• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Frontispiece
 "Little Miss Stone"
 Apple-seed John
 Jack and Jill
 Grandmother's room
 My ship
 How to camp out
 Bessie Ainsley doctors the...
 The daisy maidens
 Two famous old stones
 The "west winds" last cruise
 Ah lo
 The good shot
 Foreign head-dresses
 Lost and found
 A summer home for poor childre...
 Wild-flowers
 The fairport nine
 More chronicles of the Molbos
 Something about musical ducks
 Marion's story
 My dear old friends
 About a big dog
 Jack-in-the-pulpit
 The bird and its mother
 Did you?
 The story written
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover
 Spine






Group Title: St. Nicholas.
Title: Saint Nicholas
ALL VOLUMES CITATION PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00088
 Material Information
Title: Saint Nicholas
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: 1880 June
 Subjects
Subject: Children's literature -- Periodicals.
Literature for Children
 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
Bibliographic ID: UF00065513
Volume ID: VID00088
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

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Frontispiece
        Plate
    "Little Miss Stone"
        Page 601
        Page 602
        Page 603
    Apple-seed John
        Page 604
    Jack and Jill
        Page 605
        Page 606
        Page 607
        Page 608
        Page 609
        Page 610
        Page 611
        Page 612
        Page 613
        Page 614
    Grandmother's room
        Page 615
        Page 616
    My ship
        Page 617
    How to camp out
        Page 618
        Page 619
        Page 620
        Page 621
        Page 622
        Page 623
    Bessie Ainsley doctors the Doddses
        Page 624
        Page 625
        Page 626
        Page 627
        Page 628
    The daisy maidens
        Page 629
    Two famous old stones
        Page 629
        Page 630
        Page 631
    The "west winds" last cruise
        Page 632
        Page 633
        Page 634
        Page 635
        Page 636
    Ah lo
        Page 637
        Page 638
    The good shot
        Page 639
    Foreign head-dresses
        Page 640
        Page 641
    Lost and found
        Page 642
        Page 643
        Page 644
        Page 645
        Page 646
    A summer home for poor children
        Page 647
        Page 648
        Page 649
        Page 650
        Page 651
        Page 652
        Page 653
    Wild-flowers
        Page 654
    The fairport nine
        Page 654
        Page 655
        Page 656
        Page 657
        Page 658
        Page 659
        Page 660
        Page 661
    More chronicles of the Molbos
        Page 662
        Page 663
    Something about musical ducks
        Page 664
    Marion's story
        Page 665
        Page 666
        Page 667
    My dear old friends
        Page 668
        Page 669
    About a big dog
        Page 670
        Page 671
    Jack-in-the-pulpit
        Page 672
        Page 673
    The bird and its mother
        Page 674
    Did you?
        Page 675
    The story written
        Page 676
    The letter-box
        Page 677
        Page 678
    The riddle-box
        Page 679
        Page 680
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
    Spine
        Spine
Full Text

















































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THE HOME OF THE HERONS.


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ST. NICHOLAS.




JUNE, 1880.

Copyright, i88g, by Scribner & Co.]



"LITTLE MISS STONE."

BY MARY WAGER FISHER.


MAY MARSH was five years old, and lived in a
country village in central New York, where her
papa kept a store. Her grandmamma, Mrs.
Stone, lived in the same street, four doors away.
Little Miss May, as the villagers called her, was a
chubby little girl, with a round, pink and white
face, a little pug nose, large blue eyes, a pretty
large mouth with two rows of small, white teeth,
and her hair was "banged" all around. All day
she was as busy as a bee in summer time, swinging
in the yard, playing at see-saw with her sister
Nelly, or skipping upstairs and down, singing-
Over the hills and far away "

which were all the words she knew of a song she
had heard somewhere. These words seemed to be,
for her, quite enough ; and for the other lines she
would hum
"La, la, la,"
and then, with all her little voice, as if breaking
forth afresh, sing bravely out :
"Over the hills and far away "

Sometimes she would trudge about so gravely,
and with so business-like an air, as to greatly
amuse the housemaid, who, suspecting some mis-
chief, would ask:
Well, what now, little Miss May ? "
"Oh, I is very busy to-day! I 've my doll's
stockings and skirts to wash ; they 're awful dirty.
She 's such a lazy doll that, if I did n't make her
get up, she would lie right in the dirt on the floor
all day long, so that it takes half my time to keep
that doll looking 'spectable, it does."
With all her active ways, May was a very good
VOL. VII.-40.


child, excepting one fault, and I am sure no boy
nor girl could ever.guess what that was.
She would sew on Sunday !
Not that she could sew much, only with a
needleful of thread. She would stick it back and
forth through a piece of cloth, tangling the thread
and making very long stitches. During week days
she never wanted to sew, but the moment her
Sunday morning breakfast was over, she would
give nobody any peace until she had a needle
threaded for her, when she would sit as patiently
at her sewing as if she were a paid little seam-
stress. Her mamma was sorry to have her little
girl sew on Sunday, but said little about it, think-
ing she would cease to care for it, after a time.
But, as the weeks passed on, May seemed in a
fair way to sew on every Sunday, as long as she
lived. At length her mother decided to forbid
her having a needle, and on the following Sunday
morning, calling May to her, she said :
You cannot sew to-day, May."
Why not to-day, mamma?"
Because it is Sunday "
Well, what if it be Sunday ? "
God does n't like to have little girls sew on
Sunday."
Who is God, mamma ?"
God made you, dear."
S" Where is God, mamma? "
He is everywhere."
Then He is here, mamma ? "
Yes, dear."
In this room ?"
Yes."
Then He is in my pocket, mamma?"
You must not talk so," said mamma, very


VOL. VII.


No. 8.






" LITTLE MISS STONE."


much startled. God is everywhere because He
sees and knows everything you do. Now put
away your sewing."
May slowly obeyed, and took the matter so to
heart that she pouted all through church service,
and at night, when the maid brought her supper,
she said she was not going to live at home any
more, but would move to her grancdmamma's.
Next morning, May appeared at the breakfast-
table, wearing a very determined look; in one
hand she held her night-gown, and in the other
her doll. Her papa kissed her, and looking at her
night-dress asked what she was going to do with it.
I is not going to live here any more," she
replied, winking her eyes very hard.
And where does little Miss May propose to
live ? asked her papa.
With grandmamma. I is tired staying here."
Her mother smiled; then, looking sad, she said
she would then have only one little girl, but that
Nelly would comfort her. At this, May looked
straight at her plate, and ate her bread and butter
very fast without a word more. When the meal
was over she jumped down, and running into the
hall for her bonnet, went back to the breakfast-
room for her doll and night-gown.
I is going now, mamma," she said.
But if you are to live here no more," said her
father, you will have no papa, and mamma
will not be your mamma. You will have to say
Mr. and Mrs. Marsh, and, when you come here,
you will have to ring the door-bell, and you will be
Little Miss Stone."
May had no answer for that, but stood twirling
her bonnet-strings. At last, turning desperately
toward the door, she said:
Well, I don't care Grandmamma will let me
sew on Sunday, I know i Wont she, Nelly ?"
Nelly said she guessed not," whereupon May
drew her bonnet over her face and, hugging her
doll and night-gown, started for her grandmother's.
Nelly watched her from the window, laughing at
the little figure trudging down the sidewalk, mov-
ing as if she already had begun to battle with the
hard things of life.
We won't say ..i,. l1'.- to her, will we, mam-
ma?" said Nelly, as May turned in at her grand-
mother's; and I guess she '11 be glad enough to
come back before night."
May went in without knocking, and told her
grandmamma that she had come to "live with her,
-live with her always."
Mrs. Stone, amused at the child's decided man-
ner, said she would be very glad to have a little
girl to live with her. When she asked her why she
had left home, May replied:
Mamma 'buses me; I is tired living there."


May very soon was busy giving her doll its
breakfast, which seemed to be a vexing task, as
often happened; after a good deal of scolding, she
shook the doll, and, putting it down hard in a
chair, exclaimed: "You ought just to starve, you
ought, you naughty little thing "
But, after a while, tired of being alone, and
missing Nelly, she asked her grandmother for a
couple of pennies to go to the store and buy her
doll a frock. Mrs. Stone gave her the money, and
May started for her father's store. Nelly, who saw
her coming up the walk, shouted to her mother
that May was coming back"; still, May never
once looked at the house, but walked straight past
it. She held the two pennies tightly in her hand,
and .-1i, to the counter, where she saw her
father, said:
"Papa,"-and then stopping, as if remembering
something,--"Mr. Marsh, I want to buy my doll a
frock."
Her papa acted as if he did not know her, and
taking down some pink calico, asked her if that
would do. She said ": Yes," and he cut her off a
yard. She put her two cents on the counter, when
Mr. Marsh told her that the money was not enough;
then, looking soberly down into her face, he asked
whose little girl she was.
"I is my grandmamma's."
SAnd what is your name ?"
I is Little-Little Miss Stone."
Ah, yes, I see," said her father. Well, I am
not acquainted with any Little Miss Stone, so I 'm
afraid I can't let you have the calico."
May's lips began to tremble and her brave little
stock of bravado to give way, when one of the
* I', .: who had been standing near, slipped a ten
cent piece into her hand; this she quickly placed
on the counter, and then, with an air of victory,
she walked away with her calico.
, Time passed happily enough at her grand-
mother's until the doll's dress was made, which
happened at about five o'clock in the afternoon.
May was then anxious to show it to Nelly. Full
of this idea, and forgetting how she had left home
in the morning, May put on her bonnet and ran
back with her doll, rushing into the house without
ringing, and exclaiming:
See, Nelly, my doll's new frock "
Ah, what young lady have we here?" asked
Mrs. Marsh, in surprise.
"This is Little Miss Stone," said Nelly,
roguishly.
"Little Miss Stone? Indeed! And is Little
Miss Stone well to-day ? continued her mother.
Poor May was driven quite to her wit's end. She
had had the habit, ever since she could talk, of put-
ting her hands over her ears when she wished to say


602


[JUNE,







'"LITTLE MISS STONE."


something that a third person should not hear. So,
quickly clapping her fat little hands over her own
ears, she put her face close to Nelly's, and
shouted:
"I is not Little Miss Stone; you is very much
mistookened."
"Why, yes you are," laughed Nelly. I guess
you've forgotten "
Their mother pretended not to have heard May's
remark, and continued:
I think, Nelly dear, we will go out pretty soon
to look all around for a little sister for you.
Perhaps Little Miss Stone can tell
us where to find a little 1:,I I. --
will be glad to live here; .. !r,
with Nelly, and sleep with ..... .. 1 .
have the same papa and io ....
that Nelly has."
It was plain to see that a .[ ...I
was going on in little May'-
for she looked first at her.....:
anxiously, theh at Nelly, h I.:, !,.
eyes caught sight of a 2
beautiful little round
pumpkin-pie that stood
on the table. Now, if
there was anything of
which May was espe- .'
cially fond, it was pump-
kin-pie, and an aunt of -
hers often sent her a
small one. The sight
of the pie drove all her
sorrows from her mind,
and clapping her hands
she was about to seize
it, when Mrs. Marsh, '%
who was already tying .J
Nelly's bonnet strings '
for their walk, said:
"That pumpkin-pie we: -.., :..:.,.i I,.,.
by Aunt George for our rII- .! i.-. 1I,..
away this morning; she gcr r,..l. -i r r 1.. i.:
and went to live with her ,,... ..
could sew on Sunday! .. r
and look for another little .l I r.. I. -. ., r..
Nelly, and to eat the pumpi.- ...
Mrs. Marsh moved toward the door, when May,
no longer able to control her feelings, burst into
tears, and, hiding her face in her mamma's frock,
sobbed as if her heart would break.
"Don't cry, May," begged Nelly, soothingly.
Mamma 's only in fun! Mamma, this is lay ;


really, mamma, it is May. I told you all along
she'd come back "
At this moment Mr. Marsh came in, and seeing
his little girl in trouble, caught her up in his arms,
exclaiming:
Well! And what has become of Little Miss
Stone ? "
I guess she's runned away," answered May,
her eyes shining through her tears, and turning
longingly toward the pumpkin-pie, which she was
soon permitted to eat, while her papa and mam-
ma looked on, with satisfied smiles. In half an
hour, she was quite at home


' .. h. ..
-,


LITTLE MISS STONE MAKES A PURCHASE.


But for a long time the only reproof the happy
little girl needed for asking leave to sew on
Sunday, or for any other fault, was to remind her
of Little Miss Stone.


603






APPLE-SEED JOHN.


'''Y1


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APPLE-SEED JOHN.

BY LYDIA MARIA CHILD.


POOR Johnny was bended well nigh double
With years of toil, and care, and trouble;
But his large old heart still felt the need
Of doing for others some kindly deed.

" But what can I do?" old Johnny said;
" I who work so hard for daily bread ?
It takes heaps of money to do much good;
I am far too poor to do as I would."

The old man sat thinking deeply a while,
Then over his features gleamed a smile,
And he clapped his hands with a boyish
glee,
And said to himself, "There's a way for
me "

He worked, and he worked with might and
main,
But no one knew the plan in his brain.
He took ripe apples in pay for chores,
And carefully cut from them all the cores.

He filled a bag full, then wandered away,
And no man saw him for many a day.
With knapsack over his shoulder slung,
He marched along, and whistled or sung.

He seemed to roam with no object in view,
Like one who had nothing on earth to do;


But, journeying thus o'er the prairies wide,
He paused now and then, and his bag untied.


With pointed cane deep holes he would bore,
And in ev'ry hole he placed a core;
Then covered them well, and left them there
In keeping of sunshine, rain, and air.


Sometimes for days he waded through grass,
And saw not a living creature pass,
But often, when sinking to sleep in the dark,
He heard the owls hoot and the prairie-dogs
bark.


Sometimes an Indian of sturdy limb
Came striding along and walked with him;
And he who had food shared with the other,
As if he had met a hungry brother.


When the Indian saw how the bag was filled,
And looked at the holes that the white man
drilled,
He thought to himself 't was a silly plan
To be planting seed for some future man.


Sometimes a log cabin came in view,
Where Johnny was sure to find jobs to do,
By which he gained stores of bread and meat,
And welcome rest for his weary feet.


604


[JUNE,









JACK AND JILL.


He had full many a story to tell,
And goodly hymns that he sung right well;
He tossed up the babes, and joined the boys
In many a game full of fun and noise.

And he seemed so hearty, in work or play,
Men, women, and boys all urged him to
stay;
But he always said, I have something to do,
And I must go on to carry it through."

The boys, who were sure to follow him round,
Soon found what it was he put in the
ground;
And so, as time passed and he traveled on,
Ev'ry one called him "Old Apple-seed John."

Whenever he 'd used the whole of his store,
He went into cities and worked for more;
Then he marched back to the wilds again,
And planted seed on hill-side and plain.

In cities, some said the old man was crazy;
While others said he was only lazy;
But he took no notice of gibes and jeers,
He knew he was working for future years.


He knew that trees would soon abound
Where once a tree could not have been found;
That a flick'ring play of light and shade
Would dance and .i;i.,i.., along the glade;

That blossoming sprays would form fair bowers,
And sprinkle the grass with rosy showers;
And the little seeds his hands had spread
Would become ripe apples when he was dead.

So he kept on traveling far and wide,
Till his old limbs failed him, and he died.
He said at the last, "'T is a comfort to feel
I 've done good in the world, though not a
great deal."

Weary travelers, journeying west,
In the shade of his trees find pleasant rest;
And they often start, with glad surprise,
At the rosy fruit that round them lies.

And if they inquire whence came such trees,
Where not a bough once swayed in the breeze,
The answer still comes, as they travel on,
" These trees were planted by Apple-seed John."





--,2
-: .--
''! ~ *** *WB *"


JACK AND JILL.*

BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT.


CHAPTER XIII.
JACK HAS A MYSTERY.

WHAT is the matter? Does your head ache?"
asked Jill, one evening in March, observing that
Jack sat with his head in his hands, an attitude
which, with him, meant either pain or perplexity.
No; but I 'm bothered. I want some money,
and I don't see how I can earn it," he answered,


tumbling his hair about, and frowning darkly at
the fire.
How much ?" and Jill's ready hand went to
the pocket where her little purse lay, for she felt
rich with several presents lately made her.
Two seventy-five. No, thank you, I wont
borrow."
What is it for? "
Can't tell."


* Copyright, 1879, by Louisa M. Alcott. All rights reserved.


605






JACK AND JILL.


"Why, I thought you told me everything."
Sorry, but I can't this time. Don't you worry;
I shall think of something."
Could n't your mother help ? "
Don't wish to ask her."
"Why! can't she know?"
Nobody can."
"How queer! Is it a scrape, Jack?" asked
Jill, looking as curious as a magpie.
It is likely to be, if I can't get out of it this
week, somehow."
Well, I don't see how I can help if I 'm not to
know ... i ,.. and Jill seemed rather hurt.
"' You can just stop asking questions, and tell
me how a fellow can earn some money. That
would help. I 've got one dollar, but I must have
some more," and Jack looked worried as he
fingered the little gold dollar on his watch-guard.
Oh, do you mean to use that?"
Yes, I do; a man must pay his debts if he sells
all he has to do it," said Jack, sternly.
Dear me; it must be something very serious."
And Jill lay quite still for five minutes, thinking
over all the ways in which Jack ever did earn
money, for Mrs. Minot liked to have her boys
work, and paid them in some way for all they did.
Is there any wood to saw ?" she asked, pres-
ently, being very anxious to help.
"All done."
Paths to shovel? "
No snow.'"
Lawn to rake, then? "
Not time for that yet."
Catalogue of books?"
Frank got that job."
Copy those letters for your mother?"
"Take me too long. Must have my money
Friday, if possible."
I don't see what we can do, then. It is too
early or too late for everything, and you wont
borrow."
Not of you. No, nor of any one else, if I can
possibly help it. I 've promised to do this myself,
and I will," and Jack wagged his head, resolutely.
Could n't you do something with the printing-
press? Do me some cards, and then, perhaps, the
other girls will want some," said Jill, as a forlorn
hope.
Just the thing! What a goose I was not to
think of it. I '11 rig the old machine up at once."
And, starting from his seat, Jack dived into the
big closet, dragged out the little press, and fell to
oiling, dusting and putting it in order, like one
relieved of a great anxiety.
"Give me the types; I 'li sort them and set
up my name, so you can begin as soon as you are
ready. You know what a help I was when we did


the programmes? I 'm almost sure the girls will
want cards, and I know your mother would like some
more tags," said Jill, briskly rattling the letters
into the different compartments, while Jack inked
the rollers and hunted up his big apron, whistling
the while with recovered spirits.
A dozen neat cards were soon printed, and Jill
insisted on paying six cents for them, as earning
was not borrowing. A few odd tags were found
and done for mamma, who immediately ordered
four dozen at six cents a dozen, though she was not
told why there was such a pressing call for money..
Jack's monthly half-dollar had been spent the
first week,--twenty-five cents for a concert, ten
paid a fine for keeping a book too long from the
library, ten more to have his knife ground, and
five in candy, for he dearly loved sweeties, and was
under bonds to mamma not to spend more than
five cents a month on these unwholesome tempta-
tions. She never asked the boys what they did
with their money, but expected them to keep
account in the little books she gave them; and,
now and then, they showed the neat pages with
pardonable pride, though she often laughed at the
queer items.
All that evening Jack & Co. worked busily, for
when Frank came in he good-naturedly ordered
some pale-pink cards for Annette, and ran to the
store to choose the right shade, and buy' some
packages for the young printer also.
"What do you suppose he is in such a pucker
for? whispered Jill, as she set up the new name,
to Frank, who sat close by, with one eye on his
book and one on her.
Oh, some notion. He 's a queer chap; but I
guess it is n't much of a scrape, or I should know
it. He 's so good-natured he 's always promising
to do things for people, and has too much pluck to
give up when he finds he can't. Let him alone,
and it will all come out soon enough," answered
Frank, who laughed at his brother, but loved him
none the less for the tender heart that often got
the better of his young head.
But for once Frank was mistaken; the mystery
did not come out, and Jack worked like a beaver
all that week, as orders poured in when Jill and
Annette showed their elegant cards; for, as every-
body knows, if one girl has a new thing all the rest
must, whether it is a bow on the top of her head, a
peculiar sort of pencil, or the latest kind of chew-
ing-gum. Little play did the poor fellow get, for
every spare minute was spent at the press, and no
invitation could tempt him away, so much in ear-
nest was our honest little Franklin about paying his
debt. Jill helped all she could, and cheered his
labors with her encouragement, remembering how
he stayed at home for her.


606


[JUNE,






JACK AND JILL.


It is real good of you to lend a hand, and I 'm
ever so much obliged," said Jack, as the last order
was struck off, and the drawer of the type-box held
a pile of shining five and ten cent pieces, with two
or three quarters.
I love to; only, it would be nicer if I knew
what we were working for," she said, demurely, as
she scattered type for the last time; and seeing
that Jack was both tired and grateful, hoped to get
a hint of the secret.
I want to tell you, dreadfully; but I can't,
because I 've promised."
"What, never?"
"Never! and Jack looked as firm as a rock.
Then I shall find out, for I have n't prom-
ised."
You can't."
See if I don't! "
You are sharp, but you wont guess this. It 's
a tremendous secret, and nobody will tell it."
You '11 tell it yourself. You always do."
I wont tell this. It would be mean."
Wait and see; I can get anything out 6f you
if I try," and Jill laughed, knowing her power well,
for Jack found it very hard to keep a secret from
her.
"Don't try; please don't! It would n't be
right, and you don't want to make me do a dis-
honorable thing for your sake, I know."
Jack looked so distressed that Jill promised not
to.make him tell, though she held herself free to
find out in other ways, if she could.
Thus relieved, Jack trudged off to school on
Friday with the two dollars and seventy-five cents
jingling in his pocket, though the dear gold coin
had to be sacrificed to make up the sum. He did
his lessons badly that day, was late at recess in the
afternoon and, as soon as school was over, departed
in his rubber boots "to take a walk," he said,
though the roads were in a had state with a spring
thaw. Nothing was seen of him till after tea-time,
when he came limping in, very dirty and tired, but
with a reposeful expression, which betrayed that a
load was off his mind. Frank was busy about his
own affairs and paid little attention to him, but Jill
was on tenter-hooks to know where he had been,
yet dared not ask the question.
Merry's brother wants some cards. He liked
hers so much he wishes to make his lady-love a
present. Here 's the name," and Jill held up' the
order from Harry Grant, who was to be married in
the autumn.
Must wait till next week. I 'm too tired to do
a thing to-night, and I hate the sight of that old
press," answered Jack, laying himself down upon
the rug as if every joint ached.
What made you take such a long walk? You


look as tired as if you 'd been ten miles," said
Jill, hoping to discover the length of the trip.
Had to. Four or five miles is n't much, only
my leg bothered me," and Jack gave the ailing
member a slap, as if he had found it much in
his way that day; for, though he had given up the
crutches long ago, he rather missed their support
sometimes. Then, with a great yawn, he stretched
himself out to bask in the blaze, pillowing his head
on his arms.
Dear old thing, he looks all used up; I wont
plague him with talking," and Jill began to sing,
as she often did in the twilight.
By the time the first song ended a gentle snore
was heard, and Jack lay fast asleep, worn out with
the busy week and the walk, which had been
longer and harder than any one guessed. Jill took
up her knitting and worked quietly by firelight,
still wondering and guessing what the secret could
be; for she had not much to amuse her, and little
things were very interesting if connected with her
friends. Presently, Jack rolled over and began to
mutter in his sleep, as he often did when too weary
for sound slumber. Jill paid no attention till he
uttered a name which made her prick up her ears
and listen to the broken sentences which followed.
Only a few words, but she dropped her work, say-
ing to herself:
I do believe he is talking about the secret.
Now I shall find out, and he will tell me himself,
as I said he would."
Much pleased, she leaned and listened, but
could make no sense of the confused babble about
"heavy boots" ; "all right, old fellow"; "Jerry's
off"; and "the ink is too thick."
The slam of the front door woke Jack, and he
pulled himself up, declaring that he believed he
had been having a nap.
I wish you 'd have another," said Jill, greatly
disappointed at the loss of the intelligence she
seemed to be so near getting.
Floor is too hard for tired bones. Guess I '11
go to bed and get rested up for Monday. I 've
worked like fury this week, so next I 'm going in
for fun ; and, little dreaming what hard times were
in store for him, Jack went off to enjoy his warm
bath and welcome bed, where he was soon sleep-
ing with the serene look of one whose dreams
were happy, whose conscience was at rest.

I have a few words to say to you before you
go," said Mr. Acton, pausing with his hand on the
bell, Monday afternoon, when the hour came for
dismissing school.
The bustle of putting away books and preparing
for as rapid a departure as propriety allowed, sub-
sided suddenly, and the boys and girls sat as still


607






JACK AND JILL.


as mice, while the hearts of such as had been
guilty of any small sins began to beat fast.
You remember that we had some trouble last
winter about keeping the boys away from the saloon,
and that a rule was made forbidding any pupil to
go to town during recess ? began Mr. Acton,
who, being a conscientious man as well as an
excellent teacher, felt that he was responsible for
the children in school hours, and did his best to
aid parents in guarding them from the few tempt-
ations which beset them in a country town. A
certain attractive little shop, where confectionery,
base-balls, stationery and picture papers were
sold, was a favorite loafing place for some of the
boys till the rule forbidding it was made, because
in the rear of the shop was a beer and billiard
saloon. A wise rule, for the picture papers were
not always of the best sort; cigars were to be had;
idle fellows hung about there, and some of the
lads, who wanted to be thought manly, ventured
to pass the green baize door "just to look on."
A murmur answered the teacher's question, and
he continued:
You all know that the rule was broken several
times, and I told you the next offender would be
publicly reprimanded, as private punishments had
no effect. I am sorry to say that the time has
come, and the offender is a boy whom I trusted
entirely. It grieves me to do this, but I must keep
my promise, and hope the example will have a
good effect."
Mr. Acton paused, as if he found it hard to go
on, and the boys looked at one another with inquir-
ing eyes, for their teacher seldom punished, and
when he did it was a very solemn thing. Several
of these anxious glances fell upon Joe, who was
very red and sat whittling a pencil as if he dared
not lift his eyes.
He's the chap. Wont he catch it?" whis-
pered Gus to Frank, for both owed him a grudge.
"The boy who broke the rule last Friday, at
afternoon recess, will come to the desk," said Mr.
Acton, in his most impressive manner.
If a thunderbolt had fallen through the roof it
would hardly have caused a greater surprise than
the sight of Jack Minot walking slowly down the
aisle, with a wrathful flash in the eyes he turned on
Joe as he passed him.
Now, Minot, let us have this over as soon as
possible, for I do not like it any better than you
do, and I am sure there is some mistake. I'm told
you' went to the shop on Friday. Is it true?"
asked Mr. Acton, very gently, for he liked Jack,
and seldom had to correct him in any way.
Yes, sir," and Jack looked up as if proud to
show that he was not afraid to tell the truth as far
as he could.


To buy something? "
"No, sir."
To meet some one ? "
Yes, sir."
Was it Jerry Shannon ? "
No answer, but Jack's fists doubled up of them-
selves as he shot another fiery glance at Joe, whose
face burned as if it scorched him.
I am told it was; also that you were seen to go
into the saloon with him. Did you?" and Mr.
Acton looked so sure that it was a mistake that it
cost Jack a great effort to say, slowly:
"Yes, sir."
Quite a thrill pervaded the school at this con-
fession, for Jerry was one of the wild fellows the
boys all shunned, and to have any dealings with
him was considered a very disgraceful thing.
"Did you play? "
"No, sir. I can't."
'' Drink beer? "
"I belong to the Lodge," and Jack stood as
erect as any little soldier who ever marched under
a temperance banner and fought for the cause
none are too young nor too old to help along.
"I was sure of that. Then what took you
there, my boy? "
The question was so kindly put that Jack forgot
himself an instant, and blurted out:
"I only went to pay him some money, sir."
Ah, how much ? "
Two seventy-five," muttered Jack, as red as a
cherry at not being able to keep a secret better.
"Too much for a lad like you to owe such a
fellow as Jerry. How came it ?" and Mr. Acton
looked disturbed.
Jack opened his lips to speak, but shut them
again, and stood looking down with a little quiver
about the mouth that showed how much it cost
him to be silent.
"Does any one beside Jerry know of this ?"
One other fellow," after a pause.
"Yes, I understand," and Mr. Acton's eye
glanced at Joe with a look that seemed to say," I
wish he 'd held his tongue."
A queer smile flitted over Jack's face, for Joe was
not the other fellow," and knew very little about
it, excepting what he had seen when he was sent
on an errand by Mr. Acton on Friday.
I wish you would explain the matter, John, for
I am sure it is better than it seems, and it would
be very hard to punish you when you don't deserve
it."
"But I do deserve it; I've broken the rule, and
I ought to be punished," said Jack, as if a good
whipping would be easier to bear than this public
cross-examination.
"And you can't explain, or even say you are


608


JUNE,






JACK AND JILL.


sorry, or ashamed?" asked Mr. Acton, hoping to
surprise another fact out of the boy.
"No, sir; I can't; I'm not ashamed; I'm not
sorry, and I'd do it again to-morrow if I had to; "
cried Jack, losing patience, and looking as if he
would not bear much more.
A groan from the boys greeted this bare-faced
declaration, and Susy quite shivered at the idea of
having taken two bites out of the apple of such a
hardened desperado.


away, I had only that time, and I'd promised to
pay up, so I did."
Mr. Acton believed every word he said, and
regretted that they had not been able to have it out
privately, but he, too, must keep his promise and
punish the offender, whoever he was.
Very well, you will lose your recess for a week,
and this month's report will be the first one in
which behavior does not get the highest mark. You
may go; and I wish it understood that Master


"JACK & CO." AT WORK WITH THE PRINTING-PRESS.


Think it over till to-morrow, and perhaps you
will change your mind. Remember that this is the
last week of the month, and reports are given out
next Friday," said Mr. Acton, knowing how much
the boy prided himself on always having good ones
to show his mother.
Poor Jack turned scarlet and bit his lips to keep
them still, for he had forgotten this when he
plunged into the affair which was likely to cost him
dear. Then the color faded away, the boyish face
grew steady, and the honest eyes looked up at his
teacher as he said very low, but all heard him, the
room was so still:
It is n't as bad as it looks, sir, but I can't say
any more. No one is to blame but me; and I
could n't help breaking the rule, for Jerry was going


Minot is not to be troubled with questions till he
chooses to set this matter right."
Then the bell rang, the children trooped out,
Mr. Acton went off without another word, and Jack
was left alone to put up his books and hide a few
tears that would come because Frank turned his
eyes away from the imploring look cast upon him
as the culprit came down from the platform, a
disgraced boy.
Elder brothers are apt to be a little hard on
younger ones, so it is not surprising that Frank,
who was an eminently proper boy, was much cut
up when Jack publicly confessed to dealings with
Jerry, leaving it to be supposed that the worst half
of the story remained untold. He felt it his duty,
therefore, to collar poor Jack when he came out,


609






JACK AND JILL.


and talk to him all the way home, like a judge
bent on getting at the truth by main force. A
kind word would have been very comforting, but
the scolding was too much for Jack's temper, so
he turned dogged and would not say a word,
though Frank threatened not to speak to him for
a week.
At tea-time both boys were very silent, one look-
ing grim, the other excited. Frank stared sternly
at his brother across the table, and no amount of
marmalade sweetened or softened that reproachful
look. Jack defiantly crunched his toast, with
occasional slashes at the butter, as if he must vent
the pent-up emotions which half distracted him.
Of course, their mother saw that something was
amiss, but did not allude to it, hoping that the
cloud would blow over as so many did if left alone.
But this one did not, and when both refused cake,
this sure sign of unusual perturbation made her
anxious to know the cause. As soon as tea was over,
Jack retired with gloomy dignity to his own room,
and Frank, casting away the paper he had been
pretending to read, burst out with the whole story.
Mrs. Minot was as much surprised as he, but not
angry, because, like most mothers, she was sure
that her sons could not do anything very bad.
"I will speak to him; my boy wont refuse to
give me some explanation," she said, when Frank
had freed his mind with as much warmth as if
Jack had broken all the ten commandments.
He will. You often call me obstinate, but he
is as pig-headed as a mule; Joe only knows what
he saw, old tell-tale and Jerry has left town, or I 'd
have it out of him. Make Jack own up, whether
he can or not. Little donkey stormed Frank,
who hated rowdies and could not forgive his brother
for being seen with one.
My dear, all boys do foolish things sometimes,
even the wisest and best behaved, so don't be hard
on the poor child. He has got into trouble, I 've
no doubt, but it cannot be very bad, and he earned
the money to pay for his prank, whatever it was."
Mrs. Minot left the room as she spoke, and
Frank cooled down as if her words had been a
shower-bath, for he remembered his own costly
escapade, and how kindly both his mother and Jack
had stood by him on that trying occasion. So, feel-
ing rather remorseful, he went off to talk it over with
Gus, leaving Jill in a fever of curiosity, for Merry
and Molly had dropped in on their way home to
break the blow to her, and Frank declined to
discuss it with her, after mildly stating that Jack
was a ninny," in his opinion.
Well, I know one thing," said Jill, confiden-
1t ii.. to Snow-ball, when they were left alone
together, "'if every one else is scolding him I wont
say a word. It's so mean to crow over people


when they are down, and I 'm sure he has n't done
anything to be ashamed of, though he wont tell."
Snow-ball seemed to agree to this, for he went
and sat down by Jack's slippers waiting for him on
the hearth, and Jill thought that a very touching
proof of affectionate fidelity to the little master who
ruled them both.
When he came, it was evident that he had found
it harder to refuse his mother than all the rest.
But she trusted him, in spite of appearances, and
that was such a comfort! for poor Jack's heart was
very full, and he longed to tell the whole story, but he
would not break his promise, and so kept silence
bravely. Jill asked no questions, affecting to be
anxious for the games they always played together
in the evening; but while they played, though the
lips were sealed, the bright eyes said as plainly as
words, I trust you," and Jack was very grateful.
It was well he had something to cheer him up at
home, for he got little peace at school. He bore
the grave looks of Mr. Acton meekly, took the
boys' jokes good-naturedly, and withstood the
artful teasing of the girls with patient silence. But
it was very hard for the social, affectionate fellow to
bear the general distrust, for he had been such a
favorite he felt the change keenly.
But the thing that tried him most was the knowl-
edge that his report would not be what it usually
was. It was always a happy moment when he
showed it to his mother, and saw her eye brighten
as it fell on the 99 or o10, for she cared more for
good behavior than for perfect lessons. Mr. Acton
once said that Frank Minot's moral influence in
the school was unusual, and Jack never forgot her
pride and delight as she told them what Frank
himself had not known till then. It was Jack's
ambition to have the same said of him, for he was
not much of a scholar, and he had tried hard since
he went back to school to get good records in that
respect at least. Now, here was a dreadful down-
fall, tardy marks, bad company, broken rules, and
something too wrong to tell, apparently.
"Well, I deserve a good report, and that 's a
comfort, though nobody believes it," he said to
himself, trying to keep up his spirits, as the slow
week went by, and no word from him had cleared
up the mystery.


CHAPTER XIV.

AND JILL FINDS IT OUT.

JILL worried about it more than he did, for she
was a faithful little friend, and it was a great trial
to have Jack even suspected of doing anything
wrong. School is a child's world while he is there,
and its small affairs are very important to him, so


61o


[JUNE,






JACK AND JILL.


Jill felt that the one thing to be done was to clear
away the cloud about her dear boy, and restore
him to public favor.
"Ed will be here Saturday night and may be
he will find out, for Jack tells him everything. I
do hate to have him hectored so, for I know he is,
though he 's too proud to complain," she said, on
Thursday evening, when Frank told her some joke
played upon his brother that day.
I let him alone, but I see that he is n't badg-
ered too much. That 's all I can do. If Ed had
only come home last Saturday it might have done
some good, but now it will be too late; for the
reports are given out to-morrow, you know,"
answered Frank, feeling a little jealous of Ed's
influence over Jack, though his own would have
been as great if he had been as gentle.
Has Jerry come back ? asked Jill, who kept
all her questions for Frank, because she seldom
alluded to the tender subject when with Jack.
No, he 's off for the summer. Got a place
somewhere. Hope he '11 stay there, and let Bob
alone."
Where is Bob now? I don't hear much about
him lately," said Jill, who was constantly on the
look-out for "the other fellow," since it was not
Joe.
Oh, he went to Captain Skinner's the first of
March, chores round, and goes to school up there.
Captain is strict, and wont let Bob come to town,
except Sundays; but he don't mind it much, for
he likes horses, has nice grub, and the hill fellows
are good chaps for him to be with. So he 's all
right, if he only behaves."
How far is it to Captain Skinner's?" asked Jill,
suddenly, having listened, with her sharp eyes on
Frank, as he tinkered away at his model, since he
was forbidden all other indulgence in his beloved
pastime.
It's four miles to Hill District, but the Captain
lives this side of the school-house. About three
from here, I should say."
How long would it take a boy to walk up
there?" went on the questioner, with a new idea
in her head.
Depends on how much of a walkist he is."
Suppose he was lame and it was sloshy, and
he made a call and came back. How long would
that take ? asked Jill, impatiently.
Well, in that case, I should say.two or three
hours. But it 's impossible to tell exactly, unless
you know how lame the fellow was, and how long
a call he made," said Frank, who liked to be
accurate.
Jack could n't do it in less, could he ?"
"He used to run up that hilly road for a
breather, and think nothing of it. It would be a


long job for him now, poor little chap, for his leg
often troubles him, though he hates to own it."
Jill lay back and laughed, a happy little laugh,
as if she was pleased about : ....: ii ... and Frank
looked over his shoulder to ask questions in his
turn.
What are you laughing at?"
Can't tell."
Why do you want to know about Hill District ?
Are you going there ?"
"Wish I could I 'd soon have it out of him."
Who?"
"Never mind. Please push up my table. I
must write a letter, and I want you to post it for
me to-night, and never say a word till I give you
leave."
Oh, now you are going to have secrets and be
mysterious, and get into a mess, are you?" and
Frank looked down at her with a suspicious air,
Ti, .ub he was intensely curious to know what she
was about.
Go away till I 'm done. You will have to see
the outside, but you can't know the inside till the
answer comes;" and, propping herself up, Jill
wrote the -.li. ur. note, with some hesitation at
the beginning and end, for she did not know the
gentleman she was addressing, except by sight,
and it was rather awkward.

"ROBERT WALKER:
"DEAR SIR:-I want to ask if Jack Minot came to see you last
Friday afternoon. He got into trouble being seen with Jerry Shannon.
He paid him some money. Jack wont tell, and Mr. Acton talked to
him about it before all the school. We feel bad, because we think
Jack did not do wrong. I don't know as you have anything to do
with it, but I thought I 'd ask. Please answer quick.-Respectfully
yours, JANE PECQ."

To make sure that her despatch was not tam-
pered with, Jill put a great splash of red sealing-
wax on it, which gave it a very official look, and
much impressed Bob when he received it.
There Go and post it, and don't let any one
see or know about it," she said, handing it over to
Frank, who left his work with unusual alacrity to
do her errand. When his eye fell on the address,
he laughed, and said in a teasing way:
Are you and Bob such good friends that you
correspond? What will Jack say ?"
"Don't know, and don't care! Be good, now,
and let 's have a little secret as well as other folks.
I '11 tell you all about it when he answers," said Jill,
in her most coaxing tone.
Suppose he does n't? "
Then I shall-send you up to see him. I must
know something, and I want to do it myself, if I
can."
Look here; what are you after? I do believe
you think- Frank got no farther, for Jill






JACK AND JILL.


gave a little scream, and stopped him by crying
eagerly: "Don't say it out loud! I really do
believe it may be, and I 'm going to find out."
"What made you think of him ?" and Frank
looked thoughtfully at the letter, as if turning care-
fully over in his mind the idea that Jill's quick wits
had jumped at.
Come here, and I '11 tell you."
Holding him by one button, she whispered some-
thing in his ear that made him exclaim, with a
look at the rug:
No did he? I declare I should n't wonder!
It would be just like the dear old blunder-head."
I never thought of it till you told me where
Bob was, and then it all sort of burst upon me in


while she eagerly read it he sat calmly poring over
the latest number of his own private and par-
ticular "Boys' paper."
Bob was not a complete letter-writer" by any
means, and with great labor and much ink had
produced the following brief but highly satisfactory
epistle. Not knowing how to address his fair cor-
respondent he let it alone, and went at once to the
point in the frankest possible way:

"Jack did come up Friday. Sorry he got into a mess. It was
real kind of him, and I shall pay him back soon. Jack paid Jerry
for me, and I made him promise not to tell. Jerry said he'd come
here and make a row if I did n't cash up. I was afraid I'd lose the
place if he did, for the Capt. is awful strict. If Jack don't tell now,
I will. I aint mean. Glad you wrote. R. 0. W."


JILL MAKES A DISCOVERY.


one minute!" cried Jill, waving her arms about to
express the intellectual explosion which had thrown
light upon the mystery, like sky-rockets in a dark
night.
You are as bright as a button. No time to
lose; I'm off," and off he was, splashing through
the mud to post the letter, on the back of which he
added, to make the thing sure, Hurry up. F.
M."
Both felt rather guilty next day, but enjoyed
themselves very much nevertheless, and kept
chuckling over the mine they were making under
Jack's unconscious feet. They hardly expected an
answer at noon, as the Hill people were not very
eager for their mail, but at night Jill was sure of a
letter, and to her great delight it came. Jack
brought it himself, which added to the fun, and


"Hurrah cried Jill, waving the letter over her
head in great triumph. "Call everybody and
read it out," she added, as Frank snatched it,
and ran for his mother, seeing at a glance that the
news was good. Jill was so afraid she should tell
before the others came that she burst out singing
" Pretty Bobby Shafto" at the top of her voice, to
Jack's great disgust, for he considered the song very
personal, as he was rather fond of "combing down
his yellow hair," and Jill often plagued him by sing-
ing it when he came in with the golden quirls very
smooth and nice to hide the scar on his forehead.
In about five minutes the door flew open and in
came mamma, making straight for bewildered
Jack, who thought the family had gone crazy
when his parent caught him in her arms, saying
tenderly:


6I2


[JUNE,






JACK AND JILL.


"My good, generous boy! I knew he was
right all the time while Frank worked his hand
up and down like a pump-handle, exclaiming
heartily:
You're a trump, sir, and I'm proud of you! "
Jill meantime calling out, in wild delight:
I told you so! I told you so I did find out,
ha, ha, I did!"
Come, I say What's the matter? I'm all
right. Don't squeeze the breath out of me,
please," expostulated Jack, looking so startled and
innocent, as he struggled feebly, that they all
laughed, and this plaintive protest caused him to
be released. But the next proceeding did not
enlighten him much, for Frank kept waving a very
inky paper before him and ordering him to read
it, while mamma made a charge at Jill, as if it was
absolutely necessary to hug somebody.
Hullo said Jack, when he got the letter
into his own hand and read it. Now who put
Bob up to this? Nobody had any business to
interfere-but it's mighty good of him, anyway,"
he added, as the anxious lines in his round face
smoothed themselves away, while a smile of relief
told how hard it had been for him to keep his
word..
"I did!" cried Jill, clapping her hands, and
looking so happy that he could not have scolded
her if he had wanted to.
Who told you he was in the scrape ? demanded
Jack, in a hurry to know all about it now the seal
was taken off his own lips.
You did," and Jill's face twinkled with naughty
satisfaction, for this was the best fun of all.
I did n't! When ? Where? It'sa joke!"
"You did," cried Jill, pointing to the rug.
You went to sleep there after the long walk, and
talked in your sleep about 'Bob and All right,
old boy,' and ever so much ;i..i.: ;-h. I did n't
think about it then, but when I heard that Bob
was up there I thought may be he knew some-
thing about it, and last night I wrote and asked
him, and that 's the answer, and now it is all right,
and you are the best boy that ever was, and I 'm so
glad !"
Here Jill paused, all out of breath, and Frank
said, with an approving pat on the head:
It wont do to have such a sharp young person
round if we are going to have secrets. You'd make
a good detective, miss."
Catch me taking naps before people again,"
and Jack looked rather crestfallen that his own
words had set Fine Ear on the track. Never
mind, I didn't mean to tell, though I just ached to
do it all the time, so I have n't broken my word.
I'm glad you all know, but you need n't let it get
out, for Bob is a good fellow and it might make


trouble for him," added Jack, anxious lest his gain
should be the other's loss.
I shall tell Mr. Acton myself, and the Captain,
also, for I 'm not going to have my son suspected
of wrong-doing when he has only tried to help a
friend, and borne enough for his sake," said mam-
ma, much excited by this discovery of generous
fidelity in her boy; though, when one came to look
at it calmly, one saw that it might have been done
in a wiser way.
Now, please, don't make a fuss about it; that
would be most as bad as having every one down
on me. I can stand your praising me, but I wont
be patted on the head by anybody else," and Jack
assumed a manly air, though his face was full of
genuine boyish pleasure at being set right in the
eyes of those he loved.
"I 'll be discreet, dear, but you owe it to your-
self, as well as Bob, to have the truth known.
Both have behaved well, and no harm will come
to him, I am sure. I'1l see to that myself," said
Mrs. Minot, in a tone that set Jack's mind at rest
on that point.
Now, do tell all about it," cried Jill, who was
pining to know the whole story, and felt as if she
had earned the right to hear it.
"Oh, it was n't much. We promised Ed to
stand by Bob, so I did as well as I knew how," and
Jack seemed to think that was about all there was
to say.
I never saw such a fellow for keeping a prom-
ise You stick to it through thick and thin, no
matter how silly or hard it is. You remember,
mother, last summer, how you told him not to go
in a boat and he promised, the day we went on the
picnic. We rode up, but the horse ran off home,
so we had to come back by way of the river, all but
Jack, and he walked every step of five miles because
he would n't go near a boat, though Mr. Burton
was there to take care of him. I call that rather
overdoing the matter," and Frank looked as if he
thought moderation even in virtue a good thing.
And I call it a fine sample of entire obedience.
He obeyed orders, and that is what we all must do,
without always seeing why, or daring to use our
own judgment. It is a great safeguard to Jack,
and a very great comfort to me; for I know that if
he promises he will keep his word, no matter what
it costs him," said mamma, warmly, as she tum-
bled up the quirls with an irrepressible caress,
remembering how the boy came wearily in after
all the others, without seeming for a moment to
think that he could have done anything else.
Like Casabianca !" cried Jill, much impressed,
for obedience was her hardest trial.
I think he was a fool to burn up," said Frank,
bound not to give in.






[JUNE,


JACK AND JILL.


I don't. It's a splendid piece, and every one
likes to speak it, and it was true, and it would n't
be in all'the books if he was a fool. Grown people
know what is good," declared Jill, who liked heroic
actions, and was always hoping for a chance to
distinguish herself in that way.
You admire 'The C( .1- of the Light Brig-
ade,' and glow all over as you thunder it out. Yet
they went gallantly to their death rather than dis-
obey orders. A mistake, perhaps, but it makes
us thrill to hear of it; and the same spirit keeps
my Jack true as steel when once his word is
passed, or he thinks it is his duty. Don't be
laughed out of it, my son, for faithfulness in little
things fits one for heroism when the great trials
come. One's conscience can hardly be too tender
when honor and honesty are concerned."
You are right, mother, and I 'm wrong. I beg
your pardon, Jack, and you sha'n't get ahead of
me next time."
Frank made his mother a little bow, gave his
brother a shake of the hand, and nodded to Jill, as
if anxious to show that he was not too proud to
own up when he made a mistake.
Please tell on, Jack. This is very nice, but I
do want to know all about the other," said Jill,
after a short pause.
Let me see. Oh, I saw Bob at church, and he
looked rather blue; so, after Sunday-school, I
asked what the matter was. He said Jerry bothered
him for some money he lent him at different times
when they were loafing round together, before we
took him up. He would n't get any wages for
some time. The Captain keeps him short on pur-
pose, I guess, and wont let him come down town
except on Sundays. He did n't want any one to
know about it, for fear he 'd lose his place. So I
promised I would n't tell. Then I was afraid Jerry
would go and make a fuss, and Bob would run off,
or do something desperate, being worried, and I
said I 'd pay it for him, if I could. So he went
home pretty jolly, and I scratched 'round for the
money. Got it, too, and was n't I glad?"
Jack paused to rub his hands, and Frank said,
with more than usual respect:
"Could n't you get hold of Jerry in any other
place, and out of school time ? That did the mis-
chief, thanks to Joe. I thrashed him, Jill,-did I
mention it ?"
I could n't get all my money till Friday morn-
ing, and I knew Jerry was off at night. I looked
for him before school, and at noon, but couldn't
find him, so afternoon recess was my last chance.
I was bound to do it, and I did n't mean to break
the rule, but Jerry was just going into the shop, so
I pelted after him, and as it was private business


we went to the billiard-room. I declare I never
was so relieved as when I handed over that money,
and made him say it was all right, and he wouldn't
go near Bob. He's off, so my mind is easy, and
Bob will be so grateful I can keep him steady, per-
haps. That will be worth two seventy-five, I
think," said Jack, heartily.
You should have come to me," began Frank.
"And got laughed at,-no, thank you," inter-
rupted Jack, recollecting several philanthropic
little enterprises which were nipped in the bud for
want of co-operation.
"Tome, then," said his mother. "It would
have saved so much trouble."
: I thought of it, but Bob did n't want the big
fellows to know for fear they'd be down on him, so
I thought he might not like me to tell grown
people. I don't mind the fuss now, and Bob is as
kind as he can be. Wanted to give me his big
knife, but I would n't take it. I'd rather have
this," and Jack put the.letter in his pocket with a
slap outside, as if it warmed the cockles of his heart
to have it there.
"Well, it seems rather like a tempest in a tea-
pot, now it is all over, but I do admire your pluck,
little boy, in holding out so well when every one
was scolding at you, and you in the right all the
time," said Frank, glad to praise, now that he
honestly could, after his wholesale condemnation.
That is what pulled me through, I suppose. I
used to think if I had done anything wrong, that I
could n't stand the snubbing a day. I should have
told right off, and had it over. Now, I guess, I'11
have a good report if you do tell Mr. Acton," said
Jack, looking at his mother so wistfully, that she
resolved to slip away that very evening and make
sure that the thing was done.
That will make you happier than anything else,
wont it ?" asked Jill, eager to have him rewarded
after his trials.
There's one thing I like better, though I'd be
very sorry to lose my report. It's the fun of telling
Ed I tried to do as he wanted us to, and seeing
how pleased he '11 be," added Jack, rather bashfully,
for the boys laughed at him sometimes for his love
of this friend.
I know he wont be any happier about it than
some one else, who stood by you all through, and
set her bright wits to work till the trouble was all
cleared away," said Mrs. Minot, looking at Jill's
contented face, as she lay smiling on them all.
Jack understood, and, hopping across the room,
gave both the thin hands a hearty shake; then, not
finding any words quite cordial enough in which to
thank this faithful little sister, he stooped down and
kissed her ;. i.: Fii ,.


( To be continued.)


614







GRANDMOTHER'S ROOM.




GRANDMOTHER'S ROOM.

BY HARRY S. BARNES.


-~ ,u~ -i-
; F"~
T-
B"-~ '--i;'3 .
if,-- ;r
~s~5 ,~i-~c,-
--~-
iL__~ f
=.~;c~,-:i
-- ----,-- ;j
-C-~~;.-
i
-~--
-- 7.;c~
---
----


How many happy afternoons we have spent in
this old room-" Grandma's room," as it is still
called, though it is many a day since the dear old
lady left it forever Nothing here has been changed
since that day, and I can fancy I see her, as I saw
her last, sitting in her old chintz-covered arm-chair,
with her head resting on her hand, reading quietly
from her Bible; only raising her eyes now and
then to gaze thoughtfully into the fire. At her feet


played Doodles, the cat, and her little kitten. A
bright fire snapped and crackled upon the hearth,
for Grandmother only gave up her fire at the last
moment, saying that it was such a cheerful com-
panion. She would sit alone for hours, watching
the fantastic, ever-changing picture among the
flames, as the wood turned slowly into embers, the
embers into dust.
We two children had spent the afternoon up


615






GRANDMOTHER'S ROOM.


garret," a little Paradise as it then seemed to us,
playing all sorts of happy pranks, rummaging to
our hearts' content among the accumulated rub-
bish of nearly a hundred years-a rubbish to us
full of delightful surprises. The twilight came
upon us suddenly, and all too soon. Though it had
been gradually stealing over us, we had not noticed
it till, looking up, the attic was all dark. We ran
down stairs and sought the Grandmother. As we
came romping in, she looked up with a smile and
said, Well, chicks, what is it now? For always
after we had been up-stairs, we had some new-found
treasure to inquire about. Now it would be a
curious old piece of brass, now a pair of antlers,
now the old flax-wheel,-and about each, Grand-
mother had some little story of the time when she
was young. It seemed so funny to us to think of
Grandmother as young, and visiting her grand-
mother, as we visited her. This time it was a big
leather saddle with a projection behind, the like of
which we had never seen, and whose use we could
by no means make out. We climbed up upon the
arms of her chair, one on either side, and told her
about it.
When I was young," said Grandmother, "very
few people could afford to keep carriages, and if
they could have done so I doubt whether they would
have been of much use to them, for the roads were
few and poor. The country was wilder than it is
now. Horseback riding was the usual mode of
traveling, for both ladies and gentlemen. Of
course there were no railroads. We thought noth-
ing of riding off ten miles to church in winter.
But I am forgetting your question, my dears.
"This saddle was your grandfather's (that was
before we were married), and many a long ride
we've had on it together. Did you never hear of
two people riding together on one horse ? This was
the way we managed: Your grandfather would
sit on the saddle as any gentleman does now, and
I would perch myself up behind on this projection
pillionon it's called), with my arms about him,
to hold on, you know, and off we 'd go. It was very
cold sometimes, for it was not considered necessary
in those days for girls to wrap up as they do now.
Why, in the coldest weather I used to ride dressed
in a white dimity gown and low slippers, with noth-
ing but a thin shawl thrown over my shoulders. It
makes me shiver to think of it now, but then I did
not mind it, for I was only too happy to ride with
your Grandfather. (There hangs his likeness, my
dears, cut out of black paper; it's hung there
nigh on to forty years.) Well, we used to wish
the ride to church, which we took once a week,
was longer than it- was, and even the long, long


sermon appeared short. We had no stove in our
church, and those who lived near were accustomed
to bring live coals in small, square tin boxes (such
as you 'll find in the garret) to put under their feet.
But the good old parson preached such long ser-
mons that the boxes were often cold long before it
was time to go home.
"I told you there were not many carriages in the
country, but in our church there was one old gen-
tleman who had a light wagon, with two seats-
one fastened, and another at the back, movable. I
must tell you what happened to him one Sunday.
Church was over and he and his wife were starting
off quite grandly in their wagon, he on the front
seat, she on the baqk, when the horse gave a sud-
den bound, and what do you think !-if that back
seat did n't turn right over and spill the old lady
into the road The funny part was that he, being
deaf, did not hear her fall, and drove all the way
home without her. The first he knew of it was
when he got down to help her out. Of course, he
had to drive back and get her, and well he was
laughed at through the whole country round. That
was a long time ago."-And Grandmother was
silent, looking at the fire.
But we had not heard nearly enough, and
begged for just one little story more. Grandma
yielded, finally,-as what Grandmother will not?-
and asked:
"Did you ever know what made that hole in
the sounding-board just above the pulpit ? It was
one Sunday, during the revolution, and all the peo-
ple were sitting in church, when, unexpectedly,
the British marched into town. One of the soldiers
opened the church door and fired at the minister
as he stood in the pulpit, but luckily missed him,
and the ball lodged in the sounding-board just
above his head. You may see it there yet. How
frightened the people were But there was no more
trouble just then, and before night the blue coats
had collected and driven the British away. Now,
Grandmother's tired and can't tell you any more.
I guess if you can find Marnie she knows where
there are some cookies."
Marnie was the old servant who, for fifty years,
had lived with the Grandmother until every one
looked upon her as one of the family. Her cookies
were known far and wide, and to us were especially
delicious. So we kissed the Grandmother and
went in search of her. As we went out of the
door, I looked back and saw the dear old lady sit-
ting with her book open before her; not reading,
though one finger marked the place, but looking
far away-into the past, as it seemed.
Happy the home that has a Grandmother in it


616


[JUNE,







617


MY SHIP.





MY SHIP.

By W. T. PETERS.


OH, once I was a melancholy, lonesome little boy,
And I lived alone beside the restless sea;
And every mighty vessel that I saw upon the main,
I was positive that ship belonged to me.





-A_
__ -.. .. .., .- ,- -__


But now I'm a contented little, merry little man,
For I do not dwell alone beside the sea;
And tho' I know those mighty vessels never can be mine,
I'm as happy as a little man can be.


VOL. VII.-41.






618


To ME, no longer a young boy,
the next best thing to really
living in the woods is -. ii.,, over such an ex-
perience. A thousand little incidents, scarcely
thought of at the time, crowd upon my mind, and
bring back with them the I'.-I... of freedom and
adventure, so dear to the heart of every boy. Shall
I ever enjoy any flavor earth can afford as we did
our coffee's aroma? The flapjacks, how good and
..I-.. i-;,,. !- the fish, how delicate and sweet And
the wonderful cottage of boughs, thatched with the
tassels of the pine,-was there ever a cottage out
of a fairy tale that could compare with it !
I have tried to make a picture from memory,
and the result lies before you. It is late in the
afternoon; there stands the little cot, flooded with
the light of the setting sun ; those who built it and
use it for a habitation are off exploring, hunting,
fishing and foraging for their evening meal, and
the small, shy creatures of the wood take the
opportunity to satisfy the curiosity with which they


have, from a safe distance, viewed the erection of
so large and singular a nest.
The boys will soon return, each with his con-
tribution to the larder,-a fish, a squirrel, a bird,
or a rabbit, which will be cooked and eaten with
better appetite and enjoyment than the most elab-
orate viands that home could afford. And, although
such joys are denied to me now, I can, at least, in
remembering them, give others an opportunity to
possess similar pleasures. It shall be my object to
describe how these houses may be built and these
dinners cooked, and that, too, where there are
neither planks, nor nails, nor stoves. To boys
well informed in woodcraft, I should need to give
only a few hints; but, for the benefit of amateurs,
we will go more into detail.
Four persons make a good camping-party.
Before arriving at their destination, these persons
should choose one of their number as captain.
The captain gives directions and superintends
the pitching of the tent or the building of the rustic


[JUNE,


HOW TO CAMP OUT.



HOW TO CAMP OUT.

BY DANIEL C. BEARD.


r."-5.
-

_j-
-ri







HO0W TO CAXMP OUT.


--
I.
i"
Ih
'sq


FIG. I.-FRAME-WORK OF COTTAGE.
cottage. The site for the camp should be upon a
knoll, mound, or rising ground, so as to afford a
good drainage. If the forest abounds in pine-trees,
theyoungcot-
Sl tage-builder's
task is an easy
SL'i 'J ;.;.Ki' '-' one. It often
_*. AI.,. .. happens that
,' '\ two or three
S1.trees already
*- ., standing can
.' be made to
serve for the
corners of the
FIG. 2.-METHOD OF THATCHING. proposed edi-
fice, though trees are not absolutely necessary.
Figure i represents part of the frame-work of
one of the simplest forms of rustic cottage. In this


-
.: .. '.. -. .

.,,'j(= .. ;.


front, and cover these poles with cross-sticks.
When the frame-work is finished, the security and
durability of the structure will be improved by






-I

FIG. 4.-THE SPRING-MATTRESS.
fastening all the loose joints, tying them I.
with withes of willow, grass, or reeds. The next
step is to cover the frame. This is done after the
method shown in Figure 2. From among some
boughs, saved for this purpose, take one, and hang
it upon the third cross-bar, counting from the
ground up; bring the bough down, passing it
inside the second bar, and resting the end on the
ground outside the first bar; repeat this with other
boughs until the row is finished. Then begin at
the fourth bar, passing the boughs down inside the

--:-
~ .- ~




FIG. 5.-MATTRESS COVERED WITH RUBBER SHEET.
third and outside the second bar, so that they
will overlap the first row. Continue in this man-
ner until the four walls are closed in, leaving spaces
open where windows or doors are wanted. The
roof is thatched after the same method, beginning
at the front and working upward and backward to
the rear wall, each row overlapping the preceding
row of thatch. The more closely and compactly
Syou thatch the roof and walls, the better protection


will they afford from any passing shower. This
a _'-,..3 _-. completed, your house is finished, and you will be
... astonished to see what a lovely little green cot you
Shave built.
The illustration entitled No one at home"
FIG. .-RUSTIC BEUSTEAD. differs from the one we have just described only in

case, two trees serve for the corners of the rear .;
wall. The upright posts are young trees that ,,
have been cut down and firmly planted at about .
four or five paces in front of the trees. As shown --
in the diagram, enough of the branches have
been left adhering to the trunks of the upright' ;\
posts, to serve as rests for the cross-bars. To pre-
vent complication in the diagram, the roof is not
shown. To make this: fasten on an additional FIG. 6.-THE BED COMPLETE.
cross-bar or two to the rear wall, then put a pole having the roof extended so as to form a sort of
at each side, slanting down from the rear to the verandah, or porch, in front; the floor of the porch


619







620


/ 5---
A.i
Y:K) -


',2


FIG. 7.-THE OVEN BEGUN
being covered with a layer of pine-needles.
Should you find your house too small to accommo-
date your party, you can, by erecting a duplicate
cottage four or five paces
at one side, and roofing /-



I-A
Lr \tz?-. -. --3 .














FIG 8.-THE OVEN IN A BANK.
over the intervening space, have a house of two
rooms with an open hall-way between.




1 .. .
Before going to housekeeping, some furniture











.. .. .'.



FIG. 9.-TIE OVEN IN AN ARTIFICIAL EMBANKMENT.
our shopping right in the neighborhood of our
cottage. Here is our cabinet and upholstery shop,
in the wholesome fragrance of the pines.
After the labor of ".l.1.-.. your thoughts will
:-iri- turn to a place for sleeping. Cut four


forked sticks, sharpen the ends, and drive them
















FIG. I.,-READY TO COOK.





the bed to stand in your room. Two strong poles,
long enough to reach lengthwise from fork to fork,
will serve for side-boards, a number of short sticks
-.] ; --- L------- --- "












log noghtorechlegtwie ro frktofok
will~ ~ ~ ~ ~~- sev o sd-ordanmbro hotsk


.r.


-- 'I
I, ,- P _ii-': -





FIG. 12.-BOILING THE SOUP.
will answer for slats; after these are fastened in
place, you have the rustic bedstead shown in


HOW TO CAMP OUT.




-- .-


UUNE,


--







HOW TO CAMP OUT.


Figure 3. A good spring-mattress is very desirable,
and not difficult to obtain. Gather a lot of small
Green branches, or brush, and
cover your bedstead with
c -a layer of it about one
foot thick; this you will
f'. find a capital substi-
Stute for springs.
S For your mat-
tress proper, go
S .2- to your uphol-
-tery shop under the
.' I" e-tree, and gather
.. armfuls of the dry
IJ Lp c l-C; ; cover the elastic
S brush "'t.... with a thick layer
FIG. 13.-SPOONS-
of these needles; over this spread
your india-rubber blanket, as shown in Figure 5,
with the rubber side under, so that any moisture
or dampness there may be in your mattress may
be prevented from coming


weight he intends them to bear, otherwise his
slumbers may be interrupted in an abrupt and disa-
greeable ,--,
manner.
My first
experiment
in this line .
proved disas- .
trous. I spent


the greater part
ofonedayinbuild-
ing and neatly fin-
ishing a bed like the
one described. After /
it was made up, with


/


FIG I14.-1NIFE-EI XDE AND


an army blanket for a HANDL
coverlid, it looked so soft, comfortable and inviting,
that I scarcely could wait for bed-time to try it.
When the evening meal was over, and the last
story told around the blazing camp-fire, I took off
hat, coat, and boots, and


through. You may now --- --- snuggled down in my new
through. souu down inw ".
make up your bed with -- and original couch, curi-
whatever wraps or blan- -ously watched by my com-
kets you have with you, panions, who lay, rolled in
and you have (Figure 6) as Fr1. 15.-A RUSTIC KNIrE. their blankets, upon the
complete and comfortable a bed as any forester hard ground. It does not take a boy long to fall
need wish for. asleep, particularly after a hard day's work in the
I would suggest to any boy who means to try open air, but it takes longer, after being aroused
from a sound nap, for
7i .t him to get his wits
;--.7l, together, --especially
2 when suddenly dumped
S. upon the ground with a
Crash, amid a heap of
broken sticks and dry
O O brush, as I happened
Sto be on that eventful
night. Loud and long
thi were the shouts of
laughter of my com-
panions when they dis-

I Theoretically, the bed
was well planned, but
practically it was a
failure, because it had
rotten sticks for bed-
_- posts.
-- Having provided bed
r7 --_ and shelter, it is high
-- time to look after the
_- inner boy; and while
the foragers are off in
FIG. I6.-FRAME-WORK OF TABLE. the forages are off in
search of provisions, it
this rustic cabinet-making, to select carefully for will be the cook's duty to provide some method
the bed-posts sticks strong enough to support the of cooking the food that will be brought in.






HOW TO CAMP OUT.


One of the simplest and most practical forms of
bake-oven can be made of clay and an old barrel.
Remove one head of the barrel, scoop out a space


I -


FIG. I7.--FRAME OF CHAIR.


in the nearest bank,
and fit the barrel in
(Figure 7). If the mud
or clay is not damp
enough, moisten it,
and plaster it over the
barrel to the depth
of a foot or more,
leaving a place for a
chimney at the back


end, where part of a stave has been cut away;
around this place build a chimney; Figure 8. After
this, make a good, rousing fire in the barrel, and
keep adding fuel until all the staves are burned out
and the surrounding clay is baked hard. This
makes an oven that will bake as well as, if not better
than, any new patented stove or range at home.
To use it, build a fire inside and let it burn until
the oven is thoroughly heated, then rake out all
the coal and embers, put your dinner in and close


.. "-'- -- "- ,'
-A---

r ;
-- ___., -- -, .

A DINNER IN THE WOODS.
up the front with the head of the barrel, preserved
for this purpose.
If there be no bank convenient, or if you have
no barrel with which to build this style of oven,
there are other methods that will answer for all the
cooking necessary to a party of boys camping out.
Many rare fish have I eaten in my time. The
delicious pompano at New Orleans, the brook-trout


and grayling, fresh from the cold water of northern
Michigan, but never have I had fish taste better
than did a certain large cat-fish that we boys once
caught on a set-line in
Kentucky. We built a -
fire-place of flat stones, -
-a picture of which you
have in Figure 10,-
covered it with a thin
piece of slate, cleaned __-''
the fish, and placed it --
upon the slate with its
skin still on. (Figure FIG. S.-CAiP-cRAR.
Ir.) When it was done upon one side we turned
it over, until it was 11'.:...: _i.i cooked. W ith
green sticks we lifted off the fish and placed it
upon a piece of birch-bark; the skin adhered to
the stone, and the meat came off in smoking,
snowy pieces, which we ate with the aid of our
pocket-knives and rustic forks made of small green
twigs with the forked ends sharpened.
If stones cannot be had to answer for this stove,
there still remains the old, primitive camp-fire and
.. pot-hook, shown in Fig-
ure 12. The very sight
of this iron pot swing-
f "i-, m ing over a blazing fire,
' Lt, suggests soup, to eat
'' ;g t ;: 'i which, with any comfort,
spoons are necessary.
These are quickly and
? easily made by thrusting
clam or mussel shells
-. :, into splits made in- the
: ends of sticks; Figure
1 3 A shows a shell and
At stick; Figure 13 B rep-
Sresents a spoon made
A- *firm by binding the shell
in its place. A splendid
butter-knife can be made
from the shell of a razor-
Soyster in a similar man-
__ ner, with a little care;
see Figures 14 and 15.
If you stay any time in
your forest home, you
can, by a little ingenuity,
add many comforts and
conveniences. I have drawn some diagrams, as
hints in this direction. For instance, Figure 17
shows the manner of making an excellent rustic
chair. A and B are two stout poles; E and F are
two cross-poles, to which are fastened the ends of a
piece of canvas, carpet or leather (Figure 18),
which, swinging loose, fits itself exactly to your
form, making a most comfortable easy-chair in


622


[JUNE,







HOW TO CAMP OUT.


which to rest or take a nap after a hard day's tramp.
It often happens that the peculiar formation of
some stump or branch suggests new styles of
seats. A table can be very readily made by driv-
ing four forked sticks into the ground for legs,
and covering the cross-sticks upon the top with
pieces of birch or other smooth bark; Figure 16
shows a table made in this manner, with one piece
of bark removed to reveal its construction. In the
illustration entitled "A Dinner in the Woods," the
young campers are sitting at one of these tables,
eating.
As a general rule, what is taught in boys' books,
though correct in theory, when tried, proves im-
practicable. This brings to mind an incident that
happened to a party of young hunters camping out
in Ohio. Early one morning, one of the boys pro-
cured from a distant farm-house a dozen pretty
little white bantam eggs. Having no game, and
only one small fish in the way of fresh meat, the
party congratulated themselves upon the elegant
breakfast they would make of fresh eggs, toasted


.-2-- -- -


crackers, and coffee. How to cook the eggs was
the question. One of the party proposed his
plan.
I have just read a book," said he, which tells
how some travelers cooked fowls and fish by rolling
them up in clay, and tossing them into the fire.
Shall we try that plan with the eggs? "
The rest of the party assented, and soon all were
busy -.II...1, ...I. : large balls of blue clay, in the
center of each of which was an egg. A dozen were
placed in the midst of the hottest embers, and the
boys seated themselves around the fire, impatiently
waiting for the eggs to cook. They did cook,-with
a vengeance! Zip, bang went one, then another
and another, until, in less time than it takes to tell
it, not an egg remained unexploded; and the hot
embers and bits of clay that stuck to the boys' hair
and clothes were all that was left to remind them
of those nice, fresh, bantam eggs. It was all very
funny, but ever after, the boys of that party showed
the greatest caution in trying new schemes, no mat-
ter how well they might seem to be indorsed.


..' I

-- K



.. --


1880.1


623


C-, 1






624


ESSIE AINSLEY'S mother
I) was one of the women
S who always keep in
the house a remedy for
every human ailment;
S the rafters in the garret
h I-]jCr,! I i, were adorned with every
a i variety of medicinal root


la~~rIIjlY1;
A~ :


and herb to be found in
T 1e neighborhood, with many
!I are procured from abroad,
:,!i tied up in bunches and
-i 'ly labeled; besides these,
'',e opening of the door to


Sthe china-closet revealed, on
the upper shelves, rows and rows of boxes and
bottles, all containing "doctors' stuff," the
greater part of it belonging to the class of
remedies known as patent medicines.
'The herbs in the garret and the medicines in
the closet were not there merely to be looked at;
it was intended that they should be used, either
internally or externally, by inmates of the Ainsley
residence; and used they were by every one who
was so unfortunate as to be smitten with a pain or
an ache, or to receive a scratch, a burn, or a
bruise, however slight.
Of the wisdom of Mrs. Ainsley's system, and its
effect upon members of her family other than
Bessie, I will leave you to judge. Bessie, at the
time of this story, was eight years old, and a
remarkably healthy child,-no thanks to the herbs
and patent medicines; for it really was a matter of
regret to her mother that Bessie should stand in so
little need of these; not that she wanted her little
girl to be sick, but it was "such a comfort to
doctor folks up."
The effect of hearing so much about medicines,
with perfect immunity from taking them, was to
inspire Bessie with a profound respect for cure-alls
and for her mother's knowledge concerning them;
and what she thus learned at home she did her best
to teach her playmates at school. She could tell
them the name of any weed they could find, and
what it was good for"; the geography lessons that
most delighted her were those in which were men-
tioned the drug products of the countries described;
and she was also deeply interested in all of the
little aches and bodily ills of childhood. The play-
mate with the nose-bleed, the boy with a stone-
bruise on his toe, the girl with a headache, and the


one with the ache that comes of eating too much
green fruit,-all found in her a sympathizing
friend; and, though occasionally a sauce-box would
call her Mother Pillbags," as a general thing her
ministrations and advice were most i *.i.~ i,
received; for if there is one thing that all children
crave it is sympathy. But there came at last a
case in which Bessie's sympathies carried her a
little too far.
One day, early in the winter, Mrs. Ainsley came
home with a new kind of cough-mixture,-she
always bought every new medicine as soon as it
came into the market,-this was called The
Great All-Healing Recuperative Lung and Bron-
chial Discovery," and it was accompanied by an
almanac most fearfully and wonderfully gotten up
in the way of illustrations, and containing innumer-
able testimonials to the virtues of the Discovery,"
though it had been but just discovered.
Mrs. Ainsley was very enthusiastic over her pur-
chase, and quite anxious for some member of the
family to "catch cold," that she might test its
powers. Bessie was, as usual, much interested,
and studied the almanac with great care, particu-
larly the illustrations.
The next day she came to her mother with a sad
tale of the little Doddses, Addie and Jimmie, who
had come to school, she declared, with the worst
cough she everheard. "And I told them, mamma,"
added she, "about your new medicine, and that
they had better tell their mother to get some and
cure them up, but they said that she always says
she has n't any money to throw away on doctors'
stuff, and 'most always lets them get well without
any."
Well, now, that's what I call downright crimi-
nal carelessness. 'No money to throw away on
doctors' stuff,' indeed! She may have to pay fifty
times the cost of that bottle of medicine, in doctor's
bills, for neglecting that cough. But there is no use
in talking to such people, Bessie, you waste your
breath," and Mrs. Ainsley shut her lips very tightly
indeed, as if she, for one, had no breath to waste.
That afternoon was a half-holiday, and after
dinner Mrs. Ainsley went out, leaving Bessie to her
own devices. The little girl fell to thinking about
the little Doddses, with that dreadful cough, and no
kind mother like hers to buy medicine for them.
She did not know that the children she so pitied
were in the first stage of whooping-cough, a disease
more annoying than dangerous, and upon which not


[JUNE,


BESSIE AINSLEY DOCTORS THE DODDSES.




BESSIE AINSLEY DOCTORS THE DODDSES.

BY MRS. M. L. EVANS.






BESSIE AINSLEY DOCTORS TIE DODDSES.


all the medicines in her mother's stores would have
had effect, or she would not have been prompted
to do the absurd thing she did; for she soon decided
to take the new medicine to Mrs. Dodds and see if
she could not prevail
upon her to test its mer-
its upon the children,
and, to buy a bottle for I, ,
further use. So she took ,.
the bottle from the closet, ;-
took off the wrapper,
loosened the cork, and '"-
was about starting with
it, when she happened to
think that she did not
know how much of the ,'i 'i
medicine to administer at "'
one time. Yes, now she
came to think about it,
she was sure her mother ',l.
said a table-spoonful was
adose. Now, theDoddses .
were poor, and Bessie
thought very likely they
had no spoons in the I
house but brass or iron ,
ones, and she had often
heard her mother say ii
that ..r1;,,. was fit to
take medicine from but a
silver spoon; so she took "" .
from the tray a silver
table-spoon, and with the
G reat A li -1. .i ; etc., '''
and the almanac with
which to fortify her argu-
ments in its behalf, she
started out to play the
good Samaritan.
Arriving at the Dodds
residence, she found that
Mrs. Dodds had gone
from home, and left -
Addie, a girl of the same
age as herself, and Jim- .
mie, aged six, to take
care of the house and a
baby ten months old.
Bessie was soon saluted
by the cough that had BESSI INTENDS
so troubled her, and she lost no time in making
known her errand. Although, as the children
had said, their mother was not in the habit of giving
them much medicine, still they had had sufficient
acquaintance with it to acquire a hearty dislike to
everything that bears the name; they flatly refused
to take a spoonful of Bessie's cough-mixture, and


3


eyed the bottle with great disfavor. Bessie's
strongest argument, namely, that the cough might
grow worse and worse and the children finally die
of it, was met by Addie with the unanswerable
statement that they had
had bad coughs before,
S, and had n't died of them
either.
.i".' Bessie was nearly in
W \despair,- when she hap-
S opened to think of the
almanac; opening it, she
said:
See here, Jimmie,
I look at this boy. It says,
under the picture, 'be-
fore taking,' and the
reading about him says
that he has had a bad
i cough all winter. See
'J1 how poor and thin he
looks. He 's got only a
little bit of hair, and that
S all hangs down around

I to fall off, and his clothes
are all poor and old, and
1' they hang on him just
like bags."
But I don't look like
that," said Jimmie.
"No; but you may
before spring, if your
S cough is n't cured," an-
swered Bessie.
Don't believe it," re-
Sturned Jimmie, stoutly.
W Well, now, look at
this picture on the next
--. ,. page," said Bessie; "it
S .*is the same little boy after
She took the medicine.
See how nice and fat he
looks. How beautifully
.- his hair curls And what
a nice jacket he has on,
all covered with but-
tons "
Here Bessie had, un-
CURE THE DODDSES. consciously, touched Jim-
mie's weak point; of the many things in the world
that he wanted very much, a jacket covered with
buttons stood the foremost; but he could not, for
his life, exactly see how taking the medicine would
bring it.
While he was pondering this question, Bessie
had turned the leaf to another "before taking."


625






BESSIE AINSLEY DOCTORS THE DODDSES.


O, do just look at tthis woman said she to
Addie. She 's just what my mother would call
a bag of bones, and she stoops as if she was going
to fall over on her face. See that great wart, or
mole, or something on her chin, and how sorry she
looks about being so sick! Now look at this 'after
taking.' How straight and fat and jolly she is.
And I declare, if the wart is n't all gone Why,
Addie," lifting up a face all radiant with a bright,
new idea, I should n't wonder if the medicine
would take that great mole off of your nose, that
the children plague you so much about."
Addie was now as much interested as Bessie.
Well," said she, I would n't mind taking
'most anything if I could get rid of that, the girls
do laugh so much about it. I say, Jim, I'll take
a spoonful of the dose if you will."
Jimmie had already decided within himself to
make the effort to get those buttons; so both swal-
lowed the medicine that Bessie now poured out for
them, with no protest other than that expressed by
very wry faces.
But the baby has the cough, too; she ought
to have some of the medicine, ought n't she ?" said
Addie.
Why, of course," said Bessie, and immediately
poured out another spoonful, which, as it was not
necessary to consult the helpless little innocent that
lay kicking and crowing in the cradle, she pro-
ceeded to administer without delay. But the baby
proved not so helpless, after all; she made quick
work of taking the medicine; one sudden slap at
the spoon sent the dark liquid in every direction
but the one that Bessie intended it should take.
Mother always holds her nose when she gives
her medicines," said Addie. You see, she has to
open her mouth to breathe, then mother just
chucks the stuff in, and she has to swallow it or
choke, you know."
Bessie thought that a queer way in which to
treat a baby, and concluded that, if the older chil-
dren were thus taught to take medicines, it was
little wonder that they did not like it; but she
measured out another spoonful, saying nothing.
Then Addie firmly grasped the baby's nose, Jim-
mie held its hands, and, when it opened its mouth,
in went the medicine; but just then the poor,
struggling little creature planted such a vigorous
kick on Jimmie's chest that he dropped the hands
with a howl; the liberated members flew up and sent
the spoon spinning across the room, but not until
the child had swallowed nearly three times what
was intended for a dose of the medicine, because,
you see, Bessie had made a mistake,-her mother
had said a tea-spoonful, not a table-spoonful.
Now, the medicine contained opium,-a drug
which every one knows produces sleep,-and if one


takes more than a certain quantity of it, he goes so
soundly asleep that nothing can ever again awaken
him.
Happily for the Doddses, and no less for Bessie,
there was not enough opium in the spoonful that
each had taken to produce such a sad result, though
in less than an hour the stupefying effect of what
they had taken became apparent. Bessie did not
return home immediately; she sat talking with
Addie about their school, their playmates, and the
approaching holidays. Addie talked with anima-
tion for a while, but seemed, gradually, to lose
interest; she yawned and rubbed her eyes occa-
sionally, then her replies to Bessie's remarks, from
being few and brief, became confused and indistinct.
Jimmie, too, who had been buzzing around the
room at a great rate, grew strangely quiet. Bessie
turned to see what had become of him, and found
him curled up in a large arm-chair, eyes closed
and head nodding. She watched him a minute,
laughing to herself, for he did look comical with
his poor little head bobbing about so helplessly.
Pretty soon she said:
"What is the matter with Jimmie? Does he
take a nap every afternoon ? Seems to me, he is
too old for that."
Addie made no reply, and Bessie turned toward
her. Behold, she was nodding, too !
Bessie sat bolt upright in amazement. Here
were two children who, without apparent reason,
were falling asleep in broad daylight; and, looking
into the crib, she found that the baby, too, was fast
asleep. What could it all mean? Just then her
eye fell upon the bottle and spoon on the table,
and they at once suggested the answer; for Bessie
knew that there are medicines which put people
asleep, and she instantly decided that this must be
one of the kind. "And may be," said she to her-
self, "that is why it is so much better than any
other cough medicine; the people who take it just
go to sleep, and forget how bad they feel, and
when they wake up again perhaps they find that
they are all cured." But, as she thought more
about it, certain vague doubts darkened somewhat
this hopeful view; the only thing that remained
perfectly clear to her mind was that she ought not
to go home and leave these three children asleep
and alone; she must stay with them until they
awoke, or until their mother returned. So she
settled herself in her chair, with a long sigh, and
again fell to thinking uneasily about what she had
done. She had taken the medicine from home
without her mother's permission, and had given it
to these children without their mother's permission.
Now, what would both mothers say when they
knew the truth ? Besides, Mrs. Dodds might return
home at any moment, and Bessie knew that she


626


[JUNE,






BESSIE AINSLEY DOCTORS THE DODDSES.


had the reputation of being a high-tempered
woman. What might she not do if she found her
children in this condition? At this stage of her
reflections, Bessie really began to tremble for her
own safety. Still she waited bravely, hoping that
the children would soon awaken; but a half-hour
passed and they gave no sign of returning con-
sciousness; then Bessie could stand it no longer;


ping Addie, the poor little doctor ran to Jimmie,
and repeated the performance,-with a like result.
Bessie was now ready to cry in despair. "What
have I done! What can I do!" gasped she,
looking from one to the other of the sleepers.
Then, like an inspiration, came the recollection of
how mischief-loving Aunt Sue had awakened
.brother Tom one morning, when every one else in


1.1*


DOCTORING THE BABY.


she had become so alarmed that she determined to
make an effort to arouse the children., and then
escape from the wrath to come, by running home.
So she went over to Addie and shook her
soundly. The little girl so roughly handled half-
opened her eyes, murmured some indistinct words,
and dropped heavily back. Bessie shook her again
and again, but Addie would only give a helpless
blink and fall soundly asleep again. Then, drop-


the house had failed to get him up for breakfast,
by dashing a little cold water into his face. She
ran to the bucket and brought a whole dipperful
of water; she intended to use but a little of it, but
in her nervous eagerness the dipper slipped from
her fingers, and a quart of ice-cold water was
dashed into Jimmie's'face. In the twinkling of an
eye he was awake, as wide awake as he could be
and be nearly drowned. But Bessie was too


627


j ,






BESSIE AINSLEY DOCTORS THE DODDSES.


anxious to awaken the other children to stop to
help him; she left him choking and spluttering
while she got some water for Addie, whom she
treated to a much smaller quantity, finding that
it answered the purpose quite as well. It was now
the baby's turn, but Jimmie had found his voice,
and was howling so piteously to be wiped off and
have a dry jacket, that Bessie turned her attention
to him.
By the time she had dried his face, changed his
jacket, and seated him by the fire, Addie had
become thoroughly awake, and had joined him at
the stove; and now they wailed, and scolded Bessie
in chorus. They were cold, they were dizzy, their
heads ached, and they "felt sick all over," and
Addie declared that Bessie had tried to poison
them with her dreadful medicine.
Bessie could hardly keep back her tears, but felt
that she must make some defense.
Well," said she, it is a queer kind of medi-
cine to put you to sleep" so, but I meant to cure
you of your coughs, and I guess it will; when your
headaches go off, you will find yourselves all well."
But this consoling reflection did n't seem to have
much effect upon her patients; they were in a
most limp condition of body and unsatisfactory
state of mind, so she turned her attention to the
baby, which was still asleep. She took it up, shook
it gently, and wetted its face with cold water; it
was beginning to awaken when Addie, who had
been looking on in sullen silence, suddenly thought
of something.
"Bessie," said she, bring me that little look-
ing-glass that hangs under the clock. I am so
dizzy that I know I 'd fall over if I tried to go for it
myself.".
The looking-glass was immediately brought.
Addie took one look into it, and turned on Bessie,
furiously : "You mean thing! You story-teller !
You said it would take the mole off of my nose, and
you have made me sicker than I ever was in my
life, and there is the mole yet, as big as ever it


was. Now you just go home, and I '11 tell mother
the instant she comes back! "
Bessie was almost crushed. But the baby,"
said she, faintly, glancing at the child on her arm,
which was falling asleep again.
I '11 take care of her," answered Addie. I 'd
do it if I was a good deal sicker, before I 'd let you
touch the dear little soul again. Just go "
And Bessie took up the bottle and spoon, and
crept home, with the sick feeling about her heart
that many an older philanthropist has learned to
know so well.
Going into the house, she found her mother in
the sitting-room, and, setting the bottle down on
the table with a rap; she said, with all the force she
could summon: There, I don't think much
of that medicine, anyway "
"Why, whatever in the world have you been
doing with it?" said Mrs. Ainsley.
Then Bessie briefly related her adventure, end-
ing with a burst of miserable tears. Serious as the
matter was, in one aspect, Mrs. Ainsley had much
ado to keep from laughing; but she managed to
say, .-...ri ;.i. : "W ell, there, don't cry about it;
they will soon get over the headache, and then, no
doubt, will be the better for the medicine, and I
will make it right with Mrs. Dodds, if she ever has
n ri,1. to say about it."
Mrs. Dodds came the very next day, with a good
deal on her mind to say about it," but she was so
mollified by receiving a present of a new dress for
Addie, a comforter for Jimmie, and a warm sack
for the baby, that she entirely omitted the highly-
seasoned lecture which she had prepared upon
" people minding their own business."
About Christmas time, too, Jimmie received a
present of a new jacket which, for buttons, rivaled
that worn by the boy in the almanac; but I regret
to state that Addie still carries the mole on her
nose.
Do you wonder that Bessie's faith in patent
medicines grew weaker after this ?


S C- 7 "


628.


[JUNE,






TWO FAMOUS OLD STONES


THE DAISY i'.lAIDENS.

BY MARY A. LATHBURY.

WHAT a flutter in the clover !
Did the South-wind pass?
No,-a dear old woman's garments
Brushed it, and-alas!-
Six unmannerly young Daisies
Giggled in the grass !

Alice, singing through the meadow,
Called to Grandma, See !
What a chance for daisy-faces !
Trust the dears to me;
I will make them caps and ribbons
Neat as neat can be."

While she deftly clipped and penciled
Frill and frowning face,
Six uncanny Daisy Grandams
Blossomed out apace;
But the naughty Daisy Maidens
Died of the disgrace.


TWO FAMOUS OLD STONES.

BY FANNIE ROPER FEUDGE.


"WHAT is the Rosetta Stone, mother?"
asked an intelligent lad of fourte% years. I
have just been reading that, by its help, the
inscription on the coffin of a newly arrived mummy
was readily deciphered, showing it to be the body
of a renowned priest who lived more than three
thousand years ago. I do not see what the
Rosetta Stone had to do with deciphering the
hieroglyphics on a coffin."
I am sorry, my son," replied the mother, '" not
to be able to give you the information you desire;
and I, too, have been curious to know in what
consists the great value of this wonderful stone.
Yet, while others have been ,!i:. ', so glibly of its
merits, I have shrunk from betraying my igno-
rance by asking what I have been longing to
know."
Perhaps some of those who spoke "so glibly"
of the Rosetta Stone were not better informed than


this gentle lady, whose constant cares in her kitchen
and nursery left her little leisure for the study of
books; and perhaps some of the boy and girl
readers of the ST. NICHOLAS, also, have been puz-
zled to know just what this wonderful stone is.
We see frequent allusions to it, in the sketches of
Eastern tourists and in descriptive accounts of
Egyptian antiquities, new specimens of which are
being frequently brought to Europe and our own
country ; while it is taken for granted that every-
body knows all about the Rosetta Stone. Well,
perhaps the grown folk do, but I am writing for
the boys and girls, who, I feel sure, are not ashamed
to ask the meaning of what they do not understand.
Nobody knows everything; nor is there any dis-
grace in not knowing what one has had no oppor-
tunity of learning ; but there is both sin and shame
in remaining ignorant in order to appear wise.
Now let me tell you in what the great value of the






TWO FAMOUS OLD STONES


THE DAISY i'.lAIDENS.

BY MARY A. LATHBURY.

WHAT a flutter in the clover !
Did the South-wind pass?
No,-a dear old woman's garments
Brushed it, and-alas!-
Six unmannerly young Daisies
Giggled in the grass !

Alice, singing through the meadow,
Called to Grandma, See !
What a chance for daisy-faces !
Trust the dears to me;
I will make them caps and ribbons
Neat as neat can be."

While she deftly clipped and penciled
Frill and frowning face,
Six uncanny Daisy Grandams
Blossomed out apace;
But the naughty Daisy Maidens
Died of the disgrace.


TWO FAMOUS OLD STONES.

BY FANNIE ROPER FEUDGE.


"WHAT is the Rosetta Stone, mother?"
asked an intelligent lad of fourte% years. I
have just been reading that, by its help, the
inscription on the coffin of a newly arrived mummy
was readily deciphered, showing it to be the body
of a renowned priest who lived more than three
thousand years ago. I do not see what the
Rosetta Stone had to do with deciphering the
hieroglyphics on a coffin."
I am sorry, my son," replied the mother, '" not
to be able to give you the information you desire;
and I, too, have been curious to know in what
consists the great value of this wonderful stone.
Yet, while others have been ,!i:. ', so glibly of its
merits, I have shrunk from betraying my igno-
rance by asking what I have been longing to
know."
Perhaps some of those who spoke "so glibly"
of the Rosetta Stone were not better informed than


this gentle lady, whose constant cares in her kitchen
and nursery left her little leisure for the study of
books; and perhaps some of the boy and girl
readers of the ST. NICHOLAS, also, have been puz-
zled to know just what this wonderful stone is.
We see frequent allusions to it, in the sketches of
Eastern tourists and in descriptive accounts of
Egyptian antiquities, new specimens of which are
being frequently brought to Europe and our own
country ; while it is taken for granted that every-
body knows all about the Rosetta Stone. Well,
perhaps the grown folk do, but I am writing for
the boys and girls, who, I feel sure, are not ashamed
to ask the meaning of what they do not understand.
Nobody knows everything; nor is there any dis-
grace in not knowing what one has had no oppor-
tunity of learning ; but there is both sin and shame
in remaining ignorant in order to appear wise.
Now let me tell you in what the great value of the







TWO FAMOUS OLD STONES.


Rosetta Stone consists, so that you may the better
understand its use. The art of writing was very
early known to the Egyptians, and they had books
before most other nations. This is proved by the
writing implements found on monuments that are
supposed to have existed before Moses was born.
Clemens of Alexandria, who lived about seventeen
centuries ago, states that in his day there were still
extant forty-two sacred books of the Egyptians.
They were all written in the old Egyptian charac-
ters that we call hieroglyphics, and most of them
have been lost; while the manner of reading those




[ L :. I ,.. i i

rlni ,_ r :, 1 ,-d I- r.r. ,,. r
h .I ,. I , i, ,_, ,.~ l h ,, : -i


the Nile. Then, with new zeal and hope, scholars
applied themselves to the task of deciphering these
strange, mystifying symbols. But alas the key was
still wanting. If they had only had an authentic
translation of just one ancient Egyptian inscription,
into any language known to modern scholars,
they might, by analogy, have continued to work out
the others. And this is precisely what the Rosetta
Stone came forth from its grave to furnish.
In August, 1799, Mons. Bouchard, a French
officer of artillery, in digging the foundation of a re-
doubt, at Rosetta, which
I. "I i I. '
[!, u i '" -


I. I h .r I


jh I. rh.


LA A T F, 'T~T



Ti IL -- .


TE RoserA STONE.


of every-day life. Scholars all over Europe had
been puzzling over the problem for two or three
hundred years, trying to find out some way
of reading these wonderful hieroglyphics ; but for
a long time with very little success. At .. r,1 a
Frenchman, named Quatremere, found out that
the Coptic was the language of the ancient Egyp-
tians, but the books that have come down to our
times are mostly written in the Greek characters,
with the addition of seven others from the demotic,
or common language of the country. This was,
however, one step toward learning how to decipher
the mysterious writing on the tombs and monu-
ments; and the famous expedition of Napoleon
to Egypt furnished a second. The savants, or
learned men, who accompanied his army, brought
home exact copies of many inscriptions from
Egyptian monuments ; and, after that, the country
was thrown open to the investigation of the learned,
and the various museums of Europe began to be
enriched with the spoils taken from the banks of


western branch of the Nile, found this stone. It is
inscribed with various characters, which proved to
be in three different languages,-that is, the one
legend is inscribed three times, once in the old
hieroglyphics, again in demotic characters, and the
third time in Greek.
This stone, which is now held as a priceless
treasure in the British Museum, is of a kind known
by the learned as black semite basalt. It is four
feet long bythree feet broad, with one corner broken
off, so that no one of the inscriptions was entire,
although the larger part of all remained.
Scholars saw at once its importance as a
probable key to the reading of hieroglyphics;
and the Antiquarian Society caused the
inscriptions to be engraved and copies gener-
ally circulated among the learned men of
Europe. Their attention was, of course, first
turned to the Greek, which was found to be a
recognition of the royal honors conferred on
Ptolemy Epiphanes by the Egyptian priesthood


630


[JUNE,






TWO FAMOUS OLD STONES.


assembled at Memphis;
and the concluding sen-
tence directed that the de-
cree should be engraven
on a tablet of hard stone,
in three ways-in hiero-
glyphics, in demotic, or
ordinary characters of the
country, and in Greek. So
with this key, coupled with
an untold amount of study,
the inscriptions on those old
tombs and monuments have
become intelligible, and we
may now learn the names,
ages, condition, and fre-
quently something of the
history, of those shriveled
old mummies that are ex-
humed and placed before
us, after their burial for
thousands of years.
This is what the Rosetta
Stone has done, and can
you wonder that it is so
highly prized; or that the
learned men who have so
rejoiced in its discovery,
should take it for granted
that everybody else has been
engrossed with it, like them-
selves, and of course has
learned all about it?
The Moabite Stone, an-
otherfamous relic of ancient
times, was found in the year
1868, by Mr. Klein, a mis-
sionary traveling in the
country of Moab. It was
a thick slab of basalt, meas-
uring about three feet five
inches high and one foot
nine inches wide. The in-
scription upon it is the
oldest existing writing in
alphabetic characters, as it
dates from about nine' hun-
dred years before Christ.
It records the doings of
Mesha, king of Moab, dur-
ing the days of the Israel-
itish prophet Elisha, and of
Jehoram and Jehoshaphat,
kings of Judah and Israel,
mentioned in the Bible in
second book of Kings. A


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THE MOABITE STONE.
the third chapter of writing is given on page 32 of the second vol-
full translation of the ume of SCRIBNER'S MONTHLY magazine.






632


JERRY and I are twins, and, if we live till the
twentieth of next July, we shall be sixteen years
old. We are as much like each other in looks as
two peas in a pod, but the likeness does n't go any
further than our faces. I am hasty and quick-tem-
pered, as they say father used to be, when he was
young, while Jerry is a cool, steady-going sort of
chap, as good as gold. The fellows call him my
balance-wheel. He is more like what mother was.
She died years ago, but, somehow, I never hear
little Boler, in the next room to us, talking about
his mother, and praising her up to the skies, with-
out a lump comes up in my throat, and I have to
make believe I see a fellow out of the window that I
want to speak to. I guess, if our mother had lived,
Jerry and I would not have outgrown her, as some
chaps do theirs. "Honor thy father and thy
mother," the Bible says, and you don't catch me
going back of that. Dr. Burton told us, one Sun-
day, that he "never knew of a boy that turned out
bad who began by falling in love with his mother."
And I think he is right.
Dr. Burton is the Principal of the College
Institute," where Jerry and I are at school. He
was mother's brother, but he has been, and is, a
regular father to us. We have lived with him ever
since mother died; and as for Aunt Burton,-
well, she can't be improved on much, I tell you.
You see, father is captain of the ship "Adelaide,"
and, like his father and grandfather before him,
he is never contented ashore. He was home four
years ago, for a day or two, and, oh, did n't Jerry
and I beg of him to let us go just one voyage! But
no, he would not.
Stick to your books till you are eighteen years
old," said father; get geography and mathe-
matics and navigation at your fingers' ends, and
then,"-he said with a kind of sigh,-" if you are
still of the same mind, you can try a voyage."
We felt pretty blue about it, for Jerry and I both
meant to follow the sea, yet we felt father was
right. But it was a bit aggravating that he should
have taken Dick Newell, who is but three years
older than Jerry and me, away with him, and made
him second mate before he had been gone a year.
And when Dick came home, how he did brag!
You 'd have thought that father could n't -sail the
ship without him And he told everybody in
Rivermouth that he was going first mate with
Captain Harris on his next voyage.
But just before father sailed from Savannah, he


wrote to Jerry and me that he would rather not
take Dick with him again. He is a tolerable navi-
gator," so the letter read, "and an excellent 'fair
weather' sailor, yet in any emergency I cannot
depend upon him. .But he thinks himself A No. I,
and in an argument would try to prove that the
Nautical Encyclopadia was wrong and he right.
He has once or twice kindly attempted to give me
a little advice as to the shortest ways of making
and taking in sail; but that, of course, I don't
regard. If he lives to be forty years old, he will
learn what an ass he was at twenty, as a great
many others have done."
I tell you, Dick felt pretty blue when Jerry let
him know that father did n't want him again. But
he went to New York a few days after, and wrote
home from there that a rich fellow had engaged
him as sailing-master for his new yacht. We
found out afterward that this was a fib, for he was
only one of the crew, which makes quite a differ-
ence. But this was the last we heard of Dick
Newell for ever so long.
Aunt Joe is father's only sister, and though it
seems funny to say it about a lady, she is a born
sailor, like all the Harrises. She is pretty well on
in life,-thirty-four or thirty-five, I think,-and for
all she has so much money, she is not married.
She has a nice house in Oldport, but she does n't
stay there much. Summers, she just cruises along
the coast in her yacht. And there was n't a better
sea-boat anywhere than the "West Wind." Why,
almost every winter she took a trip South,-
round Hatteras, you know,-and two years ago
she took a party clear to Havana, as comfortably
and safely as though the West Wind was a thou-
sand-ton Cunarder. Jerry and I always went with
her in summer vacation, and Aunt Joe says; her-
self, that either of us can work the yacht as well as
Cap'n Morrison, an old coast pilot who used to go
as sailing-master.
Generally speaking," says Aunt Joe, in her
blunt way, "I don't fancy boys on board. They're
apt to be rude, and sure to be sick., But you two
are exceptions,-owing to belonging to the Harris
family, probably."
Last summer holidays, Aunt Joe made up a little
party for Mount Desert, and, good soul that she is,
invited Jerry and me.
Well, we carried our traps aboard, bright and
early, the morning we were to sail, and who do you
suppose was the first person we saw? You might


THE "WEST WIND'S" LAST CRUISE.




THE "WEST WIND'S" LAST CRUISE.

BY FRANK H. CONVERSE.


[JUNE,






THE "WEST WIND'S" LAST CRUISE.


have floored me with a feather duster For, lo
and behold! in place of old Morrison, with his
Scotch brogue, there was Dick Newell, with a cigar
in his mouth, giving off orders to Sailor Dan, as
important as though he were the Right Honorable
Sir Joseph Porter, K. C. B.
Hello, boys! he said, and shook hands very
condescendingly; but I could see that he did n't
feel very glad to find us of the party.
"So you've left the 'Vesta,' eh, Dick?" says
Jerry, as cool as you please, for he never seems
taken aback at anything.


with luggage enough for a voyage to Europe, cut
his story short just at that moment. But he began
to help the ladies aboard very politely; so Jerry
and I went below to stow away our traps.
Oh, but the West Wind was a beauty, from
her royal truck clear down to her keelson She
measured about sixteen tons, and was schooner-
rigged. She drew as much water as a pilot-boat
of twenty tons, and Cap'n Morrison said that was
what made her such a dry and safe boat in heavy
weather.
The ladies' cabin was all finished off in bird's-eye


"A SAIL! A SAIL!" [SEE PAGE 636.]


"' Cap'n Newell,' if you please," answered Dick,
standing on his dignity; and I laughed out,-I
could n't help it, to save me, but Jerry never so
much as smiled.
Yes," Dick went on, pretending not to notice
my grin; "'t was too much responsibility, having
to look after eight men aboard of a racing yacht,
and only getting a hundred dollars a month. I
wanted a hundred. and twenty-five, but the owner
is so mighty close, he did n't want to give more
than "


maple and walnut. There were six berths; the
lockers all had cushions on them; there were a
center-table and an easy-chair, both made fast to
the floor; and, on one side, was a little bath-room.
There was a store-closet between the ladies'and gen-
tlemen's cabins, but you could pass right through;
for the table was generally set in one end of the
boat. The cook-room and pantry were forward,
under deck, and old Dinah, the stewardess, kept
things as neat as wax, and you 'd have laughed to
see how carefully she stowed away the crockery


It is lucky for Dick's conscience-if he has one- and everything,.in the racks back of the ice-room.
that the sight of Aunt Joe's party on the wharf, I guess Aunt Joe shipped her new sailing-
VOL. VII.-42.


633






634 THE "WEST WIND

master in too much of a hurry to look at his refer-
ences, eh, Jerry?" I whispered, while we were
fixing our mattresses. For old Dinah told us,
when she was setting the table, that Cap'n Morri-
son had disappointed Aunt Joe at the last moment.
That was why she had taken Dick Newell, on the
strength of his own story, for we found out after-
ward that he had boasted of having sailed a gen-
tleman's yacht for years.
May be," answered Jerry, in his quiet way;
" but don't you go to making a noise yet awhile;
keep your mouth shut and your weather-eye open,
my boy."
Very good," I answered, for Jerry is almost
always right, and I generally mind him pretty
well; "but suppose he runs us ashore, or "
Never trouble trouble till trouble troubles
you," interrupted Jerry, and I knew it was just as
well to keep quiet.
For, after all, Dick could work up latitude and
longitude, and we had good charts of the coast.
Besides, it would seem kind of mean, running to
Aunt Joe with stories, when, like as not, he could
get along as well as any one else if the weather
held fair. And, if it came to the worst, Jerry and
I kneiv two chaps who would do their level best,
anyway.
Oh, it 's just lovely, sailing out of Oldport, as
we did that day, with a fair wind and summer sky !
The harbor is shaped like a big letter U. The
town lies in the bend, and an island, which reaches
half-way across the open part, separates it from
the ocean. We ran through the ship channel,
round Light-house Point, and there we were, right
out to sea, with nothing between us and Europe
but steamers and vessels.
Aunt Joe has such a nice way of making people
around her feel at their ease, that, in a little while,
you 'd have thought we had known one another
always. There were Mr. and Mrs. Mayfair, from
Boston, who had been married but a little while,
and kept calling one another dear," and "love."
She was a very bright, pretty young woman, and
he was dressed like Ralph Rackstraw in "Pina-
fore." His nobby little hat blew overboard before
we got fairly outside. He had a big pair of
opera-glasses strapped to him, and you would have
laughed to hear him answer everybody "Aye,
aye," and to see him hitch up his bell-muzzled
trousers just like a mariner bold.
Mr. Thorpe and his wife were from Chicago.
They were tremendously rich, and neither of them
ever had smelt salt water before. You could n't
help liking him, he was so jolly, and was always
saying -...i.l,;-i.,. to make one laugh. So was
Mrs. Thorpe, only she did n't do it on purpose.
Jerry said that, in spite of her diamonds, she was


'S" LAST CRUISE


a near relation to Mrs. Partington. Professor Hart
was last, but not least, and just a splendid man.
He did n't talk much, but what he said was worth
listening to. Aunt Joe told us afterward that he
used to sell papers in the street, and had worked
his way up,-educated himself, as you might say,
-and was now Professor of Mathematics at R-
University. God helps him who helps himself,"
my copy-book says, and I believe it, clear down to
the bottoms of my boots.
After we were well clear of the land, Dick-for I
sha'n't call him Captain Newell-got out a chart,
and after considerable flourishing round with com-
passes and parallel ruler, he told Dan, who was at
the wheel, to keep her E. S. E., and then, I guess,
he turned in, for I did n't see him again till toward
evening.
Jerry and I always stand our regular watch
and watch, "four hours on and four hours off,"
as the sailors say, so we got along swimmingly.
The wind was right astern, and I don't think I
ever knew the sea so smooth as it was that day,
and all night, too, for that matter.
Jerry, who is always noticing things, said that
the sun set in a cloud-bank, and the barometer
was falling; but, for all I could discover, the
weather looked well enough. Besides, it was the
sailing-master's business to watch the weather,-
not the sailor's.
Next morning, everybody was on deck early
to see the sun rise. It was so cloudy that we
could only now and then see the sun itself, but the
colors in the sky and sea were beautiful, I tell you.
Up among the clouds, there was every shade of
the rainbow, and the reflections on the moving
water were a sight to see.
All that morning the breeze kept freshening and
working round, till by noon it was about north-
east. By that time we were close-hauled on the
wind, and the sea was getting up," as Dan said.
All the time we were heading pur course; but, for
all that, we were edging away from the land little
by little, till, what with the haze and the distance,
it was shut out altogether.
Aunt Joe herself did n't like the looks of the
weather, and began to talk about running in,-
" that is, if you 're sure of your whereabouts, Cap-
tain Newell," she said to him.
"If you say so, we '11 go about, mum," answers
Dick, for Cape Elizabeth lies just two points on
the weather-beam; but it 's a pity to lose this
wind because it looks a little cloudy."
But the barometer is falling," said Aunt Joe,
sort of undecided.
"Which it is apt to do in the finest weather,
during the summer," was his answer, as bold as
brass. So Aunt Joe said no more for the time.


[JUNE,







THE "WEST WIND'S" LAST CRUISE.


But about two o'clock that afternoon it came on
heavy, and, I tell you, it blackened up in the
north-west lively. And even our gallant sailing-
master, who had been asleep below since dinner,
allowed that we 'd better shorten sail and run in
for land. So the four of us got the "West Wind "
under reefs, and, if you 've never had a hand in it,
you don't know what exciting work it is. But the
women-folks seemed to think, with the slatting of
the sails and all, that the yacht was going to
tumble overboard, or something.
But after we got under weigh again, if the
"West Wind" did n't walk Spanish! The big
green seas would cockle and crest half as high as
her mast-head; but she went topping over them
like a-a-Mother Carey's chicken. Oh, but the
"West Wind" was a bonny boat !
Barometer going down,-dinner coming up,"
said Jerry, with a grin, as he staggered along
where I stood at the wheel. He is one of those
light-hearted chaps who never seem to worry, and
that always makes me feel plucky. But Dick
Newell, I am free to confess, looked flustered, and
did n't seem to have much to say, anyway.
Poor Mr. Mayfair I can see him now, hanging
over the lee-rail, wet through and bare-headed,
groaning and sick. And Mr. Thorpe was moan-
ing away in the lee scuppers, where he rolled
around like a cask.
About eight bells in the evening, things looked
pretty blue i there was never a sign of light on land,
and the West Wind" was fairly flying over as
stormy looking a sea as you ever saw in a marine
painting.
Finally, we decided to take in the reefed main-
sail and lie-to under a balance-reef foresail and
storm-jib until morning. "We 'll be carrying' the
sticks out of her if we don't shouted Jerry; for,
what with the wind and sea, we could hardly hear
ourselves speak.
He had n't the words well out of his mouth
when, with a roar like a great tornado, the wind
burst all at once out of the north-west, ten times
harder than ever! I thought we were gone, sure,
and I remember I thought of father, and tried to
pray, all in a second. The "West Wind" went
down on her beam ends in the sea, and an awful
wave, that boarded us, swept boat, water-casks,
and a spare topmast smash through the bulwarks
overboard! Dan had his wheel hard 'up, but the
yacht would n't pay off till, all at once, there was a
crack like a cannon, and the mainmast, snapping
off close to the deck, went over the side.
"Hooray !" sings out Jerry, who was hanging
on to the weather side of the house with Dick and
me. For, the minute the mast went, the yacht
righted,-the fore boom jibed over with a bang,


and then such going! It makes me hold my
breath to think of it. One minute we 'd be almost
becalmed in an awful gulf, with a black mountain
of water ahead and astern; the next we were spin-
ning down a long descent, scooping up tons and
tons of green sea at every plunge.
Dick was in a regular daze. At one time he 'd
think we 'd better heave to. Then he guessed
we 'd better scud. And, finally, he said he did n't
know what to do, and thought we 'd better all
pray.
You can-no, you can't, either,-imagine what
an uncomfortable.time it was. The men-folk sick
and frightened, the ladies frightened and sick. All
but Aunt Joe and the Professor. Trumps, both of
them. They handed us out some luncheon, and
the Professor lent me his ulster. Every one of us
on deck was a little wetter than a drowned rat.
Finally, the weather began to moderate. Now,
before Jerry and I had cut the mainmast clear of
the side, the heel of it had given the "West
Wind" one or two awful pokes under the quarter.
And when I saw Jerry with the sounding-rod in his
hand, I knew what he was thinking of.
While he was watching his chance to get at the
pump-well, Mr. Mayfair and Mr. Thorpe crawled
on deck.
We can't-er-anchor, or, -.,. ~,r;l,, ?"
asked Mr. Mayfair. Poor man, he was frightened
nearly to death, though now the wind and sea
were going down, and there was a sort of break in
the clouds.
Dick Newell had just begun to spruce up and
talk in an important kind of way about rigging a
jury-mast, when Jerry came aft, as white as a
sheet, with the sounding-rod in his hand.
"Aunt Joe," he said,-and the brave fellow's
voice shook just a little,-" it's a pretty hard show
for us; there are two feet of water in the hold,
and I 'm afraid that a butt is started, where the
mast struck."
Well How I felt about that time, is neither here
nor there. But I watched Jerry, and as he did n't
show the white feather, I made up my mind that I
would n't.
Oh, Lord," groaned Dick, we 're lost,-
we 're lost! "
We '11 rig the pumps, anyway," muttered Dan,
who was a whole crew in himself; and he went to
work at once.
Poor Mr. Mayfair took his young wife right into
his arms before all of us, and fairly blubbered.
A feller don't care a copper for himself, Viola,
dear," he said, "but when he 's got a wife-- "
I always respected Mayfair after that, if he was a
bit soft, and I slapped him on the back, half ready
to cry myself.


635






THE "WEST WIND'S" LAST CRUISE.


Good for you, old chap," I said. And I meant
it, too.
Just then it was, that the Professor came out in a
new light. You should have seen him pump!
His long arms went like a perpetual motion. And
when Dick Newell began to cut up rusty and say it
was no use--/e was n't going to use himself up for
nothing, the Professor, who is as strong as a young
steam-engine, just collared him and walked him to
the pump-brake, where he kept him working lively
for a time. It was Professor Hart, too, who went
around encouraging everybody, beginning at Aunt
Joe and ending with old Dinah. You see, we kept
the yacht jogging along before the wind, barely
hoping to meet a vessel, which was better than
lying-to and sinking without trying to do anything.
And while the Professor was ciphering out on the
companion-way, slide how long she could keep
afloat,-so many cubic feet of air, to so much dis-
placement of water, to such an amount of buoy-
ancy, all at once he looked up, threw down his
pencil, cut a regular pigeon's-wing, and shouted at
the top of his voice:
"Asail! Asail!"
Sure enough! It had been kind of thick and
hazy round the horizon, but all at once it lifted, the
sun shone out bright, and there was a full-rigged
ship under top-gallant sails braced sharp up on the
wind, heading right for us.
We set our flag union-down, and the ship ran up
her ensign, so we knew that she saw us. When
I saw the steeple of the little church," says Mark
Tapley in Martin Chuzzlewit, "I thought it would
a' choked me." Which was the way I felt when I
saw the ship.
"' Feller's a-a-fool," said Mr. Mayfair, that
-er-says there's no-a-Providence and all that
sort of thing." His wife did n't make any answer,
but her eyes were full of tears.
I tell you there's no finer sight in the world than
a big vessel under sail, especially to anybody situ-
ated as we were. No painter ever painted any such
picture as that ship made. She 'd heel over, as
the wind freshened a bit, and you'd see the bright
copper below the water-line glisten through the
green seas; then she'd rise to her bearings and
plunge forward with a great sheet of white foam
round her bows-oh it was just grand. I sha'n't
forget it-never.
By the time she'd run past us and hove to, our
deck was level with the water. And, if you'll
believe me, her boat had n't fairly got alongside,
when that sneak Dick Newell made a break for
it, the very first one But Professor Hart reached
for him. Wait your turn, you coward," he said,
and the way he set him down on deck was beau-
tiful. He waited.


No one made much talk after we were fairly in
the boat and were pushed off. Aunt Joe drew her
hand across her eyes as she looked back and saw
the "West Wind" give a lurch and disappear, and
I came nigh sniveling, only for Jerry.
She'll have another one built inside of a year,"
he whispered, and Jerry generally knows what he is
talking about, so I kept a stiff upper lip.
"Tight squeak for you, mum," said the mate,
who was steering. I guess he was n't much used
to ladies, for he never opened his mouth again
till we got on board.
The boat was hoisted up and the ship got under
way. The captain stood with his back to us,
all the time, watching a sail through his glasses,
as indifferent as a monument, just as though sav-
ing a pleasure party from a sinking yacht was too
common a thing to mind much.
We all stood round on the quarter, awkwardly
enough, till Aunt Joe stepped forward.
Captain," she said, touching his arm, we owe
our lives- "
"Bless my soul! exclaimed the captain wheel-
ing round as if somebody had struck him; why
-what!--"
You should have seen all our faces-especially
Jerry's and mine I guess the sailors thought Aunt
Joe had found a long-lost lover, as people do in
story-books.
For Aunt Joe screamed, Oh John, dear John,"
and fainted dead away in his arms!' So, with
Aunt Joe and two fellows about the size of Jerry and
me, who bolted at him at the same time, the cap-
tain was all struck aback.
When a couple of chaps have not seen their father
for four years, and are thinking he is three or four
thousand miles off, and when all of a sudden they
are plumped right down before him on a ship's
deck in mid-ocean, as one might say, they 've a
right to be a little hystericky, have n't they ?
"Mr. Marline," said father to the mate, quite
helplessly, " ill you have the goodness to let
the watch sway up the fore to'gallant halyards !
That will wake me up I guess," we heard him
mutter, as he rubbed his hand across his eyes and
looked at us all by turns, as if he were in a dream.
But he did come to, at the boatswain's whistle,
and then it seemed as if he 'd never stop asking
questions and wondering.
You see, the "Adelaide had been ordered from
Liverpool to Boston, instead of making a long
voyage as father had expected. And so it was
that he had got off our coast, just in time to pick
us up, as the event proved.
Well, we arrived in Boston two days afterward,
safe and sound.
"Viola and I are much obliged for hospitality


636


[JUNB,






AH LO.


and that sort of thing," said Mr. Mayfair, as he put
his wife into a hack on the wharf, and turned to
bid us good-bye; "but I guess we sha'n't go to
sea any more. Feller whose liver's out of order
better stay home," he added.
SI 'm going to retire as far away from the blus-
tering billows as ever I can," were Mrs. Thorpe's
last words when they started for Chicago, and her
husband said that after this his pleasure trips would
be by land-he was too nervous, he said, for sea-


637


going. Dick Newell sneaked off without saying
anything, and afterward shipped in the Rainbow,"
before the mast.
Auntie Joe is going to have another yacht built,
and she has invited the Professor to be present at
the launching. This he said he would do with
pleasure, as long as he could witness it from firm
land. But father says Jerry and I have shown
ourselves to be such good sailors that we shall go
with him next voyage. Hurra !


AH LO.


BY ROBERT S. TALCOTT.


I:


I,
I.


A MERCHANT of China, one sunshiny day,
Sat sipping his tea in a leisurely way,
And thoughtfully twisted the end of his queue,
While he pondered the question of what he should do.

Ah Lo was his name, but, ah !-high was his station;
His wealth gave him rank with the first of the nation.
His wealth had increased to so great an amount,
His houses and stores he no longer could count;

So,-retiring from business,-relieved from all care,
He resolved upon travel. The question was,-where?
He had been a large reader of travelers' books:
Had read about Stanleys," and Franklins," and Cooks";
But ambition, like theirs, made him wish to explore
Entirely new countries, ne'er heard of before.

He thought on this subject by day, and night, too,
But the deeper he thought the more puzzled he grew,






638 AH LO. [JUNE,


Till-sad to reflect on !-the pressure and strain
Of continual thinking subverted his brain.
Since he could not on Earth, what he wanted, espy,
He looked for his goal in the star-dotted sky,
And, gazing at "Jupiter," "Venus," and Mars,"
Became fully convinced he could get to the stars.

This notion grew stronger,-at last he declared
There was nothing a man could not do,-if he dared:
He would travel as no other man had yet done,
By shooting himself from the mouth of a gun.
The gun was procured, and loaded with care;
Then placed in position, the muzzle in air.
Ah Lo took his seat, with a smile on his face,
Then a flash,-and a bang !-and he started through space.
5 5
Some few of his friends, who knew his sad plight,
Still meet in his summer-house, night after night;
And, softly and silently sipping their tea,
Wonder often, but quietly, where can he be?
"We know he is gone, for we saw him depart;
In fact, we were present, and helped him to start;
But where ?-In the bustle and hurry of going
He forgot to provide any means for our knowing."






---.-


'^






THE GOOD SHOT. 639


THE GOOD SHOT.
(A Slwrt Tale in Shlrt Wordsfor Boys bath Tall and Slwrt)


BY JOSEPH KIRKLAND.


ONCE there was a boy who was a good marks-
man with a stone, or a sling-shot, or a bow-and-
arrow, or a cross-bow, or an air-gun, or anything
he took aim with. So he went about all day, aim-
ing at everything he came near. Even at his
meals he would think about good shots at the
clock, or the cat, or the flies on the wall, or his
mother's left eye-glass, or anything he chanced
to see.
Near where he lived there lived a little bird who
had a nest and five young birds. So many large
mouths in small heads, always wide open for food,
kept her hard at work. From dawn to dark she
flew here and there, over fields and woods and
roads, getting worms, and flies, and bugs, and
seeds, and such things as she knew were good for
her young birds. It was a great wonder what lots
of food those five small things could eat. What
she brought each day would have filled that nest
full up to the top, yet they ate it all and asked for
more before daylight next morning.
Though it was such hard work, she was glad to
do it, and went on day after day, always flying off
with a gay chirp, and back quick with a bit of some
kind of food. And though she did not eat much
herself, except what stuck to her bill after she had
fed them, yet she never let them want; not even
the smallest and weakest of them. The little fel-
low could not ask as loudly as the others, yet she
always fed him first.
One day, when she had picked up a worm, and
perched a minute on a wall before flying to her
nest, the good marksman saw her, and of course
aimed at her and hit her in the side. She was
much hurt and in great pain, yet she fluttered and
limped, and dragged herself to the foot of the tree
where her nest was, but she could not fly up to her
nest, for her wing was broken. She chirped a little
and the young ones heard her, and as they were
hungry they chirped back loudly, and she knew all
their voices, even the weak note of the smallest of


all, but she could not come up to them, nor even
tell them why she did not come. And when she
heard the call of the small one she tried again to
rise, but only one of her wings would move, and
that just turned her over on the side of the broken
wing in a droll way. I think the boy would have
laughed if he had seen her tumble over.
All the rest of that day the little mother lay
there, and when she chirped her children answered,
and when they chirped she answered, only when
the good marksman chanced to pass near by; then
she kept quite still. But her voice grew fainter
and weaker, and late in the day the young ones
could not hear it any more, but she could still hear
them. Some time in the night the mother-bird
died, and in the morning she lay there quite cold
and stiff, with her dim eyes
V,:. still turned up to the nest
where her young ones were
.' dying of hunger.
.But they did not die so
S;soon. All day long they
S. slept, until their hunger
A-. t ..,- waked them up, and then
.. -' -- called until they were so tired
S- .. they fell asleep again. And
the next night was very cold,
and they missed their moth-
er's warm breast, and before day-dawn they all died,
one after the other, excepting the smallest, which
was lowest down in the nest. And in the morning
he pushed up his head and opened his yellow
mouth to be fed; but there was no one to feed
him, and so he died, too, at last, with his mouth
still wide open and empty.
And so, the good marksman had killed six birds
at one shot,-the mother and her five young ones.
Do you not think he must be a proud boy ?
Should you not like to do the same ?
If you know him, please read this little tale to
him. He may like to hear it.





FOREIGN HEAD-DRESSES.


640


[JUNE,


(cQ


f /






FOREIGN HEAD-DRESSES.


FOREIGN HEAD-DRESSES.

BY SPHINX.


THIS queer-looking page of queer-looking heads
looks strangely like a puzzle; and perhaps it might
puzzle you to know where they all came from, and
who they are. They come from different countries
on the continent of Europe, and you would see just
such heads, with just such hats and head-gear, if
you traveled there now. The one up in the left-
hand corner need not be explained, as he looks the
picture of a jolly Irishman, with a sprig of sham-
rock and a pipe tucked in his hat, just coming
from a fair; while the man with a mask, looking at
him, comes from sunny Naples, where he acts the
part of a clown, and is always seen at the carnivals
and merry-makings. Very unlike is he to his two
neighbors on the right,-the one a solemn Spanish
priest, with a long shovel-hat, and the other a still
more solemn old English guardian of the Tower of
London, dressed in a costume of the time of Henry
the ; i 11, ; he feels his dignity and position, but
not as much as does the officer just below him,
who is one of the Horse Guards, and is used to
being stared at by every one. The three in a row
just in front of him are all from the British Isles,
and live a long distance from the strange, odd-
looking old man in the row beneath, who is a dig-
nitary of Persia, and has to bow his tall, fur hat
before the Shah, his master. I do not think you
would find his neighbor, who is just opposite to
him, so servile and obedient, for he comes from the
mountains of the Tyrol, and much prefers his free
life-wandering over the hills with his gun-to liv-
ing in any court, however gorgeous. The Tyrolese
hunter seems to be poking his gun into a very
staid individual with a large cocked hat. He looks
as if he were a very grand personage, and, in fact,
he feels himself to be such, for he is the coachman
of a Neapolitan prince, and feels much prouder
than his master as he sits on his coach with his
best livery. He looks down with contempt on the
poor fisherman, his countryman, below him; but
the fisherman, with his red cap, does n't seem to
care, for he sings all day long as he pulls in his net
with a few sardines, and is as happy as a king.
His singing is very different from the singing of
the old, fat monk, who goes about begging in a
very old rusty-brown gown, and who chants his


prayers two or three times a day through his nose.
The only hat that he has is the long, peaked hood
at his back, which can be drawn over the face at
pleasure. He seems to be staring at a French
Zouave, with turban and bronzed face, who has
been in the wars in Algiers; and also at an Italian
sharp-shooter, who seems weighed down beneath
his load of cocks' feathers; in fact, these plumes
are so large that they seem to cover the entire side
of his hat and shoulder; he is very vain, however,
of his head-dress, and he would not exchange it
for the monk's old brown hood for any money.
The only ornament the little Breton baby has on
his cap is a big worsted tassel, and that is the way
they dress the boy-babies in Brittany; the girls
have a similar cap, but no tassel,- so the queer
little head put by the soldier is a little Breton boy.
Down in the left-hand corner is one of the French
gendarmes, who are seen all over Paris, and they
maintain order and quiet, as the police do. He has
a very picturesque hat, and he knows how to put
it on in a very Frenchy way; and when he throws
the end of his cloak over one shoulder and waxes
out his moustaches, he thinks he is a perfect mar-
vel of beauty. But he is not really so handsome,
nor so picturesque, as his Italian neighbor, who is
only an Italian peasant, and comes from a little
mountain town, where he sleeps and dances all
summer, tends a few olive-trees and vines in the
autumn, and sits as a model to the artists at Rome
in the winter; for he has very large, dark eyes, and
long hair and beard, and looks very well in a pict-
ure; better, you think, than the little man with a
pointed cap, who is a French student listening to
a very dry lecture'; or the Breton peasant with his
low-crowned, broad-brimmed hat; or the man
with a large head and curly hair and an astonish-
ingly little cap perched on top of it over his fore-
head. He is a German student, and the little cap
is very important, as it shows to what society he
belongs ; it is more for ornament than for protec-
tion. He is fond of fighting duels with a little
narrow sword, and sitting by the hour with a big
pipe in his mouth and a large glass of beer by his
side. His queer face and odd little round cap
finish our page, bringing us to the last corner.


z88o.]


641







LOST AND FOUND.


PHOTOGRAPHER: NOW SIT PERFECTLY QUIET. LOOK PLEASANT!'


LOST AND FOUND.

BY FLORENCE SCANNELL.


ON the south coast of England is the little
village of Swanston, consisting chiefly of fisher-
men's cottages. The few houses of any preten-
sions it possesses are built along the front, facing
the sea, and this part of the village is called the
Marine Parade. In the summer these houses are
let to the few families who come to enjoy the pure
air and good bathing, without the noise and dress
of more fashionable seaside places.
In one of the cottages lived a fisherman, named
Jem Price. He was not a native of Swanston,
having come there about six or seven years before,
with his wife, and one child about a year old.
Mrs. Price was a neat, industrious woman, and
Jem's cottage, in her time, was very bright and
cheerful; the little child was well clothed and fed,
and Jem always looked happy. Unfortunately, his
good wife died about a year after their arrival, and
poor Jem, feeling very lonely, and with the baby on
his hands, married again. His second wife was a
careless, untidy woman, who did not take very good
care of her own children, and paid still less attention
to little Jacky, who, at the time our story begins,
was about eight years old. He was a pretty, bright
little fellow, with fair, curly hair and dark blue


eyes, and, in spite of his poor home, would sing
and play merrily enough with the other children
on the beach, and was always ready to do an
errand for any of the neighbors, who would often
call him in and give him a dinner and a seat by
their fire in the winter.
Everybody liked Jacky, and sometimes he was
fortunate enough to earn a sixpence by holding a
horse for some gentleman.
One day, as the season was just beginning, Jacky,
on the look-out for jobs, was walking down the
High street on his way to the Parade. He saw
one of his playmates; Molly, a child about seven
years old, struggling with a boy much bigger than
she was. Molly was the daughter of a poor Irish
fruit-woman, who had often been kind to Jacky, so
he ran quickly to see what was the matter. When
he came up, the boy ran away with two apples,
which he had taken from Molly. The little girl
was selling fruit for her mother, who was sick, and
she cried bitterly as the boy made off with at least
one quarter of her stock of apples. Jacky, who
was a brave boy, and strong and active for his age,
was after the thief in a minute, and, soon catching
him, he threw him down and took the apples from


[JUNE,







LOST AND FOUND.


him; then he returned with them to Molly, flushed
and panting.
"Well done, my boy," said a voice, "you 'll
make a good soldier some day."
Jacky looked up in astonishment and saw a tall
gentleman, with a brown beard and moustache,
looking kindly at him. The boy colored with
pleasure at the praise, and gave his front hair a
pull in salute. The gentleman tossed him a shil-
ling and walked on, amused with the incident.
"Who's that gentleman?" said Jacky. "I
never saw him before, Molly; did you? "
Oh," answered Molly, it's the ossifer what's
come and took Mrs. Hawkins's white house for
the summer. He and his wife have got a little
girl who comes down to bathe every morning' in
the sea, and sometimes she goes out on a pony;
and just look, Jacky, there she is coming' along
now."
Jacky turned, and saw a pretty little girl, with
large blue eyes and soft golden hair, coming up
the street on a white pony, led by a groom. She
turned into the Parade, and the children, follow-
ing quickly, saw her stop at one of the largest
houses.
The door opened, and the tall, brown-bearded
"ossifer," as Molly called him, came down the
steps and lifted the little girl from the pony.
She ran into the house, gathering up her long
blue skirt, but soon appeared again with pieces of
sugar for the pony, who looked intelligently at his
little mistress and rubbed his nose against her.
The pretty child looked pityingly at the ragged,
forlorn little creatures, and brought out some
biscuits to give them.
When the pony was led off, Molly and Jacky)
walked slowly away, talking about the little girl
and her wonderful horse; but they soon parted,
and Jacky went home.
That evening, when he had finished his supper,
he sat leaning his head against the door, looking
out toward the sea; his thoughts full of the tall
gentleman who had spoken so kindly to him, and
of the beautiful little girl. He was roughly
awakened from his reverie by a box on the ear.
Get out of my way," said his stepmother, who
was just going out. You've had your supper,
so now go to bed and don't be setting' in the door
to trip people up, as if I had n't plenty to do with
my own children without being bothered by other
people's." Jacky, knowing from experience what
he might expect if he did not obey, was glad to
slip off to his hard little bed.
The next morning, Jacky went up the High
street until he reached the baker's shop, and stood
there looking at the tempting fresh rolls and loaves
in the window. He had had a poor breakfast, and


had given his :1,,11iii, to his stepmother. He
watched the people going in and out of the shop,
looking wistfully at the bread they carried away.
At last a stout, motherly-looking woman, accom-
panied by a younger one, coming out of the
baker's, stopped and looked at him.
Why, little boy, you look as if you'd like a
roll, eh! I 'd sooner give you that than money,
for I don't approve of beggars," said she.
"Please, ma'am, 'm pretty hungry," said Jacky.
The kind woman bought a roll and gave it to him,
Jacky ii, ,-,1.; her warmly.
"Well, Susan, it's a pleasure to see him so
grateful. What nice eyes he 's got, just like Miss
Lillie's, I declare. What's your name, child ?
Have n't you got a mother to mend your clothes a
little ? "
Jacky told her he had only a stepmother, and
she looked pityingly at him and then walked on,
saying to Susan: "Ah, what would the Colonel
give for a boy like that His own son would have
been just about that size if he had lived. Such
a beautiful babe he was, and so proud and
happy as they were when he was born I thought
the mistress would have died when the news came
of that dreadful shipwreck, and the Colonel was
like to go out of his mind with grief."
Now, do tell me all about it, Mrs. Hunter. I
never heard tell of it before," said Susan.
Well, Susan, you must know India has a very
bad climate, and the little English children don't
thrive there at all. So when Miss Lillie, who was
born there, was about two years old, she began to
pine away, and had n't a bit of color in her cheeks,
and at last the mistress sent her over to her mother
in England, and for some time they thought she'd
never live, so delicate was she. Then, when the
other child was born, about six months after Miss
Lillie had left, the mistress said she would n't risk
his precious life, and as soon as he was a year old
she sent him, with his black nurse, the avah, and
a family she knew, that was going home to England.
It nearly broke her heart to part with him, but she
would n't leave her husband, and she knew it was
saving the life of the children. Well, the voyage
seemed to be got over pretty well, but just as they
were nearing home an awful storm came on, and
something, I don't know what, got wrong with the
steamer, and it foundered on some rocks, in a fog;
and though they said the sailors worked hard and
did their best, still some of the lives of the passen-
gers were lost, and among them poor Mrs. Sey-
mour's sweet baby, and the ayah, too. The mother
seemed as if she could never get over the loss, and
even now, though it 's more than six years ago,
and she tries to be gay and cheerful with the
Colonel and Miss Lillie, I often see her eyes fill


i88o.]







LOST AND FOUND.


with tears when she looks at the sea, or at some little
boy, and she says to me: 'Ah, nurse, if only my
little Cecil had lived How could I ever have
sent my darling from me '"
Poor lady said Susan, no wonder she can't
bear Miss Lillian out of her sight. How she must
have longed to see her after the other one was
lost."
Yes, indeed; but soon after the dreadful trial
of losing their little boy, the Colonel gave up the
army, and they left India; which I really think was
the saving of the mistress's life, for it was a great
consolation for her to have the other child with
her."
Chatting thus, the two servants soon arrived at
the house Colonel Seymour had hired for the sum-
mer; the pure air of Swanston having been recom-
mended for his little daughter, who, like many
other children born in India, was very delicate and
required great care.
In the course of the morning Jacky strolled down
to the beach, and he had not walked far, before he
saw little Molly, the fruit-girl, lying asleep on the
sand. She had been out for some hours with her
fruit-basket, and had now come down to the beach
for a little play. But she was so tired, that after
gathering a few shells she lay down and soon fell
asleep. Jacky saw that the tide was coming in,
and that the water would soon reach the sleeping
girl; and he was just about to awaken her, when a
very interesting sight caused him to forget all
about her. Colonel Seymour, his wife and little
daughter were 11i:,1.- on the beach, at a short
distance, evidently looking for a boat in which to
take a sail.
Boat, sir? Nice day for a sail, sir, and you 'd
find the 'Fairy' is about the best boat here, sir,"
said a boatman approaching the party.
Very well, my man," said the Colonel, get
her ready. We 'll see if we can catch some fish
for mamma, Lillie."
The little girl clapped her hands, and the fisher-
man lifted her into the boat very carefully, as if he
were afraid such a dainty little creature would
break in his strong hands. Then the others got
in and they pushed off, several boys running up
to help, among whom was our little friend Jacky,
who gazed with great admiration at the sailing
party, particularly at Mrs. Seymour, whose face,
in some way, seemed familiar to him.
He wandered off by himself, not feeling inclined
to play, and puzzling his brains to remember where
and when he could have seen Mrs. Seymour before.
He scrambled upon a rock from which he could see
the boat; he heard the laughter of Lillie, as she
dipped her hands in the water and splashed her
father, and saw the Colonel shake the drops off


his beard and pretend to throw the mischievous
little sprite into the sea; and he saw her mamma
lean forward, half in play and half in fear, to stop
such wild pranks.
Jacky felt sad, and the tears rose to his eyes as
he thought of his miserable home and unkind step-
mother. He wondered if that gentleman wanted
a boy to help in the stables or anything; he would
be so happy if they would take him. He sat on
the rock for a long, long time, and then, all of a
sudden, he remembered Molly, and ran off to the
place where she had been lying. She was not to
be seen, and for a moment Jacky was frightened.
" I wonder if she is drowned he said to himself.
" I '11 run up to her house and see if she's there."
But just as he started he happened to see the fish-
ing-boat come in. This attraction was too strong
for him, and he ran down the beach, reaching the
boat just as the party stepped ashore.
Hallo, here's the champion of the apple-girl
again," said Colonel Seymour. Here, boy, come
and carry this basket up to the house for us."
Jacky ran up, charmed at being employed, and
walked up after them, listening to their merry
talk. Lillie turned round now and then to see if
the precious basket of fish was being safely carried,
looking at the ragged little boy with curiosity.
"Tell me about him, papa," she said, and the
Colonel related the story of Jacky's fight for the
apples.
Mrs. Seymour then, also, turned and looked at
him with interest, and when they arrived home
she slipped an extra shilling into his hand, besides
the one her husband had given him. Jacky,
astounded at such sudden riches, thanked the lady
very earnestly, but still stood standing by the door-
step.
"Is there anything else you want? said Mrs.
Seymour, kindly, as she was about to enter the
house.
"Oh, please, ma'am," cried Jacky, looking anx-
iously up into her face, with his wistful blue eyes,
" do, do take me for a servant boy; I can help in
the stables and do anything you tell me. I don't
want no wages, only please let me come, sir," he
added, imploringly, turning to the Colonel, who
answered:
Why, my boy, you are very anxious to work.
At your age, I should have thought you would
have preferred making mud pies, or toy boats.
Why do you want so much to come to us, eh? "
"'Cause-'cause you speak so kind, sir, and I'd
like to be one o' your soldiers, sir, when I 'm
growed up," said Jacky, hanging his head and
blushing.
The Colonel asked Jacky his name, and after
promising to think about the matter, and perhaps


[JUNE,






LOST AND FOUND.


see his father on the subject, he sent Jacky to have
a good dinner in the kitchen, promising not to for-
get him, and the boy went home full of hope and
expectation.
Hugh, I like that boy's face so much," said
Mrs. Seymour, I am sure he is a good little fellow.
We really must see after him, poor child, he looks
so neglected, and seems quite devoted to you. He
must have a good heart to be so grateful for a few
kind words."
That afternoon, as Colonel Seymour was .iiL._.
through the village, he inquired for Jem Price, and
some boys, who were playing at ball, pointed
out Jacky's father standing on the beach.


Dover, and one night as was awful foggy and dark,
besides a bit of a gale blowing, the men came crying
out that there was a steamer struck agin some
rocks out there, and was agoin' down. Some of us
tried to go out and help, but the fog was that thick,
we could n't do no good. Early the next morning
we was all out, but nothing was left of the ship but
pieces floating about all over the sea, and bales of
goods and baggage of all kinds was being washed
up. Well, sir, I was out in my boat seeing what I
could pick up, when I see a barrel floating toward
me. I know'd by the way it floated that there was
something weighty in one end of it, and so I pulled
it near and lifted it into my boat, and what should


L a>~--


C-.


ASLEEP ON THE SAND.


Colonel Seymour went up to the man and spoke
to him, He was a rough, good-humored looking
fellow, and seemed pleased when the gentleman
spoke to him of Jacky. Colonel Seymour said he
liked the boy, and was willing to find some good
employment for him if the father wished it. The
fisherman looked thoughtful, and, after some hesi-
tation, said:
"Well, sir, it's rather a curious story, but he
aint my child at all, nor I don't know whose he is;
and if it had n't been for my first wife, poor Mary,
what's dead, he'd be onf the parish now, most
likely."
"Tell me all about it," said the Colonel.
Ay, ay, sir. Well, about five or six years ago,
I and my wife Mary, that was, sir, were living near


I find but a baby lying in the bottom of it, seem-
ingly dead. It was rolled up in a queer sort of
fashion, with a silk scarf. I rowed quickly back
and took it to Mary. She undressed it, and we
found it was n't quite dead, though very nigh; so
she warmed and coaxed it like, and at last it sat
up and began to cry. It was too little to talk much,
being about a year old, but the few words it did
say were a strange sort of gibberish-Mary thought
French. Anyhow, it was n't English, and its clothes
looked furrin, too. Mary wouldn't hear of my
taking it to the parish folks, and said if its parents
was alive they would be sure to come and look for
it, and if they were n't, there was n't no good taking
it to the parish, as it was a furrin child. So, as we
had n't got any of our own, and Mary begged hard


880o.]






LOST AND FOUND.


to be let keep it, I gave in, and nobody ever came to
look for the child, nor we never heard of any adver-
tisements about it, so here he is still ; for when poor
Mary died, I'd taken a fancy like to the little fellow,
and would n't part with him, though I've got plenty
of my own now."
Colonel Seymour gave great attention to this
story, and he asked Jem what was the name of the
steamer and where it came from.
They said it was bringing soldiers from abroad,
sir. I don't remember the name. It was just six
years ago this June, and my Mary died the year
after. She made me promise always to be good to
the boy, and to keep his clothes, for some day his
relations might turn up; but they never have, and
I don't expect they ever will, now. None of the
folks here knows but he's my child, for we came
here as strangers and never told anybody about
it."
"Have you the clothes now? Can you show
them to me?" asked the Colonel, eagerly.
"Yes, sir, certainly I can."
"Come on, then," said the Colonel, and to-
gether they walked to Jem's cottage.
Jem Price went into an inner room, and after
searching some time, and turning out an old sea-
chest, he brought in a bundle. The wife and
children gathered round in a state of great curios-
ity, as the bundle was untied, and a little faded
pelisse was brought out; it was embroidered all
over with silk, that had been white but was now
discolored by time and sea-water.
The Colonel's eyes sparkled and his voice was
quite husky as he asked if he might take it to show
to his wife. It was possible that he knew the
parents of the child, he said. Jem agreed, and
Colonel Seymour slipped a sovereign into his hand,
and taking the pelisse rolled up, walked quickly
home. He now felt convinced that their long-lost
boy was found, but hardly knew how to break the
news to his wife, fearing that the shock, although one
of joy, would be almost too much for her.
However, he gave the little bundle to nurse
Hunter, telling her to bring it in when he rang the
bell. His wife had come home from a walk, and
was taking her afternoon tea with Lillie.
He sat down to the table, and, in as natural and
easy a manner as he could command, he told the
story that he had heard from Jem Price. Mrs.
Seymour turned pale, her hand trembled as she
put down the cup.
Hugh !" said she, can I see those clothes?"
The Colonel rang the bell, and nurse Hunter
entered with the little pelisse. Mrs. Seymour
started up and snatched it from her. With trem-
bling hands she turned it over. On one end of it
she saw her child's initials, embroidered by herself.


It is Cecil's she cried, and fell back fainting.
When Mrs. Seymour had been restored to con-
sciousness she insisted upon being taken immedi-
ately to her son, but the Colonel had sent for
Jacky, and in a few minutes he was with them.
We shall not try to describe the scene. There



,-,



..











JACKY.
was no doubt about Jacky's identity. The lost
child was found !
Poor Jacky was in such a state of bewilderment
that he was almost incapable of understanding what
they said to him. Only after his real parentage
had been explained over and over again did the
truth slowly begin to dawn upon his mind, and
then his joy seemed to overcome him. That
beautiful lady his mother! That _. ,,l. n.i-,. his
father! and Jem, who was he ? How could it be ? "
At last, he was taken off by nurse Hunter, who,
after he had enjoyed a warm bath, put him into a
soft, white bed, and the lady, his mother, came and
leant over him, kissing him and talking lovingly to
him.
And she brought him nice things to eat, such as
he had never tasted before, and while he was sitting
up in his bed and eating, hoping he was not going
to wake out of this delicious dream just yet, the
tall, kind gentleman came and kissed his forehead,
and Lillie sat on the side of his bed and chattered
to him, until nurse came and took her off. And
then, Jacky, who had never had so many kisses
since he was a baby, soon fell asleep.
The next morning, Jem Price arrived. The
father and mother asked a few more questions as
to the time and place of the wreck, and found the
"gibberish," that Mary took for French, was very
much like a few words of Hindostanee that the
Colonel repeated, and that Ghitah, Ghitah" was
what the baby had often cried at first, which Mrs.
Seymour recognized as the name of his ayah.


646


[JUNE,






A SUMMER HOME FOR POOR CHILDREN.


Jem was rewarded liberally, and went off con-
gratulating himself on his good luck. His cross
wife, though, upbraided him bitterly for not having
told her before that Jacky was a gentleman's child,
as she might have come in for the good graces of
the lady and gentleman.
Mrs. Seymour went out with nurse Hunter to
get some clothes for her boy, and bought a pretty
sailor suit. We will have some nicer things sent
from London as soon as possible, but for the pres-
ent these will do," said the mother. We must
teach him to talk properly, poor little fellow; he
does n't even know his letters; but we must not
worry him," she added, for he has been running
wild so long, and the first 1;1.. he must learn is to
be happy."
Jacky, or Cecil, as he was now called, felt very
odd in his new clothes, and at first found his shoes
very uncomfortable, and he couldn't get over his awe
of James the tall footman, whom he often called
" sir." But everybody in the house was very gentle
and patient with him, and, in a week or two, the
little ragamuffin would hardly have been recog-
nized in the tidy, well-dressed little boy, with
his golden curls arranged so prettily by his
mother's own slender fingers.
Lillie could not help laughing'at his first attempts
with his knife and fork, but he was very quick to
learn, eager to improve, and he soon became
quite a little gentleman in his manners and habits,
as he had always been in nature.


He was devoted to his father, would trot about
after him like a little dog, and the Colonel said,
laughingly, that at least the stepmother had saved
them the trouble of teaching him obedience, if
her other lessons had not been so good.
Mrs. Seymour went to see all the women who
had been kind to her child, and thanked them so
sweetly that she won all their hearts.
One of the first walks that Cecil took, after he
got his new clothes, was to little Molly's house.
He had heard nothing from her, and he was afraid
that perhaps she had been drowned when the tide
came in, but he found her quite well and hearty;
and Mrs. Seymour, who was with him, compen-
sated for Cecil's forgetfulness by a handsome pres-
ent to his little friend.
When the family left Swanston to return to town,
Mrs. Seymour had quite regained her health and
cheerfulness; and Lillie, enchanted at having a
brother of her own, went back with the roses of
health in her cheeks. She read all the wonderful
stories about "Blue Beard," Cinderella," Hop-
o'-my-Thumb," etc., to her brother, who was very
much interested, although his papa's histories of
tiger and bear hunts pleased him rather better.
And here we will leave him in his happy home.
True, there are many other children whose homes
are just as happy, but few of these have had
the experiences of neglect and poverty passed
through by our little hero, and so can never
value their advantages as he grew to value his.


A SUMMER HOME FOR POOR CHILDREN.

BY OI.IVE THORNE MILLER.


MAGGIE has two homes.
First, there is the home she has always lived in,
with her parents and brothers and sisters. It is a
back basement room, with scarcely a piece of whole
furniture in it; a .broken-down kitchen stove, a
pile of rags for a bed, .a dilapidated table, the
remains of a few chairs, and a floor always damp.
The children look as you might expect, pale,
gaunt, ragged, silent, often cold and hungry, and
never in the least childlike. In a home of this sort,
if a child falls ill, it lies unnoticed in the corner,
with not one of the comforts of a sick-room, no
soft bed, no cool drink, no dainty food, no kind
nurse; but with the noise and confusion of the
family and neighbors in the crowded house, and


the heated stove, with cooking or whatever house-
work is done, close to the sufferer.
Three hundred and fifty-nine days of every year,
Maggie lives in this dreadful place, and only six
days in the pleasant homeyou are to hear about. But
those six long summer days are packed so full of
happiness and pleasure that they bring color to her
face, smiles to her lips, and strengthen her for
another long year. In truth, the effects of that one
week on Maggie, and others like her, seem like
magic,-they are the magic of sunshine and fresh
air.
Turn from the sad picture of Maggie's home in
the city and hear about the other home, which
all the long summer through, is filled with girls like






[JUNE,


A SUMMER HOME FOR BOOR CHILDREN.


M'irrie, from the .
u r.._ ... I'. I r -i l.. l.: .-.
ar.n I.,:.rI il !.: -ll ,,-
f I-: .1. 1 I, -

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t atn. a ro g" ".
en t h... .. u-. '
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a i.. h i i ... c'o n r w t "'

.. yard, f o tr s n a .r. .
r ...I
:. li.
--^ -

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DOWN WVE GO '
that helps the poor
little creature to be good and
patient all through the long, dreary winter.
In the first place, it is in the country, with a' big
grassy yard, full of trees and swings, and everything
that's nice; in the second place, it is on the beach,
with delicious sea-breeze and delightful sea-bathing;
and last-and best-there live in it a real fairy-
godmother sort of a woman, with a big motherly
heart for suffering children, and a kind-hearted
gentleman who must have a perfect giant of a
market-basket, so full of good things does he keep
the pantry and cellar, for the children's benefit.
Ah,-good air, good beds, good food (and plenty
of it) and good times are the real doctors for little
people. You would n't know Maggie after she
has spent that happy week in the Summer Home.
And she has had something else as well as a
good time. She has had the benefit of gentle dis-
cipline free from hardship and pain. She has for
once had the satisfaction of undressing at night, of
climbing into a pretty little bedstead, and lying
between nice smooth sheets. The poor little thing,
tossing afterward on the heap of rags, may long so
much for a return of these comforts that she will
resolve to learn all she can, and so better her con-
dition. Thank heaven! Ways of learning to be
good scholars and good workers are now open in
our cities to all poor little girls,* so that even the
most destitute may hope to be able, in time, to
earn comforts and even luxuries for themselves.


But now, at the Summer Home, Maggie is given
over wholly to enjoyment. It is a charming sight;
a hundred and fifty poor children, so happy they
hardly know how to believe in it, romping and roll-
ing on the grass, playing croquet, bean-bag, or
"tag," singing morning and evening songs, drinking
delicious milk (a hundred quarts a day), frolicking
in the big play-room,-like a clean, sweet barn,-
and jumping and screaming with delight in the surf.
At first, as you may suppose, hard-working
and ignorant fathers and mothers in the hot city,
back there, could hardly believe their ears when
the children were invited to spend a week in the
country, where there were plenty to eat and fine
times to be had. They wondered why it was done,
and suspected that there was some bad reason for
this nice-seeming plan. These people must want
to carry off our children," they thought, or dis-
turb their religion, or do something else bad, or they
would not be taking our ragged girls into the
country at their own expense."
They loved their own children perhaps as well as
happier parents, and most of them refused to con-
sent to what they decided must be a trap of some
sort; only a few, who had known the city mission-
aries for years, would let their children go. Nothing
more was needed, -however. When those young-
sters came back, fat and rosy, and full to overflowing
of the splendid times they had had, there were
no more refusals of invitations; in fact, the refusals
came from the other side; the kind managers, who
easily could fill a house twice the size of the Summer
Home they have, were forced to refuse the children.
Each year, as charitable people have found out
about it, and given the society money to do so, the
Home has been made larger; now, one wing built
for a dining-room, with big bed-room overhead, by
the kindness of one lady; and then another, with a
pleasant play-room below and another big bed-
room above, by another lady; till last summer they
could entertain a hundred and fifty at once. Hap-
pier people delight in helping on the good work;
children empty their savings banks, and Sunday-
school classes unite their pennies to send one or
more unhappy little creature from the city. It
does not cost much either; two dollars will give
one girl this long week, make her happier for a
year, and better for all her life.
Girls, I say-and I'm sorry to say it, for boys
were included in the plan by its kind-hearted
founder,-a lady on Staten Island,-and at first they
were taken out every other week as the girls were;
but alas the boys could not be satisfied to get all
possible fun out of the Home itself; they carried
their habit of lawless mischief with them. They
overran the neighbors' gardens, they picked the
flowers and carried off the fruit; they broke the


* See "Little Housemaids," in ST. NICHOLAS for April, 1879.


648







A SUMMER HOME FOR POOR CHILDREN.


managers were obliged to deidel tiht the-" -erp
could spend a week i:, ii -. .r .:t i-i. i '.. i-,.:l
that one day's picnic oi. 11 :i..-...,, iin. ,,t.:..
for each boy.
So now, after the ,i l- :l,.: ... ..I. .i
m ore than two thous ... I ,:,,-: I ... .. I
their week, the boys .:.;i d.:. .. i II.:- .:.i
,one or two hundred at I,,,.. I r!'uji Il.,i :'II
day. They are a quere I ['.. I|.''. ', '', ,
sure. Two hundred I.... ii...i I... tl.:
streets, and regular litil. 1 .., h
you see in the city ha,,; .... ..
the risk of their lives, -.:,I..Il ..- ri.
streets under the feet of' l.. hi ,:: i -i
a stray dog, holding ,.ait .i .r
hand for some pennies, i..il- :


ugly faces, or doing, o il
sort of a prank you ...in
think of;-boys who ha .
no home, but sleep
in boxes, alley-ways,
wagons, or any hole
they can creep into,
.and many of whom
can be made to go to
school only by the .'
bribe of a good din-
ner.
Two hundred small
boys, off for a frolic,
with hats of all kinds
.and sizes, and in all
stages of shabbiness;
boys wearing their
fathers' pantaloons
cut off; boys with so
many patches that
the original garment
could not be guessed
at; boys with men's
coats, and boys with
no coats at all; boys
with clothes tied on v s Ir


Sin -.'-: tir, r.l .f I-. ,,

. i,. ,, : -,: .t
[1.. rI .l '[: ri .. :.
. A. l


'.


-. AI
I'.


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., _.. ,
.
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-,'


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3.--

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strings; boys with poc k:-' "-".
hanging outside, boys ,.l '1
pantaloons pinned on; I -.ir-
footed, ragged, shock-i, :l-i.:., -,IJ.
it must be confessed, nc.t -I :i: i
looking.
But they were a hall.., i-' ,. '
seen by your reporter one day IotS
autumn. Every one of their faces
wore a smile, and every eye was bright
and wide-awake. You surely would have
thought so if you had heard them shout and
hurrah as they passed through the suburbs of
Brooklyn, greeting each astonished cow with a
VOL. VII.-43.


^--







READY FOR A FROLIC IN THE WAVES.
immediately joining in,-saluting goats with a
chorus of Ma-a-a-as," and hens with "crows"
and "clucks" to drive them wild, and whistling


649


.



', ',







A SUMMER HOME FOR POOR CHILDREN.


and calling to dogs, till the sagacious creatures
hardly know whether to be insulted, and bark
furiously, or to regard it as a polite attention, and
wave their tails for thanks.
These entertainments were varied by whistling
the "Mulligan Guards," every boy beating time
with his feet; and then by singing, first the street
melodies, "Little Buttercup," "She 's a Daisy,"
" Grandfather's Clock," and others, and then fall-
ing into the airs they learned at school, "Hold the
Fort," "Pull for the Shore," and-greatest favorite
of all-" Sweet Rv-and-bv."
P c ..: .r :.:. z .:. .- .... u !
SC 'tt' _l I 1- t ii '... '
su.: ili p :, il ., r.
a f- 'r.

rei,


-,--" ;; -
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houses. None of them know what a comfortable
home is like, and most of them know very well
how it feels to be hungry and have no food.
But to go on with the picnic. After a ride on
street and steam cars for about an hour, the train
stops at Bath, on the southern shore of Long
Island, and, in about ten seconds, every boy is out
of the cars. They form in a line, two by two, but
they 're a regular mob for all that, as they rush on
after the gentleman who leads, little ones falling
down, struggling up and trudging on again,
stoppin' to pick every weed thRt has -, blos-
:.n i .,. I (, -, .-r, t. i I' ,le


h al ,[_,t' r .. lIi '..l i : n
].:.I, l i[I_ -g


- A
+ '
if


,..+ i


4.

I.'-

7-


'V


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sc -h : l- ,' : .-e 1 e

YC .-I I.. .'. r -,,iri.


have seen the Mission this scrambling, noisy way, reaching,
Schools, which gather at last, the big white gate of the
the children in, from THE GIRLS AT PLAY. Home.
streets and alleys of New York, and try to civilize Here there is a division : a gentleman stands at
and teach them something. They are all from the gate, and gives each boy a choice; most of
such homes as Maggie's, in the dreadful tenement them turn away with a shout, and run further up


650


[JUNE,.


f ",







S80o.1 A SUMMER HOME FOR POOR CHILDREN. b51


the street, while perhaps fifty go through the gate Lunch!-for two hundred hungry street boys !


with an expectant, solemn air.
What is the magic
word that sends the
crowd so eagerly on ?
It is swimming."
The choice is be-
tween swimming and
scupping,-whatthat
queer but venerable
old Dutch word
means, you '11 soon
find out; it is a 4
"survival" from New
Amsterdam days,-if
you understand that.
When the last
swimmer has joined
the yelling mob on
the way to a secluded
beach, and the last -
scupper has disap-
peared behind the
gate, the grown-ups
follow, and discover
that scups are noth-
ing more nor less
than swings, and that a...-. ii 1.1I .
them are now in full l,.:..i. ... ...
with one boy, many w. rh ... h .il
positions possible for a i....., i .... I


to assume.
Passing this happy .:.- .....- ..... i.. i,...
rb_.il I T he picture. i1.i I. ... `: ..;
sea, with wings bigger tb-. ir i [ '-. t.1
all other poor children'- : ..l .... ll ii..., ....1,
in the long dining-room are now at work several
ladies, with Mrs. Holt at their head. They are
preparing lunch for the boys. What piles of
water-melon, clothes-baskets full of sandwiches,-
adapted in size to a boy's appetite,-immense cans
of fresh milk, and rows of white mugs Pretty
soon there will be a curious scene here.
But now let us go through the house, into the
front yard, with its pleasant seats under awnings,
where little invalids can get the sea air without
heat of the sun, and, best of all, its lovely sea-view,
with gently sloping beach and stretched ropes,
where troops of poor little girls have bathed and
danced, and shouted. Looking up the beach,
Coney Island appears, with its hotels, and towers,
and flags; and looking down, past the distant view
of many piles of clothes on the bank, and many
heads bobbing about in the water, the two forts
guarding the entrance to New York harbor.
After a while there comes a sound of voices, and
a long procession marching toward the dining-room.


Let us see how these experienced ladies manage it


'.U




I .

-
S" )+ <


.1


r -
.,

'~~ <'-


.5


. r riot.
STi ,;iing-
S0.. r,. doors
.:I-,.. the
,,.1 each
,: ,.1. A.- the
ir..,_ :: ,i i en-
I. -r ,- floor,
L [p-:,.z be-


A BIG FOOT-BALL FOR LITTLE BOYS. teen to-bas-
kets of sandwiches, with ladies to serve them.
Each boy coming in receives the food, and at
once passes on, through the room, to the other
side of the house.
There the rough street training comes out; as
soon as the boy gets through the door, he starts
on a run around the house, to join the line again,
and get another sandwich. But the managers
know all these little tricks, and at each passage
stands a man who orders the young "repeaters"
back. So the hungry, happy fellows crowd to-
gether, and have to devour their bread and meat
peaceably in the front yard.
No sooner is it swallowed than gates are forced
open, or fences climbed, and before one can wink
fifty boys' heads appear on the surface of the water
below.
Here shouts one. This is n't the place to
bathe. You' must n't go in here!" But, alas!
too late,-they are in, and a good frolic they have


4.


-1-


A. .1


i-


''
I







A SUMMER HOME FOR POOR CHILDREN.


for a half-hour, till the magic word lunch" salutes The next course-in lunch-is water-melon, and
their ears. Then, in a twinkling, rags and duds over the low half-door dozens of hungry faces have
are huddled on, and the boys, hungrier than been hanging, with longing eyes turned toward the
before, join the procession forming for another immense pans of cut melon, each piece a big semi-
march through the dining-room, circle-cool, tempting and beautiful, with its rich


A HAPPY MELON PARTY.


The former scene is repeated, and now each one
has had four slices of bread and two of meat.
Again the '"scups have a turn, two or three boys
in each, and the croquet balls get some hard
knocks, the bean-bags take extraordinary flights,
and the trees are full of clambering boys hunting
for fruit; another rush is made to the great salt
bath-tub outside, and another fifty come out some-
what cleaner, and much merrier.


pink and green. But the word goes round, and
the third time the eager procession comes in.
Perhaps you think that to give two hundred
boys each a piece of melon, two hundred pieces are
enough, but the old hands, used to the business,
always provide two hundred and fifty. Water-
melon is a treat, and so sly and so ill-taught are
these young rogues, that they will take a piece with
the right hand, hide it behind their back, and put


652


[JUNE,







A SUMMER HOME FOR POOR CHILDREN


the left hand out on the other side for a second
piece.
It is funny to stand outside and see the boys come
out; some with their melon already eaten, a.l I
ready to throw the rind,-which seems to be h ill
the fun,-and others with theirs carefully hoarc...
till they can sit down. The common way of e.1 -
ing is to cram it down, the quicker the bett...
They eat as if they were used to having their fc.-. I
snatched away, and perhaps they are,-poor bo,:
The last course is now announced,--peach.:.
cake and milk. Once more the long line pas...
through the room, but more slowly, for each ch.! I
has a peach, a cake, and a mug of milk which I:
has to drink before passing on.
Soon after this, the order is for "home,"
and the long string passes through the gate-
way with cheers and good-bys, and is soon
packed into the waiting cars and whirled off
to the city again.
This delightful charity is under the careful
management of the Children's Aid Society,
with Mr. Charles L. Brace -" the children's
Mr. Brace "-at its head. There seems to be
no limit to his noble work in behalf of poc.i
children. The Society, of which he is the found: Ii
and leader, has for years been turning young li :
from poverty and even degradation, into paths .
usefulness and happiness. All over the great
West can be found to-day, honorable hard-working
young men who were taken from city docks and
streets by the Society; and every year it sends new


crowds of boys
It has its school
Ind nff-n clothp


i -. I I
-, i"
~ l ,














-'
** ": '-,- ..

/-/,, ^.'./.-


to good country homes.
s, where dinners,
.c r prn *irlh d

+.+ --
.' .



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-* t



-I. I'_ *r.

. -'ii ,u: 1 i r II: r


:I 1 1 1 ,, ,I. .... i :i ..l. ,
I:' h l iii I -IIIpI Ii.,i ,. I I' -
all supported by the chanty of
BEFORE BREAKFAST. kind-hearted people, and it
could help twice as many children if it had twice
as much money.


653






THE AIRPORT NINE.




WILD-FLOWERS.

BY MARGARET BOURNE.


A TINY vase of tangled flowers,
Clover and daisies white,
Stands on the table at my side:
A very common sight.


.
\ -


We shared the gift: her little hand
Arranged these blossoms wild,
And placed them here, where now they stand,-
My precious little child!







THE AIRPORT NINE.

By NOAH BROOKS.


CHAPTER III.

THE HOUSE ON STILTS.
THE Black family lived in one of the houses on
stilts. There was no good reason why there
should have been any houses on stilts in Fair-
port. There was land enough everywhere to
furnish room for the building of houses on the
solid ground; yet, here, at the edge of the harbor
and overhanging a steep bank, supported by tall,


upright timbers, just like stilts, were built four
houses. They were the delight of boys who were
so unfortunate as to live in less picturesque dwell-
ings. From the rear windows one could drop a
fishing-line directly into the water, at high tide,
and from these windows the tenants were accus-
tomed to. throw all the refuse and slops which less
favorably situated people were obliged to carry out
of doors. Then, too, from these same windows
the boys who lived within could, at low tide, drop


[JUNE,


But to my eyes they have a grace
Unknown to blossoms rare,
Because I see the sunny face
Of her who placed them there.

I hear again the little feet,
Bounding in childish glee;
I hear the voice, so dear and sweet,
Say, Pretty flowers See "

"And they are all for you !" she said,
Her face a radiant sight,
She raised her eyes, then drooped her head,
I want to be polite."

" May be you 'd be politer, too,"
She lisped with questioning gaze,
" If you would give me back a few,
Mamma, for my own vase."






THE AIRPORT NINE.




WILD-FLOWERS.

BY MARGARET BOURNE.


A TINY vase of tangled flowers,
Clover and daisies white,
Stands on the table at my side:
A very common sight.


.
\ -


We shared the gift: her little hand
Arranged these blossoms wild,
And placed them here, where now they stand,-
My precious little child!







THE AIRPORT NINE.

By NOAH BROOKS.


CHAPTER III.

THE HOUSE ON STILTS.
THE Black family lived in one of the houses on
stilts. There was no good reason why there
should have been any houses on stilts in Fair-
port. There was land enough everywhere to
furnish room for the building of houses on the
solid ground; yet, here, at the edge of the harbor
and overhanging a steep bank, supported by tall,


upright timbers, just like stilts, were built four
houses. They were the delight of boys who were
so unfortunate as to live in less picturesque dwell-
ings. From the rear windows one could drop a
fishing-line directly into the water, at high tide,
and from these windows the tenants were accus-
tomed to. throw all the refuse and slops which less
favorably situated people were obliged to carry out
of doors. Then, too, from these same windows
the boys who lived within could, at low tide, drop


[JUNE,


But to my eyes they have a grace
Unknown to blossoms rare,
Because I see the sunny face
Of her who placed them there.

I hear again the little feet,
Bounding in childish glee;
I hear the voice, so dear and sweet,
Say, Pretty flowers See "

"And they are all for you !" she said,
Her face a radiant sight,
She raised her eyes, then drooped her head,
I want to be polite."

" May be you 'd be politer, too,"
She lisped with questioning gaze,
" If you would give me back a few,
Mamma, for my own vase."






THE AIRPORT NINE.


a handful of stones, or a bucket of water, on the
head of the casual passenger beneath. Such
advantages as these were fully appreciated by the
boys of Fairport, every one of whom envied Sam
Black the extraordinary facilities for fun which he
had in one of the houses on stilts.
In the house at the end of the row, next to the
path which led down to the shore from the village
street, dwelt the father and mother of Sam


Thankful Snow, then the only colored woman in
those parts. The fugitive slave from Brazil was
known as Tumble Black, nobody knew why, but
it is likely that his queer first name was a faint
echo of his African name. In his life of slavery
he was only known as Mumbo, a name which was
so hateful that he dropped it as soon as he was a
free man. The one only child of Tumble and
Thankful Black was Sam, originally named


THE HOUSE ON STILTS.


Black. Nobody knew the real name of the
paternal Black. It is not likely that he knew
it himself. When he was a young lad, he had
been stolen from the coast of Africa and sold
into slavery in Brazil. Employed about the coffee
warehouses of Rio de Janeiro, he managed to
conceal himself on board of a Fairport brig loading
there, and so was brought to Maine, where he
found a wife on Plum Island, in the person of


Samuel Peleg Black, thus bearing, as a token of
his father's gratitude, the names of the first and
second mates of the brig Draco," in which craft
Tumble made his escape from South American
slavery.
The houses on stilts were inhabited by the
families of men who followed the sea as foremast
hands, or who were the :i'--,;-.i :,. wood-
sawyers and wharf-keepers of the port. Tumble


655






THE AIRPORT NINE.


Black was whitewasher, wood-sawyer, and musician.
In the Fairport Guards' Band, consisting of bass-
drum and fife, Tumble played the fife; and very
well he played it, too. He likewise played a
French horn, chiefly for his own amusement.
And on calm and still nights, when the moon was
at her full, people on the water, gliding up the
harbor, sometimes rested on their oars to listen to
the melancholy notes of Tumble's horn as they
floated over the bay from the window where he
usually sat and poured out his soul in plaintive
strains. A lady from Boston once said she
thought that he was playing a lament for the lost
land and home of his youth on Afric's coral strand.
Old Tumble was a prime favorite with the
boys. He not only knew all the things about the
sea, and shore, and the woods, which a boy
admires in anybody, but he was full of strange and
mysterious information about charms and witch-
craft. It was said and believed that he could
charm a bird from off a tree by a wild and peculiar
whistle which he produced by making a sort of
pipe of his thick lips. And it was notorious that
he could bring the fish out of the sea by a motion
of his hand. If this was not so, how else could
any one account for his wonderful luck in fishing at
times when nobody but he could catch anything?
When the fishermen of the port came in, empty-
handed and discouraged, old Tumble would put
out in the bay for a little while, alone, and come
back in the nightfall with a great haul of cod,
haddock and hake. The fishermen shook their
heads, and, glancing up at the house on stilts,
would say that it war n't for no good that old
Tumble-bug has been singing to himself out on
the bay, after dark. "
The old man was full of story and anecdote
about his youthful life in Africa. He lived, he
said, near a great river which was called Quorra,
and when some of the boys looked into the map
of Africa and found that this was the native
name of the Niger, they felt as if they had dis-
covered the river for themselves. Old Tumble,
also, delighted his small hearers with scraps of the
dialect which was his native language. He had
well-nigh forgotten the words which he had used
when he was a youngster in his own land, so over-
laid were they with Spanish, Portuguese and
English; but the boys of Fairport were delighted
to talk enough Congo to mystify the older people.
To ask for bread as "bomba, and for water
as "slee, or to say that they were "gaigai"
when they were hungry, was very great fun for
these young linguists. Sam, it should be added,
did not seem to take kindly to these little reminis-
cences of his father's past life. His own language
was as pure as that of any of his playfellows, who,


I am sorry to say, used more slang than Sam did.
But, as has been intimated, Sam had all of his
father's knowledge of the secrets of the sea and
the wilderness. He was never thought to be able
to charm the fish or the birds, but he was on more
friendly terms with these shy creatures than any
other boy in Fairport.
Old Tumble, too, had the reputation of being
what was called "a money-digger"; not that he
actually spent his time, or any part of it, in digging
for money, but it was supposed that he could tell,.
if he chose, how and where to dig for buried treas-
ure. Fairport was full of stories and traditions of
buried pots and chests of money-the spoils of free-
booters and buccaneers who once sailed the seas,.
and who put in to these lonely harbors to hide in
the earth their i!- ..... ,i gains. It was believed by
many people that there was a magic by which hid-
den treasure could be found, if only one knew how
to use the magic. There were charms, divining-
rods, and various species of witchcraft, all more or
less requiring the aid of necromancy, by which
money hidden in the ground, or in the sea, could
be discovered. It was always necessary that such
a search should be made in the darkest of the night,.
when no moon was shining, when the tide was out,
and when the planets in the heavens were in a
peculiar position as to the fixed stars. Nobody
knew just how all these signs were to be observed,
but if any man did know, it was supposed that old
Tumble was that man. He was black; he had
been born in a land where magic, necromancy and
the black art were understood, if anywhere. So,
by general consent, it was agreed that if old Mr.
Black chose to tell, he could guide anybody to hid-
den treasures of Captain Kidd and the rest of the
bold buccaneers who hid their money in the carthi
and never came back for it. Nobody seemed to
think that if old Tumble, who had had a hard time-
in the world because of his poverty, could find the
lost treasures for others, he could find them for
himself; and yet he had never been lucky enough
to find anything more valuable than an old copper
plate, bearing a Latin inscription, and supposed to
be a relic of the French Jesuit mission, established
here in the seventeenth century, when the Sieur
D'Aulney ruled this land under General Razillai.
Billy Hetherington, sitting in the sunny kitchen
of the house on stilts and looking over the bay,
often wondered if old Tumble could really raise-
ghosts and spirits, as the gossips said he could..
But he never mustered up the courage to ask him,
nor even to ask his crony, Sam, for he saw that
such a question would not please the boy, who had
none of the superstitions of the ignorant ..i. .. -
men and toilers of the sea. Once, taken off his
guard by his strong imagination, Billy, seeing Sam's,


656


[JUNE,






THE AIRPORT NINE.


657


father put an odd-looking frying-pan on the fire, no storm-pan; at least, not that I know of, and
asked: Is that your storm-pan?" This was an they are bad and wicked people who have filled
unfortunate question. There was a foolish belief your head with such nonsense as that. "
among the sailors of the bay that old Tumble had Billy felt reproved, and he was very much
a pan by which he could raise a storm at any time, relieved when old Tumble took down his fife and


TUMBLE BLACK.


by merely putting it on the fire; and when Billy
asked the old man if that was the storm-pan,
he put into words the idle superstition which had
led many a man, when out in a gale at night,
to complain, Old Tumble has got on his storm-
pan."
Black looked angrily at the boy for a moment,
and Sam turned away his face, as if in reproach.
But the old man's features softened in an instant,
and he said, "No, my little gentleman, there is


played for him an African melody, sad and wild,
which, he explained, had been taught him by his
mother, in their old home, years and years ago,
and which he had not forgotten and could not
forget. "Sometimes, when the fishermen hear
this tune," he said, "they think that I am doing
something to charm away the fish from the seine,
or to bring on a spell of bad weather. If they
knew how my poor old mother, dead and gone, I
s'pose, these many years, learned me this tune,







THE AIRPORT NINE.


they would laugh at themselves because they are
so foolish."
Emboldened by the old man's burst of confi-
dence, Billy had the courage to say And they do
say, Mr. Black, that you know how to dig for
buried money, and how to find a spring of water
that is hid in the ground."
"All nonsense, child, all nonsense. Nobody
knows where to dig for hidden treasure, unless he
has been told where it is. Anybody can dig if he
knows where to dig."
"And can't you find springs of water? My
father said you can."
"Yes, child, I can find a spring of water, pro-
viding the dew is off the grass, and it is airly
morning, and my divining-rod is in tune." And
here the old man took down a green wand of
witch-hazel, forked at one end. Holding it with
one prong in each hand, he added, And when I
walk over the ground, holding this upright, so, I
can see it bend down whenever I pass over a spring
hid in the ground. But the dew must be off of
the grass, and the sun be up, but not up too high."
Sam was a little impatient at this, and he signed
to Billy to go out with him on the beach below.
"That is mighty curious, Sam, is'nt it?" said
Billy, as he skipped a stone across the waves. I
wish I had a divining-rod, I would find a spring
nearer our camp in the fort pasture. O say, Sam,"
he exclaimed, a bright idea striking him, suppose
you get your father to go down back of the fort,
some day, when the dew is off the grass, and the
sun is not too high, and have him find a spring
for us; it is so far to go for water to the gully
from the camp, every time we go a-Maying."
Sam dug his bare black toe thoughtfully in the
sand before he replied.
"Well, you see, Billy, I don't think that your
mother would like to have any such doings, for
she is awful particular, you know, about stationss
.and things. Don't you remember how mad she
was at you and me for listening to old Ma'am
Heath's stuff about .i; in _; for money in the full
of the moon, down behind the block-house ? "
This was a sore point with Billy, for he had been
:seriously reasoned with by his mother when he had
,come home, full of a new project for money-dig-
ging, in which he and Sam were to be aided by
Vene Snowman, a step-son of Ma'am Heath, the
village seeress. They were to find a toad with
seven warts on his back, a field-sparrow with seven
white feathers in his tail, and procure a crooked
four-pence-ha'penny, and seven tallow candles,
and several other things, and Vene, whose full
name was Sylvanus, was to be prompted by his
step-mother with all the information needed to
find where Captain de la Tour hid his money


behind the block-house hill, when he was driven
away from Acadia and never came back again. It
was darkly whispered that the old Captain did
come back on stormy nights, in the time of the
spring tides, when the storm winds blew shrilly
over the peninsula, and when the night sky was
full of wild-driving clouds. At such times, it was
said, the old Captain might be seen by anybody
who was brave enough to be out in such a night,
walking among the spruce-trees behind the block-
house hill, muttering to himself, "Where did I
put it? Where did I put it?"
But, as nobody ever was brave enough to go out
to the lonely spruce-covered hill, on such a wild
night as I have described, nobody ever did see the
ghostly captain. Neither did anybody ever hunt
in earnest for the treasure which he was supposed
to have buried there.
The expedition of Vene Snowman, Billy and
Sam failed, because of an interdict put on it by
Mrs. Hetherington. And when Sam's mother
caught him hiding three tallow candles under his
jacket (these being his contribution to the money-
digging outfit), and made him confess what he was
about, she took him by the ear and led him into
the little bedroom overlooking the bay, and told
him that he should not stir a step out of the house
until it was time for him to go to the pasture after
Judge Nelson's cow. And, a prisoner there all the
bright afternoon, he was tantalized by the sight of
Billy on the beach below, wondering why Sam,
looking out of the window, frantically motioned him
to go away, but would give no answer to his oft-
repeated whistle-call. And all this was reason
enough why both boys should remember that there
was somebody who did not approve of their having
anything whatever to do with incantations and other
such nonsense.
Nevertheless, Billy secretly resolved that he
would find some of Captain Kidd's money when he
grew up, if it was anywhere buried on the Fairport
peninsula.
CHAPTER IV.

THE HOUSE ON THE HILL.

MRs. HETHERINGTON was a tall and stately
lady, of whom all the boys of Fairport stood in
great awe. She never told Billy to put wood on
the fire, but said: "William, you may replenish
the fire." Nor was she ever known to refer to
Billy's uncle, old Reuben Stover, who lived "off
the Neck," as a rich farmer. To her, at least, he
was an opulent ,. 1i.'i ;:1 And the intimacy
which existed between Billy and Sam Black was,
according to her, a distressing social complication
with a young person of color." If Mrs. Hether-


,658


[JUN,






THE AIRPORT NINE.


ington had not been famed through all the region
around Fairport for her kindness to the poor, her
unfailing charity to the sick and the distressed, and
for her truly wonderful doughnuts, made by her
own white and aristocratic hands, these peculiarities
would have been insufferable. But no man nor
woman who knew-as everybody did-of her great
goodness, could think twice of her exceeding fastid-
iousness. And no boy who once tasted of those
admirable doughnuts, which were given with a
liberal hand, could be brought to think that the
lady who made them, and gave them away, was
anything but a perfect woman. Sam Perkins was
wont to say, with a certain appearance of shame-
facedness, Those are better doughnuts than my
mother makes, but then, my mother makes the
best cup-cakes of anybody in the world." This was
a great tribute to the genius of Mrs. Hetherington.
The Hetherington house stood on the hill
crowned by the old fort. One of the Hetherington
ancestors, in the Revolutionary war, had been a
general, and he had been brought back here by the
British, to his own town, while they held possession
of it, and had been imprisoned in the barracks in
the fort. The story of his escape and flight across
the country to the Penobscot river, accompanied by
Captain Wadsworth, an ancestor of one of the
greatest of American poets, may be read in the
chronicles of Fairport. The home of Billy Hether-
ington was embellished with many curious relics of
those old days. There were the silver-mounted
pistols, brought from France, which the Revolu-
tionary hero carried in the holsters of his saddle,
and there hung over the mantel-piece the identical
sword which General Knox, Washington's trusty
lieutenant, gave General Hetherington, with the
remark that no braver man than he ever drew
sword in defense of his country's liberties. And in
a big mahogany press upstairs, an heirloom in the
family, hung the blue coat faced with buff, and the
buff knee-breeches, which the great man wore for
his uniform when he was at the head of his troops.
The boys of Fairport, admitted to the Judge's
library when that awful personage was absent, and
Billy had the courage to pilot them in, gazed with
awe and admiration on a portrait of Brigadier-
General Hetherington, a tremendous person, indeed,
clad in full uniform, wearing a haughty look and a
long queue, or pigtail, tied with a bow of black
ribbon. It was said that the Hetherinrgton family
burned incense before this work of art, night and
morning, but I do not believe this; and it is certain
that the old hero stared at the opposite wall with a
fixed and stony gaze, entirely unmindful of the
admiration of the boys and of the Hetherington
family.
In the days of which I am writing, slavery still


existed in a portion of the United States, and it
had not been long since some of the people who
then lived in Maine could say that they had seen
people who had owned slaves in New England.
And there were dark hints that some of the ances-
tors of Mrs. Hetherington, whose name was Stover,
had made a great deal of money by bringing slaves
from the coast of Africa to Oldport, Rhode Island,
where they were landed secretly, years and years
ago, when slave-trading and smuggling were
regarded with so much abhorrence that nobody
liked to be caught at it. In the library of the
Hetherington mansion was a small collection of
queer things from the coast of Africa, a stuffed
parrot, a shield of wire-grass, a knobby club of
iron-wood, and a frightful-looking spear. These,
ranged against the north wall of the room, like a
trophy of arms, were supposed by some to have
been part of the spoil of the African captives
brought from their native land by that wicked and
remote ancestor of Billy Hetherington, known as
"the Black Stover."
None of the Stover family before Mrs. Hether-
ington had ever lived in the house on the hill.
They had lived in an old and tall house on Main
street, and a straightening of the street, years ago,
had so changed the location of that house that it
was no longer used as a place of residence by any-
body. Once, in the more prosperous times of
Fairport, a portion of the Stover house had been
occupied as a carpenter's shop. But the carpenter
was dead and gone, the windows of his shop were
boarded up, and timid children, looking in through
the chinks of the boarding, saw, or thought they
saw, strange shapes and monstrous things within,
partly revealed by the few straggling rays of sun-
light that found their way inside. And at night,
only the bravest of the small boys of Fairport
dared to pass on the side of the street where the
old Stover house stood. There were stories that
" Black Stover" had buried money in the cellar of
the old house, and that, on certain nights in the
year, at the time when the nights were the longest
and the days were the shortest and coldest, the
ghost of "Black Stover" used to come and try to
find where his ill-gotten wealth was buried. This
fable delighted and horrified the smaller children
very much, and they were never tired of hearing
about the shade of the wild sea-rover and of his
vain attempts to find his hidden treasure.
But, though some of the tragic romance of
"Black Stover was found about the Hetherington
house on the hill, there was a look about the man-
sion which was so wholesome and hearty that
nobody could long remember the idle stories of the
gossips when the real comfort of the Hetherington
place was in view. The tall Lombardy poplars,


288o.]


659






THE AIRPORT NINE.


that stood like sentries in front of the house, the
trim flower-garden inside the palings, bright with
hollyhocks, marigolds and china asters, and the
long rows of red and black currant bushes that
stretched in the rear of the mansion, and the lilacs
and seringas that were clumped together before
the front windows, were not at all suggestive of
anything so uncanny as the uneasy ghost of a dead
and gone slave-trader. It was a fine old home,
and we may well wonder why Mrs. Hetherington
should be afraid that her son Billy should like any
other place so much better as to be I11,,- to live
elsewhere. But it did really seem as if she thought
that Billy would, some day, go off into the wide,
wide world with Sam, the colored fielder of the
Fairport Nine. It seemed strange that the poor
mother should worry so about her boy; but if
Blackie had been a rapscallion, instead of the
bright and well-behaved youngster he was, Billy's
mother could not have been more troubled about
her son's intimacy with the only black boy in the
village.
"Why, mother," Billy would say, I don't see
why you object to my playing with Blackie.
Everybody says that he is the best of all the boys
in town, and the schoolmaster, only the other
day, said that he was facile frincefs in the school-
room, and in the woods and fields. I don't know
what facile frincefs means, but I know it must be
something good, for Old Potter thinks Blackie is a
bully boy, I am sure. He's always praising him
up to the rest of us fellows."
My son! my son! what slang! Have I not
frequently told you that these low associations
would so debase your character and conversation
that your family would be ashamed of you."
Mrs. Hetherington did not object to Billy's play-
ing with poor Sam, but she did object to his being
so much with the black boy. And so when Billy
went out into the back-yard, murmuring to himself,
and puzzled as to the reason of his mother's aver-
sion to Sam, who was the most entertaining boy in
the whole place, to say nothing of the Fairport
Nine, he was a little glad to see the object of his
thoughts sitting on the fence which skirted the
Hetherington place next to the fort pasture.
"What's up, Sam ?" asked Billy.
I am," answered Blackie, sententiously.
Leastways, I am up on this fence, and two or
three of the boys are coming up to see us try the
walk on the ceiling."
The boys had been to a circus, lately shown in
North Fairport, and one of the attractions of the
performance had been the feat of Professor
Rinaldo Rinaldini, the human fly." This wonder-
ful man had contrived some apparatus by which
he had actually walked on the under side of a


plank flooring, head downward, like an enormous
two-legged fly, as Sam Perkins had remarked.
While the boys had been talking over this and
other admirable things which they had seen,
Blackie had kept up a deep thinking, and now
that the great base-ball match was over, he
announced that he was ready to do the feat as
good as the Professor."
Jo Murch and Sam Perkins soon scaled the
fence, and the four boys found the Lob in the
barn waiting for the arrival of the performers.
The mow was selected as the scene of operations.
I suppose all country boys know that the mow of a
real barn is the part of the barn which is fenced
off, as it were, from the rest by a deep screen,
or fence, or plank, nearly as high as the eaves of
the building. The upper part of this screen is
open, but the lower part is solid boarding or
planking. The mow, or, as some call it, the bay,
is filled with hay away up to the eaves, when the
hay crop is gathered in the fall. In the summer,
however, the mow is only partly full of hay, and it
is great sport to jump from the beams which cross
it, high in the roof, to the soft and fragrant hay
beneath. In the great barn of the Hetherington
place, it was a tremendous leap from the upper
beams to the top of the now half-filled hay-mow.
But Sam was equal to this, and Billy was never far
behind him.
On this occasion, however, leaping was not in
order. The game was higher. Professor Rinaldo
Rinaldini was to be imitated. Sam Black had
gathered all the martingale rings that he could
find, and selecting two of the stoutest of these,
he fixed them on the bottom of his bare feet, as
he would have fastened his skates, and he used
his skate-straps for this purpose. Buckling them
tight, he had a ring on the bottom of each foot,
strong enough to hold up a boy of twice his
weight; and Sam was not a very light boy, either.
Meantime, the other boys, under his direction,
had nailed along the under side of one of the
beams that crossed the hay-mow, high up in the
roof, several hooks, once used to drive into the
window-frames of the Stover house, to support the
blinds of that mansion, but now drawn out by the
ingenious Sam. These, driven about a foot apart
on the under side of the beam, were to hold Sam
on his voyage across, in his character as Professor
Rinaldo Rinaldini, the human fly.
Sam Perkins, being the captain of the Nine, was
not able to see this performance proceed without
his direction, so, as ring-master, he superintended
the driving of the hooks, and, having examined
the rings and skate-straps on Blackie's feet, to see
that they were all right and tight, he gave the
word of command:


660


[JUNE,






THE AIRPORT NINE.


Now, then, Professor Blinaldo Blinaldinio, you
will please mount the fiery and untamed hay-
mow."
Get me a couple of halters first," said Blackie.
The halters were brought, and Blackie, neatly
splicing them together, climbed up to the topmost
beam, and his halters were thrown up after him.
Then, placing the rope over the beam, he tied the
loose ends underneath, thus making what the
sailors call "the bight of the rope" below the
beam. Next, he slid cautiously down the rope,
and, throwing up his feet, he caught the ring on
his right foot into the first of the row of hooks.
Then he slipped the other-ring into the next hook,
let go of the rope, and was off on his walk across
the beam, head downward and feet in the air, pre-
cisely like Professor Rinaldo Rinaldini, the human
fly. The boys in the mow below felt their hearts
go up into their throats as they watched Sam
painfully move on from hook to hook.
"What if a hook should pull out? asked Billy,
with a sinking of the heart. He had not thought
it half so dangerous a feat until now, when he saw
his black crony hanging high in the air from those
rusty blind-hooks.
"Never you fear that," said Sam Perkins,
stoutly, but with a little quaver in his voice;" I
drove those hooks in, and I guess I know a thing or
two about driving things, 'specially when a fellow
is going to walk on them."
Hold on for dear life, professor of the human
fly!" shouted Jo Murch, unpleasantly, for he did
not like to see anybody do anything which he had
not himself done first. But Sam did not need
warning. He was now half-way across the dizzy
height, as it seemed to the boys, unused to any
very high places. At that point, a hitch occurred,
.one of the hooks being so much bent that it held
the ring firmly. The boys all shouted out their
advice at once, and Nance Grindle, hearing the
racket, came in through the cow-stable, and,


unperceived by the excited boys, gazed scornfully at
their antics. She was about to give her advice,
too, when Blackie disengaged his foot and passed
on his perilous journey. Slowly he worked his way
across, and in a few minutes more he was on the
other side, his left foot in the last hook at the end
of the beam, and his face against that side of the
barn. Here a new difficulty arose. Sam could not
get down The rope was at the farther end of the
beam. His feet could not be taken from the
hooks without letting him fall head foremost on the
hay, and that would certainly break his neck.
Sam Perkins, without knowing why, climbed the
joists leading up to the roof, like a cat, and there
Blackie hung helplessly in the air, unable to stir.
To let go with his feet was almost sure death, and to
stay longer, after such a hard feat, was impossible.
Then Nance Grindle, bouncing out of the stall
where she had been hidden, cried out:
"You, Sam Perkins Get up there and carry
Sam Black that rope on the other end of the beam!
Don't you know anything scarcely?"
Sam was already on the beam, and, without a
word, he took the rope, slid it along the beam to
Sam, who, grasping it with both hands, held him-
self firmly for an instant, then, pulling himself
upward, loosened his feet from the rings and, turn-
ing a somersault, dropped safely, feet first, into the
hay-mow below.
"That 's the luckiest escape I ever saw," said
Captain Sam, from the beam.
"Yes, and you had to have a gal tell you how
to get out of it," said Nancy, contemptuously, as
she flung out of the barn, half-provoked with her-
self for having been the means of getting Blackie
out of a bad predicament.
Ever so much obliged to you, Nance cried
Blackie, as the girl flew off.
No matter about anything," she replied, with-
out looking back. Then the boys sat down on the
hay and talked it all over.


r88o.]


(To be coinifued'.)






MORE CHRONICLES OF THE MOLBOS.


MORE CHRONICLES OF THE MOLBOS.*


THE LEGS.
A NUMBER of Molbos once sat down on the
ground in a circle, but when they wanted to get up
again, their legs were so intermingled that no one
could make out which were his. They remained,
therefore, sitting quietly, fully convinced that they
could never get up again. A traveler passing by,
they called him and asked him to tell them how
each man might find his own legs again. The
man first showed each one where his feet were,
and wanted him to draw up the legs and get up;
but as this only increased their confusion, he thought
of another remedy. He took his stick and struck
first one man smartly over his legs, then another,


I ,, ; ...j _
then a third, and so on. As soon as each man felt
the stroke, he became aware of which were his
legs, and moved them quickly out from the heap.

THE CHURCH BELL.
THE Molbos were once greatly scared by a report
that the enemy intended to invade their country,
and they determined to save what they could from
falling into the hands of the invaders. What they
prized most, and would save first of all, was their
church bell. After a great deal of trouble, they


succeeded in getting it down from the belfry; but
it was still harder to determine how and where it
should be hid away, so that the enemy should not
find it. At last, they agreed to sink it in the deep
ocean. They therefore dragged the bell down to
their big boat, rowed far out on the ocean, and
threw the bell overboard. After it had disappeared,
the good Molbos began to reflect, and said to each
other: The bell is now truly safe from the enemy,
but how are we to find it again when the enemy
has left us?" One of them, who thought himself
wiser than the rest, sprang up and cried: "That
is easy enough; all we have to do is to cut a mark
where we dropped it! He snatched a knife from


------ -I-- '. r 11- I ;.

his pocket and cut a deep notch in that side of the
boat where the bell had been thrown overboard,
and said: "It was here we threw it out! This
done, they rowed back, fully assured they would be
able to find the bell again by the mark.

THE WATCH.
WALKING along the road, the Molbos found a
watch, lost by some traveler. They took it up and
looked at it with the greatest surprise, as none of
them had ever seen such a queer thing. But sud-


* See ST. NICHOLAS for December, 1879, page i8o.


662


[JUNE,


/


,,i .. 1
S-- i






MORE CHRONICLES OF THE MOLBOS.


denly one of the party
noticed that a ticking sound
came from the inside of the
watch. He no sooner heard
it than he said that it must
be possessed by the Evil
Spirit, and, very much
frightened, he threw the
watch away. No one else
dared touch it. But the
oldest among them, more
plucky than the rest, bent
down and picked up a large
piece of rock and hammered
away at the watch until it
was entirely smashed, and
of course stopped beating.
Having performed this great
feat, the man kneeled down,
laid his ear to the watch to
listen if it ticked any more.
H -,, 11 ,.-.r.i- .1, proudly
said to the others: 'Do
you see,-did n't I teach
him to keep quiet ?" Then
they all rejoiced that they
had destroyed this enemy,
and went away, leaving the
watch on the ground.


663






SOMETHING ABOUT MUSICAL DUCKS.


SOMETHING ABOUT MUSICAL DUCKS.

BY MRS. R. SWAIN GIFFORD.











i _



--;. -j.... _- -_
...- c~-' --:- _
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, - ___-- = -_---. __ : : ..___-: _-.-. -


_ - '-_-' _ ==-'-- ---_ -' -- =- :.: _- -- -=


THE OLD SQUAW.


IN the autumn, when the birds are migrating,
we often see flocks of wild ducks swimming past
,our cottage, and there is one kind that we call
the musical duck, on account of a strange, wild call
that it has. It is like a fragment of a song, and if
you can strike these notes
*upon the piano-forte, --- -F .
you can know just how Ai--;i -- --*l-E
'the little tune sounds:
The fisher-boys say that the words are, He got
no gun." This is repeated over and over again,
especially if they catch sight of a man who might
have had a gun; and as we watch the little creatures
we can see them shaking their heads and hurrying
up to each other with the good news that really
S"He got no gun."
H ..iT""- When they do see
got- --- a gun, they dive
under water before
you can wink. No one ever sees them go,-you
,only see the place where they were a minute


before. Then what fun it is to watch the water
until they bob their heads out again !
The name given them by the people living
"along shore" is Old Squaw, and you must be
sure to pronounce it with the accent on the Old
and not on the Squaw, as if there might be plenty
of young squaws, perhaps, but very different
creatures from these ducks.
They are very shy birds, never coming near our
cottage until the noisy boys and girls, who have
played in the sand all summer long, have gone
away from the sea-shore, and are safely shut up in
school.
Their color is yellow, brown, black and white,
and thin white feathers hang over their black wings,
giving a very peculiar effect, as if the white plumes
were made of silver.
They sleep on the sand, with their heads tucked
under their wings, looking like balls of down; and,
when disturbed, hurry off to the sea, making the
sand fly in tieir efforts to escape.


664


[JUNE,







665


MARION'S STORY.




MARION'S STORY.

BY ELIZABETH W. DENISON.


OF course, Bunny was a rabbit. I don't know
why it is, but they never call cats or dogs Bunny,
do they?
Yes, he was a rabbit, and just as white as he
could be all over, except his eyes and the linings
of his ears. They were pink.
But he was wild, and never would be caught
nor held. Once, I remember, I was i.-.:;, him
with some little birch twigs. He liked them better
than anything else, and would come close up to
get them. Well, he was nibbling away as fast as
he could, and I thought it would be a good time to
tame him. So I put my hand on his back, and
patted him very softly.
The bad little thing He turned right around
with his back to me,-which was n't very polite,
you know,-and hopped off across the garden with
his long ears flapping. He did n't stop at all till
he was out of sight in the bushes by the brook.
But I think we liked him all the better, because he
would n't be held like the cats. For when he
would let us come near, it seemed such a favor!
And we could have the cats all the time, for there
were six of them.
But this is n't a cat story. It's a rabbit story,
and, oh yes !-a dog story, too.
For there was a dog,-a little, shiny, black fel-
low, named Trip. His real name was Triptole-
mus; but we never called him that, unless we were
angry with him.
There was a little red table in one corner of the
kitchen, and whenever we said in a loud, rebuking
tone: Triptolemus,-little table he would put
his tail between his legs, and hang down his head,
and crawl under that table to the very farthest
corner.
And then, if we said Good doggie, Trip," out
he would come, wagging his tail, and jumping up
on everybody. But that has n't anything to do
with the story; only, I wanted you to know that
Trip was really a nice dog. My brother, Ned,
used to call him a mongrel, and a cur of low
degree, whatever those are. But we children
thought he was just as good as if he had been a
great greyhound, or a Newfoundland dog, or a
fierce little terrier, always snapping at people.
No, Trip was a dear dog, and never did anything
bad but once in his life. And, O dear the! that's
what my story is about.
Trip liked to be petted, and he always would
growl when he saw us trying to coax Bunny with a
VOL. VII.-44.


bunch of twigs. He would look at us with such
funny bright eyes, as if he wanted to say: What
do you bother with that dreadful rabbit for, when
here I am, so black and handsome, and ready to
do anything for you?" Sometimes he would run
after Bunny, and chase him till the rabbit got into
some little hole or corner where he could n't be
found.
Well, we children went away over to Grandpa's
and spent a week. We had such a splendid time
that, when Father came for us, we did n't want to
go home. There were ever so many more things
we were going to do. I had just got on Gran'ma's
big apron; it was tied around my neck, and came
clear down to my feet. But this was n't all.
I was standing on a box by the kitchen table,
rolling out a great piece of dough. And it was
going to be cookies There were two cunning
little cutters, a heart and a star, and Gran'ma said
Susy and I might have all the cookies to carry
home. As for Sue, I don't believe you can imag-
ine what she was doing. She was at the other
end of the table, and had on a towel for an apron.
She was picking over raisins, and putting them in
a china bowl. Gran'ma told her to save out every
tenth one for us to eat when we got through our
work. The rest of them were going into a pudding
for dinner.
Of course, we could n't talk much; for Sue had
to count, and I was trying to get my sheet of dough
even, so that I could cut out the dear little hearts
and stars. But Sue did n't know how nice she
looked. I am going to say that, if she is my sister.
She was bending down over the raisins till her
curls almost touched the dish, and her cheeks were
like two red apples.
Her mouth was open a little, and she had a

funny way of putting out her tongue, the least bit,
when she was busy about anything. Once in a
while she looked up at me, and then we both
laughed. All at once a wagon drove into the yard.
I ran to the door, with my hands and face all
floury. They always laughed at me for getting
flour on my face, but somehow I could n't help it.
Well, I ran to the door, and there was Father !
In a minute Sue came out with her great towel
on, and Father took her up in his arms. I am four
years older than Sue, and, of course, it would be
perfectly ridiculous for Father to take me in his
arms. But I know he loves me just as well, and
sometimes he does hold me.






MARION'S STORY


Well, Father had come for us, and he could n't
wait. So Gran'ma put some raisins in a paper bag,
and promised to send the cookies by Uncle Jim.
And I put on my things, and Father put on Sue's,
and in about a minute we were in the wagon. I
climbed in myself first, and oh how they did laugh
at me !
For I was in such a hurry that I forgot to wash
my hands or take off my big apron. I put my sack
right on over it, and there the old thing was,
tangled at my feet, when I tried to climb over the


"TRIPTOLEMUS LOOKED


home. And as soon as he got there he ran into
the kitchen, and crawled under his little red table.
We wondered what made him behave so, but
there were so many other things to see, and we
were so glad to get home, that we forgot all about
him presently. There was Mother, and brother
Ned, and dear little lame brother Robbie.
He 's so patient and good, I ought to have told
you about him before, but I could n't.
Then out we scampered into the barn and garden.
Oh how those specks of piggies had grown. The


DREADFULLY ASHAMED."


wheel. And when I had put on my sun-bonnet, 1 cats were all around in different places, and did n't
had pushed my hair out of my eyes with my seem to care much about us, and Bunny-well,


floury hands.
As soon as we drove out of the yard, Father
looked around and said: :"Why, where is Trip?
He came with me." Then we all looked back, but
could n't see him. I called, "Good doggie,
Trip," and then I thought I heard a little noise
under the wagon.
I bent down so that I nearly tumbled over, to see
what it was. And, if you'll believe it, Trip was
there. He would n't come out at all, but kept
under the wagon as much as he could all the way


where was Bunny?
Sue and I called him and called him, till we began
to be afraid we never could say anything else. And
so I began to call Susy, and Susy began to call me,
for fear. But still we looked for Bunny, and went
down to the brook, by the birch-tree, and got the
nicest twigs and fresh leaves we could find.
We laid some of them all about in the barn,
hoping he would smell them and come out from
somewhere.
Then they called us to dinner, but we could n't


666


JUNE,







MARION'S STORY


eat much, and I kept asking Mother if she did n't
suppose Bunny had come by this time.
Come? No," said brother Ned; nobody has
seen him since day before yesterday."
Oh, dear! Susy and I took hold of hands, and
went and sat down on the barn-floor and cried.
Something dreadful had happened to him, and the
worst of it was that we did n't know what. And
there we had been having such a good time at
Grandpa's, just as if we did n't care at all.
I could n't bear to see the birch twigs lying there,
and we picked them all up as fast as we could, and
threw them into the pig-pen.
For what was the use !
We went into the house, and sat down, by Rob-
bie's big chair. Everybody always did when they
were sorry and felt badly. And Robbie began to
show us some chairs and a table that he had been
making for our big dollies, and we all got to talk-
ing, and the afternoon did n't seem so very long
after all.
When supper was over, Father said he was going
up on the hill to see about some sheep, and told
Sue and me to put on our bonnets and come with
him. We always liked to go with Father, and that
walk to the hill was the best of all, for there were
so many things to see.
There was a path near the edge of a very high
bank that went down to the river. The earth and
stones were always shelving off and f lih_, down
like avalanches. Once Father took fast hold of my
hand, and let me push off some stones with. my
foot. But he said we never must go near the edge
when he was n't there. And we could look away
down and see brother Ned's island covered with
grape-vines, and the school-house, and lots of
thin gs.
Pretty soon we began to hear the sheep baa-ing,
and when they saw Father they baa-ed louder than
ever. They made such a noise that Susy and I
thought we would go on farther. For I heard a
lady tell Mother once that when people were in
trouble, they liked to be quiet. And if we were n't
in trouble I don't know who ever was. There was a
great field next to the sheep that had been plowed
before we went away. I should have liked nothing
better than to walk on the little hills and valleys,


and see what strange new kinds of bugs and things
had been uncovered by the plow.
But 1 was taking care of Susy, and I knew Mother
would n't like to have her there. So we stood at
the bars looking in at the field.
What is that white thing, away off in the corner,
that looks like a piece of paper? said Susy. I saw
it, too, but I thought it looked more like a feather
than a piece of paper.
Father was just coming from the sheep, and he
said he would go and see. We watched him as he
went with great long steps over the field. Then
we saw him stoop down a minute, and then he
began to laugh.
Oh, dear he's the best Father that ever was, but
I don't know what he laughed for. He scratched
the earth away, and then held up something big
and white.
'"Oh," whispered Sue, putting her little hands
together, Bunny /"
I forgot all about Sue and Mother and everything.
I climbed over that stone wall and was across the
field in a jiffy.
Poor Bunny He was n't very clean, of course,-
nobody could be with dirt all over them that way.
But I did n't care.
I took him right in my arms and carried him
home. I felt all the way as if it was wrong for me to
hold him, for I knew how he never would be held
when he was alive. And going down the hill Father
said that Trip,-just think of it, our Trip !-must
have killed him and put him there.
If you could have seen Trip you would have
thought so, too.
He stayed under his little table, with his nose
in the corner, nearly all the time. And he looked
dreadfully ashamed.
It was some comfort to have Bunny in a pretty
grave, right in the middle of a flower-bed. I think
he liked violets and honeysuckles.
There was a clean new shingle with his name on
it, that Robbie painted, at one end, and a white
stone that I found in the brook, at the other.
All that brother Ned did to help me in my
trouble was to ask, "Why don't you have a muff
made of his fur? "
A muff, indeed!







MY DEAR OLD FRIENDS.


MY DEAR OLD FRIENDS.

BY ALICE WOOD.


HERE they are in this old, low book-case,
opposite the broad, sunny window-our books.
I do not mean the family books,-poetry, history,
novels,-ranged upon the shelves down stairs,
though many of them are my true friends now and
will be my true friends always. I am speaking of
those which were called, years ago, "The Chil-
dren's Books," and which I love to-day because I
loved them then. Our books-for on many a
merry Christmas they came to all of us, to Jeanie,
Kate and me.
Let us see whether any of your friends and mine
are the same.
Poor old Robinson Crusoe! I went through much
sorrow for him. It was very safe and bright in our
parlor, and I, a wee girl, sat close by Mother's knee,
and listened, with breathless interest, while Kate
read his story aloud; but afterward, when I lay in
my bed, in the dark, how my heart ached for
him !
My dear Swiss Family Robinson! You, in your old
worn cover, call up only pleasant memories. Many
an anxious thought you gave me, but never a throb
of pain. My days on that island were all happy
ones, and Fritz, and Jack and Ernest could hardly
have felt more interest than I in Tent House and
Falcon's Nest.
Here is Rosamond,-kind, good friend!-and
Sunbeam Stories," with the real heart's sunshine
in them.
How I used to delight in these "Wonderful
Tales" Sometimes when I see a pale flower fad-
ing, or one looking as though it had an exquisite
secret hidden away in its rosy cup, or, in summer


twilight, when a toad goes hopping by in his even-
ing walk, I wish for Hans Christian Andersen to
tell me their story. "The Nightingale," "The
Ugly Duck," The Little Mermaid "-they haunt
my memory like strains of lovely music.
My beautiful, loving Undine, and poor, sad Sin-
tram Only just now when the red light
shone upon my wall, I thought of the Pilgrim's
song.
But we shall not have time to speak of all, though
there are many that we might talk over; so let us
only take a few which I used to love the best.
This book bears on its blank leaf: "Alice; from
Father." Dear Father, you little knew what you
were bringing to your daughter, on that evening
long ago, when you brought home Ministering
Children" from-town. You brought me happy
hours among the green English fields and in the
cottages of thevillagers, for it was like living in the
beautiful quiet country with little Rose and Mercy;
pleasant-times at the Farm with Farmer Smith's
family, sympathy in their troubles, and gladness on
that glad day when William rode Black Beauty
home. More than all, you brought me love for
Herbert Clifford and his sister. When, in the
still summer night, death came to the sweet young
lady at the Hall, I felt as though my best friend,
too, were gone. I mourned with the villagers; my
heart was very sore for Herbert. I did earnestly
resolve that I would be a better girl, that I, too,
would try and be a ministering child. If I failed
sadly, the fault was in me, not in the pure, sweet
book. I would have others'read it, and do better.
Do you not love "The Wide, Wide World"?


[JUNE,


~i~o~8~8~BBSah~wk~


Bi
M 5-


x~I
,i


.-e
L'~
'


jr..q tt&i
611tW






MY DEAR OLD FRIENDS.


I think some of the best influences of my life were
breathed forth from those two faded green volumes.
I wonder if you followed Ellen: IT -. ..... through
her trials and pleasures with the intense interest
that I felt. My life had more sorrow than rejoicing
when I was with her; but the happy times were so
very happy, and I was content only to be with her,
and Alice and John. Oh! did not Aunt Fortune
make your blood boil many times, and did you not
always feel a sense of glad release when, in the
bright afternoon, the work was at last finished, and
Ellen free to speed up the mountain-path to Alice?
Do you remember the visit to Mrs. Vawse, the
walk home through the snow-storm, and the cheer-
ful gleam of Mr. Van Brunt's lantern? The Bee
was as great a novelty to me as to Ellen, and
Christmas at Ventnor seemed very pleasant; but the
lovely, quiet times at the Parsonage, in the sitting-
room with the glass door-they were the happiest.
In those old times, a story had to seem very real
to bring the tears to my eyes, but, when the days of
trouble came, 1 did cry with Ellen. I could not
bear to have Alice die. The white house seemed
very desolate without her. When the bitterness of
many partings had been gone through, and Ellen
was far away in Scotland, I, too, was homesick
and heart-sick to think of the moonlight streaming
through the glass door into the empty sitting-room.
My Ellen! I thought I loved you truly. Why
did I not love you well enough to follow then in
your small footprints, copy then your gentleness
and patience, and try to do my duty as well as you
did yours ?
This worn, brown book in the corner is one of
my truest friends. I never look at it without wish-
ing that I were braver and better. I am sure you
love it just as well as I; I am sure you gave Tom
Brown your warm and ready sympathy through all
those School Days," dark and bright. Through
















I ,'ll '


the perils and adventures which he.and Harry East
shared together, through the trials and victories of
that better time, when, thanks to the Doctor and
Arthur, the tide turned," and Tom took the side
of Right, up to the chapter in which, the brave and
worthy captain of the Eleven, he plays his last
match at Rugby. And were you not truly glad
that he grew up such a noble fellow? Did it not
give you a tender and reverent admiration for
Doctor Arnold? Did you not sincerely thank
Thomas Hughes for writing such a book?
Sometimes, when everything seems to be going
wrong, and I feel tired and discouraged, if I chance
to pass by the book-case, I stop and open the brown
doors, and look, for a moment, at my friends stand-
ing quietly there. I need not take down a single
volume; the old backs speak to me. The beauti-
ful old days come back to me. The voices that
whispered to me then of lovely, lofty things, breathe
to me now encouragement and cheer: Be strong!
Try again to be good." And I go down stairs,
feeling comforted.
Dear, I want to say something to you. You
read many books-Mrs. Whitney's, Miss Alcott's,
and numberless others. If you would receive from
them the good they have to give you, take the
lessons they teach to yourself, into your own heart.
Be good and pure, like Faith Gartney; unselfish,
like Leslie Goldthwaite; true to what you know to
be right, like the Marches. Struggle with your
faults as bravely as Tom Brown fought his school-
foes first and his temptations afterward. It is, it
must be, a struggle; but you can, if you will.
Then, when you stand some day, as I do, before
your old books, it will be with no sad ii..,. 1.1 of
what might have been, if you had carried out the
good impulses they awakened; but gladly, grate-
fully, saying: "They were true friends. They
helped me to be good."



S .


. 880o.


669





























































































THE MASTIFF.





FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.


ABOUT A BIG DOG.

SOME boys and girls are ver-y much a-fraid of a big dog," but there is
not al-ways a good rea-son for this. While some big dogs are cross
and sav-age, there are oth-er large fel-lows who are as gen-tle as any lit-tle
dog who ev-er wag-ged a tail. And there are small dogs, such as bull-dogs,
who are oft-en very say-age in-deed.
The New-found-land is one of the most com-mon of our large dogs. You
know what a big, shag-gy fel-low he is, and how he likes to go in-to the
wa-ter, and swim a-bout.
Then there are man-y big dogs which are used for hunt-ing, such as
hounds and set-ters and point-ers, though some of these are not ver-y large.
Blood-hounds are a-mong the ver-y big-gest dogs. They are ver-y strong
and sav-age, and are some-times used as watch-dogs where there are
large yards to be guard-ed. The St. Ber-nard is an-oth-er ver-y large
dog. You may have heard how some of them have saved the lives of
peo-ple lost in the deep snow.
But the big dog which I am go-ing to tell a-bout is a mas-tiff, and there
is a pict-ure of him on the oth-er page. There are not man-y mas-tiffs in
this coun-try, and I nev-er saw but one. But in Eng-land there are a great
man-y of them, and they are al-ways watch-dogs.
There is no bet-ter watch-dog in the world than a mas-tiff. He is not a
ver-y hand-some fel-low, but he is ver-y brave, and has a great deal of sense.
A mas-tiff will oft-en take al-most as good care of a house as a man will,
and on dark, cold nights, such a dog would be more like-ly to at-tend to
his du-ty than most watch-men.
I have heard of a mas-tiff who would go a-round his mas-ter's house at
night, af-ter ev-er-y-bod-y had gone to bed, and look at all the doors and
low-er win-dows, to see if they were shut up. If he found one o-pen, he
would stand be-fore it and bark un-til some-bod-y came down-stairs to
fast-en it.
Oth-er mas-tiffs have the sense to know that if they catch a rob-ber on
their mas-ter's place, they need not al-ways bite him. I have heard of
dogs of this kind who would spring up-on a rob-ber and throw him down,
and then, hold-ing him fast, would bark un-til some one came to se-cure
him. And when the man got up it would be found that he had not been
hurt at all. Some dogs-e-ven big ones-would never catch a man with-
out bit-ing him. They would think it was all right.
It is this good sense which makes the mas-tiff one of the best of dogs


671







JACK IN TILE PULPIT. [JUNE,


L-J_ J ACK-1N -TIIE- U, LPI T.

GREAT poles have lately gone up in my meadow.
They have wires stretching along between the tops,
and there the birds settle and gossip in fine style,-
dozens of them, sometimes, in one shining, bobbing
row.
Yesterday morning they held a meeting there.
Some of the birds thought there were too many
wires, others thought the place was too public but
on the whole they were delighted, and passed a
unanimous vote of thanks to the kind unknowns
who erected this splendid perching-ground for
them. One old bird said:
"My friends! This is at least a hop in the right
direction, and it is sung on good authority that
one of our race known as The American Eagle is
at the bottom of it."
Then they all piped three tremendous- little
cheers, and flew away.
Now you shall hear about
EARTHENWARE MOCCASINS.
MY DEAR FRIEND JACK: We have had sent to us a pair of little
earthenware moccasins. To think of a little child pattering about in
high crockery slippers without heels! They are rough inside, but
smooth outside; one is of a dark red color, and so is the other, but
it has, besides, a broad black band where it was burned black by the
fire. They are made of a clay that has what look like gold specks
init, and i... ... .... r 1 ,- in thelight.
Ifyour Ii... ..h i. i.'i I ... of clay to play with, they could
build doll-houseswith it, and let them harden in the sun, and even
make tiny moccasins for the dolls.
Our clay moccasins are only I ..:1. for a big doll, I should
think: but they really were wor i I 11 girl, one of the Pueblo
Indian children. These Indians are undersized people who live
now in New MSexico; but whether they lived there always, or
whether they went from the North andare descendants of the ancient
race called Mound-builders, I do not know.-Truly yours,
Llzzlt.
GIANT ANIMALS
SOMEWHERE near Newark, Ohio, I 'm told, there's
a bird whose body is one hundred and fifty feet
long, while each of his wings is one hundred and
ten feet across! A tremendous fellow! Who
measured him, I wonder, and how big must a little
boy be to safely put salt on the monster's tail ? I


hope he wont try to perch on my pulpit,-even in
a friendly way.
Most birds will not meddle with you, if let alone,
my dears, and I suspect this one is not very active
just now ; but here is news that looks rather serious :
Word has come that in Wisconsin there are ani-
mals as large as this bird, and that look like giant
bears and tigers.
This is startling, I must say. But who found
them? and how is it that nothing was heard of
these enormous creatures when they came to this
country,-if they are foreigners,-or while they
were growing to their present size, if they are
American born?
Please inquire into this matter, my youngsters,
especially those of you who are in the threatened
districts, and let your Jack know what you find out.
A FLAME AS A WATCH-DOG
THOSE of you who have picked deep holes in
the mill-stones of science, my painstaking young
investigators, know as well as anybody else that a
long, thin flame, when allowed to rise through a
tube of glass or metal, can be made to roar and
sing very loudly, and even to give out barking
noises, keeping silence, however, until blown upon.
Well, a flame strait-jacketed in this curious
way can be placed near a window at night. Then
if any person who ought n't to happens to open
the window, or a door, or to break a hole so that
a draught makes unsteady the air about the flame,
the barking begins, and the improper person goes
off in shame and haste,-unless, of course, he
already knows about barking flames, for then he
just turns out the light, takes what he wants, and
goes away in silence.
THE HORSE THAT FED HIS FRIEND.
L. H. sends this true story about a horse:
There were two horses, one of them blind, be-
longing to a country doctor out West, who for
eighteen years drove them on his rounds of visit-
ing, generally harnessing them together.
One evening, the doctor took out his blind horse
alone, and drove him until late. On his return he
put the horse into a stall next to that of its mate,
there being a tight board partition between them
from floor to ceiling. Then he threw some ears
of corn into the manger and went in-doors.
By and by, the doctor was startled by curious
sounds from the stable, and he took a lantern and
went to see what was the matter. As he drew
near, he heard the two mates calling and answer-
ing each other in cheerful tones; and, when he
looked into the stable, there was the blind horse
pushing ears of corn to his friend through a big
knot-hole in the partition! The two old chums
were having a brotherly chat, and enjoying it all
the more because they were going halves in some-
thing good to eat.
RABBITS IN CALIFORNIA
DEAR JACK: 0 ..... 1.1 here in San Jos, California, have a
great many rabbii J,:i- .I varieties, and they are very careful
not to give them water, even wiping off the moisture from the
cabbage-leaves before feeding them. The children say they would
get the "J wet-noulth" as they call it, if they drank water. It has
always seemed very strange to us elders, and we were very incredu-


[JUNE,


JAC K- I N-THE -PULP 1T.







JAC K-IN T IE PU LPIT.


lous about it at first, but know it is really true. I read the communi-
cation of S. W. K., in your February budget, and it reminded me
of these rabbits. They have their houses too high from the ground
to get any water for themselves, so of course they actually live with-
out fluid, excepting the water that may exist in the '---'b1 th-'-
eat. I do not know whether this peculiarity is confin I I '. .* .
rabbits or not. You know there are a great many months in the
year with us in which the streams are all dried up and no rain falls,
so it is lucky for any animals here who can live without water.
A. B. F.
THE CROW THAT STOLE FISHES.
SOME friends of mine had one of the first aqua-
ria in Iowa. The boys of the family put the fishes
they brought from country streams into a well-
protected tank in the back yard of their home.
Every day the little fishes would be missing.
Where could they go? If a fish loses even one
scale it shows in the water; if many scales are
rubbed off he gets sick ; if he dies, he turns over
and floats on the water. But to have the fishes
utterly disappear from a deep tank was a mystery.
The boys had a pet crow named Jack, who was
fond of flying about when the family were at the
table, eating; then he would perch on their fingers
and shoulders and coax for crumbs. When he
had his mouth and the pouch in his cheek full
of crumbs, he would fly away. No one knew
where he went, and, he was so sly, it was long
before any one found out.
One day at dinner the mother happened to go
to a back window. There was naughty Jack,
dropping crumbs upon the water of the tank so
that the fishes would jump up to the top for them,
and, as they did this, he gobbled them up.
After that, no crumbs were given him, and the
fishes were carefully protected.


THE TWINS.
STRANGE THINGS IN COLORADO.
MY DEAR BOYS AND GIRLS: Your dear Little Schoolma'am has
asked me to tell you something about the wonderful rock figures in
Colorado, and I am very glad to comply.
The strange.,' i.:. ri strange country are the sandstone
rocks. They .- i i-,..i I i -red, white, yellow, and pink, and
they are of such queer, quaint shapes that you would think some-


body must have molded them for fun. The geologists think that it
was all done by the action of water, ages ago.
Here is a picture of some of these queer rocks. The two that
stand side by side are in a beautiful park, about ten miles north of
Colorado Springs. This Park is called Monument Park, because it


;.1




I. -


THE PHRENOLOGIST.
is full of rocks which look as if they had been cut and carved into
shape. These two are 1 .,. r..' and are called "The Twins,"
or "The Two Brothers, i. -ne people, "The Two Dutch-
men." I think the last name is the best.
The other rock is called "The Phrenologist." You see, it really
does look a good deal like the head and upper part of the body of a
person who is feeling another person's head, and that, you know, is
vlhat phrennlngsicts always do. This ison "Austin's Bluffs," about
f. ..I .-. ,I I l.. town of Colorado Springs. These bluffs are
several hundred feet higher than the plains about them, and from the
top there is a most beautiful view of several ranges of mountains, and
the town of Colorado Springs lying below. All the rocks on these
bluffs are of a pale yellow color, and they look beautiful among the
dark pine trees. I think you will find pictures of other Colorado rock
figures in the second volume of ST. NICHOLAS. Yours truly,
H. H.
CACTUS PAPER.
DID you ever see a cactus ? In the great West,
beyond the Rocky Mountains, there are cactus
thickets, outlandish, tangled and thorny, but bear-
ing beautiful flowers which travelers prefer to
admire at a distance. Well, the Californians have
discovered a way of making good writing-paper out
of these cactus plants. Is n't that news? It seems
to me that good, strong, sweet poetry might be
writ on such paper.

GROWTH OF KNOWLEDGE IN BUTTERFLIES.
IF you watch, you will find that a butterfly,
when about half an hour old, is not shy of your
coming near to it; but when three or four hours
old, it seems already to have learned that, as a
general thing, it is not safe for a butterfly to trust
to the kindness of human beings.
No doubt it learns, during the rest of the one or
two days of its short life, a great many things
more happy and pleasant for it to know; but it is
a pity to have it begin to fear while yet so young.
And I 'm told that matters are much the same with
other insects, poor things !


675





FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.


to own. He is large and strong and ver-y brave, but there are dogs
that are as large and as brave as he is, and some of these could e-ven beat
him in a fight.
But there is no big dog who is so strong, so brave and so wise, all
in one. E-ven the best New-found-land dogs will some-times for-get
them-selves, and chase chick-ens or kill sheep.
But a good mas-tiff would not do this. He knows he has a du-ty to do,
and he thinks a-bout it. He is al-ways at home. If a stran-ger comes to
the house, he does not rush at him bark-ing, as if he would fright-en him
a-way. He walks down to meet the man, and goes with him to the door.
There he waits un-til the man is let in; or, if he is not let in, the mas-tiff
walks with him to the gate.
If the stran-ger be-haves him-self, all goes well, but it would not do for
him to try to steal.
I think you will a-gree with me that, though the mas-tiff is not as hand-
some as some oth-er dogs, he is as fine a fel-low as any of them.



THE BIRD AND ITS MOTHER.

(A Dialogue for Baby to Learn with Mamma.)

Mam-ma. HERE we are in our nice warm nest-I and my lit-tle bird.
I won-der if he is a-wake? I must list-en.
Ba-by. Peep peep!
Mam-ma. Oh, yes. He is wide a-wake. What do you want, lit-tle
bird ?
Ba-by. Peep! peep! peep!
Mam-ma. Oh, you want your break-fast, do you? Well, I must fly
a-way and find you some-thing nice.
Ba-by. Peep! peep! peep! peep!
Mam-ma. What! Do you wish to go, too?
Ba-by. Peep!
Mam-ma. Very well. The sky is blue, and it is a nice bright day.
Let me see if your lit-tle wings are strong. (Mam-ma
works ba-by's arms gent-ly up and down.) Yes, the
wings are strong. Now, come! (Mam-ma takes hold
of Ba-by's hands and lets him skip with her a-cross the
room.)


[JUNE,





i88o.j DID You? 673













I4-
*:- ; -'-- -' .I )
: --r

.:.i ^ ^__=___ .;.* .; .._. '- : :_






















DID you ev-er go on sun-ny days the pret-ty flow-ers to pull,
And, kneel-ing in the mead-ow, fill your lit-tle a-pron full?
Did you ev-er see the dai-sies shine, and hear the bird-ies start,
Till you some-times found it hard to tell the flow-ers and song a-part?
And did you ev-er feel the breeze steal light-ly to your cheek,
As if it loved you ver-y much and had a word to speak?
Well, if you have known all these things so beau-ti-ful and wild,
I 'm sure the birds and flow-ers and breeze have known a hap-py child.
-.. .f .'. _..,.- y o y u c t ,. h a_ .... t: -. .. -. .. ",. 7- -..
.,-.. ..- .f _:_ .av know. al. _h s thng "o _eu t u an wi. --.- ;-
-;'.uret--- ir :;'.':-" }l.,.-,' .... .-ez .,Ie .....ha -p h








YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS' DEPARTMENT.


THE STORY WRITTEN.


OF the many hundreds of stories sent in by the boys and girls in
response to our request on page 316 of the February number, a large
proportion are really good, considering the ages of the writers. Only
two or three of the contributors are over fifteen years of age, and the
youngest is only eight.
It was very difficult to select the one best story from so many, and
therefore we have concluded to print the following three-and to give
in one long Roll of Honor the names of all the other young folks who
sentin creditable stories. We are glad to note the good handwriting
and careful spelling of the communications.


THE PARDON.

AT the time of the French Revolution, Count de Barry was falsely
accused of treason, and thrown into prison. He had an old and
trusty serv;int, in whose charge he had left his wife and child. Pierre
was deeply grieved to see his master thrown into prison, and was so
urgent in his entreaties to be allowed to visit him there, that lie was
at length .. ..i ro do so; but, as the keeper said, he was only to
stay with -I. .... for one half-hour. He entered the low, dark
room, and kissed his master'- hir-l t. -ri-. hot tears upon it. As
soon as their first emotions ... I. '. .nt said: "Pierre, I an
afraid there is no hope for me! I do not know who my false accuser
is, but he is so eager in his efforts to have me killed, that I cannotbe
saved. However, to-morrow I shall be tried." Then the Count
instructed him as to his wife and child. Much too soon the keeper
appeared, and announced the expiration of the time. Master and
servant parted. shunne i T: ... I .:i i ... i I ,i.: ...
of means to save 'I. mount .' .. .. I i. r.. I. .....
but, alas! he heard that his m .. i i r. .ll s... i..
the night he had formed a pla. .. .. i i

Pierre had gone to the Committee of Public Safety, had obtained a
pardon for his master, and was hurrying to the prison. He had
spent four days in obtaining it, having made many unsuccessful
efforts, and -n'" e-.- minr nte"-as precious. It was two minutes
past four, ;...' ..ili. I. i. I from theprison. Twenty minutes
more, and his master would be dead. Quickly you walk, Pierre, but
not quick enough for such a cause Suddenly he looks in his wallet,
into which he had put the pardon. He stands blank with despair and
amazement: it is not there He examines further, throwing out his
handkerchief; a great hole is in the wallet. Now the moments fly by


unobserved by the almost frantic Pierre. He hears a rustling; there
lies the pardon under his foot! He rushes up to the prison, he sees
the place of execution, and his master is almost on the guillotine. He
shouts, shows and waves the pardon, and Count de Barry is saved !
IDA GIMBEL, aged r2,

THE KING'S LETTER.

A STORY TOLD IN RHYME.

'T WAs a letter, a wonderful letter,
That was sent to a wise old king,
To tell how to get rich in one minute,
And all that sort of thing.
So the king sent forth a butler,
A servant of high degree,
To get that wonderful letter,
And see what the message could be.
The butler got the treasure,
And stowed it away with care,
And hurried off l.r._ t. road,
Then climbed 1.. ..'I stair.
I have it! he cried, and every one
Stood to see what next would be done;
But '.. grew white, and he dropped his hat,
And gasped as he felt in hi- r^-1-- "That
Rascal has fooled us! crie ,' : i..
Let him stand where he is .11 I.. the thing."
Lost Lost! moaned the men, as they hunted each lane.
Said the king, In the castle we 'Il meet again;
We '11 question the man where the letter can be,
And if he don't know, he shall die," quoth he.
So the men trooped up the castle stair,
And called to the butler, "Where, oh, where
Is the wonderful letter we long to see?
Where, oh, where can the letter be?"
Then a little child ran into the room,
I nlrhin- and crowing with delight,
.. I1.. butler's shoe-buckles big
Shone a sunbeam golden and bright.
Down dropped the little one, to see
What the bright shining things might be;
And lo and behold! beneath the shoe
Of the butler, she spied a paper too !
In amazement the child drew a letter out,
And then the wise men set up a shout,-
'Twas the wonderful letter, as sure as could be.
Each man ran up, to try and see
Before the rest what the message might be;
And each grabbed the paper, and, sad to say,
Each wanted to take it a different way;
And by the time it reached the king
There was nothing left of that wonderful thing.
So the king and his wise men never will know
What the wonderful letter had to show.
LIBBIE S. HAWES, aged is.

SAM'S LOSS.

THE man in the picture is Sam, the butler, who is too good-natured
to know when he is imposed upon, and thinks lie must always be to
.1 ... 1....,.. : ---.-1- blames him. But he never
.. ** .I. I H. ..i.1 I :. gave him a letterto mail,
the loss of which would cause great trouble and cost Sam his place.
Snap (his wife) thought he could carry a geranium slip to her cousin
Kate at the same time. borrow her slipper-pattern and last fashion
magazine, stop at the store for a paper of pins and two spools of thread
(one pink and one black), a ball for the baby, some chewing-gum for
Sue, three yards oftape and a 1- i. f r..r ,. .. -. d he was
also to be sure to call at Mrs. 1.; 11 .. ..-. I ., she owed
Snap for washing, as she must have it right away to get a dress off
that pea-green delaine at Cheapman's before it was all gone. Poor
Sam was so afraid he might f'r-cr some of Snap's errands that he
decided to attend to them .I !-! hbe-rd cirh of relief when he
saw the last spool tied up, and Mrs. . I .i : ,'. .. his pocket,
and started for the post-office; but tl i1. .... I love" had
made him so tired that he sat down by a fence to rest, and fell fast
asleep! When he awoke, he saw two suspicious-looking men just
going out of sight; he thought at once of the letters and money
which he had carefully placed in one wrapper. Putting his hand in
his pocket, he found it gone / He jumped to his feet and felt in every
pocket, laid down his cane so he could use both hands, and searched
again; then took off his hat so he could think faster, and finally drew


676


UUNE,








THE LETTER-BOX.


out his handkerchief to wipe the drops from his forehead as he pict- Poor Sam -But if he would only quit gazing at vacancy, and
ured the rage poor Snap would fall into over her loss. And lie fairly look under his left foot, go home and ask Snap to mend his pockets,
howled when he thought of the possible ruin for his master. he might live several years yet. LORETTA BROWN, aged x2m,.

ROLL OF HONOR.

Anne T. Withington-W. P. Munn-H. Crane--Ruth L. Palmer-George ... i..- i ..... F. Towner-Grace Boutelle-Pauline
M. I;i-^ ~r:-- Tlith-r--C'rce A. Hobart-Lilian F;, ....-11 .. .. .. -. i. .i- i i i i. Ii -Davie
Jacol.-r i-i .....--' ". Wolf-Carrie L. Parke--., i .... i-i ..: ..- lie -i i .. 1.. Mitch-
ell-Bertie Manier-Charlie K. Barry-Sarah Pedlow-H. i I.... i -Bessie I ,.-David Lewis-Eddie Miller-L. B.
Needham-" Bessy" Norton-Rollin Blackman-Gertrude D. .. McAllister-William Cnrben-Henry Gay-Annie Miller-
Belle Barr-G. H. "...i.-T ... Harvey Lang-Mrs. Geo. i .. ... w r her children--Ellen i i -I..
Lawton-Maria Loi.. ..-- M. Baugh-Arthur H. Bowditch-Lizzie Farrow-Gertrude Weil-I i .-.' in. I I...
Willie E. Gaunt-Gussie Rawson-Louis A. Holman-N lii. i" i-.._ ._- L. Wells-Everett W I ...... --i .. ... I I i!
Miller-Agnes E. Babcock-Ada M. Fitts-Robin A. I i ii. .... Bristow-Florence G. .I....- I.. !.. i ... -i.
Robertson-Dandelion and Clover-Louella M. Brown-Grace A. Petit-Rosalie L. Bradford-Max i .. ...
E. Pratt-Earl Andrews-Jno. L. Johnson. Jr.-Julia T. Johnson-Sadie ('lrrintl-~r-Anna Mt, Norton-Courtenay H. Fenn-Jessie
It, .... ... T: -Edith T. Stickney-I i ..- i. .r .... .-i B. Congdon-Ada C. Collins-C. F.
i. .......-.. .... -. .' Stedman-HIiram H. -- i Harper-Bessie fI .i --r re~ilen (n .-tnl.r-
Mary J. HuIll-J .. .. flake-Florence Hull Watson-Pearl Clayton Nichols-Mary Millett- ...
"'.. ..; ,-- i .. D. Plumb-Clara I ....-. .. Golay-Mamie W. Cannon-Frank E. --i I --t i .. -
i .l:-Marion S. Decks-Chas. W. i .- -.nith-Virginia C. Garden-Robt. F. Taylor-Katie H. McReynolds-
Lillian S. Apgar-Henry M. Thomson-Amy i ... -'. ..- sh-Menitta Libby-Arthur James-Mamie Blake-Florence
Nightingale-Grace Mills-Margie Heron-Ma.... ..... Phcebus-Chas. M. H. Tracy-Emma Dils-Hattie Coral
Smith-Fannie M. Levy-Josie L. Fox-Elsie L. Shaw-C. Morris-Fanny Lee Robinson-Frank W. Wentworth--Mary C. Hall-
Florence T. Lanman-Carrie Mallick-Emma H. Crane-Alice Hall-Mary Payne-Benj P. Ellis-Lucy Gibson-Flora Tucker
-Florence M. King-Minnie M. Whitford-Belle G. Stone-Kittie Little-Aaron Goldman-Annie V. Gore-S. P. R. Chadwick-
Norman G. Johnson-Minnie Slover-Charlie D. W. Thresher-Bertha Potts-Helen F. Stone-Sadie H. Harlow-Clara L. Hovey
-Mabel N. Butterfield-Grace B. Latimer-Miss Bemtenmarsch-Alice E. ...- I i ore Sherwood-Mary V. Wood-Lily Avis
Barton-Fleda M. Hardy-Fannie B. I ..,r .- --I.; ;, Soule--Mary 11i_ i .I, ..- Collins Ely-Nannie Fitzhugh-Harold
B. Smith-Lillian E. 1; .. --ri:. i ..,.. .1-i i... Herbert Chase-Sadie Zarrone-Nettie Schoch-W. Hermann-Nellie
Greenhill-Rose Garland i.l -_i. l. C. Kennish-Bessie B. Thompson-Mollie Potter-Henry B. Hedrick-John Bolgiano-A. A.
Nickerson-Martha W. Forsyth-Arthur B. Pinney-Isabelle S. Baldwin-Lila Tayler-Lucius M. Hull-'t-I- T' HI- r --l-nie '
Rowell-Henry Stillwell-Ethel G. Murray-Leoline Waterman-Frank Gray-Bertha Wiley-Edna C. '-. ,..i .....- i. i .- -
M. K. Potter-Florence L. Blair-W. Western-Eugene Reilly-Edith Henry-Lucy Bartels-Margaret A I -.,.I J-.J-. .:.










THE LETTER-BOX.


HERE is good news for every ST. NICHOLAS boy and girl who is
kind-hearted, or who loves any dumb animal. Some time ago, the
Massachusetts Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals made
an offer of various prizes to the publishers of any books, magazines
or newspapers, in which the cause of mercy to animals has been most
satisfactorily explained and defended," and-to ourjoy and surprise
-the report of the judges says: We have selected for the first
prize the ST. NICHOLAS, a monthly published in New York, by
Scribner & Co."
We are very glad if these pages have been of influence in aiding
so noble a cause; and the hearty interest and co-operation the boys
and girls have shown is a happy promise that the coming men and
women of America will sustain and carry on the goodwork of protect-
ing dumb animals. So long as horses, cattle, dogs, cats and birds
continue to be our companions, sharing, in some way, our daily lives,
there will be constant opportunity of befriending and helping them,
and we consider every ST. NICHOLAS reader who shows a kindness
or averts a cruelty to any dumb creature, as a sharer in the honor
of the Society s award.


G. S., AND SEVERAL OTHER CORRESPONDENTS: The story of
" Napoleon and the Little Egyptian originally was contributed to
Our IYoung olka. It came into our hands several years ago, with
sundry other unpublished MSS. accepted by that magazine, and re-
purchased by Scribner & Co. at the time of its consolidation with Si.
NICHOLAS. The author's correspondence with the editor of Our
Young Folks had not been preserved with the MS., and the latter
(as received by us) bore no acknowledgment whatever that the story
was a translation. We therefore printed it in our April number,
with a picture drawn for us by Mr. Reinhart. But almost as soon
as it appeared, we discovered the coincidence upon which the press
has since very properly expressed its opinion. It was too late then
to explain in our May issue, as that number was already being


printed. We give now Col. T. A. Dodge's reply to our letter of
inquiry.
Brookline, Mass., April 25, r88o.
EDITOR OF ST. NICHOLAS :
DEAR MADAM : It is more than ten years ago since I sent the
article entitled Napoleon and the Young Egyptian to Our Young
Folks. I had entirely forgotten it.
It is a translation from Wilhelm Hauff's works, and was sent as
such. 1 remember that I was asked what vouched for the truth of
the story, and I -. 1. I7 ., r'... my source. I was unaware, until
to-day's receipt i i 2ist inst., that another translation
existed. My copy of Hauff's works was given me, as a lad, in
Germany. A comparison of the original with both translations would
probably show that each was an independent translation.
I sincerely regret that ST. NICHOLAS, our most welcome monthly,
should, by any carelessness of mine, have the slur of plagiarism cast
upon its columns. I certainly sent the article for what it was, and
supposed so much'to be shown in the %MS,
If the letter of transmittal or the ensuing correspondence are still
extant, they will speak for themselves.
Very truly yours,
THEO. A. DODGE.

THE following, from T. B. G., of Baltimore, may comfort some of
our city boys:
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I disagree with your correspondent, Mr.
W. Gladden, in what lie says about city boys. It may be quite true
that they do not always, or generally, gain the highest pinnacles of
wealth; but in lower positions it is a question whether they do not
enjoy life more than those above them, and live it in a more generous
and better manner. I have had much to do with boys, and have
seen them growing and grown, and, without data, do not think that,
with us, the large per cent. of successful men are those born and edu-
cated in the country. Yours, with respect,
T. B. G.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Reading about Editha and the burglar in
the February number, reminded me of something that happened to








THE LETTER-BOX.


one of my relations, when she was a little girl. She lived in one of
the islands of the Pacific, where the people are mild and quiet, or
she might not have been so brave. She was sleeping in a bed that
stcod near a door, when she was awakened by a noise in the room,
and drew the blanket over her head. The door was fastened with a
bolt, and in .- ; I push it back the burglar sat on the edge of her
bed. Then '.l. ill.' girl stuck a pin into his flesh. You ought to
have seen him He jumped, and I guess he thought he 'd better get
out of that place.
Then she ran into the next room and told her brother, who had a
little lead cannon in his room. He said he could frighten the burglar
best by firing it off; but he was so long about it that the burglar got
away very easily. Only, he dropped his handkerchief, and so was
caught afterward. I have a small cannon, too, that came from Paris,
and I mean to shoot the first burglar I see.-Your constant reader,
P. L. WEAVER, Jr.

C. H. FLEMING AND OTHERS.-See Dr. Sanford B. Hunt's
"Talk about Swimming," printed in ST. NICHOLAS for July, 1877,
and illustrated with eight descriptive pictures, prepared by Mr. J. E.
Kelly and approved by Dr. Hunt. The article gives plain directions
how to swim, both off the sea-beach and in fresh water.
Read the following letter, received by the Editor early in March,
a88o, from Columbus, Indiana:
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We I- ..1.,I would tell you how you
enabled our brother to save -i .r.. drowning. He, together
with several of his friends, was in bathing, when one of the boys,
who could not swim, slipped from a log into the water. Brother
Charlie had read your article on "swimming" in the July number
of 1877, and saved the boy's life by following your directions -
Yours, very respectfully, E. and W. P.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Another boy and I are going to build a boat,
and we are in a muddle how to go to work. I thought that you would
try to help us about this, by having an article on the subject.-Yours,
respectfully, J. M. T.
In ST. NICHOLAS for July, 1875, is a long, illustrated article,
entitled How to make a Boat," which will enable any boy who is
handy with carpenters' tools to build a serviceable and safe row-boat,
at a reasonable cost. We shall soon print a paper on Small boats:
-How to rig and sail them."

WILL the gentleman who, some time ago, forwarded the beautiful
paper sleigh and reindeer made by a little boy, please send his
name and address, as his letter has been mislaid ?

New York, 188o.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am six years old and have an alligator.
It will not eat anything and I am afraid it will die. I let it crawl
all over me and am not afraid of it. I take the ST. NICHOLAS, and
like it very much. WALTER F. WOOD.


C;


'This is not a lot of alligators. It is only one .ii; r .n a differ-
ent place all over me. .* F. W.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In answer to the question of Joshua C.
Hubbard in the March "Letter-Box,"-" Why is it that when an
iron is hot it will iron better than when it is cold? "-
Roll a piece of paper about anything that is round, and tie it with a
string; after dipping all into water, put it in the sun to dry. When
dry, untie the string and you will find that the paper will remain
rolled, because it was dried rolled. So, when you iron a piece of
dampened cloth with a flat-iron, the heat of the iron dries the cloth
very quickly, and the smoothness of the iron keeps the surface of the
cloth smooth while it is drying, consequently the smoothness remains.


But it is not the heat of the iron that makes the cloth stay smooth
after it is ironed; it is the drying of it while smooth. If you were to
hold a cold iron over one place on a damp cloth, and keep it there
pressed down hard until the cloth should become dry, the cloth would
remain smooth. But you would have to hold the iron for several
hours if it were cold. If the iron is hot, however, it will dry the cloth at
once.-Your constant reader, "HOPE."

KITE-STRING WINDERS.-Willie Hubner sends a drawing of a
handy kite-string winder, which he invented, and by which he avoids
blistering his fingers. Mr. Beard says he has used a winder or reel
very like Willie's, besides many others more or less ingenious; but,
after all, he prefers the old-fashioned method shown in the accom-
panying illustrations. He adds: Sometimes, in raising a kite, the


stick is dropped upon the ground for the sake of convenience; then,
if the wind catches the kite, the string is apt to slip between the fin-
gers, as shown in the lower picture, and blisters are the result. But
if the stick is held in the manner shown in the upper picture, the
fingers will not be blistered."

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In answer to Walter and Robert Lowry's
question about the markings of quail and woodcock, I will say that
they are as follows:
THE WOODCOCKr-The forehead is of a dirty brown, with two
black bars across the back of the head, and two narrow ones in front
on the neck; a narrow dark line runs the whole length of the head,
under the eyes and down to the bill, which is long and slender.
Three broad bands of brownish-black pass from the shoulder to the
tail. The breast is of a warm fawn color.
QUAIL.-On the back the quail is of a beautiful brown; under the
body the feathers are almost white, with black bars. The male, or
" Bob White," has a pure white spot over each eye and a white
throat. The bill is short and curved. Quail go in coveys or flocks,
woodcock in pairs. JOHNNY A.

WALTER N. BURNS.-The best answer that can be given now to
your question is to refer you to the March Letter-Box," '880, where
you will find a reply to a similar inquiry from J. B.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Some Sundays ago, our Sunday-school
..: .. ..... .J that there would be a "m in... ... in
.- ii. .achers would address the '..'ij... My
.ii i I ... ,-... .. Ir ind reported to us that there would be a
"mask meeting," and the teachers would "dress all the children."
He was anticipating much pleasure at the masquerade, and, when
Mamma explained that he had not heard aright, he was quite disap-
pointed.-Yours truly, JOSIE CALVERT.

LAWSON Y. PERKINS.-YOU will find "Packard's Introduction to
the Study of Insects a serviceable elementary work on Entomology.


DEAR ST. NICnHOAS : I have an amusing game for rainy days,
c II.._ 1. f,.-, 1... Take a stout cord; stretch it from one side
o II... ..I I ii i., tying it so that it will not come loose. It
has to be about an arm's length above your head. Talk lr-e
apple: punch a hole through it, so that it will not be too 1 r
string to be put through : tie a small piece of wood to the end that is
through the apple, so that the string will not come out; then tie the
other end to the cord, so that the apple will hang even with your
mouth. Ask some one to tie your hands behind you, and then try to
bite the apple. This was tried at the Opera House. A dollar was
offered to the one that first should bite the apple. G. H.


678








THE RIDDLE-BOX.





THE RIDDLE-BOX.


TWO EASY SQUARE-WORDS.
I. i. A vehicle of commerce. 2. To put out of sight. 3. A notion.
4. The top or summit. II. r. To preserve. 2. A broad surface. 3.
To turn and change about. 4. Animals, grains and pitchers have
them. j. .M., and LINA K.

NUMERICAL DIAMOND.

I 2 3
3 4 5
3 4 5
5
My I is in acknowledge. My 1, 2, 3 is a vehicle of hire, common
in London. My i, 2, 3, 4, 5 is a much t- ;-- ...-1 t in Asia. My 3,
4, 5 is a fish ofa certain kind. My 5: ... i ,1 .,,i
ERNEST B. C.

CELEBRATED NAMESAKES.
NAM r'. :..1 ?r-n rfrr-v-r t-i thefollowing descrip-
tions. i-i. i. .. 'i Ir i: --k. i nam e.
i. Th- IJ .. .... 2. The instigator of the massacre called
"The Sicilian Vespers." 3. Time-honor'd Lancaster." 4. Assas-
sinated on the bridge of Montereau, France. 5. The hero of Lepanto,
an Emperors son. 6. The great Scottish religious reformer. 7. The
apostle of the American Indians. 8. A blind poet. 9. The "Inspired
Tinker." ao. A great French dramatist. rx. The victor of Ramillies.
i2. A noted philanthropist. 13. A celebrated musical composer. 14.
The greatest author of Germany. 15. An unfortunate Arctic explorer.
K. K.
PICTORIAL PUZZLE.
FIND in the picture appropriate correspondences with the following
seven sentences:
1. What a tramp had, and what he was doing with it. 2. How
young men admire, and the
is obiect of their admiration.
I; .. .i is

lh ,l' ,. I .. r, I -,, .1 < : .r ]. .s


, .'5-


voices to reach. 5. What hard times cause in' trade. 6. A good
motto for faint-hearted people. 7. Two measures of broadcloth.
LucIus Goss.
DWINDLES.
IN each of the following puzzles, each word is part of a word,
excepting of course the first word, is less by one letter than the word
described next before it. Sometimes, after dropping the one letter,
the remaining letters stand in unchanged order; but, in other
instances, the remaining letters are re-arranged to form the word
described.
Example: i. A word conjured with in one of the Arabian Nights'


Tales: SESAME. 2. Ariver of western Europe: MAESE. 3- .^ r-1-
SEAM. 4. A boy's nickname: sAM. 5. An endearing title:
A Roman numeral: M.
Solve the ii ..:. i vindlesin like manner.
I. i. To.... I I. 2. Raw. 3. The thickened part of a pleas-
ant drinking fluid. 4. Food of a ruminant animal. 5. A French
article in the possessive form. 6. A Roman numeral. II. i. A letter
of a pope on some point of church law. 2. To make known. 3. A
piece of family furniture. 4. Closed with strings or cords. 5. A
green and lovely depression. 6. A young and growing animal of
much value. 7. Half a woman of high degree. 8. In enlighten-
ment. III. i. A famous Greek comic poet. 2. A winding river in
Phrygia, Asia Minor. 3. To behave. 4. A female magician, daugh-
ter of a king and niece of Circe. 5. To consider. 6. A river of Great
Britain. 7. A nickname of a boy. 8. In accord. T.

DROP-LETTER VERSE.
TIHE answer is a stanza of a poem by an English poetess:
-O-E -E --N-O --I- S---E-- W-O-S,
II--R- E-T--R-T-- N- A--N-Y ;
-L- G-E-N-Y -A-E ---- C-E-T--U- L-A-E--,
A-D -- -- E-R-H -S --U-L -F -0-.O. P. T.

ST. ANDREW'S CROSS OF DIAMONDS.









THIS cross is formed of five diamonds, as indicated .
the outer letters of the central diamond being used ....
the adjacent diamonds, which would be incomplete without them.
Each oft- ,d i :. F f the central diamond is used three times;
onceas a .... .. block of stars, and once as a point of each
of the two neighboring diamonds. The words of each diamond read
the same across as up and down.
I. Upper Left-hand Diamond: i. In arithmetic. 2. To plunder.
3. A familiar bird. 4. Large. 5. In iron.
II. Upper Right-hand Diamond: i. In r-"nTr-n- Part of
an auxiliary verb. 3. Titles. 4. A large i -'.. 5. In
master.
III. Central Diamond; i. In grand. 2. Air of a peculiar kind.
3. Parts of the fingers. 4. Slinking. 5. In gesture.
IV. Lower Left-hand Diamond: i. In patrons. 2. An affirmative.
3. The homes of some t-.- o1v?-. animals. 4. An inflamed swelling
on the eyelid. 5. In .. I .,
V. Lower Right-hand Diamond: i. In pleasant. 2. Still. 3. To
cut asunder. 4. A spelled number. 5. In crimson.
BESSIE TAYLOR.

DOUBLE CROSS-WORD ENIGMA.
OUR firsts are in joker, not in sage,
Our seconds in youth, but not in lad.
Our thirds are in son, but not in page,
Our fourths in cheerful, not in glad.
Summer finds us both together,
And gayest in the sunniest weather.

EASY NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
THE answer is composed of four words, or sixteen letters. The
1, 2, 6, 4 is a measure of length. The or, 12, io, 3 is a horned
animal with a shaggy coat. The 9, 7, 14, 16, 3 istprincipal. The
8, 15, 5 is anger. The whole is where and how I lost my home.
IONE.
A MATHEMATICAL PUZZLE.
THERE is a number which reads from right to left, and from left to
right the same. Its first two figures, if divided by a certain number,
quotient of 9; its tens and units (or the two numerals at the
I. if divided by a certain number, give a quotient of 9. If the
whole number be divided by 9, the quotient contains a nine. If the
whole number be multiplied by 9, the product contains two nines.
And if the two numerals at the left be placed under the two at the
right, and added to them, the sum will be one-nineteenth of the whole
number or answer. What is the number? HALLIE.


o8lo.]


679









THE RIDDLE-BOX.


PICTORIAL NUMERICAL ENIGMA.


the number of letters being always the same, and the letters remain-
ing always in the same order. Sometimes the metamorphosis may be

.. .., ... .. i.. .... .


It:

-:~ ~ _i'; 1-




7. i- ~rI ;t!

-. -"~~~~~" 'i ''fjt;j ~ '


'ii...I,



liii .. i .,I'

,.~~~~,,., ,.. 'I~,. ~,I ,,

S-~. '. ~.~ I i' .. i. .~


.1 I 4 II
.'! .. -.:
-i 5ii


i.


MlETIAMORPHOSES.
THE problem is to change one given word to another given word,
by altering one letter at a time, each alteration making a new word,


.. .,._.
,,, .


6. change COAL to
wooD, in three moves. 9. Change AWAKE to SLEEP, in eight
moves. to. Change -Bo to MAN, in four moves. it. Change
SEAS to LAND, in six moves. WINSOR.


ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE MAY NUMBER.


STROKE PUZZLES.-I. Hale, hate. 2. Dale, date. 3. Hall, halt.
PRONUNCIATION PUZZLE,-Authority, awe, thaw, rye, tea.
SQUARE WORD.-I. Craft. 2. Razor. 3. Azure. 4. Forms.
5. Tress.
TANGLES TO UNRAVEL..-I. The May Queen, Part I., stanza 9.
II. Hamlet, Act III., Scene I. III. In Memoriam, Canto cxv.,
Stanza 2.-- PICTORAL PUZZLE.--Cowslips.
WOR I- ... -I, Gas, rags, sugar, guards. II. Nun, noun,
union, :.... l ii Rap, carp, crape, carpet, chapter.
GEOGRAPHICAL ACROSTic.-Hamburg-Germany. Cross-words:
I. HarrisburG. 2. AdrianoplE. 3. MadagascaR. 4. BelgiuM. 5.
UticA. 6. RaritaN. 7. GalwaY.
DIAGONAL PUZZLE -- [,. ...i 7 ,..is. Cross-Words: i. Cof-
fer. 2. GYrate. 3. -. i .... -.1 5. UsefUl. 6. AbbesS.
SQUARE WORD.-. Brace. 2. Redan. 3. Adapt. 4. Caper. 5.
Entry. ENIGMA.- -r11'7
HISTORIC SCENES.-- i .. drinking the hemlock, B. c. 399.
II. Henry III. gazing on the Duke of Guise' .. '. 1. r. -Castle
of Blois. III. Alexander of Macedon cut th< i. r The


.. iC. that only he who should unmake the knot could be
IV. William Tell, after shooting with an arrow an
apple placed on his son's head. V. Rollo, Duke of Normandy, and
Charles III. of France, A. D. 911. VI. Pocahontas saving the life
of Captain John Smith, A. D. 607.
EASY ENIGMAS.-I. Carpentry. II. Illicit. III. Figuratively.
CENTRAL OMISSIONS.-Verbena-- Novel, Noel. 2. Cheat, chat.
3. Coral, coal. 4. Rebel, reel. 5. Cream, cram. 6. Venal. 7. Mad,
M. D.- GRANDMA'S ANAGRAM.-May Training.
EASY FRENCH AMPUTATIONS.--. G- .. T--oi-s. 3. P-uni.
4. A-prks. 5. Sou-s. 6. Main-e. 7 .. 8. C-hameau. 9.
Cou-p. to. Pari-s. ix. P-arc. j2. T-ours.
BASE-BALL PUZZLE.-- Muff. 2. Bat. 3. (Bat) Out on a fly. 4.
Game (rabbit.) 5. Foul (fowl.) 6. Plate. 7. Tie. 8. Pitcher. 9.
Sky-rocket. to. Daisy-cutter (scythe). in Batter (in the bowl).
r2. Club. 13. Nine (ix on card). 14. Score (xx on card). 15. Short-
stop (comma after "paste," on bowl). 16. Match (besidebox). '17.
Diamond (keystone). 18. Ball. x1. Bounds (fences). 20. Field.
21. Catcher (spider). 22. Base (ofpillar). 23. Three balls.


SOLUTIONs oF PUZZLES in the April number were received before April 2o, from P. J., 4- E. B. and M. K. B 6-W. C. D., 3- W'
R, 7- G. C. C., 9-H. S. D., 4-1-. T., 2-F. J. K., 2-B. B C., 4-L. H. P.,6-W. H. O., 5-W. L. S., 6-C. R. C., r-
H. C. L., 3-C. A. S., 3-M. B., 3-L. C. F., 2-"The i i -"Little T r-R. C. H., 4-C. L. R., 6-C. S. B., 7
-R. P., I-A. C. P. O.. 4- R. B. S., Jr., 5-L. S., Ii-A. and H. T., 2-A. L and J., 2-"Jupiter," 5-C. B. H., Jr., 5-
C. H. F., 0- A. T. H., o- Two Cousins," 8- F. W M., 8- L H. D. St. V., 6- and H., -H. U.. 2- Helen's Babies,"
6- L. C., I- L. L. V. L., 8-M. J., M. A. K 2.- W. V. D., i--" Hope," 4-M. A. J,, I- C. J. V. A., 8- E. C.D., 2-A. H., r-
R. A. S., 2-R. G. S, 3- P. A. B., --H. B. W., 3-R. S. Mc., 7- J. T. K, 5-M. S., 2-L. G. C., I--"Tom, Dick & Co.," 8-
"Bessie and her Cousin," 12-F. D. S., 8- E. T. S., 4- S. S., B. C. B., 6- W. C. McL., 8- H. and B., 12- F. L. K., 12-A. H.
L., 8--B. S., 9-A. C. R., 9-D. E., 9--B. W., 3- E. --" innie," 8- "Riddlers," 5- R. A. G., 8- "Chenery," 5-" Stowe
Family," 12- F. W., 7-" Bab and Betty," 5-"X. Y. Z.," .- .1 and Rob," 7. Numerals denote number of puzzles solved.


68o


[JUNE.


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