of his little, waggish-looking face, smiles in his fond love for them. Warning them they needed no warning, but as soon as the elder lads had betaken themselves to school jogged off to town, their store of money making their pockets heavy and their hearts light with joy. They knew a shop where combustibles were sold, a certain house round a corner, where a certain old woman sold them to the unwary and the adventurous; quieting her conscience, if it pricked and troubled her, with the undoubted truth, "that boys will be boys, and be up to mischief." "Now, mind and be careful, my dears," said she; thus administering a sort of soothing draught to that same conscience of hers, as, having endowed her with all their worldly wealth, they were stepping out of her shop with a basketful of the destructible rubbish which their unskilled, unaccustomed hands were to compound and mix together aided only by certain instructions which were contained in a book on pyrotechnics, that lay in Jack's bedroom. "Yes, we'll be careful," they promised, rather gruffly; for that word "dears" annoyed them greatly, so babyish was it, addressed to them-big lads and would-be pyrotechnists. "Have we got the squibs and crackers?" asked Bert, as they went along. "Oh, yes; we've got the squibs and crackers, we couldn't do without them; we shall want a lot of phizzing and noise; they'll take us for nobodies after all, if they don't hear plenty of banging," rejoined Fred. And, oh! that November day was as May to them, as they went along. "We'll not go in at the front gates, but round to the back," suggested Bert. "No, we'll go round by the back and into the playroom at once," agreed Fred. And so they did, going creeping in slyly--small, grey, misty figures, bent on they little knew what. Smiler greeted them at the door. Their souls were knit to poor little Smiler-they gave him his name because which always, when turned up to them, seemed wreathed with They did not caress him now though, at which he whined as they passed him by, but stole in after them, a little, fond, loving thing that would not be repulsed. And now, what joy, what trembling, what exultation were theirs as they set to work, combining, mixing, and compounding; Fred reading a line or two from Jack's book, guiltily in a corner, as if he feared its owner might pounce on him at any moment, and then going back to Bert and the chemicals-looking very wise and reassured-to put in practice what he had gleaned. "I know you two have been up to mischief," said Jane, the housemaid, as they shirked past her on their way upstairs, before dinner, to wash their hands and faces, a very necessary duty, as you may suppose. "I know you have, you've been so quiet." "No, we haven't, we've been studying science," was their very vague denial and assertion, and felt very glad that they had hidden their half-finished handiwork in a certain cupboard inhabited by cockroaches, and which none of the maids dared to explore. Their dinner over, they betook themselves to their work again. Was ever day so short before? The gloaming was upon them before their task was completed. Task!-their joy, their glory! Never before had their hearts thrilled with such a wild, strange, indescribable joy. Ah, yes! stolen pleasures are sweet, but their fruit is bitter. Well, they finished; with such a dream upon them of stars, suns, moons, Catherine-wheels, and rockets. Little Smiler still with them, sniffing, prying, peeping, seemingly understanding all as well as they. As I said, they had finished. After dinner they had locked the door, for fear of invasion from without. Bert was mounted on a chair, putting away into the cockroach cupboard a parcel of squibs and "noiseables," as they called the new kind of crackers they had invented, for want of a better name; Fred standing on the floor, among many gems of light and glory which were to surprise the world ere long, when, lo! a knock at the door, and Jane's voice calling "Lads! lads!-open the door, young gentlemen. I know there's no good brewin' behind locked doors." Jane affirms not half of her speech was uttered, when Bert, startled by the knock and the voice, gave a half bound, and swayed. They never could tell how it really happened, but there was a cry, a tumult, a hissing, a crackling, a gleam of fiery wheels, stars, and indescribable flashes, a bouncing at the door, as by some one mad. And through it allall the smoke, the explosions, the lights and gleamings, which seemed a fearful chaos and jumble-came wails of pain from Bert, who had cut a somersault, and now lay amid the wreck and ruin, and howls from little Smiler. Jane avers that the house shook; it may have done so, I know Fred emerged from it all as by a miracle-a singed, scared little somebody, whom he scarcely recognised himself to be Fred Weston, one of two clever pyrotechnists, who thought themselves so successful a few minutes before. Unharmed, but dizzy and bewildered, he managed to open the door. Fortunately the house did not take fire; nothing and nobody were really injured, save Bert and Smiler. Fred, weak, foolish boy, fainted at the sight of Bert, a blackened, writhing mite, gathered into Jane's kindly arms. The three of them carried him to bed, then some one went for a doctor; and they left Fred to lie where he was, amid the wreck and ruin his own hands had wrought, he, when recovered, falling off to sleep. When he awoke, Smiler was by his side, whining, and licking his hands. Poor little mite! he was burnt beyond healing, the boy feared. His tears fell in showers as he bent over him, and gathered him to him, such an atom of misery was he to behold. He deluged him with oil, and carried him away to the stables; he craved for a cool, dark place, hiding his poor little suffering face under his master's jacket. Then with a sinking heart he went to see after Bert. On the stairs he met Hugh and Jack. "A pretty mess of a job you two have made between you," said Hugh, bitterly. But the small boy only asked humbly, in reply— "How is Bert?" "Bert! A little black cinder, that's how he is,” was Jack's retort; at which Fred leaned against the banister, and perhaps for the first time since the seas flowed between them, sobbed for his mother-his mother whom he had parted from ere he could remember her. "No use calling for her," said Jack, unfeelingly. But Hugh wound his arm round him saying very tenderly "Poor little chap! poor little chap! don't be hard on him, with Bert as he is." "How is he?" whispered the little one, nestling to him, and laying his tear-stained cheek against his shoulder. "Badly singed, young 'un, and they fear his eyes are burnt out." The moon was shining in athwart the landing where they stood, for the mist was lifted. Fred never forgot the agony that swept over him at the thought of Bert blind, never to see anything, not even the sweet fair moonlight, the little stars, the sky shutting out heaven with its joys and glories. He never sees the moon shining now but he thinks of that hour, and the many hours and days which followed, while Bert lay in a darkened room, moaning and pining in his pain, with bandaged eyes, and wounds and burns long of healing. Then, too, Smiler was a bunch of misery, and worst of all, he was blind-stone blind! Fred shrank from telling Bert that, when he sometimes stole into his room to sit with him, and he asked for the dog. And what wrung his very soul was the small brute's fond caressing ways; he seemed to cling to him in his blindness as he had never clung before. "A blind brother, a blind dog!" these were the words which haunted him like an echo, till, childlike, he put his fingers into his ear and tried to shut them out. Ah! it was a delightfully dark night which blessed the loyal grammar-school boys' display of fireworks; never, in their opinion, did such beauty of pyrotechnists' art mount heavenward as mounted that night; never such a Guy Fawkes committed to the flames. Fred heard his brothers go out to join in the fun and the glory, and crept away into the old playroom to weep in the dark. He heard the shouts of the happy, admiring crowd borne along on the night air, saw the gleam of the rockets over the tops of the houses, and like Cain, and many other faulty ones since, his punishment seemed more than he could bear. "My child, why cry so much over spilt milk, as if it could be gathered up again?" said Jane, when she found him thus alone. "When the young do wrong, they have a long life to do better in-they should not cry as if there were no hope; leave the old to do that over a wasted life. But you, you ought to be glad, for Master Bert ain't blind; the doctor has been a-spyin' at him, and his blindness is all an old--" Jane paused, smiling at what her tongue was about to utter. "All an old woman's whim," laughed Fred through a rainbow of tears; "and Bert can see— then-then-." The happy sobs of a lightened heart would have their way. "Then you'll thank God to-night for crowning your folly and disobedience with His forgiving love." Yes, the unfortunate pyrotechnists are tasting the fruit of their folly even yet, though blessed with Bert's sight restored, for Smiler, their little faithful shadow of a dog, still walks the earth in darkness. His sightless eyes are a living reproach to them, plodding after them in his patient, loving, clinging blindness. And yet the small brute is unconsciously doing a good work for them, for the sight of him keeps them from many a by-path of boyish, prankish folly and mischief. Their two elder brothers have likewise stepped down from their pedestal of cool indifference as to their younger brothers' pursuits, and make all their joys and sorrows part and parcel of their own. day, I can tell you. "Eggs, eggs, wonderful eggs! Eggs with eyes, and eggs with legs, Is the egg that holds the singing tooth. "Yes, young maste. and misses, the singing tooth, if fitted in any one's mouth, causes such music that every one will stop to listen to it." Lotta shrugged her shoulders. The conjuror saw her. "Will you like to have a try, young miss?" said he. Lotta tossed her head scornfully. "Oh, yes!" "Very well," replied the conjuror, tossing the eggs about; and suddenly legs shot out, and they ran about the table. Some seemed full of eyes, some laughed, and some talked, and some turned into currant buns, which he tossed to the children, who, finding them to be real substantial buns, ate them contentedly. "Now, young miss," said he to Lotta. And he fitted the tooth into a little space amongst her other teeth. "Now the performance is over. Make haste, for the lights are going to be put out." Lotta kept her mouth closed until she got outside. Of course, there was no truth in what the conjuror had said, and how rough he had been; he had almost hurt her mouth. "Oh!" she exclaimed, as she saw the lamps lighted, and the shop windows looking as gay as TOOTH. possible. But she went no farther in her speech than "Oh!" Involuntarily she began to sing one of the airs she had heard her mother sing. "Do be quiet, Lotta," said Karl and Netta, "all the people are turning to look at you." But it was in vain. In spite of herself, Lotta went on singing louder and louder in so delightful a manner that a crowd of people collected, shouting "Brava! brava !" The father and mother were sitting at the teatable waiting for the children, when they heard the tramp of many feet, and a clear young voice singing in grand style. "Mother, what is it?" asked the father. "Father, what is it?" asked the mother. Then the door burst open, and Karl and Netta rushed into the room. "What is the matter?" asked the father. "It is Lotta, She has got a Singing tooth, and she cannot a And Lotta came into the room singing. 66 Stop! stop! stop!" said the father. "Stop! stop! stop!" said the mother. But Lotta replied "I cannot stop, I must sing on Until the singing tooth is gone. O tra la la, O tra la lee, There's nothing now but song for me." The father paced up and down the room, the mother wept, the crowd listened to the song and applauded. "This is terrible," said the father; and he opened the window and frantically entreated the people to go away to their homes. "We won't go home!" shouted the crowd. "It's beautiful! we could listen all night." "What shall we do?" groaned the father. Then an idea struck him. He seized the singing Lotta and carried her to a small room at the top of the house; then he closed the shutters, and drew a heavy curtain across, and placed as many cushions and feather beds against the door and walls as he could get, in order to deaden the sound of Lotta's voice. It had the desired effect; the crowd, after lingering for awhile departed. But the mother and Karl and Netta knew that Lotta was still singing in the little upper chamber. So did Mops, the dog, who had crept in and was now sitting on his hind legs listening to Lotta, who, with an old music-book she had picked up, was leaning over an oak shutter and singing away to her heart's, or rather tooth's, content. Mops generally did not like music, but he seemed entranced with Lotta's performances. "Won't Lotta have any tea ?" asked Karl. "Yes, father will bring her downstairs as soon as the crowd has gone away from the house." And the mother drew the curtains closer, and stuffed paper and wool into the cracks in the window-frames; and then Lotta and her father came downstairs. "My darling," said the mother, "thou wilt be tired." To which Lotta replied— "I shall be tired, my mother, Thou, too, fatigued wilt be, But my voice will be strong as "Not a bad idea," commented the father; "it might be tough enough to muffle the singing." In the morning Lotta's voice appeared to have gained strength; and when the milkman came he put down his cans, opened his mouth wide, and listened. The mother begged him to remember his customers, but the milkman said "No; such singing wasn't to be heard every day; the customers might wait." And he leaned against the wall and steadily refused to go. HAD CREPT IN. Then came the postman, and he took up his position beside the milkman, though the father urged that people would be wondering what had become of the letters. "Never mind the letters," said the postman; "people may say the post is late, or there is a railway accident." Next the servants came out to look for the milkman; and then the masters and mistresses arrived to see what the servants were doing; and the street grew fuller and fuller, and several policemen appeared in the distance, shouting out "Move on, move on, you are blocking up the street!" But when they came to the house they too remained stationary. At last a musician came along; he could scarcely get through the crowd. "What is the matter?" said he. "Hush! Hark! Silence!" cried the people. "Ah!" exclaimed the musician, "that is wonderful, grand, enchanting; brava! brava! bravissima! I must see the singer; she is marvellous." And he rushed into the house and up the crowded staircase and into the drawing-room, where Lotta was singing, and the mother was weeping. "What a voice!" said he, seizing the father by both hands. "I congratulate you. Her fortune is certain. What a splendid voice!" "It is the tooth," sighed the father in explanation, "that terrible tooth. Oh, what a misfortune!" "You are mad," said the musician, turning from him in disgust; dearest little miss, I will play 66 |
