<%BANNER%>
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Frontispiece
 Three Drews and a Crew
 Rosebud - The Chateau D'Oiron
 Bob's missionary work
 Eyebright
 A run after sword-fish
 Helmets and violets
 Try
 Her fan and her furs
 On wheels
 One summer day
 Off for boy-land
 A queen
 Gretelein and her queer stove
 So wise
 Pirates of the Chinese coast
 A jolly fellowship
 Nora's oil-well
 The frolicsome fly
 "Buttered please," in Choctaw
 The story of a prince
 The broom giant
 Jack-in-the-pulpit
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover
 Spine


BLDN NEH CCLC ICDL UFSPEC



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mods:identifier NOTIS ocm0176
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(DLC) 2006255186; 55136171
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mods:languageTerm text English
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mods:physicalLocation Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in Special Collections, George A. Smathers Libraries
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date 1830-1905
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funding Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
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mods:title St. Nicholas.
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No. 11
11
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Literature for Children
St. Nicholas, vol. 6, no. 11
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D1 Front Cover
P1 Page
METS:fptr FILEID
P2
D2 Frontispiece
P3 Plate
D3 Three Drews and a Crew 3 Chapter
P4 705
P5 706
P6 707
P7 708 4
P8 709 5
P9 710
D4 Rosebud Poem
P10 711 (MULTIPLE)
P11 712
P12 713
P13 714
P14 715
D5 Bob's missionary work
P15 716
P16 717
P17 718
P18 719
P19 720
D6 Eyebright
P20 721
P21 722
P22 723
P23 724
P24 725
P25 726
D7 A run after sword-fish 7
P26 727
P27 728
D8 Helmets violets 8
P28 729
D9 Try 9
P29 730
D10 Her fan her furs 10
P30 731
P31 732
P32 733
P33 734
P34 735
D11 On wheels
P35 736
P36 737
P37 738
P38 739
D12 One summer day 12
P39 740
P40 741
P41 742
D13 Off for boy-land 13
P42 743
D14 queen 14
P43 744
D15 Gretelein queer stove 15
P44 745
P45 746
D16 So wise 16
P46 747
D17 Pirates the Chinese coast 17
P47 748
D18 jolly fellowship 18
P48 749
P49 750
P50 751
P51 752
P52 753
P53 754
P54 755
P55 756
D19 Nora's oil-well 19
P56 757
P57 758
P58 759
P59 760
P60 761
D20 The frolicsome fly 20
P61 762
P62 763
P63 764
D21 "Buttered please," in Choctaw 21
P64 765
D22 story prince 22
P65 766
P66 767
D23 broom giant 23
P67 768
P68 769
D24 Jack-in-the-pulpit
P69 770
P70 771
D25 letter-box 25
P71 772
P72 773
D26 riddle-box 26
P73 774
P74 775
P75 776
D27 27 Back
P77
P78
D28 28 Spine
P79
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St. Nicholas, vol. 6, no. 11
ALL VOLUMES CITATION SEARCH THUMBNAILS PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00077
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas, vol. 6, no. 11
Series Title: St. Nicholas.
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner,
Publication Date: -c1943.
 Subjects
Subjects / Keywords: Literature for Children
Genre: Children's literature
Periodicals
serial   ( sobekcm )
 Notes
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: notis - ocm0176
oclc - 7405657; (DLC)SF 89099153
oclc - (DLC) 2006255186; 55136171
System ID: UF00065513:00077

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Frontispiece
        Plate
    Three Drews and a Crew
        Page 705
        Page 706
        Page 707
        Page 708
        Page 709
        Page 710
    Rosebud - The Chateau D'Oiron
        Page 711 (MULTIPLE)
        Page 712
        Page 713
        Page 714
        Page 715
    Bob's missionary work
        Page 716
        Page 717
        Page 718
        Page 719
        Page 720
    Eyebright
        Page 721
        Page 722
        Page 723
        Page 724
        Page 725
        Page 726
    A run after sword-fish
        Page 727
        Page 728
    Helmets and violets
        Page 729
    Try
        Page 730
    Her fan and her furs
        Page 731
        Page 732
        Page 733
        Page 734
        Page 735
    On wheels
        Page 736
        Page 737
        Page 738
        Page 739
    One summer day
        Page 740
        Page 741
        Page 742
    Off for boy-land
        Page 743
    A queen
        Page 744
    Gretelein and her queer stove
        Page 745
        Page 746
    So wise
        Page 747
    Pirates of the Chinese coast
        Page 748
    A jolly fellowship
        Page 749
        Page 750
        Page 751
        Page 752
        Page 753
        Page 754
        Page 755
        Page 756
    Nora's oil-well
        Page 757
        Page 758
        Page 759
        Page 760
        Page 761
    The frolicsome fly
        Page 762
        Page 763
        Page 764
    "Buttered please," in Choctaw
        Page 765
    The story of a prince
        Page 766
        Page 767
    The broom giant
        Page 768
        Page 769
    Jack-in-the-pulpit
        Page 770
        Page 771
    The letter-box
        Page 772
        Page 773
    The riddle-box
        Page 774
        Page 775
        Page 776
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
    Spine
        Spine
Full Text









































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--'I


"OH, HOW DEEP!"


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ST. NICHOLAS.




SEPTEMBER, 1879.


[Copyright, 1879, by Scribner & Co.]





THREE DREWS AND A CI WW.

BY SARAH J. PRICHARD.


POOR Caleb Drew !
The neighbors from up above and from down
below, from "over here" and across there; in fact,
all the neighbors came to see him about it.
It, was the house he was building.
They, the neighbors, laughed at him, teased
him, sneered at his work, and remonstrated with
him; but, all the same, he went on with his
house.
It must be admitted that the derision of a neigh-
borhood many miles in extent, had an effect
upon Caleb: it caused him to regret that Noah
had not lived on until his time, so earnest was his
desire for the sympathy of that ancient and worthy
builder. In due time the house was finished; but
Caleb lived and died, and never finished wonder-
ing whether his work was that of a wise or of a
foolish man.
Drew's Folly," as the neighbors named it, was
a stone house on a river's bank, with a round and
very strong tower on its northern side. The tower
did not require any repairs during the builder's
life-time; in fact, there was little of it liable to go
to decay, only the rudest kind of a staircase wind-
ing around and around in the darkness up to a
platform near its top, which was lighted by one
little window. The sole entrance to this staircase
was from the second story of the house.
The tower was too dark to play in while the
daylight lasted, and, at night, not to be thought
of; so it came to pass that the young Drews of the
first and second generations left it alone, and the
VOL. VI.-48.


third generation seldom explored its dim height.
But now the children of the fourth generation were
about to venture an ascent. It was not for pleasure
that they were going, but because of a great and
sudden freshet in the Susquehanna River and in
every one of its tributaries.
The day before this venture, Mr. and Mrs. Drew
had left home to prepare for a coming celebration
of the birthday of the great-grandmother of the
children.
They had not driven more than twenty-five
miles from home, when the barometer went down
and the thermometer went up, both at a truly sur-
prising rate. The snows upon a thousand hills
began to melt, and million rills to trickle down
wherever they coula find a place to run, and they
all ran together down upon the solid, frozen crust
of the big, winding er. Then a billion or more
of raindrops fell over hills and into rills, and they
all got together at last on the broad, white, ice-
paved river.
Mr. and Mrs. Drew found themselves in the
midst of country roads deep with slush, and too far
away from home to return that night. Before the
next day dawned, a dozen little streams had swol-
len to impassability and burst from under their
bridges, and it was just impossible to return to
Drew's Folly while the freshet lasted.
Meanwhile, the Susquehanna was being brought
to life again by the multitude of warm little rills
flowing into her frozen bosom, and everybody up
and down the river's course was as busy as busy


VOL. VI.


No. II.







THREE DREWS AND A CREW.


could be, preparing for the sudden rise, and getting
things out of the way of the flood; and not a neigh-
bor thought, or knew, that the children were left
alone at the stone house, with their very aged
great-grandmother. And they, as already written,
were about to venture into the tower.
There were three of the Drews and a cousin,-
the cousin was Dinah Crew.
Dinah was thirteen, and she carried a tallow-
candle, whose orange-colored rays lit up the space
around her yellow hair. Dinah's hair took up far
more space than usual that night.
Caleb was twelve, and carried a tin lantern
with tiny slits here, there, and everywhere in the
tin, to let out the light of another candle. Dinah
and Caleb went on, side by side. Roy and Wif-
eight and six-followed them. Roy cautiously
held the very tip of the bottom of Dinah's dress
between his thumb and forefinger, ready to let go,
without discovery, at the shortest notice. Wif
longed to get hold of Caleb's jacket, only he
could n't, because his arm and the jacket were too
short.
The procession wound up to the platform, and
briefly surveyed the premises.
I think we can," said Dinah, her hair standing
out straighter than ever, as she peered for an
instant out of the little window.
"We must!" said Caleb.
I '11 leave my candle here," said Dinah.
You 'd better," said Caleb, and the short pro-
cession wound down the steps of the stair-way, and
emerged into the brightness and warmth of the
house.
The room they entered was a bedroom. Upon
the bed, or rather in it, somebody was lying. To
tell the number of things that had been accumu-
lated in that room from the first floor would be
simply impossible, for the three Drews and the
Crew had been busy since Monday in bringing up
whatever they could lay their hands on.
She, who was lying there unable to rise, was the
daughter of the original Caleb, by whom the house
had been built, and was the great-grandmother of
the children.
To think, that I should live a hundred years
through twice a hundred freshets, to be drowned
out at last!" sighed forth the poor old soul. The
children had passed through the room and were
beyond hearing. They were in mother's" room,
which adjoined grandmother's."
Here, Wif," said Dinah, handing a pillow to
that lad, "and, Roy, you carry a blanket. Caleb
and I will fetch the feather-bed."
Again the procession started. This time, Wif,
with his pillow and the lantern, went ahead, the
feather-bed, upborne by Dinah and Caleb, fol-


lowed, and the rear consisted of Roy and the
blanket.
Di-n-a-h!" said Grandmother, feebly, from
her bed, but the voice was completely lost in the
roar of everything going on about them.
Lo-rin-da's best feather-bed !" groaned the
same voice, as the tower-room door closed behind
the children.
"Mother would n't like it a bit!" exclaimed
Roy; and, in fact, the fine fifty-pound bed must
have shivered and fluttered to its innermost feather
at the indignity of being half-dragged through the
dust of the rough stair-way.
Roy, with only the blanket to carry, could push,
and so, after much toil, the unwieldy thing was
gotten to the platform, the blanket spread over it,
the pillow laid in place, and the tower again
deserted.
"Dinah!" Caleb was the speaker, and this
occurred at the moment the four children had
returned to Grandmother's room. Dinah, you
know when Father said we must not on any
account touch one of the lamps to take them down
and carry around, he did n't know this was com-
ing, and I think we ought to take the big lamp
and light it and put it before the window in the
tower."
So do I," responded Roy.
"It would be best to carry it up and light it up
there," answered Dinah.
Then, 't would be a light-house," concluded
Wif, after which the lamp was carried and lighted,
the little panes of the window were rubbed with a
newspaper to let out the rays across the waters,
and then, all in the same minute, the children
remembered that it was nearly nine of the clock,
and nobody had had a bit of supper,-
Nor poor Grandma a cup of tea! How good
and patient she is !" remembered Dinah.
"What 's that you 're aging to do?" ques-
tioned the aged woman, as Dinah was trying to
"fix" the tongs inside the stove, so that she could
boil water in a tin cup.
"We 're playing go to housekeeping under
difficulties," laughed Dinah, trying to balance the
tongs. I 'm going to make you some tea, and
it 's ever so much nicer than having a regular
cook-stove and tea-kettle, like everybody else.
Now I 've got it all right, but-Caleb Ca-leb !
where are you ?"
He 's a-looking after the calf," replied Wif,
putting his head inside the tower-room door;
"and he says- "
Never mind what he says. Let me out! said
Dinah.
"Bless me thought she, the instant she had
the door shut behind her, and saw the glimmer of


706


[SEPTEMBER,







THREE DREWS AND A CREW.


Caleb's lantern down the staircase, leading to the
ground floor. I do believe it is coming up now !"
"What 's that a-splashing so?" she shouted,
utterly forgetful of the anxiety to keep things quiet,
which sent her in such haste after Caleb.


speaking. The two children were standing upon
a space about five feet square at the foot of a stair-
case opening into the kitchen, and which was
raised from the floor of the room below by several
steps. A door shut in this stair-way at its foot.


.r.4


V

V


THE CHILDREN SURVEY THE PLATFORM.

It 's the old cow, Dinah, and she 's in the Standing thus, Dinah peered into the darkness.
water'most up to her head; and the table 's a-float- The gurgle of the black water as it rose was some-
ing against her, and she '11 drown,-and-what thing to make one 's heart stand still with fear.
shall we do ? All that she could see was the cow's head, with its
Dinah was by his side before he had finished white horns, wildly splashing the water to and fro







[SEPTEMBER,


THREE DREWS AND A CREW.


in frantic endeavors to break away. Caleb had
led the cow and her calf into the kitchen when the
water had risen to the foundations of the house;
not that he thought it would rise much higher,
but, since father and mother were both away, he
deemed it best to have everything as snug as pos-
sible while the freshet should last. Caleb was a
thoughtful boy, and when the water oozed into the
kitchen itself, he began to think it time to prepare
for anything that might happen; hence, the bed
up the tower, in readiness for Grandmother's
removal; although it was to be hoped that such
an emergency might not present itself.
The calf had been pulled up the staircase, and,
at that moment, was shut up in a closet.
What would you do, Dinah?" questioned
Caleb ; the water rises every minute. Must we
shut the door and let her drown? 0, Dinah I
can't bear to."
Can cows go upstairs? questioned Dinah.
"Course they can I" screamed little Wif from
above. "Did n't the cow jump over the moon
once?"
Wait a minute! laughed Dinah, nearly over-
turning Wif as she ran up, and, carrying him with
her, she entered the room where Grandmother was.
Going up to her, she said: Don't you be fright-
ened, Grandma, if you hear lots of noise; it's only
something Caleb and I are going to do."
"Oh mercy sakes alive!" groaned the feeble old
soul. "Don't go out-doors and get carried down
the river, don't."
Dinah bade Roy and Wif not to leave the room,
and went out, closing the door behind her.
Dear me what is she going to do ? R-o-y,
come here and tell me."
I '11 peep out and see, Grandma."
After looking, he ran to the bedside and
shouted :
They 're trying to pull the old cow upstairs.
They 've got her horns inside the door now."
The p-o-o-r critter !" exclaimed Grand-
mother.
And the calf 's shut up in the closet in the
tower-room. They got her up afore it was dark,"
informed Roy.
Tell 'em to put the calf at the top, and she '1
come up after it."
Roy went to give her order, and she moaned
on :
"If I 'd only gone afore I was a hundred,
George and Hannah would be here now to take
care of things, instead of a-being off a-getting
ready to celebrate a day that 'll never come now,
never."
Yes, 't will, Grandmother!" said Wif. "Birth-
days have to come, freshets or no freshets, and the


river '11 begin to go down, and it will go down as
fast as my blister did when mother pricked it."
By diligent coaxing and urging, the cow was
near the top of the stairs at the time Roy gave
Grandmother's order.
Take hold of the rope carefully," said Dinah
to Roy, and pull."
Roy's brown hands reached past her own and
laid hold on the rope, and with a few more words
of coaxing and a few more hauls, the cow was
safely landed and led along the passage and into
the vacant tower-room, in the closet of which the
calf was housed.
Then it was that Dinah recalled the place where
she had left the tongs poised, and the errand on
which she had left the room in such haste, and,
also, her own hunger.
"Caleb," she said, suddenly, "there is n't a
drop of water to make poor Grandma a cup of
tea; and then they all laughed at the absurd fact
that no one had thought, with all their getting, to
fetch a pail of water.
We might let down a pail from a window and
fill it," suggested Dinah.
Instantly, Caleb was overturning things in one
corner to get at a water-pail. When it was found,
and a rope to make fast to it, the four children
went into mother's room and Caleb cautiously
raised the heavy sash. In came the cold wind and
the colder breath from the great cakes of ice that
went surging past the stones of the house; for the
river had broken up. The sight was appalling!
One young head ventured out and another and
another, until all had had a glance at the wild
waste of whirling waters that surrounded Drew's
Folly on each and every side.
Wif burst into a flood of tears, and Roy said:
I think we 'd ought to be a-saying our prayers
'stead of getting supper to eat, only I am 'most
awful hungry."
Wif's tears were not quenched, nor was Roy's
little speech noticed, for Caleb had let the pail
down into the boiling, tumbling surge that rushed
by, not more than four feet below the window-
ledge. As the pail touched water, an immense
cake of ice struck it, and away went pail, rope
and ice, -,h1.., -..11 Caleb strove to hold on with such
a desperate clutch that the rope cut into his palms
as it was pulled through them.
The water is rising just awful now," said
Caleb, wringing his hands in pain.
It must be nearly up to the kitchen ceiling,"
said Dinah.
"Anyhow, water we must have," decided Dinah;
and whilst Caleb held his hands to endure the
pain better, she went to search for another pail.
Roy staid with Caleb, and Wif went to help Dinah.






THREE DREWS AND A CREW.


You shall have the tea soon, now, Grandma,
dear," Dinah stopped to say, and then began a
vigorous overturning of the utensils lying about
the room.
It was raining no longer, and through a rift in
the clouds the moon shone down just as Caleb
put his head out, and, looking up the river, saw a
mighty tree coming down on the flood.
It '11 come against the house, right up to this
window," he cried, and his first impulse was to
close the window. It was arrested by a sound
that no tempest ever uttered a note of. It was
a human cry, and it said:
"Help! Help!"
Hold on! hold on yelled Caleb out into the
rush and the roar, and then with a flash of motion
he seized the nearest thing to his hand and thrust
it forth, bending over the ledge to do so, at the very
instant Dinah rushed to his side. With the quick-
ness of thought, she fell upon her knees behind
him and threw her arms about his body, while Wif,
with a cry, seized one of his legs and held on with
all his strength, and Roy tried his utmost-hap-
pily, without success-to let the sash down on his
back, so determined was he not to lose him.
Down came the big tree, its branches struggling
in vain in the grasp of the waters, and its mighty
boughs shaken as no wind had ever smitten them.
There clung for life to the tree, a despairing, help-
less man,-despairing until he perceived that the
current would dash the tree full against the house.
The light of the moon gave to him a sight of the
open window, and from it outstretched, awaiting
his possible grasp, the friendly chair that Caleb
had seized. It was a strong, old-fashioned, hon-
estly wrought chair, that had been made by the
original Caleb Drew. The tree came on; for an
instant it ground against the masonry of the Folly,
then a crash of glass in a sash below was heard as
a limb went through it-a pause-and the tree
broke loose and went on. But in that chance, that
pause, that instant of delay, a hand grasped the
chair, another clutched the stone ledge, and the
man gained fast hold of the sill above.
Oh, that was a moment worth living for Child-
hands had helped to drag in an unknown man,
and found, when he was in, that he was the father
of six of those helping hands t
The joy of a moment like that moment will not
get into words. It bursts the bonds of language
and utters itself by eyes, and lips, and arms.
All that I can tell you that really happened with-
in the next few seconds, was, that a tall, fine-looking
man, in drenched garments, stood, like one bewil-
dered in a dream, with four children dancing,
screaming, hugging and kissing him; that he was
told that grandmother was all safe and well; that the


old cow was in the tower-room, and the calf was in
the closet, and mother's best bed was in the tower,
and that if the water came above the floor they
were all going to try together to lift grandma out
of bed and carry her up there ; that he was asked
how he came to get into the river and all about
mother, where she was, and how she was going to
get home, besides forty other questions,-after all
of which, he was informed that every single body
had n't had a mite of supper.
It was Wifwho first bethought himself to run
and tell grandmother the wonderful story of father's
arrival.
At the same moment, Dinah remembered the
fire, the red-hot tongs and the cup of tea that she
was to prepare.
It was an easy matter now to dip water from the
window, for the river was still rising. It was higher
at that moment than any man living had ever
known it to be--i...I:.i-. he by whom Drew's
Folly had been built, remembered a still higher
mark in a tall tree, that his grandmother had
assured him was a high-water mark in her time.
Hence the tower grew and had been waiting, a
hundred years, for its hour of usefulness.
As Dinah turned the boiling water over the tea,
she felt her feet getting damp. She looked to
learn the cause, and saw in the carpet wet spots
which grew in number and size as she gazed.
How thankfully glad she was at that minute that
her uncle was with them Dinah took off her
shoes, threw them on the tower stairs, and gave
the alarm in the next room, where the boys were
listening to the story of their father's efforts to get
near his threatened home. When he told of the
unsafe bridge he had attempted to cross at the very
moment it was carried away, their interest was so
great that they did not perceive that they, also, were
standing in wet places.
Dinah held her position by the stove until the
toast was made, notwithstanding the rising flood
about her feet. During this time, Mr. Drew and
the boys flew to and fro, putting things on the
topmost places that could be found; hurrying
eatables and bedding into the tower, adding, now
and then, a pitying word for the poor cow, who
grew restless again as she felt the cold flood about
her feet.
Everybody wondered how much longer the river
would continue to rise, and, Oh! dear, what
should we have done if father had not come!"
There was a foot of water through which, at the
last moment, grandmother was borne, in as many
wrappings as any mummy. She was carried aloft
by her grandson, laid down on the feather-bed and
kindly ministered to by her great-grandchildren,
who forgot their own discomforts in the fear that


709







[SEPTEMBER,


THREE DREWS AND A CREW.


she would never be able to reach the wonderful
"birthday."
It was twelve o'clock, at last,-just the midnight
hour,-when Caleb brought up the news that he'd
been holding a watch on the stairs and watching full
fifteen minutes, and the water had n't covered up
one more splinter in all that time, and that he
could hear the cow knocking her horns and the
calf crying, and he just guessed the







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to tell him all about it, and his old neighbors that
used to pester him so about it, they '11 be there
to hear it, too. George," she continued, after a
minute's enjoyment of her fancy, G-eor-ge!"
and her weak-blue eyes flashed a little.
"Here I am, Grandmother."
George," she said, if I was you, I 'd call this
place Drew's Wisdom hereafter."


"IT 'S THE OLD COW! SHE 'LL DROWN I OH, WHAT SHALL WE DO?"
It was pleasant to witness her rejoicing over this Hurrah for Drew's Wisdom!" shouted the
high flood in the Susquehanna. three Drews and the Crew who had participated in
It 's worth living a hundred years for," she the flood.
said, "to see justice done to father at last, and to How much noise you all do make!" said
have everybody know that the folly part belonged Grandmother. "I 'm getting old and tired. I
to them that named it and not to him. I wish he guess you'd better go away now, and let me have a
was here, now, to see it; but I shall soon be going little sleep."







THE CHATEAU D'OIRON.


ROSEBUD.

BY Lucy LARCOM.

0 LITTLE maid in your rosebud-bower,
Dreaming of growing old,
Wishing youth always would linger, a flower
Never in haste to unfold;
Lift from the shadow your sunshiny head,
Growing old is nothing to dread.

O little maid in the rose-tree shade,
See how its dry boughs shoot!
The green leaves fall and the blossoms fade;
But youth is a living root.
There are always buds in the old tree's heart,
Ready at beckon of Spring to start.

O little maid, there is joy to seek,-
Glory of earth and sky,-
When the rosebud-streak fades out of your cheek,
And the dewy gleam from your eye:
Deeper and wider must life take root;
Redder and higher must glow its fruit.

0 little maid, be never afraid
That youth from your heart will go:-
Reach forth unto heaven, through shower and shade!
We are always young, while we grow.
Breathe out in a blessing your happy breath !
For love keeps the spirit from age and death.






THE CHATEAU D'OIRON.

BY KATHERINE CAMERON.


MOST of the young readers of ST. NICHOLAS
will be clever enough to translate this pretty
French name into our own matter-of-fact English,
" The Castle of Goose-circle." It certainly loses,
by the change, the pleasant charm of romance
with which the French tongue often invests the
most prosaic realities.
As compensation for this, it gives what our
inquisitive Yankee nation-including the young
folk-imperatively demands, the "because" of
the matter. Early in the sixteenth century, a noble
French family, named Gouffier, built a chAteau on
a wide plain in Thouars. This plain was the resort
of the wild geese in their yearly following of the


summer, and the castle commanded a fine view of
their graceful, sweeping circles before :.i;i,...
This simple fact gave the name to the estate,
Oirond, or Goose-circle. The harsh final d was
dropped at length, and the word was softened into
its present form, Oiron.
The name of the princely home of the lords
named Gouffier would have been of small interest
to the world, to-day, but for one widowed lady who
passed a few summers in its elegant retirement,
more than three centuries ago. She had been the
wife of Artur Gouffier, tutor of Francis I., and
afterward Grand Master of France.
High in the favor and friendship of the king,







THE CHATEAU D'OIRON.


with wealth, rank, and every attainable luxury at
command, Lord Gouffier took for his motto, Hic
terminus hceret, or, Here the boundary is
fixed." The literal meaning of this legend is this:




ii
A1. P




















EWER, SEVEN INCHES HIGH, MADE BY THE LADY HELENE.
that having his proudest ambition fully satisfied in
his present position of power and influence, he
aspired to nothing beyond nor higher. It proclaims
an enviable condition of mind, so curiously rare as
to have been seldom repeated in the history of men.
The Lady H6lene of Hangest, his wife, was pos-
sessed of rare learning and accomplishments, and
well fitted by birth and training to do honor to
her exalted position.
That she was gifted with rare artistic skill, and
that she was a great favorite of the king, are
equally proven by a collection of crayon portraits
of the celebrated people of the time, which are
still to be seen. These are the work of the Lady
H6lene, and for many of them the young king
composed mottoes in verse, and on some they
are inscribed in the royal handwriting. From
the pomp and pageantry of the court, Lord
Gouffier was summoned by a mightier monarch,
Death, and the widowed lady retired from the gay
life of the palace to her Chateau d'Oiron. Here,
with her books, her cultured tastes and elegant
accomplishments, she passed the last years of her
life in the company of her son, Claude Gouffier,
and in the indulgence of her exquisitely refined
artistic fancies.
Lady Hel6ne then had in the service of her
household a librarian and secretary, one Jehan
Bernart, and a potter, Francois Cherpentier.


Why she should have chosen pottery as one of her
recreations, no one now can ever know ; but in
the end it proved a most graceful and charming
one. In this same land and time, while Palissy
starved his wife and little ones, and burned the
floors of his house as fuel for his frenzied experi-
ments, Fortune showered her richest, choicest gifts
upon the fair artist of Oiron. Fresh from the
luxurious surroundings of Fontainebleau, its sump-
tuous palace and stated gardens, familiar with
objects of beauty the rarest and most costly, includ-
ing the strange, rich oriental wares, she had not
only leisure to devote to art, but also high artistic
culture, the best models, with excellent assistants
and materials.
Her library was rich in the illuminated manu-
scripts and missals of medieval times, and Ber-
nart was a scholarly man whose tastes and ability
well fitted him to be her helper. His keen,
practiced eye found in the books and their rich
bindings those rare treasures of design, in brilliant
colors and graceful arabesques, quaint birds and



















-I-i








.- ---,




CANDLESTICK OF HENRI II. FAIENCE.
grotesque animals, that her marvelous, faultless
intuitions appropriated so daintily.
We know that the potter, Cherpentier, did his
work with equal skill and nicety; and, as proof


[SEPTEMBER,






THE CHATEAU D'OIRON.


that the Lady H616ne recognized this faithful ser-
vice, there still exists a letter recording her gift to
him of a house and the orchard which surrounds
the small pottery.
The pure, delicate fancies of the lady were the
inspiration of the work, Bernart was the draughts-
man, and Cherpentier the potter, and the trio
worked with but a single thought. Those best
versed in the art of pottery tell us that the dainty
wares of Oiron received their last and most deli-
cate ornamentation only from the jeweled fingers
of the Lady H6lene. Most of the articles are
small, and each is the only expression of some
pretty caprice, a flitting fancy of the fair artist.
No two are alike of all that remain to us.
To this rare and happy combination of circum-
stance and choice, the ceramic world is indebted
for the priceless Henry II. Faience, as it has been
called, "faience" being a French word signifying
crockery. And to this dainty employment of her
leisure, the widowed lady of Gouffier is indebted
for her name and fame in our day.
The ceramic art is the enduring history of a
nation's progress. A single work of beauty is the
monument of the workman. Made of the clay of
the earth it cannot corrode or rust or decay;
almost imperishable, unless shattered by a blow,
it keeps its own records through the ages and tells
its strange, fascinating story to the eyes that care
to read and are versed in its unwritten language.
For hundreds of years, there were found in Euro-
pean collections of Faience, mysterious single
pieces of exquisite enameled pottery,-rarely more


and the ornamentation of monograms, symbols
crests and devices, was so involved, that collectors
and connoisseurs were utterly at a loss. From time





I ,













T..







EWER, MADE AT THE CHATEAU D'OIRON.
to time new pieces came to light and fresh investiga-
tions were started. The decorations were critically
analyzed. There were the arms of France-the


THE SALT-CELLAR FOUND AT NARFORD HALL.

than one, which were altogether unlike the products Fleur de Lis and the monogram of Christ; the
of any known manufacture, and singularly lovely. Salamander of Francis I; the monogram of the
The designs were so rich and varied, and indicated Dauphin, the Dolphins interwoven with the three
ah individual taste of such rare intellectual culture, Crescents and the initial letter H ; the mono-


--- --- -- -- --- -- -






[SEPTEMBER,


THE CHATEAU D'OIRON.


gram of Henry II, the letter H combined with
the double C for his queen Catherine de Medici;
and a pertinacious "G continually recurring,
which refused to be accounted for. These marks
settled the time of manufacture,-begun under the
reign of Francis I. and continued under that of
Henry II. A distinguished French writer, M.
Benjamin Fillon, first traced the Faience d'Oiron to
its birthplace in Touraine. He visited Oiron, fully
persuaded that here the secret would be revealed.
As he expected, proof came ready to his hand and
the discovery was made.
The problem of the intricate ornamentation was
quickly solved. Even the mysterious "G" was
found to be the simple initial of the princely house
of Gouffier. The repeated C stood for Claude,
the heir to the titles and estate, as well as for the
famous Catherine de Medici.
The armorial bearings, shields, armor and her-
aldic devices gracefully resolved themselves into
the crests and ciphers of the noble friends and
companions in arms of Lord Artur Gouffier and
of the faithful retainers of his house. These ele-
gant souvenirs of the favor of the Lady Hlene
were held doubly precious in their eyes, as the
inspirations of her artistic fancy and the work of
her fair hands.
Could any guerdon from lady to knight have
been at once so gracious and so graceful? Parted
with only at death, but at last surviving alike the
beauty and friendships and genius that created
them, they have been scattered by the chances and
changes of nearly four hundred years, till in our
day there are but fifty-three pieces known to exist.
England has twenty-six, France twenty-six, and
Russia one.
So careful has been the study of this precious
ware, that experts in the art detect the period of
the death of the lady in 1537 by the change in the
decoration. Her son Claude inherited her tastes
and continued the pottery; but under his direction
came an overloading and profusion of ornament,
widely differing from the pure and perfect taste
of his mother.
Bernart and Cherpentier remained in his em-
ploy; the individual taste of the librarian is revealed
by the ornaments taken from books. In the curve
of a salt-cellar appears a pelican, the exact trade-
mark of a book-seller of a neighboring town. On
another is seen the quaint head of an old woman,
taken evidently from the illustrations of the library.
After a certain time, these cunning experts are
aware of the loss of both Bernart and Cherpentier,
although the work goes on. The talismanic G "
is retained so long as the ware is made. Even
long after cruel wars of invasion had driven the
Gouffiers from their home, and the little pottery


had passed into the hands of a conquering race as
the spoils of war, the coarse, rough ware with its
Palissy-colored enamels retained the curling, curi-
ous "G" on every piece. This was at least a
graceful recognition of the memory of the lady and
her son, but with the jasper enamel and the raised
figures of dolphins, lizards and even the wild geese
of Oiron, its first pure and delicate beauty died.
In the chateau itself there is still in its place,
flooring the private chapel, a pavement of tiles
drawn by Bernart and made of the tine clay of
Oiron, and identical in colors and device with the
work of the Lady Hel6ne. If proof were wanting
of this pretty idyl of Oiron, these ivory-colored tiles
with delicate blue arabesques, and violet letters of
the Gouffier legend, "Hie terminus heuret," still
silently speak. The monograms, arms and em-
blazonments, in brilliant colors, are of the Gouffier
and Hangest-Genlis families. These truthful and
imperishable records beautifully perpetuate, the
memories of the noble Lord Artur Gouffier, his
gifted widow and their son Claude.
But this story may be waxing wearisome to the
young folk who are are not yet cera-maniacs, and
with a few words it is done.
The colors of the Faience d'Oiron, in several of
the most beautiful specimens, present only an ex-
quisite combination of the black and white of the
lady's widowhood. Among those finished by her
own hand and stamped by her unerring taste, the
only other colors are designs in dark brown or
carnation red, incrusted in the fine white clay
which a thin glaze changed to a warm ivory tint.
All of the delicate interlaced ornamentation was
engraved in the soft paste by some fine instrument
and then filled with the colored clay and carefully
polished. The pieces consist of small ewers, can-
dlesticks, salt-cellars, cups and a drinking-vessel
peculiar to France, called a Biberon." The
largest specimen known is but fourteen inches
high, and the others not more than seven. Tiny
as they are, they are literally covered with an inter-
lacing of decoration so fine and fairy-like, as to
seem almost impossible to any but the deft and
delicate fingers of a lady.
Faience d'Oiron has always been valued for its
rarity and artistic beauty and not merely for the
mystery in which it was shrouded. In Narford
Hall in England, when the present owner came into
possession, there was found under a high bed in a
garret a wicker basket carefully packed with
blankets. This was found to preserve three beau-
tiful pieces of Oiron Faience,-a biberon or drink-
ing vessel, salt-cellar and candlestick. They are
supposed to have been brought over by a certain
Sir Andrew Fountaine, one hundred and twenty
years ago.


714







A SOUL FOR MUSIC.


The careful housekeeper, who hid them away,
must have learned to consider them of.special
value even among the Narford collection of rare
art treasures.
Since the veil of mystery has been withdrawn
and the pretty picture of the castle and its lady
stands out on the perspective of history, the mar-
ket value of the Faience continually increases.
Fabulous prices are paid by collectors for the tiny
pieces. Ten years ago, $5,500 was paid for a ewer
seven inches high; a small cup brought $300;
another ewer cost $450, and a salt-cellar com-
manded $105. Each year as the ware grows older
and rarer by accidents which destroy what no
money can replace, these prices will increase pro-
portionally.
In the court of Daniels in the i. i.;-i. depart-
ment of our Centennial Exposition, was a fine


collection of porcelain and Faience. In a case
containing a profusion of wares the most brilliant
in color and imposing in size, there were placed,
nearest the glass, three tiny pieces of pale yellow
ware with a delicate tracery of cardinal red. A
card behind them named them Henry II. Fai-
ence." Candlestick, salt-cellar and ewer, they
were an exact reproduction of some of the most
daintily beautiful specimens of the handiwork of
the Lady H16lne.
The few who knew the pretty romance paused
while the charm of the old time wove its spell
around them. The many, among whom may
have been my bright young readers, passed on
and probably must wait until they shall visit
Europe, for a sight of the delicate fancies wrought
into form by the dainty fingers of the Lady Helene,
more than three hundred years ago.


i ..-_ -----I-


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~~-.-A.!- ~ --
Bf .


....
-I-


I,
II L 9,LC


A SOUL FOR MUSIC.


_.L-;;~----------~-----~-rr~ ~--- -- ..~__I


715







BOB'S MISSIONARY WORK.


7


~,A


i'-----.:


BOB'S MISSIONARY WORK.

BY LOUISE STOCKTON.


I AM coming over to your house to-night,"
said Joe Hillside.
Are you?" and Bob Horton looked a little
more surprised than was polite.
"I said I was," replied Joe, a little warmly;
"your father asked me. He said he had some
good trout-flies."
So he has," said Bob; "old Mr. Newton
made them. Did he promise you some? He
never gave any to me."
At this Joe smiled. Bob was a very nice boy,
and no one ever said he was stupid; but he cer-
tainly was no fisherman. As for Joe, he knew
every stream and every kind of fish for miles
around, and nothing could exceed the industry
with which he followed his favorite pursuit, except-
ing the perseverance he displayed in getting time
for it, by staying away from school. As a fisher-
man, Joe was not easily beaten, and he certainly
was a champion truant. His mother used to cook
all the fish he brought home, but she never forgot
to scold him for catching them.
I mean to fish a great deal this vacation," said
Bob; the first money I get is to go for a rod.
Our Jim has a splendid one. It shuts up like a
cane; but he don't lend it."
That kind of a rod is well enough for fancy
fishing, picnics, girls and all that," said Joe, "but
any fellow who knows how to fish as a regular
thing, looks out for his hooks and his bait. He


don't bother over patent rods and big straw hats.
Why, one of the very best day's work I ever did
was with a crooked pin and some twine. It is n't
the rod that catches the fish, it is the fellow at the
other end of it."
Bob laughed.
That sounds just like Uncle Robert. Look
here, Joe," and he looked quickly, and half doubt-
fully, at his companion, "I have a great mind to
tell you something."
Tell away," said Joe.
Well," said Bob, sitting down on a peach-
basket that was turned upside down, while Joe
made himself comfortable on the grass. They
were in Mrs. Hillside's orchard at the time.
You know my Uncle Robert?"
Joe nodded. "He is a fisherman, something
like !" he said.
Well, I wrote him a letter not long ago. You
see, ever since he has been out among the Indians,
Jim and I have written every other week, and he
writes splendid letters to us, telling all about what
he does, and about Red Moon and Early Blanket,
two of the chiefs, and I 've made up my mind to
be a missionary."
At this Joe again laughed. Bob's father was a
clergyman, and that was right enough, but it was
quite another thing to fancy Bob one.
"You need not laugh," said Bob, "missionaries
are not born grown-up. Anyhow, I wrote to


UP and down twixtt earth and sky,
See-saw Puck and butterfly.
Now, if one should chance to cough,
Would n't the other tumble off?


[SEPTEMBER,


K


I,, / -

(.!

. d" .'


\







BOB'S MISSION


Uncle Rob about it, and he says-well, here 's his
letter," and Bob took it from his pocket and gave
it to Joe.
Camp Keene, June 13, 18-.
DEAR Bon: I would have answered your letter before now, but I
have been over to Blue Peter's camp, and just got back. I have not
time to tell you about my visit, but I will in my next Just now I
want to answer your letter.
So you want to be a missionary ? Very well. I hope you will
come out here, for I need some young fellows to help, and if Jim and
you, and that boy I once went fishing with, would join me after a
while, I would be glad

That is what made me think of telling you,"
said Bob, "his mentioning you, you know !"
Joe nodded and read on:

But there is one thing I want you to be sure of before you come,
and that is, that you understand what you have to do, and mean to
dolt. I don't want any "Pliables" here. When that young man -
in Pilgrim's Progress" set out to journey with Christian, he meant
to go to the Celestial City. The trouble was that he did not bargain
for quagmires. Nothing was said about them, and when he got into
the Slough of Despond, he got out as promptly as possible, and went
home. Now, if you mean to be disheartened by quagmires, if you
mean to give up when things go wrong, and-above all-if you can-
not do missionary work at home, don't come out here. Indians are
very much like other people, even if they do live in wigwams, and
will trade blankets for whisky, and if you do not care to work for
the people around you, don't, dear Bob, come out to us, you nor
Jim, nor the boy I went fishing with.-Your affectionate
UNCLE ROB.

"Pretty plain talking that," said Joe, handing
the letter back. Did you show it to your
father ?"
"No," replied Bob. "I am not ready to talk
about it yet. Do you know, I think there is very
good sense in that letter ? "
Of course there is," said Joe. "It 's so in
everything. If you make up your mind to do a
certain thing, you have got to make up your mind
to go through with it. I 've seen fellows who
made the greatest fuss about going fishing, and
who would get up before daylight to dig worms,
and buy hooks and all that, and then if the fish
did n't bite like mosquitos, they would say it
was n't any fun, and they 'd go off to something
else."
Bob laughed.
Do you know, Joe, Papa said something like
that about you He said you were persevering
enough, for if you were not you could n't be such
a fisherman, and you were not lazy, so he would
like to know why you did n't go to school."
I don't want to," said Joe, coloring. I '11
know enough If I thought your father meant
to lecture me, I would n't go to your house to-
night."
"Oh, he wont!" said Bob, quickly. "He is
n't that sort of a man. He would n't ask you
to come after trout-flies and then lecture you If
he meant to scold, he 'd say so, and you 'd have to
face the music. But see here, about this mission-
ary business."
Well ?" said Joe.


NARY WORK. 717


You can't tell whether you really like a thirg
until you try it."
That's so," granted Joe.
Well, my father often talks of the people on
the flats. You know how poor and dirty they are?
The children don't go to school, and it 's just
horrid! It can't be worse among the Indians than
it is there. They can't read, not one half of them,
and they are lazy and dirty. Suppose we go over
there and see if we really would like to be mission-
aries ?"
"Be missionaries !" exclaimed Joe. "I don't
want to be a missionary "
How do you know you don't," retorted Bob.
You never tried You see, Joe, I can't ask Jim,
he is going to be a civil engineer, and Uncle Rob
did n't mention any one but us three."
"I don't know," said Joe, rather doubtfully. I
like your Uncle Rob better than any one I know,
-any man I mean,-and I suppose I will have to
have a business."
"And a missionary, you know," interrupted
Bob, "has to be out-of-doors; he is n't cooped
up in an office or store, and often he must fish or
hunt if he wants anything to eat. That is, if he is
in a very wild place."
Oh, we would go to a wild place," said Joe.
"I would n't agree, if we did n't! When shall we
begin ? Will we have to read the Bible to them ?
-the people on the flats, I mean."
"Not right away," said Bob. "We could do
that after a while, when we got used to them. I
tell you what my father said. He said that if they
could be taught to be cleaner, there would be some
hope for them. They are too dirty to care for
anything, not even to send their children to
school. Of course, he did n't mean it for us, but
we could start on that."
1 'm agreed," said Joe. "Let 's go the first
thing to-morrow morning. It is too late now."
I have to go to school, you know," Bob said,
slowly, "but we might go as soon as school is
out."
I did n't mean to go to school to-morrow,-
not if your father gave me the flies. However, I
suppose he would n't like me to go fishing with
them in school hours. I tell you what I will do, I
will go to school, and we will be ready to start the
moment it is over. But I say, Bob, you are not
going to tell the boys ?"
Bob laughed.
You must think I am a simpleton he said.

As Joe that evening walked home with the trout-
flies in his pocket, he was in a very good humor.
There had not been a word said about going to
school, or about staying away, but there had been







BOB'S MISSIONARY WORK.


plenty of talk about fishing, and Mr. Horton had
told him how salmon were speared. Then there
was something said of stones, and Jim, who was
a good fellow, even if he was a dandy, had brought
out a lot he had gathered in the neighborhood.
None of them were new to Joe, for he had often
noticed them, but he had never known they were
part of the history of the world, as Mr. Horton
then explained. There would be some sense in
going to school, Joe thought, if they taught such
things instead of stuff about dead kings and for-
gotten wars.
As for this missionary business, Bob had said
no more about it-he had no chance; but Joe was
willing to go over and see what was to be done. It
would n't do any harm, and the Hortons were
pleasant people.
And, as it sometimes happens, it was not so
very bad the next day. Of course, Joe did not
know his lessons, not even where they were, but
he got up early and went to Tom Gardiner's with
his books, and he soon learned them, and so went
to school with a confidence not common to him.
"But see here, Bob," he said as soon as school
was over, and they walked off together toward the
flats, what are you going to do ? You said you
meant to teach the flatters to be cleaner. Now I
think that is nonsense. It is a woman's work, that
sort of thing What would they think of a couple
of fellows like us telling them they ought to scrub
their floors, and that they must not keep their
bread in the corner with their boots ? "
I don't know," said Bob, with a laugh. But
don't you see that when Uncle Rob as much as
says I don't know what I am talking about, when
I say I mean to be a missionary, I am bound to
prove I do. I don't know any more than the man
in the moon what we can do, but I suppose if we
went among the Indians, we would have to begin
somewhere."
We can look about, anyhow," replied Joe.
" But I want you to understand, Bob Horton, that
I have n't said that I mean to be a missionary."
And Joe at once made himself a willow switch
and so relieved his feelings.
The flats" certainly looked as if some one
ought to clean them up. The houses were old,
tumble-down and forlorn looking. The fences
were half down, and the pigs and the children
wandered as they pleased.
"The first thing," said Joe, "is to rebuild."
"The first thing," said Bob, "is to walk around
them."
So they at once began their task of inspection.
It was dirty enough, everywhere, to need clean-
ing; and better missionary ground, Bob declared,
was not to be found anywhere.


It ought to be a Baptist mission, then," said
Joe, "and begin by immersing every one of those
children."
The dirtiest, and yet the best-looking, house was
that of an old colored woman, Aunt. Madison.
The steps to her house were broken, the fence
half down, the ashes lay in a heap under the front
window; but in the yard there was a great rose-
bush full of bloom, and a red geranium, gay with
immense heads of flowers, grew close to the ash-
pile. Inside the door, Aunt Madison, big, black
and jolly, sat paring potatoes.
"Look here, Aunt Madison," said Bob, promptly
beginning his labors, why don't you take those
ashes away ?"
Lor', child, how you skeered me!" said the
old woman, turning her head. How's your Ma
and Pa ? "
"Very well," replied Bob. "But why don't
you clear those ashes away ?"
Bless your heart, I tell Sam about them every
day! By rights they ought n't to be there. But
I put them out the winder last winter. I had the
rheumatism too bad to go to the pile. Sam said
he 'd take them away. He 's awful good about
promising. "
"You tell him I said to clear them up. He
ought to be ashamed to have such a dirty place.
And why don't he mend these steps ? "
Lors help you, I don't know!" said Aunt
Madison. I aspectt I '11 break my neck on them
yet."
They don't need much," said Joe, looking
closely at them. If you '11 give me a hammer
and some nails, I'll do it now."
The old woman got up and began to turn out a
table-drawer.
I dunno," she said, "but I had some nails.
Oh, here they are I reckon you can straighten
them up. I have n't any hammer. Sam lost it,
but you can use a flat-iron. I do."
I think that is likely," said Joe. The car-
penter work about this place looks as if it had been
done with flat-irons and jack-knives. Hand it over."
While Joe was hammering away and vainly
trying to work the flat-iron into the corners, Bob
considered.
See here, Aunt Madison," he finally said, "if
you '11 make Sam clear those ashes away, I '11 give
him a white peony to put there. You would like
that?"
So I would," she replied. But he 's dread-
ful busy just now. He 's cutting grass for Hol-
combe's."
He had better come home and pile the wood,"
said Bob. It ought to be under the shed. Has
it been out there all winter ?"


[SEPTEMBER,







BOB'S MISSION


"Mostly," said Aunt Madison. "You see, he
just emptied the cart there. He meant to take it
in. I'll speak to him about it."
By this time, Joe had finished his job, and
returning the flat-iron, the two boys went away to
a group of trees not far off, and sitting down on a
log, considered the situation. In the first place, it
was clear that it would not answer to rely on either
Sam or his mother to clear up. They did not
mind the dirt, but they would mind the trouble.
"And yet," said Bob, "when Aunt Madison
lived at our house she kept things in order. She
would have scolded enough if there had been ashes
under our front window."
I tell you what we '11 do," exclaimed Joe.
We 'li make a model! We 'll clean up this
old rattle-trap, and we wont bother about the
others. We will put a really clean house here,
and then, perhaps, the other people will see how
awfully dirty their places are."
This was such a brilliant idea that it needed no
reply, and the boys at once arose and walked back
to the house.
The fence will have to be mended," said Bob.
"And whitewashed," added Joe, "and the
ashes must be cleared away, the wood piled, and
as for the house -- "
Those old corn-stalks ought to come up," said
Bob; "and I know the broken cups and old tins
would fill a wheelbarrow."
"What you talking about?" said Aunt Madi-
son, coming to the door with the steaming tea-
kettle in her hand. You 'd better be off home
to learn your lessons. Your Pa 's very particular,
Master Bob."
"Oh, my lessons are all right," said Bob.
"How would you like to have your place cleaned
up, Aunt Madison? Sam wont do it."
No more he wont," and she put the kettle
down on a chair. "I 'd like it mightily. I have
been meaning' to begin every day, but somehow
I don't. Lor', Master Joe, you can't hang that
gate! "
Joe made no reply, but he did hang the gate,
and then, taking off their coats, the two boys
piled the wood and pulled up the corn-stalks. The
ashes they concluded to hire some one to take
away, as the work was not good for their clothes.
Of course, a scheme of so much importance had
to be submitted to Mr. Horton. After he had
listened to Bob, he sent for Joe and listened to
him. Then he gave them ten cents to buy lime,
told them not to neglect their lessons, and to be
sure not to do their work badly.
By Friday night, the whole school was aware
that Bob Horton and Joe Hillside were down at
the flats whitewashing, and that Tom Gardiner


NARY WORK. 719


had taken his box of tools over, and had been
working in Aunt Madison's kitchen; and so, early
Saturday morning, a large and self-appointed dele-
gation went over to see what it all meant. As for
the whitewashing, the story about it was true, for
there stood fences and shed dazzling white to tes-
tify to it; and, as for Tom, he was mending the
pump-handle. In the kitchen, Aunt Madison was
grumbling. It was all very well when the work
was out-of-doors, but to come into the house and
turn everything out of the dresser so as to mend
the shelf, was a little too much !
The stool kep' it up very well," she said.
There war n't any use in such a fuss."
When Bob mentioned that the stool kept the
door from closing, she said that made no differ-
ence, the button was off anyhow. And so -she
scolded and Bob hammered, and then she im-
proved the time by- taking the eggs out of her
tea-caddy and putting the tea into their place.
Outside, the boys stood and looked on, making
their own remarks, while the children of the neigh-
borhood, who had been mounted as a guard ever
since the work began, gave much information
about the progress of affairs, and about popular
opinion on the subject.
Then Bob came to the door, hammer in hand,
and he made a speech. He asked the boys if they
thought the flats a clean or pretty place, and they
at once said they did not. Then he said that they
had determined that there should be one decent
place there, and that should be Aunt Madison's !
Here this lady remarked that they did n't know
nothing of whitewashing, for them fences would
scale, sure." To this, Bob made no reply, but he
went on with his speech. He said nothing of the
missionary effect the work was to have upon the
neighborhood, for Joe and he had agreed that it
would be best not to frighten the people, but to let
the contrast itself incite them to better things. At
first the boys laughed at all he said, but he stood
his ground, and Joe, who was planting six-weeks
beans, had many directions concerning the proper
way to do it. Then Harry Wilson got the rake
and began to clean the grass, and then-came the
invasion The spirit of industry seized the whole
crowd. One boy wheeled away a pile of bricks
and pitched them into the road, and then another,
seeing how improper that was, gathered them
up again and piled them behind a tree. Some
swarmed into the kitchen; one examined the pot-
closet, another proposed that the room should be
whitewashed, and another maintained it would be
better to paper it with illustrated newspapers, as
then Aunt Madison would have something to look
at. Bob scolded, Joe was busy watching his seeds
and keeping his beds from being twice planted,







BOB'S MISSIONARY WORK.


while Tom climbed a tree with his tool-box in his
hand. In the midst of it all, Aunt Madison arose,
she took down her bonnet, and went to see Mr.
Horton !
When this gentleman in hot haste arrived upon
the scene of action, the missionary work was at
fever heat. He said very little; but Sam Winters,
who was busy sorting the rag-bag, found himself
gently lifted ,up and put out on the steps, while
Bob, who was almost frantic, because of the multi-
tude of missionaries, was sent upstairs to calm him-
self.
Then Mr. Horton stood on the steps, and he
made a speech, and all the boys listened, Bob with
his head out of the upper window. It was a short


revealed that one of the boys insisted ought to go
to the bonfire. But to these arguments Mr. Hor-
ton was deaf. The rags and old shoes were the
property of Aunt Madison, and he insisted that
they should be returned to their hiding-places, and
that they were not to be stuffed into them, either.
It took some time, and much more talk, to
accomplish all this; but, when it was done, the
boys looked on their work with satisfaction. The
grounds were clean and neat. The vegetable beds
were fresh and brown in newly raked soil, the
fences were white, the wood was neatly piled, and
where the ash-heap had stood, a rose-bush drooped
its head; but that would all come right after a
rain, Joe cheerfully remarked.


- ''ii'' [';, -


WORKING IN AUNT MADISON'S KITCHEN.


speech. He asked who was at work in the house?
Out of the very many who answered, he chose two,
and set them to restoring things to their places
again. The others he formed into two companies,
and one of them cleared up the road, while the
others carried the rubbish away and burned it.
The garden he put into the charge of Joe and
Harry Wilson; Bob was called down, Sam Win-
ters was sent to the parsonage to tell Mrs. Horton
to keep Aunt Madison, and then the work of
reconstruction began.
The first difference of opinion arose upon the
question of rubbish. In the wild ransacking of
closets and drawers, all sorts of things had been


In the house, there was order and a systematic
arrangement of chairs and tables. Then the boys
proposed escorting Aunt Madison home, but Mr.
Horton sent them to play ball, and he undertook
to bring the owner back.
When Aunt Madison saw the yard, she frowned,
but she also smiled. In her prophetic soul she felt
that those fresh beds meant beans and turnips,
perhaps late corn.
But when she ascended the now firm steps, and
looked into her house, then she did not smile.
The beautiful order in which her chairs and
tables were arranged by the wall had no charm for
her, and she at once jerked her rocker out and


[SEPTEMBER,


720







EYEBRIGHT.


planted it in its proper place by the stove. Then she
opened her table drawer, but before she could say
a word, Mr. Horton laid a dollar on the table, and
fled. He had done his best to restore the house to
its original condition, but he had not the courage
to hear her comments.
The next day some of the boys walked past the
flats, and they would have liked to stop and ad-
mire their work, but Aunt Madison came to the
window, and for some unexplained reason they
walked on.
Bob was seriously discouraged, but he wrote the
whole story to his uncle, and received the following
reply:
Camp Keene, July ist.
DEAR BOB: I like your energy; keep on, all of you, but be care-
ful how you do it.-Yours always, UNCLE ROB.

So, they kept on, and, after a while, there
were some excellent results to their missionary
labors. But these results were not altogether what
they had expected.
To be sure, Aunt Madison's house and yard
were very different places from what they used to
be. The old woman seemed to take a certain
pride in having a better-looking establishment
than her neighbors, but although she lived to be
very, very old indeed, whenever things went
wrong, or she missed any of her personal property,
she always blamed it on them boys."


The other "flatters" were somewhat stirred up
by the improved appearance of Aunt Madison's
premises, and they cleaned up, a little, and
whitewashed, here and there, but the improvement
was not great. They were still flatters," and the
boys saw that years of work, as well as some
missionaries old enough to command more re-
spect than they received from these poor people,
would be necessary to convert them from their
careless, shiftless ways.
But, as was said before, there were excellent
results to the work, and these were seen in the
boys themselves, especially in Joe. So, Bob had
really been a missionary to Joe, who, though not
an Indian, was a very good subject for a boy-
missionary to work upon.
Joe now went to school quite regularly. He
had not meant to, but every day there was some-
thing to be done, or talked about, and at last he
fell quite into the habit of going, and when the
geology class was started by Mr. Horton, he
would not have missed it for all the fishes in the
sea.
And yet, Bob always thought he had failed, for,
although he was glad to see the great improve-
ment in Joe, he did not count that into his mis-
sionary work.
But other people counted it in, especially Uncle
Rob, when he heard of it.


EYEBRIGHT.

BY SUSAN COOLIDGE.


CHAPTER X.
A STORM ON THE COAST.

SUMMERS are short in Maine; still the autumn
that year seemed in no haste to begin its work.
September came and went, bringing only trifling
frosts, and the equinoctial week passed without a
storm. In its place appeared an odd yellow mist,
which wrapped the world in its folds and made the
most familiar objects look strange and unnatural.
Not a fog,-it was not dense enough for that. It
seemed more like air made visible, thickened just
a little, and tinted with color, but common air still,
warm, thin and quiet. The wind blew softly for
many days; there was a general hush over land
and sea, and the sun blinked through the golden
haze like a bigger and hotter moon.
This strange atmosphere lasted so long that
people grew accustomed and ceased to wonder at
it. Some of the old sailors shook their heads and
VOL. VI.-49.


said it would end with a gale; but old sailors are
fond of prophesying gales, and nobody was fright-
ened by the prediction, or saw any reason for being
so, as long as the weather remained thus warm
and perfectly calm.
The little steamer from Malachi to Portland
made her last trip for the season on the 30th of
September; and the day before, Mr. Bright, who
had some potatoes to ship to market, went over
with them to Malachi, in a small sail-boat belong-
ing to Captain Jim, Mr. Downs' brother's son.
They were not to return till next day, so it was
arranged that Eyebright should spend the night
with Mrs. Downs, as Papa did not like to leave
her alone on the island. She went with him as far
as the village, and kissed him for good-bye on the
dock, when the little cargo was all on board and
Captain Jim just ready to push off.
I shall go home early to-morrow, and make
some egg-toast and some frizzled beef for your sup-






[SEPTEMBER,


EYEBRIGHT.


per, Papa, so mind you don't stop to tea with Mrs.
Downs," were her last words.
All right-I wont," said her father; and Cap-
tain Jim laughed and said:
"You 'd better not put the frying-pan on till
you see us a-coming, for with this light wind


for she saw a strange sight. One side of the
heavens was still thick with the yellow haze, but
toward the sea a bank of black clouds was whirling
rapidly up from the horizon. It had nearly reached
the zenith, and had already hidden the sun and
turned the afternoon into temporary twilight. The


EYEBRIGHT IN HER BOAT.
G V


there 's no knowing when we '11 get over, and the
frizzle might be sp'iled."
Then the sail flapped and filled and off they
went over the yellow sea. Eyebright watched till
the boat passed behind the island, and out of sight;
then she walked up the road to the Downs's, saying
to herself:
"What funny weather I never saw anything
like it. It is n't a bit like last September."
Next morning showed the same sultry mist, a
little thicker if lin; .. Eyebright stayed with
Mrs. Downs till after dinner, helped in the
weekly baking, hemmed two crash towels, told
Benny a story, and set out for home a little after
four, carrying a blue-berry pie in a basket for
Papa's supper. As she toiled over the sand of the
causeway and up the steep path, she was conscious
of a singular heaviness in the air, and it struck her
that the sea was making a sound such as she had
never heard before,-a sortof odd shuddering moan,
as if some great creature was in pain a long way
out from shore. The water looked glassy calm,
and there did not seem to be much wind, which
made the sound even stranger and more startling.
But she forgot about the sound when she reached
the house, for there was a great deal to do and not
much time to do it in, for Captain Jim expected
to get back by six o'clock or soon after. What with
sweeping and dusting and fire-making, an hour
passed rapidly, when suddenly a dusky darkness
settled over the house, and at the same moment
a blast of wind blew the door open with a bang.
Oh dear, there is goifig to be a thunder-
storm," thought Eyebright. She was afraid of
thunder and lightning and did not like the idea at
all.
Going to the door to shut it, she stopped short,


sea was glassy smooth near the shore-as smooth
as oil; but farther out, the waves had begun to toss
and tumble, and the moaning sound was become
a deep hollow boom, which might easily be imag-
ined the very voice of the approaching storm.
Filled with anxiety, Eyebright ran down to the
cliff above the bathing beach and looked toward
the long cape at the end of which lay Malachi. The
dots of houses showed plainer and whiter than
usual against the cape, which had turned of a deep
slate-gray, almost black. Two or three ships were
in sight, but they were large ships far out at sea,
and the strange darkness and the confusion and
tumble of the waves which every instant in-
creased, made it difficult to detect any object so
small as a boat. She was just turning away, when
a sudden gleam of light showed what seemed to
be a tiny sail far out in the bay, but it disappeared,
and, at the same moment, a sudden, violent wind
swept in from the sea and almost threw her down.
She caught hold of a sapling-stem to steady her-
self, and held tightly till the gust passed. Next
instant came a great roar of blinding rain, and she
was forced to run as fast as she could to the house.
It took but two minutes to reach it; but already
she was drenched to the skin, and the water was
running in streams from her dress and the braids
of her hair.
She had to change all her clothes. As she sat
before the fire, drying her hair with a rough towel,
she could hear the rain pouring on the roof with
a noise like thunder, and every few minutes great
waves of wind surged against the house, making it
shake and tremble till the rafters creaked. There
were other sounds, too,-odd rattlings, deep hollow
notes like groans, and a throbbing as of some
mighty pulse,-but there was no thunder; indeed






EYEBRIGHT.


Eyebright doubted if she could have heard it had
there been any, so loud was the tumult of noises.
She sat by the fire and dried her hair-what else
was there to do ?-but feeling all the time as if she
ought to be out in the rain helping Papa somehow.
The tears ran down her cheeks ; now and then she
wrung her hands tightly and said, 0 Papa!
0 Papa! Never had she felt so little and help-
less and lost in all her life before. She tried to
say a prayer, but it seemed to her just then that
God could not hear a weak, small voice like hers
through such a rage. of storm. She could not
realize what it would have been such a comfort to
feel, that God is never so near his children or so
ready to listen, as when storms are wildest and
they need him most. And so she sat, till by and
by the clock struck six and made her jump at the
idea that Papa might come in soon and find no
supper ready for him.
I musn't let that happen," she thought, as
with shaking hands she mended the fire, laid the
table and set the kettle on to boil. She would not
allow herself to question the fact that Papa would
come-must come, though he might be a little
late ; and she shaved the dried beef, broke the eggs,
and sliced bread for toasting, so as to be able to
get supper as soon as possible after he should ap-
pear. This helped her through with another
hour. Still no sign of Papa, and still the storm
raged, as it seemed, more furiously than ever.
Eight o'clock, nine o'clock, ten, half-past ten.
I don't know how that evening passed. It seemed
as long as two or three ordinary days. Many
times, thinking she heard a sound, Eyebright flew
to the door, but only to come back disappointed.
At last the rain slackened, and, unable to sit still
any longer, she put on her water-proof and India
rubbers, tied a hood over her head, and, taking a
lantern, went down to the cliff again. It would
have been of no use to carry an umbrella in that
wind, and the night was so dark, that even with
the help of the lantern, and well as she knew the
path, she continually wandered from it, and struck
and bruised herself against stumps and branches
which there was not light to avoid.
At last she gained the top of the bank over the
beach. The sea was perfectly black; she could
see nothing and hear nothing, except the roar of
waves and the rattle of the shingle below. Suddenly
came a flash of lightning. It lit the water for a
minute, and revealed a dark spot which might be
a boat borne on,the waves a little way out from
shore. Eyebright did not hesitate an instant, but
tumbled and scrambled down' the bank at once,
waving the lantern and crying, "Here I am, Papa !
this way, Papa as loud as she could. She had
scarcely reached the beach, when another flash


showed the object much nearer. Next moment
came a great tumbling wave, and out of the midst
of it and of the darkness, .. .. ;,-,i-, plunged on to
the beach ; and then came the lightning again. It
was. a boat-and a man in it.
Eyebright seized and held with all her might.
"Oh, hurry and get out, Papa," she cried; for
though she could not see, she felt another wave
coming. I can't keep hold but a minute."
And then-she hardly knew how it happened-
the man did get out-tumble out rather-upon the
sand; and, as she let go the boat and caught hold
of him, in sped the wave she had dreaded, with a
loud roar, splashed her from head to foot, and
rolled back, carrying the boat with it. The man
lay on the beach as if unable to move, but by the
sense of touch, as well as the dim light of the lan-
tern, Eyebright already knew that it was not Papa
but a stranger whose arm she clutched.
"Get up, oh, do get up !" she screamed.
" You'll be drowned if you don't. Don't you see
that you will ? Oh, what shall I do ? "
The man seemed to hear, for he slowly strug-
gled up to his feet, but he did not speak. It was
terrible work getting him up the cliff. The wind
in furious moments seemed to seize and pin them
down, and at such times there was nothing to be
done but to stand still, flatten themselves against
the bank, and wait till its force abated. Eyebright
was most thankful when at last they reached the
top. She hurried the stranger with what speed
she could across the field to the house, keeping
the path better than when she came down, be-
cause the light in the kitchen window now served
her as a guide. The man stumbled continually,
and more than once almost fell down. As they
entered the kitchen he quite fell, and lay so long
on the floor as to frighten Eyebright extremely.
She had never seen any one faint, and she feared
the man was dead. Not knowing in the least
what she ought to do, she ran for a pillow to put
under his head, covered him with a blanket, and
put some water on his forehead. This last was
rather unnecessary, considering his wet condition,
but Bessie had always '"brought to" the Lady
Jane in that way, so Eyebright thought it might be
the right thing. After a long time, she had the
comfort of seeing him open his eyes.
Oh, you are better; I am so glad," she said.
"Do try to get into the rocking-chair. The floor
is so hard. Here, I will help you."
And she took hold of his arm for the purpose.
He winced and shrank.
Not that arm-don't touch that arm, please,"
he said. I have hurt it in some way. It feels
as if it were broken."
Then very slowly and painfully he got up from






EYEBRIGHT.


the floor and into the rocking-chair which Eye-
bright had covered with a thick comfortable to
make it softer. She made haste to wet the tea,
and presently brought him a cup.
Thank you," he said, faintly. You are very
kind."
She could see his face now. He was not a
young man, at all. His hair and beard were gray,
and he seemed as old as Papa; but he was so wet
and pale and wild-looking just then, that it was
not easy to judge what he was like. His voice was
pleasant, and she did not feel at all afraid of him.
The tea seemed to revive him a little, for, after
lying quiet a while with his eyes closed, he sat up,
and fumbling with his left hand in an inner pocket,
produced a flat parcel tied in stout paper, with a
direction written upon it; and beckoning Eye-
bright to him, said:
My dear, it is a bad night to ask such a favor
in, and I don't know how far you may be from the
village; but could you manage to send this over
to the stage-office at once ? It is of great conse-
quence to me, or I would not ask it. Have you a
hired man who could go ? I will pay him hand-
somely for taking it. He must give it to the
driver of the stage to put into the express-office at
Gillsworth, and take a receipt for it. Please ask
him to be particular about that, as the parcel has
money in it."
"We have n't any hired man," said Eyebright.
"I 'm so sorry, sir. But even if we had, he
could n't get across for ever so long."
Get across? "
"Yes; this is an island. Did n't you know
that ? We can walk over to the other shore at low
tide; but the tide wont be low till after five, even
if we had a man. But there is n't anybody but just
me."
"After five,-and the mail goes out at six," mut-
tered the stranger. Then I must manage to go
myself."
He tried to get up, but his arm fell helplessly by
his side, he groaned, and sank back again. Pres-
ently, to Eyebright's terror, he began to talk
rapidly to himself, not to her at all, as it seemed.
"It must go," he said, in a quick, excited way.
" I don't mind what I pay or what risk I run. Do
you think I 'm going to lose everything?-lose
everything ?-other people's money?- A long
pause; then, What's a wetting ? "-he went on,
in a loud tone-" that 's nothing. A wetting !-
my good name is worth more than money to me."
He was silent after that for a long time. Eye-
bright hoped he had gone to sleep, when, sud-
denly, he opened his eyes, and said, imploringly:
" Oh, if you knew how important it was, you
would make haste. I am sure you would."


He did not say much more, but seemed asleep,
or unconscious; only now and then, roused for a
moment, he muttered some word which showed
him to be still thinking about the parcel, and the
necessity for sending it to the office immediately.
Eyebright put another blanket round him, and
fetched a chair for his feet to rest upon. That
seemed all she could do, except to sit and watch
him, getting up occasionally to put wood on the
fire, or going to the door to listen, in hopes of
hearing Papa's step in the path. The parcel lay
on the table where the stranger had put it. She
looked at it, and looked at it, and then at the
clock. It was a quarter to five. Again the broken,
dreamy voice muttered: "It must go,-it must
go." A sudden, generous impulse seized her.
I 'll take it myself!" she cried. "Then it will
be sure to be in time. And I can come back when
Papa does."
Poor child, so sure still that Papa must come !
It lacked less than three-quarters of an hour to
low water. At that state of the tide, the causeway
was usually pretty bare; but, as she descended
the hill, Eyebright, even in the darkness, could see
that it was not nearly bare now. She could hear the
swish of the water on the pebbles, and, by the light
of her lantern, caught sight of more than one long
wave sweeping almost up to the crest of the ridge.
She would not wait, however, but set bravely for-
ward. The water must be shallow, she knew, and
fast growing more so, and she dared not delay; for
the walk down the shore, in the wind, was sure to
be a long one. I must n't miss the stage," she
kept saying, to encourage herself, and struck in,
feeling the way with the point of her umbrella, and
holding the lantern low, so as to see where she
stepped. The water was only two or three inches
deep,-less than that in some places; but every
few minutes a wave would rush across and bury
her feet above the ankles. At such times, the sand
would seem to give way and let her down, and a
sense of sinking and being carried off would seize
upon her and take away all her strength. She
dared not move at these moments, but stood still,
dug her umbrella into the sand, and waited till the
water ran back.
As she got farther from the island, a new dan-
ger assailed her. It was the wind, of which she
now felt the full force. It bent and swayed her
about till she felt like a plaything in its grasp.
Once it caught her skirts and blew her over toward
the deeper water. This was the most dangerous
moment of all; but she struggled back, and the
gust relaxed its grasp. More than once the fury
of the blast was so great that she dared not stand
upright, but crouched on the wet sand, and made
herself as flat as possible, till it passed by. Oh,


[SEPTEMBER,


724







EYEBRIGHT.


how she wished herself back at home again. But
going back was as dangerous as going forward,
and she kept on, firm in her purpose still, though
drenched, terrified and half crying, till, little by
little, wet sand instead of water was under her feet,
the waves sounded behind instead of immediately
beside her, and, at last, stumbling over a clump of
blue-berry bushes, she fell forward on her knees
upon the other shore,-a soggy, soaked, disagree-


Bright. She had just fallen asleep in her clothes,
when she was roused by a knock.
That 's them at last," she cried, jumping up
and hurrying to the door.
Great was her surprise at the little soaked figure
which met her eyes, and greater still when she
recognized Eyebright.
"Why, what in the name of-why !" was all
she could say at first. Then, regaining her wits,


"IT WAS A BOAT--AND A MAN IN IT !


able shore enough, but a most welcome sight just
then.
So tired and spent was she, that for some min-
utes she lay under the blue-berry clump before she
could gather strength to pull herself up and go on.
It was a very hard and painful walk, and the wind
and the darkness did all they could to keep her
back; but the gallant little heart did not fail, and,
at last, just as the first dim dawn was breaking,
she gained the village and Mr. Downs' door.
Mrs. Downs had- been up nearly all night, so
great was her anxiety for Captain Jim and Mr.


" Eyebright, my dear child, what has fetched you
out at this hour of day; and massy's sake, how
did you come?"
I came on the causeway. Oh, Mrs. Downs,
is Papa here ? "
"Over the causeway!" cried Mrs. Downs.
"Good land alive! What possessed you to do
such a fool-hardy thing? I only wonder you were
not drowned outright."
So do I. I was almost. But Mrs. Downs, is
Papa here? Oh, do tell me."
"No, they have n't got in yet," said Mrs.


l879-1







[SEPTEMBER,


EYEBRIGHT.


Downs, affecting an ease and security which she
did not feel. The storm has delayed them, or,
what 's more likely, they never started at all, and
will be over to-day. I guess that '11 turn out to be
the way of it. Jim 's got too good sense to put
out in the teeth of a heavy squall like this has
been. An' he must ha' seen it was a-comin'. But,
my dear, how wet you are And what did make
you do such a crazy thing as to set out over the
causeway in such weather ?"
I could n't help it," with a sob. There 's a
poor man up at our house, Mrs. Downs. He
came in a boat, and was 'most drowned, and he 's
hurt his arm 1-i: .lfii1ii,, and I 'm afraid he 's very
sick beside; and he wanted this parcel to go by the
stage-driver. He said it must go, it was some-
thing very important. So I brought it. The
stage has, n't gone yet, has it? I wanted so much
to be in time."
"Well, I declare!" cried Mrs. Downs, furiously.
He must be a pretty man to send you across
the bar in the night and such a storm, to fetch his
mail. I 'd like to throw it right straight in the
water, that I would, and serve him right. The
idea!"
Oh, he did n't mean that I should go,-he
did n't know anything about it," protested Eye-
bright. He asked me to send our hired man,
and when I told him we had n't any hired man, he
said then he would come himself; but he was too
sick. He said such queer things that I was fright-
ened. And then he went to sleep, and I came.
Please tell me what time it is, I must go to the
office right away."
"Indeed you wont," said Mrs. Downs. "You'll
come straight upstairs and go to bed. I'I1 wake
him up. He'll take it. There 's plenty of time.
'T is n't six yet, and the stage '11 be late this morn-
ing, I'll bet."
Oh, I can't go to bed, I must go back to the
island," Eyebright pleaded. "The man who
came is all alone there, and you can't think how
sick he is."
Poor man or not, you '11 go to bed," said Mrs.
Downs, inexorably, helping the tired child upstairs.
Me and Mr. Downs '11 see to the poor man.
You aint needed to carry the hull world on your
back as long as there 's any grown folks left, you
poor little mite. Go to bed and sleep, and we '11
look after your man."
Eyebright was too tired to resist.
Oh, please ask Mr. Downs to take a receipt,
the man was so particular about that," was her
only protest.
She fell asleep the moment her head touched
the pillow, and knew nothing more till after noon,
when she opened her eyes, feeling for a moment


entirely bewildered as to where she was. Then,
as it all came back to her mind, she jumped up in
a hurry. Her clothes, nicely dried, lay on a chair
beside the bed. She hurried them on, and ran
down-stairs.
Nobody was visible except little Benny, who
told her that his mother had gone along up to
the island."
She said you was to eat some breakfast," he
added. "It's in the oven a-keepin' warm. Shall
I show you where it is ?"
"Oh, never mind," cried Eyebright. "Never
mind about breakfast, Benny. I don't feel
hungry."
Ma said you must," declared Benny, opening
the oven door and disclosing a plate full of some-
thing very dry and black. Oh dear, it 's all
got burned up."
I '11 drink some milk instead," said Eyebright.
" Who 's that coming up the road, Benny ?"
It's Pa. I guess he 's come back to get you,"
said Benny, running out to meet him.
Mr. Downs had come to fetch Eyebright. He
looked very grave, she thought.
When she asked eagerly, had Papa come yet,
Mr. Downs shook his head. Perhaps they had
stayed over in Malachi, to avoid the storm, he said,
and would get in later. He helped Eyebright into
the boat, and rowed to the island without saying'
another word. The wind had abated, but the sea
was still very rough, and long lines of white surf
were breaking on the rocks and beaches.
The kitchen looked very queer and crowded, for
Mr. Downs had brought down a mattress from
upstairs, and made a bed on the floor, upon which
Eyebright's "man" was now sleeping. His wet
clothes had been changed for some dry ones
belonging to Mr. Bright, and, altogether, he
looked far less wild and forlorn than he had ap-
peared to be the night before, though he evidently
was seriously ill. Mrs. Downs did n't think his
arm was broken; but she could n't be sure, and
"he was sent up the shore to fetch Dr. Treat, the
"natural bone-setter." There was no regular
doctor at Scrapplehead.
The natural bone-setter pronounced the arm
not broken, but badly cut and bruised, and the
shoulder dislocated. He tied it up with a liniment
of his own invention, but both fever and rheu-
matism followed, and for some days the stranger
tossed in pain and delirium. Mrs. Downs stayed
on the island to nurse him, and both she and Eye-
bright had their hands full, which was well, for
it helped them to endure the suspense of the next
week as nothing else could have done.
It was not for some time, even after that dread-
ful week, that they gave up the hope that Cap-


726







A RUN AFTER SWORD-FISH.


tain Jim had waited over in Malachi and would
appear with the next fair wind. Then a sloop put
in, bringing the certain news that he and Mr.
Bright had sailed about two hours before the storm
began. After that, the only chance-and that a
vague one-was, that the boat might have landed
on the coast farther below, or, blown out to sea,
been picked up by some passing ship. Days
passed in this hope. Whenever Eyebright could
be spared for a moment, she always ran to the cliff
on the sea-side, in the hope of seeing a ship sailing
in with Papa on board, or news of him. She never
spoke as if there was any doubt that he would
come in the end, and Mrs. Downs, dreading to
cloud her hopefulness, replied always as confidently
as she could, and tried to be hopeful, too.
So a fortnight passed, over the busy, anxious
household, and poor Eyebright-though her words
were still courageous-was losing heart, and had
begun to feel that a cold, dreadful wave of
sorrow was poising itself a little way off, and
might presently break all over her, when, one day,
as she stood by the bedside of. their patient,-
much better now and quite in his senses,-he
looked at her with a sudden start of recognition,
and said:
Why, I know you. You are Mr. Bright's
little girl,-are you not? You are Eyebright!
Why did I not recognize you before ? Don't you
recollect me at all ? Don't you know who I am ?"


And, somehow, the words and the pleasant tone
of voice, and the look which accompanied them








14,
--.













(



"YOU ARE EYEBRIGHT."
made him look different all at once, to the child,
and natural, and Eyebright did know him.
It was Mr. Joyce !


(T7 be continued.)





A RUN AFTER SWORD-FISH.

BY ALEXANDER YOUNG.


I WAS spending the summer at Martha's Vine-
yard, the island off the Massachusetts coast which
has since become famous for camp-meetings, when
a friend suggested that we should go out after
sword-fish. My knowledge of these finny mon-
sters being very limited, I was naturally eager to
see them in their native element. I was aware that
they were formidable antagonists of the whale, and
that sharks were glad to keep out of the way of
their sharp and piercing swords. The pictures I
had seen of these monsters, with their upper jaws
projecting in the shape of familiar military weap-
ons, had always made me desirous to behold these
warriors of the deep alive.
So I said I should be very glad to catch sword-
fish, and innocently added, by way of increasing
my stock of fishing information, "What kind of


hooks do we use?" my idea being that the iron
hooks, such as are employed in catching sharks,
were the sort needed.
"Well, you are an ignoramus!" exclaimed my
friend; sword-fish are not taken with hooks; it
would be as much as your life was worth to try to
pull one in alive; he 'd run his sword either
through you or the boat or both."
How do you catch them, then?" I asked.
"Why, harpoon them, to be sure. And mighty
ticklish work it is, too, as you 'll see when we go
out in the sword-fish boats."
I next learned that catching sword-fish was
quite a business in Edgartown, and that a fleet
of boats was engaged in it. The fish were con-
sidered good eating, and were shipped to the
New Bedford, Boston, and New York markets.


1879.]


727







A RUN AFTER SWORD-FISH.


Owing to the skill required in capturing sword-fish,
it was impossible for my friend and myself to be
anything more than spectators of the sport. I
was consoled for not being allowed to take an
active part in the fishing, by the well-meant assur-
ance that it involved greater risk and harder work
than I was accustomed to.
It was on a bright August morn.,; 1I,: i .:i0
down to the moldy old wharf, wh!i.. r .I. .i.:..a ,n
which we were to go out was lying. TIr.. .
some dozen or fifteen of these boat: .-.: .. .I.
to start, when we arrived. They .:x, .IIl c l.. ..I-1
the same plan, being sharp at b-.ilh ,.-.I.. i11.
whale-boats, though of a clumsier I.1 I.
model. In length, they seemed it. L.: 1-l.:.I
twenty-eight feet, while their width in .: ... :.
feet.
It did not take long for the.three r ,. h. -
men, who constituted our crew, t:. .:r TI. ..
under way, and we were soon bou!ii. .:. c! ii.-
water in a brisk breeze. I noticed r i o
like the others which were
sailing along with us, had no
bowsprit; but, in place of it,
was a thick upright iron rod -
with a wooden cross-piece and
a narrow platform that ex- -
tended several feet inward.-
"What is that for?" I -
asked of one of the fishermen. -
That 'ere is whereIstands
when I fixes 'em," was the -
somewhat indefinite answer.
It turned out that my in-
formant was the harpooner,
and that he stood at the end
of the platform, to strike the
sword-fish when sufficiently
near. The fish swims so rap-
idly that, as soon as one is
seen, it is necessary to bear
down upon him at once, and
lose no time in sending the
harpoon into his body.
"But how do you know
where to look for the sword-
fish?" I inquired; for it
seemed to me that the search
for them was like seeking a needle in a bundle
of hay.
Oh, they 're sure to be on the mackerel-
ground," replied the fisherman; they come in
arter 'em, you know."
"Well," I went on, inquisitively, "how do you
find out just where a sword-fish is, in order to go
for him? "
Do you see that ladder?" was the reply of the


harpooner, pointing to one which was fastened to
the mast; "'well, one of us stands on top of
that, and looks out for fish. When he sees one,
he gives the bearings, and we go for 'swordy'; and,"
he added, with a chuckle, we ginrally gits him."


~--7





-7-


"THE HARPOONER STOOD READY."
The fisherman, as I soon had an opportunity of
learning, had correctly described the way in which
sword-fish are seen at a great distance off. The
trained observation of the man on the ladder,
sweeping the expanse of sea, can discern the
back fin of the fish, which is the only part of him
above water, from a distance at which ordinary
eyes could not distinguish it among the waves.
The sail to the sword-fish grounds was delight-


728


[SEPTEMBER,







HELMETS AND VIOLETS


ful, the breeze being fresh, and the water not too
rough. On we went, and on, till the town seemed
like a phantom .city in the dim distance. The
boats, now widely scattered, looked as if they were
sea-birds skimming the water. The fisherman
had been steadfastly scanning the ocean from his
perch on the ladder for half an hour. But there
was yet no sign of a sword-fish, and I began to
fear that we should have poor luck. At last, the
man on the lookout shouted to the steersman the
direction in which he wished him to go, and I
knew from this that a fish had been seen from the
ladder. I strained my eyes in the line of the
boat's course to catch a glimpse of the creature,
but could see nothing except a mass of tossing
waves, with here and there a white speck which I
knew to be one of the other boats.
Meanwhile, the harpooner stood on the end of
the platform at the bow of the boat, ready to
dispatch the sword-fish as soon as it should come
within reach. His weapon consisted of a long
pole, to which was attached an arrow-headed dart
and shank of iron. The harpoon has a line fas-
tened to it, and when the fish is struck, the pole is
pulled out, leaving the iron in its body, held fast
by the line.
As we bore down close upon the sword-fish from
behind, so that he could not see the approach of
the boat, which would have frightened him away,
I caught a glimpse of his tell-tale back fin above


the water. In an instant the harpooner sent his
sharp weapon deep into the flesh of the fish. The
pole was then pulled out, there was a terrible
plunging and splashing in the water, but mean-
while the boat kept away at a safe distance from
the sword-fish. I observed at the same time that
a keg was attached to the line from the harpoon
and thrown out.
"Why don't you pull him in ?" said I, to the
man at the helm, who was now steering away from
the finny prize. "Are you going to give that fish
up ?"
Oh, he's all right where he is," was the reply;
"we don't want him cutting into the boat; but
we '11 come back for him by and by."
The fact was, it would have been unsafe to have
such a powerful and infuriated creature near the
boat, as he could easily make a hole in it with his
sword. The weapon of a sword-fish has been
known to go through a ship's planking. When we
caine back to the different kegs or floats at the
end of the day's work, there was nothing to do but
to pull the fish in.
The number of fish taken was five, measuring
from eight to twelve feet in length, and weighing
from two to six hundred pounds. The fishermen
seemed well satisfied with their day's work, and, as
a memorial of it, I took home two swords to put
with some sharks' jaws, which I had secured on a
previous expedition after big fish.


HELMETS AND VIOLETS.

BY RUTH MARINER.


I SAT one radiant morning
Within a favorite nook,-
Unmindful of its glory,
And buried in a book.

I read, with eyes that kindled,
About the old Crusades;
Till I heard the clashing armor,
And saw the quivering blades.

I followed in their journeys
The heroes of the past,
To see them proudly enter
Within the walls at last.


As with sound of martial music
My inmost soul was stirred,
When through the open casement
My Effie's voice I heard.

Then a sound of stealing footsteps,
And playful fingers shook
A shower of early violets
Upon the open book.

Among the glittering helmets
I felt their sweetness fall;
Then vanished in a moment
Crusaders, knights and all!






TRY.




TRY.


BY CONSTANTINA E. BROOKS.


Sand would n't try. (It was the
S bobolink who was talking.)
S. I sat on the old apple-tree
S behind the house and saw
the whole proceeding. The
lettuce-seed and the pepper-
S3' 2i.1- grass-seed were both put into
the ground on the same day.
..il .. Said the lettuce-seed:
i "Don't let us take the
trouble to grow until we see
-' how the pepper-grass gets along."
So the pepper-grass came up
S- and grew very nicely till it was
some two inches tall; then the
S bugs ate it up.
I.' "So I" said the lettuce-seed;
"if that is the way, we wont
-' start."
,The turnips and beets on the other
side of the path were growing nicely;
they said to the lettuce-seed: How absurd you
little creatures are It is no sign because the
pepper-grass is eaten that you would be; bugs
don't eat everything."
No; the lettuce-seed would n't.
I called out to them myself; said I :
It is excellent weather for growing-hot sun-
nice little showers-do come up and try; don't lie
there in the ground doing nothing."
Oh yes," they said, you like to eat lettuce;
you want us to come up so that you can eat us."
Suspicious creatures !
Well," I told them, if I were a seed put in the
ground I 'd rather come up and furnish a dinner
to a hungry caterpillar than lie moldering."
Well, one fine day, Hugh came along, spaded
up the whole bed and planted it again; with onions
this time. Thelettuce-seed were indignant; they
began to grow immediately, but the onions got the
start and strangled them, every one, as they came
up. So there was the end of them.
"And the onions ? "
Ah-yes--the-onions (Bobolink continued),
there was ambition for you They had made up
their minds to be something in the world, if only
onions, and to great glory they came.
The natural end of an onion is to be eaten, but
before these onions were eaten they had to be sold;
the selling-that was the event.


You see, these two acres behind the house are
pretty much laid out in vegetables, so when Hugh
harnesses up the old sorrel horse on market days
there is quite a :,.i.,.- 11,.. to load the wagon with.
There might be more, for there is nearly another
acre before the house, but Hugh and his mother,
such a trim old lady she is-he and she lived alone
here then,-they both liked to have that for flowers
and grass and shrubs. Well, in due time the
onions were pulled up and tied in beautiful long
bunches, so white and green, and put into baskets,
and the baskets were put into the wagon, and away
went Hugh to the town, to market.
That evening, I sat on the apple-tree; Hugh sat
down to his supper,
Mother," said he, I believe I am in love."
I stopped my singing to listen. Love That
always interests birds.
The old lady laughed.
I have ever thought, Hugh, that thee would
come home some one of these fine market days,
just in that condition."
I fell in love with a girl who likes onions."
The old lady laughed.
And does that win thy heart, Hugh, to like
onions ? Falling in love is a serious thing."
"Listen, mother, I '11 tell thee. My wagon
stood in front of the brewer's great house; he was
buying my young beets; the door opens-out
come his three daughters dressed for a walk-all
so pretty, the youngest the prettiest; she trips up
to her father.
"' 0 father, has he got any onions ? Buy some
for me, please.'
"'Yes, Puss,' said the brewer, I '11 buy you
onions and cabbages, too, if you want them.'
"' Come Nina,' said her sisters; so I found out
her name was Nina.
"' Ah,' thought I, if I could win Miss Nina's
heart! '"
"Well, Hugh," said his mother, try."
After that, I watched, and Hugh evidently was
trying, for every market-day regularly there was a
new item added to the load on the wagon,-a fine
bouquet of flowers from the front garden; and at
night, in adding up the accounts of what was sold,
and what was got for it, that bouquet was never
added in.
Midsummer came. I put off my brilliant attire
and put on my sober traveling dress; our family
were in uniform; it was time to start southward.


[SEPTEMBER,








HER FAN AND HER FURS.


Away-away! The whirring of a thousand
wings as we swept over the Middle States, over
the peach orchards of New Jersey, the wheat-white
plains and reedy banks of Delaware, through the
valleys and dark forests of Virginia; by the lonely
hut on the mountain-side, with its patch of Indian
corn,-away, away, till there was nothing but the
burning sun above, and, below, like broad lakes rip-
pling in the breeze, the rice-fields of the Carolinas.
We gleaned those fields; clean work we made of
it Many a long barrel was leveled at me-many
a dodge I had to make; and at night when the
round bright moon looked down on the plantations
and far away was heard the singing of the negroes,
the wild, monotonous chant, and the tur-turn of
the banjo; then as I slept with my head under my
wing, I dreamed of the fresh mornings of the
North, and of Hugh, and I wondered how the
wooing came on.
Farther south Over the everglades and the
coral-reefs to the sea-to the deep, deep sea The
tall masts to the ships reeled beneath us, and above
us flew the white clouds, but we out-flew them.
Away, away to the islands where the guinea-grass
grows. Hot and desolate is the day there, but at
night the moistened air is filled with the odors of a
thousand flowers; their perfumes mingled with my
dreams, and under the palms again I dreamt of the
far North, of the apple-tree and the old sorrel
horse, and I wondered how the wooing came on.
The next spring we were a long while on our
journey northward. We were a small pleasant
party; the grain grew luxuriantly that year ; many
a foraging expedition we made. It was late in
May when I perched once more on the old apple-


tree. The wrens were before me; they were
building over the porch; they told me the news.
"We have had a wedding. Nina lives here,
now; it is the honey-moon. You are just in time
to sing to the bride."
And I did sing! My mate was building her
nest of withered grass down in the meadow; I had
nothing to do but sit and sing all day long.
When Hugh came out to plant the onions that
spring, what did Nina do ? She tripped out after
him laughing so merrily we all stopped singing to
listen to her. She had a basketful of forget-me-
not roots; she insisted on bordering the onion-
bed with them.
Oh yes, Hugh," she cried; "the onions were
the beginning, the onions did it all; now they
shall be honored."
The onions hold up their heads'since then; they
refuse to speak to the carrots; they call out to the
tulips in the front garden and try to get up a con-
versation with them.
We have merry parties here when the father and
the two sisters come ; they all enjoy themselves so
much, and the dear old lady, Hugh's mother,
seems to grow quite young again. They come
into the garden and sit in the arbor to eat their
berries and cream, and they laugh at the onion-
bed.
Intolerably conceited and arrogant those onions
are Every evening, Nina comes out and strews
bread crumbs under the tree, then we all go down
and have a feast, and those onions never fail to
call out:
"Remember, birds, you have to thank us for
the supper you are eating-we did it all."


HER FAN AND HER FURS.

BY CONSTANCE MARION.


THE short winter day and the winter day's jour-
ney had come to a close. A rough, wearisome
journey it had been, that drive in the old army
ambulance, drawn by a pair of superannuated
mules, the only thing in the livery-stable line that
could be procured in the dilapidated little town of
C- the place where Mr. Morton and his family
had left the steamboat, in order to pursue their
journey to the coast by land. The doctor had
ordered Florida climate for Mr. Morton's lungs,
and after a week's sojourn in an overcrowded hotel


in Jacksonville, the invalid had concluded to take
his family further southward, and rough it in the
woods for the remainder of the winter.
This change of programme met with Mrs. Mor-
ton's decided approval, for although she had spent
the last fifteen years of her life in a large city, she
was country born and bred, and loved the woods
even in their wildest state. Fanny, the younger
daughter, was always ready for a change of any
kind, but when her sister, Marianne, saw the calico
dresses and sun-bonnets her mother had made pre-






[SEPTEMBER,


HER FAN AND HER FURS.


paratory to the next move, she began to grow
alarmed. Marianne had a weakness for pomps
and vanities, which all her mother's teachings had,
as yet, failed to improve, and living in the woods
and wearing calico was not by any means to her
mind. She was not therefore in the best of humors
as the ambulance went jolting along over palmetto
roots, or dragging through the deep sand of the
pine-barren, and she was loud in her exclamations
of terror as it forded the deep, dark creeks that
made their way through the silent, thickly grown
hammocks. She "thought she would die at the
sight of a huge alligator, who was scuttling away
from the road as fast as his crooked legs could
carry him; and the distant wail of a panther made
her feel as if she were going to faint."
When they reached their journey's end, her dis-
content increased' tenfold; for the house which was
to be their temporary home was roughly con-
structed of logs, and extremely limited in accom-
modations. The Morton family occupied one
room, which was divided into two small sleeping
apartments by a curtain being run across in the
middle. There was neither stove nor fire-place, a
deficiency which Marianne was quick in pointing
out, although the thermometer was above seventy.
Beggars cannot be choosers," returned her
father. It is purely for our accommodation that
Mrs. Hewitt :has taken us in, as the board she
charges will scarcely more than pay expenses."
"Then why don't you go to a hotel?" asked
Marianne.
If you will be good enough to find me one here-
abouts, I will move into it immediately," returned
Mr. Morton.
"There must be one in that town over yonder,"
said Marianne, pointing out of the east window.
That is not a town," said her father. Those
are the tops of the white sand-hills on the sea-shore.
Don't you hear the roaring of the surf?"
Oh, shall we see the sea? exclaimed Fanny.
"Yes," returned Mr. Morton, "if you learn how
to swim the river down yonder; or if you can find
anybody kind enough to take you over in a boat."
What kind of birds are those ?" asked Fanny;
"those black ones flying in a line, and settling
down on that island yonder ? "
"Pelicans," replied Mr. Morton. They have
been out fishing, and are coming home with their
supper."
I wish Mrs. Hewitt would come flying in with
our supper," said Fanny yawning. "I am awfully
hungry and sleepy."
The supper, when it did come, was, in its way, a
great success, and the travelers did justice to it.
But Marianne made a note of the cracked and dis-
colored delft-ware, the brown table-cloth, and the


steel forks, and thought herself a very ill-used indi-
vidual.
'" The idea," said she to Fanny, after they were
in bed that night and out of hearing of their father
and mother,--" the idea of having bacon and col-
lards for supper, and brown sugar in your coffee !"
I like collards," said Fanny, the good-humored.
"I never tasted any before, but I think they are
nice when anybody is hungry. And then, you
know, there were other things besides,-fish, and
hominy, and biscuits, and,-oh, I am so sleepy !"
I can never go to sleep on this mattress," said
Marianne, with decision. I do believe it is
stuffed with chips."
But in five minutes she and Fanny were both
dreaming, and their father's slumbers were not
broken once that night by the hacking cough that
had brought him south.
The next morning, Marianne and Fanny were
arrayed in new calicoes and stout shoes, and it was
not long before the latter was assisting a flock of
little Hewitts in the construction of a bridge across
a small creek at the back of the house. Mr. Mor-
ton went off in the woods with a gun. Mrs. Mpr-
ton tied on a check apron, and helped Mrs. Hewitt
prepare vegetables for dinner. Marianne unpacked
her portfolio, and spent the morning in writing a
letter to her school-mate and particular friend,
Flora Dewing. By the time dinner was announced,
Marianne had written herself into good humor, and
as that meal consisted of turtle soup, wild turkey,
mullet roes, and other eminently aristocratic deli-
cacies, she began to think she might, with the aid
of the books in her trunk, manage to support a
rural existence for the next few months. That
afternoon she began to cultivate the acquaintance
of the little Hewitts, taught them the game of tag,
helped to construct a see-saw, and made herself
generally agreeable.
As the days went by, both Marianne and Fanny
showed symptoms of developing into irrepressible
romps. Mounted on mustang ponies, they gal-
loped over the savannas, helping the young
Hewitts drive up the cattle; they took rides on the
timber-wheels belonging to a neighboring saw-
mill; and went up and down the river on the boats
of the live-oak cutters. They took long sailing
excursions in the yawl of a friendly neighbor,
whose manners were much more commendable
than his syntax, and whose shabby clothes seemed
to contradict the fact that he owned the finest
orange grove on the river.
This state of things continued until Christmas
came; Christmas recalling to Marianne the Christ-
mases at home, their merry bells and decorated
churches, their handsome presents, their plum-
puddings, their fine clothes.







HER FAN AND HER FURS.


"Mother," said she, on Christmas eve, "as
there will be no presents this year, I think you
might grant me one favor."
What is that? asked Mrs. Morton.
I think you might let me dress up to-morrow,
just in honor of the day. It has been so long
since I have had on clothes that were nice that I
am beginning to feel like a perfect back-woods
creature."
Whatdo you wish to wear ?" askedher mother.


my gaiters. I have been wearing these great, coarse
shoes so long that it would be a comfort to have
something decent on my feet. And my gloves,
too; I must have everything complete, you know."
Very well," said Mrs. Morton.
And accordingly the next morning after break-
fast, Marianne, arrayed in all her glory, went out
to promenade. As she passed through the dining-
room on her way out-of-doors, Mrs. Hewitt, who
was shelling beans at the window, observed good-


"OH! HE 'S COMING THIS WAY! HE 'LL CATCH US!


"Well, as it is just once, I believe I should like
to wear my best; if it is only to make these
people stare."
I thought just now it was to be in honor of
the day."
Marianne blushed slightly, and went on:
You know, there is my ruby-colored silk that
Aunt Lucy sent me, and my new cloak and hat

"A cloak in this kind of weather !" exclaimed
Mrs. Morton.
Oh, I dare say it will be quite cool to-mor-
row," returned Marianne. "I am sure I find
these sea-breezes dreadfully chilly, and I am going
to take a walk on the river-bank. And I must have


naturedly that she looked mighty nice; but an old
neighbor, who dropped in to borrow a little milk,
expressed audibly a less flattering criticism.
Laws a massy What 's the child trigged out
in all that tom-foolery for ? "
Marianne walked out with the air of a queen,
and tried not to feel hot as the rays of an un-
clouded sun fell upon her heavy, fur-trimmed
cloak and velvet hat. The beloved gaiters were
now rather small, and pinched her feet unpleas-
antly; and the handsome muff she carried was
decidedly more ornamental than useful.
When she arrived at the river-side, she found the
eldest Hewitt boy down there, gathering oysters,
with Fanny standing by, looking on with interest.







HER FAN AND HER FURS.


Hello! here 's your cirkis a-comin'!" ex-
claimed the boy, as he looked up and beheld
Marianne's magnificence.
Fanny, come away from that boy, and walk
with me," said Marianne, with great dignity.
Fanny obeyed with some reluctance; the boy
had promised to roast her some oysters, but then
she was n't going to stand quietly by and hear her
sister called a circus. As she turned to leave the
impertinent young oysterman, her heart was glad-
dened by the sight of a distant sail-boat.
Oh, here comes the Water Witch' ex-
claimed she. And I know Mr. Burroughs will
take us to sail; but you can't go, Jim Hewitt, be-
cause you are such a bad-mannered boy."
I don't care," said Jim. I don't go with no
sich. The 'Water Witch' is the crankiest lay-
out on the river, and old Burroughs don't know no
more 'bout managing a boat than a gal baby do."
And flinging this Parthian dart, Jim strolled off
to a distant oyster point, and the girls went out to
the end of the wharf to await the coming of the
" Water Witch."
Take us out sailing, Mr. Burroughs ? Take us
out sailing?" they exclaimed in concert, as the
much slandered boat came luffing up to the wharf.
That's just what I 'm a-coming fur," responded
Mr. Burroughs; but them's fancy riggin's to go
a-sailing in."
Oh, I am going to be very careful," said Mari-
anne, as she stepped down into the leaky boat.
"I s'pose your mar's willing, said Mr. Bur-
roughs.
Oh, mother doesn't care," exclaimed Mari-
anne; but Fanny demurred. I'll run up to the
house, and ask her," said she.
That's right, Honey, returned Mr. Bur-
roughs; always ask your mar when you aint sar-
tin."
I 'll bail out the boat while she is gone," said
Marianne. There is ever so much watering her."
And forgetful of her gloves, she seized a muddy
gourd that lay under the stern seat, and went vig-
orously to work.
Take care of what you are about, child," said
Mr. Burroughs. "Salt water ain't the thing to
wash silk in."
Oh dear, I have got my sleeve all wet! ex-
claimed Marianne, who saw now what she had
done. But never mind it will be all right again
as soon as it gets dry. Mr. Burroughs, I do wish
you would caulk your boat: it leaks dreadfully !
Dear! dear There goes my muff. The boom
knocked it off of the seat into the water."
The muff was fast floating down with the tide,
but Mr. Burroughs rescued it with a long pole.
"I guess we 'd better leave it aboard the dug-


out here," said he, depositing it on the stern-seat
of a boat which lay alongside; "it wont be of
much use to you now, soaking wet as it is. Well,
Miss Fanny, what does your mar say? "
Oh, she says we may go," gasped Fanny, short
of breath from her long run; but she says Mari-
anne must be careful."
"Yes, I '11 be careful," responded Marianne;
but gloves and muff being already ruined, she
spoke less confidently than before.
"Which way shall we go?" asked Mr. Bur-
roughs. "Up or down?"
Whichever way you think best," said Marianne
absently. She was trying to pull off her wet and
muddy gloves.
Oh, I tell you! exclaimed Fanny. "Let's
go across; you know you promised to take us over
to the beach, and I haven't seen the sea yet."
"All right," said Mr. Burroughs. "Shove her
off from the wharf thar, Miss Fanny. The wind is
'most dead agin us, but that will make it all right
coming home. Keep your feet on the plank, Miss
Marianne; them shoes of yourn warn't made to
keep out water."
Oh what a ricketty old wharf," exclaimed
Fanny, as they neared the opposite shore. I
don't believe we can ever walk on it. At least, I
know Marianne can't, with her high heels."
But Marianne, with the aid of a pole, managed
to stagger ashore, and great was her relief at being
in the shade again. In coming across the river the
sun had beat down with merciless severity on her
cloak, which she would not lay aside for fear of
having her best dress ruined by the dashing spray.
Her shoes tortured her feet, and in moving them
about for relief, she had got one of them off the
plank and into the muddy water in the bottom of
the boat; but she kept quiet about it, for she had
twice said she was going to be very careful.
"I hope the bears won't get after us," said
Fanny, as they toiled up the steep hill which rose
from the river bank, forcing their way through the
thick growth which overlapped the narrow path,
and making impotent attacks on the swarms of
mosquitoes that hummed around them. "Oh,
dear! I thought we should have a view of the sea
when we reached the top of this hill."
"No. We have got a lot of scrambling to do
yet," returned Mr. Burroughs. "Before we catch
sight of the sea there's two more big hills, besides
a whole lot of little ones. Take care of your furs,
Miss Marianne. It's mighty rough traveling
through these scrub-oaks. There used to be a
tol'able good path along here, but it is mighty
nigh growed up now."
Oh, where can we get some water? I am so
thirsty !" exclaimed Marianne.


734


[SEPTEMBER,







HER FAN AND HER FURS.


I reckin you will have to make out with
oranges," said Mr. Burroughs, taking one from his
pocket and giving it to her.
Thar aint no water over here that 's fitten to
drink."
Marianne eagerly tore open the orange, and in
so doing spilt ever so much juice on her dress.
Soon afterward she stumbled over a palmetto root,
and ruined one of her gaiters. She was now
thoroughly uncomfortable.
Mercy on us, the mosquitoes !" exclaimed she,
crossly. "I wish I had something to keep them
off with."
I '11 get you a palmetto-leaf fan," said Mr.
Burroughs, taking out his pocket-knife.
"A fan and a cloak together; that will look
comical," observed Fanny.
"It is only to keep off the mosquitoes," said
Marianne, hastily, and wiping her flushed face with
her embroidered handkerchief. I don't think it
at all warm with this strong wind blowing."
After struggling for some time along the narrow
path, through a thick growth of scrub-oak which
grew scrubbier and scrubbier as they neared the
sea, the pedestrians at length reached the foot of
the last range of hills, and stopped to rest a minute.
The sand was dazzlingly white, and so deep and
yielding under foot that making the ascent was
like climbing the Hill Difficulty. Fanny was
the first at the top.
"Oh oh oh !" exclaimed she, wildly.
"What ails the child?" asked Mr. Burroughs.
" Does she see a b'ar ?"
No. Fanny was looking for the first time in her
life on the vast and mighty ocean, whose great,
dark waves came surging onward toward the hills,
as if in.perpetual mutiny against the mandate:
"Thus far shalt thou go, and no farther."
Even Marianne forgot herself and her troubles
as she gazed upon the awful majesty of ocean.
She stood in speechless admiration until Fanny
broke the spell by exclaiming:
Let 's run down the hill!"
"You may," said Marianne; "but the sole of
one of my gaiters is half off."
Your bran-new gaiters?" exclaimed Fanny.
"Yes, my bran-new gaiters. You might have
known that without asking the question."
The tide is high yet," said Mr. Burroughs,
and all the beach is covered that 's fitten to walk
on. That sand down to the bottom of the hill is
ankle deep. I jist fetched you over this time to
git a peep at the ocean. Another time we will
come at low water, and have a run on the beach.


735


Let 's be getting back now, for the wind is dying
away, and thar wont be more 'n enough left to
take us home."
On the way back to the river, Fanny, who was
some distance in advance of the others, suddenly
stopped and began to scream:
"Oh, a bear a bear!"
"Whar ?" asked Mr. Burroughs.
"Right yonder, behind that Spanish bayonet-
bush. Oh, he 's coming this way He'llcatch us "
"He aint going to meddle with you," said
Mr. Burroughs. "They are as peaceable as
nuthin as long as you let 'em 'lone."
But his reassuring words came too late to pre-
vent a panic. At the sight of the immense black
animal coming toward them, Marianne and Fanny
had struck off into the bushes in a line at right
angles with the path, screaming at the top of their
shrill young voices, and were almost out of hear-
ing, before they could be made to understand that
the bear was in full retreat and probably as much
frightened at their yells as they had been at his
ferocious appearance.
O Marianne, the fur is all gone off the bottom
of your cloak !" exclaimed Fanny, after they were
once more mustered into line of march. "Did
you know it was off?"
"I suppose it came off in the bushes," said
Marianne. "I thought I heard something rip,
but I did not stop to look."
And the flounce of your dress is torn," added
Fanny. I wonder what mother is going to say."
It does n't make the least difference to you
what she is going to say," returned Marianne,
crossly. I wish you would let me alone."
Thar now thar now !" said Mr. Burroughs,
soothingly. 'Let b'ars and lions growl and
fight.' If that old b'ar hears you little gals
a-growlin' at one another, she '11 mistake you for
her young uns, and come back to hug you."
When they arrived at the other wharf, the dug-
out and the muff were both missing; but Marianne
had now sunk to misery's lowest deep, and nothing
could add to her discomfort.
Mrs. Morton's lecture was a short one, and
ended somewhat as follows:
You have received a wholesome lesson for
which you have paid a rather high price,-for, as
you know, your outfit was an expensive one,-so
remember in future that herein lies the difference
between fine clothes and good manners : our
very best manners are never out of place on any
occasion, but our very best dress may sometimes
be entirely unsuited to our surroundings."


_I --







736 c


N WHEELS.


ON WHEELS.

BY JOHN LEWEES.


WHEN I was a boy, I used to think that I would
rather have invented the wheel than anything else
I knew of. A wheel is so ingenious, so useful, and
yet so simple, that I am not at all surprised at my













A PRIEST'S CART. (FROM AN OLD PICTURE.)
youthful admiration of the mind that conceived the
idea of it. However, I think that I made a mis-
take in supposing that any one invented the wheel.
I believe that it invented itself, and, in saying this,
I mean,that wheels grew up by degrees from very
simple things, beginning probably at round sticks,
or logs, which were used as rollers, and so pro-
gressed gradually until they arrived at their present
condition, which is probably not perfection, al-
though I do not see how some of our wheels could
be improved.
The main object of a wheel is to assist in mov-
ing something. It may, itself, remain in one place,
or it may go about with the thing it helps to move.


A ROMAN LADY IN HER CHARIOT.
In the latter case, it is almost always attached to
some kind of a vehicle or carriage, and it is about


carriages that I want to have a little talk with the
boys and girls who read ST. NICHOLAS.
Every middle-aged person knows what a great
change has taken place in the carriages in ordinary
use in the last thirty or forty years. When I was
a boy, family carriages, and, indeed, vehicles of
every kind, except omnibuses and carts,-I believe
there has not been much change in them,-were
very heavy and unwieldy affairs, when compared
with those now in use. Not long ago, I saw at the
Permanent Exhibition, in Philadelphia, the car-
riage in which General Washington used to ride.
You could not get a President of the United States
to ride in such a funny old coach nowadays, and
I doubt very much if any one would take it as a
gift if they were obliged to use it. Yet it is far
better looking than some of the carriages that were
thought good enough for kings and queens a hun-
dred years ago. But we cannot go very far back










ANCIENT EGYPTIAN CART.
in making comparisons of carriages. Previous to
the sixteenth century there were many hundreds
of years when carriages were scarcely known
at all in Europe.
In the old Roman days, there had been
handsome chariots and wheeled vehicles of
various kinds, but when Rome declined,
chariots and carriages disappeared, and
people either walked, or rode on horseback,
or were carried by men in sedan-chairs and
S similar contrivances. There was a good
reason for this change. The old Romans
made splendid roads, but the nations that
afterward ruled Europe did not know how to
make good highways, or did not care about
such things, and were content to ride their
Shores over such roads as they found. Even
in England, where we might suppose the
people would have known better, this was the
case. The principal highways were so bad, and
the mud was sometimes so deep, that even horse-


[SEPTEMBER,







ON WHEELS.


men found great difficulty in getting along. So they were merely used for pleasure they were fre-
they never thought of using wheeled vehicles quently driven by ladies, who, in those days, were
on these wretched thoroughfares. But when they better able to manage a pair of horses than most of
began to make good roads, carriages
followed, as a matter of course.
The ancient Egyptians were bet-
ter off in some respects than these U '
English people, for they had char- --
iots and carts, although some of -'-
them were pretty rough affairs.' i
The carts were often drawn by oxen
and would hold two or three people,
though how comfortable the people
were, I am not prepared to say.
The Roman chariot was generally
occupied by but one person, for the
driver had to stand up and keep his
balance, no matter how fast his horses --- --"


were going, and he needed all the
room there was in his vehicle.
The chariot was almost always open behind, and
quite low, so that it was easy to get in or out of
one, but it had no springs, and if driven over any
roads but very smooth ard level ones, the jolting






A sDAn-c XI



A SEDAN-CHAIR.


KING JOHN'S CARRIAGE.
our ladies. However, it must be remembered that
if the horses became fractious and unruly, it was
easy for a lady to step out of a Roman chariot and
let the horses run off, and break their own necks
if they chose.
I don't know how much horses cost in those
days, but I know that chariots were rather expen-
sive,-at least in Egypt, where a handsome chariot
would sell for six hundred shekels, or about three
hundred dollars- the price of a good buggy now.
When, after the long period I have mentioned,
during which wheels were seldom seen on the
highways of Europe,. carriages again made their
appearance, they were not used by the common
people. Only kings and persons of consequence,


would be apt to shake a person up very much. or persons who were not able to walk or ride on
But I suppose the Romans were used to this sort horseback, were expected to ride in them.
of thing,-or perhaps their joints were not so ten- And yet they were very poor affairs, not much
der as ours,-for they would drive at full speed better than the ancient chariots, and certainly no
in their chariots of war, and it is not to be sup- easier to ride in. Hundreds of years before car-
posed that their ordinary battle-fields were very riages were in general use in England, King John
smooth. In our days, it is
often hard enough to haul
artillery from one place to
another, during a battle, '-- .
and I do not know what our !. V
dashing soldiers would say 'I U-
if they were -required to *1 '
drive, at full speed, over --
rough fields and stumps and .
stones in a low wagon with-
out springs, and with nothing
to keep them from falling
outbehind. Butthe Romans
could do this, and fight LITTER BORNE BY HORSES INSTEAD OF MEN.
splendidly, at the same time. Some of the Roman used to travel about in a heavy, two-wheeled affair,
chariots had two horses, and some more, and when drawn by one horse, and without springs, the
VOL. VI.-50.







ON WHEELS.


SIX-HORSE COACH, WITH RUNNING FOOTMAN.


driver on the horse, and the king riding back-,
ward. Sometimes the king would take his hel-
met and portions of his armor along, and hang
them on the sides of his carriage, but there was
not much room for either company or baggage.
Some of the royal personages of the fourteenth
century rode much more comfortably, for they
had litters, borne by horses instead of men,
and the motion was probably very pleasant.
We all know that during the last two or three
centuries, and almost within the memory of some


A CAB OF THE TIME OF WILLIAM AND MARY.
old people, sedan-chairs, in which two men carried
a person along very easily and comfortably, were
in general use in England and other parts of
Europe, taking the place of the cabs of the present
day. These sedans had their advantages over
some vehicles of our time, for the men who carried
them never ran away, as some of our horses do.
But then, we have an advantage over the sedan
riders for our horses never get drunk, as some of
their bearers used to do.
Sedan-chairs, however,
were not often used for
long journeys, and if a lady
was not able to travel in a
carriage, her husband
sometimes allowed her to
ride behind him on his
horse. In such cases, a
pillion, or seat suitable for
a lady, would be fastened
behind his saddle, and in
this way they could ride
along very cozily and com-
fortably, and much more
agreeably to themselves


than to the horse, I imagine, if they both happened
to be fat.
After a time, we see that sedan-chairs began to
give way to something better adapted to an ex-
tended trip, and in the time of William and Mary
we find one-horse cabs in use. But these were very
different from the cabs of the present day, although
they were an improvement on most of the vehicles
that we have been considering. They were made
without springs, but the wheels were not directly
under the body of the cab, and so much of the
effect of the jolting was lost. The motion of the
horse, who bore a great part of the weight of the
vehicle, must have given the cab something of the
ease and "springiness of a sedan-chair borne by
men. In these cabs, there was no seat for the
driver, who bestrode the horse, and if the shafts
rubbed his legs, he probably thought that it could
not be helped, for no one had yet dreamed of
making a cab with a place for the driver to sit.
This seems rather strange, for more than a hun-
dred years before, when Queen Elizabeth took her
drives abroad, she rode in a fanciful coach, with a
plumed canopy and a seat in front for the driver.
This would have been a very good coach-for fine
weather-if it had had springs. But these were
not yet in use, and good Queen Bess was really
jolted as much in her handsome coach, with two
fine horses and a stately driver with a great ruff
around his neck, as King John used to be in his
funny wagon. But there were a great many other


QUEEN ELIZABETH'S COACH.


[SEPTEMBER,






ON WHEELS.


inconveniences which the queen was obliged to
bear, but which would not be tolerated now by any
one in moderately comfortable circumstances, and
so, I suppose, she was satisfied with her jolting
coach. If we all knew how badly off we were, in
many respects, this would
be a very unhappy world.
The queen's coach was
probably intended for use
only in the streets of London,
where she could not drive
very fast, even if she did
not object to jolting, and so
two horses were enough to
pull her heavy vehicle slowly
along; but in the coaches
used for traveling purposes,
four and six horses were --
necessary. The Duchess
of Marlborough had coach,
much more roomy and con- co.
venient than that of Queen
Elizabeth, although by no means so ornamental,
and this was drawn by six horses. The driver
sat low on a box in front, but he was not con-
sidered able to guide and manage six spirited
horses, and so a postilion, or under-driver, rode
one of the leaders.
Some of these six-horse coaches, however, had


as many as five attend-
ants. There was a
driver who handled the
reins and a long whip ;
there was a rider for
one of the leaders;
there were two foot-
men to stand up be-
hind, ready to make
themselves useful when
the coach should stop,
and there was a run-
ning footman, with a
long staff, who ran
ahead of the equi-
page, calling to the
people and wagons to


get out of the way, as his master's coach, with its
six-horse team, came dashing along.
Some of these coaches or carriages were very
grand, indeed, and were hung upon straps, which
were the next best things to regular springs,
although the body of the coach must have swung
about, sometimes, in a very unpleasant manner.
There were no steps to vehicles of this kind, for
they were not needed, the body of the carriage
being so near the ground that it was perfectly easy
to step in and out. But a big stone in the middle


of the road would have been apt to give the whole
affair a pretty bad bump.
And so our ancestors rode about in their
heavy, awkward, springless carriages, thinking that
they were very grand and fine, and that no one


ACH OF THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH,


need desire anything better. Even as late as 18oo,
the gig in common use was a very cumbrous
vehicle, with the seat about half-way between the
wheels and the horse. But the motion of this gig
must have been tolerably easy, for great leather
straps supported it from behind, and the shafts ran
back to the axle-tree in such a way as to give a
certain spring to the body of the vehicle. Indeed
most of us would be very glad to get a ride
in a gig of this kind, if we had a long way to
go, and there was nothing else to ride in. And
yet I am very much afraid that if we thought
that we should be obliged to ride on a road or street
where there were a good many people to be met,
that we should choose to walk as long as our legs
would carry us, rather than ride in an old-fashioned
gig and be laughed at by every one who should
see us.
After these gigs, and the high old family car-
riages, with a long set of steps which were let
down when people wanted to get in or out, and
the other old-fashioned vehicles, of various kinds,


GIG, USED IN 1800.

which your fathers and mothers all can remember,
we came to have the light, easy-going carriages


LADY ON A PILLION.






[SEPTEMBER,


ONE SUMMER DAY.


of the present day, with elastic steel springs and
large light wheels. It is in the size of the wheels
that we see one of the greatest differences between
our vehicles and those of earlier times. Carriage-
wheels used to be made very small and heavy.
The front wheels, especially, were sometimes no
higher than those at present used for children's
carriages. But, now, our wheels are very large
and light, and those in front are nearly as big as
those behind. All this is greatly to the advantage
of the horses, for a carriage on large wheels rolls
along much more easily than another on small
ones.
It would seem as if it would be impossible to
build anything more easy for a horse to pull than
some of the light wagons now used for fast driv-
ing, which many horses can whirl along in less
than three minutes to the mile. But it will not do
to be too positive about this. Many of us may live
long enough to see carriages far better than any


now in use, and, indeed, I think that in some
respects we are to be pitied if we do not see better
ones. Some of our high, easy-running buggies and
light carriages, where two people have to sit on a
seat that is but little too large for one, are nothing
like so comfortable to ride in as an old-fashioned
gig. And yet, neither you nor I would think of such
a thing as buying a big, comfortable, leather-
cushioned old gig, even if it should be warranted
to be in perfect order, and our horse should assure
us that he would just as soon pull it as not.
So it is with carriages, as well as with many
other things. We not only think that we are far
better off than our ancestors, but we believe that it
would be unnecessary-or, perhaps, impossible-
for those who come after us to try to improve on
our possessions and contrivances. But we are
probably just as much mistaken, in this respect, as
were the Egyptians, and King John, and the
Duchess of Marlborough.


ONE SUMMER DAY.

BY A. E. B.


THIS will be a story of what happened to the
little Jones children, one summer day,-a long
time ago,-when your great-grandmothers were
little girls like you.
There were five little Joneses,-Peggy and Jonas,
Hiram, Hetty, and little Hannah. They lived in
the country, a mile from the nearest neighbor, in
an out-of-the-way corner of never-mind-wh at County
in Pennsylvania, where all people talked in
Dutch.
Very early in the morning of this day I am
going to tell you about, Farmer Jones got up and
looked out of the window. The sun was rising,
the sky was as bright and clear as it could be,-not
a cloud to be seen. So he looked around at his
wife, where she lay fast asleep, and said to her, all
in Dutch:
"Mother! mother! see how the sun shines!
such fine weather To-morrow, we cut the hay ;
it will take six men."
Then he put on his boots, and went out to the
barn to give the cattle their breakfasts.
Poor Mother Jones It was hard to be waked by
such news, for those few short sentences meant
more than they seemed. It meant pies and cakes
and bread to bake, and hams to boil, and beef to
roast, and vegetables to cook,-almost enough for


a regiment, and hard work for a week. But she
was a good-natured woman; so she only groaned
as she hurried down-stairs to get the breakfast
ready for all the little Joneses.
Very soon, the children came dancing into the
kitchen, looking as clean and rosy and fat as only
little country children can, and very anxious to
help their mother. So Jonas and Hetty, like Jack
and Jill, went down the hill to the spring, and
brought back a bucket of water, while Hiram
ground the coffee, and Peggy set the table. As
for little Hannah,-she only danced and sang, all
in Dutch.
Breakfast was soon ready, and they all sat down
at the table, the children chattering as if they
wanted to see who could make most noise. Father
and Mother Jones sat, in silence, until, when they
were almost done, Mother Jones took her knife
and knocked on the side of her plate with it.
Then all the little Joneses were as quiet as mice.
Peggy wiped her face on her apron. So did Hetty.
Jonas had a knife in one hand, and a fork in the
other; he put one hand on each side of his plate,
and the knife and fork stuck up straight in the air.
Hiram tried to fix his so, but did n't succeed, for
his fork fell down and stuck up straight in the
floor. Little Hannah was so surprised at all this,







ONE SUMMER DAY.


that she forgot where her mouth was, and poured and ready for them, very much to Hannah's
a spoonful of milk into her lap. relief.
This is what the mother said, all in Dutch: "Now, let 's play mother," said Peggy, as they
Children, to-day I shall be very busy, cooking sat down on the grass.
and baking for the
men who come -
to-morrow to cut ..
the grass. Jonas, -,. .' d .
Hetty and Hiram, j -1
go down to the or- ,^ P>
chard and get early
apples for pies, ."-
while Peggy washe- h. .1.. -
Then you can help ,: .i in.:u i ppl,1 tl y !' Le
for pies. When yo.u 1i --.J i;!l.
you may take your Jinril, .1o rn I.)
the wood, by the cr-.i:.. ,in -' :t i
day. Take a piece .:l rh- ,.i .. I '
wove last winter wirl, i. .,.1 '-1 '.:. ,
on the grass, in the :, i '; i. r t-1 :
the creek, and keep iI ...r, II I -.1.
Be good children; ni ,l,: P.i' :, I ,i *.:.l*.i
let Hannah go near lth ,- it .,. J.. -
When Mother J,..:- h d ,-,.,.h.l- rh '
long speech,-whicl .'t 1",- i*. ..i
in Dutch as it is in I t l,-i: b.--: i thle htr
Joneses shouted witl .:l:t11 hr. .1 ..-l ..n r:
do as they were bl-i. ..!- 0i.- h i.:.th r
packed some dinner .:.r A-!-~i .. ,-
basket. Hetty and I-ijr, rr .:..1 r,. .r
Peggy and Jonas tool: I.1,I ai... jH i j II_
attention was compl-t:.i. :" tl I', I h
pet,-alame duck,
-that she always -
took with her; -
but, as she gener- '.
ally carried it up-
side-down,it strug-
gled, and squeak-
ed and squawked -'l
most dolefully. -
When they ar- _- ---
rived at the creek,
-which they did l
without any acci- ,.
dent, except that
Hiram and Hetty
let the basket fall
two or three times,
-they spread out _
the muslin on the THE CREEK.
grass, bringing wa-
ter fiom the stream to wet it, as they had been "Yes," said Jonas. He always began with
directed. Such hard work made them hungry. yes," even when he meant to say no. "Yes,
Yes," said Jonas; yes, I could eat Hannah's I 'm mother, and you 're father; no, you 're father
duck, even." and I'm mother, and-oh, I '11 tell you Let 's
Fortunately, Peggy had the dinner unpacked, do like some people I saw when I went to town







[SEPTEMBER,


ONE SUMMER DAY.


along with father. This is the way! You must t
fill your tin-cups,-only pretend they're glass,-
and -"
I know," interrupted Hiram, a quiet little fel-
low, too shy to talk much,-" I know. I 'm going


-,











'A:
..A -,
-- . - . . -- '








S-. -.iK-. A
'- _. .- ..
4"" ---.v ..


AT THEIR DINNER.


to fill my cup with water, and catch a little fish
in it."
Yes," said Jonas, and then some day you 'll
drink the fish, and it 'll grow bigger and bigger
inside of you, till you can't walk, and then how '11
you feel?"
I 'm going to let Hiram drink out of my cup,
and then he can catch two fishes, if he wants to,"
said Hetty; and then he 'll give me one; wont
you, Hiram?"
But Hiram was too busy, eating his dinner, and
thinking over the alarming prospect before him, to
answer just then.
"Squire Keiser 's awful fat!" he said, after a
while. Peggy, do you believe he 's got a fish in-
side o' him? "
Peggy and Jonas laughed so loud and so long
at this, that Hiram seized his tin cup, and ran off to


the creek. Hetty followed, to comfort him, as fast
as her fat little legs would carry her; and Hannah,
not enjoying the jokes of Peggy and Jonas, soon
danced off to try the others' company, still carrying
her dear duck. When she got to the bank, the
children had already waded
out to the middle of the creek,
Hetty patiently holding one
cup while Hiram dipped up
water in the other, hoping to
find a fish in it. Hannah
stood watching them for a
S while thinking how nice it
looked, but not daring to go
to them until her duck suc-
-- - ceeded in getting out of
her arms, and flew into the
water; then she started right
after it. The water felt
pretty cold, at first, and she
was a little frightened, but
.,' that soon wore off, and was
n't she enjoying it! And
g getting so wet! Until just
S in the midst of her fun
Peggy and Jonas arrived at
. the creek. Hetty and Hiram
happening to spy Hannah
at the same instant, they all
Sf'our set up a yell-enough
'r to frighten an Indian who
'.was used to it, and much
more a little Dutch girl who
"' ', had never heard quite so bad
a sound before. It made her
S--- jump so that she immedi-
ately put her feet where her
head had been-not pur-
posely, of course; then the
Jones children gave a louder scream than the first,
and there re-appeared a very sad little face, with
water streaming from the hair and eyes in torrents.
"Peggy," said Jonas, as he kicked off his boots,
-yes, and wont we catch it when mother finds
this out "
Then he waded out and brought the little girl
to shore, all dripping wet from the crown of her
head to the sole of her foot.
The children looked at her in dismay.
"What shall we do ?" they said.
But Peggy was a motherly, quick-witted girl, and
almost before Hannah knew what they were about,
the wet clothes were off and spread on the grass to
dry, and she was dressed in Peggy's big apron
and a sun-bonnet with a cape that came down to
her waist. She looked very funny, and they all
laughed very much, and then-tired out-poor







OFF FOR BOY-LAND.


Hannah was glad to curl herself up in Peggy's lap,
like a kitten, and sleep till her clothes were dry.
Late in the afternoon, when the shadows of the
trees grew very long, and Peggy said it was time
for Jonas to go after the cows, and for the rest to
go home, Hetty went to Hannah, and turned her
around several times, as if inspecting her from all
possible points.
"Peggy," she said thoughtfully-" Peggy, I
don't think it shows much; she don't look as if
she 'd been very wet."
"N-n-o-o," Peggy answered doubtfully.
Yes," said Jonas. No, she don't. That 's
what I think."
Well," continued Hetty, we need n't worry
mother about it, this time. She 'l1 be so tired."
So they all thought, excepting Hiram ; and he did
not like to say anything for fear Jonas would laugh
at him. He wanted to see what his mother would
do. If he told her suddenly, it would frighten
her and make her jump, and he wanted to see her
jump. He thought about it all the way going


home, and by the time he reached the house the
temptation was very great, but still he didn't really
intend to tell her. He went round to the kitchen
door, just to see what she was doing. He looked
at her as she stood at the table, her back toward
him, cutting bread for supper. What a good
chance to make her jump !
"Mother," he said, speaking very fast-
"mother, what you think? What do you think ?
Why, Hannah Why she fell into the creek "
And she did jump. Poor Hiram! he did n't
know what trouble he was bringing on himself till
he saw her face. It was n't hard to guess then.
Poor Mother Jones, too! She was so tired,
after her hard day's work, and then to hear that
the children had disobeyed her-it was too bad !
So, when the supper was over, she went up-
stairs and got a slipper that she kept for solemn
occasions, and then-like "the old woman who
lived in a shoe "-she whipped them all soundly
and put them to bed.
Was n't it sad?


OFF FOR BOY-LAND.

BY EMMA HUNTINGTON NASON.


Ho! All aboard! A traveler
Sets sail from Baby-land !
Before my eyes there comes a blur,
But still I kiss my hand,
And try to smile as off he goes,
My bonny, winsome boy!
Yes, bon voyage God only knows
How much I wish thee joy.

Oh, tell me, have ye heard of him?
He wore a sailor's hat
All silver-corded round the brim,
And-stranger e'en than that-
A wondrous suit of navy-blue,
With pockets deep and wide;
Oh, tell me, sailors, tell me true,
How fares he on the tide?


We 've now no baby in the house;
'T was but this very morn,
He doffed his dainty broideredd blouse,
With skirts of snowy lawn;
And shook a mass of silken curls
From off his sunny brow;
They fretted him-" so like a girl's !
Mamma can have them now."

He owned a brand-new pocket-book,
But that he could not find;
A knife and string was all he took;
What did he leave behind?
A heap of blocks with letters gay,
And here and there a toy;
I can not pick them up to-day,
My heart is with my boy.


Ho! Ship ahoy! At Boyhood's town
Cast anchor strong and deep !
What tears upon this little gown
Left for mamma to keep ?
Weep not, but smile; for through the air
A merry message rings:-
" Just sell it to the rag-man there!
I've done with baby things!"






SEPTEMBER,


A QUEEN.



A QUEEN.


WHERE goes our little Mary,
Her blue eyes so serene?
So happy is she with herself
She 's playing she 's a queen.
She has a supple willow wand,
And to the end is tied
A meadow-lily, golden-hued,
That waves in gentle pride.
With such a scepter could a queen
Need anything beside?


'T is quite enough for Mary;
She asks not e'en a crown,
As singing, talking to herself,
She wanders slowly down
Where many yellow lilies grow
Beside the brooklet brown.


The saucy brook pays her no heed;
The breeze blows careless, free;
None seeks to kiss the scepter fair
Save one bewildered bee;
Only the gentle lilies bow
At little Mary's knee;
But there 's no queen in all the world
More satisfied than she.


Till, coming to the old stone-wall-
'T is somewhere here," she cries,
" John thinks the turkey hides her nest;
If I should find the prize!"
Both little hands must grasp the stones
To help her scramble o'er;
The scepter bright falls in the grass,
Forgotten evermore.


, I ,







GRETELEIN AND HER QUEER STOVE.



GRETELEIN AND HER QUEER STOVE.

BY ROSAMOND DALE OWEN.


FAR off, over the blue waters, there is a queer
little house, in a queer little German town. In
this house there is a very strange tall stove; a stove
nearly as high as a man, made of white porcelain,
girdled with bands of brass which shine like bur-
nished gold when the stream of eastern sunshine
gleams through the small-paned window.
In this house there lives a large family of chil-
dren, with a dear father and mother to watch over
them,-Gretelein, Marie, Fritz, and baby Lisette.
Gretelein was an odd young girl, with great,
wide blue eyes, and two little yellow plaits of hair
hanging straight down her back and tied with blue
ribbons.
One day, Gretelein was left alone in the family
room, where the porcelain stove was. She looked
cautiously around to see that nobody was peeping
through the windows, then she crept softly on tip-
toe to the stove and suddenly opened a little door
in the upper part and peered into a sort of little
oven. It was all of white porcelain, and looked
like a cunning little white room. Many times
before had Gretelein crept up to this stove and
peered into her fairy house, as she called it; but it
was always empty and silent as now. So Gretelein
turned away with a sigh, her blue eyes wider and
more wistful than ever.
The next evening, when it was almost dusk,
Gretelein sat on a little wooden chair close to the
window, trying to finish a pair of woolen socks for
the dear father's birthday. No one else was in the
room, and Gretelein often turned toward the tall
stove, standing like a ghost in the pale light. It
was growing too dark to see, the busy click of her
needles stopped, and Gretelein leaned back in her
chair to rest. Suddenly a soft noise attracted her
notice; it sounded like the whirring of many
wings. Quickly she stole across the floor, crept up
to the stove, and with a quick motion opened the
little porcelain door. What a strange sight met
Gretelein's gaze!-a sight which made her eyes
open wider than ever before, and her breath came
thick and fast through her startled lips. There, in
the silent white chamber, thronged a restless mass
of little people, each no bigger than her finger.
Before Gretelein could recover, the tallest and hand-
somest of these little elves fluttered through the
open door, alighting upon Gretelein's shoulder.
"Well, Gretelein," shrilled the little man,
you have found us at last."
She started so violently as the little elf spoke,


that he nearly lost his balance, and clutched at her
dress to keep from falling.
She was dreadfully frightened, and was on the
point of running away; she did wish some one
would come in; she thought she would never go
near this dreadful stove again. How could she
have been so foolish as to watch for fairies, and to
wish that she could see them !
You are afraid of us," squeaked the little man.
"You foolish child, don't you know we lived
in this house and this stove long before you were
born,-before your mother and father were born ?"
How could you live so long and not grow a
bit?" ventured Gretelein, under her breath.
"We had something else to do,--we have to
make everybody else grow; we are your household
elves; we work, oh, how hard we do work over
you, even at night; we have to rack our poor
brains to supply you with dreams; you are such
an unreasonable set, you mortals, that you have to
be amused even when you are asleep! Here,
Dreams, wake up It is almost night, time to
begin work."
Two drowsy little elves rolled from an obscure
corner, and sat up rubbing their eyes; one was a
dreamy-faced, fair-haired little fellow, the other
looked in a surly way from under a pair of black
brows. He had a strange, white, terrified look,
and crept timidly behind his brother.
"These," said the elf-king, "are Dream and
Nightmare, starting out on their night's work."
Gretelein was next attracted to a lively group in
a corner. Foremost among them stood the queer-
est little man, with such a comical twist to his
mouth, and black merry eyes, that Gretelein
laughed in spite of herself.
That," said the elf-king, is Jokes, and that
little chap next to him is Laughter, and after
Dream and Nightmare are through with you,
before your eyes are fairly opened, Jokes jumps
into your ear, and Laughter perches himself in the
corners of your mouth, and such a whisk as he
gives it. The little fellow hiding behind there,
looking rather ashamed, is Mischief. But some-
times that scowling group in the other corner get
ahead of this one. That little imp no bigger than
your thumb-nail is Cross-patch. He is dreadfully
troublesome and hard to get rid of, when he once
fastens on you."
He fastened on Marie, yesterday," said Grete-
lein, "and I ought not to have blamed her so,







GRETELEIN AND HER QUEER STOVE.


much, for after all it was not her fault, but that tinued, "is a set that are hard to get rid of when
little imp's." once they take hold. That is Jealousy, and that
"Hoity, toity not so fast, little maiden; if Envy; that miserable starveling is Selfishness, and
Marie had resolved that Cross-patch should leave, that horrid toad is Gluttony."


GRETELEIN AND THE ELF-KING.


Cross-patch would have had to go. None of my
elves ever stay where they are not wanted. Some
are more easily frightened off than others. The
uglier the imps are the tighter they hold, but the
worst of them can be shaken off. There," he con-


Gretelein shrank in dismay from these wretched
little elves, and wondered how anybody could
allow them to fasten on them. Suddenly Grete-
lein's attention was arrested by a radiant little elf
floating above all the others.


[SEPTEMBER,







SO WISE.


"Oh, how beautiful, how beautiful he is! Why,"
said Gretelein, "my dear mother looks like him,
when she bends to kiss me good-night."
That," said the elf-king, "is Love. He stays
nearly all the time with the dear mother; he
strokes her soft cheeks and smooths her brow; he
looks deep into her tender eyes until they shine so
blue; he holds her gentle hands and passes them
over Gretelein's eyes when she is sick."
"And the dear little angel who goes hand in
hand with Love ? "
He," said the elf-king, is called Faith."
And those glorious ones ? asked breathless
Gretelein.
"They are Peace and Joy."
"Oh, oh, oh said Gretelein, how I do
love them I Will they stay with me, too, these
four beautiful ones ? She stretched her arms
with a cry of entreaty and-woke with a great
start.
The supper-bell was ringing, Marie and Fritz
were standing in front of her laughing heartily, and
the mother with baby Lisette in her arms was
smiling down at her.
Gretelein rubbed her eyes, then, suddenly re-
membering the fairies, she ran to the stove and
looked in. There was nothing there.
"Oh, they have gone they have gone !" said
Gretelein, the tears in her eyes.
"You have been dreaming," said the mother.


"Let us go to supper; after that, you can tell us
your dream."
Gretelein almost choked over the first mouthfuls,
she was so sorry to find it was not really true.
Do tell us about it," said Marie.
Do, Gretelein," said Fritz. What did you
expect to find in the stove ? "
Gretelein was a brave girl, so she suppressed
her own sorrow and told her dream.
While they were talking, Gretelein sat in a brown
study. She presently looked up with a smile.
It was true, after all," said Gretelein.
True exclaimed Fritz. Do you take me
for a dunce? You always were a silly thing that
believed in ghosts and fairies. Girls have n't a
bit of sense "
There is one of them this moment, he is hang-
ing in the corners of your mouth and wrinkling up
your nose," said Gretelein.
Fritz involuntarily put up his hand.
"Pooh what nonsense!"
"And little Cross-patch was on the point of
making ugly frowns on my forehead only I asked
him very politely to go away."
The mother smiled down at Gretelein.
There, there," said Gretelein, is that lovely
little angel fairy looking from mother's eyes.
Don't you see him, children? I am glad I had
that dream," whispered Gretelein, nestling close
to her mother, "even if it is n't really true."


SO WISE.

A FAIRY sat on a rose-leaf edge--
" The children have grown so wise,
One need n't hide in a rose's heart
For fear of questioning eyes,
Nor shake the gold-dust out of one's hair,
Lest a sunbeam show it unaware.
One may tilt and sway in the gold-green grass,
One may wander fairy-free,
For, of course, if the children don't believe,
They will never look to see."







PIRATES OF THE CHINESE COAST.



PIRATES OF THE CHINESE COAST.

BY J. O. D.


OF all the dangers that beset the mariner,
whether it be from storm, fire, or the hidden reef,
none have such terrors for vessels trading in the
Pacific Ocean as the pirates that infest the Chinese
coast. With ordinary skill and vigilance the for-
mer dangers may be guarded against, and it is


at night-fall are to all appearances the peaceful
traders that they profess to be; but if an unpro-
tected vessel comes in view, the scene changes as
if by magic; deck loads of merchandise are thrown
into the holds, and cannon take their place; the
crews are marvelously re-enforced by men who have


seldom that some one does not survive to tell the
tale, but an attack by these pirates is conducted
with such cunning, treachery and skill, that if it is
successful, it leaves a mystery far harder to bear
than a known misfortune, for those who watch and
wait for the ship that never returns to port. Every
year adds to the list of stately vessels and gallant
crews that leave port forever, and are eventually
placed among the "missing." How many of
these are captured and destroyed on the China
coast can never be known; their assailants show
no mercy, and the ocean "tells no tale."
The quaint junks that leave the Chinese ports


been hidden below, and the former lazy coasters
glide swiftly along, propelled not only by their
sails but by long and powerful oars.
The doomed vessel is quickly surrounded by the
pirates, and a cannonade soon brings her masts
and yards crashing to the deck. Her crew may
defend themselves as well as they can, but they
are outnumbered fifty to one. Nearer close the
pirates, who throw rockets and "jingals" that
leave an unquenchable fire and a stupefying smell
wherever they fall; the defense grows more feeble,
and now, running alongside, the pirates board, and
slay all of the crew that may survive. By the busy


[SEPTEMBER,






A JOLLY FELLOWSHIP.


hands of the plunderers the cargo is soon removed,
a hole is bored under the water-line of the capt-
ured ship, and as the pirates sail away, the scut-
tled vessel slowly sinks from view, and after weary
months of waiting her name is placed on the list
of missing."
The pirate coasters repair their damages, send
the guns below, divide the booty and disperse. If
the battle has been heard by a cruiser, she hastens
in its direction and meets with two or three easy-
going traders who are apparently unconscious of
any such thing as piracy near them. If any sign
of the conflict remains about them, and an expla-
nation is required, some plausible story is always
ready in which they are represented as the real
sufferers. Complaints against all robbers are
intermixed with cunningly invented directions to
the man-of-war, which is soon in hot chase of an
imaginary foe.
If caught, these pirates meet with prompt pun-
ishment, which is always death. Knowing this,


they will fight fiercely, if discovered by a man-of-
war while attacking a vessel, and many instances
are recorded where all the members of a pirate
crew have destroyed themselves in preference to
an ignominious death which they knew they
would meet if captured.
A voyager on the waters of the East often finds
it difficult, when he sees the Chinese trading
vessels sailing peacefully around him, with their
gay streamers and picturesque sails, and their gongs
sounding a salute as his vessel passes them, to
imagine that many of them are pirates, and that if
a suitable opportunity were offered them to make
an attack, the vessel he is on would never see port
again. But if he should happen to imagine such
a thing, his fears would probably be well founded,
for the records of the Chinese coast service are filled
with accounts of vessels which have been attacked
and destroyed by pirates that were cruising about
in the guise of just such harmless-looking traders
as he sees about him.


A JOLLY FELLOWSHIP.

BY FRANK R. STOCKTON.


CHAPTER XXI.
THE TRIP OF THE TUG.
THE tug-boat was a little thing, and not very
clean; but she was strong and sea-worthy, we
weretold, and therefore we were satisfied. There
was a small deck aft, on which Corny and Rec-
tus and I sat, with Celia, the colored woman ; and
there were some dingy little sleeping-places, which
were given up for our benefit. The captain of the
tug was a white man, but all the rest, engineer,
fireman and hands-there were five or six in all-
were negroes.
We steamed down the Savannah River in pretty
good style, but I was glad when we got out of it,
for I was tired of that river. Our plan was to
go down the coast and try to find tidings of the
boats. They might have reached land at points
where the revenue cutters would never have heard
from them. When we got out to sea, the water
was quite smooth, although there was a swell that
rolled us a great deal. The captain said that if it
had been rough he would not have come out at all.
This sounded rather badly for us, because he might
give up the search, if a little storm came on.
And besides, if he was afraid of high waves in his
tug, what chance could those boats have had ?


Toward noon, we got into water that was quite
smooth, and we could see land on the ocean side
of us. I could n't understand this, and went to
ask the captain about it. He said it was all right,
we were going to take the inside passage, which
is formed by the islands that lie along nearly all
the coast of Georgia. The strips of sea-water
between these islands and the mainland make a
smooth and convenient passage for the smaller
vessels that sail or steam along this coast. Indeed,
some quite good-sized steamers go this way, he
said.
I objected, pretty strongly, to our taking this
passage, because, I said, we could never hear any-
thing of the boats while we were in here. But he
was positive that if they had managed to land on
the outside of any of these islands we could hear of
them better from the inside than from the ocean
side. And besides, we could get along a great
deal better inside. He seemed to think more of
that than anything else.
We had a pretty dull time on that tug. There
was n't a great deal of talking, but there was lots
of thinking, and not a very pleasant kind of think-
ing either. We stopped quite often and hailed
small boats, and the captain talked to people when-
ever he had a chance, but he never heard any-






[SEPTEMBER,


A JOLLY FELLOWSHIP.


750


thing about any boats having run ashore on any
of the islands, or having come into the inside pas-
sage, between any of them. We met a few sailing
vessels, and toward the close of the afternoon we
met a big steamer, something like northern river
steamers. The captain said she ran between the
St. John's River and Savannah and always took the
inside passage as far as she could. He said this
as if it showed him to be in the right in taking the
same passage, but I could n't see that it proved
anything. We were on a different business.
About nine o'clock we went to bed, the captain
promising to call us if anything turned up. But
I could n't sleep well-my bunk was too close and
hot, and so I pretty soon got up and went up to
the pilot house, where I found the captain. He
and one of the hands were hard at work putting
the boat around.
Hello said he. I thought you were sound
asleep."
"Hello! said I. "What are you turning
round for ? "
It was bright starlight, and I could see that we
were making a complete circuit in the smooth
water.
Well," said he, we 're going back."
Back! I cried. "What's the meaning of
that? We have n't made half a search. I don't
believe we 've gone a hundred miles. We want
to search the whole coast, I tell you, to the lower
end of Florida."
You can't do it in this boat," he said; she's
too small."
"Why did n't you say so when we took her ?"
"Well, there was n't any other, in the first
place, and besides it would n't be no good to go
no further. It 's more 'n four days now since
them boats set out. There 's no chance fur any-
body on 'em to be livin'."
"That 's not for you to decide," I said, and I
was very angry. "We want to find our friends
dead or alive, or find some news of them, and we
want to cruise until we know there 's no further
chance of doing so."
Well," said he, ringing the bell to go ahead,
sharp, "I 'm not deciding' anything. I had my
orders. I was to be gone twenty-four hours; an'
it'll be more 'n that by the time I get back."
Who gave you those orders ? "
Parker and Darrell," said he.
"Then this is all a swindle," I cried. "And
we 've been cheated into taking this trip for noth-
ing at all! "
No, it is n't a swindle," he answered, rather
warmly. They told me all about it. They
knew, an' I knew, that it was n't no use to go
looking for two boats that had been lowered in a


big storm four days ago, 'way down on the Florida
coast. But they could see that this here girl
would never give in till she 'd had a chance of
doin' what she thought she was called on to do,
and so they agreed to give it to her. But they
told me on no account to keep her out more 'n
twenty-four hours. That would be long enough
to satisfy her an' longer than that would n't be
right. I tell you they know what they 're about."
"Well, it wont be enough to satisfy her," I
said, and then I went down to the little deck. I
could n't make the man turn back. I thought the
tug had been hired to go wherever we chose to
take her, but I had been mistaken. I felt that we
had been deceived; but there was no use in saying
anything more on the subject until we reached the
city.
I did not wake Rectus to tell him the news. It
would not do any good, and I was afraid Corny
might hear us. I wanted her to sleep as long as
she could, and, indeed, I dreaded the moment
when she should awake, and find that all had been
given up.
We steamed along very fast now. There was no
stopping anywhere. I sat on the deck and thought
a little, and dozed a little; and by the time it was
morning, I found we were in the Savannah River.
I now hated this river worse than ever.
Everything was quiet on the water, and every-
thing, except the engine, was just as quiet on the
tug. Rectus and Corny and Celia were still
asleep, and nobody else seemed stirring, though,
of course, some of the men were at their posts. I
don't think the captain wanted to be about when
Corny came out on deck, and found that we had
given up the search. I intended to be with her
when she first learned this terrible fact, which I
knew would put an end to all hope in her heart;
but I was in no hurry for her to wake up. I very
much hoped she would sleep until we reached the
city, and then we could take her directly to her
kind friends.
And she did sleep until we reached the city. It
was about seven o'clock in the morning, I think,
when we began to steam slowly by the wharves
and piers. I now wished the city were twenty
miles further on. I knew that when we stopped I
should have to wake up poor Corny.
The city looked doleful. Although it was ndr0'
very early in the morning, there were very few
people about. Some men could be seen on the
decks of the vessels at the wharves, and a big
steamer for one of the northern ports was getting
up steam. I could not help thinking how happy
the people must be who were going away in her.
On one of the piers near where we were going to
stop-we were coming in now-were a few darkey







A JOLLY FELLOWSHIP.


boys sitting on a wharf-log, and dangling their
bare feet over the water. I wondered how they
dared laugh and be so jolly. In a few minutes
Corny must be wakened. On a post, near these
boys, a lounger sat fishing with a long pole,-
actually fishing away as if there were no sorrows
and deaths, or shipwrecked and broken-hearted
people in the world. I was particularly angry at
this man-and I was so nervous, that all sorts of
things made me angry-because he was old
enough to know better, and because he looked like
such a fool. He had on green trousers, dirty can-
vas shoes and no stockings, a striped linen coat,
and an old straw hat, which lopped down over his
nose. One of the men called to him to catch the
line which he was about to throw on the wharf, but
he paid no attention, and a negro boy came and
caught the line. The man actually had a bite,
and could n't take his eyes from his cork. I
wished the line had hit him and knocked him off
the post.
The tide was high, and the tug was not much
below the wharf when we hauled up. Just as we
touched the pier, the man, who was a little astern
of us, caught his fish. He jerked it up, and
jumped off his post, and, as he looked up in delight
at his little fish, which was swinging in the air, I
saw he was Mr. Chipperton !
I made one dash for Corny's little cubby-hole. I
banged at the door. I shouted:
"Corny Here's your father!"
She was out in an instant. She had slept in her
clothes. She had no bonnet on. She ran out on
deck, and looked about, dazed. The sight of the
wharves and the ships seemed to stun her.
Where ? she cried.
I took her by the arm and pointed out her
father, who still stood holding the fishing-pole in
one hand, while endeavoring to clutch the swinging
fish with the other.
The plank had just been thrown out from the
little deck. Corny made one bound. I think she
struck the plank in the middle, like an India rub-
ber ball, and then she was on the wharf; and
before he could bring his eyes down to the earth,
her arms were around her father's neck, and she
was wildly kissing and hugging him.
Mr. Chipperton was considerably startled, but
when he saw who it was who had him, he threw
his arms around Corny, and hugged and kissed
her as if he had gone mad.
Rectus was out by this time, and as he and I
stood on the tug we could not help laughing,
although we were so happy that we could have
cried. There stood that ridiculous figure, Mr.
Chipperton, in his short green trousers, and his
thin striped coat, with his arms around his


daughter, and the fishing-pole tightly clasped to
her back, while the poor little fish dangled and
bobbed at every fresh hug.
Everybody on board was looking at them, and
one of the little black boys, who did n't appear to
appreciate sentiment, made a dash for the fish,
unhooked it, and put like a good fellow. This
rather broke the spell that was on us all, and
Rectus and I ran on shore.
We did not ask any questions, we were too glad
to see him. After he had put Corny on one side,
and had shaken our hands wildly with his left
hand, for his right still held the pole, and had
tried to talk and found he could n't, we called a
carriage that had just come up, and hustled him
and Corny into it. I took the pole from his hand,
and asked him where he would go to. He called
out the name of the hotel where we were staying,
and I shut the door, and sent them off. I did not
ask a word about Corny's mother, for I knew Mr.
Chipperton would not be sitting on a post and
fishing if his wife was dead.
I threw the pole and line away, and then Rectus
and I walked up to the hotel. We forgot all
about Celia, who was left to go home when she
chose.
It was some hours before we saw the Chipper-
tons, and then we were called into their room,
where there was a talking and a telling things,
such as I never heard before.
It was some time before I could get Mr. and
Mrs. Chipperton's story straight, but this was
about the amount of it: They were picked up
sooner than we were-just after day-break. When
they left the ship, they rowed as hard as they could,
for several hours, and so got a good distance from
us. It was well they met with a vessel as soon as
they did, for all the women who had been on the
steamer were in this boat, and they had a hard
time of it. The water dashed over them very often,
and Mr. Chipperton thought that some of them
could not have held out much longer (I wondered
what they would have done on our raft).
The vessel that picked them up was a coasting
schooner bound to one of the Florida Keys, and
she would n't put back with them, for she was
under some sort of a contract, and kept right
straight on her way. When they got down there,
they chartered a vessel which brought them up
to Fernandina, where they took the steamer for
Savannah. They were on the very steamer we
passed in the inside passage. If we had only
known that!
They telegraphed the moment they reached
Fernandina, and proposed stopping at St. Augus-
tine, but it was thought they could make better
time by keeping right on to Fernandina. The






[SEPTEMBER,


A JOLLY FELLOWSHIP.


telegram reached Savannah after we had left on
the tug.
Mr. Chipperton said he got his fancy clothes on
board the schooner. He bought them of a man-
a passenger, I believe-who had an extra suit.
I think," said Mr. Chipperton, "he was the
only man on that mean little vessel who had two
suits of clothes. I don't know whether these were
his week-day or his Sunday clothes. As for my
own, they were so wet that I took them off the
moment I got on board the schooner, and I never
saw them again. I don't know what became of
them, and, to tell the truth, I have n't thought of
'em. I was too glad to get started for Savannah,
where I knew we 'd meet Corny, if she was alive.
You see, I trusted in you boys."
Just here, Mrs. Chipperton kissed us both again.
This made several times that she had done it.
We did n't care so much, as there was no one
there but ourselves and the Chippertons.
When we got here and found you had gone
to look for us, I wanted to get another tug and go
right after you, but my wife was a good deal


"'WELL,' SAID HE, 'WE 'RE GOING BACK.'"
shaken up, and I did not want to leave her; and
Parker and Darrell said they had given positive
orders to have you brought back this morning, so
I waited. I was only too glad to know you were


all safe. I got up early in the morning, and went
down to watch for you. You must have been sur-
prised to see me fishing, but I had nothing else to
do, and so I hired a pole and line of a boy. It
helped very much to pass the time away."
"Yes," said Rectus, "you did n't notice us at
all, you were so much interested."
"Well, you see," said Mr. Chipperton, "I had
a bite just at that minute; and, besides, I really
did not look for you on such a little boat. I had
an idea you would come on something more
respectable than that."
"As if we should ever think of respectability at
such a time !" said Mrs. Chipperton, with tears in
her eyes.
"As for you boys," said Mr. Chipperton, get-
ting up and taking us each by the hand, "I don't
know what to say to you."
I thought, for my part, that they had all said
enough already. They had praised and thanked
us for things we had never thought of.
"I almost wish you were orphans," he con-
tinued, "so that I might adopt you. But a boy
can't have more than one father. However, I tell
you a boy can have as many uncles as he pleases.
I '11 be an uncle to each of you as long as I live.
Ever after this call me Uncle Chipperton. Do you
hear that ?"
We heard, and said we 'd do it.
Soon after this, lots of people came in, and the
whole thing was gone over again and again. I am
sorry to say that, at one or two places in the story,
Mrs. Chipperton kissed us both again.
Before we went down to. dinner, I asked Uncle
Chipperton how his lung had stood it, through all
this exposure.
Oh, bother the lung!" he said. I tell you,
Sboys, I 've lost faith in that lung,-at least, in
there being anything the matter with it. I shall
travel for it no more."

CHAPTER XXII.
LOOKING AHEAD.

S"WE have made up our minds," said Uncle
SChipperton, that afternoon, "to go home and
Settle down, and let Corny go to school. I hate to
send her away from us, but it will be for her good.
:I But that wont be until next fall. We '11 keep her
until then. And now, I '11 tell you what I think
Swe 'd all better do. It 's too soon to go North
yet. No one should go from the soft climate of
the semi-tropics to the Northern or Middle States
until mild weather has fairly set in there. And
that will not happen for a month yet.
Now, this is my plan. Let us all take a leisurely
trip homeward by the way of Mobile, and New


752








1879.] A JOLLY FELLOWSHIP. 753


Orleans and the Mississippi River. This will be a gift. There was n't anything he could offer after
just the season, and we shall be just the party, this, except to get me a free pass; and as he had
What do you say?" no way of doing that, he gave up the job, and we
Everybody, but me, said it would be splendid. all went down to supper. That evening, as I was
I had exactly the same idea about it, but I did n't putting a few things into a small valise which I had


say so, for there was no
use in it. I could n't go
on a trip like that. I had
been counting up my
money that morning and
found I would have to
shave pretty closely to get
home by rail,-and I .
wanted, very much, to go
that way- although it
would be cheaper to return
by sea,-for I had a great
desire to go through North -
and South Carolina and
Virginia, and see Wash- -.
ington. It would have -
seemed like a shame to go
back by sea, and miss all -
this. But, as I said, I had
barely enough money for
this trip, and to make it I
must start the next day.
And there was no use
writing home for money.
I knew there was none
there to spare, and I would n't have asked for it if
there had been. If there was any traveling money,
some of the others ought to have it. I had had
my share.
It was very different with Rectus and the Chip-
pertons. They could afford to take this trip, and
there was no reason why they should n't take it.
When I told them this, Uncle Chipperton
flashed up in a minute, and said that that was all
stuff and nonsense,-the trip should n't cost me a
cent. What was the sense, he said, of thinking of a
few dollars when such pleasure was in view? He
would see that I had no money-troubles, and if
that was all, I could go just as well as not. Did
n't he owe me thousands of dollars?
All this was very kind, but it did n't suit me. I
knew that he did not owe me a cent, for if I had
done anything for him, I made no charge for it.
And even if I had been willing to let him pay my
expenses,-which I was n't,-my father would
never have listened to it.
So I thanked him, but told him the thing
could n't be worked in that way and I said it over
and over again, until, at last, he believed it. Then
he offered to lend me the money necessary, but
this offer I had to decline, too. As I had no way
of paying it back, I might as well have taken it as
VOL. VI.-51.


I 3 WIl

j 3jI


bought,-as our trunks
were lost on the "Tigris,"
I had very little trouble
in packing up,-I said to
Rectus that by the time
he started off he could lay
in a new stock of







S,41 ,





p **.


YOU 'RE A REGULAR YOUNG TRUMP!"
clothes. I had made out our accounts, and had
his money ready to hand over to hirm, but I knew
that his father had arranged for him to draw on a
Savannah bank, both for the tug-boat money and
for money for himself. I think that Mr. Colbert
would have authorized me to do this drawing, if
Rectus had not taken the matter into his own
hands when he telegraphed. But it did n't matter,
and there was n't any tug-boat money to pay, any
way, for Uncle Chipperton paid that. He said it
had all been done for his daughter, and he put
his foot down hard, and would n't let Rectus hand
over a cent.
"I wont have any more time than you will
have," replied Rectus, for I'm going to-morrow."
I did n't suppose they 'd start so soon," I said.
I 'm sure there 's no need of any hurry."
"I 'm not going with them," said Rectus, putting
a lonely shirt into a trunk that he had bought.
"I'm going home with you."
I was so surprised at this that I just stared at
him.
What do you mean? said I.
"Mean?" said he. "Why, just what I say.
Do you suppose I 'd go off with them, and let you
straggle up home by yourself? Not any for me,
thank you. And besides, I thought you were to


c~ v







754 A JOLLY FE

take charge of me. How would you look going
back and saying you 'd turned me over to another
party ?"
You thought I was to take charge of you, did
you ?" I cried. Well, you 're a long time saying
so. You never admitted that before."
I had better sense than that," said Rectus,
with a grin. But I don't mind saying so, now,
as we 're pretty near through with our travels.
But father told me expressly that I was to consider
myself in your charge."
"You young rascal! said I. "And he thought
that you understood it so well that there was no
need of saying much to me about it. All that he
said expressly to me was about taking care of your
money. But I tell you what it is, Rectus, you 're
a regular young trump to give up that trip, and
go along with me."
And I gave him a good slap on the back.
He winced at this, and let drive a pillow at me,
so hard that he nearly knocked me over a chair.
The next morning, after an early breakfast, we
went to bid the Chippertons good-bye. We
intended to walk to the d6p6t, and so wanted to
start early. I was now cutting down all extra
expenses.
Ready so soon! cried Uncle Chipperton,
appearing at the door of his room. Why, we
have n't had our breakfast yet."
"We have to make an early start, if we go by
the morning train," said I, "and we wanted to
see you all before we started."
Glad to see you at any hour of the night or
day,-always very glad to see you; but I think we
had better be getting our breakfast, if the train
goes so early."
"Are you going to start to-day ? I asked, in
surprise.
Certainly," said he. Why should n't we ?
I bought a new suit of clothes, yesterday, and my
wife and Corny look well enough for traveling
purposes. We can start as well as not, and I 'd
go in my green trousers if I had n't any others.
My dear," he said, looking into the room, you
and Corny must come right down to breakfast."
But perhaps you need not hurry," I said. I
don't know when the train for Mobile starts."
"Mobile!" he cried. "Who 's going to Mo-
bile? Do you suppose that we are? Not a bit
of it. When I proposed that trip, I did n't pro-
pose it for Mrs. Chipperton, or Corny, or myself,
or you, or Rectus, or Tom, or Dick, or Harry. I
proposed it for all of us. If all of us cannot go,
none of us can. If you must go north this morn-
ing, so must we. We 've nothing to pack, and
that 's a comfort. Nine o'clock, did you say?
You may go on to the d6p6t, if you like, and we '11


,LLOWSHIP.


eat our breakfasts, take a carriage, and be there in
time."
They were there in time, and we all went north
together.
We had a jolly trip. We saw Charleston, and
Richmond, and Washington, and Baltimore, and
Philadelphia; and at last we saw Jersey City, and
our folks waiting for us in the great d6p6t of the
Pennsylvania railroad.
When I saw my father and mother and my sister
Helen standing there on the stone foot-walk as the
cars rolled in, I was amazed. I had n't expected
them. It was all right enough for Rectus to
expect his father and mother, for they lived in
New York, but I had supposed that I should meet
my folks at the station in Willisville. But it was
a capital idea in them to come to New York.
They said they could n't wait at home, and besides,
they wanted to see and know the Chippertons, for
we all seemed so bound together, now.
Well, it was n't hard to know the Chippertons.
Before we reached the hotel where my folks were
staying, and where we all went to take luncheon
together, any one would have thought that Uncle
Chipperton was really a born brother to father and
old Mr. Colbert. How he did talk! How every-
body talked Except Helen. She just sat and
listened and looked at Corny-a girl who had
been shipwrecked, and had been on a little raft in
the midst of the stormy billows. My mother and
the two other ladies cried a good deal, but it was
a sunshiny sort of crying, and would n't have hap-
pened so often, I think, if Mrs. Chipperton had
not been so ready to lead off.
After luncheon we sat for two or three hours in
one of the parlors and talked, and talked, and
talked. It was a sort of family congress. Every-
body told everybody else what he or she was going
to do, and took information of the same kind in
trade. I was to go to college in the fall, but as
that had been pretty much settled long ago, it
could n't be considered as news. I looked well
enough, my father said, to do all the hard study-
ing that was needed; and the Professor was
anxiously waiting to put me through a course of
training for the happy lot of Freshman.
But he 's not going to begin his studies as soon
as he gets home," said my mother. We 're go-
ing to have him to ourselves for a while." And I
did not doubt that. I had n't been gone very long,
to be sure, but then a ship had been burned from
under me, and that counted for about a year's
absence.
Corny's fate had been settled, too, in a general
way, but the discussion that went on about a good
boarding-school for her showed that a particular
settlement might take some time. Uncle Chip-


[SEPTEMBER,







A JOLLY FELLOWSHIP.


perton wanted her to go to some school near his
place on the Hudson River, so that he could drive
over and see her every day or two, and Mrs. Col-
bert said she thought that that would n't do, be-
cause no girl could study as she ought to, if her
father was coming to see her all the time, and
Uncle Chipperton wanted to know what possible
injury she thought he would do his daughter by
going to see her; and Mrs. Colbert said, none at
all, of course she didn't mean that, and Mrs. Chip-


755


call him so-has seen enough of the world to
make him so wide awake that he sees more in
schooling than he used to. That 's my opinion."
I knew that Rectus rather envied my going to
college, for he had said as much on the trip home;
and 1 knew that he had hoped his father would let
him make a fresh start with the Professor at our
old school.
Sammy," called out Mrs. Colbert,-" Sammy,
my son, do you want to go to school, and finish up


CORNY AND HER FATHER MEET ON THE DOCK. (SEE PAGE 751.)


perton said that Corny and her father ought really
to go to the same school, and then we all laughed,
and my father put in quickly and asked about
Rectus. It was easy to see that it would take all
summer to get a school for Corny.
"Well," said Mr. Colbert, "I 've got a place
for Sammy. Right in my office. He 's to be a
man of business, you know. He never took much
to schooling. I sent him traveling so that he
could see the world, and get himself in trim for
dealing with it. And that 's what we have to do
in our business. Deal with the world."
I did n't like this, and I don't think Rectus did,
either. He walked over to one of the windows
and looked out into the street.
I 'll tell you what I think, sir," said I. "Rec-
tus-I mean your son Samuel, only I shall never


your education, or go into your father's office and
learn to be a merchant."
Rectus turned around from the window.
There 's no hurry about the merchant," he
said. I want to go to school and college, first."
"And that 's just where you 're going," said
his mother, with her face reddening up a little
more than common.
Mr. Colbert grinned a little, but said nothing.
I suppose he thought it would be of no use, and I
had an idea, too, that he was very glad to have
Rectus determine on a college career. I know the
rest of us were. And we did n't hold back from
saying so, either.
Uncle Chipperton now began to praise up Rec-
tus, and he told what obligations the boy had put
him under in Nassau when he wrote to his father,







A JOLLY FELLOWSHIP.


and had that suit about the property stopped, and
so relieved him-Uncle Chipperton-from cutting
short his semi-tropical trip and hurrying home to
New York in the middle of winter.
But the suit is n't stopped," said Mr. Colbert.
"You don't suppose I would pay any attention
to a note like the one Sammy sent me, do you? I
just let the suit go on, of course. It has not been
decided yet, but I expect to gain it."
At this, Uncle Chipperton grew very angry
indeed. It was astonishing to see how quickly he
blazed up. He had supposed the whole thing set-
tled, and now to find that the terrible injustice-


things, so as to seem as if they had n't noticed this
little rumpus, and we agreed that we must all see
each other again the next day. Father said he
should remain in the city for a few days now that
we were all here, and Uncle Chipperton did not
intend to go to his country-place until the weather
was warmer. We were speaking of several things
that would be pleasant to do together, when Uncle
Chipperton broke in with a proposition:
I '11 tell you what I am going to do. I am
going to give a dinner to this party. I can't in-
vite you to my house, but I shall engage a parlor
in a restaurant, where I have given dinners before


"' FATHER CRIED CORNY. 'KEEP PERFECTLY COOL "


as he considered it-was still going on, was too
much for him.
"Do you sit there and tell me that, sir?" he
exclaimed, jumping up and skipping over to Mr.
Colbert. "Do you call yourself -- "
"Father cried Corny. Keep perfectly
cool! Remain just where you are "
Uncle Chipperton stopped as if he had run
against a fence. His favorite advice went straight
home to him.
Very good, my child," said he, turning to
Corny. "That's just what I '11 do."
And he said no more about it.
Now, everybody began to talk about all sorts of


(we always come to New York when I want to give
dinners-it 's so much easier for us to come to the
city than for a lot of people to come out to our
place), and there I shall give you a dinner, to-mor-
row evening. Nobody need say anything against
this. I 've settled it, and I can't be moved."
As he could n't be moved, no one tried to move
him.
I tell you what it is," said Rectus privately to
me. If Uncle Chipperton is going to give a
dinner, according to his own ideas of things in
general, it will be a curious kind of a meal."
It often happened that Rectus was as nearly
right as most people.


(To be continued.)


756


[SEPTEMBER,








1879.] NORA' S OIL-WELL.


NORA'S OIL-WELL.

BY SOPHIE SWETT.


IF ye 'd only consint to sell the place to Patsy
Flannigan, an' buy a share in the big oil-well,
we 'd be like the king an' queen on their thrones;
you wid a trailing' silk gown an' a raale gold chain,
an' me wid a gold watch an' a fine span o' horses.
For there 's niver an end o' the oil is in that well,
so they all says."
0 Teddy, there may be niver a drop of oil there
at all, at all Just look at the three derricks for-
ninst the river, all in a row, a-towerin' up so grand
in the air, an' it 's pumpin' an' pumpin' away they
was, an' niver so much as a drap What if this
one would be the same, an' our money would all
be gone, an' the place that farther an' mother
worked so hard for, an' that 's so snug an' comfort-
able for Patsy, and the baby, and the pigs, and
hins, and us all! Jist look how plisant it do be,
Teddy, wid the baby making' dirt-pies in the sun-
shine, and the chicks fighting' so quare over the
worms, an' the dear little pigs squealin' so musical!
O, Teddy, I could n't niver do it,-niver!"
And Nora shook her red head so decidedly that
Teddy was almost convinced that it was of no use
to tease her.
Teddy, and Nora, and Patsy, and the baby, and
the pigs, and chickens, lived in a little town on the
Alleghany River, away out in Western Pennsyl-
vania. You might find the town on the map, -if
I should tell you its name. It lies in a little hollow
that seems to have been scooped out of the high
hills, and the hills shut out the sun-rays, so that
it seems almost always dreary, and gray, and
cloudy, there; and then there is the smoke from
the great iron mills to make the air thick.
The hills are full of treasures; vast stores of iron
and coal which they kept, fast locked up, for
nobody knows how many years, before man's
curious skill burrowed in, and found them. Now,
queer little avenues-just tall enough for a man to
stand upright in, and wide enough for drays,
drawn by patient donkeys, to travel in-lead into,
and sometimes throug-k-the hills. And men with
pickaxes and spades dig away there, in the hearts


of the hills, in darkness and grime, sometimes all
their lives long; and, with the little lamps which
they wear in their caps, casting a faint, weird light
over their blackened faces and figures, they make
one think of gnomes, in a fairy-tale, who wait upon
some Prince of Darkness. The mines have drawn
together a little colony of people from the old
countries,-English, and Welsh, and Irish they are,
principally, though there is a sprinkling of Ger-
mans and Belgians. They live, for the most part,
in little houses of log and plaster, provided by the
iron company, or the coal company; but, now
and then, one, with more means or more enter-
prise than the others, has bought a little lot of
land and built himself a frame house. Terence
Conelly had been one of the enterprising ones.
He had bought two acres of land on the hill-side,
above Sugar Creek, and built a comfortable little
house, and a pig-sty and a hen-house as well, and
had a garden, with praties and cabbages. The
land was very sterile, and the vegetables never
amounted to much; but still it was a pleasure to
,Terence, when he came out of the darkness and
gloom of the mine, to see green things grow-
ing."
But there came a day when poor Terence did
not come out of the mine. A mass of rock and
ore had fallen in and killed him. His wife was
heart-broken, and went into a rapid decline, living
less than a year after her husband's death.
Teddy, Nora, Patsy, and the baby were all
alone, on the little place, which their father and
mother had worked so hard for, and taken such
pleasure and pride in. Teddy was fourteen, and
Nora little more than a year younger; Patsy was
ten, and the baby three. The Conelly children
were regarded as especially intelligent by their
neighbors, and Nora, in particular, was always said
to be "far wiser than her years." They had
always been sent carefully to school, and though
neither of them "took to books," particularly,-
unless Teddy's great liking for pirate stories might
be regarded as indicative of a literary turn,-and


NORA'S OIL-WELL.


1879.]







NORA'S OIL-WELL.


had never "got the burr out from under their
tongues," their native shrewdness had probably
been somewhat sharpened.
At all events they had shouldered their responsi-
bilities, and managed their affairs, without aid
from anybody. Small affairs they were, to be sure.
When the expenses of their mother's illness and
burial were paid, the last cent of Terence Conelly's
little hoard of savings was gone; and as they had
been obliged to scrimp and save, for a long time,
to buy the little comforts necessary for their mother
in her illness, the children were almost entirely
destitute of clothing; the home was their own;
but in some way they must be fed and clothed.
Teddy found a situation in the mill, but the pay
was small, and there were intervals when he had
no work. Nora took in washing and ironing, and,
now and then, she found a day's work at cleaning
and sweeping. It was too hard for her, of course,
but she never complained. At first, people gave
them something, but when it began to be seen how
self-helpful they were, the aid was gradually trans-
ferred to the more destitute,-and they were
plenty. Moreover, the Conellys tried to hide their
want, as much as others displayed theirs. Nora
had a sturdy little pride about it, inherited from
both father and mother. -And they had been
taught to be scrupulously neat; so there was never
the look of poverty about their house which filth
and squalor give. They did not keep the pig
under the bed, nor the hens in the sitting-room,
like many of their countrymen. And people said:
" How well those Conelly children do take care of
themselves! They don't seem to want for any-
thing."
But many a time Nora went to bed hungry, after
her hard day's work, and she patched the children's
clothes and her own until it was hard to tell which
was the original fabric and which the patch ; but
patches did not matter much if they were only
comfortable, and were not obliged to ask charity of
anybody; so Nora thought.
Neither did she mind the hard work, nor the
hunger, if she could only keep the little home, and
the little flock together, and be independent,-just
as her father and mother would have wished.
Nora's only fear was that her i -.... il would fail
her; she had a sharp pain in her side, sometimes,
and her face, that had always been chubby and
rosy before her mother died, grew so wan and
pinched that, but .for her little snub nose, which
turned up just as decidedly as ever, her friends
would scarcely have known her. But she was not
in the least discouraged. They had lived through
the long, cold winter, and now spring had come;
the days would be warm and long, now; they
could raise a few vegetables, which would help


along, and Teddy could catch fish in the river,-
which, though they did taste of petroleum, were,
still, not bad eating. But Teddy was getting into
a way that grieved Nora sorely. One of the mill-
men had lent him papers and books full of stories
that seemed to have turned his head completely.
He was no longer contented to plod along at his
daily labor. He wanted to become rich, all at
once, and have wonderful adventures.
The oil excitement was strong in the town just
then. In all the region around, oil had been found
for several years, but within the borders of this
little town the first oil had been struck a year before,
and the people had gone wild over it. In the cold
winter nights, Teddy had often been employed to
keep fires burning, along the pipe lines, which ran
over the hills,-conveying oil from the wells to the
great tanks near the railroad, where it was kept
ready for transportation. These fires were to keep
the oil from freezing, and several men were em-
ployed together. And then stories of wonderful
oil-wells were told, which aroused Teddy's imagi-
nation to the highest pitch. All the oil which had
been struck was near the northern border of the
town, miles away from their home, and it cost from
two to three thousand dollars for the necessary
apparatus to "bore for oil." All Teddy's story-
papers did not give him the faintest idea how he
was to become the proprietor of an oil-well.
Now, an enterprising Irishman, thinking he had
discovered indications in his barren pasture, was
raising money to "bore," by selling shares in the
prospective well. And, as if luck did mean to
befriend them, Teddy thought Patsy Flannigan
was seized, just at this juncture, with a desire to
buy their place. To be sure he offered less than it
cost, but what was any place worth, now, that had
no signs of oil about it, Teddy would like to know.
And he gave Nora no peace, coaxing and arguing,
getting angry and shedding tears, by turns, and
refusing to listen for a moment to poor Nora's sug-
gestion that "there might be not a drap at all, at
all, in Danny Cregan's well, and then, with the bit
place gone, and no money, what would become of
them ?"
On this particular evening, Teddy was very much
vexed and disturbed in his mind. After he had
pictured the prospective good fortune in such an at-
tractive way, for Nora to be entirely unmoved, and
throw cold water on all his hopes and plans, was too
much for Teddy's temper. He arose from the
door-step, where they were sitting, and strode off,
knocking over the baby, kicking at the cat, and
throwing a stone at the chickens. Poor Nora's
heart was full almost to bursting; she did so hate
to go against Teddy She was naturally yielding,
and "she loved Teddy so much."


[SEPTEMBER,






NORA'S OIL-WELL.


Besides, as he said, she was younger and only a
girl! May be he do be right," she said to her-
self, faltering in her resolution. "It's after getting'
worun out both of us is, wid the harud work, an'
the little till ate, an' may be sickness before us-an'
the poor bye's heart so set on the oil-well! But
then it do be so much like gambling An' Danny
Cregan not quite right in his head, they all says, an'
the last words the mother said bein', Howld fast
to the bit place, Nora. Don't be after lettin' any-
body take it away from yez !' It don't be for the
likes of us to make forchins. We must be contint
wid kapin the roof over our heads, and the bit an'
sup in our mouths. The saints be good till us !-
but Teddy '11 niver be contint till he sells the place
and buys a pairt of the oil-well that Danny Cregan
has n't at all, at all! "
And with this melancholy conclusion Nora's tears
fell thick and fast. But a voice at the gate made
her wipe them away quickly. Teddy had come
back. Nora was afraid he had gone across the
river." They had a ".first cousin" living on the
other side, and once, lately, when Teddy had got
angry with her, he had gone over there, and stayed
two or three days, neglecting his work; and there
were wild boys there, who led him into mischief.
Nora was happy to find that he had not gone.
Perhaps he had come back to tell her that he was
sorry for getting angry with her. "Niver a bye
had a better heart inside iv him than Teddy had-
before the oil faver tuk him," Nora was always
saying.
But Teddy had n't come back to say that he was
sorry.
"It's now or niver,-will ye sell the place to
Patsy Flannigan an' make yer forchin ? he called.
Misther McDonald is after givin' his consint an'
the papers is all ready for signing' "
Mr. McDonald was their guardian, but he was
a hard-working man, with a large family, and
troubled himself very little about his wards.
"'Deed, thin, he would consint till annythin'! "
said Nora. Teddy, we '11 niver make our forchin
in Danny Cregan's oil-well Don't you belave it,
dear Don't let him desave you, wid his blar-
neyin' tongue Don't ask me to sell the roof over
our heads, an' be after turning' the childer and all
intill the street. An' where would we go ag'in we
got the fine forchin, if ye are sure of it ? O, Teddy,
ye used to think a dale of me an' the childer, an'
now ye wont be after breaking' our hearts ?"
It's you that has the blarneyin' tongue L'ave
off, now, an' tell me, for good an' all, will ye give
yer consint ?"
No, niver! said Nora, firmly, though sadly.
Teddy went off, calling out angry words that
almost broke poor Nora's heart. But the recollec-


759


tion of her mother's words kept her resolution
strong.
will holdd fast to the home, and take good
care of thim all,' as the mother said; and may be
Teddy'll be after forgivin' me, some day," she
said, over and over again to herself. "But if
Danny Cregan do be after striking' oil, Teddy '11
niver forgive me, sure "
And poor little Nora's tears fell fast and her
heart was torn by doubts whether after all it might
not have been better to consent. She was suddenly
aroused from her sad reflections by the sound of
footsteps. Two men were coming around the cor-
ner of the house; they must have come across the
fields, as there was no road in that direction; but
strangers were not uncommon in the town, now
that the oil excitement was raging; they came from
Petrolia, and Oil City, and even from Pittsburg,
almost every day. So Nora was not surprised.
One of these men was very flashily dressed, with a
gold chain like a cable, and a very large diamond
pin. Men who had struck oil usually dressed like
that. Nora recognized them as "oil men," at
once. They looked rather curiously about the
little place. Then one of them advanced toward
her.
Good evening, little girl," he said, affably.
We were told that we should find a washerwoman
here."
"I do be the washerwoman, sir And Nora
arose and made a little courtesy, as her mother had
taught her to do.
You look rather small for a washerwoman.
Isn't it pretty hard for you ? "
I gets money for it, sir," said Nora, simply.
"And this is a lonesome, out-of-the-way place.
Don't you ever wish that you lived down by the
river, where the other Irish people live ?"
The bit place do be our own-we likes it, sir,"
said Nora.
"Never think of selling it, do you ? I know a
man who would give you a good price for it; then
you would n't have to work so hard."
"Patsy Flannigan, sir? He offered to give us
three hundred dollars for it."
Three hundred dollars I-that is, this gen-
tleman who wants it will give you a thousand
dollars "
A thousand dollars If they had all that money,
Teddy might have his share in Danny Cregan's
well, and there would still be enough left to buy
them a house to live in !-though it would n't be
the dear old place. And while she was thinking,
Nora's shrewd little wits gathered themselves
together. Why did these unknown men want so
much to buy the little place, that was so far from
the river and the railroad? And this oil man






[SEPTEMBER,


NORA'S OIL-WELL.


seemed so eager and interested! He examined
the soil, he picked up stones and looked at them.
Could it be-oil? It was very unlikely; no oil
had been found near, that she knew of; but still it
was strange.
"I don't think we do be wantin' to sell, sir."
Who looks after you ?-who is your guardian ?"
asked the man; and Nora told him. Then he
wanted to know where Mr. McDonald lived, and
they went away, hurriedly. But they seemed to
remember themselves, and came back to say that
Nora would find some clothes which they wanted
washed, at the hotel. After they had gone, Nora
felt restless and uneasy. At one moment she was
afraid that she ought to have taken the thousand
dollars; the next moment she would feel afraid
that they would see Mr. McDonald, and bind him
to a bargain which she could not break. Very
soon she decided that, as there was yet an hour
before dark, she would go down to the hotel and
get the washing, and then go to see Mr. Staynes,
who lived near the hotel, and tell him her difficul-
ties. Mr. Staynes was the superintendent of the
iron company. Her father had been in his
employ when he was killed, and he had always
taken an interest fn them. He was a man full of
business cares, but Nora was sure of a kindly hear-


-- ,,,- .-,- ,, ,. ,- .:._- ,- th
S i.h:, Hl-: i h -,,: l rJ '. !'711,t,,- t ,.1 -,i t : .: in g a
. .. I , -: '-, l', I ..,,.:. i. -1'- k new
rh rInf i, i. ;-,l .,,! .1 I 'o:i- ',i r- ife.


S- 1, .,, .:., ..,. l .: .hat is
it?" he said, good-naturedly.
Two men do be after wantin' to buy the place
for a thousand dollars. Will we take it, sir? "
So they 've been after you already, have they?
I 've just been to see McDonald about you, and I
was going up to your place, the first thing in the
morning. They 've struck oil on the Ramsdell
place ?-got a great flow; only about an hour
ago."
It do be a good ways from us, sir, an' the hill
between," said Nora.
Yes, but the oil seems to follow a certain
track; it runs due east; and you are directly on
the track. And there are other signs in your direc-
tion. You will probably be offered a good deal
more than a thousand dollars for the place to-mor-
row. But there have been so many failures lately
where oil had been expected that nobody will be
likely to offer you a great price. I made Mc-
Donald an offer which he is disposed to accept, but
says he will leave the decision to you, who are wise
enough to manage your own affairs. I will put
down a well on your place at my own expense. If
there is oil you shall pay me for my outlay, and
give me one-tenth of the profits. If there is no oil,
the loss will be entirely my own."
Oh, an' the bit place ud still be our own what-
iver way it happened !" cried Nora, joyfully.


760






NORA'S OIL-WELL.


Poor little Nora had known the realities of
hunger and cold, and had become very practical.
The possibility of becoming rich was too vague
and unreal for her imagination to grasp; it seemed
like one of Teddy's wonderful stories; while the
possibility of being without a shelter,-if they lost
their little place,-and colder and hungrier than
they had ever been, seemed a natural one. She
felt overwhelmed with gratitude to Mr. Staynes,
although with that gentleman it was only a bsi-
ness transaction, by which he hoped to make
money; the only things for which she had reason
to feel grateful to him were that he was not taking
an unfair advantage, as he might have done, and
that he did feel honestly anxious that they might
be benefited at the same time with himself.
Teddy ought to be consulted, but there was no
time to lose, and Nora said "Yes" for both of
them; she felt sure that Teddy would be delighted
with the project, and she earnestly hoped that he
would come home that night that she might tell
him of it.
But nine-ten-eleven o'clock came, and no
Teddy. Before noon the next day the boring
operations had commenced, and still no Teddy !
The Conelly place was thronged by a curious
crowd. Right in the midst of Teddy's potato-
patch they were sinking the well. They seemed
to think no more of "praties" than of so many
weeds, though the heart of little Patsy-who had
weeded them faithfully-burned within him at the
sight.
It was a sad time for the pigs and chickens.
The pig-pen and the hen-coop were almost buried
under the timbers, and pipes, and screws, and
wheels, and all the wonderful apparatus that was
to force her treasure from the unwilling earth; the
pigs squealed their remonstrances unceasingly,
and the chicks scattered in every direction, pursued
by their mammas, with unavailing clucks. The
big rooster alone seemed to take a cheerful view of
the proceedings. He cocked his head, first on one
side and then on the other, and inspected the
operations, while they bored, and bored, until it
seemed to Nora that they must have bored nearly
through the earth. And, when the great tall der-
rick was set up, the rooster flew upon it, to an
astonishing height, and uttered an exultant cock-a-
doodle-doo that was re-echoed from all the hills
around. And the result proved that he was a
knowing rooster. For, a few minutes after that,
there was a spurt," into the air, of a dark-green
liquid, from which proceeded an odor like the con-


centrated essence of all the bad kerosense lamps
that you ever smelled This was one of the won-
derful wells. The oil did not wait to be pumped;
it burst up into the air like a fountain, to the
height of seven or eight feet There was a great
excitement. It seemed as if two-thirds of the
people in the country assembled there in less than
half an hour.
Nora's delight had a great drawback. Teddy
was not there. In all this time she had not heard
from him. He had gone, at first, to their cousin,
but had become angry with him for saying, when
he told the story of his grievance, that Nora was
right; and he had gone away from there, nobody
knew where. And Nora was anxious about him.
She could not look at the wonderful fountain of oil
for watching for him. Surely, when everybody was
rushing there, he would hear what had happened
if he were anywhere near! And, at last, toward
night-fall, when the excitement was subsiding a
little, she espied, on the edge of the crowd, a way-
worn and tattered pilgrim who looked like Teddy.
Nora rushed to meet him, and gave him a prodi-
gal son's greeting; she put both arms around his
neck and cried for joy.
0 Teddy, where were ye ?"
I 've been after seeking' my forchin," said
Teddy, shame-facedly.
"And it 's our own place is the forchin, after
all cried Nora.
Why they did n't all go wild with excitement
and joy, I don't know. Teddy had tramped almost
to Pittsburg, finding small jobs by the way, but
had, at length, been seized by homesickness-or
a return of common sense-and taken up his
homeward way.
The oil did not flow for a very great while; the
wonderful wells seldom do. But before the flow
ceased there was a snug little fortune invested for
Teddy, and Nora, and Patsy, and the baby, that
would keep them from poverty all their days. And
Nora is no longer a washerwoman; she goes to
school and so does Teddy, who, I am glad to say,
has given up reading pirate stories, and longing
for adventures, and is trying to learn how to be a
good and useful man.
But Nora is still known as the wisest" of the
Conelly children. And she is so generous and
forbearing that she has never once said:
O, Teddy, what if I 'd consinted to sell our
home? "-not even when Teddy came home one
day and told her that Danny Cregan's well had
not a drap of oil intil it at all, at all! "







762


AMONG the many thousands of insects that
come to visit us every summer, there are few which
seem more glad to see us, and who like better to
stay with us, than the frolicsome fly. How lightly
and airily he whisks in at the open window, or
door-way, with a hum and a buzz of his wings that
seems to say "Hello Here we are glad to see
you once more." And then as he goes humming
all round the room to see what changes have
occurred since he was last here, and, as he buzzes
against all the windows, taking a peep into the
garden and across the street, you can almost hear
him talking to himself. If you could hear him,
you would probably find that he was making good
resolutions for his summer life. He says to him-
self: Now I 'm going to stay with these people
all summer, for they have fallen into shocking bad
habits since the flies were here last summer, and I
will make it my duty, with the help of the other
good flies in this house and neighborhood, to give
these people a good course of training in self-control,
in early rising, and in many other good and
valuable traits of character which it is desirable
that every person, old and young, should possess.
My first duty will be to fly into the different
sleeping-rooms very early in the morning, and,
after buzzing in the ears of the lazy sleepers to
make them have bad dreams, I will gently wan-
der up and down their faces, and give them a bite,
that will be pretty sure to awaken them, and I will
fly and buzz about them all day, and give them
plenty of chances of controlling their tempers and
learning not to mind little annoyances."
I certainly think the fly would say that he bit
you, but he would be wrong, just as every one else
is who says that flies bite. For they don't bite,
because they cannot bite. They have n't any
jaws to bite with. But the tongue is very large,
and the end of it, which is round, or oval, or
heart-shaped, has little ridges running across it, so
that it looks just like a little file; and it is a file,
and a very good one, too. So the fly does not
bite, but he rubs this file of his so rapidly, and it
is so hard, that you might as well be bitten, as far
as the effect of waking you up is concerned.
Then the fly continues:
But, after all, it's pretty discouraging trying to
do anything for these people, they are so ungrateful
and cruel. They always abuse me, call me a great
nuisance, and I verily believe that they would not
hesitate to kill me, if they had a good chance. If


they do not appreciate the training I am giving them
now, I should think they might remember the work
I did for them before I became a fly, and be thank-
ful for that. Perhaps, though, they think that I
was always a fly and nothing else, so I must not
judge them too harshly."
As the fly does not like to talk about himself too
much, suppose that I tell you about him, and what
he was before he became a fly ?
Well, this fly, of course, had a mother-fly, and
she laid a lot of very small, shiny, brownish-white
eggs, and when each one of these little eggs hatched,
there came out a funny little yellowish-white mag-
got, not very active, but very, very hungry. The
appetite that these little fellows have is something
really wonderful, and this it is that helps them to
be of such good use to. man. For while they are
maggots they live around the barns, and eat up
old decaying material that is filling the air with
poisonous gases which might bring sickness to a
great many of us. One little maggot could not eat
very much, of course; but there are so many of
them, that what they all eat amounts to a great
many hundred wagon-loads every year. This is
the good work that the fly spoke of when he said
that he had done a great deal for us before he
became a fly; and you see he was right. After the
little maggot has eaten all he can and has grown
all he can, he is about a third of an inch long. He
then becomes shorter and stouter, stops eating,
remains quiet, and in a few days changes into a
small, dark reddish-brown chrysalis, about a quar-
ter of an inch long. He only lives from eight to
fourteen days as a chrysalis, and then, some bright
morning, the skin cracks all along the back, and
out comes Mr. Fly. He is a little stiff and lazy at
first; he comes out drowsily, stretching his legs,
and slowly waving his wings, after his long sleep of
nearly two weeks. But the warm sunlight soon
takes the cramps out of all his joints, and, spread-
ing his wings, he takes his first flight.
How he must enjoy that first journey through
the air-flying along so easily, ever faster and
faster, looking at all the beautiful things about him
for the first time The flowers and the bright
green fields, the rippling brooks, the brilliantly
colored birds that he likes to race with and the
thousands of insects of all kinds that he sees all
about him, and who pleasantly greet the new-
comer as he sails by them. He is too happy to
stop now, and keeps frolicking on until he reaches


[SEPTEMBER,


THE FROLICSOME FLY.



THE FROLICSOME FLY.

BY S. F. CLARKE.







THE FROLICSOME FLY.


the woods, where he finds it very pleasant, and as
he is beginning to feel very tired he sees just in
front of him two flies so much like himself that he
thinks they must be his brothers; so he alights
near them and introduces himself. The two flies
are very pleasant with him and tell him that they


Now these two cousins came from eggs, just like
our Mr. Fly, but instead of little white maggots
like those of the house-fly, hatching from the
eggs, these were little maggots with tails, that
lived in the water and crept about on the bottom,
eating all kinds of decaying matter that they could


THE FLY AND HIS COUSINS BY THE POOL.


are not his brothers but they belong to another find. They grew to be over an inch long, and,
family and are sort of cousins of his. You can see though they lived in the water, they breathed air
our Mr. Fly in the picture where he is just finding just as much as the perfectly andin much the same
his cousins by the side of a little pool in the way. Their long, slender tails are hollow, and,
woods, when they want to breathe, they have only to






THE FROLICSOME FLY.


stretch their hollow tail up to the surface and take
in as much air as they want. You can at once
see how convenient this must be for them, for if
they had no tail they would have to stop feeding
and go away up to the surface every time they
wanted a breath of air. It is owing to their long,
round tails, also, that they have received their com-
mon name of rat-tailed larvEe. A larva is an in-
sect that is hatched from an egg, and is called a
larva until it becomes a chrysalis or pupa. It is
the first stage of insect-life after the egg. After
these rat-tailed larvae have become full grown,
they leave the water and enter the ground, where
they change into a chrysalis, and soon after come
out as perfect flies. These perfect flies lay eggs
from which a new brood of larvae are hatched, and
so the life-history is completed in four stages; ist,
the egg, 2d, the larva, 3d, the pupa or chrysa-
lis and 4th, the perfect insect, and this is true of
all the six-footed insects. When our Mr. Fly
looks more closely at his cousins, he will find that
they are quite different from him, after all, and
particularly so about the mouth. He would see
that they have nothing like a file or rasp, as he has,
but that in place of it they have a proboscis, and on
the upper side of it, in a little groove, there are



--
/ "











-. ,. -
/ .. i . -~ .:
./ -. -:


four slender, very sharp, needle-like organs. So,
although they cannot file or bite anything, they
can thrust these sharp little needles into an animal
and then suck out the blood. This is the way, too,
in which a mosquito, who is also a fly, bites," as
we usually say; yet, of course he does n't really
bite, but he "pierces you with his little needles,
of which he has six.
Away out West, very near the boundary line
between California and Nevada, there is a beauti-
ful lake, called Lake Mono. In this lake there
live ever so many of these rat-tailed larvae, which,
however, do not go into the ground when they
are about to change into chrysalides, but only
crawl up on the beach.
The chrysalides are so numerous that the In-
dians, who call them "cho-cha-bee," rake them
up into piles and carry them home to be cooked
and eaten.
There are many other interesting things about
flies, but I have only time left to tell you how you
may distinguish a fly from the other kinds of insects.
A fly has only two wings, just one pair, while the
other insects-the bees, the butterflies, the beetles,
the squash-bugs, the grasshoppers and dragon-
flies-have two pairs.

"*"*'"?-i_


C
-N .
.. I'
-.-ti *


NJ-


~ktV.


THE ARRIVAL OF THE FROLICSOME FLY.


[SEPTEMBER,






"BUTTERED PEASE," IN CHOCTAW.



"BUTTERED PEASE," IN CHOCTAW.

BY FREDERIC PALMER.


THERE was once a man who had studied all his
life and become very wise-so wise that he could
say Buttered pease," in Choctaw. Everybody
looked up to him with great admiration, and the
little children stopped their play and put their
fingers in their mouths when he passed by. And
when a little boy one day asked what was the use
of saying Buttered pease." in Choctaw, all the
children standing near, that were properly brought
up, cried out with astonishment:
Why, you ought to know better "
"Of course."
Why, how can you speak so !"
Saying this gave them a feeling that they had
done a right and noble thing, and made the little
boy feel very ignorant and miserable.
But, at last, the king heard how wise the man
was, and he sent a herald to him congratulating
him on having attained such results of his life-
study, and appointed a day when he would assem-
ble his court and hear him say "Buttered pease,"
in Choctaw.
So, on the appointed day, the hall of the palace
was filled with people eager to see and hear the


wise man. The king and queen were seated on a
splendid throne at one side of a raised platform;
and, at a given signal, a herald approached from the
other side and made a long speech, introducing the
man who was to introduce the wise man, and when
the herald had finished, the man whom he intro-
duced made a grand oration, an hour long, saying
how great the wise man was, and praising his self-
denying life in being willing to endure severe priva-
tion for the sake of being able to say Buttered
pease," in Choctaw. And when he had finished,
and gathered up his embroidered robes, and
passed off the stage, a little man dressed in shabby
clothes, with bright eyes and a bald head and
spectacles, trotted up before the king, and, stop-
ping in front of him, put his hands together and
made a queer little bow.
Then, while all the people held their breath to
hear, lie said Buttered pease," in Choctaw, and
bowed again, and turned about, and trotted off the
stage. And all the people gave a great cheer,
and, as they went home, said to one another how
grandly it sounded and what a learned man he
must be.







[SEPTEMBER,


THE STORY OF A PRINCE.



THE STORY OF A PRINCE.

BY PAUL FORT.


THE prince that I am going to tell you about
was not a fairy prince, nor yet was he always a real
prince. We will soon see, however, what sort of a
prince he was at first, and how he afterward came
to be a different kind of one.
He was Eugene Louis Jean Joseph, son of the
Emperor Napoleon III., who, when this young
prince was born, twenty-three years ago, sat upon
the imperial throne of France. If ever there was
a boy who should have been considered a real
prince, such a boy was little Louis. He was, per-
haps, the most important prince in Europe, for
in each of the other principal kingdoms and em-
pires, there were several royal children, and if one
of them died there were others to take his place.
But there was only one heir to the great throne of
France. Little Louis had no brothers and sisters,
and if he died, while young, the French imperial
crown would pass to other branches of the family,
or, what was more likely, it would cease to be a
crown at all, for if the French people could not
have a son of their present ruler for an emperor
they would prefer not to have any, but to establish
a republic and govern themselves.
So it was very important that the young prince
should live and prosper, not only for his own sake
but for that of the empire.
He was a delicate child, but every possible care
was taken of him, and he gradually grew strong
and healthy. His mind received as much careful
training as his body, and although he was a prince
of very high degree, on whom the eyes of the
world were fixed, he did not lead a life of ease and
indolence, but was obliged to work- as hard at
his studies as any of the common boys of France.
His nurse was an Englishwoman and she always
talked to him in her own language, and he had
a man to wait on him, who was not allowed to
speak to him in any tongue but German. His
mother, who was born in Spain, talked to him a
great deal in Spanish, and so he learned these
languages almost as easily as he learned his own-
the French. In all other ways he was very thor-
oughly educated, his tutors being men of great
ability, and, as many of them were military men,
he was generally under very strict discipline, dur-
ing his study-hours.
But it must not be supposed that he did not have
his amusements and recreations. His parents
were extremely fond of him, and he had every
pleasure that was considered suitable for a prince.


Some of the pursuits, indeed, in which he took
much interest, were such as many princes-espe-
cially the princes of story-life-knew nothing of.
Beside his beautiful ponies and horses, his dogs
and his guns, and all 'the other things he needed
for his royal pleasures, he had a little printing-
press, on which he printed cards and circulars, very
much as the boys in this country print them.
Of course, as he was expected to be an emperor
and to command armies, great attention was paid
to his military education, and his father did every-
thing that was possible to make him a thorough
soldier. Not only was he, at a very early age,
made an officer in the French army, and obliged
to perform military duties at certain times, but
when the late war between Germany and France
broke out his father determined that he should
know what a battle really was, and so took him
with him to the battle of Saarbriicken, where father
and son sat on their horses in the front of the
fight, with the bullets falling around them. It is
said that the young Louis showed no signs of fear,
and picked up a musket-ball which fell neat him,
to preserve as a memento of this experience, which
his father called his baptism of fire."
It is easy to see, by all this, that the Emperor
Louis Napoleon tried to do everything necessary
to make his son worthy to take his place on the
throne of France, but there was one very impor-
tant thing he did not do; he did not give that son
a throne to sit upon. Before the boy was grown
up, the throne, and the crown, and the empire
were all gone. The Germans had defeated the
French, the emperor and empress and the young
prince had taken refuge in England, and the peo-
ple of France had established a republic.
Now it was that the young Louis ceased to be a
real prince, for there was nothing for him to be
prince of. If he printed cards and amused him-
self like other boys, there was nothing strange in
it, for he was very much like other boys. To be
sure, there were many Frenchmen who believed
that the empire would be restored, and they
looked upon the son of the ex-emperor as the true
Prince Imperial, who, one day would restore the
empire, and take his place at its head.
But the prince was not a real prince, for all that;
his parents were not royal, there was no throne or
crown to which he could succeed.
But although not a real prince, he was a really
good fellow, and he worked as hard as ever to







THE STORY OF A PRINCE.


make himself a scholar and a soldier. He went to
a military school in England, where he made many
friends among his fellow-students; for he was ami-
able and generous, and quite free from any of that
aristocratic stiffness which might have character-
ized many another fellow, if he had happened to
have once been heir to the throne of an empire.
The young man was much liked in England,
and Queen Victoria and her family were very kind
and attentive to him and his mother. It seemed,
indeed, as if the government of England-that
country which had torn the first Napoleon from his
throne and had sent him
to die in a lonely island,
as a man who had no
right to be considered
of royal rank-now was
foremost in according to
Eugenie and her son all
the honors due to an
ex-empress and an ex-
prince.
Young Louis was not
unmindful of these fa- -
vors, or ungrateful for-
them. England had -
been very good to him, -
and he felt that he would -
be glad in turn to do
something for England.--
And therefore, when a -
war began, in South:
Africa, between the En-
glish and the Zulus,-a '
warlike native tribe,- -
the young man volun- i'
teered to go down to
Zulu-land and fight for
the country which had
befriended him and his YOUNG LOUIS NAPOLEON. (F
family. SHORTLY BEFORE
So down he went to South Africa, and joined
the British forces in Zulu-land. He was assigned
to no special duty, but one day-the first day of
this year's summer-he started out with a small
party of horsemen to select a spot for a camp. No
one supposed that there were any hostile natives
near by, but when a place had been chosen for the
camp, and the men were about to mount their horses
to ride away, a body of Zulus, who had been hidden
in the high grass around them, burst out and
attacked them. The soldiers sprang into their
saddles and dashed away, but young Louis' horse
was frightened, and he could not mount before the


R
RE
'B
11,


savages were upon him. He tried to run, but it
was too late, and turning toward his assailants, he
received nineteen spear-wounds,-all in front,-
and fell dead.
And so there lay, in a field of wild grass and
reeds, in a land of African savages, the heir of that
Bonaparte family which had ruled an empire and
hoped to rule it again. There are other Bona-
partes, but no other one is the son of an em-
peror; not one of them has ever been a Prince
Imperial.
Heir and empire, both are dead.


1'


The general sorrow
which was felt for his
death, especially in Eng-
land, proved that there
was a large class of
people who had regard-
ed him as one who
might, some day, help
to shape the fortunes of
Europe. The greatest
honors were paid him.
The Queen of England
came to his funeral, and
his pall-bearers were six
royal princes.
But although this un-
fortunate young fellow,
whose grand prospects
and whose life were cut
off so suddenly, was
never able to shape any
national fortunes, or
even to be of any ser-
vice to his political sup-


I porters, he may have
been of service to many
another young fellow
OM A PHOTOGRAPH TAKEN who has heard how
HIS DEATH.) hard and faithfully he
worked to prepare himself for his future position,
and this not only when he was a prince, and
felt sure of a throne, but when he was an ex-
prince, and had but a slight hope of ever sitting
upon one.
He was perfectly educated and trained for his
business in life, and although he was never able to
undertake that business, the result was that he
became what the French call, un jeune home,
bien edeve," and what we speak of as "a well-bred
young man."
And this was worth all that had been done for
him, and all that he had done for himself.






768


[SEPTEMBER,


FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.


THE BROOM GIANT.
Two swallows sat on a telegraph wire. Their wise little eyes were
looking all about, -in search of a good place to build a nest.
"There is that nice low house, with the porch, over there," said one;
"let us go and look at it."
So, over they flew, and soon they stood side by side on a lovely place
to build a nest in.
"It 's a long way to go to fetch the mud," said one bird, "but I like
the place. Let us build here."
Agreed," said the other one; "and we '11 build right away."
And off they flew toward the sea. They alighted on a sedge-bog
and pecked about, until each bird-mouth was full of marsh mud. They
carried it to the porch and laid it on the ledge.
The blue and green and purple wings were very happy little wings
as they went and -came full fifty times within the next hour.
Now, you can go alone this time, and I '11 pick up straws and sticks
before the mud dries too hard," said one swallow, and away flew the
other to the blue sea. As he came back, when he flew over the tel-
egraph wire, he thought he heard his mate calling, Here! here !"
Giving a little swoop down, he found her sitting on the wire.
"No use! no use," said she. "The wicked giant came out of the
house, and when I just flew quietly over her big head with my straws,
she looked up to the ledge, and said she : 'Laura, Laura, come here!
The horrid swallows are nesting in the porch. Fetch a broom, quick!'
Then a little smaller giant came with a broom and swept away all the
foundations of our nest. It 's too bad !"
Oh, never mind," said the other bird. "Plenty of good places to
build nests in, and we '11 go right away and find another spot."
Off they flew, and they went to the biggest barn they could find,
and, in the very tip-toppest part of the roof they found a tiny window;
so in they flew, and there was a ledge just as good,' and every way
safer than the one in the porch; for no house-cleaning had been done
there or, k :uld be done while the barn should last. Here the swallows
built their nest, and to this barn they come back from year to year, and
every year they tear down the old nest and build a new one, and say
each time:
"After all, it was a good thing for us that the giant did n't let us
build in the-porch, for there is no telling what might have happened to
the baby swallows there; and here, we are as safe as safe can be."






FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.


These pictures are tor you to cppy on a slate. They are not very hard
to draw, if you are careful to follow \the lines as you see them. here.
VOL. VI.-52. -







770 ACK-IN -'rIE-1'ULPIT,


. -__-j J A K -1 JN T 1-1 L 'IU L I T.
------J JACK-IN -TI -PULPIT.

NEAR where your Jack's pulpit stands, my
youngsters, a crazy Echo keeps dinging and clang-
ing, as if he were trying to repeat the ringing of
every school-bell in the land. May be, he is.
It makes me think how bright and rosy the
Little Schoolma'am looked the other day, as she
passed me on her way to assure herself that the
Red School-house would be ready for the coming
study-time.
Well, now! Here she comes again, bless her !
But, this time, a score of sun-browned boys and
girls are skipping and laughing and racing around
her. They look as though they mean to carry
some of the hearty play-time spirit into school with
them, and perhaps Deacon Green spoke shrewdly
when he called them "boys and girls of right
good sort, who mean to be ready, when the time
comes, to do the work of strong, wise men and
women."
But now, here is some business for us; and,
first, who will answer this question for me ?.
ARTESIAN WELLS.
Brooklyn, N. Y.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: I have just come back home from a
city out West where there is an Artesian well, from which the water
spouts as if it were forced out by a powerful engine. I think I know
why the water rushes out so strongly, but I do not know why the
well is called an "Artesian" well. Will you please tell me? I
am, your devoted friend, J. B. L.

"FLOWERS OF THE AIR."
A GERMAN writer, named Jean Paul Friedrich
Richter, once called butterflies "flowers of the
air"; but this he did only on account of their
bright and varied colors. He did not know, what
has been found out since his time and has just
been told to me, that there is a butterfly, called
Papilo Gayi, which has an odor like that of a
flower, besides looking like a brilliant blossom.
A lucky person who happened to come across


this insect says that the scent comes from the hind
wings, and is strong and aromatic, and that he
carried one of the beautiful creatures in his hand
so as to enjoy the fragrance at his leisure. He
found it in South America, while traveling near
the head waters of the Rio Negro of Brazil.

HOOF-MARKS ON CHESTNUT-TREES.
AN English friend, who paid your Jack a flying
visit a while ago, says that the reason why a cer-
tain kind of chestnut-tree is called horse-chest-
nut," is that upon every branch there are marks
like the prints of tiny horse-hoofs, nails, frogs and
all. Do you find it so, my dears?

A CRANE WITH A WOODEN LEG.
IN London-in St. James's Park-there once
lived a crane. By some accident he broke one of
his long legs, and a kind doctor who saw him in
pain cut it off above the knee. The bird got well,
but how was he to get about in the world? He
could n't use a crutch, as a man with one leg can,
nor had he any friends to wheel him about in an
invalid-chair, as some sick people have when they
can't walk.
I don't know what the poor bird would have done;
but a soldier, who knew how to do a good many
things, saw the crane's trouble, took pity on him,
and went to work to help him. He made a wooden
leg, with a joint for a knee, and he managed to fasten
it to the poor cripple, so that he could walk about
and take care of himself. It was not a pretty leg,
like his other, but it was useful, and he was satis-
fied with it. For a long time this wooden-legged
bird was one of the sights of the Park, and very
proudly he bore himself before the crowds of curious
boys and girls who came to see him.

FISHES THAT SHOOT.
A MAN I heard of had a pond, and a few feet
above it, in one corner, was a branch covered with
ants. Right underneath, in the water, came a
crowd of little fishes, each about six inches long,
and, as the man watched, he saw them shoot out
of their mouths into the air volleys of tiny water-
drops which struck the ants and knocked them into
the water; and then the fishes ate them up. The
shooting went on until every one of the ants was
disposed of; not a single ant escaped. I 'm told
that there was a picture of one of these finny arch-
ers in your May ST. NICHOLAS three years ago.
The jaws of a particular kind of these scaly shot-
guns look like long beaks, and serve as gun-barrels.
These shoot only one drop of water at a time, and
it rarely fails to hit the mark.

TOUCHY ANIMALS.
DEAn JACK-IN-THEPPULPIT: I must tell you some queer things
that have set me puzzling.
First of all, I have been told that some animals, like cats and birds,
do not mind bei.. ;. i.. I .r bht that dogs and horses do. I know
our dog, Nero, ... r Il be laughed at. And a certain Mr. B;
S '' ets ve-, i ... hebears anybody speaking
II I I', "*, 'a you .. h i. .. to his face, he stamps, sets
back his ears, snaps with his mouth, and is downright furious.
hen, .. .,, . ,I I r. I,,, .-11,, ._-


770







JACK- N- TH E-P ULPIT.


doings; and they act accordingly. And besides this, parrots often
play jokes on their human friends, and seem to see and love the fun.
This I myself have seen, quite often.
Now, dear Jack, I put it to your other youngsters, do not these
things show that dogs, and horses, and parrots understand a good deal
of human speech, and share in our feelings a little, and enjoy what
we think is fun ? I think they do, although it puzzles me; and, at
any rate, I love our dear old Nero all the better for fancying it.-
Yours truly, BEssY M.
Of course Jack thinks so too.


rit sees so to th.Ce r;I fo.,,r .he mas te s d
t 1 ll r.h ,- a, *" ,. k. r I 1 1-



bin-ti together the oeri lapping you, but af hi
of wood-cricket, and he sings "Ta-na-ni tt "a-
na-n!" very loud and somear, overs keep over again,
and never stops to take breath.
The fact is, that he does not really sing, although
it seems so to the ear; for he makes the sound by
rubbing together the overlapping edges of his
winig-covers. The natives name this cricket "Ta-
na-nit," and they sometimes keep one in a wicker
cage, as if he were a song-bird. He lives only a
few days in prison, and then his music ends.

AN UNDERGROUND WATER-PLANT,
I DON'T know its name, and it is not a melon,
but a kind of water-holding root, rather like an
overgrown potato, to look at. It is so obliging
as to grow of itself just where men are most likely
to want it,-on the wide sandy wastes of South
Africa, which, during several months of the year,
have no rain at all, and are moistened only by dew.
Thirsty travelers crossing these dry deserts look
eagerly for the plant, which is small, and has
stalks scarcely thicker than a pigeon's quill.


About a foot under the sand, the thickened root,
or tuber," is as large as a boy's head, and filled
with watery juice which is good to drink.
A TOAD AT SUPPER.
Gennantown, Phila.
DEAR JACK : Wont you please persuade some of your little friends
to go, some pleasant evening just after sunset, to a smooth piece of
ground and watch a toad take his supper? He probably will
be sitting quietly. Presently an ant will make
its way across his table. This is just what he

.. oI i . rl..I I .. (.. .....;_ r. 1_ then
S- ,.. ,, 1 rossp
I,,-,1 1I,,._ I,r J. I 1. ,',,, ji 1 l',._ I I 1: ag n t,
I.. .. r. -I.. i ..veral
-t the
. ,, .. diet,
.... i r I *s the

l ITrli L OrJ F UIT.

L\10


Well, if you wish to have that pleasure, this is
the way to obtain it: While the fruit yet hangs
green upon the tree, make up your mind which is
the very biggest and most promising specimen of
all. Next, cut out from thin tough paper the ini-
tials of the name of your little brother or sister or
chief crony, with round specks for the dots after the
letters, and the letters themselves plain and thick.
Then paste these letters and dots on that side of
the apple which is most turned to the sun, taking
care not to loosen the fruit's hold upon its stem.
As soon as the apple is ripe, take off the paper
cuttings, which, having shut out the reddening rays
of the sun, have kept the fruit green just beneath
them, so that the name or initials now show plainly.
After that, bring the owner of the initials to play
near the tree, and say presently: "'Why, what
are those queer marks on that apple up there ?"
You will find this quite a pleasant way to sur-
prise the very little ones, and, of course, you can
print a short pet name as easily as initials.







[SEPTEMBER,


THE LETTER-BOX.






THE LETTER-BOX.


THE fine pictures which illustrate the article entitled, "The Chat-
teau D'Oiron" in the present number, were given to ST. NICHO-
LAS by Mr. John Murray, the London publisher. They first
appeared in The History of Pottery and Porcelain, Medieval and
Modern," published by Mr. Murray in 1868.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: There is an old ,. :.. .. town -ho
made a political speech in behalf of Hon. C ii -- The fol-
. ;,-,, ..,. extract from it: "I tell you my friends dat Mr. M-
: . Heisa .... i. isa splendid man, he is an
eloquent man, he is .... .. I say noble? Yea, he is
ignoble." If Mr. M- is elected, we shall have reason to be
proud of our representative.-Your constant reader,
r AZILE."


IN the article entitled, How to make a Hammock," in the July
number of ST. NICHOLAS, a mistake occurs. The explanation of
Fig. 7, on page 620, should read: She did with mesh A just what
she did with the original loop * went on knotting through
B, C, and so on until," etc., etc. In other words, the learner should
look upon mesh A (Fig. 7) as if it were the original loop (Fig. i), and
take the stitch through it accordingly, and so with the rest of the
row. When the row is finished, it is to be turned over, and the work
will t/en go back in reverse order through the meshes of the new
row.
As many boys and girls have written to us that they have learned
to make hammocks from studying our article, we presume that they
have perceived and corrected this error for themselves.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl twelve years old. I live
near the Okefenoke swamp. One afternoon, not long ago, I was visit-
ing a friend, and an alligator crawled up to the front door. I don't
know whether he was going to knock or not, as one of the boys shot
him before he could tell his business.-Yours truly,
ANNIE LEE WRIGHT.


ERNEST W. WOODWARD.-Nothing sure is known about England
before Caesar landed there from Gaul in the year 55 B. C. The
Phoenicians, however, who lived on the Mediterranean coast of what
is now Turkey in Asia, are believed to have brought tin in ships
from Cornwall or the Scilly Isles, as early as 600 B. C., and so it is
thought that they must have first known of the existence of England
sometime during the preceding century, from 700 to 600 B. C. This is
the burden of the answers received to Ernest W. Woodward's question,
"When was England discovered?" printed in the July "Letter-
Box."
Answers have come from Arthur Dunn-Jual Trefren-Bessie
Mead-Anna Richmond Warner-Annie A. G.-G. W. Waterman
-St. Clair Nichol-Lucy Clayton--Lettie May Follett-S. and C.
W. Brockunier-Thomas L. Wood-Max ?-H. S. W.-Ralph
1H. Baldwin.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: You told us in the number for October,
1877, about Madame Coltin, who wrote the story of "Elizabeth. or
the Exiles of Siberia," and how Elizabeth walked alone her terrible
journey across the dreary steppes, fiom Tobolsk to Moscow. And
now I want to tell you what has been going on lately over much the
same road she followed, only in the other direction.
On Ma" c three hundred persons started from Moscow to go to
prison in -.1 .. On May i2, four hundred more went; on the o2th,
six hundred; and on the 24th, yet more. Still that will not be nearly
all that are to go, for the Moscow prisons held, in the beginning of
May, about eleven thousand persons who are condemned to exile in
Siberia. I do not know if the' i i.: .- i /railroad; but for a
part of it they do. Any way, -. ..II... 1-._. ii or ride, I think it is
dreadful for them to leave home, family and friends, and go so far
away to prison.-Yours truly, L. N. D.
St. Paul, Minnesota.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In your July number, I find a paragraph
speaking of this state as ,. : .-.. 1, 1 r I .. ..., with thermometers
at minus 300, windows ...... I .,". '. i ...d men and horses


robed in glittering coats of mail. The picture is decidedly overdrawn.
The thermometer here rarely marks lower than 15 below zero, and
his only at very brief intervals in midwinter. Sometimes, perhaps
once in three years, it gets down to thirty, and I have on three occa-
sions in r ..,r r ... it to sink a fe- --le-r lower; but
I have 1 .. : .. t 380 in New ) .i :' '- 9 A. M.,
and it is quite as cold there as it is here. The frost curtains and
coats of mail are seen here no oftener or denser than there.
Yours, etc. H. H. Y.

The above letter refers to a paragraph which appeared in Jack-
in-the-Pulpit" for July. The figures in the paragraph were taken
from "The Minneapolis Mail" for January 14th, 1875. It is not
quite certain that the date of the year is right, as the pencil note upon
the old newspaper-clipping is not clear.


Chicago.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In your fuly number there is letter about
a "live doll," whose name is Lucia Zarate. I would like to tell your
other readers that my sister and I have seen her and played with her.
She was in St. Louis a year ago giving exhibitions in company with
several other little people, Admiral Dot, Miss Jennie Quigley, and
General Mite. We were all staying at the same hotel, and I used to
see Admiral Dot, and Miss Jennie Quigley every day in the dining-
room and halls.
One day, my sister and I were invited into Lucia's room to play
with her, and we had a grand game of hide-and-seek. She is so
small she could hide in the funniest places you can imagine. Once
she ran under the bed without stooping at all; and she hid in her
papa's slipper and fairly screamed with fun when we found her A
roll of paper lying on the floor tripped her tiny feet, and she fell and
bumped her dear little nose, but this only made her laugh the louder.
I would like to have her for a plaything all the while.
JOSIE L. Fox.
New York.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: What you told us in the July number
about The Live Doll," reminds me that several years ago two
Aztec, or native Mexican, dwarfs were exhibited in England.
The male was about three feet high and twenty-two years old.
The female was sixteen, and nearly two feet six inches in height.
Their limbs, though slender, were well formed and in good propor-
tion. Their heads were very narrow, and the features of their faces
stood out a good deal, but the expression was agreeable. Each had
a quantity of jet-black hair which flowed gracefully in curls.
These dwarfs were lively, intelligent, and easily taught; and they
quickly picked up little English phrases of common conversation. At
the time of their exhibition, the wise men were puzzled to know
whether they were a new kind of human being or merely dwarfs. I
wonder what the same wise men would have thought of the tiny
Lucia Zarate and her mite companion ?-Your constant reader,
JENNIE BELLEW.


At Cape Palmas on the west coast of Africa, at the northern
entrance to the Gulf of Guinea, is a mission-school under the charge
of Mr. Fair and his wife. In the school is a class of native negro
girls, from thirteen to fifteen years old, and some of their "composi-
tions" have been sent to ST. NICHOLAS. The girls themselves chose
the subjects, and wrote the pieces without help. Of course there is
not room in the "Letter-Box" for all of the compositions, and so we
can print only a few of the most interesting and amusing parts of
them.
One of the girls, Lottie Hogan, writes what she knows and fancies
about "Clouds." Among other odd things, she says: The clouds
act so queer, sometimes. I think they often look down on the earth,
some running head over heel. They see a dog barking and so on, so
they imitate as it is onin- an, on the qrfth When the clouds are cut
into small pieces in 'i.. ,i I I i I.. i.I to my eyes, it looks like
the skin of the Royal Tiger, with white and black stripes. It may
be that they have seen the Roynl Ti-.'e below them in the forest and
they have made themselves i I 1. him. You know
everybody do not like to do one thing every time. So is the clouds.
They do not like to fall into drops only. Sometimes they like to fall
into one heavy drop called the waterspout. This drop is very dan-
gerous."
Anna Turner writes about how a lion caught a deer: A lion once
made the figure of a man, set it in the ground, and tarred it all over
to make it look like a negro. Presently, up came a deer, who sniffed







THE LETTER-BOX.


at the figure curiously and, at length, "put his finger on it, and his
finger stuck on. Then the deer said: 'If you don't let me go, I will
nok you with my head.' He did not lethim go. So the deer knocked,
and his head stuck on. Still, he did not let him go. And the deer
knok with his feet, and his feet stuck on. And the lion went and
nock poor deer in his head."
Lucy M. Bryant seems to have a real love for the live things in
nature, for she mentions very fondly a beautiful fly often seen by her
when she took her little brothers and sisters for walks. This
I- i..:. it ". playmate to us, and a very kind one, too. That is
.,I.. gave it the name 'Father-Fly.'" The fly would
enter the bell of a certain flower and drink some of its nectar,-" palm-
wine" Lucy calls it,-and then the children would pluck the flower,
and share among them what nectar was left; for what the Father-
Fly might drink was safe for them also. Lucy adds: 't is pleas-
ant to have a friend of little insect and to be all the time playing
with it, and have a nice time with it; 't is so sweet, yes it is. When
I left that part of the country to come to Cape Palmas, one thing I
was sorry about,-my Father-Fly. I think he was sorry for me to
leave him alone, because I loved him very much. When I first came
here I thought I could find any other flower like my Palm-wine
flower, but I found none like them. There is none here like them. I
do not think I shall ever see my Father-Fly with the Palm-wine
flowers. By this time, if they still are to be seen, I do not think any
of them have any remembering of me; but I remember them yet. I
shall never forget you, my Father-Fly."
Lottie Hrf n a second paper, has an amusing way of writing
about ,: ., Geographie and the Earth." Shesays: "Historie
Geographic and the Earth just do to go .., One tells us about
that, and one about this, and so forth. H .. are interesting to
read. Indeed they are."


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Why was it that the "Magyar" told about
in your July number, would not stoop ?
I think that it was because his nature was too noble to stoop even
for a diamond. And I would like to know if it is right.-I remain,
your constant reader, G. H. M.

G. H. M. refers to a piece sent by Clara Catharine May Twiss,
and printed in the July Letter-Box." The Magyar was poor and
old, but his nature was noble; and he would not stoop, because he
thought it would be shameful to take something and give nothing in
return.

H. C. HOWLAND.-Russell Fraser sends the following solutions of
the problem printed in the July Letter-Box":
Problem: Given x2 + y = 7, and ye + x = ii; to find the value
ofx + y.
By Comparison: II. By Substituion: III. By Additionor


2 +y = 7
y2+y=17
y +x=II

x= 11 Y2
x= = II 2

7-y= 22-y4
y +y4=22 7
y= 15

Y=3
x -=
2x= 4
X=2
x+y= 5 Ans.


x'+ y= 7
y2+x=II
x=' 7-y
x=l0
y2 II
y4 j 7-y= 22
y4 +- y = 22 7
y5 = 15

Y=3

2x= 7-3
X= 2
x +y= 5. Anrs.


Subtraction:
2 +y=7
y1 +x= I
x+J=7
2x-J-y I4
2x+y= 14
-x-2zy= -22

8x + 4y= 56
-2x-4y=-44
--4Y--
6x = 12
X=2
2 +y 7
4+y=7
y= 7-4
Y=3
x+y=5. Ans.


Solutions were received, also, from C. W. .-Belle S. Roorbach
-Sylvan Drey-C. H. C.-Rebecca L. Lodge-IW. G. T., Jnr.-
Louis J. Nance-Harry B. Walter-Mary Armstrong-Jas. Jastrow
-R. E.-Mary Lantry-Frank Farmer.

Montclair, N. J.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: As grown-up folk sometimes have a word
to say in your interesting Letter-Box," I venture to write you of a
true incident which may interest some of your young folk, or their
parents :
Little May, about five years old, was alwaysrunning in and out of


her aunt's studio, as it suited her whim, and, consequently, she had
often been present when a class met there for instruction in drawing.
She was very fond of pictures, and made numerous attempts at copy-
ing some of her favorite flowers. One day she brought in a handful
of daisies that she had just gathered and placed them in a glass on the
table. Her aunt, soon after, took up a pencil and began to sketch
them. The little girl watched her quietly for some time, then, won-
dering, remarked: "You have no teacher, Auntie." The aunt,
absorbed in her own study, unconsciously answered, "No."
Instantly the child's face brightened, and, full of a new thought, she
exclaimed: "The daisies are your teacher, Auntie! and ran off to
her play again, little thinking how wisely she had spoken.-Yours
truly, D. H. M.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little boy nine years old, and I live
in California.
I thought you would like to hear about a curiosity we have in our
little town. It is an eagle's nest built of quite large sticks, in the top
of a big old sycamore tree. It looks like it had been a very snug
home for the little eagles. This is eight miles to the Pacific Ocean,
where I suppose the old mother went to market for the fish to feed
them on. I think may be this was the same old fellow with the
snake in its claws that I have seen on the old Mexican dollars.
Yours truly, FRANK BETHUNE.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My papa is in the army, and we live in
Fort Wallace, Kansas. Our regiment was ordered out here from the
South, and that was a great change. There is no green grass nor
flowers here. From the ranche-men we get some vegetables. There
is a river called the "Smoky"; you could jump across it. The
creeks have funny names: "Punished Woman" is one, and "White
Woman" is another.
My papa is out scouting; he has with him two Pawnee scouts.
He takes a few soldiers and a wagon, and a little box full of food, and
goes 120 miles without seeing a house or a person. I am nine years
old and my name is MARY ESTELLE.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to tell you about a fly which came
to our house in the winter. We called him Buzz, because he buzzed
round so and made such a noise. He was so tame we could smooth
his back with our fingers. If we put any sugar on the stand, he
would walk up to it and eat some. He stayed with us about two
weeks, and then went away, and as he did n't come back, I suppose
he was frozen.-Your affectionate friend, PANSY.



W. A. M. writes from Oregon asking what is the meaning of
the three letters, "J. L. B." on twenty-dollar gold pieces; and
V.W. W.E wishes to know why the stars on the United States coins
are six-pointed. Who can answer these questions ?

Brooklyn, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Here is a story told me by my friend,
F. W. F. I have written it out, and I hope you will put it in the
"Letter-Box" when there is a chance.-Truly yours, MORGAN B.

WAS HE SCARED?
My cousin Ned H. had a big dog named "Snap," and, one day,
the two went hunting. In the afternoon, Ned became tired and
lonely. He had tramped a long way without shooting anything, his
gun felt heavy, and-he had lost his dog.
As night fell, he found himself in a thick wood in a pouring rain.
Weary and disheartened, he crawled into the hollow of an immense
log, and there he soon fellasleep. When the patter of the rain ceased,
Ned awoke, and, peeping out, he saw the moon shining. He gotout
of his hole and walked about to stretch his legs, leaving his gun under
shelter.
Hardly had he gone fifty paces, when, from the end of the log
opposite to the one he had slept in, came a sound of claws scratching
vigorously inside. Thinking some small animal was there, and hop-
ing to scare it out, Ned pitched a stone which fell plump upon the
log.
For a minute the scratching ceased, then it began again, this time
with ftry. Presently came a growl, very like a bear's, deep, loud
and savage. Ned thought it best to have his gun at hand, and had
just stepped forward to get it when a large dark object shot from the
log toward him, giving a hoarse cry of rage.
Ned stood stock still for about two seconds, a cold chill running
down his back. Then he turned, and flew as fast as his legs could
carry him, calling "Snap! Snap! at the top of his voice, in the
hope that still his wandering dog might hear and come to his assist-
ance. But no Snap barked in answer. Instead of that, the dreadful
creature behind increased its speed every time Ned called; and so
the boy had to run faster and faster.







THE RIDDLE-BOX.


On went the two, like the wind, the beast gaining. Ned felt his
strength failing, when ahead of him in a glade he saw a high farm-
yard board fence. Making a tremendous effort, he gathered himself
together, and leaped and scrambled over, falling exhausted at the
other side upon a heap of straw. He felt safe.
Happening to glance up, however, he saw in the air above him a
huge dark body, with outspread limbs, open jaws and glaring eyes.
At this poor Ned gave a shriek and fell back insensible.
When he came to, Snap was at his bedside licking his hand. The
woman of the farm-house where he was lying said she had seen him
in the moonlight running like mad with a dog after him. Then, hear-
ing his cry. she ran out and found him stretched on the straw in a
faint, the dog panting at his side.
The next morning, Ned fetched his gun from the wood and went
home, not much the worse for his adventure; but it was a long time
before he fully forgave Snap for his share in that race.

Philadelphia, Pa.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAs: Reading about the large plant, "Rafesia
Arnoldi," in your May number, I thought I would tell you more
about it. It was discovered in 1x88 by Dr. Arnold. He was stray-
ing about the island of Sumatra, accompanied by the governor and
his wife, when the Malay servant who was in advance of them sud-
denly called him, with gestures of surprise and in tones of astonish-
ment. "Come with me, sir, come! Here is a flower,-large,
beautiful, most wonderful!" Proceeding with the man for about a
hundred yards into the jungle, he did indeed see a : i.. .. '1 f:... .
immense size growing close to the ground. The i .. ... ..1.:-
.overed was called Rafflesia, in compliment to the governor (Sir
Stamford Raffles), and Arnoldi in allusion to its discoverer.-Your
faithful reader, ROBERT B. SALTER.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: One cold day last October, Uncle Henry
took me out sailing in his little yacht He is a stout, jolly man, and
he knows all about handling a sailing-boat, so we had a splendid time
together. The sea was not very rough, at first, but, on the voyage
home, the wind blew so fresh that we had to scud down the coast
under close-reefed sails.
There was a line of sunken rocks jutting out from shore, and we
had passed them safely, as we thought, when-bump!--the boat
struck, and stuck on a sharp point that made a clean round hole in
the lower part of the hull, near the bows. The masts and sails stood
all right, and we were silently considering what to do, when an eddy


of the wind blew us offthe rock, and the water rushed in through the
big hole. In two minutes we should have swamped, for there was
nothing with which we could stop the leak in time; but Uncle Henry
quietly sat down right over the hole, and then no more water came in.
While Uncle sat there, he baled out the water, and told me how to
rig the steering gear so that he could use it.
It was not very long before we were tacking homeward, and Uncle
Henry began to laugh at his queer position, sitting over the leak.
But it was chilling work, he said. We arrived safely at our dock;
but I thought you would like to hear how that leak was stopped, so I
wrote you this. -Truly yours, PHILLIP DEAN.


















A LITTLE girl in Columbus, Ohio, sends the "Letter-Box" the
above picture, which represents ancient spoons of bone and horn.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Will you please tell me why, when you
shake up soap and water together, it makes bubbles ?-Yours truly,
PERLIE WATERHOUSE.
The air gets into the suds, when you shake them, and makes bub-
bles, much as when you blow air into the suds through a straw or a
pipe-stem.


THE 'RIDDLE-BOX.


ENIGMA.
SIXTEEN letters are all of me,
The name of a song that over the sea
A north bird sang in a south countries.
My 5, 2, 16, is sometimes lighter than the 15, 7, 12, 8, which blows
over mount 9, 13, 4, on whose slopes great herds of 1, 14, ro, 3, are
grazing, beasts to which 6 and Ix are much indebted. G. z. c.

PICTORIAL ANAGRAMS.





~BC

A river.


A state.


A state. A continent.


FOUR EASY WORD-SQUARES.
I. i. ANXIETY. 2. A space of ground. 3. To raise. 4. Found on
stalks at harvest time.
II. I. Bodies of water. 2. A mountain in Sicily. 3. A plant from
which indigo is made. 4. Saline.
III. i. Chief. a. The name of a man who was a leader among the
Jews after they returned to Jerusalem from Bablyon. 3. A large
body of armed men. 4. Portions of the week.
IV. I. Erudition. 2. A precious stone or gem. 3. A means of
torture in the middle ages. 4. The name of a large horned animal,
in its plural form. CAsSIVELAUNUS.


DOUBLE HOUR-GLASS PUZZLE.
THE central letter of each horizontal word is used both as the last
letter of one word and as the first letter of another; as,-" eaten, eat,
ten." In the following statement of the problem, the first part, as
"cat," is defined first; then the second part, as "ten"; and, last,
the whole word, as "eaten."
HORIZONTALS: 1. I. A metallic vessel which gives a musical sound
when struck. 2. What a cow often does. 3. An instrument used for
sending air through a tube. II. i. An insect. 2. A part of the day.
3. Any bovine quadruped; a word rarely ised, but sanctioned by
Washington Irving. III. i. Perform. 2. Upon. 3 A title used in
Spain. IV. A consonant V A 4 n-th. particle. A conjunc-
tion. 3. A negative connective i ,-i '. I. A carriage. 2. A
color. 3. Wasconcerned. VII. i. A river, city and prvincein South
America. a. Endued with capacity. 3. An instructiye story.
PENDICULAR: I. A city in Spain. 2. A girl's name. 3. An-
other girl's name. H. H. n.


ENIGMA.
My first is in you, but not in me,
My second in liberty, not in free,
My third is in red, but not in black.
My fourth is in Queen, but not in Jack.
My fifth is in teach, but not in learn.
My sixth is in pitcher, but not in urn.
My seventh is in hot, but not in bum.
My whole is a town for a treaty famed
And by lovers of velvet often named.


J. M. J.


RHYMING ANSWERS.
EACH line of the riddle has its own separate answer, and all the
answers rhyme with one another, and not with the ends of the lines


774


[SEPTEMBER,








THE RIDDLE-BOX.


of the verses. The lines seem to refer to one thing all the way
through, when perhaps they have no connection one with another.
Here is an example:
When I am broken, you go free;
Though you be worse, I am less bad;
I come by mail to make you glad.
Then, you are what I am. D' you see?
A very dog, though not gone mad!
Answer. Fetter, better, letter, getter, setter.
Here are four more puzzles of the same kind. What are their
answers ?
Golden and sweet to market I go,
Half trembling, half flying,
Down the street, whether dirty or no.
Low grumbling, not crying;
Confused and halting in speech-s-so!
Or like fat a-frying.

I 'm all created things, yet man
May boil or bake me in a pan.
While I am heard and never seen
To sow broadcast, 1 always mean.
Dost think me true? I 'm false to thee;
Never the former can 1 be.
But, may I hang on your new gown
If I can't make best hats in town!

I am always at your toilet?
Am I the rose on your cheek?
Scornful am I in expression?
There, you '11 break me if you speak!
Should you venture e'er to taste me,
Quickly then away I 'II flow,
Grinding all things into powder
As so swiftly on I go.

Nor brain, nor hands, yet toil is mine through life,
I only speak for triumph or in fiercest strife.
Indebted to me for the very coats they wear,
Yet, that I am their fate, men oftentimes declare.
When they shall cease to live and move within my space,
Then do I offer them a quiet burial place.
L. w. H.

EASY DIAMOND.
i. In rhinoceros. 2. A boy's nickname. 3. A pictorial puzzle.
4. Of a dark color. 5. In substitution. DOTTIE DIMPLE.


PICTORIAL QUOTATION.


cc.r...


1 '- sy)


-ic 4.-


-. N il









-It


WHEEL PUZZLE.
A LETTER is to be placed at each point in the diagram where lines
cross. When the proper letters have been placed, the spokes will

I


read as follows, beginning in each instance with the letter at the cen-
ter: I. A Greek letter. 2. A short poem. 3. A bird of Egypt. 4.
A metal. 5. An image. 6. A deity of the ancient Egyptians. 7. A
flower. 8. Is never found where there is no water.
Around the tire is a quotation from an English poet, with his name.
The middle circle is a sentence encouraging the puzzler to solve the
problem. The innermost circle is another sentence of further encour-
agement O'B.

DOUBLE ACROSTIC.
THE initials and finals spell the names of two important personages
in one of Shakspeare's plays.
Cross words: s. A note in music. 2. A name for a tune. 3.
Something which burns slowly and without flame, and is often applied
to the person. 4. A mixed color. 5. Treatment; the process by which
new fashions become old customs. 6. A measure of length. 7. A
name used in Scotland to denote a long inlet of the sea. A. G. c.


AN ARITHMETICAL KITE.







****c* *


A LINE from "Romeo and Juliet," Act III.


EASY METAGRAM.

WHOLE, I am to strike against, i. Behead me and I become part
of a whip. 2. Take away 50 and add soo, and I am money. 3.
Take away the hundred and I am a timber tree. 4. Behead me again,
and I stand for Silence! A. G. C.

ANAGRAMMATIC DOUBLE DIAMOND.
FROM the letters of the following phrase:-TEN SHARPER PINS,
form a double diamond with a central perpendicular meaning "more
near to perfection," and central horizontal meaning "parts of men's
necks." No letter of the phrase may be used twice over in making
the diamond. c. D.


PUT one of the ten numerals (i-ro) at each star, so that the
product of those in any one straight line, multiplied together, shall
be the same as the product of the numerals in any of the other
straight lines. There are but six straight lines: the four along the
edges of the kite, the perpendicular, and the horizontal. No figure
is to be repeated in the same line; excepting in the horizontal line,
at each of whose ends the same numeral is used; however, only one
of the end figures of this horizontal line is to be used when multiply-
ing together the numerals of that line. L. R. P.


2879.]








[SEPTEMBER.


THE RIDDLE-BOX.


REBUS.


A WELL-KNOWN verse of four lines.

ENIGME FRANCAISE.

JE suis composee de vingt-deux lettres, et je suis un proverbe
address aux mechants.
o. Mes I, 2, 8, 9, 22 sont l'extrdmite. 2. Mes 4, 18, 19, 6, 16, 21
sont un bttiment ou Ilon prepare la farine. 3. Mes 7, 20, 5, 3 sont


la quality d'etre veritable. 4. Mes 1i, 12, 1o sont sans
lustre, ou sans verms. 5. Mes 17, 15, 14, 13, 22 sont une
espece d'etoffe comme de la gaze. EUGANIE E. I.

BATTLE ACROSTIC.
I. Battle fought B. C. 331, in Asia. 2. Battle fought
A. D. 1571, in Greece. 3. Battle fought A. D. 1792, in
France. 4. Battle fought A. D. 1415, in France.
The initial letters of the names of the places where
these battles were r.... _1- .: the name of a brave and
skillful, but very c. ..:1, .--, i..- general of the sixteenth
century. ESOR.
FLORAL ENIGMA.

yM first is in horse, but not in cow;
My second in peace, but not in row.
My third is in hill, but not in street.
My fourth is in pickle, but not in meat.
My fifth is in fowl, but not in bird.
My sixth is in question, not in word.
My seventh is in rain, but not in sleet.
My eighth is in shoe, but not in feet.
My ninth is in pot, but not in can.
My tenth is in wheat, but not in bran.
Now guess this riddle, if you've the power;
The answer names a fragrant flower.
ANNIE SKINNER.

SEXTUPLE WORD-CROSS.



E...



The central letter, E, is given in the diagram, and is used
for both the Full Perpendicular and the Full Horizontal;
but the central letter forms no part of the words that make
the limbs and arms of the cross
Full Perpendicular, eight letters: A word of parting.
Full Horizontal, seven letters: An island belonging to Spain.
Top Limb, three letters: Distant.
Bottom Limb, four letters: A place for collecting and holding water.
Left Arm, three letters: Angered; subject to fits of unreason.
Right Arm, three letters: A scriptural name of a man. D. w.


ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN AUGUST NUMBER.


A PUZZLING FAN.-Knavery, Bravery, Slavery; Very.
NUMERICAL EIGoMAS.--. Car-go. 2. At-ten-dance. 3. Plea-
sure.
DIAGONAL PUZZLE.- DAKOTA
CHANGES
CANTON
COBU R G
W H I T B
ORANGE
WORD-SQUARE.-1. Nestor. 2. Eunice. 3. Snipes. 4. Tipple.
5. Ocelot. 6. Resets.
ANAGRAMS.-I. Pigeon. 2. Worthiness. 3. Threatens. 4. Flos-
cular. 5. Festivals. 6. Expression. 7. Severance. 8. Straightened.
9. Incessant. o1. Entangles.


HISTORICAL ENIGMAS.-I. Columbus. II. Thermopyle. III.
Sir Walter Scott.
INVERTED DIAMOND.-I. Cowered. 2. Raved. 3. Red. 4. R.
II. C. 2. Or. 3. War. 4. Ever. 5. Red. 6. Ed. 7. D.
CROSS-WORD ENIGMA.-Palestine.
EASY PICTORIAL PUZZLE.-Boy eating a pie.
PICTORIAL TRIPLE ACROSTIC.--. BluFF. 2. ApOllO. 3. Ref-
RigeratoR. 4. KiTE. 5. IUW. 6. New-graNadA. 7 GlEaneR.
8. Deer FawN. 9. OrAngE. o1. GraVeyarD. i. SOI. is.
ScissoRS. r3. EsSence oF. 14. LepanTO. 15 DisH-coveR. 16.
OsagE orangE. 17. ManitoBA. 18. BRiaR. 09. IAM. TVE.
21. EyEliD.
CONCEALMENTS.-I. Josephine. 2. Venus. 3. Dido. 4. Diana.
5. Hecuba. 6. Esther. 7, Antigone. 8. Medea. 9. Cleopatra.


ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JULY NUMBER were received, before July 20, from O. C. Turner-T. N.-M. B. French-Florence Wilcox
-" Bunker "-" Rosa "-Katie L. Bigley-Bessie and her Cousin-A. 0. Walther-St. Clair Nichol-Mr. Charles-E. B. Clark-Florence
L. Turrill-Annie Reynes-Susie A. Mackline-Rebecca L. Lodge-Lulu Mather-W. W. Oglesbee-Lizzie H. de St Vraim-Philip C.
I .. I. I*' '- I i. -Kitty C. Atwater-Mamie A. Benedict-Lester Mapes-San Wells-Helen M. Harriman and Harriet A. Clark
.- 1- !. -; [.... : Smith-Floy Carrier-Nellie S. Tappen-Mabel Gordon-The Blanke Family-Aunt Carrie-Geo. Mitchell-
Ett "r T. I .-, ... IT Gemmill-Anna Haughton-E. Wise, Alice and Kate-Hildegarde Sterling-Grace V. Farnam and Emma
L. I ..l--i ,...i1 :. Berkeley- "Yana"-Jennie Kimball-Bessie Abeel and Friend-Edward Vultee-"M. A. K."-Harry
Crosby-"Rowena"-L. D. Black-Karl K.-Allen T. Treadway-Bessie Taylor-Maude Crane-Vee Cornwell-Edwin G. Seibels-
Jenme Mondschein-Lillie Burling-Julia Grice-J. B. Johnston-Peter C. Hartough-Florence McL. Bergen-Fred. A. Conklin-Thomas
S. Cheney-Clarence Hoffman Young-Louisa Haughton-Warren Wolfsberger-Jennie Rogers-Georgia Harlan-Morris Turk-Jno. V.
L. Pierson-Amy E. Smith-Wm. McLean-Bessie C. Barney-Arthur C. Chamberlain-Eddie Worcester-Little Buttercup-O. B.
Judson-Bettie L. Hillegeist-Arthur Dunn-Betsv Mondschein-Alfred W. Stockett-Bella Wehl-Harold S. Wilkinson-Charles T.
Judson-Lloyd M. Scott-W. S. Grinsted-K. St. H.-M.-Richard Stockton-Kenneth Emerson-Mifflin B. Bradley-Ida Cohn-L. F.
-H. W. Paret-Geo. Taggart-Daisv B. Hodgson-Fly Defenders-William McKay-Katharine Leywood-Carrie B. Hill-Arnold
Guyot Cameron-Lucie F. Ducloux-Herbert James Fily-Agnes Nieholson-Bertha and Carl Keferstein-Edward Chamberlin-Henry
Lincoln-Lulu Mather-Riddlers-Louise A. Robert-Flavel Scott Mines-A. Kana H. E. F.-Marion L. Pike-A. B. C.-Mary L. Pink-
ham-Fannie Densmore-Mary Belle Brewster-George J. Fiske-Esther L. Fiske-Bertha Newsome-and Anita Newcomb.
Anita Newcomb is the only one who sent correct answers to all the puzzles in the July number.


776