verses, the golden treasures of a life.

" She behaves like a mad woman," said the neighbour's wife. "All
the world is to see the letters she gets from her golden treasure, and to
read the words that are written in the papers about his violin-playing.
And he sends her money too, and that 's very useful to her since she has
been a widow."

" He plays before emperors and kings," said the town musician. " I
never had that fortune ; but he 's my pupil, and he does not forget his
old master."

And his mother said,

" His father dreamt that Peter came home from the war with a silver
cross. He did not gain one in the war; but it is still more difficult to
gain one in this way. Now he has the cross of honour. If his father
had only lived to see it ! "

" He 's grown famous ! " said the Fire-drum ; and all his native town
said the same thing, for the drummer's sou, Peter with the red hair
Peter whom they had known as a little boy, rtmniug about in wooden
shoes, and then as a drummer, playing for the dancers was become
famous !

" He played at our house before he played in the presence of kings,"
said the burgomaster's wife. "At that time he was quite smitten with
Charlotte. He was always of an aspiring turn. At that time he was
saucy and an enthusiast. My husband laughed when he heard of the
foolish affair, and now our Charlotte 's a state councillor's wife."

A golden treasure had been hidden in the heart and soul of the poor



8 14 Stories for the Household.

child, who had beaten the roll as a drummer a roll of victory for those
who had been ready to retreat. There was a golden treasure in his
bosom, the power of sound : it burst forth on his violin as if the instru-
ment had been a complete organ, and as if all the elves of a midsummer
night were dancing across the strings. In its sounds were heard the
piping of the thrush and the full clear note of the human voice ; there-
fore the sound brought rapture to every heart, and carried his name
triumphant through the land. That was a great firebrand the fire-
brand of inspiration.

"And then he looks so splendid ! " said the young ladies and the old
ladies too ; and the oldest of all procured an album for famous locks of
hair, wholly and solely that she might beg a lock of his rich splendid
hair, that treasure, that golden treasure.

And the son came into the poor room of the drummer, elegant as a
prince, happier than a king. His eyes were as clear and his face was
as radiant as sunshine ; and he held his mother in his arms, and she
kissed his mouth, and wept as blissfully as any one can weep for joy ;
and he nodded at every old piece of furniture in the room, at the cup-
board with the tea-cups, and at the flower-vase. He nodded at the
sleeping-bench, where he had slept as a little boy; but the old Fire-
drum he brought out, and dragged it into the middle of the room, and
said to it and to his mother:

" My father would have beaten a famous roll this evening. Now I
must do it ! "

And he beat a thundering roll-call on the instrument, and the Drum
felt so highly honoured that the parchment burst with exultation.

" He has a splendid touch ! " said the Drum. " I 've a remembrance
of him now that will last. I expect that the same thing will happen to
his mother, from pure joy over her golden treasure."

And this is the story of the Golden Treasure.



THE STORM SHAKES THE SHIELD.

IN the old days, when grandpapa was quite a little boy, and ran libout
in little red breeches and a red coat, and a feather in his cap for that 's
the costume the little boys wore in his time when they were dressed in
th-'ir best many things were very different from what they are now :
tliL-re was often a good deal of show in the streets show that we don't