Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. XXVII, No. 1 — page 89: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Ballows Monthly Magazine. 93 JULIE’S ADVENTURE. BY LOUISE DUPEE. , LITTLE JULIE was almost as wee as Tom Thumb in the fairy book, whose mother tied him to a thistle while she was milking her cow, for fear that he would blow away. She was six years old, but her sister Katie, who was only four, was quite as tall as she, and much larger, and all the little six-year-olds in the street—and I assure you there were a good many of them—o’ertopped her curly head by inches, much to Julie’s mortification, who was vexed to have everybody think her such a very little girl, when she was so old. It was midsummer, and mamma had gone away to the mountains, taking Katie with her, and leaving Julie at home with her nurse and papa. Julie wished very much to go with mamma, for she had been in the country, and the remembrance of it was like the pret- tiest dream she ever had; the gay, green fields where the brooks played at hide-and- seek in the grasses, and the long, sunny meadows filled with daisies and buttercups, that were like so many bright, winking eyes, loeking at the’sky all day, and shutting them- selves up at night so that they could never see the stars as long as they lived. But, after all, it was very grand to remain at home and be papa’s little housekeeper; for mamma had impressed upon her mind, very deeply, how necessary it was that some one should stay and care for poor papa while she was away, and Julie took‘ up her new duties with great importance. Biddy gave her a bunch of keys, which she wore dangling at her little waist, while she went about “ seeing to things,” just like mamma, for all the world. One Sunday afternoon Julie got tired of staying in the house, and coaxed Nora the nurse to take her out into the park, which was a little way up the street from her papa’s house. It was a pleasant place, that pretty, green park, lined with great trees and so bright with flowers—flowers that you mustn't touch for your life, however; and many a little bird, who lived away off in some country orchard, came there on sunny days to sing; and many a little bee left the scented bean- flowers and golden squash blossoms of some cottage garden, and made a fleet voyage through the air to taste the dainty lips of those more aristocratic blossoms. Then there was a fountain that kept talking and mur- muring in its drowsy way, as if it were trying to tell fairy stories. Julie made believe that it did. The bees were working that day just the same as if it wasn’t Sunday, and the fountain was telling its sweetest stories, and ever sO many people were promenading through the shady walks or sitting on the pretty rustic seats under the trees. Julie liked the park on Sunday better than on any other day; for if one must be still, and not hop about on one foot, nor play with dolls, nor roll hoop upon the sidewalk, it is better to be still where there is something to see and to hear, and so she sat with infinite con- tent on a low seat near the fountain, keeping very still to listen to its murmur, and watch the bright spray that changed to rainbow colors in the sunshine, until it grew toward evening. But poor Nora the nurse was listening to the vesper bells that were just beginning to call people to church, and wishing that she might go, too, with the crowd of people who were already on their way. But it was of no use, for all the rest of the servants had a holi- day that day, and there was no one to leave Julie with. “O dear!” she sighed; for Nora was a good Catholic, and then one meets so many friends at church, and she hadn’t seen her sister Biddy or her sweetheart Jerry Sullivan, who was too bashful to come and see her, for three weeks. “What is the matter, Nora?” questioned Julie, looking up in surprise to see Nora’s happy, round face lengthened so. “QO nothing, darlint,” said Nora, “only I was wishing to go to church. It’s sore on a body to be kept away so long, and everybody a’goin’ and the bells a’ringin’.” “Well,” said good-natured little Julie, “ you can go. Iam not afraid to stay alone.” “No, honey, it would never do in the world. Your papa is away and the house would be left alone intirely, and what would such a mite as yersilf do to keep away the fairies ?” “ Poh,” said Julie, bravely, “ Um not afraid of the fairies; they don’t steal children here as they do in Ireland—our fairies are good, mamma says so.” But Nora would not CORMIEDOOKEAGOM