Harper's Young People, February 14, 1882 An Illustrated Weekly

A VALENTINE AND A MISSION.

BY MARGARET EYTINGE.

Electa Eliza was never seen without that baby. Ever since it was three weeks old--it was born in August and now it was February--she had taken the whole care of it every day, excepting Sundays, from morning until night.

Mrs. Googens, her mother--her father was dead--when she wasn't out washing and ironing, was washing and ironing at home and having no other children besides Electa Eliza and the baby, of course the care of the small boy fell almost entirely on his sister.

This was rather hard, for she was only twelve years old, and lame besides, and it requires a great deal of patience and good nature to mind a baby, especially a lively, wide-awake baby who jumps, and "pat-a-cakes," and "goos," and "guggles," and wants to go "day-day" all the time.

It wasn't a pretty baby, and it wasn't an ugly baby. It had round blue eyes, round red cheeks, round wee nose, and a very bald head, and sometimes it looked so wise you couldn't help thinking it wasn't a baby at all, but a jolly, lazy old gentleman dwarf just making believe to be one, to be carried around and waited upon.

Electa Eliza had gone to school before the baby came, and had been a very good scholar--at the head of her class, in fact; but ever since she had been obliged to stay at home altogether, and it was but seldom she got a chance to look at her books.

Now around the corner from the house where Electa Eliza lived was a church, and on the steps of this church, sheltered by the porch, she often rested when tired walking with the baby.

Indeed, it was her favorite resting-place, and even when the weather was quite cold, she spent many hours there, watching most of the time the house directly opposite, at whose windows often appeared another girl and another baby.

This young girl, who was about three years older than Electa Eliza, and whose name was Theodora Judson, and her little brother were her mother's only children, just as Electa Eliza and her baby were her mother's only children.

But, ah! how far apart their paths in life were!

The Judson baby had a nurse-maid in constant attendance upon him, his sister only playing with him when she felt so inclined, and Miss Theodora had a French and German teacher, and a music teacher, and a riding-master, besides being one of the day-pupils at a celebrated academy famous for its excellent scholars. And her father and mother were the most indulgent of parents, refusing her nothing that she desired.

But yet Theodora was not contented, but was continually wishing to be something that would make her of more importance in the world, and wondering when, if ever, she would find a mission. On St. Valentine's morning--Valentine's Day happening that year to fall on a Saturday--she was holding forth, as she had held forth a hundred times before to her mother, who was listening patiently, as mothers usually do, on the subject which always lay nearest her heart.

"I'd like to become famous," said Theodora, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks glowing; "be an artist, or an author, or an inventor, or somebody great. It seems so hard to live in this big world, and be a woman and nothing more. To paint a lovely picture, to write a beautiful book, to make a discovery that would gain me the praise and thanks of thousands of people--ah! if I dared to dream I should ever do any of these things, I should be perfectly happy."

"My dear," said her mother, mildly, "there are many other ways besides those which you have mentioned by which praise, and thanks, and love, and happiness can be gained. It isn't easy to become famous, but it is easy--that is, if one's heart is in the work--to do a great deal of good to one's fellow-beings. Young as you are, I have no doubt there are many sad hearts you might gladden, and many gloomy homes to which you might bring brightness."

"Oh, mother, can you show me one?" said Theodora, eagerly.

"I could, many a one," answered the mother, smiling; "but surely so bright and intelligent a girl as yourself ought to be able to find out who needs your help and encouragement without my assistance."

It was now just about the hour for the morning's mail to come in, and within ten minutes of the time when this serious conversation took place, Miss Theodora and her friend Bessie Lee were on their way to the post-office.

What a hurrying and skurrying there was! what a laughing and shouting!

How did the deaf old clerk in the post-office ever manage to take charge of such dainty missives? There were big valentines and little valentines, valentines with coarse figures accompanied by bad poetry, and valentines that were marvels of art. There were hearts, and darts, and Cupids, and roses, and posies, and everything that goes to make the valentine a wonder and delight.

No one had a larger supply than Theodora and Bessie, and arm in arm they walked down the street displaying their treasures, and demanding everybody's sympathy, from the old doctor, on his way to treat a critical case, to Pussie Evans, the minister's little girl, who was forbidden to leave the door-step, and had to wait for somebody to bring her valentines to her.

Not one of the merry party noticed Electa Eliza. Yet there she was, and without the baby--a fact so remarkable that it might well have attracted attention had there been a person in the world to give the poor child a thought.

But Electa Eliza had a special interest in this Valentine's Day. Not that she expected a valentine; such a thing would have been too absurd. Still, her interest in those wonderful missives at the post-office was quite sufficient to induce her to give up fully one-half of her dinner to a friend who agreed to mind the baby for an hour. Then with her little crutch she mounted the hill to the post-office, waiting quietly about until Miss Theodora received the gay envelopes addressed to her.

Now when this young lady reached home she found among the great bundle handed her by the old clerk a large yellow envelope on which her name was written in a print-like hand.

With rather a scornful expression on her pretty face Theodora opened it, and found a rude drawing of two babies looking smilingly at each other--at least it had been intended that they should be looking smilingly at each other--one with very round eyes, nose, and mouth, and plain dotted slip; the other with indistinct features, but a most elaborately embroidered dress, over which floated an immense sash. Underneath the picture was this verse:

"You are such a pretty girl With your lovely hair in curl With your lovely eyes of blue How I wish that I was you."

And underneath the verse was the following letter:

"DEAR YOUNG LADY,--I am a poor, little girl and I'm lame too because of a dreadful fall I got once and broke something in my knee. Maybe you have saw me sittin cross the way from your house on the church steps with a baby. Hese awful heavy but hese good but I cant go to school cause I have to mind him and he wants to mused ever so mutch but hese very good and I love pictures and books and now Alonzo that's my baby's name is a beginin to go to sleep erly and if I had some Ide be so glad. I named him out of a story I read once and I thort maybe you had some picktures and books you dident want no more and you might give them to me. I wrote this potry I had to say pretty girl cause lady woodent go with curl and I drawed the babies I coodent make his face right cause I never seen him close but I think his dress is right my mother washes dresses like them sometimes I did it when Alonzo was asleep he dont sleep mutch days hese a very lively baby but hese good If you will let me have some of your old picktures and books I will thank you ever so mutch and so will Alonzo when hese big enuf cause he rely is a very good baby Your baby's nurse told me your name and she says your baby is a sugar plum from Heaven.

"ELECTA ELIZA GOOGENS."

"What a queer valentine!" said Theodora, laughing, as she finished reading it.

"What a nice one!" said her mother. "Far above half of those all lace and nonsense that you have received to-day. And, Dora, those babies are drawn better than you could have drawn them."

"Yes," said Theodora, frankly, "they are."

"So it appears this poor child has more artistic talent than you."

"And the verse is but little worse than I might have done myself. I'll save you the trouble of saying that, mother," said the daughter, merrily; "and so she may stand just as good a chance of becoming a writer or an artist as I do, she being so much younger. Poor little thing! I've seen her sitting on the church steps, with the baby that is so 'good,' many a time, but I am ashamed to say I never gave her a second thought."

"And yet, my dear," said Mrs. Judson, "there was your mission right before your eyes waiting for you to take it up. Help this poor child to the learning for which it is evident she longs so much. Give her and Alonzo some happy hours. And who knows?--you may at the same time be helping the world to a noble woman and a noble man, and what greater work than that could be found?"

"I will, mother--dear, wise, good mother, I will," said Theodora, and she flew to the window and beckoned to Electa Eliza, who had resumed the charge of Alonzo, and although the snow was falling fast, sat under the church porch, with Alonzo, well wrapped in an old woollen shawl, in her arms.

And that was the beginning of the "Star in the East Mission School." From one little girl and a baby it grew in a year to forty children small and large, and now--for the valentine was sent and the mission founded several years ago--a hundred and more bless the name of their pretty young teacher and friend, Miss Theodora Judson, and look up with affection and pride to her clever assistant, still younger than herself, Miss Electa Eliza Googens.

"PICCIOLA."

BY MRS. SOPHIA B. HERRICK.

There is a beautiful little French story which has been translated into English, and called "Picciola," the Italian for little flower. It is the story of a French nobleman who was thrown into prison on an unjust charge of plotting against the government of his country. He was a man of talent and education, as well as of wealth and position. Somehow, with all his life had given him, it had never taught him to look with open eyes at nature, or to see beyond nature a God who had created it.