“Look at this disconsolate pair; melancholy has evidently marked them for her own,” said Bessie Sanford, as she and I crossed the corner of the square, bound for an afternoon walk; aimless, except in the search for fresh air and exercise.

The “disconsolate pair” were my little sisters, Allie and Daisy, who now approached, trundling their dolls’ perambulators in front of them, and followed by mammy, who came limping after, also wearing a most lugubrious expression; but whereas their distress was plainly mental, her’s was physical, drawn forth by pain.

“Old mammy has an attack of her pet bunion,” I said, “and I suppose that the children are, in consequence, debarred from their walk, and they have but just come out. Poor little things! What do you say, Bessie, to taking them with us? They would be enchanted.”

“So should I. By all means let us take them,” answered Bessie, who had a love for children and their company, only second to my own.

“O, sister Amy!” cried both the little ones, dropping the perambulators, and rushing up to us as soon as their eyes fell upon us, “Mammy’s bunion hurts so, she can’t take us to walk, and it’s such a lovely day, and we want to go Jim’s peanut-stand.”

And the ever ready tears rushed to the eyes of Allie, who was prone to weep upon slight provocation; and even Daisy, who was more philosophical, though younger, looked heart-broken.

Sunshine speedily succeeded the showers, however, for my proposal that they should accompany us was received with rapture; and, taking their dolls into their arms, they abandoned the perambulators to the care of mammy, who hobbled towards home with them. This bunion was mammy’s choice grievance, and she doubtless suffered much from it; but it was an article of the family faith, that, when for any reason she was disinclined to take her walks abroad with the children, the bunion sympathized with this reluctance, and crippled her to an unusual extent.

“And where do you want to go?” I asked of the beaming pair, who were now hanging, the one on Bessie’s arm, the other on mine. “Bessie and I do not much care which way we go.”

“Oh,” said Daisy, ecstatically, “if you would only take us to Jim’s peanut-stand! Mother said we might go, and then mammy couldn’t take us.”

“It’s not fash’nable, but it’s very respectable, Amy,” said Allie, impressively.

“But we cannot go to a peanut-stand, even though it belongs to Jim,” I expostulated.

“But it’s not in the street; it’s you know Johnny, the flower-man, sister?” said Allie.

“Johnny the flower-man” was a German florist on a small scale, who had a little glass-enclosed stand on the corner of the avenue next to that on which we lived, and who was extensively patronized by our family and many of our neighbors. His box of a place, cosey, warm, and fragrant, was a favorite resort of our children; and much of their pocket-money went to the purchase of the potted plants and cut flowers which he sold to them at a wonderfully reasonable rate. But what had the little German to do with Jim and his peanut-stand? Allie soon enlightened us.

“Jim was going to have the stand on that corner,” she said, “and he had leave to do it; but mamma and aunt Emily said it would not do for Tony and Matty to sit out of doors in the cold weather; it would kill Matty, they said. And Jim was so disappointed, and he didn’t know what to do; and one day when sister Milly sent him to Johnny’s, he told him about it, and about Tony and Matty; and that lovely old Johnny, Daisy and I ask God to bless him every night when we’ve done our own people, he told Jim he could have a little corner of his store where it was all glass, and the stand could be seen from the street; and then Matty could sit there, and people would come in and buy her peanuts. Wasn’t it good in him? We love Johnny, if he does squint, and smell of tobacco, and can’t talk very plain.”

“And then,” said Daisy, taking up the tale in her turn, as Allie paused for breath, “and then there wasn’t room there for the roaster, ’cause it’s pretty squeezed up in Matty’s corner, and in Johnny’s store, too, wif the stand there; so Johnny’s wife, who lives just a little bit of a way off, lets Tony have the roaster up in her room, and roast the peanuts, and then he runs very quick wif ’em over to Matty, or, if it’s a nice, pleasant day, he has it put outside the door. But the smell of the peanuts gets mixed up wif the smell of the flowers, and that isn’t so very nice.”

“But Jim is making lots of money, he says,” continued Allie; “’cause most always when people come in to buy flowers, Johnny tells ’em they’d better buy peanuts, too; and Jim printed a sign in German about peanuts inside, and put the meaning in English beneath, and he says he thinks he is doing a better business than if Matty sat outside. Norman and Douglas buy lots, but,” with a little sigh, “mother don’t like Daisy and me to eat peanuts. It would be a good way to do charity if she would let us; but sometimes we buy some, and give them to the servants.”

Jim and his “peanut undertakin’,” as Captain Yorke had called it, had, in the press of other and greater interests, almost passed from my mind, and I had made no inquiries about it lately; but, as visions of numerous peanut-shells in the most unheard of places returned to my recollection, I could not doubt the truth of Allie’s assertion in regard to my brothers.

While the children had been talking, we had been gradually walking on towards the desired haven, the corner where the German florist had his tiny store; and presently we came to it. The little glass enclosure was one mass of vivid green, and brilliant, glowing color; for Johnny was remarkably successful in the treatment of his plants, and they always wore a thrifty, healthy aspect, delightful to behold.

Without, just at the side of the door of entrance, hung the sign described by Allie; and Daisy at once drew our attention to it.

The “German” legend ran thus:

“Goot rost benuts ish incite, nein sents a quoort.
Shtep in unt py.”

The English translation followed:

“Good roost peanuts is inside, nine cents a quart.
Step in and by.”

Bessie and I were inwardly amused, but did not let it appear to the admiring children. Allie, however, had her own misgivings as to the absolute correctness of the sign, and said, doubtfully,

“I suppose the German must be all right, because Jim says that is the way Johnny talks; but the English is not spelled quite right, is it, sister Amy?”

“Not altogether,” I answered; “but perhaps it attracts more attention than it would do if it were quite correct, Allie, and that, you know, is the object of a sign or notice.”

“Yees,” said Allie, doubtfully, lingering behind a moment to scan the sign as I opened the door, and still inclined to criticise; “ye-es, but somebody might laugh if it is not spelled quite right.”

“That is of no consequence so long as it does not hurt business,” I said, shamelessly indifferent to the orthographical merits of the case. “Come in, Allie, we must not keep the door open too long.”

At the farthest end of the crowded little cubby-hole, all the more crowded, of course, for the accommodation which the good-hearted German had afforded to Jim’s beneficiaries, sat the little deformed Matty, behind her stand, on which were displayed a tempting pile of freshly roasted peanuts, and various bright, new measures. Outside, on the street, could be seen Tony, grinding away at his revolving roaster; for the day was so exceptionally lovely, that there could be nothing in the air to injure him, and he doubtless preferred its freshness, and the brilliant sunshine, to the presumably dark and stuffy quarters of Mrs. Johnny.

Poor, poor Matty! Deformed, shrunken, and wizened, she was a painful contrast to all the beauty and brightness surrounding her in the little conservatory. Beyond the sympathy unavoidably drawn forth by her helpless and crippled condition, there was absolutely nothing to attract one toward her. She looked peevish and fretful, too, so far as there was any expression in the dull, heavy face. Was it to be wondered at? There had been but little of brightness in her young life; and as I looked from her to my little sisters, our petted household darlings, carefully guarded and shielded, so full of life and joyousness, so free from all pain or care, my heart swelled with thankfulness, that to them had been allotted no such fate, and with the desire to brighten the lot of this little unfortunate.

It was not so with her brother Tony: he was the jolliest, most active little cripple that ever hobbled round on one leg and a crutch. The celerity of his movements was something surprising; his voice was merry and cheery; and his ugly young face, despite the many hardships of his lot, generally wore a smile.

Now and then he would be seen with his face pressed against the glass, with a nod of good-fellowship to his sister or Johnny, or staring at such customers as happened to be within; and, if these proved to be Matty’s patrons, he would watch the progress of the sale with great interest. Then he would turn to his roaster, and work it violently for a few moments, then be off to the curbstone or crossing, exchanging some, probably not very choice, joke with some other street-gamin, or the conductor or driver of a passing street-car.

The children, Allie and Daisy, made their investments while I was taking these observations, and Bessie was purchasing cut-flowers from the old German. She was a good German scholar, and delighted the heart of the old man with the familiar language of the fatherland, which flowed glibly from her tongue. The consequence was, that that politic young woman left the florist’s with three times the amount of flowers that I had, although I had spent just twice as much money. But, then, I could not speak German.

“I am going to take my flowers to cousin Serena,” I said, after we had left the florist’s, and exchanged a word or two with jolly little Tony as we passed. “Will you come and see her, Bessie?”

Bessie assented, and the two little ones were only too glad to accompany us. A visit to cousin Serena was always a treat to them.

“And we will give her the peanuts we bought; she likes peanuts,” said Daisy, who, as well as Allie, had maintained a silence, quite unusual with them, during several minutes.

“But we’d like her and all our people to understand,” said Allie, loftily, “that we buy peanuts because of Jim, and not at all because of Matty. She’s the most unchristianest child we ever saw; and I think her soul is hunchback, too, just as well as herself.”

I had seen that Matty had repelled the advances of the children, who had wished to show her their dolls, and to be kind to her; and I endeavored to soothe them, and excuse her, by telling them how much she had to suffer, and how her disposition might have been spoiled by all that she had undergone.

But my words made no impression; the children were not to be mollified. Allie still wore an air of outraged and offended dignity; and Daisy not only maintained that solemn silence, but she looked grieved and hurt. Our little ones were not accustomed to be snubbed, and took it hard when such an experience did befall them; but there was a preternatural gravity about them now, which excited my wonder.

“Why, Daisy,” exclaimed Bessie, suddenly, “what is the matter with your cheek? It is all red and scratched. What have you been doing to yourself?”

“She didn’t do it to herself,” said Allie, indignantly, and before Daisy could speak. “We didn’t want to tell tales; but, sister Amy and cousin Bessie, I think you are not very noticeable, not to see Daisy’s cheek before this. We are very much disappointed in you.”

We apologized humbly, saying that Daisy’s broad felt hat had prevented us from seeing the state of her cheek before this, and inquired more minutely into the cause thereof.

With some reluctance the children told, that, while Bessie and I had been making our purchases of flowers, they had, after buying their peanuts, tried to make themselves agreeable to Matty; but she had proved far from responsive, and would not even look at the beautiful dolls which they proffered for her admiration. Believing that shyness alone was the cause of this ungraciousness, and filled with pity for her condition, Daisy had at last raised Matty’s arm and placed her doll within it, when the cripple suddenly turned upon her, and drew the nails of the disengaged hand viciously down poor little Daisy’s soft cheek, while, with the other, she threw the doll from her. Fortunately, the doll was not hurt; but the insult to her cherished darling had grieved Daisy more deeply than did the injury to herself. She had heroically refrained from crying out, or making any complaint, lest Johnny should be moved to espouse her cause, and avenge it on Matty; but it had gone to her heart, and to Allie’s as well, that, after such forbearance, neither Bessie nor I should have noticed her plight. However, we made up for it now by an outburst of indignation and resentment, especially violent on my part; whereupon, the sage Allie turned my own moral lecture, so lately delivered, upon myself, recalling my exhortations to the effect that we should be patient and forgiving with one so sorely afflicted as Matty Blair.

When we reached cousin Serena’s, a little arnica and some French bonbons healed Daisy’s wounds, both mental and physical; but when happiness and peace were once more restored, and she was seated upon Miss Craven’s lap, with Allie beside her, and the box of chocolates between them, cousin Serena herself was discovered to be in a state of no small flutter and excitement.

“My dears,” she said, “have you seen the ‘Morning Bugle’ of to-day?”

“No,” I said, emphatically. “Father would not allow that paper to come into our house.”

“Nor would my father,” said Bessie.

“He says it is a scandalous sheet,” I added. “He would not have it if there were not another newspaper in the city.”

“Nor would I in my own house,” said Miss Craven; “but,” apologetically, “when one is in a boarding-house, my loves, you know one cannot control other people.”

“I should think not,” said Bessie. “It would be hard, indeed, if you were held responsible for the morals, or the literary tastes, of Mrs. Dutton’s other boarders.”

“But you dearest of Serenas,” I said, “you know you need not read the ‘Morning Bugle’ because some of the other people in the house take it. O Serena, Serena,” reproachfully, “I thought better things of you! That you should allow your mind and morals to be poisoned in that way!”

“My dear Amy! My dear children!” exclaimed the dear, matter-of-fact old lady, who never knew when she was being teased, which made it all the more delightful to tease her. “My dear loves, you do not think I read that scandalous sheet! Why, this morning I should have said that nothing would induce me to touch it; but when Mrs. Dutton came up with the paper in her hand, and said, ‘Is not this meant for your friends?’ what could I do? I had to take it, and read the paragraph; and, my dears, here it is. Oh, I have been so unhappy all day about it! What will your father and brother do? Mrs. Dutton let me cut this out, when she saw how I felt about it.”

I took the scrap of paper which she handed to me; and the blood rushed to my heart, as I read an item with the following heading:

“A MADISON-SQUARE SENSATION.”

It was a garbled and scurrilous account of the late little incident at our house, implying, indeed openly asserting, that there had been a wholesale attempt at poisoning. Names were not given, not even the initials under which the reporters of such gossip often pretend to disguise publicity, and in a measure avoid responsibility; but, to the initiated, there could be no doubt that the paragraph referred to my unlucky cookery. Further particulars, it was said, would be given at a later date, although it was difficult to obtain information, as the parties concerned had endeavored to hush up the matter; and “money is a power in this community.”

I turned faint and giddy as I read; while Bessie, who looked over my shoulder, burst into a tempest of indignant exclamation.

“Dear child! Don’t turn so white, Amy, my dear; I am so sorry I showed it to you,” cried Miss Craven, aghast at my alarm and agitation. “It is outrageous, scandalous; but it cannot hurt you: you see no names are given. But I shall never forgive myself, for I told Mrs. Dutton about the ‘food for the gods’. She was interested, you know, when you were here with me learning to make it, and asked me how it turned out. But she is discretion itself; she would not say a word, nor let any one know Oh! my dear child, what shall I do? What shall we all do?”

But the vivid imagination with which I was credited by my friends, and which not unseldom did cause me many a needless foreboding, was rampant now; and visions arose before me of disgrace to the family, if those dreadful newspaper people did, as they threatened, “give further particulars,” and perhaps go to greater lengths, and even print my name in their horrible sheet. Should I ever be able to hold up my head again? I sat in dumb, terrified astonishment.

But here, Bessie, with her practical common sense, came to the front, and brought me back to reason.

“So that is the way you meant to make such a success of your ’food for the gods,’ is it, you fraud?” she said, putting her hands on my shoulders, and playfully shaking me, “coming here and practising with cousin Serena, forsooth; and the rest of us experimenting with our first efforts. O Amy, Amy, I would not have believed it of you. And the gods themselves turned against you. Their mills did grind exceeding sure that time, and not so slowly, either; vengeance followed, swift and sure. You deserve this. Cheating play never prospers, Amy; and ‘honesty is the best policy,’ and all that.”

Meanwhile, the children were gazing from one to another of their elders, not knowing what to make of all this, Allie uncertain whether or no she had better call upon her ever ready tears, Daisy bewildered, and at a loss to know upon whom to bestow her sympathy, cousin Serena or me; for I had not yet put my miserable imaginings into words, and my startled looks alone appealed to her; while Miss Craven was in a half-frantic state of excitement; and, as for Bessie, she had at first appeared furiously angry, and now, with a sudden change, was turning the whole thing into a laugh. What could it all be about? wondered these innocents.

“Oh,” I gasped at last, “what shall we do? What will papa say? What will uncle Rutherford say? What will Edward say? What will ”

“Yes, my dear, what will Fred say?” Bessie completed my unfinished sentence, as I paused, overwhelmed. “They will each and every man of them settle this matter, to the anguish of that editor, if I know them, and without one word of trouble or publicity to you, or any one of the family. You dear goose, you, to make such a personal matter of it. Why not, Jim; why not still more, Mary Jane?”

“I must go home,” I said, feeling a burning desire to find at once my natural protectors, and to place the matter in their hands; and go I would and did, cousin Serena accompanying me, with Bessie and the children. We paused by the way, to knock at Mrs. Dutton’s door, and to ask her if she had called the attention of any of the other boarders to that shameful paragraph.

Mrs. Dutton, motherly, gentle, refined, a lady in birth, education, and manner, and with a warm corner in her heart for the girls, big and little, who ran in and out on their visits to Miss Craven, assured us that she had not done so; and, in answer to my anxious inquiries, said, also, that she had never mentioned the incident of the “food for the gods” to any one.

It is not necessary to state, that my mankind were incensed when they saw the objectionable paragraph, although they did make light before me of my terrors and apprehensions; and it remained a fact, that Edward went at once to a friend and brother lawyer, to request him to take steps to prevent any further annoyance or developments in the matter. It so happened, said this gentleman, that he had a hold upon the editor of the “Morning Bugle,” which that personage would be very sorry to have him use to his disadvantage; and he assured Edward that he would settle the affair in such a way that none of us need fear any future trouble or publicity.

How the thing had become known so as to afford matter for newspaper gossip, we could not tell, and did not much care to know; probably, through the talk of the servants, who had, of course, been acquainted with all the particulars of the unfortunate incident. Exaggeration, and a wilful desire to falsify a trifle to the discredit of those concerned had done the rest; but our lawyer friend’s remedy proved effectual, and the “Morning Bugle” was silenced.