CHILDREN'S COLUMN.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXIII, Issue 10148, 3 June 1896, Page 3

CHILDREN'S COLUMN.

, RICHES HAVE WINGS. 1 ' [BY fanny l. brent.] (Concluded.) - Alice's father was very much troubled when he heard the story. "My poor little lass 1" he said. " I have heard of riches taking to themselves wings, and flying away, bub I never knew the wise old proverb to be quite so literally fulfilled." "Now, father," Alice said, trying to laugh, "you are disgracing the family; for I plainly see tears in your eyes, and you know they're forbidden here." She kepb a brave face until she was upstairs and alone in ' her room, and then she cried herself to sleep. And mother, in her room below, knew ib though'she heard no sound, and her heart ached to comfort her brav.e little girl. " Can nothing be done for her, John she asked... " Nothing," her husband answered, sadly. " I would give anything to bo able to help her, but I can't this winter." Mother thought about ib far into the night, and at last confided to him a plan she had made. She watched Alice narrowly all the weok, bub the girl bravely fought down her discouragement, going about her work cheerily, and not throwing aside her drawing in disappointment, but working at ib as earnestly as ever. In those days the mother wrote a number of letters when Alice was out of doors, but said' never a word aboub them. Thanksgiving passed, and December came, and with ib the drawing-teacher; bub Alice, though .she did nob. join his classes, was learning other lessons—lessons beyond his power to teach. On Christmas morning, mother's face wore an unusually radiant smile, and father went about laughing and nodding at mother and trying to look mysterious; and Alice's wonder increasod; bub matters. roaohed a climax when she found under ITor plate a square envelope, from which fell a thin letter and a little folded slip of blue paper. She opened the blue paper—ib was a cheque for fifty dollars. The nolo read: " Send your girl to me, and I'll put her in an art school for the rest of the winter, and we'll see what she's made of." Ib was signed Joanna Harriman. Miss Joanna Harrimann was Alice's great aunt, who lived alone in New York, and who had little to do with any of her kinsfolk. When Alice realised that her mother had told Aunt Joanna the story of the goese, and asked her help, she fell to hugging mother convulsively, and showering her with kisses and endearing terms. Bub at the very height of her joy, she suddenly drew back, ! as if she had forgotten herself, and looked very sober and resolute, whereab mother laughed gaily at the solemn face, and said: " Oh, don't say you can't leave father and me, for Cousin Sarah is coming up to study music at the academy, and she will keep house for us for her board. Just be glad, and go to the reward you deserve because of your bravery when the geese flew away. Everything's arranged, and you will go a day or two after New Year's." Alice ate her breakfast in a dazed sort of way, and all day went about in a delightful dream. The whole busy holiday week seemed unreal, and then came the reality; but Alice was a very homesick, lonely girl when her mother was really out of reach. Aunt Joanna was so cold and distant, and seemod so to regard the whole affair as a matter of business, that Alice wondered if she could really be dear, cheery, loving little mother's own aunt. And then to feel that mother would need her—that no one else could care for her dear mother quite so well. This was a great trouble to Alice. The work at the school, too, was very hard, and she had much to learn, and bo unlearn, and no one in all the busy hive seemed to care whether she succeeded or failed. But Alice was proud and brave, and, after all, what a pleasure it was to know that she learned something every day and was advancing in the art she loved! And by-and-by, when the first strangeness wore off, and sho made new friends, how the days did fly ! When she went home in April, she was a very happy girl, although her aunt gave no sign that she was pleased with her niece, or would give her further help. But in the suminorsho made them an unexpected visit, and then Mrs. Creighton found out what Alice did not guess —that the working, earnest girl had quite won the old lady's heart, and thab she wanted Alice again. So for several years Alice spent the winter months in New York, the rest of the year at homo, working hard wherever she was; and at last her work began to attract attention in tho school, and gain recognition among artistic people outside. Her work was not all easy, and it was ten years from the time of her first lonely journoy to New York, when she painted the picture which was her best, and brought her " little cup of fame," as she laughingly said. She painted ib ab home in the autumn, with her mother lovingly watching every brush stroke. How they talked ana laughed, as it grew, over the scene it represented 1 It was the picture of that same backyard, glowing with autumn colours, in the midst of which stood a young girl with upstretched arms, looking in great distress at a departing flock of geese. The scattered corn, and the cobs which she had dropped, her mother's dismayed face at tho window—all were there. They namsd the picture, " Riches have wings."

FAITHFTLNESS OF A DOG. Mrs. Jessie Benton Fremont, in her story of " The Guard," a body of youug men who followed "The Pathfinder" into tho American Cival war and made a brilliant record for their courage and gallantry, tells a pathetic little story of a dumb beast who also was loyal and courageous. While the Guard~a body of cavalry—was drilling one day near St. Louis, a little fox terrier followed one of the men, Herr Wisa, a Hungarian officer, going with him to camp. Ho could not be driven away. The men all made a pot ot him, and named him "The Corporal;" but though he was affable to them all, he made the Hungarian soldier his companion and friond, sleeping at his feet at nighb, and following him by day. Whon bhe Guard made their memorable charge at Springfield, Missouri, the Corporal charged with them, keeping beside his master's horse throughout the battle. Herr Wisa was wounded, and fell, apparently dead, in a thicket. The corps swept past, his horse fled, wild with terror, but the little Corporal nestled close behind him, lioking bis face, and trying to rouse him. There the dog remained through the bitter cold night. When morning came he ran to the distant road, and by hie frantic barks and cries inducod a passer-by to enter the thicket). . The man, seeing only a cold, stiff body, supposed the soldier to be dead, and would have hurried on; but the Corporal furiously | drove him back, and would not be silenced I until he saw his muster move and speak, i when he crouched, dumb and contented, at his feet.