"LA CHEVALIÈRE BAYARDE."

BY LILLIAS C. DAVIDSON.

"Oh dear! I wish I lived in the Middle Ages!"

"What's up now?" asked a voice from Tom's sofa, where he lay idly turning the pages of a comic almanac.

"Oh, I've been reading about the Knights of the Round Table, and what lovely times they all had; and I'm tired to death of being just a girl in a Connecticut farm-house, where nothing ever happens."

"Doesn't it, then? I should rather think it had lately."

"Yes, if you mean horrid, uncomfortable things, like mother and father going to Boston for a week, and you taking the chance to lame yourself for life, and Hester's mother capping the climax by sending for her in hot haste. I don't mean stupid, commonplace things; I mean adventures—grand, beautiful deeds of heroism. How I should love to be a heroine! I wish I were Florence Nightingale in the hospital, when the sick soldier kissed her shadow on the wall; I wish I were Joan of Arc, or Grace Darling, or somebody; not just Amabel Holroyd. Holroyd! how can any one with such a name be romantic? I could be a heroine; I feel I've got it in me. You needn't laugh, Tom."

The door opened quietly, and Meg came in, her bright face a little overcast.

"People never are appreciated by their own families," wound up Amabel, with some heat.

"They know too much about 'em!" said Tom, sententiously. "Hullo, Meggums! what's the row?"

"Bad news," said Meg, trying to smile. "Anastasia Ann's gone!"

"What?" in a duet of dismay.

"Yes, indeed. She said she couldn't stop where it was so lonesome; and though I protested Hester would be back early to-morrow morning, she packed up her things then and there, and went off by the stage when it passed just now. So now we're alone, and no mistake."

"Because you must needs let Seth Binks go to drive Hester, and there isn't a soul within two miles but old Granny Peters! Never mind. I hope robbers will come; I'll defend the house: I should just enjoy it."

"There isn't much for them to steal," said Meg, as she smoothed Tom's pillow. Tom looked up with a grateful smile.

"How did you know it wanted that?" he asked. "There's Amabel sighing to be a hospital nurse, but she never thinks of practicing on me."

"Oh, a scalded leg is so commonplace! Now if you had been wounded in battle, there would be some glory about it; but just to tip a hot kettle over yourself—"

"I guess it hurts about as much as if it were glorious," said Tom, thoughtfully. "I say, Meg, Amabel wants to be a Chevalier Bayard, she says."

"That's the very thing I want—'a knight without fear and without reproach.' Brave and blameless! I'll make it feminine, and call myself La Chevalière Bayarde; that's to be my name after this. Be sure you call me by it."

"You must win your spurs first," murmured Tom.

"Just wait till I get the chance. I should like to go about the world helping the distressed and afflicted. I tell you it's in me to be a heroine, or why should I look like one? Heroines don't have snub-noses and freckles: I beg your pardon, Meg!"

"Would you rather be a beauty, Or do your duty?"

sang Tom, in that aggravating cracked voice of his. "Never mind, Meggums: if you're not a Chevalier Bayard, you make splendid waffles."

"And I'll go this minute and make some for tea," said Meg, brightening, as she sprang up. "They'll console us for the loss of Anastasia Ann."

Knock! knock! It seemed to Meg she must have been asleep for hours, when she was awakened by a sound of low but continuous knocking at the back door, mingled with smothered shrieks from Amabel's little white bed.

In an instant Meg was beside her.

"Amabel, what is it? what's the matter?" she cried.

"Oh! oh!" gasped a voice half smothered under the blankets. "Don't you hear them? it's the robbers. Call Tom. Lock the door. Cover your head, or they'll shoot you."

Meg's teeth chattered with cold and fright together, as she hurried on her clothes.

"Robbers don't knock at doors," she said. "I'm going to see who is there;" and, despite another agonized shriek from Amabel, up went the window. The robber looked a very small one as he came out from the shadow and looked up. "Why, Jimmie Peters, is that you?" she said. "What's the matter?"

"Yes, it's me," answered the voice of a tiny boy. "Grandmother's took awful bad. Guess you'd better send your Seth for the doctor right away."

"Seth's away, and Tom's leg is very bad. Oh, what shall we do? Could you go?—do you know the way?"

"No, I don't; and I've gotter stay with granny."

"Oh, then, run back quick. I'll see what we can do." And as Amabel had removed the blanket from her head, and was listening, she ventured to say, timidly, "Amabel, somebody must fetch the doctor. Would you—should you mind coming with me?"

Amabel sat bolt-upright.

"Meg Holroyd, I believe you're crazy," she said, severely. "Set out on a two miles' walk on a pitch-dark road at three o'clock in the morning? You don't know what you're talking about. I don't believe Granny Peters is so bad, and if she is, we can't help it. What are you dressing for?"

"Somebody must go," said Meg, with brave determination, as she put on her red cloak, and drew its hood about her face. "I'll take Rover and the lantern. Don't let Tom know; he'd go nearly mad. It's awful, but it has to be done." And before Amabel could recover her breath, Meg was gone.

Oh, how dark it was outside! how cold and keen the air! how lonely and ghostly the road through the pines! The little lantern threw but a feeble gleam, and the shadows took such queer shapes! Poor Meg's heart beat fast, and her knees shook, but she pressed on valiantly; and Rover was a comfort, as he kept close to her side, and pushed his nose into her hand now and then as if to reassure her. All through the dusky woods, and along by the dark river, which sounded so weird in the stillness; then over the bridge, and past Farmer Sykes's long meadow, and the saw-mill. With what a thankful heart did Meg see the yellow light of her lantern fall upon the green blinds and white fence of the doctor's house, and feel that the two miles were over!

"I wonder if they'll think I'm a robber?" she thought, as she pulled the bell. But the doctor was more used to nocturnal alarms.

"Somebody wanting me?" asked a brisk voice, as a night-capped head popped out of an upper window. "Is it Jeff Brown or the widow Smalley? Why, bless my soul! it's never one of Holroyd's girls? My dear, is Tom—"

The fire was not quite out in Dr. Hunter's neat kitchen, and there Meg warmed her toes and fingers while "the chaise" was hastily made ready. It was hard to turn out again when the doctor came to call her; but the two miles was a very different affair now, sitting by his side in the roomy chaise, wrapped in his own great brown coat, and Rover racing along behind. They drove straight to Granny Peters's red cottage.

"Stop till I've seen her, and I'll take you home," said the doctor; and Meg gladly obeyed.

By the dying kitchen fire lay Jimmie Peters, curled up, fast asleep. Meg privately thought if that were the way he had "staid with Granny," he might as well have gone with her to the village; but she kept her reflections to herself, and sat down to wait for the doctor. He was gone a long time, almost an hour Meg thought it must be, and when he appeared it was with a grave face. He walked straight up to her, and took her chin in his big hand.

"Are you a coward?" he asked, looking keenly into her face.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," she answered, meekly. "I was dreadfully frightened in the woods to-night."

"Humph!" said he. "And yet you came. Now look here; I've got to bleed Mrs. Peters, and I must have somebody to hold her arm. There's nobody here but you; but if you're likely to scream at the sight of a little blood, you'd better stay away."

"Oh, I won't scream," said Meg. "Why, of course, if there's no one else, I must;" and with a white face she followed the doctor up stairs. Certainly this was the worst part of all this eventful night. She did not know how hard it would be until she saw the red stream flowing from Granny Peters's arm, while every one of her groans seemed more dolorous than the last. Meg kept her eyes fixed upon one particular stain on the whitewashed wall, set her teeth hard, and gripped the wrist she was holding with a desperate force. Presently, when the doctor informed her by a nod that the work was over, and while he was binding up his lancet wound, she laid the arm down gently, and stole down stairs. She reached the kitchen, where Jimmie still slumbered peacefully; there she sat down with some deliberation upon the floor, and quietly fainted away.

There the doctor found her when he came to take her home, and even after he had deluged her with cold water, and rubbed her hands until they felt quite sore, it was a very bewildered Meg that he lifted into the chaise again.

The sun was bright and golden in the sky as they drove in at the gate. Seth Binks was whistling in the yard, and Hester bustling to and fro in the kitchen; and as they drew up at the open door, there came Tom, hopping on his bad leg, to meet them, with a look of mingled relief and sternness on his kind ugly face.

"Now just look here, Master Tom," said the doctor, before Tom could utter a word. "Don't you dare to scold her, or I'll know the reason. Tell you what, you've a sister you may be proud of." And then and there he told the whole story of Meg's adventures.

"Well done, old Meggums!" was all Tom remarked, as he held out his arms, and the doctor lowered her into them. "I always knew you were the heroine."

"Oh no, Tom," said Meg, with a blush. "Why, I fainted."

"But you waited till there was nothing more to be done, before you indulged in that amusement, it appears," he responded.

And Meg never could quite understand why Tom's very next Christmas present to her took the form of a little silver lace-pin, inscribed in tiny letters of blue enamel with the mysterious words, "La Chevalière Bayarde."

"Haven't you made a mistake, Tom?" she asked, in some perplexity. "The pin is lovely, but that was Amabel's name, you know, not mine."

"You won the spurs," said Tom, laconically; and no other answer could he be induced to give.

"THE INFANT JESUS."—From a Painting by Carlo Maratti.