A THREE-HORNED DILEMMA.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XV, Issue 41, 3 February 1888, Page 23

A THREE-HORNED DILEMMA.

» I (From the New York Tablet.) (Continued.) The next day and the next passed, and nobody came, sent, or wrote for litlle Julian, Again and again I went to the cars and spoke to tke different conductors. But their inquiries were all of no avail. No* dy was heard of who had lost a child ; nobody knew the name of Skummun ; everybody was 6ure that there was no such name. On the touith day an old friend came to see me, and Betty brought up her name, •' Mrs. Schermerborn, ma'am, is in the parlour." Little Julian shot out of the room like an arrow from ihe bow, r.nd a moment afterward I found him quivering with passion, sobbing with grief and disappointment, at the parlour door, and addressing the astonished old lady wiih tbe startling words : " You're uot my mamma 1 How dare you say you are my mamma?" I put him aside and erected and soothed my dear old friend, whose indignant amazement was very fnnny. "What on eanh does the child mean? Who is the little imp, Margaret ? I never saw him before in all my life ; and he flew at me till I thought he was going to scratch my eyes out 1" 1 tried to explain, as well as I could* who and what the inimical sprite was ; but my eagerness at finding any new clue would not brook long delay, so I went to the entry and drew in the Bobbing child to try and understand what it all might mean. " Why, Julian, what were you thinking of, my child, to treat a lady bo ? This itt Mrs. Scbermerhorn." " No, it isn't I I say it isn't I My mamma is Mrs. Skummun. This is an ugly old w> man I" I was so reliived that I did nor. wait to reprove his disrespect, while I lold Mrs. Scbermerhorn more fully all my trouble, and how great a help it was to learn at list what the child's real name was. We tried to learn moie, but be was still so indignant at the idea of anyb d.v daring to call herself by his m .tber's narre that he became more rude and vi. leut than could be tol -rated, acd I was obliged to despatch him to the distant nursery region and order a repast of bread and molasses to keep his mouth shut and cheer his poor baby heart a little. Then I took counsel with my motherly friend as to what to do next, and tne result was an adv rtisement to " any friends of Julian Bohertnerhorn, aged 6, who would find him under safe protection at No. — W. Thirty -first street." My friend sat thinking awhile, and then said : "lean think of nobody of my name to whom this boy can possibly belong j and yat there is a look about him— yon will laugh at me, I know, but I really fancy there is a sort of resemblance— of couise, it is only my imagination. There was a Henry bchermerhorn who was living abroad, a disiant cousin, but I never heard of his return to this country. He married a pretty joung creature, a Miss Bloomfield, of Massachusetts, and they lived in Italy, I believe, or somewhere abroad, because ol her delicate health. But it is absurd to try to fix the child upon any of them. I wish £ could help you in any way, Maggie. Your advertisement may lead to something, and I will at all events write to Pnuline Sahermerhorn, and ask what has become of Henry and bis wife, and whether they ever came b >ck to thig couutry. I won't mention this child of course ; it would be too ridiculous. Day after day passed and no answer came to my advertisement, and no inquiries came to ihe station-master as to the poor little waif of the railroad. Mrs. Schermerhorn wrote the letter she had planned, but no answer arrived ; and she heard a little later on that •• Couiin Pauline " was off on a little trip to Washington and Richmond. So no doubt the letur of inquiry was safely reposing on the study-mantle in the old Philadelphia homestead. Everything seemed to conspire against poor little Julian, ana the chief and most aggressive conspirator was the boy himself ; for never was such a spoiled wilful child introduced into a peaceful home. Little Daisy stood in such open-eyed admiiaiion of hia pranks that I feared she would soon begin to imitate them ; and no doubt she would, had he not developed an overweening scorn and aversion to her, as " only a girl," aud a tenlency to Use inventive powers of mischief for her especial torment. Now lam by nature a strict disciplinarian of children. Ido not mean that I have a little rod in pickle always, a pet cat-o'-nine-tails always l^ing on the mantel shelf. Ido not believe in the system of education which consists in a perpetual "nagging," and which makes a child's t<aining a series of small slaps, snaps on the fingers, shakes of the head, " Now, Daisy 1 No, do 1 don tdo that 1 isaughty girl 1" Such is not my plan. I flatter myself that if I had twenty children they would all obey me ; the wueels of my machinery aro well greased aud hidden from sight, bat the whole goes on smoothly and effectually though without uoiie. Little Daisy is always docile, has never sa up her will against mine since 1 had her ; and yet it is not her nature I fear, for I remember well the spoiled baby she used to seem to me, w.en her own m .ther (almost as much of a spoiled baby herself) tried in vain to make her mind, and contended every poiut with a great show of authority and very infrequent success. The poor motuer, with all her childish faults, was gone now— tbe greathearted brother had gone long before — and Aunt Madge and Daisy, after all the storms aud breaks of earlier life, had settled at last into the test and enjoyment of the prettiest, cosiest-— busiest and most leiß^y— and altogether most delightful little home in the whole of New York ; a place of old-maidish order and system, neat and bright and peaceful, where few clouds ever came to ruffle the pleasure of the qmickly-passing days. And into this peaceful ret.eat came this little, unasked, wiltulaud troublesome visitoi, who managed to constantly unsettle the equilibrium of order, time and temper— a child who had evidently always had his own way, and driven roughshod over the feelings and c*avenienc«s of all around him ; who belonged apparent! j to nobody—certainly not to me ; who might be taken away at any ■omeut bj bis rightful owners ; aad whom, if no such good chance

befell, I had not the remotest intention of adopting ! Was it worth while to subjugate this little victim of circumstances f Would not the easier, and on the whole the better way, be to rub oh ai smoothly as might be for a day or two longer ? Yes,but the " day or two " was becoming an indefinite time. It was " assuming a chronic form," as the doctors say. Ten days hadelarsed and Julian grew daily more outrageous. Really unhappy at times, no doubt ; despising Daisy's society, restless under the new constraint of authority, bowerer lightly aud mildly used ; and hungering, poor child, for the mother's love I could not give him, although I felt all the pity and tenderness he would le v me. But by nature lam afraid lam a little like Miss Mu<dstone— " generally speaking, I don't like boys." It was provoking to see Daisy's toys brokep and trampled uader foot ; to hear her wild screams of terror, and, leaving book or work, or whatever pleasant occupation I might have just settled myself to, go flying to her rescue, only to find her pretty floating hair used as reins, while th 9 unwilling pony was beaten, kicked and jerked into obedience by her small driver, who enjoyed Ir.s part of the play wonderfully ;to find the beautiful Christmas doll— idol of one little heart— deprived of nose and wig ; to find the cat tied up in a bag, and hanging in the linen-closet, after a whole day of mysterious and mournful disappearance j to find the box of cookies floating about in vinegar ; and on various occasions to discover, by the foulest smell, that Master Ju'ian was fond of experimenting with the gas. Once I sent him to eat in the nursery ; twice I rebuked his daintiness at the table by denying him desert ; once even I put him in the closet, when, be deliberately put into the fire a European letter which had just arrived, and been laid upon the table until I should return from my walk (and to this day I have neverfound out what was in that letter) Rut on the fifteenth day matters culminated, lam not a Job in petticoats ; and if I were I should consider it my religious duty to do what I did. A cage of canaries, father, mother, and children, stood upon a little table in my sunny window. Daisy and I had made the nest ; had watched the little grey egers, as day by day they appeared ; had fed and petti- d the patient mother in her we«ks of sitting, and had finally helped her to rear the three little fledglings, now so far adv need in bird hood as to be soft, downy balls, witn quick eyes and fluttering wings, and well-feathered necks in place of the long skinny cord supponing a filmy bullet, which had at first shocked our expectant eyes. Now they were our glory and pride, the greatest interest of the day, the first thought of the morning. But one sad day, for ever to be marked by Daisy's tears and my stern wrath, Master Julian walking up and down and seeking what he might devour, took it into his talented young head to see how little birds would like the cold ba h which he himself greeted every morning with such a storm of indignation. 1 feel like drawing a veil over the details ; the overflowing bath-tub, the poor little soaked and murdered bodies, Daisy's screams of horror and misery, the servants' wrath and astonishment ; aad in the midst, in the mongrel costume in which we were obliged to cluthe this baggageless baggage, stood Julian, with a fiendish smile on his baby face, fully recognising and enjoying: the fact that this was his crowning triumph of wickedness. Then, at last, I arose to the full majesty of wrath, and I led him off for insant execution. Not many words did I speak, ' deeds not words " seemed the motto for the hoar. I will humbly assert that few children ever deserved or received a more sound hearty andthorough polishing off I The effect was, at first, to make him mad with passion, then sullen with reseutment, then frightened — then piteous. When we had reached this point, I began to talk to him ; and through the abasement of his entire subjugation, I hoped at last that he begun to feal asa imed and grieved. He finally begged my forgiveness, and himself proposed to remain in solitary confinement in the West room, as far from the bird c*ge as possible, making him promise to keep D iisy away from him, and to bring him his suppqr myself, aud put him to bed. It was ajgre^t point to have roused any contrition or remorse in his obdurate little heart ; and I went down stairs more nearly loving the child than I had ever felt it in my power to do before. When I went up with the supper I found him tearful and subdued really sorry— really subdued. He s>iid he was afraid be had always b en naughty, and perhaps if he could learn to ba good, God would give him back his own mamma again — " though I love you, aunty, and I know it served me right I " I heard this little prayer, broken by soba. I put him to bed with a tiue kiss of forgiveness and peace, and sat and sang him to sleep with a hymn, to the loss o£ poor Daisy, who was spending her treasured " hour " very lonely and mournful before the parlour fire. Later in the evening came a hurried note from Mrs. Schermer horn. " Dear Margaret," she wrote, " I hope you've not sent away that poor child, or at least know where to find him. 1 knew I could not be deceived iv so marvellous a resemblance. I felt, as I told yo«, quite sure that he would prove one of the family." I could not help smiling at the rose-coloured memory of the old lady, and searched in vain through my own for this entire assurance. " Now I do not doubt that nature an t instinct directed me aright, and explain why I felt drawn to the child the moment I set my eyes upon him." (" Was it the moment when you thought he was going to scratch your eyes out ?" I muttered to myself, with sardonic amusement.) " A letter from Pauline has just arrived ; Bhe says : ' Your ask about my cousin Henry. He came back last spring to attend to some business; and his wife, in spite of her state of health, insisted on accompanying him, because her only brother, Captain Bloomfield, had been wounded in the battle of Gettysburg, and was dangerously ill. When I last heard of them, Ellen and her boy were staying at her brother's coumry place or farm somewhere up in Connecticut, and Henry ha i font to Chicago to attend to his business affairs.' This is all thai wuul4 interest you, dear Maggie, but it needs no comment. I will be with you to-morrow morning early, and will cheerfully relieve you of the pleasant charge of my little kinsman, and, meanwhile, have despatched a letter to Captain Bloomfield, under cover to Pauline, who will know

hit address, I suppose. Let f me thank yon, dear child, in the namej.bE his parents and all other members of his family for your truly Christian kindness to our interesting little wayfarer.' 7 Much amused and interested by the sudden turn of affairs} 111 1 awaited the result. la my dreams I saw Julian in a hand to hand conflict with ffbor old Mrs. Schermerhorn, now' attacking her cap, now her eyes— and again dousing her in a bath-tub ? And in my walking intervals I resolved that come what might to my house and furniture, to my niece, or birds, or cat, I would at all risks persuade the poor helpless old lady from assuming this onerous " interesting charge," And then I would close my eyes again and dream of "Uncle Fred," a tremendous " Bluebeard " of a man, storming about the room, and laying " bad words," with an epen letter in his had. But this letter was not deatined to have any effect upon the puzzling game which we were blindly playing. At noon the next day I eat alone in the parlour, watering the sheets of rain, which ■ÜBt of course imprison Mrs, Schmerhorn, whose heart was some twenty years younger than her body— and who, with all her propensity to "go off at half cock," would find her fit of enthusiasm greatly quemched by a prospective fit of rheumatism. At noon, I say, I was looking out of the window, with the vague Micawber-like feeling that something would certainly " turn up." when I saw a passing umbrella come to a full halt before me, and a tall soldierlylooking man in a military coat and cape look at the number — then at the upper windows — then at me ; and finally walk up the steps, when a vigorous ring at the bell proved that he had settled his own mind as much as he had fluttered mine. A small voice within me announced " Uncle Fred," at least a minute and a half before Betty, in her whitest apron and most finished manner, curtseyed the parlour door open and announced " Captain Bloomfield." (T* he Concluded in our next,")