Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 49, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 August 1875 — LADY MISCHIEF’S TROUBLES. [ARTICLE]

LADY MISCHIEF’S TROUBLES.

A TRUE STORY. When Millie was only one year old her Uncle Ned named her Lady Mischief, and she was quite as often called by that as by her true name, which was Millie Dwight. When I tell you of some of the things Millie did you will not Wonder, and perhaps will think that Millie deserved to be, called Lady Mischief. Not that she ever* meant to do wrong. Oh! no. Her little fingers, which were often bothersome, were not really naughty fingers; only very, very restless, and sure to be deep into trouble before Millie herself knew it. Lady Mischief had not learned to think before she acted, which is really the first thing children have to learn when they get big enough to take care of themselves. I can tell you of but two instances where Millie got into serious trouble —of one time when she came near losing her life and going away from her mamma forever; and again when her little heart was almost broken and she was made sad for many days because of her thoughtless hands. When Lady Mischief was three years old God sent her a baby brother, and mamma was so busy taking care of him that Lady Mischief was left very much to herself for a few days. Often she would go to her mamma’s door, where she would stand on tiptoe and peep in at the pink baby rollea up in dainty white flannel; and she would look wonderingly at the standful of bottles and glasses, and at the smiling new nurse, who was always fussing around mamma. She thought all these strange doings very funny; but soon got tired of watching them from the door, and wanted to go inside and play in the bay window, which had always been her own play-place. But there she was, day after day, outside, and you may be sure she was glad when baby was two weeks old and nurse said she might bring her dollies arid come in and spend the morning. In she went and very happy she was. After kissing baby ana promising to be good she sat down in the window, and mamma forgot all about her, as she felt that she was safe and content. Lady Mischief played awhile with her tea-dishes and told her doll stories, and then she thought she would step out of the bay window into the room and see if baby was asleep. This she did very softly, and nobody saw her. Just then she spied a small glass of water on the stand where the bottles were, and it made her feel thirsty. It was really mamma’s medicine, though it looked like water. Up went the two little hands, and in a moment the glass was at her lips and she drank all there was in it. But it didn’t taste very good, and Millie whispered to herself, “Bad water!” and then went back to her doll’s tea-table, which was about as big as the top of your papa’s hat. Now Lady Mischief didn’t feel at all food, and she tasted the bad water. She idn’t know what the matter was, and she thought she would go and tell mamma. So she went across the room and she said in a whisper: “ Dat was bad water and I doesn’t like it!” Mamma didn’t look up, and only said: “ Hush! Baby is almost asleep!” Back she went and tried to play; but in a few moments she felt very sick, indeed, and she could hardly get to mamma’s chair. When she did, mamma turned and looked at her, and, putting baby down quickly, she caught her in her arms and cried out: “Areyou sick, Millie? What is the matter!” Around Millie’s sweet brown eyes and her pretty mouth there were strange dark marks, and the dear little face was very white and full of pain. In a very tired little voice she said: “ Millie don’t like de dirty water in de cup!” Mamma had called nurse, and nurse had understood instantly that Mischief had been drinking something, and one glance at the table showed her the empty glass. She knew that Millie had taken enough aconite to kill her if something was not done at once. She told mamma, who was shaking with fear, to be quiet; called a maid and sent for papa and a doctor. In less time than it takes me to tell you she filled a goblet with strong mustard and water and had it at Lady Mischiefs lips. « But Lady didn’t like the smell of it and wouldn’t open her mouth or keep her head still. Papa came in, looking very frightened, and in an instant had the goblet in his hands and was spying: “Millie, drink this, or I will whip hard.”

“ You shall have everything you want if you Will only drink it,” mamma said, with the tears in her eyes. Millie was very much surprised at everything going on about her, and papa’s face frightened her so that she opened her mouth, and they did not let it close again till the gobletful was all gone. Poor little Lady Mischief! She was very sick; but by the time the doctor came she had thrown up z the mustard and the poison medicine, and was lying in her crib, very weak and tired. The doctor gave her some more medicine, and everybody did something for her, till at last she fell asleep. Then the doctor said she would get well, though it was a wonder that she had not died, tor she had taken enough aconite to kill a man. Nurse had saved Millie’s life by giving her the mustard so quickly; but she was sick for many days and it was a long time before mamma got over her fright. Do you think she ever ate ordrank anything after that without permission? You may be certain she did not. She would not even eat fruit without asking leave, though she knew it wasmot poison; but

her Cousin Rob once helped himself and ate too much, artd was almost as sick as Millie wa< ’ Lady Mischief was a very little girlie and could not always remenJber as well as older girls; but after she got well she did remember that mamma used to say very often: “ Lady mustn’t touch anything that mamma doesn’t give her.” She wished she had not forgotten it before she let her fingers touch the “ bad water,” as she always called the poison medicine. Papa talked to her a long time and when he was through she said: \ “ Millie will use her think ’fore she use her singers!" And she tried very hard to do so; but she forgot another time, as you will see. • q When the warm Junsdays came Millie was quite well again and begged to go out of doors. On one side of the house was a pretty green yard, in which it seemed that no harm could come to her if she were let play in it by herself. There was the broad,, piazza to run upon, a low seat under a bigQ cherry-tree, and a large flat stone, where she could set her dinner-table. In a corner was one of the prettiest sights under the sun—a brood of wee little chickens, with a proud ’ old mother hen in ' a coop. They had not been in the world three whole days yet. They were round as balls and soft as down, with the brightest of little bright eyes. They peeped and scratched ana ran in and out, and the mamma hen sang and talked to her babies, and they seemed very happy. Millie played under the tree and picked her chubby hands full of dandelions, only to throw them away again. Then she looked about to see’what she could do next. “Come see me,” she thought the old hen said; and away she trottea to the corner where the yellow chicks were having such a good time. There she sat very still and watched them. Mamma hen fussed a good deal and ruffled up her feathers because Lady came so near, and the chickens were shy and ran into the coop. But she was so quiet that soon they came close to her apron, and even ate from her hand some meal which she found on the grass. And the old hen began to sing again as though she was quite content. Pretty soon Millie began to wonder if the chickens were hot tired, and if they oughtn’t to take a nap—they were not still a single minute. So she said: “Chickies, oo muss go seep; oo muss have naps.” But they did not mind her at all, and she forgot that she was to touch only what mamma gave her, and out went her hands after the cunningest little chick of all. Soon she had it in her lap* It was the nicest, softest handful that ever you saw. She tried to lay it on the grass; but it kicked and peeped and would push its head up through her fingers. At that the mother hen became very much distressed. But Millie didn’t mind her, so intent was

she in getting chickie to sleep. “Lie ’till, chickie!” she would say; and then she put her finger on the tiny neck and held it down very tightly. This she. did till the little legs and feathers and head were all still and the shining eyes shut. Then she caught another and put that asleep in the same way, and after that another, till thirteen little chickens, with their eyes closed and their peeps stilled, lay there taking their afternoon nap. Lady scolded the mother hen for making such a noise and fluttering her wings so she was so afraid she would wake them up. She got up very softly ahd went to the house to tell mamma; but on the piazza she met Uncle Ned, who had come to see what kept Lady so quiet. Millie put up a little Anger ana saia. “Oo muss hush! Oo wake chickies!” Uncle Ned lifted her up on his shoulder and walked gayly down the yard'till he came to the hen-coop. Then he very suddenly stopped, and, putting Lady down, looked first at the sleeping chickens and then at her where she stood whispering: “Be tareful, oo wake’em up! I put ’em all asleep.” “Show uncle how you put them to sleep,” Uncle Ned said, witiia very sober face. “ Down went the little hands, and held a chicken very tightly, while one finger pressed very hard on the soft, pretty neck. Uncle Ned took up a chjcken in his hand. Its head dropped, its feet were stiff, and it did not wake up. He drew' Millie to him and said, gravely: “ Lady Mischief has not taken care of her fingers. She has let them kill all these dear little chickens. Millie has choked them to death, and the poor mother hen has no babies. They will never wake up again.” Millie gave a chicken a little push, and when she was quite sure that it would not open its eyes she began to cry very hard. Uncle Ned took her in his arms and carried her into the house. Poor Lady Mischiefs heart was quite broken. She thought she felt very much worse than when she was so dreadfully sick. Mamma, too, felt badly, and had to comfort her little girl by telling her she would never do such a thing again if she could remember to use her “think” first and her fingers after. It was a long time before she forgot this trouble, ana she always grieved when she thought of the poor hen without her precious little babies. Next day Uncle Ned put the chickens in a box, and John, the gardener, buried them, while Millie looked on with tearful eyes. I think she never did anything so bad as that again, though she had her troubles. She tried very hard to be good, and she did not want to be called Lady Mischief. When Uncle Ned saw that she deserved another name he gave her a beautiful new picture-book, ana wrote something on the first leaf which pleased her very much. It was this; „ “Lady Mischief has gone away! Lady Careful has come to stay!” —Margery Dearie, in N. Y. Independent, A tragic event occurred lately in a divorce court at Constantine, in Algeria. The wife of BeLKassem appeared before the Cadi and demanded a divorce from her husband; on the ground that he had illtreated her; In spite of the strenuous opposition of the respondent the Cadi gave judgment in favor of the lady, who, triumphantly pre nooncing the orthodox formula, '•! repudiate thee,” bounced out of the court. The custom of the country wills that a defeated suitor should kiss the Judge Upon the shoulder, to show that he acknowledges the justice of his sentence. In accordance with this usage Bel-Kassem, in apparent submission, moved toward the Cadi. But, as he drew near, his manner suddenly chang. J. Dashingande his burnous, he sprang upon the unfortunate Judge and drove his knife into his throat. The murderer then threw down his weapon and surrendered himself to the gendarmes, saying, quietly: " I have killed the Cadi because, according to the Koran, a Judge who gives an unjust sentence deserves to be put to death.” , Three months is what an easy-going Englishman got for borrowing an umbrella on a rainy day.