Year: 1871




"I wonder,n said Deb. And she
did wonder very much. What about
/ think that she hardly knew herself.
She only knew that she Wonderland
wondered.


All the world was a wonder,-the
great, soft, shining snow-drift that
curled up against the fence Opposite
her window; the beautiful whirlpool
that the snow made when the wind wai
mp; the ice in the streets, and the little
girls that tripped on 1t, and the LITTLE
boys that didn't; the cross grocer who
brought -four and beans into Brick
Alley every morning; the pleasant bak'
er who sometimes tossed herup seed
cake through the window; the factory
girls with the little pink bows on theil
nets, who strolled by in the evening
after mills were out. and laughed SC
that she could hear them quite plainly,
or sang httle,-snd she could heal
that quite plainly too; the skies when
they made faces at her through the
square top of the alley,-gray, silver
and blue faces, or fame-colored and
gold faces, or black face, or faces
crowned all about with stars the river
too, all that she could see of it, and
that was just crack away between two
houses, aud crack of slope that bank
ed it in. In winter the slope was shin
ing white, and In summer shining
green; end as for the crack of the
river, sometimes that was white, too,
and sometimes it was green or purple
or gray or blue; and sometimes it toss
ed about and sometimes it was as still
as Deb herself That was all she knew
about the river. And SO she wondered.


Bnt most of all she wondered about
the bells. The town was full of bells.
There were bells in the streets, and
bells, she had heard, TO the mills, and
bells, she thought, to the river too /;
but all the bells that she knew about
belonged to the grocer and the baker,
and these she had never done very
much more than wonder at, for they
were two stories down In the yard, and
she was in her high chair by the win
dow.


Now this, you see, was why Deb
wondered. She never got out of that
high chair by the window, except to
get into her bed. And she. never had
been anywhere in all her Life except into
that chair and into bed. And she was
fifteen years old.


The bed and the chair and the win
dow were all that Deb had, except q
mother, and she did MT amount tomuch
for she was busy and worried and hur-
ried and sick and anxious and poor
very poor, and the room was full of
children who could run out ai& see the
bells and knew all about the river, and
who never wondered; so, when she had
put Deb out of her bed into her chair,
or ont of her char into her bed, she
thought no more about her; so, as ]
say, she did MT mount to much.


Deb was not ugly to see,-except for
the curve In her poor shoulders, and
her little soft, white, withered feet that
hung down useless from her high chair.
In the face, Deb was not ugly to see.
She had soft hair, and her cheeks were
white and clean, and her eyes had
grown so large and blue With fifteen
years full of wonder, that if you were
once to see them you would never for
get them as long as you lived


A young lady that I heard of viii
never forget them as long as she lives,
and you shall hear about her presently.


In the daytime Deb shut her eyes and
tried to think what it would be like to
run about like the children who did
wonder; to see streets, or q crowd, or q
cburch-spire, or funeral, or people
going TO a wedding, and other strange
things of which the children who did
not wonder talked to each other; and
which, because her eyes were shut, she
saw or seemed to see, and yet always
knew that she never saw them all.


At night she liked to open her eyes,
and lie with them open long, late
time, after the children who did not
wonder were asleep. She liked to open
her eyes at night, because then the two
things that she liked best happened, =
the dark and the bells. It seemed, in
deed, that the darker it WIS, the more
bells there were always. First, there
were the min-bells, In the early winter
dusk; they rang very hard and very
merrily, to let the factory girls go home
to put the little pink bows upon their
nets. Then there were church-bells,
they rang very heavily and respectfully
to call them to the weekly prayer-meet-
ings, but they did not call the girls In
the little pink bows. Sometime there
were fre-bells, that shrieked at Deb
out of a yellow sky and frightened her.
At nine o'clock when it was darkest,
Deb heard the cioseet, pleasantest, and
awfulest bell of all. This was the great
Androscoggin bell, the largest In New
England Deb held her breath-every
night she held her breath-to listen to
this bell. It was more like q voice than
q bell. Sometimes the little cripple
thougot 1t cried. Sometimes she
thought it prayed But she never heard
it laugh. The streets, the river, the
the crowd, weddings, funerals, church
spires, all the strange things that Deb
in the daytime saw with her eyes shut,
came, or seemed to come, at night,
when her eyes were open, and talk to
her-and always prayed or cried and
never smiled-out OF the solemn An
droscoggin bell


The solemn Androscoggin bell was
ringing the mill girls In by broad sun
light one noon, little testify, when
there came knock at the door, and
behind It the yoang lady of whom ]
heard. Deb was startled by the knock
and frightened by the young lady. II
was not often that visitors came to
Brick Alley, and it was still less often
that Brick Alley, had a visitor who
knocked.


This was ayoung lady for whom Deb's
mother did fine washing. Deb's moth.
er wiped her hands and a chair, and
the young lady sat down. She was g
straight young lady with strong feet,
and long brown feathers in her hat, and
soft brown gloves upon her hands. She
had come, she said, with that Cluny
set which she had found that she
should need that very night fol
party; indeed, she was IN Sc
much haste for it that she had hunted
Deb's mother up; which was a matter
of some difficulty, as she had never had
the least idea where she lived before
and how crooked the stairs were; bui
the lace was very yellow,--as she saw,
-end would she be sure and have il
done by nine O'Clock to-night7 and


And there, turning her head sudden
ly, the straight young lady saw poo