Classic Audiobook Collection - Next Things, and Dorries Day by Pansy ~ Full Audiobook [family]

Episode Date: March 17, 2026

Next Things, and Dorries Day by Pansy audiobook. Genre: family Next Things, and Dorries Day is a collection of two warm, morally driven stories by Pansy that center on young people facing frightening changes and learning how character is tested in everyday moments. In Next Things, two recently orphaned brothers are forced onto very different paths when they are separated after their mother's death. One is taken into a prosperous household, while the other must begin working in a grocer's shop, and both boys must decide how to meet loss, responsibility, temptation, and the pressure of their new surroundings. Their mother's simple guidance - to do the next thing - becomes the measure of courage and faith as they try to build honorable lives. In Dorries Day, the focus shifts to a lively little girl whose ordinary trip turns alarming when she is lost on a train, setting off a desperate family search and a series of anxious encounters. Together, these tales blend suspense, tenderness, and strong lessons about perseverance, kindness, self-control, and the influence of home. The result is a heartfelt portrait of children navigating danger and uncertainty with spirit, conscience, and hope. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:07:17) Chapter 02 (00:14:20) Chapter 03 (00:21:58) Chapter 04 (00:29:02) Chapter 05 (00:35:09) Chapter 06 (00:40:51) Chapter 07 (00:47:01) Chapter 08 (00:52:04) Chapter 09 (00:57:05) Chapter 10 (01:02:53) Chapter 11 (01:07:20) Chapter 12 (01:13:13) Chapter 13 (01:19:04) Chapter 14 (01:24:17) Chapter 15 (01:29:17) Chapter 16 (01:35:21) Chapter 17 (01:56:16) Chapter 18 (02:10:50) Chapter 19 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Day by Pansi Next Things Chapter 1. He sat on the foot of a dingy little bed in a little bit of a dingy room putting on his boots, a little boy 10 or 11 years old.

His name was Carl Brown. He was all alone, his brother Albert having gone out to see if he could hunt up some breakfast. Those two had spent the night together in this bit of a room. They had spent every night together there for four years, and they never expected to spend another. The truth is, is, mother had gone away and left them. Carl sat and thought of that mother now instead of putting on his other boot. She had gone away very suddenly. Two nights ago, he saw her sitting as you see her in the frontispiece, and she was crying. What is the matter? He had asked her in a frightened way, for he was not used to seeing his mother cry. She had wiped the tears away very quickly, when she heard his voice and looked up to him with a smile.

She almost always had a smile for her boys. Then she had said, Never mind, it wasn't anything much. And when he coaxed, she explained that she had been disappointed because she had been after some work and couldn't get it. But she had finished with, Never mind, my boy, something else will happen.

There will be a next thing to do. There always is, you know. Carl had smiled and understood her. He and his mother had read together in an old newspaper a wise saying of a wise man. They had been pleased over it and thought and talked about it a great deal. Here is part of what they read. Now what am I to do next? It is a happy thing for us that this is really all we have to concern ourselves about. What to do next? No one has to do next. No one can do the second thing, he can do the first. It had struck Carl and his mother as being very nice and very true, and both of them after that, when they came to what was a sort of bewilderment to them,

were sure to stop and ask, now what am I to do next? They had always found, as Mrs. Brown said, that there was a next thing, so his mother had cried no more. about it that night, but had put on her things again and gone out to look for the next thing. She found it, just around the corner from her home, a slippery pavement across the road, damp with mud, slippery with orange peel that thoughtless children had thrown there, a drunken driver who did not know human beings from mud, and the next thing for Mrs. Brown was that she heard the voice of her Savior calling her to come in. The golden gate opened for her, and the music of heaven sounded,

and the angels sang a welcome, and she went in. But her two boys were out there alone in the cold. The door opened while Carl sat thinking about these things, and his brother Albert came in. I found some breakfast for us, he said. What is it? A loaf of bread and a jug of milk. Mr. Jackson stopped on his way to market and left them, and he says his brother is to call for one of us at ten o'clock, and the other is to wait until afternoon.

I say, Carl, which of us is to go to Mr. Jackson, do you suppose? I don't know, said Carl. Whichever of us he takes a fancy to, I suppose. Do you know which you want to go to? Why, I don't know anything about either of them, you know. And as for wanting, I can't say I want to have anything to do with either of them, but we don't seem to have any choice. I wish we were old enough to be let alone and stay right on here and work and earn our living. We could pay for the rent, I dare say, and get something to eat besides. Yes, said Carl, slipping off the bed. I should like that best myself, but I suppose it can't be done. It is kind of strange that two places should spring up so for us right away. It looks as though they were meant to be the next things, sure enough.

Well, the next thing just now is to come and eat your breakfast, said Albert. I'm hungry after all, though I didn't suppose I ever should be again. This last he said to himself with a sigh as he went out of the little room. He didn't cry any. He had done that in the night with his head under the bedclothes so that Carl shouldn't hear him, not knowing that Carl had rolled away to the edge of his side and was crying softly all the time. But in sober daylight, these two boys, though grave and sad, were too manly to cry. From their own talk, you will understand that they were to come after in the course of the day. Two homes had popped up, as Carl said. Mr. Jackson, a grocer uptown, was going to take one for his errand boy, giving him food and clothes and a chance to go to school in the

winter in return for his work. And Mrs. Eastman, a lady who lived a mile out in the country, was ready to take the other. She needed a boy to come to town for her very often, and he could be candy in many ways. The secret of both these homes was that people were very sorry for the orphan boys and had hunted busily to find those who were willing to receive them. They didn't feel as happy about it as they might. They had never been separated before in their lives. They were twin brothers, and while they had sense enough to see that it was a kind and good thing to do, they wished with all their hearts that they had been old enough to be let alone. Well, Carl said, turning with a very sober face away from the little rough-looking bed, breakfast is the next thing. I wonder where I shall

eat it tomorrow morning. It is my plan to tell you a good deal about this boy, Carl, and describe to you some of the next things that he found in his way. End of Section 1. Section 2 of Next Things and Dory's Day by Pansy. The Slibervok's recording is in the public domain. Next Things, Chapter 2 While they were eating their breakfast, the next thing came to them. Mr. Jackson's brother appeared earlier than he was expected. Well, he said, standing with the doorknob in his hand,

and looking hard at the boys as they ate their bread and milk, which of you is to go with me? That is just about what we don't know, spoke up Albert, while Carl looked the man over from head to foot and said nothing. Which is the oldest? Both of us. We're twins, you know? I didn't know it. Well, I suppose you may as well decide it as anybody.

I was told to bring one of you, if you know which is which, all right. Then the boys looked at each. other. Suppose you go, Albert, Carl said at last. You know you don't like to stay alone very well, and the other is not to go until afternoon, and besides, you don't like living in the country. Well, neither do you, Albert said, hesitating. Never mind, I like it as well as anything now. And Carl sighed. I would rather have you go if you feel that you would like to. it a little might the best. I'm a little stronger than you, you know, Albert said thoughtfully,

if there is lifting and such things to do at the store, perhaps I would be the best for that. Then Mr. Jackson's brother spoke, if you're the strongest, I guess you're the one, for he likes people to step around lively, and there's lots of errands to do. That settled it, and the boys left their bread and milk and bustled about doing last things and trying to look brave. It was hard work. Albert's voice choked a good deal when he said, Goodbye, old fellow, come and see me often. But he had to stop. Something in his throat wouldn't let him say another word. He had a picture just then of himself crawling off to bed at night without Carl to talk to. As for Carl, he didn't try to say a word. He knew he couldn't. He didn't cry either, but he looked

very white around his mouth, and his upper lip quivered as a baby's does when it is grieved. They tramped off together at last, Mr. Jackson's brother and Albert. Carl watched them until they reached the corner where they turned. Then he went back into the house and put away the loaf of bread and the rest of the milk in the cupboard ready for dinner. Then he washed the two bowls and spoons and made the little room look as neat as he could, and sat down to wait for the next thing. As for Albert, he trudged bravely on. The fresh morning air made him feel better, took away the lump in his throat, and gave him a little strength.

He was going toward a part of the city, with his own. which he was very little acquainted, and the buildings began to interest him very much. The grocery, where he was to spend most of his time for the present, was one of those curious places that you often find in the upper end of large cities, filled with everything that could be thought of in the way of groceries and provisions, to say nothing of hundreds of small articles that could not possibly be eaten. It was intended to catch the people who had walked from the North End and were tired and glad to get anything they could at the small grocery rather than to go downtown to the large handsome ones. A great many people had been thus caught,

and besides, the grocery was in a thickly settled part of the town, among those people who had so little money to spend that they had to go for a quarter of a pound of sugar and a half a pound of butter. It made very busy times in the third. store. Here you are, eh, was Mr. Jackson's greeting as he came over to Albert, who had been seated on a candle box while the brother went to say that he had come. All ready for work? That's right. There's plenty to do. Work is the best cure for homesickness. There's a pile of rubbish in that corner that needs attending to. Fold the papers ready for use and wind the strings in a ball. Waste nothing, want nothing is our motto here. David will show you where to put the papers.

David, raising his voice as he called, and a red-headed young man in shirt sleeves put in his head from the back door. David, this boy is in your hands. Keep him busy and show him how to do things. His name is Albert what? Brown, said Albert promptly, though his heart felt as though it was made of lead. It was harder to breathe in that full little store, smelling of fish and candles and kerosene and molasses, than it had been out in the air. Oh, yes, Brown. I couldn't think for a minute. I knew your mother. Good woman. Better off now. Well, pitch in, my boy, and see what you can make of it. Then Mr. Jackson went away and began at once to calculate what he could sell that molasses for by the pint in order not to lose by taking so much

time to give it out in little measures. He wasn't a hard-hearted man. He was sorry for Albert and wanted to give him a pleasant welcome and make him feel comfortable, but he had no idea what to say to a boy who had stood at his mother's open grave only the day before, and had left home and brother that very morning. Albert followed David over to the corner, which was near the back door, where the ladder was at work loading casks into a great wagon. As the new boy shook out and folded the great sheets of brown paper, he stole shy glances at the man to whom Mr. Jackson said he belonged, to see if he could make out what sort of a man he was. But David worked away as though he had been a machine, wound up to go just so long and seemed to have forgotten that there was a boy in the world.

End of Section 2. Section 3 of Next Things and Dory's Day by Pansy. This Sliberovoc's recording is in the public domain. Next Things Chapter 3. While Albert was working away at his piles of brown paper and peeping out now and then at David, his brother Carl was engaged in the more tedious work of waiting. It seemed to him that he had never spent such a long and dreary day in his life. No Albert to talk with, and nothing to think of but his mother's grave. For, do what he would, he couldn't make himself feel that she was anywhere but in that deep, dark grave

where he saw her body put but the day before. He ate his piece of bread and drank what was left of the milk, but each mouthful of bread felt as though it might choke him, and he wondered that he was losing his fondness for milk. It was not till the long day was drawing towards sunset that a pretty carriage and two grey ponies stopped before his little door. Even then he sat still, wondering. He didn't know the Eastman's.

They lived only a mile out of town, he knew, and he had heard that they kept horses and cows. But his home had not been long in the city, and he had had neither time nor desire to wander a mile out of it to see what things were like out there. And some way, it didn't occur to him that that carriage could have anything to do with him. However, it stopped, and the driver got down and knocked at the door then. Carl opened it. Are you the little brown boy who is to go home with us? The man asked, smiling on him and showing a row of white teeth. I don't know, said Carl. Why, yes, I'm a brown boy, but I don't know whether I am to go home with you or not. They said Mrs. Eastman wanted a boy, and she would say, send for me. Exactly, said the man, smiling again, and she has sent, you see.

Then a head was put out of the carriage, and a clear, pleasant voice said, Come here, my boy, won't you? Are you Carl Brown or Albert? I'm Carl, said our boy, and it seemed funny to him that people should not know him from his brother. And has your brother gone? Then you are all alone. "'Poor fellow! I meant to get here earlier, but I have been sadly hindered. Never mind. You are already, I suppose, and we shall be at home in a few minutes. Just get your hat, my boy, and lock the door. We will come in tomorrow and see about the rest of the things. I told Mr. Perkins I would attend to it.' And in less time than it takes me to tell it, the wondering Carl was seated among the drab cushions

of that handsome carriage, and was being whirled along over the road at a pace that seemed to him more like flying than it did like riding. What a very handsome house it was, that one at the end of the avenue into which the carriage turned, after whirling over the hard road for a short distance. Carl had never seen so pretty a spot. Come right into the dining room, said the clear voiced lady. Supper is ready, I see, and I think you must be hungry if you have been alone all day. Carl hung back. If you please, ma'am, he said at last, his cheeks growing very red. I think maybe Mrs. Eastman would rather not have me come into the dining room. Couldn't I just go to the kitchen, or I might wait in the barn till she gets ready for me? Then the little lady laughed alone.

pleasant laugh. Why, I am Mrs. Eastman, she said, Whom do you think I was, my boy? Indeed, I want you to come into the dining room at once and get a good supper. Then we will go into Percy. He is very anxious to see you. Without any more words, Carl followed the lady into the great, bright, beautiful dining room. It was the handsomest room he had ever stepped in. He thought, then that the parlor couldn't possibly be any nicer than this, and yet he had heard that grand people had very handsome parlors, handsomer than any other part of the house. The table was set, and, to Carl's wondering eyes, it seemed a perfect glitter of silver.

He sat down on the edge of a chair that Mrs. Eastman motioned him into, and felt very much out of place, and as though he could never eat a mouthful sitting at that splendid table. Yet he was very neat and very clean. His patched clothes were carefully brushed, and his linen collar was smooth and shining, and his hair was as glossy as brush and water could make it. Sit down, said Mrs. Eastman. Mr. Eastman isn't at home tonight, and Percy doesn't come out to tea always. We will have a nice little supper all by ourselves. You like honey, don't you? Of course you do.

All boys like sweet things, don't they? But Dinah's biscuit go better with honey than any other biscuits in the world. If you are coming to live with us, you must make friends with Dinah. She likes some boys very much, and she knows how to be ever so nice to boys whom she likes. and then she helped him to a white puffy biscuit and a ball of yellow butter, rather a regular little cake of it, with a sweet clover stamped on it and a glass dish of honey and a cut-glass goblet full of creamy milk,

and, oh, well, Carl himself couldn't remember all the nice and wonderful things that were heaped on his plate for him to eat. It was a very astonishing thing to happen to come to. Carl Brown. He had expected to go to a very nice house, for he had heard the boys talk about the Eastman place until he had some idea of it. But he had expected to eat his supper in a back kitchen at a cleared-off corner of a work-table, and he had some notion that very likely they didn't give errand boys anything but bread for supper. Yet he thought if they would let him have plenty of that, he would get along. And now here he was with a silver fork in his hand and a damask napkin lying beside him,

which he was expected to use, but which he wouldn't have touched for the world. He didn't know it was damask, but he knew it was very white and beautiful looking. Also, he found out that warm biscuits and honey were very nice, and that Mrs. Eastman's voice made him think of the music in church. church. End of Section 3. Section 4 of Next Things and Dory's Day by Pansy. The Slibervox recording is in the public domain. Next Things, Chapter 4.

Now, the next thing, said Mrs. Eastman, is to go and see Percy. He has been in a hurry for you. Carl didn't know who Percy was, nor why he didn't come out to supper. but he followed Mrs. Eastman to a room on the other side of the wide hall. Such a lovely room. Carl was almost in doubt whether he ought to step on that carpet. The flowers looked so exactly as though they were growing, and he might crush them. There were beautiful easy chairs and sofas, and a small organ, open, with music scattered over it,

and by the open window, in a curious, two-wheeled piece of furniture that looked some like a chair and some like a couch, and a good deal like a carriage, sat a fair-faced boy who didn't look nearly as old as Carl, although in truth he was a few months older. He turned his head eagerly as his mother came in. "'Here is your friend, my boy,' said Mrs. Eastman, and she laid her hand on Carl's arm and gently drew him forward. "'This is my dear boy, Percy, He thinks you will be a great comfort to him. Carl felt very much embarrassed and didn't know what to say, but Percy looked at him with a bright smile and spoke quickly.

I know he will, Mama. He looks just as he did. Only I don't know which you are. It is so funny that you look so much like your brother that I can't tell you apart, and I didn't know which I wanted to come to live with me. We are twins, said. said Carl, simply and gravely. It made him sad to think of his brother.

I'll leave you two boys together a little while to get acquainted, Mrs. Eastman said, then she went away. We are acquainted now, aren't we? said Percy. At least I am. Do you remember me? I went to Sunday school once last winter. Papa took me in his arms. I saw you and your brother. I kept looking at you, it was so funny to have you both look so exactly alike. I wondered whether you knew each other apart, and I have wanted to know you ever since, and when Mama said she was going to have you come here, I clapped my hands over it. Now tell me everything, will you? About boys you know, how they play and all. I read about plays, and I can't understand them, because I never saw them. Do you know how to play ball?

Why, yes, said Carl, wonderingly, can't you play ball? Percy shook his head. I can't step, you know. I never get out of this chair, except when Papa or Uncle Dick or Turner lifts me. I never walked a step, and I never will until I get to heaven, I mean. Of course I will walk when I get there. But I have real nice times, rides, you know, in my wheeled chair. It wheels just as easy.

Mama says you can wheel it for me everywhere where grown-up people don't care to go, you know, or don't have nice times going. Why, don't cry. Are you so sorry for me? Didn't you know I was lame? Poor fellow, never mind. I'm quite used to it, you know, and don't feel bad about it very often. Percy said these last words very fast, for Carl was so astonished and so sorry to hear that a boy as old as himself had actually never taken a step that he could not keep the great tears from his eyes.

Mrs. Eastman stayed away nearly an hour, and when she came back she found Carl earnestly describing the way boats were rowed, and Percy looking excited and happy. I think he is going to do, she said to herself with a pleased smile. Then Carl stood up as she came into the room and asked respectfully what work there was for him to do and whether he should go to the barn or where. Oh, no, Mrs. Eastman said, smiling again. The only work there is for you to do tonight is to amuse Percy. He gets so tired of grown-up people. It seemed strange work. Carl thought it was play. It did not seem possible that he was to sit in that beautiful room and talk. In fact, the evening was full of surprises. After Percy went to his room and Carl had helped him and admired all the things that were shown him, he wondered if he might not go to bed and whether there was a woodhouse chamber for him to sleep in. And then Mrs. Eastman called him. him and opened a door that was next to Percy's and said that was to be his room near Percy.

Carl was so astonished that instead of stepping in, he stood in the doorway and said, What did you say, ma'am? For the floor was carpeted in green that looked like moss, and had bright red winter green berries, or what looked like them, strewed over it, and there was a pretty bedstead, and a bed made up in white, and a bureau and washstand with toilet set and towels and soaps, and everything exactly as grown-up gentlemen had. So Carl said to himself, and the idea that he was to sleep there seemed perfectly amazing. He thought it all over after he was settled in that beautiful bed, how strange it was, and how good he would be to Percy, how many things he would make for him and teach him how to do, and how carefully he would wheel him, and how, when his work was done,

he would tell him all the stories about boys that he could think of. And then he wondered if Albert had such a room, and such a bed to sleep in, and if he had warm biscuit and milk and honey for supper. And so at last he went to sleep with the tears rolling down his cheeks, for it made him cry to think of Albert sleeping alone away at the other end of the town, and he here alone for the first time in his life. End of Section 4. Section 5 of Next Things and Dory's Day by Pansy. The Slibrovoc's Recordings in the Public Domain. Next Things, Chapter 5. The day that closed so pleasantly for Carl Brown was a very different one to Albert. Everything in Mr. Jackson's store was new to him, and Mr. Jackson himself had a sharp way of speaking that made one think he was half angry,

and startled Albert a good deal. Then David was solemn and silent, and looked as though he wished that boys had not been made at all. At dinner time, Albert went home with Mr. Jackson to get his dinner. You can go along with me this time, said the gentleman, as he brushed the dust from his coat and put it on. Then you will learn the way, and after you have learned how to do anything, you can stay with David and Ten Store while I go to dinner. They went to a neat little house not far from the store, and went around to the back door. A woman in the kitchen was taking up dinner. This is Albert Brown. said Mr. Jackson to her, nodding toward Albert, but he did not tell him who the lady was.

"'Hump!' said she, and she looked as though she thought all boys were plagues, and this one worse than the most of them. "'Is he to have his dinner out here or at the table?' Mr. Jackson said, and the woman said, "'At the table, of course, I can't get two sets of meals ready at once.' As for Albert, he was very sorry to hear that. He had hoped with all his heart that she would let him eat alone in the clean little kitchen. It seemed to him that he should certainly choke and spill his water and tip over the salt and do a dozen dreadful things if that woman should happen to look at him while he was eating. However, he washed his hands at the sink and dried them on the towel behind the door. trying not to start more than he could help when the woman told him sharply to step spry and keep out from under her feet and not to spatter water all over the sink. Then they went into dinner, and almost as many accidents as he had feared happened to him. He sat on the edge of his chair, and the oil cloth under the table was slippery, and the first thing he knew he was lying in a heap on the floor, and Mrs. Jackson was advising him to get a string and tie himself into his chair if he couldn't keep from tumbling out.

It was the dreariest dinner he had ever eaten in his life, and he had eaten some dreary ones. There were meat and potatoes, and bread and butter, and even a piece of pie, but every bit of it felt as if it were choking him, and he couldn't keep the tears from shining in his eyes when he thought of the bread and baked potatoes that he and Carl had eaten with mother and enjoyed so much. He remembered with satisfaction that Mr. Jackson said he was not to go to dinner after this until he returned. On the whole, he was very glad to get back to the store and David. He worked steadily all the afternoon at whatever was given him to do. He worked steadily all the afternoon at whatever was given him to do, and they managed to keep him busy. He got along somewhat better with his supper, because he sat alone at the table, Mrs. Jackson moving in and out, taking off the extra dishes, and though she gave

him but one piece of bread and no cake, he did not mind that in the least. He found that he wasn't hungry yet, and it seemed to him not likely that he ever would be again. Every time he thought of Carl, had hard work to keep from crying, but he went back to the store, determined to work with all his might, and learn all about the business, and have a store of his own, and take care of Carl, and live with him in the little house where they had spent such a pleasant year. There never was a more tired or a sadder-hearted boy than Albert Brown was, when he crawled upstairs to the room over the store where he was to sleep with David. He was in hopes that David would have other plans besides going to bed

in order to give him a chance for a good cry while he was undressing. But David had no such notion. He followed Albert before he had gotten his boots off and went about getting ready for bed in a great hurry and in silence, just as he went about everything. He was ready before Albert was, and as he rolled in with a grunt of satisfaction, Albert blew out the candle that had lighted them and knelt down in the furthest corner to repeat his evening prayer. He couldn't keep the tears back then. They fell thick and fast on his folded hands. It was a moonlight night, and David, peeping up to see why he didn't come to bed, saw the boy kneeling and heard the sobs he tried to keep from sounding. And he said to himself,

poor fellow he's got a hard row to hoe I'm sorry for him I guess I'll keep a look out for him and help him a bit when I can but not a word of this said he to Albert and the tired lonely boy went to bed feeling as though he had no one in the world to help him a bit and so like Carl he cried himself to sleep end of section five section of Next Things and Dory's Day by Pansy. The Slibrovoc's recording is in the public domain. Next Things, Chapter 6. What next I wonder, said Carl Brown to himself, as he opened his eyes the first morning

after reaching his new home and looked around him. Wonderfully pretty everything was. It did not seem possible that he was himself and that this was his room. Then he thought of Albert again and wondered how his room looked and whether he had any pictures in it. There was one at the foot of Carl's bed that he liked better than any of the others. It was a picture of Percy when he was several years younger, a beautiful face with bright curly hair and bright laughing eyes. He was dressed in a child's sailor suit and had a cane or stick of some sort in his hand. But though it was so many years younger than Percy, the sweet mouth and shining eyes were just like

his now. He looks in that picture as though he could walk as well as anybody, said Carl to himself. I wonder how they managed it. Just then he heard himself called. It was Percy's voice, and he sprang up, and with very eager and rapid hands, finished the business of dressing, and followed the sound of the voice. Percy was lying in bed, propped up a little by pillows, and his face looked bright and pleasant. Are you sure you are here?

He asked, laughing. I was so afraid that it would be a dream and you would be gone in the morning. You can't think, I suppose, how much I have wanted a boy to be with and talk with. Other boys want ponies, you know, and sets of tools and all that sort of thing, but what I wanted was a boy, and Father used to tell me they were not so easy to buy.

Did you see my picture? I had it hung there for fun to see if you would know it when you woke up. Then you could imagine I slept with you, you know. Does it look like me? Just exactly, said Carl. Only, and then he stopped. Only it looks as though I could walk, doesn't it? They fixed me so on purpose. I wanted them too. I wanted to see how I would have looked if I had been like other boys. They had a chair made that didn't show,

and me fastened in it somehow just as though I was standing. That is, the artist made it look so, you know. It was lots of trouble. But I like it, and I think Mama likes to look at it. You know, it is almost harder for her than for me. He gave a little bit of a sigh and was still for a few minutes. As for Carl, he was still because he had to be. He felt that his voice would have choked him if he had tried to speak.

He never felt so sorry for anybody in his life. And in that few minutes that he stood looking out of the window and seeing nothing because his eyes were so full of tears, he made over again the resolves of the night before, to be the kindest, most patient, most helpful boy that was ever born, and to give Percy every bit of comfort and joy that he could plan. Mama, said Percy when Carl was gone out of the room and mother had come to help her boy,

I am almost sorry for Carl. He has so much trouble of his own now without any mother that it seems too hard to make him feel badly about anything else. And he feels so sorry for me that the tears keep coming into his eyes, and his voice is just as tender and gentle when he speaks to me. He will get used to it, darling, when he finds out what a bright, brave, happy boy you are. And from that moment Percy's mother took Carl Brown into his mother, her heart and made a warm place for him there, a boy whose eyes could fill with tears over the sorrow

of her little lame son, and whose voice could be tender and gentle to him, was not one to lack for friends in that household. So, while Carl on the kitchen doorstep wondered what there was for him to do, and how he should find out, Mrs. Eastman in the study said to her husband, I am sure Harvey that we shall want to keep him. Percy is delighted, and I like him better than any boy I ever saw. And we may as well have him go right away to the tailor and get fitted out, so that he and Percy will look well together, for I feel sure they will not be apart very often. Don't be too fast, said Mr. Eastman, smiling. You know I have not made his acquaintance yet. Perhaps he and I.

may not take a fancy to each other. So the next thing for Carl was to steal Mr. Eastman's heart, but he did not know it, and had not the least idea of trying to do such a thing. End of Section 6. Section 7 of Next Things and Dory's Day by Pansy. The Sliberbox recording is in the public domain. Next Things Chapter 7 It so happened that Mr. Eastman did not meet the new boy at the breakfast table. He was called away in haste, and did not return until the family had breakfasted, and Percy and his new friend had retired to the lawn at the foot of the house, where, to Carl's amazement, everything he had to do during the morning was to wheel Percy's chair wherever he took a fancy to have it wheeled, and entertain him to the best of his abilities.

At dinner Percy looked up to the grey-headed man who came in late and hastily and said, "'Papa, this is my friend.' "'Your friend is he?' said Mr. Eastman cordially. "'Then, of course, he is my friend.' And he held out his hand to Carl, who blushed till his face looked like one of the glowing roses in the vase. How very kind Percy's father was! He took no notice of Carl's confusion. He heaped his plate with whatever he fancied would be a treat to him, and for the matter of that, there was not a thing on that table which was not a treat to Carl.

And he talked away busily to Mrs. Eastman and to Percy, giving the stranger a chance to eat in peace, supposing himself unnoticed. And nothing occurred to startle him until the servant in attendance poured a goblet of something that sparkled and shone, and was a clear red color, and the goblet felt as cold as ice, and the liquid within it smelled most delightfully. Still, our boy Carl looked at it suspiciously, and said, No, I thank you, to the waiter, and did not offer to touch the tempting glass. You have never tasted it, perhaps, said Mrs. Eastman, encouragingly. Better taste it, I think you will like it very much. I thank you, said Carl again, and he blushed harder than ever. I think I will not taste it if you please. Try it, try it, spoke Mr. Eastman. It is nothing that

will hurt you. I suppose you haven't much idea how good it is. It is pure grape wine, the best in the country or in any other country. It will cool you. I'll risk but that you'll like it. Very few boys get a chance to like this sort of wine. Still, Carl shook his head and looked so distressed that Percy, who was entirely used to having his own way, said, Why, Papa, he need not drink it if he doesn't want it, need he? Of course not my son. This is a free country. I was only trying to show the boy that he was welcome to it and that it would do him good. this time Carl found his voice. It trembled a little and was rather husky, and yet was distinct enough as he said, "'If you please, sir, mother didn't want me ever to taste it, and she won't like it.'

There was a little startled silence. Everyone at the table remembered that Carl's mother was lying in her grave, that she had been there only for two days, and that Carl's heart longed after her. They felt it in his voice. That's right, my boy, Mr. Eastman said at last. Always remember your mother's words and do as she wanted you whatever it was. You can't be far wrong if you do. I like to see boys honor their mothers, and you had a good one, they tell me. It was a good deal for Mr. Eastman to say.

If Carl had known him better, he would have understood how much it was. was. But just then, he had all he could do to keep the tears which had rushed forward at the mention of his mother's name from choking him. Yet part of the tears were sweet ones. He loved to hear his mother praised. He did not know how near certain next things were to him while he sat there trying to eat his dinner. He had not the least idea how vexed Mr. Eastman felt with him. He had not the least idea how vexed Mr. Eastman felt with him because he refused the choice old wine, which was such a treat, and which he prided himself on offering so freely to the orphan boy. Neither had Carl the least idea that it would have made a serious difference with him whether Percy's father liked him much or not.

In fact, he did not expect to be liked much. He had not expected to be noticed at all by the great man. No one's expectations could very well have been less than Carl's, so he would not have understood if he had overheard what Mr. Eastman said to his wife as Percy was wheeled from the table. He is a good boy, I guess, full of notions, of course, comes of rather a narrow-minded class I hear. But, after all, I suppose, for one who expected to be surrounded by his sort of temptations, It was the wisest way to teach him to be over-careful. Go ahead, my dear, do whatever you have in your mind for him. I'll foot the bill.

Then he bustled away to his office. As for Percy, he was bubbling over with impatience to talk to Carl, and no sooner did the library door close after them than he began. End of Section 7. Section 8 of Next Things and Dory's Day by Pansy. The Sliberovoc's recording is in the public domain. Next Things Chapter 8 Why, Carl, what was the matter with you?

Where's the harm in drinking wine? Why didn't your mother want you to touch it? She was afraid I would drink too much of it, Carl said at last, in answer to these eager questions. He spoke slowly and, and hesitatingly. He did not know how to explain things to a boy who seemed to understand so little about it. Percy looked puzzled. But I don't understand any better, he said with a half-lap. I'm sure we have plenty of it, and you might have all you want. Perhaps if your mother understood where you were, and how glad we are for you to have everything, she would feel differently.

you never hear of such a thing as a drunkard? Carl asked the question with a very grave face. A drunkard? Why, yes, of course. But what has that to do with drinking a glass of wine at my father's table? Don't you know that lots of them began with a glass of wine at somebody's table? No, said Percy, after a minute's silence. I don't think so, not at gentlemen's tables. Why not? Didn't they have to begin? Nobody ever went and made a drunkard of himself the first time he tasted wine. Are you afraid you will be a drunkard? Percy's beautiful mouth was drawn into something almost like a sneer, and his eyes looked full of vexation and scorn. No, said Carl boldly, not a bit afraid of it. I know I shall never be a drunk,

for I will never taste a single drop of the stuff. Drunkards are low, coarse fellows. Percy said, still with the doubtful tone to his voice, but not sneeringly, for he could not help admiring Carl's face and tone. Of course they are, and it is rum that made them so, and I want to be sure of never being one of them, and the only way I know to be sure is never to touch it. Besides, I promised Mother that I never would, and I would keep my promise to her if I were sure that I would never have a good dinner as long as I lived to pay for it.

Well, I wouldn't if I were you, said Percy, in his old cheery tone. I know she likes you for sticking to it, and I do myself. But it all seems so funny to me. Do other boys feel like that? If they do, Seems to me they forget it when they grow to be men. All the gentlemen who dine with us drink wine. Some of the boys feel so, and we have a temperance society. There are ten of us, and Albert is president, and we won't be likely to forget our pledges when we get to be men. I promise you, if any of us dine with you then, we shall let the wine alone.

Whereupon Carl drew himself up two inches higher than he was before and looked almost like a man. Percy was eager and excited. Ten of you, he said, and you have a society and president and all that. How splendid! I've read of such things. What if I should join, then there would be eleven of us. Good, said Carl with energy. New members are just what we want. We meet and have speeches and splenely. We meet and have speeches and splendid times. We used to meet at our room sometimes, and Mother made it so nice for us. You can't think. And here Carl broke down and walked to the window. The memory of those evenings in that back room made the tears come. You can meet here, Percy hastened to say, in a sympathizing

voice, Mama will help us to get up such nice things, and I shall like it wonderfully. Come, sit down, Carl, and let's plan about a meeting now. What is your pledge? I like wine well enough, but then I'd just as leave not drink it. So the next thing that happened was that the teaching of the mother who had gone helped her son in the hour of temptation, and opened the way for him to help other sons of whom his mother had never heard. End of Section 8 Section 9 of Next Things and Dory's Day by Pansy. The Sliberovacs recording is in the public domain.

Next Things, Chapter 9 Tomorrow, said Mrs. Eastman, as she bade Carl good night, we will drive to the city and see what we can find at the tailors that you need. Carl looked down at the neat gray pants, which his mother had made, and then at the coat and jacket with its row of buttons, those looked rather seedy, but aside from that, he wondered what there was he could need. Yet, sure enough, the next morning, as soon after breakfast as could be brought about, Mrs. Eastman and Percy and he were seated in the grand carriage with Ted on the driver's seat,

and were whirled into town. To the tailor's first, Ted, said Mrs. Eastman, we want this matter attended to as soon as possible, don't we Percy? And Percy, nestling among the cushions, laughed a bright, merry laugh, and looked at Carl and nodded his head, and the carriage stopped at a fashionable tailor's. A few minutes talk with the clerk, who came forward, and a few minutes more with Percy for advice, while Carl looked out of the window and wondered what they were talking about. then the clerk said, Now, Master Carl, you may come with me if you please.

So they marched up several flights of stairs, leaving Percy in his wheeled chair below with his mother beside him. It seemed to Percy, in his impatience, that they were gone a long time. But at last, when he saw them in the glass, making their way down the long room, he stared hard and wondered who that boy was, whose eyes were just for all the world like Carls.

Actually, he didn't know him. Clothes do make such a difference, especially when they are fine and soft, and of a becoming color and a perfect fit. Well, really, said Mrs. Eastman. That is a complete transformation. I hadn't thought it would make such a change in him. Percy had you?

Have you looked at yourself? Was Percy's eager. question? No, Carl had been too much astonished at the way in which he was turned about and measured and twisted to think of looking in the glass. He stepped toward it now, and his face turned a deep red as he looked. He had never even imagined himself in such fine clothes. Of course he liked it, what boy wouldn't, but curiously enough, the first thing he thought of was to wonder whether his mother would have known him, and if she would have been pleased, and the next thing was, what would Albert say? Well, the bill was paid, Carl looking perfectly aghast

over the amount, though it did not seem to surprise Mrs. Eastman, and then they went back to the carriage. Now, said Mrs. Eastman, we will try to find a suitable hat for Carl to match his clothes, and then you may set me down at Mrs. Anderson's while you go to call on the brother. He will want to see you by this time. So presently the carriage rolled down a familiar street, Carl sitting back among the cushions in a more familiar way, and feeling as though he matched their beauty much better than he did an hour before, and while he tried to imagine what Albert would say,

and whether he would like it, and whether he had any new clothes, The driver stopped before the store, and the owner of it came out, bowing and smiling. It was not often that so fine a carriage halted before his door. "'What can I do for you, young gentleman?' he said very graciously. And Carl looked at Percy, but he only lay back still further into the cushions, and said, "'You give the order, Carl, please.' So Carl summoned courage. If you please, sir, I should like to see my brother a few minutes.

Your brother? replied the grocer, with an astonished stare. Why, where is he? He is in your store, sir, Albert Brown, you know. He is my brother. I am Carl. Well, said the man in his most amazed tone, I'm blessed if I knew you at all. Albert, here, where is the boy. And as he went to call him, he muttered, Fine feathers make fine birds, it seems. What next I wonder. End of Section 9. Section 10 of Next Things and Dory's Day by Pansy. The Slibrovox recording is in the public domain. Next Things, Chapter 10. Albert came with quick, business-like step from the back part of the store. Things were

looking up with him. Mr. Jackson had twice told him he was a quick-witted fellow, and he overheard Mrs. Jackson say to her husband that he was a trifle less of a nuisance than most boys were, so he felt cheered and like trying hard. Only one thing troubled him, the fact that several days had now passed, and not a glimpse had he had of Carl. He had expected to see him every day, hoping that when he was sent to the city on errands, he would find time to peep in at the corner store. But I suppose, he had told himself that very morning, choking down a little sigh. I suppose they keep him very busy, and he is always in a great hurry. Perhaps Saturday night I can slip away and go out there for a few minutes.

I wonder if they are kind to him, and if he is very homesick. poor little fellow. It always seemed to Albert as though he were at least two years older than Carl. He came a way out to the carriage, and shading his eyes with his hand from the blinding son, waited for the jug or basket or pale which he supposed he had been sent to bring in. Instead, came a very familiar voice trembling with excitement. Oh, Albert, dear old fellow, don't you mean to speak to me? Then he looked up and stared, and stepped back into the shade, and stared still, until Percy broke the silence by a ringing laugh and the question, Don't you two boys mean to do anything but wink and blink at each other? Then I'll talk. How do you do, Albert? I've wanted to shake hands with you ever so long.

Come up into the carriage, please, and give me a chance. Being still further urged to do so, Albert climbed in and tried to talk with the finely-dressed young gentleman who sat on the front seat and had eyes and hair like his brother Carl. Don't you know him yet? Percy said, watching the queer glances that Albert gave. Chah, it's only his new clothes that look different. Don't you see his face is just the same, and his hair and his nose and all? When he said nose, both the boys managed to laugh, for Carl had a queer little turn-up nose, not a bit like Alberts. It was of no use trying to be free and easy with each other. Both boys felt so queer and strange that they could not get over it. They would have to meet each other alone before they could rally from the strangeness. Percy did most of the talking. He has told me all about your temperance society.

He said eagerly, turning to Albert, And I'm going to join, don't you think? I have drank wine, too, all my life. Sips of it, you know, when they had it on the table. And cider. Why, dear me, winters, I drink a great deal of it. But of course I needn't unless I choose, and I don't choose. I mean to belong to the safeguards.

It's a good name for a good name for a little. society, I think, keeping yourself safe and guarding other people. That's what it means, I suppose. Oh, Carl, mother said you might invite the boys to my room for the very next meeting if you wanted to. You want to, don't you? On my account, you know. Will your father like it, do you think? Carl asked, doubtfully. Why, yes, of course. He'll like it if mother and I do. He laughed when I told him about it, and said it was boyish nonsense, but no sort of harm in it, he supposed. Oh, he likes anything that amuses me. I can't do things like other boys, you know. This last sentence Percy spoke as a kind of apology to Robert. The talk about the temperance society put them more at their ease,

and they planned for the next meeting to be in Percy's room. Albert's eyes shining, meantime at the thought of how much the boys would like getting a peep at the Eastman house. To most of them, it would be like getting a peep at the Garden of Eden. At last, a voice in the distance, calling loudly for Albert's help, interrupted the clatter. Who is that? asked Percy. That is David, said Albert, as he clambered hastily out of the carriage. He owns my feet in my hands, and he thinks they, ought to be at work for their master. Carl, do you get on well about things? I try to, said Carl,

with a significant nod. We'll talk about it when you come. What does he mean? Percy asked, as the carriage rolled away. Does he think you are lonesome or what? What, I guess, said Carl, laughing, then speaking soberly. No, he means about things that mother, wanted us always to remember. What are they? asked Percy. Do you mind telling me about some of them? End of Section 10. Section 11 of Next Things and Dory's Day by Pansy.

This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Next Things, Chapter 11. Well, you see, said Carl, twisting among the cushions and wondering how he should make the thing plain, Albert and I promised Mother that we would never forget to read in the Bible some every day and learn one verse to live by and say our prayers night and morning.

Those are the things Albert means. Percy looked with a sort of curious gravity at his friend. Do you read in the Bible every day? He asked, and his voice, though it had a puzzled sound, was grave and pleasant, not in the least like one making fun. Yes, said Carl, a few verses, you know. Mother didn't care to have us read a whole chapter. It doesn't take much time, and it is real pleasant when Albert and I read together.

I mean, it used to be, and here Carl gave a little sigh. And then do you say your prayers? Kneel down, you know, as you did when you were a little bit of a boy, and say, now I lay me down to sleep? Do you say that? Yes, said Carl, his cheeks growing red, that, and some others. What others? Why, we say our own words, you know, just what we want to ask for, said Carl. How strange, said Percy. I don't see what there is strange about it. Why shouldn't we say our prayers just as we did when we were little?

fellows. I'm sure we need lots more things and have more dangers and have more to do and all that. It was Percy's turn to sigh. I don't know much about any of those things. He said very gravely, when I was a little bit of a boy, I used to say, now I lay me, and when I had Dutch Mary for a nurse, she used to try to teach me to say, our father, but she used such funny Dutch, Dutch, sounding words that I almost always laughed, and I never learned much of it, and it is years since I have said a prayer. Don't you pray at all? And Carl's tone was full of wonder, almost of terror. Not at all. I can't kneel down, you know, never could, and some way it didn't seem like praying. Well, now to tell the truth, saying prayers always seemed just like talking over words and nothing else.

Do they really do you any good? Yes, they do, said Carl, his cheeks aglow, his voice earnest. Percy, if your mother had gone to heaven and left you, and you wanted her so bad you didn't know what to do, and you hadn't many friends, then you would know how good praying was. By this time, Carl's eyes were full of tears, but Percy was so interested in his new ideas that he could hardly be sympathetic. Do you suppose it would help one to bear pain? He asked eagerly.

The poor boy had a great deal of pain to bear. Why, I know it would. Mother said so many a time, and she knew. She used to have aches and pains of all kinds. You and Albert used to read in the Bible together, didn't you? Why don't you take me in his place? I'd like to read it with you. I've tried sometimes, but it always seemed kind of dull alone. Maybe two of us would make it go better.

Will you try it? I would like to know some of your verses. Why, yes, said Carl, slowly, hardly knowing what to say. If you really think you would like it, and if your mother would be willing. She would be willing for anything that you and I want to do, Percy said, in great satisfaction, and then the carriage stopped to take up Mrs. Eastman. End of Section 11. Section 12 of Next Things and Dory's Day by Pansy. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Next Things Chapter 12. Now, come on, said Percy, as he was settled nicely in the library that evening. I'm ready for the verses.

"'Where shall I read?' Carl asked, and his cheeks were redder than usual. This was new business to him. "'Oh, wherever you want to, I don't know anything about the Bible, you see. I never thought about reading it much, so it will all be new to me.' "'Well then,' said Carl, "'I'll read what comes next to Albert's in my reading.' "'And behold, there was a man which had his hand withered, and they asked him, saying, is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath days that they might accuse him? What is all that about? Interrupted Percy. Where were they all, and who asked questions, and who were they talking to?

Why, said Carl, looking back over the chapter. It was Sunday, you know, and Jesus was out with his disciples, and he went to the synagogue, to church, that is, you know, and a man was there who had a withered, hand. Withered? How? What does that mean? Mother said it was a disease that made his hand and arm all helpless, and it withered. Grew smaller, you know. Like my feet, said Percy. Yes, I understand. Go on. What did they mean by asking him such a silly question whether it was right to heal people on Sunday? Well, they were his enemies, you see. They wanted to find fault. with him because they hated him so, and that is all they could think of to complain of.

What made them hate him? I don't know, I'm sure, but they did awfully. You read the next verse. So Percy read, and he said unto them, what man shall there be among you that shall have one sheep, and if it fall into a pit on the Sabbath day, will not lay hold on it and lift it out? I should think as much. He would be a wicked wretch if he wouldn't. Then Carl read the next verse, and again it was Percy's turn. Then saith he to the man, stretch forth thine hand, and he stretched it forth, and it was restored whole, like as the other. Oh my, said Percy, and his cheeks glowed, and his breath came and went quickly. Do you know what I wish, Carl Brown? I just,

wish Jesus was here this very minute. It is no harder to cure feet that have withered than it is hands, and he could cure me. Well, but, said Carl, he is here, you know, his body has gone away, but he hasn't. He could cure you just as well as though he stood here, and you could see him. Percy lay back among the cushions and sighed. I know folks say so, he said, he said, said, but I never understood what they meant. Now, honestly, Carl, isn't there a difference? If he sat there where you do this minute, and I could look at him and say, Jesus, won't you please cure me? Don't you see I would do it in a hurry? Well, I can't say it now. Don't you see? Why not? Do you mean you don't believe he would hear you?

Why, no, said Percy, after a thoughtful pot. I suppose I don't mean exactly that. He hears people pray, I suppose, or ever so many people wouldn't be cheated into doing it. But it seems a very different thing to me, I can tell you. Look here, said Carl. If he sat here by you and you asked him to cure you, wouldn't you believe that he could and that he was going to? Yes, said Percy. I would. I don't think it would be any harder than what he did for that man, and I guess he would be as willing to do it for me as for him, and I would expect him to do it right away as he did then. But you don't believe he would do it now if you should ask him, while you can't see him,

nor hear what he says. No, I don't. I know he wouldn't. Whoever heard of such a thing. Then, said Carl, he can't you see, because he's not. you don't believe on him. He said he couldn't do things for people that didn't believe on him. What difference does that make? I didn't believe in Dr. Parker a bit. I told Mama that he would hurt me dreadfully, and that was all he could do, and I didn't want him. But he came,

and he made my back so that I could sit up. Before that, I had to lie down on a couch. That's different, said Carl. Dr. Parker didn't make it. make you, but Jesus did, and he had a right to say what you must do to be cured, and he says people must believe that he can do things for them, and that he will, or else he does not promise to help them at all. Percy looked gravely at his friend for a moment, then he began again. Now, honestly, Carl Brown, do you mean you believe if I should ask Jesus to cure me this minute that he would? End of Section 12

Reesis knows a thing or two about great combinations. Chocolate and peanut butter, obviously, but there's more than one way to Rees's. From indulgent Reese's big cups with caramel to crunchy Reese's pieces and Reese's miniatures, there's a delicious Rees for every mood. It's the same combo you love, just with more ways to enjoy it.

So, whether you're snacking, sharing, or just treating yourself, nothing else is Rees's. 13 of Next Things and Dory's Day by Pansy. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Next Things, Chapter 13. No, said Carl promptly. I know he wouldn't.

Haven't I just been telling you that he won't promise to do any such thing for people who don't believe on him? I do believe on him, said Percy, jealous for what faith he had. Oh, yes, you believe he is very great and very good and all those things. I don't mean that. I mean belonging to him and believing he will do just exactly what he says. Why, Percy, I mean being a Christian. A member of the church you mean? Well, I am not. That is true. Carl's cheeks flushed. I am not that either, though I would have been if Mother hadn't died. but I didn't mean being a member of the church.

I mean belonging to Jesus. I don't understand you. We all belong to Jesus if he made us and takes care of us. Yes, but we don't own it, nor think about it, nor care to do as he says unless we truly belong to him, unless we are converted you now. No, I don't know. You might as well talk to me in Latin, Carl,

as to use such words. I know there are such words, and people use them when they are talking about the church, or when anybody dies, and that is all I know about it. What is being converted? Have you been, and what about it? What is it like? Some way these were such hard questions for Carl to answer. He had never talked with a boy before who did not understand as much about it all as he did, nor seemed to at least. But Percy would not make believe anything. Carl twisted a little in his chair and wondered how he should make plain this simple and yet wonderful story. Well, he began slowly, I am not sure that I know how to tell you about it. Once Mother talked to Albert and me about Jesus, us, and how much he had done for us, and what he wanted us to do, and all the story you know.

No, I don't. What does he want you to do? Why, give our hearts to him. How can you? You are here, and he is up in heaven, and you can't take your heart out and give it to people anyway. Oh, Percy, you know what that means. You know we can love people. No, we can't. not whenever we happened to want to. Once I had a nurse, she was real strong and could lift me without hurting me and took good care of me nights, so Mama wanted to keep her, but she was cross, and I didn't take a fancy to her at all. And Mama said if I would learn to love her, it would make it all so easy then I would like to have her around. So I tried and tried with all my might, but it didn't do a bit of good. I couldn't love her. In fact, I nearly hated her, and it grew worse and worse, so Mama had to

discharge her. So you see, I know that you can't make yourself love people. Oh, but, said Carl, this is different. Jesus is good and patient and kind all the while, and ready to forgive people and love them. There is no reason why we shouldn't love him. Well, I don't love him. I don't think anything about him. Only once in a while when I have a very sick day and think maybe I am going to die, then I feel afraid of him. But I try to think all sorts of other things and forget him. I don't love him. I'm sure of that. That is what I said. You don't believe he is such a great, good, powerful friend who loves you all the time and who keeps doing things for you all the time. If you did, you would love him, of course. Anyhow, people ought to serve him.

Serve him? What do you mean? Why, do things for him. Do everything that he wants you to. Do things for God. Only think, Carl Brown, what nonsense it would be to talk about me doing things for God. I can't even do the least little bit of a thing for myself. I don't care. I don't care. I don't care. I don't care, said Carl stoutly, you can do things for God all the same. He says so. He says that whatsoever we say or do or think or keep from thinking or saying, because we want to please him, he counts it just the same as done for him. I do wish you were a Christian, Percy, it would help you ever so much. Tell me how to be one. Why, you just say you. will you know? I don't see what good that would do. I might say I will fly up to the moon.

Just saying it wouldn't make me fly there. It would if Jesus Christ had told you that if you would say you would fly to the moon, you should be there right away. What? said Percy, looking bewildered. What on earth do you mean? End of section 13. Section 14. Section 14. Section 14. of Next Things and Dory's Day by Pansy. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Next Things, Chapter 14. Why, Percy, I mean that Jesus Christ has told us just what to do, and then there is something that he has promised to do,

and when we do our part, he does his, and after that we belong to him forever. What is our part? Suppose I wanted to be a Christian now, this minute. Could I be? Of course, if you should say, I will give myself to Jesus Christ now to be his forever, to do just as he tells me, and to let everything alone that he tells me not to touch, and if you should tell him so, that would be your part. Then he would make a new feeling come right into your heart, and you would be sure you belonged to him. How do you know? Did you ever try it?

"'Yes, I did,' said Carl, with glowing cheeks. "'Well, tell me all about it. "'How did you happen to say it, and what did he do for you?' "'It isn't easy to tell,' Carl said, hesitatingly. "'Don't you know there are some things that you can feel, "'but you can't describe how they felt?' "'Yes,' said Percy thoughtfully. "'That is true.

I've tried often and often to tell Mama just how my back felt when the pain was in it, and I never could. Then Carl was seized with a great pity for this suffering friend. He forgot all about his timidity, and his eyes filled with tears, as he said, with eager voice, Oh, Percy, if you only had him for a friend, he would help you so much. Why don't you give yourself to him right away? I tell you, I don't know how. And Percy's voice was almost impatient. What was so plain to Carl was so blank a thing to him. Percy, said Carl, speaking slowly and choosing his words with great care,

Why don't you go just as far as you know how? Wouldn't you like to have Jesus Christ for a dear friend, feel that he was close by you and helping you, and watching over you, and that you could speak to him for help every time you needed him? Of course, Percy said, anybody would be very foolish not to want that. Well, then, that is what I say. Do as far as you know how. Tell him you want his help and his love. You want to be his, belong to him, you know, and he will hear you and do all the rest. silence for a few minutes and then Percy said but I don't know how to tell him oh Percy you were never so dull before about anything

how would you ask your mother for anything that you wanted or tell her what you pleased why don't you understand that the Lord Jesus is here in this room this minute suppose you can't see him You can't see the wind either, nor my soul, nor even your own, but you know you have one. Well, said Percy, not all at once, but after another silence, and speaking slowly, gravely, as if it were a solemn thing to him. Carl, I will. I don't half understand you, and it doesn't seem to me that it will do a bit of good, but I do need a strong friend.

know anybody who needs one any more, and I'll ask him. Down went the brown head among the cushions of his easy chair. It was the best that Percy could do. He had never been able to kneel to pray. Carl sat perfectly still for a minute, and then, as the head continued bent among the cushions, he knelt down by the side of Percy's chair, and in his heart joined in prayer. So long Percy kept his head down that Carl was half alarmed, lest one of his faint turns had come on. But presently, the curly brown head was raised, and Percy's brown eyes were full of tears, but his face was very bright. I don't know what it is, he said, but it is different from anything that I ever felt before. I believe with all my heart that the Lord Jesus heard every word I said. I believe he is here this

minute. I know he is, said Carl with shining eyes, and he will be with you always after this. Oh, Percy, I am so glad. End of Section 14. Section 15 of Next Things and Dory's Day by Pansy. This Sliberbox recording is in the public domain. Next Things, Chapter 15. The next thing that happened to Carl was to be able to invite the the Safeguard Society to the Grand House on the Hill. This was wonderful doings for the boys. They talked about it for a week beforehand. They planned where they would meet to start, altogether, what time they would go, and even what they would wear. Boys sometimes talk about that. As for Carl and Percy, they were very busy getting ready. At least Carl was, and Percy wheeled himself

around in his easy chair and gave directions. Tell Joe to cut some of my choicest flowers for the vases, he said, as Carl was going to the greenhouse with an order. Carl stopped in the doorway and looked doubtful. Oh, would you? he asked. Why not? Why it will waste them? Waste them? That is what they are for, to cut and enjoy. They won't be wasted. ever so many boys will be breathing them. Boys like flowers. I know that much about them. I've seen them peep through the fence and gaze at them plenty of times. So the room was gay with flowers. In the alcove, a table was set, covered with a damask cloth and glittering with china and silver.

I want all the things nice, Percy said to his mother, you see, I know boys like it. I know boys like, such things, only they don't understand what it is they like." And what do you want on the table, Percy? Oh, cake and things, nice things, plenty of them. You know how, Mama, I'll tell you. And Percy's face brightened. Fix the table just as you would if Jesus was coming here tonight. Percy, what a strange boy you are. What do you mean?

Why, nothing, Mama, only to you only to you. to have everything nice and beautiful. Why do you think of that, my son? Well, said Percy, settling himself back among the cushions, it is like this. Some of those boys never have nice things and nice times. Carl says some of them never taste fruits and cake from one year's end to another, and some of them belong to Jesus, and I was thinking how he said, inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these, ye have done it unto me. And then I got to thinking how very nice you would be sure to have everything if Jesus was on earth and was coming here tonight, and I'd just like to try it.

What a strange fancy, said Mrs. Eastman. They won't know whether things are nice or not, but she made the table beautiful. The evening came and with it the boys. Now, though they had planned what to say, they forgot it all when they found themselves seated in the splendid room with its high ceilings and its gaslight and its rows of books and its glitter of wealth and beauty. They looked at one another and felt shy and frightened. Carl offered them seats, but he felt queerly, almost as if he were not Carl Brown at all. and these were not boys that he knew, but as if they were all pictures and had stepped into frames. There they sat, silent and uncomfortable, when Percy's ringing voice broke the spell. Have they come? Carl, roll in my chair, please! And as Carl sprang to do his bidding, the library door swung open, and the wheeled chair rolled in. Percy looked around him in a glow of delight. Isn't this splendid, he said eagerly.

I always wanted to know, boys. That is Albert, I know, because he looks like my Carl. But I don't know the names of the rest of you. Tell me them, please. And, oh, won't there be time before the society begins to tell me about the foot race? Carl said you had one. Who beat and all about it? Who could be stiff and frightened in such a sunny presence?

In five minutes, the boys were all talking at once, answering Percy's eager questions, and describing with glee the last excitement among them, the foot race to the Globe Mills. End of Section 15. Section 16 of Next Things and Dory's Day by Pansy. The Sliberovox recording is in the public domain. Next Things, Chapter 16. Now let's begin the temperament. meeting, said Percy, after he had heard every bit about the race and the prize and the last

game of ball and whatever he wanted to know. What do you do first? I never went to a temperance meeting, you see, nor hardly any other kind of a meeting. Do you read in the Bible? And I suppose you begin the meeting with prayer? The boys all looked at each other and were silent. At last, Carl stammered an answer. Why, no, we never begin our meeting so. Didn't you? That's the way they begin them in the hall. I have read the report of the noon meeting every day this week, and it always tells the name of the one who made the first prayer. I should think that would be the way, anyhow. I've just learned how to pray, you see, and it seems to me as though boys needn't try to do anything right unless they asked Jesus for help. He says so himself. Was there ever

such a queer boy as Percy Eastman? Those boys didn't know what to think of him. He talked about praying exactly as he would talk about asking the help of his father or any other good man. Albert looked up at last with a very red face and a firm voice. Boys, I think Percy is right. I think Percy is right. Three or four of us pretend to ask God to help us in everything that we do, and yet we have come to these meetings and never said a word about it. Let's begin over again. I don't suppose anybody objects. Then all the boys looked at the largest one of their company, Walter Gower. I'm sure I've no objection, he said, half laughing, if you can find anybody to do it. Oh, we can any of us do it, Percy said eagerly. It isn't a hard thing to do. We don't want a long prayer, you know.

Why, if we want to have a good meeting and help ourselves and learn how to help other people, we just want to say so, and that's all there is of it. This seemed to make Walter think he would like to argue about it. Well, he said, I never pretended to understand these things, but I'd just like to know this. Now, God understands that we want help and that we mean to have a temperance meeting and all about it. What's the use of asking him for what he knows we want or telling him something that he knows all about?

Carl looked distressed, and Albert looked as though he didn't know how to answer the question, and some of the boys laughed, and all of them looked at Percy. I've just learned how to pray, I told you, said Percy, and I'm as ignorant as a child about all these things. I mean to study about them and find out the good reasons for things. I dare say there are some good ones for this. But, after all, maybe the other reasons, besides the one that we all know, God doesn't choose to tell us. besides the one that we all know, repeated Walter, but I tell you, I don't know a single reason for it. Percy turned his great surprised eyes on Walter.

You know one, of course. I don't, honestly, not one. He told us to ask him, when my father tells me to do a thing, I take it for granted that he has common sense and had a good reason for what he told me, even if he doesn't explain it to me. Some of the boys laughed again with a little triumph in the laugh. They thought Percy had gotten the best of the argument.

Well, said President Albert, Percy, will you ask him to help us tonight? Why, yes, said Percy, and leaning back among the cushions, he closed his eyes and offered this prayer. Our Father in heaven, help us boys tonight, make us do everything just right, and show us good ways of planning and working, and may we honor thee in all that we do and say, for Jesus' sake, amen. I don't think the boys ever had a better temperance meeting than they held that night, and I know that when they went away from Mrs. Eastman's, they voted Percy the best little fellow they ever knew, and all agreed that they would do their very best to give him pleasure. How I would like to continue this story and tell you the next things and the next things and the next things that happened to these boys. Why don't I do it?

There is an excellent reason. These last things that I have been telling you about happened only last week. How do I know what is to come next? To be sure, I can guess at some things, but after all, guessing isn't knowing. If they live, and I live to keep watch of them, as I mean to if I have a chance, who knows but one of these days I shall really tell you what happened next. Keep a sharp lookout, my friends, and when you find a story advertised named afterwards, you may know that it is about Carl and Albert and Percy.

End of Section 16. Section 17 of Next Things and Dory's Day by Pansy. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Dory's Day, Chapter 1 It was a very long day. In fact, it began the night before. Dory and father and mother and little Fred and the baby were all going to grandpas. Quite a long journey on the cars.

At least it was. was long for people who had never been on the cars in their lives, and that was the case with Dory. Of course, there was a great deal to do to get ready. Dory was a small woman, being a trifle over ten years old, and the oldest child in the family. There were a great many things which she could do that ten-year-olds sometimes knew very little about, so it was no play to her, this getting ready to go to grandpas. she enjoyed every step which she took toward it, the steps all amounted to something and tired her trim little body, so that when, at ten o'clock, Mother Warren drew a long sigh

and held her hand to her back to help straighten her up, after bending over the wide-mouthed trunk, and said, Well, child, I really believe we are already at last. Dory, who had believed earlier in the day that it would be simply impossible to sleep a wink that night, felt as though she could go to bed and sleep. Every bone in her body was tired out. To sleep she went as soon as her curly brown head touched the pillow, though the baby squealed for her milk, and then for the lamp, and finally tried to coax papa to sit up and have a frolic. Dory in the next room with the door open between them heard not a sound, and firmly believed that she had just tucked the sheet around fat little Fred and laid her head on her pillow when she heard her father's voice.

Come, Dory, my girl, it is time you were hopping about. Hopping about, indeed. Why, it was what she had been doing since daylight, and she had just laying down to rest. Nevertheless, she rubbed her eyes and sat up in bed and tried to think what was the matter, whether Fred had called, or whether she had heard the baby cry, or whether the house was on fire, or whatever was the reason that she was waking in the middle of the night. Sure enough, it was the middle of the night, not more than two o'clock, but these people were going to take a four-clock train, and with breakfast to get and two babies to look after, and all the work to do for themselves, they knew what a hurly-burly it would be. In about two minutes, Dory had rubbed her eyes

open and recovered her wits, then sprang out of bed, saying, oh, to be sure. As she landed with her warm pink feet on the floor, all the pictured delights of this long day arose before her. She was willing to get up the night before in order to get ready. Can you imagine just how everything acted? How the chairs got in the way, and the shoes went and hid behind doors, and Fred's stocking curled itself in between the sheets and could not be found, and the coffee which was being made in haste boiled over, and Fred put his strings in a hard knot, and cried when his hair was combed, and the perverse baby did more mischief than she had ever been known to do in her whole life before, which was saying a great deal. Dory was really amazed. She had not imagined that everything in the

house could be so ugly as to conspire to hinder them. Yet really it looked almost like that. She flew from bedroom to kitchen and from kitchen to cellar or out to the woodshed, according as she heard her mother call, Dory, dear, come here a minute. Or father, Dory, come hold this door open for me. Or Fred wine, oh dear, I can't get this shoe on. Or baby give a suffocated little squeal as though she might have her head in the water pitcher or some other dangerous place. It really seemed to do.

Dory that she was part of the time in two places at once. And Mother thought so too, perhaps, for she said, Dear me, we should never get off in the world if it were not for you. At one time it seemed as though that four o'clock train meant to join with the other things that were trying to hinder and go off and leave them. But it didn't. Just about two minutes before it gave its final howl, and puffed and snorted itself out of the depot, the Warren family, father carrying the baby and two satchels, mother with shawls, and a bundle of last things that had been left out, Dory tugging after Fred's fat hand to drag him along faster, and with the lunch basket in her spare hand, puffed and panted into the cars and dropped into the nearest seats with a

bewildered air that said, it can't be possible that we are really here. How tired they were, and how awfully sleepy Dory felt. Nothing anywhere looked as she had imagined it would. The cars were full of rows of people who seemed not to have combed their hair for weeks. The kerosene lamps smoked dreadfully, and there was such a hot and stifled air everywhere that Dory felt as though she could not breathe. Not a mouthful of breakfast had she eaten, though her mother had said, Try to eat a bite, Dory, do. Dory had tried, but everything seemed flat, and as though she could never care to eat again. This fact did not serve to make her

feel any less faint when she took her seat in those cars. All aboard, shouted the conductor, before father, and baby were fairly aboard, and the jar of the moving train jostled him into the seat fairly on top of Dory. She moved Fred, who was a limp roll already, and then moved herself, and mother took baby into the seat behind, and the bell rang, and the early newsboys yelled, and at last they were fairly started for grandpas. Just a little bit of a ride hardly worth getting on the cars, her father said, only it was rather far for a walk. They must change cars at Centerville Junction.

Twelve miles. It seemed to Dory that it would be a good, long ride. Once she went to a district meeting with her uncle Will 10 miles away, and it took them more than two hours to get there. She couldn't realize that the cars were so very much faster. She thought she would have plenty of time to see things. But the fact was her eyes wouldn't see. They persisted in going shut. The more she struggled to keep them open and be interested, the more the lids drooped. So before she knew it, she was dropping asleep again. Not quite sound, though, when her father said, Now the next stop is the junction. We must be already. They don't stop long enough to give a body a chance to think. Let me get the

baby and each take care of your bundles. Mother, you better tend to Fred. He is so sleepy, and our little woman will take your bundles along with hers. Little woman was father's favorite name for Dory. So they got themselves all ready and filed out into the aisle and were ready to spring off as the train showed signs of stopping when the conductor came that way. You don't want to get off here, he said. This is. the wooden water station. We stopped the other side of the bridge about a mile up. Oh, said Mr. Warren. Then he looked around for his family. Dory, you had better sit down again. He said, seeing how she was loaded. It won't be but a minute, but your arms are so full.

So Dory dropped back into the seat, and in a little bit the train moved on, slowly, going through the long, dark bridge. going slower and slower, making less and less noise, Dory thought. Now, come on, hold fast to Mother's hand, Fred, said Father Warren. Come on, Dory, and he looked behind him. Yes, there was the little moving figure loaded down with bundles. Father hastened his steps, how many things that child had to carry. He was in a hurry to get where he could help her. "'Which is the train for Smithville?' he shouted to a man who was running by.

"'This one, hurry up,' was the answer. "'So they hurried up, and in less time than it takes to tell it, "'they were all on the train and moving again.' "'Well, well,' said Father Warren, getting out his handkerchief and wiping his face. "'That's hurrying work, I declare. Did you have to carry Fred?' "'Poor boy, he couldn't be expected to keep awake. "'I thought maybe you could kind of drag him along. "'These satchels are so heavy I couldn't manage him and baby, too.'

"'I should think not,' said Mother Warren. "'Where is Dory?' "'Over there in that seat, looking after herself and her bundles "'like the little woman that she is.' "'Mrs. Warren leaned forward, "'and in the gray dawn of a five o'clock morning, tried to get a glimpse of Dory's face. She didn't see the face, but she saw the bonnet,

and she gave a start and clutched Mr. Warren's arm nervously, and her voice shook. Why, father, that isn't our Dory? What, what, what? said Father Warren, his voice growing louder with each word. Why, yes, it is, of course. No, it isn't. Her hat is a gray straw,

trimmed with blue, and this one, oh, don't you see it isn't Dory? Where is she? Yes, by this time he saw plainly enough, for the little girl had turned at the sound of the loud voices and showed a pug nose and a freckled face with a scowl on it. Not a look about her of Dory, save those bundles and the quietness with which she had taken care of herself in the fog of that gray morning. Now don't you pity the Warren family? Just imagine that father flying about, shouting for the conductor, wanting the train stopped right there in the middle of a swamp, and wanting a telegram sent right off somewhere without waiting to reach a telegraph office. Oh, he did not know what he wanted, only it seemed to them that they must have their little dory that minute. it. Mrs. Warren did not cry nor scream, but her face was as white as the baby's dress,

and the people looking at her said, Poor thing, she is awfully frightened. She is going to faint. No, Mrs. Warren wasn't going to faint because there was the baby. How could she be taken care of and kept from falling if the mother spent her time in fainting? Besides, by this time Fred had set up on. howl and declared that he wanted his dory that minute and wouldn't wait so the conductor was very kind and encouraging she is all right he said in a loud cheery tone she didn't get on the train quick enough that is all you say she was loaded down with bundles you will find her back there at centreville

junction i'll telegraph when we get to the next station and see about it but they'll take care of her The ticket agent there is a nice, careful man and has a girl of his own. He'll see that she is all right and gets put on the next train. And when is the next train? asked Mrs. Warren faintly. Well, there isn't one that stops at Centerville until six o'clock tonight, answered the conductor. Oh, dear me, said Mrs. Warren. Poor little Dory all alone! and she never was on the cars before in her life.

Father, I can't stand it. We must get off. Of course we must get off, repeated the distracted father, but the cars whizzed on and the conductor talked on, trying to bring them to realize that to put them off in that swamp would do no good. Mr. and Mrs. Warren at last calmed down enough to realize that there was nothing to do but ride to the next station, then get off and wait for a return train to Centerville Junction.

And when will there be a return train? Questioned Mrs. Warren, and the conductor seemed very sorry to have to tell them there would be none until two o'clock in the afternoon. Then both father and mother groaned, time enough for all sorts of things to happen to Dory. What would she do? And we were going to have such a happy afternoon. And we were going to have such a happy afternoon at Grandmas. The mother said, pitifully, whereupon Fred roared harder than ever. Oh, such a time as they had. This is enough to put traveling out of the fashion. Father Warren said, and he mopped his hot and tired head and looked the picture of distress. After what seemed like hours, but was really not more than 35 minutes, the train steamed in at the next

telegraph station, and the conductor hurried out and sent his message whizzing towards Centerville Junction. You'll get good news in a few minutes, I think. He said, in a pitying tone to Mr. Warren, who had put his family in the depot, and then kept close to the conductor. Yes, here he comes. And the father waited breathlessly while the click, click, click of the answered question came hurrying over the wires. A moment more, and the bit of paper was in the conductor's hand, and Mr. Warren was looking over his shoulder. No such person left here. All who got off of number 17 changed cars. Those folks are always making blunders, said the conductor, Crossley. How do they know whether all the people changed cars or not? Though, now I think of it, there is a train on the left,

which goes out a few minutes after nine. Just as likely as not, your little girl got on the wrong train. It was foggy, you know, and she was sleepy. That's it, I dare say. Where does that go to? Said Mr. Warren, and his voice trembled sadly. Why, it goes up north. Carlton is the first large station.

She would have found out her mistake before they reached there. I'll telegraph and have the dispatch sent here to you. I shall have to go now, but you will find the little one all right, I feel sure. Nothing could happen to her, you know. Keep up a good heart. By this time, many heads were out of the car window, and men came out and stood on the platform, and when the conductor appeared,

an eager chorus of questions asked very much the same questions. Did you hear from her? Is she safe? Where is she? And when the conductor only shook his head, there were sighs and, oh, dears, that came right from warm hearts. And one woman said, Dear me, it seems as if I must stop and help find her. And that poor father and mother had to stand in the door and see that train rush away without them, and endure Fred's frantic cries and tears and wonder how they could bear it all and where Dory could be. Such a day of trial as that was.

The answer to the telegram came, but it was just as hopeless as the other. Nothing had been seen or heard of such a little girl. Then the father and mother comforted themselves by imagining the number of dreadful things that might have happened to her during all these hours. Are you sure she got off the train? Mother asked for the third or fourth time. Oh, yes, father said. I saw her get off.

I looked around to see if she was safe, and the conductor was helping her, and she followed right after me. Very wearily the time wore on. Baby slept and wakened and crowed and laughed as usual, and Fred, between the times of green, grieving, ate his dinner, and was comforted. But father and mother could not eat, could not sit still,

could not wait, it seemed to them, and yet they had to. By degrees, their stories spread, and the people sympathized with them and tried to show their kindness and offered home comforts, but nobody knew how to help them find Dory. At last it was two o'clock, and the dragging accommodation train halted at the station and went on again, carrying the sadly disappointed Warren family back to Centerville Junction. Then how they hunted about that ugly little town that was nothing but a junction, how they questioned and cross-questioned the people and the ticket agent and the Depot loungers and everybody. Not a single one of them had seen a curly-haired little girl in a gray traveling dress and sack and a gray hat with a robin's wing in that day. What could have become of her? I couldn't

begin to tell you how many times they asked each other that question. At last, the troubled father, willing to do anything that was told him, telegraphed the morning train, and the conductor, who had only been on the car's two hours, replied that there was no such child on the train and hadn't been. Now what were these distressed people to do? They spent the afternoon in running hither and thither, and waiting and wondering, and at last it drew near to six o'clock with no word of Dory. Then Mr. Warren made up his mind what to do. I'll tell you what, he said. We must just take this six a clock train and get to Father Burton's as fast as possible. I'll get you and the rest safe, and then I'll come back and scour the country. I'll get detectives, and, well, we'll do everything,

and we'll find her, but it won't do to keep baby nor Fred dragging along this way any longer. And though Mother Warren cried and declared that she could not go to Grandmas without Dory, her good sense saw that it was really the best plan, and so into the six o'clock train the tired party scrambled and found seats where Fred could sleep and mother could cry without being disturbed. As for Father Warren, he set up bravely and held baby and tried not to look as though he felt 20 years older than when he started in the morning. End of Section 17

Section 18 of Next Things and Dory's Day by Pansy. The Slibervok's recording is in the public domain. Dory's Day, Chapter 2 In the meantime, are you anxious to know where Dory was and what she was about? Why, she was having as nice as sleep as ever she enjoyed in her life. As the train moved slowly through the long bridge, her eyes had closed again, and as the little girl about her size, with her arms full of bundles, followed the Warrens out at Centerville Junction, the little girl who really belonged to them,

sat quietly dreaming that she had been given a pair of wings, and had started on a journey to the moon. Poor little sleepy head! The conductor had said, when he went through the train looking at tickets, and he had stopped to fix Dory's fair, curly head more comfortably, and had resolved in his heart that he would not disturb that pleasant nap for all the tickets she had in her pocket. Well, the sun came up and sent the fog away off among the hills, and the people on the train awoke and began to talk and laugh, and a few of them to scold, and one of them to cry,

and Dory awoke with a start and looked around for babies, There was a little toe-headed cross-eyed morsel in the seat behind her, but that was not baby. Dory bestowed an indignant glance at her for being in baby's place, then she rubbed her eyes and sat up straight and looked in every direction. What had become a father and mother and Fred and baby? They certainly were not in that car. how very strange that they should go away and leave her. In a great heat and tremor as to what she should do or what had become of them all, she finally spoke timidly to the lady who sat in the seat before her.

If you please, ma'am, could you tell me where my father and mother are? Why, no, said the lady, I'm sure I couldn't. And she smiled on her and began to question her. Then came the conductor on his rounds for tickets. No ticket had Dory. I don't know where my father is, she said timidly, nor mother, nor baby, nor any of them. They were here a few minutes ago when I went to sleep, but now they are gone.

The conductor smiled. Your few minutes nap has taken a few hours, he said kindly, You have been asleep since I first noticed. you after we left Centerville Junction. That is almost three hours ago. Three hours ago, she repeated, her face growing very red. Why, then, we ought to be at Smithville by this time. Smithville, that isn't on this road. You ought to have changed at the junction for that place. Why, I did change, said poor, bewildered Dory. We all change. We all change. We all change. We all We started to get out at the Wood and Water Station, and the conductor told us to wait, and we waited, and then, I don't remember another thing.

And then, while you waited, you went to sleep, I guess. So said the conductor, I remember now that party that got off at the junction, but I didn't know you belonged to them. well so you were going to smithfield were you they are safe there by this time and your best way now you are so far along is to keep on to deerborn and take a cross road there which connects with the evening train for smithville we'll send a dispatch to your father that you are safe what street in number will he be but this dory did not know his name was joseph warren and he would be at grand and-paw-burton's. That was all she could tell. Rather wild telegraphing, the conductor said, but he would try it. So poor Dory sat up and tried to be brave and listen to his directions, and believe that it would all come out right, though her heart felt as heavy as lead. A good many

people talked to her, asked her distracting questions, and then talked about her or her father, saying, it was strange that a man couldn't take care of his own child. This was hard for Dory to bear, and once she raised her little brown head haughtily, and said, her father thought she had sense enough to take care of herself. Then the man laughed, and said he hoped the end would prove that she had. By and by they reached Dearborn, and amid the din of whistles and gongs and bells and yells, and yells, poor Dory took her bewildered little self off the train, feeling as she caught the last glimpse of the conductor's kind face, as though she were saying goodbye to every friend she had in the

world. Strangely enough, among all her questioners, no one had thought to ask her whether she had any money. The conductor had given her a pass over the crossroad, but that was as far as his influence went, and nobody had given her any dinner. Father Warren had seized the lunch basket when he saw how many things his little daughter would have to carry, so she had nothing at all to eat. But this was the least of her troubles. It seemed to her that she should never want to eat again

until she could get close to her mother and feel Fred's fat arm around her neck. She stood shyly there, looking with anxious eyes on the cross. of people running back and forth, seeming to know just what they wanted to do and how to do it. At last the train started, and the crowds lessened, and the ticket agent had time to look at the small, shy girl who was loaded with bundles, but didn't seem to know what to do. "'What's all this?' asked the agent of Dory, getting out of his fenced-up corner and coming

towards her. Then Dory told her troubled little story. I want to know, he said in sympathy. Well, now, that's trying, I declare. Spoiled mother's pleasure, too, I'll be bound. Well, never mind. Keep a stiff upper lip, and it will all come out right. You just come upstairs with me.

Mother will let you sit in her rocking chair and rest till train time. So upstairs they went, Dory, glad to get her. anywhere where there was a woman, and besides she was a mother, and besides there was a sick baby in the cradle. "'Poor little fellow!' said Dory, watching the restless arms tossing to and fro, and seeing the fever flush on his cheek, and thinking, what if it were baby? "'He's real sick, I'm afraid,' Mrs. Smith said, leaving her ironing and coming to look with a troubled face on her baby. He's been moaning like that all the morning, and the stuff I give him don't do a might of

good. Don't you have a doctor? questioned Dory. Well, yes, we do kind of. He's dreadful busy, and he don't have time to stop more than two minutes, and he ain't been here since yesterday forenoon, and like enough, he won't get along till most night, and his bills are just awful anyhow. We don't hardly know what to do. He ought to have some belladonna, said grave little Dory, looking steadily at the baby, and meaning him instead of the doctor. What's that? Why, it is medicine that mother gives Fred and baby and any of us, when we have such a cold as he has, and a fever, and mutter and toss like that. It helps right away. Our doctor told her just how to fix it and when to give it. Mrs. Smith sighed heavily. I wish to the land I had some of it, or something else. She said anxiously, I'm that worried about him that I can't iron or do nothing. The morning dragged away,

the baby waked and cried and slept and moaned, and Dory, with grave, anxious face, forgot her own troubles, and sat and watched him like the little nurse that she was. At last her anxiety got the better of her timidity. She spoke her thoughts. If you please, Mrs. Smith, I'm afraid baby is real sick. He breathes so hard, and I'm sure Bella Donna will make him better. I was carrying mother's little satchel for her, and the medicine box is in it, and I know just how to fix Bella Donna if you will let me give him some. Mrs. Smith's forehead wrinkled more anxiously than before. I don't know what to do, she said, leaving her ironing again

and coming and sitting down by the cradle. I don't believe you could get him to take it. He is awful about taking medicine. He just screams and fights. Oh, he would take this, said Doris. Dory confidently. It doesn't taste of a thing but cold water. Baby sips it down and laughs. And at the thought of the dear baby who belonged to her, Dory nearly cried. "'Tastes like water,' said Mrs. Smith.

"'Well, I shouldn't think it could do any hurt. Would you mind my tasting it?' "'Oh, no, it wouldn't do you a bit of hurt,' said Dory earnestly. "'I'll fix some.' Very carefully, the little doctor got out her medicine case and found the tiny file of Belladonna and the tiny glass dropper and dropped just the right number into the glass and measured just the right number of teaspoonfuls of water, just as she had done so often under her mother's eye. The suspicious Mrs. Smith tasted of it and declared that it tasted like nothing under the sun and didn't color the water, and such a little might of medicine as that couldn't do nobody any harm. And baby, seeing the glass, wanted a drink, and took kindly to the spoonful.

And Dory watched eagerly, and at the end of half an hour, gave another, because his fever is really very high. She said gravely, with her wise little fingers on the pounding pulse. and the half-hours went by, and it began to draw near train time, the marvel of marvels to Mrs. Smith's astonished eyes. The bounding pulse quieted, and the fever flush slowly faded, and the irritating horse cough grew less frequent, and little dews of moisture began to curl among the golden hairs on baby's forehead, and the tossing and the moaning ceased,

and anybody who knew anything at all, have been certain that baby was better. When the doctor came, he was evidently surprised at the change. Quite a favorable change, Mrs. Smith. I had not looked for it. He was pretty sick yesterday. Continue the medicine. He will soon be all right.

That I will, said grateful Mrs. Smith, the minute the door closed after him. I'll continue the nice water medicine that he loves, not that nasty thick stuff that makes him cry so. You have just saved his life, I do believe, and I'll never forget you as long as I live. And now you must go right downstairs to the restaurant and get the best dinner there is to be had. Smith, he'll give it to you.

He runs it, and he'll be so glad to hear about baby. So Dory, having called for a bottle, carefully measured out part of the choice Bella Donna, carefully wrote the exact directions for preparing and giving, then kissed the moistened lips of the quiet baby, gathered her bundles, and went downstairs. A very nice dinner they certainly gave her. The coffee was muddy, to be sure,

but then she never drank coffee. The meat was tough, but her teeth were strong, and she never guessed it. and then the freight and accommodation came trundling in. It was to take her to Branchport, 16 miles away, where she was to wait for the evening train for Smithville. She parted from Mr. and Mrs. Smith with tears, and felt as though she had now indeed left all her friends. Tickets, said the conductor, and Dory got out her slip of paper, which the other conductor had given her. The man looked cross and hurried, but as he read, his face softened.

So you got left, little one? Well, we must look out for you. Going to Smithville, eh? Pretty well out of your way, but you'll get around there all right. So Dory resigned herself to her lot, and picked up an apple which rolled away from an old gentleman who promptly gave her one, and fastened the blind for a lady before her who said, Thank you, my dear, and smiled sweetly on her and asked if she would like an orange. So Dory certainly got along very well indeed without that lunch basket. End of Section 18. Section 19 of Next Things and Dory's Day by Pansy.

The Slibervok's recording is in the public domain. Dory's Day Chapter 3 It was just about this time that her distracted father received his message from the conductor on the other road,

no such child on this train. He did not say he had not been on the train himself long and father didn't know what to make of it if he could only have looked in on Dory,

munching her apple and holding her orange. Presently they were at Branchport, a much larger and noisier place than Dearborn. Dory's timidity came on her in full force. She had no paper now to give to any conductor, and she did not know which way to turn. However, she got her tired feet and all her bundles off the train and into the depot, and curled herself into a seat to watch the uproar and try not to be deafened by the noise.

It settled into quiet at last, just as the other depot had, but the ticket agent slammed down his window and went off, Dory didn't know where, only he took no notice of her, nor did anyone else, and the afternoon sun sank lower and lower, the shadows began to fall, and Dory didn't know where Smithville was, nor where father and mother and Fred and baby were, nor even where Mrs. Smith and Her, and baby were by this time, and she struggled to keep back the tears. Slowly from out the darkening gloom of the other end of the depot, a young man who had been asleep roused himself, sat upright, and looked around him in a sort of dreary wonder, his eyes falling at last on Dory, and he spoke to her gruffly. "'Who on earth are you, and what are you doing here?' "'If you please,' said Dory, in a low, in tremulous tone, I am lost. Lost? repeated the young man. Huh, so am I. Who has lost you and where ought you to be?

Lost myself, sir, by being asleep when I ought to have kept awake, and I ought to be in Smithville this minute. But it seems to me as if I never was going to get there. And the tears came now thick and fast. I wouldn't cry, he said, and his voice was gentler. You are not so very far away from Smithville, easy to get there when the train comes in. Who is there expecting you? Mother is sir, and father, and all of them, and they will be so frightened and anxious. They can't have a happy time at all. Something about all this made the young man start from his seat, shake himself, and begin to walk up and down the room muttering to himself. He looked so sad that Dory began to get sorry for him, and at last made up her timid little mind to ask him some questions. Did you say you were lost too, sir, and don't know the way home? He glared at her fiercely for a minute without speech. He glared at her fiercely for a minute without speech. Then, walking toward her, he said, Mine is a different getting lost from yours.

I have lost my soul. Dory gave a startled little cry, and speaking with the utmost earnestness, said, Oh, no, sir, you are mistaken now. Jesus would never let you lose your soul if you cared about it. He can find that for you in a minute. He shook his head gloomily. I've sold it. he said sternly oh you never would what did you sell it for for rum there was no mistaking the fierce gravity of his tones but the words did not seem to surprise dory much the truth was she had known people before who had made such strange bargains oh she said you can get it back jesus won't ever let you do without it you must

Take a pledge that you won't have anything to do with rum, and then you must ask Jesus to tend to all the rest, and he will. How do you know he will? Because, said Dory, hesitating, and then beginning again, a solemn light in her eyes, Because I've seen him do it. We don't ever mention it now unless it will help somebody, but he wants it to help people.

I saw Jesus do it for my own father. He used to drink liquor and loved it so he couldn't stop. And he took a pledge and went right to Jesus telling him he meant it, you know, and he has taken care of him ever since. That was years ago when I was a little girl, and father does not care for it, even when he smells it anymore. Was the young man half in play or half in earnest? He walked slowly up and down the long room, and there was certainly very little that looked like play in his face.

Then he looked over toward Dory again. I haven't any pledge, he said, doubtfully. What prompted him to say that? Dory's anxious face broadened into a smile of relief. I can help you there, she said confidently. I've got my pledge book right. in my pocket. I always carry it, and when it gets full, I make another. It is a good, strong pledge, cider and all in it. I'm a safeguard, you see? A what? A safeguard. It is a great,

big society. There are members all over the United States. We have a president, and he writes a sermon for us every month, and sometimes a letter, all printed in our paper. and we have splendid temperance meetings. Here's the place and here's a pencil tied on, you know, so it won't get lost. Now, will you sign it right here? Asked she earnestly. Very slowly the young man walked up and down the room, and Dory waited. Then he came over to her.

What if I shouldn't keep it, and I know I shouldn't? He said, gloomily. Oh, but you must ask Jesus to take care of that, too. Of course, you can't keep it without him. Father said he never could have done it in the world. And then there are helps. Don't your mother want you to sign it? And don't she know how to pray? Yes, said the young man, and this time there was a rush of tears to his brown eyes. But I am lost from my mother. I have run away from her, and I made up my mind that I would never go back home again.

Oh, then, said Dory eagerly, how glad she will be to see you! You will go right back this very night, won't you? Where does she live? In Smithville. At this answer, Dory let fall two of her bundles to the floor and clapped her hands. How perfectly splendid! she said gleefully, Then you will take care of me and get me to my mother in Smithville

and then go to yours, and how glad they will both be. She waited in breathless haste, feeling sure that her pledge was to be signed, and I think that the watching angels, who knew about him, waited tremblingly and in fear. But he wrote it,

not without flushing to his very temples and then growing pale, still he wrote it. Leonard Marston. There, said he, drawing a long breath and handing back the little red-covered book, I would not have supposed that I could have done it. What which work is there about you, little one? Then the train came in, and Dory, with a confident air, picked up her bundles and quietly slid her spare hand in Leonard Marston's.

and said, looking up at him with a restful smile, It is so nice that you will take care of me. I was afraid. After that, how could he help going back to Smithville, though he had not meant to do it? So it happened that while Dory's mother buried her head in her shawl and cried, and her father, sighing heavily, did not so much as raise his eyes to the window when the name Branchville Junction was shouted out,

they tripped up the platform and into the next car but one, his own little daughter, Dory, holding carefully to the hand of Leonard Marston. The ride to Smithville was not a long one, and yet it was inky dark when the train slowed into the Great Depot, for Smithville was not a vill at all, but a great city. Dory kept very quiet and felt very quiet and felt, very brave. Why should she not? A strong young man, out of whose face the frown and out of whose heart

much of the bitterness had gone, held her hand and carried her bundles. Father Warren hurried out on the right side of the cars, took a carriage without waste of time, and was promptly driven to Grandpa Burton's. But it was not such rapid business for Dory. The city was large, and and Leonard Marston could scarcely be said to live there at all, though his mother did, and how was he to find Grandpa Burton without street or number? What is his business? He asked Dory, and Dory didn't know.

She knew that he used to be a builder, but he was old now and didn't build anymore. Suddenly her face lighted. He goes to Beacon Street prayer meeting, she said. Beacon Street, does he live near the church? Yes, just around the corner, I should think, for once he wrote about being caught in the rain on his way home from meeting and taking cold,

and he said he ought not to have gone such a bad night, only the church was just around the corner. So with this clue, her new friend set to work, a city directory, two policemen, a good deal of talk, and at last he believed he had the place. So they were presently seated in a carriage and whirled through the streets and stopped before a brilliantly lighted house,

and Leonard Marston said, I think this is the place, little one, but we will make it certain. So he rang the bell. Much noise was heard in the hall, the noise of hurrying feet, of weeping and of exclamations. Then the door was opened by a gray-haired

man. Does Mr. Burton live here? queried Leonard. Yes, sir, I am Mr. Burton. Has he lost a little granddaughter? Yes, oh yes, shouted or cried at least half a dozen voices, and then they're rushed into the hall, Mother Warren, Father Warren, and Grandma Burton with Fred at their heels. Oh, Mother, Mother! screamed Dory. "'Oh, my darling!' cried Mother. "'And such a time you never heard in your life!' "'She thought she was lost,' said Leonard Marston, "'drawing the back of his glove across his eyes.

"'But she was mistaken. "'I was the lost one, "'and she was sent after me and found me. "'Good night.' "'Then what happened do you think? "'Why, a telegraph boy came "'bringing a dispatch for joy, Joseph Warren. Had a time finding you, he said, smiling. Father Warren stopped in the hall to read the

message. Your daughter is safe and will be on number 21. She is at Dearborn Crossing. Conductor train number 11. No, she isn't, said father, getting a chance just at that minute to put his loving arms around her. She is here. Then they all laughed. End of section 19. End of Next Things and Dory's Day by Pansy.