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Updated: June 6, 2025
The editor of The Joy-bell happened also to be disengaged, and after keeping the young aspirant for literary fame waiting for about a quarter of an hour, consented to see her and her companion.
The joy-bell of birth is a note of warning to the knell for the dead; it wakes the worms beneath the mould: the new-born, every year that it grows and flourishes, speeds the parent to their feast. Yet who can predict that the infant shall become the heir? Who can tell that Death sits not side by side with the nurse at the cradle?
"'Cause he ain't in town." "Oh!" Poor Jasmine fell back a pace or two; then she resumed in a different tone "I am very much disappointed; there is a story of mine in The Joy-bell, and I wanted to speak to him about it. It was very important, indeed," she added, in so sad a voice that the red-haired boy gazed at her in some astonishment. "My word," he said, "then you do not know?"
That editor has gone, and The Joy-bell is decently interred. I was at her birth, and I was at her funeral. She had a short life, and was never up to much. I never guessed she'd hold out as long as she did; but the editor was a cute one, and for a time he bamboozled his authors, and managed to live on them. Yes, The Joy-bell is in her quiet grave at last, and can't do no more harm to nobody.
We'll go there at once, Poppy, and be sure you support me, and say 'Yes' when I look at you; and if I happen to frown in your direction, you'll know that I want you to help me not to accept too low a price. Now come, Poppy; I feel that destiny leads my steps to the office of The Joy-bell."
"Why, of course," she exclaimed; "how very silly of me to forget! my hundred copies of The Joy-bell ought to have arrived by now. Yes, of course they ought, and perhaps I shall be able to sell some of them. I have no doubt Mrs. Dredge would buy a couple if Poppy asked her and perhaps Mrs. Mortlock and Miss Slowcum would also like to see my first story in print.
The abbot was helpless with rage and humiliation when I brought him out on a balcony and showed him the head of the state marching in and never a monk on hand to offer him welcome, and no stir of life or clang of joy-bell to glad his spirit. He took one look and then flew to rouse out his forces.
"Don't know what?" "Why, we has had a funeral here." "A funeral oh, dear! oh, dear! is the editor of The Joy-bell dead?" Here the red-haired boy burst into a peal of irrepressible laughter. "Dead! he ain't dead, but The Joy-bell is; we had her funeral last week." Poor Jasmine staggered against the wall, and her pretty face became ghastly white.
She was not long finding her way to Penelope Mansion, and Poppy opened the door for her, but greeted her in a sad voice, and looked decidedly depressed. "I have come about The Joy-bell" began Jasmine at once, in an excited voice. "It ought to have come my hundred copies, you know, and they haven't. I must go to inquire about it at once; and, Poppy, dear, could you come with me?"
Then Jasmine entered the house, and went into a little office where a red-haired boy was sitting on a high stool before a dirty-looking desk. The boy had a facetious and rather unpleasant face, and was certainly not remarkable for good manners. "I want to see the editor of The Joy-bell," asked Jasmine, in as firm a tone as she could command.
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