The Columbia herald. [volume] (Columbia, Tenn.) 1850-1873, 1869-12-03
LITTLE BARBARA.
A STORY FOR CHILDREN.

y OWL Va tAC DoUCo Al viz w UCAly
there are other asew stories of little lost
children quite as pretty as that one, and
true too. Here is one that heard some
where not long ago.
There were three young children who
lived in cottage in very lonely place.
1t was SO quiet place that sometimes for
days together they nevtr saw any other
faces except their own and their fathers
and mothers; especially in winter; when
the snow lay deep upon;the ground. OFT
en-, then, not sound would be heard
from morning to night, and not footstep
would pass their door. I'm,
The little house stood high upon hill
side, and. in these lonely days the children
would sometimes say to one another, al
wish we lived down in the village; it
would be so much merrier there" And
they would often 60 about quarter of a
mile from the cottage, where they could
see a good way down the hill, and would
stand there watching the little specks of
people below, and wondering what every
one was doing, and thinking that it must
be very pleasant, when the snow lay SO
deep that they could not play out in the
wood, to have the nice village street to run
about in, and to be able to look through
the cottage windows at the bright fires
blazing within. In the summer they never
longed to go to the village, for then they
had plenty of delights at home. Tney
were very poor-so poor that they oft
en- had not bread enough to eat, nor clothes
enough to keep them warm, but yet in the
summer they were always happy. 1t did
not matter to them, then, that their little
frocks were thin, and their little shoes
worn; it hardly seemed to matter even
that their porridge came so soon to an
end, and that the potatoes at dinner
seemed never to be enough for all of them;
for were there not always wild fruits in
the wood, and thousands Of red and purple
berries good to eati They used
to eat them by the hour together ;
and by the hour together, too, they would
gather the beautiful wild wood flowers
and play with them, and make chains and
garlands of them, sitting on the grass or
on the moss at the roots of the great trees.
They would often spend the whole of long
summer days like this, never wandering so
far away from home but that their moth
er's voice could reach them if she stood
at the outskirts of the wood and called,
but yet often out of sight for hours to-
gether, hidden by the thick branches, or
sometimes almost buried amidst the
brushwood and the long green grass.
"Some day 1 should like to walk straight
forward, whole miles into the forest" the
eldest of the children would say some
times to her mother; but the mother
would always very cautiously shake her
head. II have lived here for ten years,
my DEAR" she would answer, "and have
never once been for miles into the for
est"
They were two girls and boy. The
eldest girl, Barbara, was four years older
than the others; she was almost nine.
The other girl came next,-a little thing
of five, called Lizzy; and then came the
boy, David, who was scarcely four. The
two young ones were always given into
Barbara's charge when they went for their
long play days into the wood, and a very
tender, careful nurse she was to them.
She was a sweet-tempered, thoughtful,
sensible little thing, with a grave, pretty
face, and curious wOmanly ways, such as
the childen of poor people often get when
they are very young. She was so used to
having her mother depend upon her, and
trust in her watchfulness and good sense,
that think for nearly couple of years
back she had almost forgotten that she
was q child, and had got to have quite the
Scklu uduHClo VI q pCl sui.
don't know what l should do without
Barbara" the mother would often CRATE
fully say.
1t had been summer, but the summer
was almost gone, and the leaves
were all yellow in the wood, and the
days were getting cold. The children
liked the early part of autumn dearly,
for the fruits were ripest then, and the
flowers brightest; but when the days
began to grow very short, and November
winds blew, and dead leaves lay thick on
the damp ground, then it was sometimes
rather dreary in the forest, and they were
often glad to come home, and play instead
by their own fireside.
at will soon be winter now in real
earnest" the mother said, one evening
when they had been forced to close the
cottage door because the wind blew in so
coldly; and she sighed as she said it, for
the winter often brought them hard times,
and both she and the children would have
it summer always if they could.
1t had been raw wintry day. For
several hours rain had been failing, and
then after the rain there came sudden
frost, that made all the ground almost as
slippery as glass. They sat waiting in the
freight for the father to come home.
They looked for him always soon after
nightfall, but tonight it had been quite
dark far more than an hour, and yet he
had not come Again and again the
mother went to the door to listen for him,
but there was no sound of any step COM
ing near 1t was almost eight o'clock
before he came at last, limping painfully
up the steep path.
"fve fallen down and hurt my knee, I
thought / should never get home" he
called out to his wife as soon as he got
near.
He was quite white and faint when he
came into the cottage. al slipped when l
was two-thirds up the hill" he said. "Pve
been trying to crawl on ever since. l
don't know if I've broken bone, or wha!
it is,-but I'm glad to have got home at
last"
His wife got him to bed, and bathed and
bandaged the knee, and after time he
had less pain.
a dare say I've only given it a twist"
he said, presently, !" and maybe it will be
well by morning"
But when morning came the pain had
come back, and the limb was swollen and
useless. All that day he lay in bed, and
by nighttime he was very feverish. They
had vet sent for no doctor, for, poor as
they were, and living in such a solitary
place, they rarely thought of sending for
enc when they were i'll, but doctored
themselves as they best could. But now
the poor wife began to get frightened.
Her husband tossed about on his bed all
night, and the more restless he was, the
more he suffered, for every movement that
he made sharpened his pain.
She sat up with him all the night, and
then in the morning at last she said to
Barbara
"You must 90 down to the village, and
ask Mr.. Dickson to come and see him, for
I'm sure he's getting worse"
So little Barbara put on her bonnet and
cloak, and prepared to go upon her er-
rand.
] The frost had passed away now, but there
were leaden clouds over the sky that
seemed to promise snow, and the wind
was very cutting and keen.
"You might take the children with you
as far as to Mrs. Pope's," the mother said
as Barbara was putting on her bonnet
and call for them again as you come
back Tell Mrs Pope about your father,
and say I'd be obliged If she'd take care OF
them for an hour or two"
Then Barbara dressed the little ones, too,
and they set out.
"T1l be back, mother, as soon as ever
can" said she as she left the house
1t was about twelve o'clock of Novem-
Der morning. The cottage at which Bar
bara was to leave the children was only
about mile away, standing, as their own
did, close to the forest 1t was q house to
which they often went, for the people who
lived in it-an old man and his wife