Front Cover
 The summons
 Louis's little joke
 A brave Chinese baby
 The story of Viteau
 The beautiful lady
 Bob's wonderful bicycle
 The princess with the glass...
 Poor Katie
 Flying without wings
 The story of Mrs. Polly Ann Bunce's...
 The sad little Prince
 The drop and the cloud
 A new mother hubbard
 The Tinkham brothers' tide-mil...
 A query
 An April day (picture)
 Alone in Rome
 "Whoop-ee!" - How I frightened...
 Work and play for young folks:...
 For very little folk: Mr....
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00127
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas
Uniform Title: St. Nicholas (New York, N.Y.)
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: -c1943
Frequency: monthly
Subject: Children's literature -- Periodicals   ( lcsh )
Genre: periodical   ( marcgt )
Dates or Sequential Designation: -v. 67, no. 4 (Feb. 1940) ; v. 70, no. 1 (Mar. 1943)-v. 70, no. 4 (June 1943).
Dates or Sequential Designation: Began with: Vol. 1, no. 1, Nov. 1873.
Numbering Peculiarities: Suspended Mar. 1940-Feb. 1943; vols. 68-69 omitted.
Issuing Body: Published by: Century, Aug. 1881- ; by Educational Pub. Corp. -1940; by St. Nicholas Magazine, 1943.
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: VID00127
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: oclc - 01764817
lccn - 04012675
 Related Items
Preceded by: Our young folks
Preceded by: Children's hour (Philadelphia, Penn.)
Preceded by: Little corporal
Preceded by: Schoolday magazine
Preceded by: Wide awake

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
        Page 402
    The summons
        Page 403
    Louis's little joke
        Page 404
        Page 405
    A brave Chinese baby
        Page 406
        Page 407
        Page 408
        Page 409
        Page 410
        Page 411
    The story of Viteau
        Page 412
        Page 413
        Page 414
        Page 415
        Page 416
        Page 417
        Page 418
        Page 419
        Page 420
        Page 421
        Page 422
    The beautiful lady
        Page 423
    Bob's wonderful bicycle
        Page 424
        Page 425
        Page 426
    The princess with the glass heart
        Page 427
        Page 428
        Page 429
    Poor Katie
        Page 430
        Page 431
    Flying without wings
        Page 432
        Page 433
        Page 434
        Page 435
    The story of Mrs. Polly Ann Bunce's best cap
        Page 436
        Page 437
    The sad little Prince
        Page 438
        Page 439
        Page 440
        Page 441
        Page 442
        Page 443
        Page 444
        Page 445
        Page 446
    The drop and the cloud
        Page 447
    A new mother hubbard
        Page 448
    The Tinkham brothers' tide-mill
        Page 449
        Page 450
        Page 451
        Page 452
        Page 453
        Page 454
    A query
        Page 455
    An April day (picture)
        Page 456
    Alone in Rome
        Page 457
        Page 458
        Page 459
        Page 460
        Page 461
    "Whoop-ee!" - How I frightened the bears
        Page 462
        Page 463
    Work and play for young folks: IV, a paper boat
        Page 464
        Page 465
        Page 466
        Page 467
        Page 468
        Page 469
        Page 470
        Page 471
    For very little folk: Mr. Turkey-Cock
        Page 472
        Page 473
    The letter-box
        Page 474
        Page 475
        Page 476
        Page 477
        Page 478
    The riddle-box
        Page 479
        Page 480
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text




VOL. X. APRIL, 1883. No. 6.

[Copyright, 1883, by THE CENTURY CO.]



DOOR-KEEPER of the year,-
April, the opener,-hear!
We wait without, and cry to thee:
With the sunshine's golden key
Open to us straight
The grim and guarded gate,
Whose frowning barriers rise
'Twixt us and softer skies.

We wait without and call:
Myriads we of creatures small,
Multitudes of living things,
Sheathid blades and folded wings,
Baby germs in close-coiled rings.
Frozen earth-clods hold us down,
Sullen skies above us frown;
Thou alone canst liberate-
April, free us from our strait!

We stand without and wait,
We call and cry together-
All in the wild March weather.
Shrill and importunate
Our summons thrills the air
And pierces everywhere;
And they who do not know,-
Who lack the finer sense
Of Nature-love intense,-
Crouch closer to the fire,
Stirred till it.blazes higher,
And, shiv'ring, mutter low,
"How drearily the March-winds blow!"




T was fortunate for Louis that the
opportunity for his little joke fell
on April-Fools' Day. But how he
could have had it in his heart to
want to fool Esther, as she bustled
around, so bright and happy,
tying on her checked apron,
would have seemed beyond explanation, had he not
said, under his breath, a moment before:
"I '11 pay her for this !"
The offense to which he thus referred lay in the
fact that Esther had paid no attention to the request
which he had shouted to her, as he saw her take a
telegram from a messenger at the gate:
Let me see it, Esther How many of them are
coming? "
But she flew straight to the house, and into the
kitchen, exclaiming:
"Oh, Becky! Five of them, and they'll be
here for supper. I can sit at the head, can't I,
Becky? And you '11 make chocolate for me to
serve, wont you? And oh! dear Becky, please,
please can't I make the custard?"
"Bress your heart, yes," said Rebecca; "an'
Becky '11 make you whatever you want. An' de
blue set ob china ?" she asked, a moment later.
"Oh, yes, Becky they 're so pretty; and the
little crystal cups for my custard, so 't will show
through." And she danced merrily about the room.
"Where's that telegram?" demanded Louis,
nearly out of breath from his sudden descent of a
tree and rapid run for the house.
"There, on the table, Louis. I could n't stop,
I was in such a hurry to tell Becky," explained
Esther, as she broke some eggs and carefully sepa-
rated whites and yolks. "It 's going to be my
supper, Louis, and I 'm going to have --"
"I don't care for your supper," growled Louis.
And I 'm going to pay you, before the day's over,
for not letting me see that telegram at first."
Oh, Louis please do not play any more tricks
on me," pleaded his cousin. "I told Becky first,
because I knew she 'd take more interest in my
supper. What do boys care how things are made?
They'd rather go fishing or "
But Louis interrupted her with:
"Never mind the fishing, though I suppose
you '11 harp on it for years."
How harp on it?" asked Esther, still intent on
her eggs.

Miss Innocence does n't know, then, that the
fellows said they'd stop for me when they went to
the mill-pond to-day, and then all dashed by the
house, waving their baskets and not giving me a
chance to get in ?"
The egg-beater rested on the edge of the bowl.
Why, how selfish, Louis I saw them waving,
and waved back at them from the piazza, but I
did n't know you expected them to stop."
"You waved back at them ?" exclaimed Louis,
almost frantically. "Well, that 's just like a girl!
And now they '11 think you understood the joke,
and like enough you did."
"Was it a joke ?" asked Esther, opening wide
her large gray eyes.
"Then Miss Innocence probably does n't know
this is the first of April?"
But Esther had every reason to know it. From
the moment that Louis had shouted April Fool!"
when she called to Becky, "I can't get my sleeve
on-it's all twisted," to the time when she found
her knife and fork sewed to the table-cloth at din-
ner, the morning had been a series of similar
shouts from Louis Perkins.
She 's the best one to play tricks upon," he
kept saying to himself. "Never suspects, no matter
what a fellow does "
"I don't believe in cruel jokes," said Esther,
slowly-" anything that will make anybody else
feel hurt; do you, Louis?"
Oh, you 're very careful of other people's feel-
ings; we all know that," said Louis, tantalizingly,
as he slammed the kitchen-door.
"Now, I ought to go and entertain him,"
thought the forbearing Esther. "I 'll take my eggs
out on the piazza and beat them there. Louis !"
she called, "come and whittle here, wont you, and
let's talk about the fun when the folks come ?"
If Howard comes, I don't care about the rest,"
said Louis, apparently in better humor. He's the
only one who likes fun. Take care, Essie, you '11
spill them! cried Louis, warningly, as Esther
turned the platter of beaten whites upside-down.
"No, I wont," laughed Esther, merrily; "that
shows they're done."
"They don't keep in that shape, do they?"
asked Louis, showing interest despite himself.
"They would keep just like this for hours, but
it's better to let them rest on boiling water for a
moment," said the little housekeeper, as she held



a floating island aloft on the beater. Is n't it
pretty ?"
Louis vouchsafed no answer. Had those snowy
blankets not been swinging on the clothes-line, his
thoughts, perhaps, would not have run in the chan-
nel they did. But Rebecca had been washing, and
he had noticed her tubs on the back piazza. They
were covered with a foam that was so firm one
could have sliced it with a knife. Louis had taken
a handful of it and found that it did not liquefy or
"dissolve." When he saw Esther making the
meringue, its resemblance to the foam on the suds
struck him, and another thought was in his mind
as well, when he went back on the piazza again to
see if the suds had lost all form.
No, there they were, just as they had appeared
an hour before. Rebecca was still making prepa-
rations for the new-comers, and had not taken the
time to empty the tubs.
"All of which shows," thought the bad boy,
"that I can put a platterful of this in place of what
Essie has made, and have it go on the table. Imagine
the faces they 'll make Essie wont know what the
matter is, and Becky will be so bothered! It will
be the best joke yet I think Essie '11 let me
read telegrams first after this," and he walked off
for a moment to plan it all out.
"Oh, no; I don't put it on till the very last
thing," said the unsuspecting Esther, in answer to
his question. I shall run down cellar just before
supper, and put a little of the froth on top of each
custard; and you know, Louis, we're going to use
the little crystal glasses 'T will be just as nice as
though Mamma were here, wont it, Becky?"
"If Rebecca's suds don't last, I can make sonie
more with the same soap while they're all visit-
ing," thought Louis, and run down with them just
before supper. And to think that Es will put it
on herself, that '11 be the best of all! But suppose
she were to taste it? Well, even if she should,
't would be a good fool, for they'd have to dance
around pretty lively and make some more; but I
hope she does n't find it out till she tastes it at sup-
per. Wont it be rich to watch her! She wont
know what is wrong, and if any of the company
discover a queer taste they wont say anything, but
they'll stop eating rather suddenly, I'll venture !
And Essie, what will she think to see them all steer-
ing clear of those custards, after she's been most
of the afternoon making 'em !" And with such
thoughts Louis tried to put aside the picture that
rose before him, of the pretty cousin who danced
around the kitchen in the small checked apron,
and to think only of Esther's having refused to let
him read the telegram when he had asked to see it.
The afternoon stage brought the four cousins
arnd Aunt Jo, amid much rejoicing.


Esther received them all so prettily, and said so
deferentially to Louis, "You'll see to the bag-
gage? "using a tone that, in its recognition of him
as the man of the house, made so evident an im-
pression on the younger cousins, that he almost
began to wish he had not saved that dish of suds.
Then, too, he overheard Esther, as she was get-
ting out the rackets for tennis, say to Howard:
"Beware of Louis! He plays splendidly. Serves
balls that bound every way but the one you're pre-
pared for. He gives me odds and beats me, too,
and had never played till he came South, three
weeks ago. Where has he gone ? Louis !" and
her clear voice rang over the lawn.
"I'll be there in a minute. Let Howard get
used to the ground," answered Louis, which sug-
gestion struck them all as being very generous.
How pretty Esther looked! Louis could see
from his window her bright, happy face, as she
darted hither and thither after the balls. After all,
would his little joke pay? What was there to be
so vexed about, now that he thought it all over?
"Well, I would n't give it up after I'd gone so
far," said a bad voice within; "you said you'd
pay her for not letting you see that telegram."
He stole down into the cellar. He could hear
Rebecca overhead singing, Oh, Dearest May,"
as she set the table. There was Esther's meringue
on a small platter. He slid it off and out of the little
cellar-window, put the suds' foam in its place, and
went noiselessly up the stairs. Rebecca was pro-
longing the refrain of Lubly as the Day," so he
felt sure she could not have heard him.
They all went in to supper soon after.
"It's just as well," thought Esther, as she
looked at the custards, that Becky put the merin-
gue on. She always makes it look prettier than I
do. Still, I wanted to have done it all myself,"
and she sighed to think she should have seen the
custards all ready on the table, when she was just
going down cellar to put that bit of fluffy white on
each herself.
And what were Louis's thoughts as he looked at
the crystal cups?
"Well, who 'd ever think of its being suds?
I'm going to taste my own, to be sure of it."
He did so, and no doubt was left in his mind that
his little joke on Esther was going to be a success.
He fancied, as he glanced stealthily around the
table, that Rebecca was watching him, and that
one of her great smiles overspread her face as he
took that taste of his custard.
"I say, Howard," he said to his cousin, "you
say you think my two big agates are so handsome,
I'll put one of then up on a wager. If you eat
all of your custard inside of a minute, I '11 give you
your choice "


Why, you '11 lose, Louis. Those glasses are
too small to hold much. I 'm willing to try
thirty seconds. There would be some fun in it,
"All right," chuckled Louis, I'll time you,"
as he drew out his watch.
In even less than the half-minute Howard set
down his empty glass with:
Where's the agate ? I'11 take the blue-and-
gold one."
Louis regarded him with astonishment.
How did it taste?" he asked, under his breath.
"Excellent! Could n't judge very well, though,
because I had to eat it so fast."
Do you know what you 've been eating? was
Louis's next question, as he handed him the chosen
agate. Soap-suds" :
Soap-suds l" echoed Howard, questioningly.
"What do you mean? "
Hush! cautioned Louis, proceeding in a
half-whisper to give him an insight into the joke
he was playing on Esther. "But if they don't
taste bad," he admitted, "'t is n't going to be
much of a joke."
I declare, Louis, I would n't have thought you
so mean I'm glad you could n't spoil 'em, and
evidently you have n't, for they're all being eaten."
Not only were the custards being eaten, but
Aunt Jo was praising them, and Esther blushing
with pleasure!
What could it mean? Was there any mistake ?
Louis tasted his own again, and made a wry

face after it, and there was no doubt in his mind
this time that Rebecca was laughing at him.
What is going on at that end of the table ?"
asked Aunt Jo. You two boys seem very much
absorbed in something."
"Massa Louis is in de suds," said Rebecca.
Louis flushed crimson as he darted an angry
glance at Rebecca's face, wreathed in smiles; while
Howard, who had watched him taste his custard,
laughed outright.
Louis left the table soon after, Howard with him,
to whom he gave the other agate as he begged him
to promise that he would never breathe a word of
the joke to any one.
He little knew that Rebecca was telling the oth-
ers at the table, concluding her narrative with a
hearty laugh and this explanation:
"I knowed Massa Louis steal down dat cellar
for no good I foun' out his soap-suds; and den I
make de new meringue for all de cups 'cept Massa
Louis's. He hab to eat ob de fruits ob de result! "
But, Becky," said Esther, as she went upstairs
that night, -Rebecca leading the way and still
laughing at Louis's discomfiture,-"if you had only
given Louis a good custard, too, he would have
understood that verse in the Bible about heaping
coals of fire.' "
"Bress your heart, chile," said Rebecca, never
at loss for an answer, "'pears to me it's jes' as im-
portant dat he understand' de meaning' ob de verse
'bout de man dat made a pit an' digged it, arid
den falls in de ditch hisself!"


BY H. H.

HE was very little more than a baby, certainly
not more than three or four years old; and the
queer, wide clothes he wore made him look so
short that, at first sight, it seemed a miracle he
could walk at all. He was all alone in the house;
in fact, he was all alone in the village. Every
other house but his was shut up tight, the door
locked, and all the people gone away fishing.
What a predicament, to be sure, for a four-year-
old boy to be left in! The more I think of it,
the more I think he was one of the very bravest
fellows ever born. Many a man has got a great
name for being a hero without having shown half
the courage that this little chap did when he
toddled out into the street to meet us. I wish I

could have found out his name, to remember him
by; but none of us who saw him will ever forget
him. We shall think of him always as the Brave
Chinese Baby.
It was in a Chinese fishing-village, on the shore
of the Pacific Ocean, a few miles from Monterey,
in California. There are several such villages on
that coast, and, to Americans, they are very curious
places to see. I am sure that nothing in all China
can look more Chinese, for only Chinese people
live in them; and they huddle their little houses
close together, on narrow alleys, and set up their

queer shrines, and pile their odds and ends of out-
:landish rubbish all about, as if they prided them-
selves on living just as unlike Americans as possible.




The village where we saw the Brave Baby was then turned around, and waddled back as fast as
a very small one -not more than a half-dozen his fat little legs would carry him into the dark
houses in it. Indeed, they would hardly have been recesses of his house. We thought he had run
called houses at all by civilized people. Some of away to hide. Not a bit of it. In a few seconds,
them were not bigger than an ice-house, and some back he came, holding up to us a big abalone shell,
looked more like dog-kennels or hen-coops than tightly grasped in both his chubby hands; then
habitations for human beings; some were without he laid it on a bench by the door, waddled back,
got another, brought it out and laid
it down; then still another.

... -" which is found in great abundance
Son the southern coast of California,
ME: and is offered for sale everywhere.
Travelers buy many of them to
carry away as curiosities. When
tat S a their surfaces are polished they have
all the colors of the rainbow in them,
and are very brilliant. In all the
Houses in the fishing-villages there
are great baskets of these abalone
Shells kept to sell to travelers, and
the Baby had, no doubt, often seen
S, a sa his mother bring them out and offer
them to people passing by. So he
Thought they might be what we had
come for. As he held out shell after
shell toward us, he fixed his queer,
narrow, slanting little eyes on us
with an expression of anxiety and
inquiry that was pathetic. When
he saw that we did not want the
shells, he went back again, still
farther into the recesses of the
cabin, and, bringing out a tin dip-
per with a little water in it, offered
that to us. He was so calm and
grave in his demeanor that we did
not think of his being frightened;
and we walked about, and looked
I in at the door of the house, and
looked at him, and laughed at his
queer, wide trousers and sleeves,
S. and old brown hat on the back of
V... his head, as much as we liked. We
.. thought he was a very droll little
man, with a good business head on
his shoulders, who meant to drive
a trade in abalone shells on his own
any window, and none had more than one, and account if he could. The truth is, that even baby
that a tiny one only four panes square. They Chinese faces look about as old as grown-up faces.
were all shut up, and the doors fastened on the They are the same sallow color, and the boys' heads
outside with a chain and padlock. are shaven, just like their fathers'. This little
The door of the Brave Baby's house stood wide fellow's head was shaven all over, except an odd
open, and, as soon as he heard the sound of our little wing-like wisp of stiff black hair left above
carriage wheels, he came running to see what was each ear; these were the drollest things about
coming. We stopped the carriage and got out. him. They looked like whiskers which had slipped
He, looked at us for a minute with a steady gaze, up above his cheeks.


After he found that we did not want either the
abalone shells or the water, he stood still for a
short time, gazing at us intently. Then he went
into the house, to the farthest corner of it-into
a room that was more like a cave than a room, it
was so dark and low. Here was a big stone,
hollowed out to receive a fire; pots and pans
were lying on the ground; an old stool stood in
front of the stone; everything was black with smoke.
On this the Baby sat down, folded his hands in his
lap, and looked into the ashes. All this time he


was to lift his eyes and fix them on us with an
expression of attention. We stepped inside the
door; he did not stir. We looked at all the queer
little cupboard-like divisions of the house; at the
bunk-bed built in one corner; in another, the Joss's
shelf, with its three tiny cups of tea, and its bowl
of prayer-sticks; in another, a sort of open closet
filled with barrels, baskets, old matting, tubs of
abalone shells, ladders, fish-nets, old scraps of iron,
wood, paper- everything. The baby watched us
gravely, but did not make a motion or a sign of
being disturbed.
i..l dicn ri .-r. : ie a great noise of hoofs and
i. i-!. \\ .: :i, !r, ii u, Baby following, to see what
ii. i... iili-loads of people, each coach
I., .. b, i .:.-i .! .s, came clattering down in a
c.!ud ,:.!' :liui. They were excursionists from

i.i,. EL-i. a great party of sixty, all
'..a .i, g together under the charge
.. ,:.ne man. Seeing us standing
a r lie door of this little Chinese
"i,....1, they halted to see what
,. were stopping for. One man
'., into the house, took some
abalone shells, and put a piece
of money into the Baby's,
hand to pay for them. The
little fellow began to look
troubled. He had grasped
the tin dipper in his hand,
almost as though he had
an idea he might need it
for a weapon, and drew
closer to us, asif he thought
we might possibly protect
him against these new andt
noisier enemies. As they
drove away, he ran out
into the middle of the road,.
and looked very earnestly
up the hill to the north,
still clutching his dipper
..i. tight. It was plain that
he was expecting succor
From that direction. We
did not yet realize that he
was much frightened. His
'.c- o. 'untenance did not show it,
I:,'id we still watched him with
: ,t amusement. It was a pict-
~, - -u. *Li, t:. be remembered. The beau--
i' I"r!- sparkling blue water, with a
l_ ,Tii-t,:...,1onIi r. funding out into it, covered
with dark pines and cypresses; the lonely cluster
of fishing-huts, silent and deserted; and this one
had not once opened his lips. The only sign he helpless little child, standing in the middle of the
gave of hearing any of the things we said to him dusty road, the only guardian of the spot-ah !.




he was not so brave as we had thought. All emphasis and. directness which were droll indeed.
this time he had been struggling with himself, If he had been sufficiently master of the English
with a terror that had been slowly getting the language to have said, "I '11 thank you to take
upper hand of him. In the twinkling of an eye, yourselves off, as quickly as possible, and never let
without a warning of a sob, or a whimper, me set my eyes on any of you again," he could
suddenly there burst from the poor little soul a cry not have conveyed his meaning any more plainly
that went to our very hearts. than by his Good-bye good-bye I "
He had given way at last. He could not bear The mother had been over to another Chinese
it a moment longer. What to do, we could not fishing-village, a short distance beyond, to get cor-
als and shells to sell. Her
Baskets were full, and she.
S. set them down in the road
S' and showed us what she
-had brought: beautiful
red coral, almost as fine
S- -% i as that which comes from
J ir e c I -. ': Naples ; sea-ferns, of
bright yellow; and shells.
`3e of many colors and
he p stopped __ ,e thought, ,i wa i' bright yellowmy ; and shells.
shapes. While she
-0 -- was showing these to
t -- us, the Baby stood
-H as close to her as he
dulnk; if we drew nearer him, he cried harder. .-. could get, holding fast
We put some money in his hand; as we did so, to her clothes, and
he partially stopped crying. We thought it was every now and then
the money that had soothed him, and we said, saying, in a low
"Ha! young as he is, he is old enough to have but very decided
grief healed by gain." But we were mistaken. It
was not the money. He had caught sight of his
mother coming down the hill toward him. In an tone,
instant his composure returned. He did not run "Good- ,
toward her, as any baby in the world but a Chi- bye! good-
nese baby would have done. He stood motionless bye!" Poorlit- 1' I
in his place, waiting, never removing his eyes from tie fellow, prob-'
her. ably he willnev-
She came at a swift, swinging, half-limping gait er again in his '
down the hill, with two big baskets hanging from life be so thor- '
a yoke across her shoulders. She was, no doubt, oughly fright-
a little anxious when she saw the group of stran- ened.
gers in front of her house, and her little son stand- Afterward, we
ing by himself in the middle of the road. We drove through the I
hoped that she would understand English, so that other fishing-vil-
we could tell her what a brave little fellow her boy lage. It was close i '" l
had been, and how he had tried to sell the abalone on the edge of the
shells. But she shook her head, arid could speak water, where a litl. -
only a few words. However, we patted the Brave inlet rounded in,- 1. -
Baby's cheeks, and said, Good boy! good boy!" low high hills. As we' '
with such friendly smiles that she was re-assured drew near it, the odor -
and smiled back again. It is wonderful how far of fish came up over the
smiles can go between people who do not under- hills, like a smell from A STREET IN A LCINESE FISH-
stand each other's language. They are some- something cooking in a
times all the interpreters one needs, vast caldron. The fences, the rocks, the ground-
The Baby knew two words of English, and as all were covered with shining little fishes, spread out
soon as his mother arrived, he opened his mouth, to dry; those on the ground being laid on frames of
and spoke them. wooden-slats. There was only one narrow lane run-
Good-bye! he said- ".good-bye 1 with an ning through the village, and hardly room on that to


step between the frames of drying fish. On the roofs dry. Chinamen were running about, emptying big
of the hovels, even, poles were set up, and stretched baskets of fish; other Chinamen were spreading

from corner to corner; and on them long lines .of them, turning them, raking them apart, gathering
fish fluttered in the air, like clothes hung out to up the dry ones, and packing them into baskets.
fish fluttered in the air, like clothes hung out to up the dry ones, and packing them into baskets.




The place fairly swarmed with laborers and their
implements; but all the workers kept steadily on,
as regardless of our presence as though they had
been ants on an ant-hill. Every man, woman, and
child was hard at work; children that were too
small for anything else had babies strapped on their
backs, and were carrying them about. Little girls,
not more than eight or ten years old, were at work
industriously cleaning the fish, to prepare them for
drying. This was a disagreeable sight; it was
done in open sheds, where
the floor was black and drip- .-"-- .
ping wet with water and the
slimy offal of the fish. Here
the women sat on high stools,
in a squatting posture, with ,
their feet curled up under ."
them, cutting and slashing, :i
stripping the fish, and drop- .
ping them into the baskets
with as swift a motion as if ',
they were shelling peas. They
had the fingers of the left '
hand rolled up thickly in black
rags, to protect them against
a chance slip of the sharp '
knife. They chatted and
laughed, as if they were en-
gaged in the most agreeable ''''
occupation in the world. There
did not seem to be an idle pair -
of hands in the village: Old
men were mending nets, old -
women putting bait on hooks. ---
The only unemployed creat- --
ure we saw was one small
baby, perhaps three months
old, which was sunk up to itsDY TO
neck in a narrow compartment in a wooden box,
where it had a ludicrous expression, like an aged
infant in stocks for some misdemeanor; it gazed
up into its mother's face with an unwinking glare
of mingled appeal and resentment which was
irresistibly comic.
It would not be possible to give any idea of the
way in which the houses, sheds, boats, barrels,
poles, nets, baskets, scaffoldings, and lumber of
all sorts were huddled together on one narrow alley
not wide enough for two wagons to drive abreast.
There was not a foot of open ground. Looking



down from the hill on the roofs of the houses, one
would think they all belonged to a single set of
walls, roofed at different heights and angles. It
was a squalid and filthy spot; it. would seem
impossible for human beings to breathe such air,
and sleep in such dark, unventilated hovels for any
length of time, without being made ill. Yet there
are in this little village nearly two hundred people,
many of whom have lived there for thirty years in
good-health. They are divided into three com-
panies, each company having
''- its leader, who pays wages to
the men and women, and has
the charge of selling and send-
ing away the fish. We talked
with one of these leaders, who
was courteous and willing to
tell us all he could about the
village. His name was Chow
Lee. When we offered him
money for the trouble he had
taken to explain things to us,
She refused to take it. Finally,
S he said we might give it to
his wife. She was hard at
Work cutting up and cleaning
fish in one of the sheds.
.When we offered it to her,
Sshe also refused it, smiling as
if it were a good joke that any-
-' body should suppose she would
iy receive money from strangers.
Then, as if the thought struck
:7 her that she would not be out-
.. J. done in generosity, she called
---after us, asking if we would
-" i not like some abalone shells.
O HIS PART. You like um abalone?
No? I give you some. You like?" she cried,
So we went away, feeling that we had made a
little mistake in offering money to the wife of one of
the three rich men of the village, even if she were
at work barefoot in the cold, slimy, black fish-sheds,
like the poorest of the laborers. And it set us to
thinking, too, that human pride is a plant for which
no soil on earth is too poor. Not a lady in all the
land could have laughed more airily at the idea of
anybody's thinking her an object of charity than
did Madam Chow Lee.






THE Countess of Viteau now became very
anxious to learn, as soon as possible, the result
of her embassy to the King, and she also wished
her sons to know where she was. She consulted
with her squire, Bernard, in regard to the matter;
and they concluded that it would be better, if the
travelers brought bad news, and the young King
had refused to interfere in behalf of the Countess,
that Raymond and Louis should know the place
of her refuge before any of their party could
reach Barran's castle, and that they should
immediately join her, when, with them, she should
fly the country without delay or further consulta-
tion with any one.
She had determined at last that, if she should

be obliged to leave her country, she would take
her boys with her, and let the Count de Barran and
her other friends do the best they could in regard
to her estates. She had money enough in her
possession to provide for the expenses of a journey
to England, but she did not consider, when making
her plans, that the captain of the cotereaux would
require his claims paid before he would let her go.
Bernard thought of this, but he said nothing and
hoped for the best.
Michol also was quite anxious to know what
had been done at Paris, for the news would influ-
ence in a great degree the terms of his demands
for ransom money.
On the day after the attack of Comines had been
repulsed, it was considered that Count de Lannes
and his party might be expected to be nearing the

* Copyright, 1882, by F. R. Stockton.




24- O
~(II,~4~8 ~ ~ 4Vil


end of their homeward journey, and it was deter-
mined to send a page, accompanied by one of
Michol's men, to intercept the travelers and to
convey a note to Raymond from his mother.
The main road from Paris through Burgundy
ran within twelve or fifteen miles of Viteau, and
Count Hugo might therefore be met, while yet
more than half a day's journey from the castle.
The page's companion knew all the roads and
by-ways of the surrounding country, and they
reached in good time the high road from Paris,

have another day to wait upon the dusty highway,
for he had been to Paris and he knew how long it
would take the Count's party to go and return, and
that they could not be reasonably expected that
See you that cottage down there in the little
glade below us ?" he said to the page, a little after
sunrise. "There live an old woman and two louts,
her sons. They are poor creatures, but they make
wine good enough to sell; at least, a month or so
ago, when I and a half-dozen of my comrades


but after waiting there all day and making
inquiries at various cottages near by, they saw
nothing and heard no news of the Count and his
After dark they returned to Viteau, as they had
been told to do, for it was known that Count
Hugo would not travel by night, and before day-
light the next morning they set out again.
The long watch of the previous day had wearied
the restless soul of the robber, and he declared
to the page, as they rode along, that they would

stopped at their cottage to eat and rest, that is
what they told me they did with it. We found their
wine good to drink,- which can not be said of all
wine that is good enough to sell,- and we drank
many a full horn of it, and what we did not drink
we poured over her floor, so that her house should
smell of good cheer."
"That was a wasteful thing to do," said the
page, "and must have cost you a goodly sum."
"Cost us laughed the robber. How could it
cost us anything when we had no money? And





now, look you, we have more time than we shall
know what to do with, and I am going down there
for some wine to cheer us through the day. Ride
you slowly on, and I will overtake you before you
have gone half a mile."
So saying, the robber turned from the road, and
dashed down into the glade. Reaching the cot-
tage, he tied his horse by the door, and, entering,
demanded of the old woman, who was cooking
something over a little fire, that she should bring
him some of her good wine, and plenty of it,
too, for he wanted some to drink and some to
carry away.
The old woman looked at him for a moment,
and then went out and brought a jug of wine and
a drinking-horn.
When the robber had sat down on a rough stool,
and had begun to drink, she went out for some
wood for her fire. But instead of picking up dry
sticks, she ran to a small field, where her sons
were working.
Come quickly! she said. "One of the cow-
ardly thieves who drank and wasted our wine, a
while ago, and struck me in the face when I asked
for pay, is in the cottage now, drinking and rob-
bing us again. There were many of them then,
and you could do nothing. Now there is only one.
Come quickly! "
Without a word, the young men, still carrying
the heavy hoes they had been using, ran to the
house, and rushing into the room where the robber
was still seated on his stool, engaged in drinking
his second horn of wine, they attacked him with
their hoes.
The coterel sprang from his seat, and drew the
heavy sword which hung at his belt, but, in an
instant, it was knocked from his hand, and he was
belabored over the head and shoulders by the hoes
of the angry young peasants. If he had not worn
an iron cap, which was his only piece of armor, he
probably would have been killed. As it was, he
was glad to plunge out of the door, and run for
the woods. The two young men pursued him,
but he was a faster runner than they, and his legs
were not injured. So, wounded and bruised, and
very sorry that he had thought about the old
woman's wine, he left them behind, and disap-
peared among the thick undergrowth of the neigh-
boring forest. His pursuers returned to the cottage
and set loose the robber's horse.
"The wicked thief shall not creep back," they
said, to do us further injury, and then jump on
his horse and:fly."
And they threw stones at the horse until he had
galloped up to the road and out of sight.
The page, who had been urged by his mistress
to lose no time in reaching the high road, for fear

that her sons -iight pass before he got there, rode
on and on, looking back continually for his com-
panion, but never stopping. Reaching a place
where they had made a short cut, the day before,
he tried to find it, got into the woods and lost his
way. A wood-cutter set him straight, but when
he reached the Paris road, it was long past noon,
and he was dreadfully afraid that Count de Lannes's
party had gone by.
Inquiries of some peasants, who lived not far
from the road, made him almost sure that his fears
were correct, for they had noticed two companies
of horsemen go by, and they thought that there
were some young people with one of them. Still,
he waited and watched, and wondered why the
coterel did not come, until nightfall, and then he
set out to return to Viteau. Without his robber
companion,- whom, by the way, he never saw
again, for the fellow was afraid to return to his
captain, having lost his horse,- it was quite impos-
sible for him to find his way back in the dark, and
in less than an hour he was hopelessly lost. Find-
ing no wood-cutter, or any one else, who could
show him his way, he wandereA about until he
and his horse were tired out, and then they spent
the rest of the night under a tree.
The page was quite right when he supposed that
Count Hugo's party had passed along the high
road before he reached it. The travelers had
pressed on vigorously during their homeward
journey, and meeting with no hinderances,--of
brabanfois, or anything else,--they rode into the
gates of Barran's castle before nightfall of the day
on which the page had missed them.
As soon as they had entered the court-yard, the
two boys sprang from their horses and ran to the
great door of the castle. But here they were met
by the Count de Barran, who, with outstretched
arms, stopped them as they were hurrying to their
mother's apartments, and, as gently as he could,
told them,-with Agnes and her father, who had now
come up,-the story of the visit of the Inquisitors
and the flight of the Countess.
The poor boys were almost overcome by this
entirely unlooked-for and dreadful news. They
had hurried back, excited and happy with the good
tidings they were bringing their mother, only to
find that she had utterly disappeared, and no one
could tell them whether she was. safe, or had fallen
into the hands of her persecutors. Louis burst into
tears, and fell on the neck of his brother, who
folded him in his arms, and, without a word, the
two boys stumbled up the stairs, and were seen no
more that night.
Early the next morning, Raymond and Louis,
still with pale and tear-stained faces, but unable to
remain quiet any longer, came down to the stables,



and, ordering two horses to be saddled, mounted
them, and rode away to look for their mother.
If any of their elders had known of their inten-
tion, they would not have been allowed to go.
This they well knew, and so they hurried away
before any one but the servants of the castle was
awake. They felt that they hated the Count de
Barran for having let their mother go away,
without knowing where she could be found or
heard from, and they wished to have nothing more
to do with him. And they had come to the belief
that no one but themselves could do anything for
their mother now, and' that they must ride the
whole world over until they had found her.

rushed together, and began clamorously to ask
questions. The page being only one against two
was soon obliged to surrender in this question
conflict, and to give answers to his eager young
When Raymond and Louis heard that their
mother was at Viteau, they asked nothing more,
but giving a shout of joy, turned their horses'
heads toward their old home, for they were on a
road leading directly thereto, which the page had
at last found.
Onward and onward the three galloped, much to
the weariness of their poor horses, and some hours
before nightfall they reached Viteau, where they


Each was armed with sword and dagger, and
they had some money with them to buy food. As
to-plans, they had made only one, and that was to
ride so far that day that Barran would not be likely
to find them and bring them back; and then they
would make inquiries, and come to some decision
as to which direction they should go in their
mournful search.
The sun was about two hours high, and they had
ridden quite a long distance, when they saw coming
toward them on the road a boy upon a horse. In
a moment they recognized their mother's page, and
he as soon knew them. The three young fellows

were readily admitted by Michol, who gave Ray-
mond and Louis even a more eager welcome than
that with which he had opened the gates to their


Now that he had not only the Countess of
Viteau, but her two sons, under his control and in
his power, Michol became very anxious to settle
the matter of the ransom money which he intended
to demand for his prisoners, as he considered



He set one of his new men, who happened to be
a truer scribe than Jasto, at work to write a care-
fully worded paper, to be sent to Count de Barran,
and in it he stated the terms on which he would
release the Countess and her sons and retire, with
his men, from Viteau..
The Countess, now happy in the possession of
her sons, and having the good news from the King,
was very desirous to start immediately for the
castle of the Count de Barran, where she expected
the priests from Paris would soon arrive. She was
greatly surprised and disappointed when she found
that Michol would not let her go until the ransoms
had been paid; and the two boys were very angry,
and wanted to go down and demand that Michol
should instantly order the gates to be opened to
them. But their mother restrained them. They
were now .in the power of these robbers, and they
must be. prudent.
Michol, having understood that the Countess was
not herself prepared to pay any money, had pru-
dently determined to transact his business with
Barran alone. He was very glad, however, to
have her write a letter requesting the Count to
pay the ransoms demanded, promising to return
the money when she again took charge of her
estates and business affairs, and urging him to use
all possible haste in settling the matter with the
captain of the coteredux.
This letter, with the one from Michol, was sent
to the Count the day after the arrival of Raymond
and Louis at Viteau, and it gave the people at the
castle the first news of the whereabouts of the
Countess, and also relieved .them from the new
anxiety caused by the departure of the boys, for
whom search was at that time being made.
But while these news gladdened the hearts and
relieved the minds of the Count de Barran and his
friends, the terms of Michol's letter vexed them
exceedingly, and threatened to embarrass them
very much. The wily robber knew that there
were urgent reasons why the Countess should, as
soon as possible, be at liberty to attend to her
private affairs, and therefore he greatly increased
the demands he had before determined to make.
Not only did he, require: the. payment of the
amount originally fixed as the ransom for Louis,
but he asked a very large sum for the .release
of the Countess; quite as much for Raymond's
ransom; a smaller sum for Bernard; and a good
price for his so-called services in taking care of
the chAteau, and protecting its inmates.
Beside all this, he demanded that Jasto, the man
who had deserted him, should be delivered to him
for punishment.
Although Count de Barran was a rich nobleman,
the total amount named in this letter was far more

money than he had in his possession at the time;
and far more, too, than the Countess could afford
to repay him, if he had had it to send to Michol.
Still, although he was very much annoyed and
provoked by the impudent demands of the robber
captain, he said that there was nothing to be done
but to accede to them; for the Countess must be
released, and that instantly. Not only was it
positively necessary for her to be at the castle
when the priests from Paris arrived (for it was not
at all likely that they would be willing to go
to Viteau and trust themselves among a gang
of thieves), but he was afraid that, if the terms
of Michol were resisted or even disputed, he might
be provoked to do some injury to the Countess or
her sons in order to hasten the payment of the ran-
soms. Such conduct was not uncommon among
these thieves. For these reasons, he would
endeavor to raise the money and pay it, as soon as
Sir Charles was very indignant at that portion
of the letter relating to Jasto. He had been very
glad to regain his old servant, who had left him
on account of a quarrel with a squire, and who,
according to his own account, had been obliged to
join the cotereaux because he could find nothing
else to do; and he stoutly declared that he would
not reward Jasto's good action in bringing Louis
to his mother by delivering him to the vengeance
of the scoundrel, Michol.
As this determination would make it useless to
send the money to Viteau, if Michol insisted on
the surrender of Jasto, Barran sent a message
in great haste to the captain of the cotereaux, to
inquire if he would be willing to take a ransom for
Jasto, and also to ask if he would release the
Countess and her company on the payment of
half of the total sum demanded, and be content to
remain at Viteau until the rest should be paid.
To this Michol sent a very short answer, in
which he declared that he would accept no terms
for the release of his prisoners but the delivery of
Jasto and the payment of the entire sum named in
his letter.
The messengers who brought this answer also
brought the news of the fight with the Inquisition
Such startling intelligence as this produced a
great effect upoii the mind of Barran, as it showed
him to what length the robber captain was willing
to go, in order to: secure the possession of his
prisoners and the payment of their ransoms; and
he set out that very day, accompanied by his
chief seneschal and other attendants, to visit some
of his estates, and also some small towns at no
great distance, and there endeavor to collect the
money needed. The Jasto question, he thought,





must be settled as best it could be. His safety
must not interfere with that of the Countess.
As for Count Hugo, he would have nothing to
do with this business. He utterly disapproved of

money should be paid, he said, it would show all
the thieves and outlaws of the country that the
nobles of France were willing to pay them enor-
mous sums for any ladies and high-born children


paying the exorbitant sums demanded by Michol, that they might steal. Heretofore, they expected
or indeed any money at all, for the release of a vengeance if they attempted anything of the kind,-
noble lady and her sons, whom the rascals had no but now they would expect such deeds to make
right whatever to hold or to ask ransom for. If this them rich. To be sure, this case was a peculiar
VOL. X.-27.




one; but never, he declared, as a knight of Chris-
tendom, would he submit to the vile exactions of a
common robber like Michol.
And little Agnes cried, and wandered about
moaning, and wished she was a man. What she
would have done if she had been a man she did
not know, but certainly she could do nothing as
a little girl, or even as a grown-up woman.
Jasto, when he was told what his old master
had said in regard to him, retired into a remote
part of the castle where he could not be easily
found, and diligently occupied his time with some
writing materials which he had brought from Paris.
I must e'en make haste and learn to be a true
scribe," he said to himself, "for if my master
finds me out, he may be only too willing to toss me
into the jaws of the cotereaux. So, hard will I
work at this alphabet and this little book of words,
and keep a sharp eye and ear open for any change
in Sir Charles's mind about his good man Jasto.
It will be a doughty man-at-arms and a vigilant
who delivers me to Michol."
Not long after the Count de Barran had started
on his money-raising errand, Count Hugo set out
on a little journey to the monastery, a few miles
from Viteau, where the wounded Comines and
other disabled members of the Inquisitorial force
were said to be still lying. He wished to find out
whether orders had been received to cease attempts
to arrest the Countess, and also to discover the
exact truth, as far as possible, about the fight with
the cotereaux and the strength of Michol's forces.
As he was going into what might prove a
dangerous neighborhood, he took with him a body
of about thirty-five horsemen, all completely clad
in armor, of which there were many suits in the
castle, and all well armed. Some of these men
were his own retainers, and others belonged to the
retinue of Sir Charles, who did not accompany his
friend, as Count Hugo thought it well that some
knight should remain at the castle, from which
nearly all the visitors had now departed.
When Count Hugo de Lannes reached the
monastery, he found that Comines was too much
injured to speak or think about the affair in which
he had been engaged, but he learned from the
monks that no recent message had arrived for
Comines, and he also heard how the cotereaux had
robbed him of his clothes and armor, and had even
taken, it was supposed, all his papers of authority
from the Inquisition.
From this information, Count Hugo felt sure
that the Countess need be under no fear of trouble
from the Inquisitors before the message to desist
from further action should reach them. Comines,
although he had excellent surgical and medical
attention from the monks, would not recover for

some time; and none of the other members of his
party would be likely to attempt to carry off a
noble lady through a great part of France, with-
out being able to show any warrant for their
It had been late in the day when Count Hugo
arrived at the monastery, and it was quite dark
when, after his party had been furnished with a
good supper by the monks, he took leave of his
He did not take the straight road back to the
castle, but struck off toward Viteau. His men
traveled slowly by the light of the stars. Some
time before they reached the chateau, a halt was
ordered by a small wood; and there Count Hugo
had a ladder made.
Two straight young saplings, which were easily
selected by the men, whose eyes were now accus-
tomed to the dim light, were hewn down for the
uprights of the ladder, and slight notches were
cut into them at suitable distances for the rounds.
These were made of short, strong pieces of other
saplings, quickly cut into proper lengths, and were
fastened to the uprights by strong leather thongs,
of which one of the men had brought a number
tied to his saddle.
When this rude ladder was finished, one horse-
man took it by one end, another took it by the
other, and the cavalcade proceeded.
Reaching Viteau,-which they did not approach
by the front, but on the southern side,--the horses
were tied at some distance from the court-yard, and
left in charge of several of the soldiers, while the
other men, carrying the ladder, quietly made their
way to the side-wall of the court. There had been a
moat on the outside of this wall, but after the wars
were over, and the Count de Viteau had died, this
moat had been allowed to go dry, and so Count
Hugo and his men were able to walk up to the
wall and set their ladder against it. The Count,
with three or four followers, then got over the wall,
and when they were in the court-yard they cau-
tiously moved toward the great gate. They encoun-
tered no one, for, although the cotereaux preserved
moderately good discipline, they did not keep a
very strict guard at night, expecting no attack
from any quarter.
Arriving at the gate, the Count found there one
sentry fast asleep. This fellow was quickly seized
and bound, with a scarf over his mouth; and the
gate being opened, the remainder of the Count's
force, which had been ordered around to the front,
was noiselessly admitted.
The whole body then proceeded to the chateau,
where a dim light could be seen shining through
a wide crack at the door of the principal entrance.
This crack, which was between the edge of the



door and its casement, showed that one bolt was
the only fastening which the robbers had thought
it necessary to use in securing this entrance; and
when the Count had made himself certain of this
fact, he signaled to a tall man who carried a great
battle-ax, apparently brought for use in a case like
this, and motioned to him to use his weapon on
the fastening of the door.
Two tremendous blows, which resounded through
the house, shattered the bolt, and the door was
immediately dashed open.
Count Hugo, who had carefully made all his
plans, rushed in, with four men at his heels, and
hurried up the stair-way which led to the apart-
ments of the Countess and her sons. There were
hanging-lamps in the halls, and he knew the house
quite well.
At the top of the stairs he encountered Bernard,
who slept outside of the door of his mistress's apart-
ments, and who, aroused by the noise and seeing
five armed men coming up the stairs, had sprung
to his feet and seized his sword, prepared to do his
best for the defense of the Countess and her boys.
But when Count Hugo raised his visor and spoke
to him, the brave but frightened squire immediately
recognized him as a friend.
"Stay here!" cried the Count, "with these
four men. Guard the stair-way. Let no one go up
or down!" And, with these words, he dashed
alone down into the great hall-way, where the
sounds of fighting and of calls to arms were heard,
and threw himself into the combat that was going
on between his men and a dozen or so of the
robbers who had rushed to the door-way when they
heard the noise of the ax.
But there was not much fighting inside the
chateau. Most of the cotereaux lodged in the
lower part of the house, approached from the
outside by various doors, or in the outhouses and
stables, and the court-yard was now filled with
these, hastily armed to repel the intruders.
The robbers in the hall-way were soon forced into
this court-yard, and into the midst of the
cotereaux Count Hugo, with the whole body of his
followers, now boldly plunged. Such attacks as
these, made by one or two knights with a few
attendants against a much greater force, were very
popular in those days of chivalry. For, whether
the rash onslaught were successful or not, the glory
was the same. And if the safety or honor of a
lady happened to be concerned, the unequal
combat was the more attractive to the knights.
For a lady in those days was often the cause of a
knight's fiercest battles and the subject of nearly
all his songs. These combats, however, were not
always quite so unequal as they seemed, for a knight
clad from head to foot in armor was more than

equal to three or four soldiers not so well guarded
by steel plates and rings.
The Count's men, as has been said before, each
wore a complete suit of armor, while the cotereaux,
although much better protected in this way than
most men of their class, were none of them com-
pletely dressed in mail. This, with the darkness
of the night and the suddenness of the combat,
gave the attacking party great advantage.
As they had been instructed, the Count's men
scattered themselves among their opponents,
shouting the battle-cry of De Lannes, and striking
furiously right and left. This gave the cotereaux
the idea that their enemies were in much greater
number than they really were,- and half a dozen of
these mailed warriors sometimes banding together
and rushing through the throng gave the idea of
reinforcements,-while the horses outside, hearing
the noises of clattering steel and the cries of the
combatants, neighed and snorted, and their atten-
dants shouted, making the robbers suppose there
were other forces beyond the walls.
The Countess and her sons were, of course,
quickly aroused by the din and turmoil below,
and Raymond and Louis rushed to the door, where
they were met by Bernard, who told them all he
knew, and that was that Count Hugo de Lannes
had come to the chateau with a lot of soldiers and
was fighting the cotereaux.

The Countess knew not what to think of this
most unexpected occurrence, and hastily dressed
herself to be ready for whatever might happen,
while the two boys, throwing on their clothes and
seizing their swords, endeavored to rush down-
stairs and join in the conflict. But this Bernard
and the men on the stair-way prevented, and the
boys were obliged to be contented with listening to
the sounds of battle and with seeing what little
they could discern from the upper windows.
Meanwhile, the struggle raged fiercely below, the
crowd of combatants surging from one side to the
other of the court. It was not long, however,
before the cotereaux began to be demoralized by
the fierce and wild attacks of their mailed antago-
nists. Michol had been killed, and there was no
one to command and rally them. Some of them,
being hard pressed and finding the great gate
open, rushed wildly through and were lost in the
outer darkness; and before long the main body of
the cotereaux, finding that many of their compan-
ions were retreating through the gate, were seized
with a panic and a desire to fly while they had the
A great rush was therefore soon made for the gate,
out of which the cotereaux pushed and crowded-
even carrying with them in their rush some of the
Count's men who were fighting in their midst.



SThis flight was precisely what Count Hugo had
wished to bring about. It would have been impos-
sible for him to conquer and subdue so many men
with his small number of followers. But he had
purposely left the great gate open, and hoped by
this sudden and determined onslaught in the dark
to throw the cotereaux into disorder, and thus be
able to drive them from the chateau.
Accordingly, he massed his men as quickly as he
could, and, making a circuit of the court, drove
before him every straggling coterel, and then, fol-
lowing the retreating robbers through the gates,
pursued their straggling forces through bushes and
fields as far as they could be seen. Then calling
his men together, and ordering the horses to be
brought into the court-yard, Count Hugo hastened
back to the chateau, and the great gate was shut
and bolted behind them. With torch and lantern
every part of the chateau was now searched, and
none of the cotereaux, excepting the killed and
wounded, having been found therein, the Count
pronounced his victory complete, and proceeded up
the stairs to the apartments of the Countess.
Day had now dawned, and the victorious Count
Hugo was received by the boys and their mother
with the greatest thankfulness and delight. Ber-
nard had already told them of the rout of the
cotereaux, but they could not understand why the
attack had been made, when they had expected a
peaceful settlement of the affair by the payment of
the ransoms.
But when the Count explained the matter to
them, and told the Countess what an enormous sum
the robber-captain had demanded for their release,
and told Louis that the surrender and probable
execution of Jasto was included in the terms, they
did not wonder when he went on to say that his
mind could not endure the idea of submitting to
such outrageous and unjustifiable demands from a
common thief of the roads, and that he had there-
fore resolved to strike a bold stroke to give them
their liberty without payment or cowardly submis-
sion. It is true that if this attack had failed the
safety of the Countess and her boys would have
been endangered; but as it did not fail, nothing was
said upon this point.
But the Count gave them little time for thanks
or wonderment. As soon as the necessary prepa-
rations could be made and the signs of conflict re-
moved from the court-yard, he sent the Countess
and her party rejoicing on their way to the castle
of Barran. Although the cotereaux had not
actually pillaged the chateau, it was impossible for
such rude and disorderly men to live there for any
length of time without causing a good deal of
injury to the house and surroundings, making
Viteau an unfit place for a lady to reside in.

Accordingly, with a few of the Count's men-at-
arms as an escort,- for no danger was now appre-
hended on the road,--the Countess went to the
castle, not, as before, flying wildly from her pur-
suers, but journeying pleasantly along in company
with her sons and attendants. Bernard, who now
no longer feared to leave his mistress, remained
behind to attend to the renovation and repairs of
the chateau, and to make it fit for the return of its
mistress. None of Count Hugo's men had been
killed and but few injured in the fight, for they had
protected themselves in the darkness from attack
from each other by continually shouting the battle-
cry of De Lannes, and the cotereaux had not been.
able to make much impression upon their heavy
The Count now determined, with the main
body of his soldiers, to follow up the attack upon
the cotereaux-to penetrate, if possible, to their
camp, and to destroy it entirely, and to drive the
remnant of this band of thieves from the forests
about Viteau.
Therefore he also remained at the chateau, which
he intended making his basis of operations in the
projected campaign of extermination against the
remaining cotereaux.


BARRAN was much delayed in his endeavors to
obtain the money necessary for the ransoms, and
he found a great deal of difficulty in collecting it
at all at such short notice. And wearied with his
unpleasant and annoying task, and with his mind
full of doubts and anxieties regarding the obstacles
and complications that might yet arise from the
probable refusal of Sir Charles to surrender Jasto,
he rode into his castle the day after the arrival of
the Countess.
His astonishment and delight upon finding the
Countess and her family safe within his walls, and
on hearing that Viteau was free from every robber
and in the possession of its rightful owner, and
that for all this no ransom or price of any kind was
to be paid, can well be imagined. And when he
and the Countess talked the matter over, it became
evident to the lady that to repay the Count the
sumis he intended to advance--which payment she
most certainly would have made -would have im-
poverished her for years.
All was now happiness and satisfaction at the
castle, but no one was happier or better satisfied
than the ex-robber, Jasto. Now that his enemy,
Michol, was dead, he felt that his own life was
safe; for it would be no longer necessary to sacri-
fice him for the good of others. He sat down in



a corner of the court-yard, and thought the matter
"As to that ransom," he said to himself," which
was due me for returning the boy Louis to his sor-
rowing mother, I must make some proper settle-
ment about it. Half of it I remitted when the
boy saved me from the hands of the bloody-minded
brabanpois, and one-half of what was left I took
off when these good people gave back to me again
my brave and noble master, Sir Charles. And
now that that great knight, Sir Hugo de Lannes,
has killed Michol and saved my life, I do remit
what is left, which is only a quarter of the whole
sum after all, hardly equal to the benefit received;
for when a man's life is in danger as much from
his friends as his enemies, it is a very great bene-
fit, indeed, to have it saved. But, as I have no
money with which to make up the balance, I will
e'en call the account settled, and so it is."
As Jasto took so much credit to himself for this
generous determination, it was not to be expected
he should keep the matter secret, and he there-
fore communicated it to Louis the first time he
saw the boy, giving him in careful detail his
reasons for what he had intended to do, and what
he had done.
All this Louis very soon told to his mother; and
the Countess, remembering that she had promised
Jasto a reward, and feeling a little ashamed that
it had passed out of her mind, took the hint
which Jasto had undoubtedly intended to throw
out, and sent him a sum of money which, if used
with ordinary economy, would make it unneces-
sary for him ever again to wear a suit of clothes
resembling a map of a country with the counties
and departments marked out with border-lines of
red silk.
A week afterward, when Jasto left the castle with
Sir Charles, his education had progressed suffi-
ciently to enable him, with the assistance of his
alphabet and his little manuscript book, to write a
short and simple message so that it could be read.
But he intended to persevere in his studies until
he had become as good a scribe as his master for-
merly supposed him to be.
By the aid of some deserters from the band of
cotereaux, who came over to him when they found
out his object, Count Hugo soon discovered the
encampment of the robbers, which he utterly
destroyed, and then, following them to their
several retreats, succeeded in breaking up their
organization and in driving them from that part
of the country.
He then returned to the castle of Barran, where
he was most warmly welcomed by everybody, and
where his little daughter Agnes was prouder of
her brave father than she had ever been before.

In a few weeks, the Count de Lannes found him-
self obliged to return to his own castle, which lay
several days' journey to the west; and he and
Agnes took a regretful leave of all their dear
friends, the little girl shedding tears of heartfelt
sorrow as she shook her handkerchief for the last
time to the boys and their mother, who stood
watching her departure from the battlements.
"I wonder," said Louis, "if we shall ever see
them again."
Nothing was said for a moment, and then his
mother remarked: "I think--that is, I have
reason to believe-that we shall soon see the
Count and his daughter again."
"Why do you think so, Mother?" asked
The Countess did not answer him immediately,
and just then they were joined by the Count de
Barran, and no more was said on the subject.
The Countess did not remain much longer at
the castle. As soon as the squire Bernard had
restored her chateau to its former orderly con-
dition, she bade good-bye to her kind entertainer
and friend, and departed with her boys for her
own home.
Nothing had been heard of the priests who were
to be sent from Paris, but there might be many
good reasons for their delay; and arrangements
were made for a courier to be sent to Viteau as
soon as they should arrive at the castle. The
Countess.would have been happy to have had her
suspense in regard to this unfortunate affair set
permanently at rest, but she knew the Inquisitorial
party had gone back to Toulouse as soon as their
leader was able to accomplish the journey; and
having been assured of the protection of her King,
she felt safe from unjust prosecution.
On the morning after their arrival at Viteau,
Louis, who was gladly wandering all about the
house and grounds, went into a little room on the
lower floor which was opposite the sleeping apart-
ment of the squire Bernard. Here, by the light
of a small window near the ceiling, he saw upon a
perch in one corner of the room a falcon, secured
by a string which was tied to its leg. Louis threw
the door wide open in order to get a better light,
and narrowly examined the bird.
"Why, Bernard! he cried to the squire, who
just then entered the room, "this looks exactly
like the falcon I took from this very perch the
morning of the day I first went to De Barran's
Of course it looks like it," said the squire,
"for it is the same falcon."
The same falcon!" exclaimed Louis. "And
on the same perch Why, that is a miracle "
It is no miracle at all," answered Bernard; "it



.is a'very simple thing when you come to know all
about it. After the rascally cotereaux had been
driven out of this place, I found the falcon fastened
to this perch, and, by marks I had filed upon his
beak, I knew him for the same bird I had trained
for your brother Raymond. Of course, I was aston-
ished; but, on thinking the matter over, I supposed
that this must be the bird which the robbers had
stolen from you, and that, bringing it with them
when they came here to live,- the rascally scoun-
drels -they naturally put it in this room, which
they could see had been planned and fitted for the
keeping of falcons. Looking into the matter still
further, I asked Orlon, the chief falconer of Count
Hugo, who was one of the men he had brought
here with him, what kind of bird it was he had
given to you when the Count desired that you
should have one. Orlon then told me it was a
falcon which had come to him only the day before.
He had been out hawking with his master, and was
bringing down to him by means of a lure a falcon
that had made an unsuccessful flight, when a
strange hawk made its appearance and also
answered his call and came down to the lure.
Knowing it to be a falcon which had been lost by
some hunter, and to be a well-trained bird, he
seized and hooded it and took it home with him.
The next day, when he was ordered to give a bird
to a boy, he much preferred to part with this one,
which. he had just found, to giving away any of
the falcons he had reared and trained himself. And
this is the whole of the matter."
"You may think it a very simple story," said
Louis, "but I think it is wonderful. I am ever so
glad to have the falcon back again; and just
think, Bernard, if it had not been for my losing
that bird, ever so many troubles would not have
happened, and those wicked thieves would never
have come to this chateau "
The squire agreed that this was true, but he
thought more than he said. He thought that if
Louis's kind heart had not been anxious to repair
the injury done his brother, he would not have
been captured by the cotereaux; and that, if he
had not been captured by the cotereaux, no ransom
would have been demanded for him; and if no
ransom had been demanded, the robbers never
would have seized upon Viteau to enforce their
claims; and if they had not been at Viteau, there
would have been no place of refuge for the
Countess when flying from the Inquisitors; and
that, instead of the happiness which was now so
general at the chateau, all might have been misery.
But he said nothing of this to Louis, for he thought
it not right that boys should take to themselves too
much credit for what they might do.
But although contentment seemed to reign at

Viteau, this was not really the case. True, the
chateau had been completely renovated, and all
traces of its occupation by the cotereaux had been
removed; but the Countess could not forget that
it had been made the abode of thieves, and that
bloody and violent deeds had so lately taken place
before its gates and within its very court-yard.
Then, too, she felt that she must soon be separated
from her boys. Raymond must go to school at
Paris, and Louis must return to his duties as the
page of the Count de Barran. And this separation
seemed a very different thing to her now from
what it did before these troubles came upon her.
Louis was particularly discontented. I do not
want to go back to Barran," he said to his brother.
" I do not believe he is a true knight."
"What!" cried Raymond, in surprise. "You
should not speak thus, Louis. No man has ever
said such a thing of the Count de Barran."
"I suppose not," said Louis, "but I am a boy,
and I can say it. He stood still and did nothing
when our mother had to fly for her life from his
castle; and he wanted to buy us away from the
thieves, instead of coming and taking us boldly,
as a true knight should. Count Hugo is a differ-
ent kind of a knight."
"But you should not forget," said Raymond,
how kind and generous the Count de Barran has
always been to us. He worked in his own way
for our mother's good."
Oh, yes," said Louis, I shall not forget that;
but I do not want to go back to him."
Matters were in this condition when, one beau-
tiful day in autumn, Count Hugo came again to
Viteau. This time he did not clamber over the
wall, but rode in bravely at the front gate. He
was not followed by a body of steel-clad soldiers,
but he brought his daughter Agnes, with her
attendants, and a company of followers in gay and
bright array. He did not come to conquer, but he
came because he had been conquered. He came
to ask the lovely Countess of Viteau to be his wife.
A few weeks after this, when the days were
becoming clear and frosty, there was a wedding
at Viteau. There were many guests; there was
feasting, and music, and great joy. Little Agnes
had now a mother, and Raymond and Louis a
brave and noble father.
And when the wedding was over, the Countess
rode away with her husband to his castle of De
Lannes, and her two boys went with her-Ray-
mond, because it was on his road to Paris, and
Louis, because he was to be taught to be a knight
by Count Hugo, who had admired and loved the
boy almost from the first time he had seen him.
The priests from Paris never came to catechise
the Countess. The truth was, that the young



King was not so much of a king as he had supposed
himself to be; for his mother, Queen Blanche, was
not willing that the crown should interfere in any
way with the operations of the Inquisition, and
had not consented that the priests should be sent
to the castle of Barran. But 'as it became known
that the King had taken an interest in the matter,
and as it was probably considered unwise to bring
a religious prosecution against the wife of the
Count de Lannes,-who was not only a powerful
nobleman, but a warm supporter of both Church
and state, and who was also known to have pun-

ished and exterminated the band of cotereaux who
had attacked the Inquisitorial party,-the matter
was suffered to drop, and nothing more was ever
heard of it.
Viteau was left in charge of Bernard, who would
faithfully administer its affairs until Raymond
should be of age to come and take possession of
the establishment and the estates.
And now, as our friends have left the chAteau,
with whose varying fortunes we have, for a time,
been interested, we will leave it also; and the story
of Viteau is told.




THERE 'S a wonderful lady who dwells
In the depths of the shady dells;
A wonderful lady to laugh and sing,
A magical lady, whose voice can bring
The bluebirds back when her clear notes ring;
And she is the beautiful Goddess of Spring.

One day, in the heart of the wood,
At the foot of an oak I stood.
There was n't a bird in the forest drear,
Not even a feather from far or near;
And the bubbling brook, so cold and clear,
Was the only songster I could hear.

I sighed to myself, Alack!
I wish that the birds were back!"
And when I had spoken the last low word,
A voice as sweet as a flute I heard,-
A voice as clear as the note of a bird
Whose carol the pulse of the wood has stirred.

Then quickly I turned around,
And followed the musical sound.
I followed it, faster and faster still-
I crossed a river, I leaped a rill,
Nor stopped a second to rest until
I came to a tree at the foot of a hill.

'T was an hour before the night,
And I saw a beautiful sight!

A lady stood on the hill-top grand,
A silver trumpet in one fair hand,
And in the other a magical wand;
And she called to the birds in the southern

" Bluebird, bluebird, come to me!
Buds and blossoms delay for thee.
Come, come !
Brooks and rills are no longer dumb./
Soon will you hear the wild bee's hum.
Oh, fly away from the Southland now !
Come and ferch on the maple bough!
Over the hill,
Across the plain,
Above the mountains,
Fly back again!
The woods are waiting-
They sigh for thee
Bluebird, bluebird,
Come back to me!"

The shades of the night came down,
And I went to the dreaming town.
But in the morning all silently
I came again to the self-same tree,
And bluebirds, fluttering, blithe and free,
Chirped loud to the lady, "We come to
thee! "




1 .f, .' BOB BURNS was a
|,,i' yboy with'a won-
,, .. derful mind
For cogs, cranks,
'''e fand levers, and
every kind
Su machine, from a dol-
t ir toy-engine to those
T l- .,r i ush through the depot
i 1 I riek through the nose.
_X dn ir.-ieed "it was plain
1/, T- o !j..erson that's sane
Ti. i rth-i boy was a genius, and
Lbuunid Lu tain
To something uncommon," said. Aunt
Betsy Jane.
And for one I don't blame her, for Bob surely was
Quite clever with jackknives, and gimlets, and saws,
And constructed 'such marvels, the neighbors all
Enough to turn any ambitious boy's head.

So Bob came at last to consider that he
Was about as ingenious as mortal could be.

One day there arose a tremendous sensation
In his little town, o'er a queer combination
Of wheels, rods, and bolts, which the school-
master, Michael,
Informed all who asked him was called a
Perched high in the seat,
Just by working his feet,
A man gayly rode up and down through the
And the boys said How jolly The girls said
How sweet "

Bob studied that bicycle day after day,
Played hookey from school and caught I
dare say
You know what he caught-something warm,




At last, this deluded
Young fellow concluded
This new-fangled notion Ae knew all about,
And could make one himself that would beat
it all out."

An old baby-carriage he found in the attic,
Quite stiff in the joints (perhaps 't was rheumatic),
And so rusty it wheezed in a manner asthmatic.
This furnished the wheels, big and little; the
rest -

Till at last, with a final hammer and clink,
" There now," he muttered, "she '1! do, I think."

And it was, I assure you, no common affair,
But was bound, as he said, to make most people
For it ran, not by treadles, as those you may see,
But by a huge spring that was wound with a
So that all you need do, if you wished for a

The bolts, bars, and screws- witi commendable
He begged and he borrowed, north, south, east,
and west.

And then what a clatter!
Clink, clank, hammer, batter,
Till the neighbors all thought, what on earth
is the matter?
But Bob worked away with a grin and a chuckle.
He barked his poor shins, and he bruised every
And rubbed
His nose,
And stubbed
His toes,
And how many other things, goodness knows,

Was to pull on the throttle and off you would

Then he called, to observe the result of his
His parents, his brothers, and sisters, and
And wisely expounded how much it surpassed
All others created, from first unto last.

The news and the wonder spread fast, and his
Grew wider and wider. The people all came
By scores and by hundreds to witness him
try it,
And one wealthy gentleman offered to buy it
At whatever price; but he proudly refused,




And mounted the seat to show how it was
The spring had been wound up as close as a
And all crowded round as he pulled on the

Whiz whir !
What a stir!
How excited they were,
As he dashed through the crowd like a shaft
from the bow,
Ran over two dogs, hit a fat man a blow
That knocked him a distance of ten feet,
I know.
Still faster and faster,
Like news of disaster,
He sped through the town and was soon out
of sight,
Unable to stop, and in terrible fright.

The dogs tried to catch him, the women
screamed out,
The men followed after with many a shout.
Farmer Jones's two horses ran madly away,
Though every one says they get nothing but

Thus, mile after mile, at the same rapid gait,
He dashed and he splashed, with his hair
standing straight,
And his eyes big as fists, and the mud flying
And the tears falling thick as the rain, till
at last
With a terrible shock
He struck a big rock,
Was thrown from his seat, sir, and straight
as a rule
Was shot through the window right into the

The frees skipped behind at a dizzying pace,
The fences on each side seemed running a race.
Up hill and down dale,
With the speed of a gale,
He whizzed o'er the road with a flap of coat-tail
Streaming out from behind, and his face
scared and pale.

The poor little scholars all started with fright,
For never before had they seen such a sight;
But the master, with wonderful presence of
Remarked, as he quietly mended a pen,
" Master Bob, when you enter the school-room




Come in at the door, sir! and, lest you should
Your delicate breath, enter not in such haste."

The bicycle? Oh !
It split into hundreds of pieces, you know,

And each of the pieces is whirling away
In the parks, on the roads, and the meadows
As this or that bicycle, patent applied for,
Though I can't imagine what boys like to
ride for.


Translated from the German of Richard Leander, by Anna Eichberg.

THERE are people who have glass hearts.
Touch them ever so lightly and they vibrate like
silver bells--roughly, and they break.
Once there lived a King and Queen who had
three daughters, and all three had glass hearts.
"Children," the Queen would say, "take care of
your hearts, for they are brittle ware;" and they
did take care.
One day, however, the oldest. Princess leaned
out of a window to watch the bees and butterflies
flitting among the hollyhocks in the garden below.
"Crack! they heard something break, and the
poor Princess fell back dead the next instant.
Another time the second Princess was drinking
a cup of very hot coffee. Crack was heard,-
the same sound of breaking glass, only not quite so
loud as before,-and in her turn the second Prin-
cess stumbled and fell. The Queen raised her with
much care, and discovered to her great joy that
she still lived-in fact, that her heart had only
been cracked and would still hold together.
"What shall we do with our daughter?" the
King and Queen said to each other. "Her heart
is cracked, and be the damage ever so slight, one
day it may fall to pieces. We shall have to be
very careful of her."
"Don't worry," the Princess said, cheerfully, for

she had been listening; "cracked articles often
last twice as long as others."
In the meantime, the youngest Princess had
grown to be so beautiful, good, and wise, that
kings' sons from all parts of the earth came to
woo her. But the old King had grown wise by
experience; he remarked that he had only one
perfect daughter, and she, too, had a glass heart.
He had concluded, therefore, to bestow her hand
only on a king who at the same time was a glazier,
and who would understand how to care for so deli-
cate an article.
Unfortunately, among all the kings' sons who
came a-wooing there was not one who understood
glazing, and so they were all dismissed.
At this time there was among the royal pages
one who was nearly graduated. That is, after he
had borne the train of the youngest Princess three
times, he would be considered a nobleman; the
King would then congratulate him, and say:
"Your education is finished, you are a nobleman.
I thank you; you can go now."
The first time the page bore the Princess's
train, he noticed how right royally she walked.
The second time, the Princess said to him: You
have done well! Give me your hand, Sir Page,
and lead me upstairs-but elegantly, as beseems a



royal page who lea
obeyed, and remark
dress, and that she
noble thought.
At last, as for th
train, the King's d
said: "How admire
before has it been
carried so well! "
And on that oc-
casion the page
noticed how very
beautiful was her
face. However,
he was graduated
now and a noble-
man. The King
congratulated and
thanked him and
remarked that, his
education being
completed, he
might now go.
As he left the
palace, the Prin-
cess stood at the
garden gate. "You
bore my train
more gracefully
than any other,"
she said; "would
that you were a
glazier and a
king !"
He would try
his utmost, he an-
swered, and she
must have pa-
tience, for he
would certainly
return. Then he
went to a glazier,
and asked him
would he be will-
ing to take an
"Yes, but it
will take you four
years to learn,"
said the man.

Ids a king's daughter." He
:ed how magnificent was her
e seemed intent upon some

ie third time he carried her
daughter turned to him, and
ibly you bear my train never

of time, but the glazier proved to him that a
respectable glazier always begins at the beginning;
so he had to be satisfied.
The first year he fetched the bread, and washed,
combed, and dressed the children. The second
year he smeared the cracks with putty; the third
he learned to cut glass and set it, and the fourth

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T.- HE PAG T.---E T A-

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T , _A~ }'KE .I TUR -6 .. TH '..-:,.STA I-. ', R.-

"The first year you '11 learn how to fetch the bread
from the baker's, and wash, comb, and dress the
children. The second year you '11 learn how to
smear cracks with putty; the third, how to cut glass
and set it, and the fourth, you '11 be a master glazier."
The page inquired if he might not begin with
the fourth year, as that would be a clear saving

he became a mas-
ter glazier. Then
he dressed him-
self again as a
nobleman, bade
his master fare-
well, and then
stopped to consid-
er how he should
manage to become
a king.
Quite lost in
thought, he went
down the street,
staring at the
pavement, when a
man came up to
him and inquired
what he had lost.
He had lost
nothing, he an-
swered, though
he was searching
for something-
in fact, he was
searching for a
kingdom; indeed,
he would be much
obliged if the
stranger would
advise him how
to become a king.
I could tell
you easily enough,
if you were only a
glazier;"' said the
"I am a gla-
zier, for I have
just finished my
On hearing this,
the man told him

the story of the three sisters with their glass hearts,
and the old King's determination to bestow his
daughter's hand only on a glazier.
"At first there was a condition, that the glazier
must be either a king or a king's son. As it was
impossible to find the two professions combined,
king and glazier, the King has had to compromise,




as, indeed, the wisest people always do. One of the
old conditions still remains-the suitor must be a
glazier; but there are two new conditions."


I' '


*I I'

- .&, '\ -

No sooner did the young nobleman hear this
than he went to the palace, disclosed himself to the
King, and reminded his majesty that he had been
one of the royal pages, and that for
love of the Princess he had become a
glazier. Now he would like to marry
her and reign himself after the King's
death. The King sent for the Prin-
cess, and asked her if she liked the
S young nobleman. She said yes," for
S she recognized him immediately; and
when the King desired him to take off
his gloves, so that he could see if he
had shapely hands, the Princess said
it was quite unnecessary, as she had
remarked his fine hands the day he led
: her upstairs. So, both conditions being
fulfilled, the young nobleman became
her husband.
.. .' As for the second Princess, she be-
J-,b 'came an aunt-indeed, the very best
^. aunt in the world, as everybody ac-
Sk knowledge. She taught the little
Princesses to read and cut out dolls'
S clothes, and she examined the school
reports of the little Princes. Who-
S ever had a good report was praised
and received a present; whoever had
a bad one, had his ears boxed.
"What do you mean, you naughty
Prince, by being such a lazy, good-for-
nothing ?" she would begin. "What's
I to become of you? Out with it-
Si well?"
K-k-king!" the offender would

King Midas, my dears, with the
great long ears," she would say, grimly
looking at the other little Princes, and
then the culprit would be terribly
ashamed of himself.
The second Princess grew to be as
old as the hills, though her heart was

"THE FIRST YEAR HE WASHED AND DRESSED THE CHILDREN." cracked; and when people wondered
"What are the new conditions? the nobleman at this, she would say cheerfully, Cracked articles
asked. always last the longest."
"Firstly, he must please the Princess; secondly, That is true enough, for my mother has a white
he must have fine, shapely, unroughened hands. cream-jug covered with tiny flowers, that has been
Should a glazier please the Princess, and have cracked as long as I can remember, and yet it still
such hands, the King will give him his daughter, holds together and has outlived more new cream-
and after his death he will be king." jugs than I can count.



,~ i~f

~ 111 :,. ..''
'i -U
i iC1Ib
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SHE was one of the very best pupils in school in
the city of St. Louis, but oh! so very, very poor,
that, had it not been for her wise and brave little
mother, I am sure she never would have gone to
school at all. Katie was ten, and her brother
Tim eight years old, and the brave little mother,
who was three times as old as Katie,-which was
not so very old after all,--had no one to help her
to take care of them. But she had lived long
enough to know that there was nothing in the
world that could make up for ignorance, and noth-
ing that everybody respected so much as a good
The winter when Katie became ten years old was
like all the winters,--bitterly cold some days and
sunny and bright on others, but never so warm
but that a glowing fire was needed,-so that,
with all the other things, there must be money
for the coal.
Mrs. Lovell, Katie's mother, was a seamstress,
and there were many days when she had but little
work to do, and the pay was always small--only

a few cents for a garment that she must work at
the whole day long. She made up linen and
cotton fabrics for one of the great shops of the
city; and when your mamma can buy you a
ready-made frock for one dollar, you must know
that whoever made the frock did not receive much
money for the work. For out of the dollar must
come the cost of the fabric, the thread and buttons,
and Hamburg embroidery, maybe; and the cutter
and the salesmen must also be paid. So you see
that there could not possibly be much left for the
Poor Katie's mother could have earned much
more by going out to service with her needle.
But, in order to do that, she would have been
obliged to find a place for Katie and Tim. And
that-oh! she could never do that, she thought.
When night-time came she wanted her little ones
at her knee. She would Tather have their hugs
and their kisses, the sound of their voices in her
ears, and the patter of their little feet upon the
stairs, as they came home from school, than all the

_ __ __



fine things that she could have in the rich families
where she might live and sew. So she struggled
to pay the rent of her two small rooms and to keep
Tim and Katie in school.
In school- that was the great thing. Plenty
of money may come one day, little ones," she
would say, but it will not be worth much if you
do not know how to use it. This is the most
wonderful country in the world, my birdies. Tim
may be President and Katie a Mrs. President, and
you can't know too much of school-books. I'm
sure that, when you 're grown up, you can never
be glad and thankful enough that your mother
sent you regularly to school. So don't mind the
patched clothes, and the holes in the shoes, but
keep at the head of tke class, if you have n't a
hat for your head!" And nearly every day she
had something like that to say to them; so it was
no wonder that they often forgot their poverty,
and had better lessons than their class-mates.
But the winter Katie was eleven years old, the
brave little mother had less money than ever before,
and as the spring-time came on they grew so very
poor that there was not always enough of bread
left after breakfast to make a school-luncheon for
Tim and Katie.
Give it all to Tim," Katie would say; I be-
lieve I don't want anything at noon." Poor little
Katie How hard she tried to think that she was
not hungry How empty her hands felt at first as
she trudged along without her dinner And how
her heart beat, and how the blood blrnt in her
cheeks, when the nooning came, and she of all the
girls had no luncheon to eat! Oh, if anybody
should notice it! she thought, and she studied
how she might behave that nobody should know
she was so very poor. The hunger in her stomach
was not half so hard to bear as the fear that some-
body would know that she had nothing to eat.
But, after a few days, poor Katie began to think
that the girls noticed that she brought no luncheon.
Then she thought that perhaps if she brought some-
thing that looked like one, they would never think
about her eating it. How she thought it all out,
I can not tell; but if any of you have ever been in
trouble and tried to think your way out of it, per-
haps you may remember that you thought of some
very foolish and queer things, and this was the way
with Katie. She might tie up a few coals in a
paper, she thought, but her mother would need
every coal to keep up the fire. There were some
blocks in one corner of the small room-Tim's
blocks, that Santa Claus had brought him one
Christmas, two or three winters before. 'She could
tie up some of those in a paper for a make-be-
lieve luncheon, and nobody would know. So she
tied up a few blocks neatly, and when her mother

noticed it as she started for school, and asked in
surprise what she had in the paper, the poor child
hung her head for a moment, and then burst into
"Oh, Mamma." she sobbed, "I wanted to
make believe that I had some luncheon--it 's
only Tim's blocks !"
For one moment the little mother did not un-
derstand, and then suddenly it all came into
her mind-how the pride of her child was
wounded because she could not appear as the
other school-children did, and that she had fixed
upon that simple device to hide her want. And
how it made her heart ache more than ever that
her poor little girl must go hungry But she would
not deprive Katie of the poor comfort of trying to
"keep up appearances," and her throat was too
full of choking lumps for her to trust herself to
say much: so she smoothed the little girl's hair
and wiped away the tears from her face, and said
bravely: "Never mind, Katie! Better days will
come! Mother feels sure of it!" And then
Katie slipped away with her little bundle, and the
poor little mother sat down and sadly wept at the
hardships that had befallen her little ones.
When the nooning came, Katie sat at her desk
with her make-believe dinner before her. Her
teacher noticed that she kept her seat, and seeing
her luncheon, went to her and said: "Why do
you not go into the lunch-room and eat your lunch-
eon with the other girls ?" at the same time reach-
ing out for Katie's bundle.
Oh, teacher! cried Katie, bursting into tears,
"don't touch it! and oh, teacher, don't tell,
please It's only blocks "
"Only blocks !" softly repeated the teacher, and
tears filled her eyes. "Never mind, Katie, I'll not
tell the girls. You are a brave and a dear little
girl, and one of the best in the school "
Poor, poor child! The kind words were like
manna to her heart; but, longing as the teacher
was to give the child a portion of her own luncheon,
she would not hurt her pride by the offer before
others. But during a short session of the teachers
when school was over, she related the incident, and
spoke in such high terms of praise of the little girl,
that each one resolved to do all possible to bring
"better days" at once to the poor mother; and
early next morning the better days began. No
one touched the brave little mother's self-respect
by offering her charity, but plenty of work, with
good pay, was carried to her, and enough of bread
and milk, and new shoes, and coal, and all other
needful things, soon came to their home through
the mother's industry. And Tim's blocks went
back into their corner, to stay there.
Happy little Katie !






As I write, there is a curious little brown-eyed
creature darting about the room, now perched
upon my shoulder, anon nibbling at my pen, bal-
ancing upon the edge of the inkstand, or sitting
on its hind-legs upon the table, where it sportively
tosses about a huge walnut. Now, spread out like
a parachute, it is clinging to the window-shade,
and now like a flash it springs into the air, coming
down lightly, only to dart to some other elevation,
thence to repeat its antics again and again.
As you must by this time suspect, my pet is a
flying-squirrel -one of the familiar examples of a
large number of animals that can move through
the air without wings. If we closely examine this
pretty little creature, we find that between the fore
and hind legs there is an expansion of the skin,
which, when the legs are spread out, offers a de-
cided resistance to the air and buoys the animal
up exactly as though it carried a parachute.
When our tiny playmate is in mid-air, notice how

careful it is to hold its feet and hands (for it cer-
tainly uses its fore-feet as hands) out as far as possi-
ble, to catch all the air it can. If we look closely,
we shall find attached to each of the hands a deli-
cate bone, which, when the squirrel is in flight,
act as booms for the curious sail in front.
But it is in the woods, in their native haunts,
that these beautiful animals make their most won-
derful leaps. From the tops of the tallest trees
they launch themselves fearlessly into the air, com-
ing down with a graceful swoop for a hundred feet
or more; then, by a movement of the head, chang-
ing their course to an upward one, they rise ten or
twelve feet, and finally alight upon the tree of their
choice. They immediately scramble to the top to
again soar away into the air, thus traveling through
the woods from tree to tree much faster than you
can follow them. How like they are to birds,
building nests for their young, and moving through
the air with almost equal freedom!



One of the most curious of this family is the
sugar-squirrel--a beautiful creature, with large,
curling ears of a delicate ash-color above and
white beneath. Like many squirrels, it is a noc-
turnal or night animal, lying concealed in its nest
in some hollow tree until the sun disappears, when
it comes out, and spends the night in wonderful
leaps from tree to tree, in search of food and per-
haps amusement. When descending from a great
height, it seems as though they must inevitably
dash headlong against the ground, so precipitate
is their flight; but this never happens. That they
are able to change the direction of their flight
while in mid-air seems a very natural and reason-
able supposition, though only on one occasion has
the accomplishment of this feat been observed.
The incident is related of a squirrel, which was
being brought to England from its home in New
Holland. The sailors had made quite a pet of the
little creature, which was a source of great amuse-
ment to them on account of its astonishing leaps
from mast to mast. One day the squirrel climbed
clear to the top of the mainmast of the vessel, and
seemed to be afraid to come down again, so one
of the men started after it. But just as he war
about to grasp the truant, it expanded its
broad, wing-like membrane, and shot off
into the air. At the same moment the ship
gave a heavy lurch to port. It seemed to all


that their favorite must inevitably fall overboard;
but, evidently seeing its danger, it suddenly
changed its course, and with a broad and graceful
curve sank lightly and safely upon the deck.
VOL. X.-28.


1..'- *>


In the forests of the islands constituting the In-
dian Archipelago is found a curious flying animal
that forms the connecting link between the lemur
and the bat. The natives call it the colugo, and
also the "flying-fox," but it is more like a flying-
monkey, as the lemurs are cousins of the monkeys.
Like the bats, these animals sleep in the day-time,
hanging from the limbs and branches of trees,
head downward; but as evening comes on, they
sally forth, often doing great harm to the fruit
on the neighboring plantations. In some parts
of Java they are so numerous that it is found
necessary to protect the fruit-trees with huge nets.
The extent of their flights through the air is some-
thing astonishing. They sometimes drop to the
ground and hop along with a shuffling kind of
leap, but if they are alarmed, they spring to the
nearest tree and in a moment reach its top by a
series of bounds. Out upon the branches they
dart, and with a rush are off into space. Sailing
through the air like some great bird, down they go
obliquely, swift as an arrow, a hundred and fifty
feet or more, rising again in a graceful curve and
alighting safely on a distant tree. In these great
leaps they carry their young, which cling to



them, or sometimes follow them in their headlong
flight, uttering hoarse and piercing cries. The
colugos live almost exclusively on fruit, preferring
plantains and the young and tender leaves of the
cocoa-palm, though some writers aver that they
have seen them dart into the air and actually
catch birds. The flying-lemurs are perfectly harm-
less, and so gentle as to be easily tamed. They
have lovely dark eyes and very intelligent and
knowing faces.
In many old natural histories,- especially those
of Aldrovandus and Gesner,-strange pictures are
shown of dragons, with terrible heads, breath like
steam, the feet and legs of a bird, and serpent-
like skins. In the days of chivalry these dragons
were very common, if we may believe the
tales of the time, and every knight or
gentleman with any pretensions to valor
seems to have followed in the footsteps of
St. George, according to the old romanc-
ers. But, in these days, the world has been
so well traveled over that the dragons
have been finally sifted down to one or
two beautiful little creatures that live in
India and the islands of the Indian Archi-
pelago. Save for their harmless aspect,
they have very much the appearance of
the dragons of the olden time, and we i" f
suspect they were the originals of the tales
that were certainly believed by the nat- ..
ural-history writers of past centuries. The
dragons are small lizards that live among
the trees, and though they'have no wings,
they move about through the air in grace- .
ful curves, with almost the freedom of
birds. When they are upon a branch, you
would hardly notice anything peculiar
about them; but, let an insect pass by
that they are particularly fond of, and,
with a rush, several of them fly into
the air. Between their legs is a curious
membrane, encircling them like a para-
chute, banded and crossed with gorgeous
tints of red and yellow, which glisten irt
the sun like molten gold. They seem
.to float in the air a second while snapping at the
object of their pursuit; then they sink gracefully,
alighting upon the trees or branches. The seem-
ing wings are membranes--really an expansion
of the skin of the flank, held in place by slender,
bony processes connected with the false ribs, which
shut up, as it were, when the "dragon is resting,
the wings appearing to be folded at the sides.
They live upon insects, and dart after them from
tree to tree with amazing rapidity, their long tails
lashing the air like knives.
According to the naturalist Brontius, the com-

mon flying-lizard inflates a curious yellow goitre,
or membrane, when it flies, thus rendering it
lighter, and reminding us again of the birds, with
their hollow bones. Thus assisted, they cross in-
tervals of space as much as seven hundred feet in
length faster than the eye can follow them. In
darting across small streams, sometimes they fall
short and come down in the water, when, of
course, they are obliged to swim the remainder of
the distance. Sometimes they are found in large
streams, so it is not improbable that they go in
swimming for the pleasure of it.
Equally curious as a flyer without wings is the
Rhacofkorus-- a tree-toad found in New Holland.
It also lives in the trees, and, to enable it to move

i"- -

*-: . .:.. .




from one to another with safety and speed, is pro-
vided with immense webbed feet that serve the
same purpose in sustaining it during flight as does
the membrane of the draco (or flying-lizard). They
launch themselves fearlessly from a branch, their
feet held flat and toes stretched apart, and swoop
down, then rise a few feet, finally alighting safely
at their expected destination, Sometimes four or
five are seen darting away together, looking like a
flock of winged frogs or toads.
In the sea there are three flyers that really, from
the extent of their flights, deserve the name.

AprilL ,


Those of our readers who have been at sea, espe-
cially in the South, may have seen the common
flying-fish, with its brilliant blue-and-silver body
and lace-like, sheeny wings. From the crest of a
blue wave they dart, singly or in flocks, fluttering
along, rising and falling, turning in curves, and
returning to the water with a splash--perhaps to
fall a victim to some watchful bonito (or dolphin)
that has been closely following them beneath the
water. These privateers of the sea are their
greatest enemies, as they rise in the air following
them under water, and emerging just in time to
catch the luckless flyers as they descend. The
dolphins will take great leaps of twenty or thirty
feet in following the poor flying-fish, which, not-
withstanding their long wings and wonderful pow-
ers, often fall victims to their tireless pursuers.
They frequently fly aboard vessels at night,
perhaps attracted by the lights, or, it may be,
caught up by the wind from the crest of some
curling wave, and carried high in air against the
The gurnard, though it has also long, wing-like
fins, presents otherwise a totally different appear-
ance. Its head is inclosed in a bony armor, from
which project two sharp spines. Some of these
fish are of a rich pink color, while others are mot-
tled with red, yellow, and blue, and as they fly
along over the water, and the sunlight falls upon
their glittering scales, they seem to glow with a
golden luster. With such hard heads, it will not
be surprising information that they are disagree-

able fellows to come in contact with; at least, so
thought a sailor who was standing at dusk upon
the quarter-deck of a vessel, near one of the West
India islands. Suddenly, he found himself lying
upon his back, knocked over by a monster gurnard
that, with a score of others, had darted from the
water, this one striking the man fairly in the fore-
head. The gurnards are also chased by dolphins,
and they are frequently seen to rise in schools, to
escape from the larger fish, while hovering above
them are watchful gulls and man-of-war birds,
ready to steal them from the jaws of their enemies
of the sea.
In company with these flying-fish may often be
seen curious white bodies, with long arms and
black eyes. They are flying-squids, members of
the cuttle-fish family, and the famous bait of the
Newfoundland cod-fishermen. On the Banks they
are often seen in vast shoals, and during storms
tons of them are thrown upon the shore. When
darting from wave to wave, they resemble silvery
arrows, often rising and boarding ships in their
headlong flight. So valuable are they for bait,
that four or five hundred vessels at St. Pierre are
engaged in catching them by means of jiggers.*
Many of the squid family leave the water when
pursued. Even the largest of them, often forty or
fifty feet long, have .been seen to rise ten or fifteen
feet in the air, and sail away as if propelled by
some mysterious force, their hideous arms drip-
ping and glistening. They are certainly the larg-
est and strangest of the flyers without wings.

* A jigger is made by fastening a large number of fish-hooks together in a ball, points outward.








MRS. POLLY ANN BUNCE was Beth Hall's
grandmother, and she wanted to go to the con-
vention at Providence.
"'T is n't likely, 'Liz'beth," she said to Beth's
mother, that I '11 ever live to see many more of
these anniversaries, and, as I am not so poorly as
usual, this year, I think I 'd like to go."
Well," said Mrs. Hall, I have been counting
on spending a day with Lucius's wife, and I might
as well go now and take you to the convention."
"I want to go to the convention, too," cried
Beth. "And, anyhow, Mother, if I don't go
to the convention, I should like to go to Prov-
Her mother looked very doubtful for a moment,
and then said:
"Well, well, I '11 see about it. We shall not
go till next week Thursday, so don't begin to tease
now, child."
By Wednesday Mrs. Hall had decided to take
Beth with her to Providence, and as Dot and I
needed new shoes, she offered to let us join the
Theie were quite a number of Tuckertown peo-
ple going into town that day. Mrs. Hall and Mrs.
Polly Ann Bunce went in the early train, but as
there was not room for us in the carriage, Beth,
Dot, and I were to follow in the next one, under the
care of Mrs. Ithamar Tibbetts.
Mrs. Hall said that this was a very nice arrange-
ment, but Beth and I didn't think so, by any
means. Aunt Jane says I have a prejudice against
Mrs. Ithamar Tibbetts, and that she is a good,
generous woman. I suppose she is, but Beth and
I consoled ourselves that day with the thought
that, when we got to the station, we could run away
from Mrs. Tibbetts and get a seat in another car.
But she kept her eye on us every minute, and
finally seated herself directly behind us.
"I don't care," I whispered to Beth. In the
big depot at Providence I know we can get away
from her. We will hurry out of the cars ahead,
and there will be so much noise we sha' n't hear
her call after us. While we run out into the street,
she will have to stay and look after her baggage.
That is, if you know the way, Beth."
Oh, yes, I know the way," said Beth.
We did n't have any baggage except Mrs. Polly
Ann Bunce's best cap, in a box, which Mrs. Hall
had given us to carry for her.
Well, everything happened exactly as we had

planned, and soon Mrs. Tibbetts and we had
parted company. Now," said Beth, "let 's walk
slowly and look into all the shop-windows. I want
to spend my money right off."
Beth had a dollar, and Dot and I each fifty cents.
Mrs. Hall had the money for our shoes.
I had just made up my mind to buy a lovely fan
with a shepherdess painted on it, when Dot sud-
denly cried: "Why, where is Mrs. Polly Ann
Bunce's best cap ? "
Sure enough, where was it ?
"It has gone on to Boston in the train," said
Beth, faintly. We left it in the cars in our hurry
to get away from Mrs. Tibbetts."
"Oh, how Mrs. Polly Ann Bunce will look with-
out any cap! giggled Dot.
And how do you think you will look when we
have to tell that we lost it ?" snapped Beth.
Dot, of course, began to cry.
'T was n't my fault, Beth Hall. I 'm a real little
girl. It was your fault and Mary Jane's."
It was the fault of all of us," said I. But I
don't care, for we can buy her a new cap. We have
money enough, I'm sure."
"Yes, but I had rather buy candy than caps,"
whined Dot.
Mary Jane," said Beth, "if you and Dot will
give your money, we will have two dollars alto-
gether. How much do you suppose caps cost? "
"I dunno," answered Dot; "I never buy 'em."
At that we all laughed, and Beth said they were
ugly things anyhow, and ought not to be more
than a dollar. In that case, we should have fifty
cents left to spend.
Pretty soon we came to a place where there were
bonnets in the window, and we thought they would
keep caps there, too.
"Mary Jane, you ought to ask," said Beth.
"You are the oldest."
"I 'm only two weeks older than you," said I,
"and I've done enough things to make up for
those two weeks long ago."
Well, if not the oldest, the youngest, then. The
middle person never does anything," Beth said,
with a nod at Dot.
There are folks who slip out of everything, and
Beth Hall is one. I was glad when Dot said:
But it is n't my grandma's cap. I think Beth
ought to ask for it."
"Come, Mary Jane," said Beth, I dare you to
do it."



Of course, I had to do it then. "I guess I'm
not afraid," I said, and walked right into the shop.
There were three girls behind the show-case. I
said to one of them: I've come to look at caps."
They all looked at each other and began to
laugh in a most disagreeable way, and one of them
asked: "For yourself, madam ?"
I knew she was making fun of me, and was just
going to say that we would go to some other shop,
when Dot burst out: Why, Mary Jane 's only a
little girl. She don't wear caps. It 's for Mrs.
Polly Ann Bunce, and she is an old, old lady."
"Well, you know there are a great many dif-
ferent styles of caps," said the girl to me. What
kind do you want?"
"We want a cheap kind," said Beth.
I had no idea there were so many different kinds
of caps. There was one very fancy one with
wheat sticking out of the ruche, and a bunch of
grapes on one side in a bow made of pink ribbon.
We thought this cap would be very expensive,- it
had so much trimming on it,--but it turned out to
be the very cheapest one in the shop. I suppose
that was because the ribbon was shop-worn. I
liked better the black one with the two lace tabs
hanging down behind and the purple bow on the
top-but just think that was seventeen dollars !
Real lace, you see.
There was still another, with just a ruche and
plain muslin strings, which looked somehow just
like Mrs. Bunce's; but it was two dollars, and would
take all our money. So Beth took up the one with
the grapes again, and said to me:
"Oh, what shall we do, Mary Jane ? I 'm afraid
Grandma wont like this cap."
Did she send you to buy one for her ?" said the
second girl, who was leaning over the counter and
staring at us.
Why, no I Beth answered; "but we lost her
cap coming from Tuckertown. We left it in the
cars, and now we have got to buy her another."
"The poor little things!" said the third girl.
"They are afraid to go home without a cap.
Could n't we fix up one for them for a dollar and a
half, Eliza? There 's the one we began for Mrs.
Jonas Jones; with a ruche instead of the lace, it
will look very nice. I dare say they will get a
scolding for losing the cap."
Yes, indeed put in Beth, and I never saw
her look so wretched before or since. "You had
better believe my grandma will scold, with no cap
to wear all day, and she a-visiting, too. I dare
say we wont be allowed to have any dinner at all,
and I 'm so hungry "
So am I! I said, and Dot looked ready to cry.
"There, now, you just cheer up, darling!" said
the one they called Eliza, with a very sympathizing

look at Dot, whose lip was quivering beautifully.
" We will fix up a nice cap for you, all for one dol-
lar and a half."
While she was at work we looked again at the
other cap. "I don't believe my grandma would
wear it," began Beth. It's a very queer-looking
thing, anyhow! "
Yes, indeed -with those grapes and that faded
ribbon," said I, as the girl, holding up the cap she
had just finished, exclaimed: "There, that 's a
bargain for you at one dollar and a half "
I should say it was said an awful voice from
the door. "Eliza Shaw, what do you mean by
selling that cap for a dollar and a half?"
We saw at once that the new-comer was the
owner of the shop, and that she was as mad as a
hornet, besides.
"They can't pay but a dollar and a half," said
the girl, but her face turned very red as she spoke.
"Well, let them have the one with the grapes
and the pink ribbon, then. That's a dollar and a
half, and the only one in the store for that ridicu-
lous price "
The girl put the nice cap she had just finished
in a box, and held out the other one, saying:
"Well, this is the best I can do for you, then,
after all."
Ruth looked at me and I looked at Ruth, while
Dot said: I 'm sure it's good enough."
I hope your grandma will think so," said I to
Well, maybe she will," sighed Beth, gloomily.
She called me an ungrateful girl, 'cause I said I
would n't wear that sun-bonnet Mother bought for
me. So I hope she wont despise this costly, hand-
some cap."
"Yes, a nice, handsome cap, with grapes and lots
of trimming on it! added Dof.
While the girl had been tying the cap up for us,
we had been leaning on the show-case, and, just
at that moment, the glass gave way with a crash
beneath our arms.
Oh, my what a thin glass it must have been,"
said Beth, turning pale.
"My gracious! iTin / said the first girl. I'm
afraid you '11 find it will cost you enough to have it
mended. It will be ten dollars, if it 's a cent! "
"But I never had so much money as that, in
my life cried Beth. We can't pay for it "
The woman who had refused to let us have the
cap now came tearing up to us, exclaiming:
Give me every penny you have, and then clear
out of my shop She seized Dot as she spoke,
and we soon found ourselves standing outside on
the pavement, with no money and no cap.
"Oh, what a dreadful, dreadful woman! cried
Beth. And was n't she just as mad as a hatter!"




"You mean as mad as a capper," said I; but
Beth was too frightened to see the joke.
In fact, we were all half crying by the time we
reached the house. We wondered if Mrs. Bunce
would wear her bonnet all day, and Dot said she
would lend her her pocket-handkerchief, and wel-
come. But, in any case, we were prepared for a
Why, where on earth have you been?" cried
Beth's mother, as we slunk into the room. Mrs.
Tibbetts said you hurried off so she could n't keep
up with you."
"Why-ee!" exclaimed Dot. "Mrs. Polly Ann
Bunce has got her cap on "
I raised my eyes from the carpet, and lo and
behold! there sat Mrs. Bunce, and on her head
was the very cap we had left in the cars.
"Yes; Mrs. Ithamar Tibbetts brought it," said
Mrs. Bunce, serenely. The day would be spoiled

for me without my cap," she said, "and you chil-
dren did n't want the trouble of it, so she took care
of it herself. I 'm sure I 'm glad I did n't have to
wait for it till you got here, though Lucius's wife
said she would lend me a cap; but, bless me! it
was such a smart-looking one, I should never think
of wearing it. Pink ribbons on it! added
Grandma Bunce, with a real horrified look.
Beth and I often wonder whether Mrs. Ithamar
Tibbetts brought that cap from Tuckertown, or
whether we left it in the cars and she found it;
but, as near as we could find out, she never told
any one how we ran away from her in the depot at
Providence, nor how near Mrs. Polly Ann Bunce
came to losing her cap.
And, somehow, we have liked Mrs. Tibbetts a
great deal better since then, and I, for one, have
concluded that it is very silly to take prejudices
against good, generous women.



.' -- name was a plain and common one, but everybody
S"-, had got into the fashion of calling her Little Marigold.
-* ... '--' The reason they so called her was because of her
-- .. I golden-brown skin, tanned by days and days of romp-
ing about in the sun, and her flossy yellow hair that
-" made a lovely cloud, colored like ripe wheat, above
.'., -- her pink, mirthful mouth and her dancing eyes.
'ii '' Little Marigold lived on the borders of a great for-
..1 .. est, many years ago, in a country that would sound
strange if I should name it. Her father was a wood-
'i, and plied his ax all day over the trunks of tough
3,, winning scanty wages for his labor. Her mother
pi '1 at a large wheel in the door-way of their rude cabin,
I. :, cooked the barley and lentils that served the three for
b' '- tir frugal meals. But of late, when our tale begins, there
." been a dreary famine among the peasant-folk, and even
t .:i:Ih coarse fare was hard to gain. One day it chanced
r: ''rl i ' as she stood beside her parents' cabin, a spot of sun-
ile flickered through the breezy boughs overhead, and
S' ', t. i!ted here and there on the turf below. It was shaped
I -,'ething like a big golden butterfly, and, as it moved,
ir.igold made little playful gestures as though to catch
'-,il, "~ ~"..' H-.! I:.riLh la L.i: w out wide in the soft wind that came rustling through
'1 l I : -, .--i :1: ',:_:- .:.1 '.rest; her dress was of some old dark-crimson stuff, and
l hr I re !'-:-t Iln:i : h..n-- 1 there on the sward, like brown oak-leaves in autumn.
She was making pretty, artless gestures with her lifted arms, stooping every minute, as
though to seize the airy, flitting scrap of sunshine. But suddenly an unusual sound startled her quick
ears; she turned, letting both arms fall at her sides. She was surprised and a little ashamed, but




her sweet, tawny face was still full of childish
Before her was a gentleman on a glossy white
horse, that arched its neck and pawed the ground
with restless hoof-strokes. He wore a hunting-
costume of dark-green cloth, and a silver horn
hung at his side. He seemed about to address
Marigold, when several other horsemen joined
him, galloping hastily around an angle of close-
growing trees.
All these new-comers drew rein when they saw
their companion. All save one of them wore dark-
green hunting-dresses and carried silver horns;
but he who seemed their leader sat his horse with
a prouder air than any of the others, and was clad
in purple velvet, with a diamond star that flashed
on his breast. He had long, flowing hair, that
broke into little curls where it touched his shoul-
ders, and his blue eyes had a sparkle in them that
was like the laugh of a brook. Little Marigold
thought him a wondrously handsome gentleman;
she felt certain at once that he was much finer and
grander than any of his associates; the horn that
dangled from his saddle-bow was of enameled gold,
and an immense feather, black and shining like the
steed he bestrode, curved downward from his pur-
ple cap, half shadowing his genial face.
I fear we have lost our way, little maiden,"
said this brilliant person, addressing Marigold,
while his associates drew respectfully backward on
either side of him. We have been hunting in
the wood, as you see, and the excitement of the
chase has led us far from our proper course. You
seem a very bright little damsel. Can you tell us,
then, the shortest road from this spot to the city
gates ? "
Great sir," answered Marigold, dropping a lit-
tle courtesy which had never been taught her, but
which came to her as naturally as its light sway to
the lily, I have never been, myself, to the city,
but I well know the road leading thither, and if
you will follow me for a short space through the
wood, I will gladly show it."
Without waiting any answer, Marigold went trip-
ping past the horsemen; and then, while pausing
for a moment, she beckoned to the whole cavalcade
with such a beaming smile and such perfect grace
that the group of gentlemen exchanged looks of
But the gentleman in the purple robe gave a
mellow laugh, and cried out to Marigold, as she
was dancing onward over the smooth sward of the
forest: "Nay, little one, you shall come and walk
at my side."
And with these words he sprang from his
horse, while Marigold again paused, quite fright-
ened by this proffered courtesy. He presently

reached her, and they moved along together. Be-
hind them followed the group of huntsmen, all
reining in their impatient horses, whose bold, dark
eyes told that they still longed to scour the wood-
land with flying hoofs.
I think you must always be happy," said Mari-
gold's companion. "Tell me," he went on, "are
you ever sad? "
"Sometimes, my lord," said Marigold. "I
often fancy it is, perhaps, wrong," she added,
gently, that I should keep so light a heart. For
though the world is full of pleasant things, there is
much hereabouts to make me very grieved and
"Tell me what it is," said the gentleman,
stroking the child's hair, "and, if possible, I will
see that it troubles you no more."
"Oh cried Marigold, clasping both hands
together, "I mean all the people for miles about,
who are sick and dying with the famine If you
could only help them, kind sir, I should be happy
indeed! "
For a moment the mirth had gone from Mari-
gold's face, and an eager pleading filled it. But
there came a sudden darkness upon the brow of
him who walked beside her. Oh that is a state
question," he said, in his beard, as the phrase
goes, and laughed a harsh bit of a laugh. It is
a matter for the King to settle, and not a little
Marigold looked up into the speaker's face, with
a guilty alarm on her own. "Perhaps you know
the King?" she faltered. "If so, pray forgive
me. I meant no harm."
The stranger gave another laugh, not loud, but
very jovial. He paused, and Marigold paused too,
and the whole cavalcade halted behind them.
"Little one," he said, "I, myself, am the
King! "
Marigold could not speak then, for sheer alarm
kept her silent. But the King, after watching her
dismay, soon said, in gracious tones, I have told
you who I am; now let me know your name."
"I am called Little Marigold, please your
majesty," replied the child, lowering her eyes.
A fit name for so merry a little maid," said the
King, with another of his careless laughs. And
then, turning toward the huntsmen of his suite,
he held converse with them for several moments in
a low voice.
"I want you to let me take you home with me,
little one," he at length said. "Do not fear;
you shall be treated with all kindness: you
shall dwell in a beautiful palace, and go back
again to your parents as soon as you weary for a
freer life. And I will have word sent to them
whither you are gone, so that they shall not mourn



you as lost. There is a great favor which you
may perhaps have it in your power to perform for
me. What that favor is I will tell you as we ride
through the forest."
Then, with no more ado, the King caught Little
Marigold in his arms and placed her upon the
saddle, himself mounting the steed a moment
afterward. She felt the King's arm firmly holding
her; the long plume from his cap brushed her
cheek; the jewels that studded his horse's reins
flashed before her eyes. And presently the King's
voice sounded close at her ear, questioning whether
their course was the proper one. Marigold calmed
her puzzled wits as best she could, and told him
that they would soon quit these fragrant glades
and hollows for the open road which led to the
city. And when it had indeed happened, as the
child stated, the King once more addressed her.
"Now," he began, you shall learn what is the
service that I ask of you, and that I only hope you
can fulfill. At home in my palace I have a son of
about your own age, who is called by nearly every
body, I regret to say, 'The Sad Little Prince.'
There is only too good a reason why he should
have won this name. His mother died when he
was very young, and he can not remember her loss.
For some few years he was as gay a child as any in
my kingdom, but of late months a strange melan-
choly has fallen upon him which there is no driv-
ing away. In vain the most famous doctors have
argued together over his singular case. None of
them can tell just where the trouble lies. It is not
bodily sickness, but rather a malady of the mind,
which makes him care' for no sport, take heed of
no event. All day he sits pale, languid, silent.
Every means has been tried to rouse and interest
him, but with no avail. Now, Little Marigold,
when I saw to-day the joy and peace in that sun-
brown face of yours, the fancy struck me that
your company might perhaps charm away these
dismal vapors from my son's brain. I would have
you go into his presence clothed just as you are -
like one fresh from another world than his own. I
would have you speak to, him with the same looks
and tones you always use. Forget that he is a
prince; treat him as you would treat one of your
tanned, romping playmates. Will you do this to
please me, Little Marigold?"
"I will try, your majesty," murmured Marigold,
feeling as if she had fallen asleep in some meadow
or lane, as she would often do if the noon were hot,
and had dreamed that the King spoke to her thus
and was carrying her to the great city on his rich-
harnessed steed.
But it was no dream; for just at twilight they
came to an open country where the land was quite
without trees, like a moor, save that it shelved

downward in one vast slope. And at the foot of
the slope lay an enormous cluster of dwellings cut
with dark streets, and having many domes and
spires that stood clear against the rosy evening
heaven. This was the city, and through its heart
curved a river that looked like a huge silver sickle
thrown down in its midst. And in the sky over-
head, only low toward its edge, hung a large
white star, like a human eye full of dreamy
But it was nearly night when they reached the
gates of the city, and two massive iron doors were
swung apart for them to pass within. And now,
as they rode along, Little Marigold saw people
sitting in the door-ways of rude, narrow dwellings,
for the night was sultry. And the faces of these
people were wan and haggard, reminding her of
other faces in the village near her father's home.
And once she thought she heard a bitter groan
from a knot of ragged men as their mounted train
clattered past; and again she caught a glimpse
of a thin woman and a half-starved girl, who bent
above a baby that had its eyes closed and seemed
to gasp for breath.
Then one of the gentlemen behind called out to
the King: "It is too bad that your majesty was
forced to enter by this gate and ride through these
vile streets."
"No matter," said the King, lightly; "it will
soon be over."
And he spoke the truth, for in a brief space of
time these unsightly houses changed to stately
mansions, and at length they reached a great
marble palace, whose pale walls seemed to touch
the stars. Proud flights of steps ran up to its
wide portals, and here armed men kept guard;
while below, on the dark, rolling lawns, were
walks rimmed with high shrubs, and statues
gleaming from rounded groves of firs. The King
dismounted and his gentlemen did the same;
then, while a throng of grooms led away their
heated horses, the whole company ascended the
palace-stairs. The King held Little Marigold by
the hand, guiding her short, timid steps. Then
they passed through several rooms whose splendors
made the child's eyes glisten with their excess of
light and beauty; and, at length, the King joined
a group of waiting-women who wore peaked coifs
and veils, like the court-ladies in old pictures. To
the foremost of these he spoke a few low words,
afterward giving Marigold to her charge. Then
he waved an adieu to the child, and went away,
twirling his mustache and humming a song.
Marigold soon found that she was not to see the
Sad Little Prince that evening, for two of the
waiting-women now led her to a chamber where
there was a gilded bed hung with silken draperies.




Then they undressed her, laughing at the shapely
plumpness of her childish limbs, and placed her
within the bed, beneath a broidered coverlid.
Marigold was very tired; it was past her hour for
rest. She fell at once into a deep sleep, and only
awoke when the sun was shining into the grand
room, and some sort of bird whose breast burned

waiting-women took her by the hand, and they
passed together down a long hall, where the arched
windows were stained with many tints. A page
came lightly toward them with a flagon of wine in
his hands. But the boy tripped and fell, and a
burst of laughter rang from a lounging group of
other pages as the red wine broke over the oaken




like flame was singing with sweet madness from a
cage hung in an oriel window.
But scarcely was Little Marigold well awake be-
fore the same attendants who had placed her in
bed drew her gently forth. They clad her once
more in the coarse frock she had worn last night,
and left her still barefoot, such being the King's
wish. Then they gave her some rare fruit to eat
and milk to drink from a golden bowl, and when
she had sated both hunger and thirst, one of the

floor; and two little dwarfs, in scarlet-and-yellow
jerkins covered with tiny bells, who sat with legs
akimbo and a board of chess-men between them,
grinned and chattered to each other when they
saw the poor page's discomfort.
But presently the waiting-woman led the child
between the folds of an arras, threaded another
hall, and at length entered a chamber where the
light was made dim, like that of a cloudy day just
after sunset. Here the walls were hung with



choice pictured tapestries, where ladies held fal-
cons on their wrists or fleet deer bounded through
thickets. In a massive chair, whose carved back
rose far above him, sat a slender youth with his
head leaning upon his hand, and with dark lengths
of hair falling about a pale, beautiful face, shaped
like a heart. He did not move as Marigold and
her companion approached him, but merely turned
upon them a pair of eyes so dark, listless, and mel-
ancholy that they seemed to tell of some grief be-
yond any words.
It is the Sad Little Prince," whispered the
waiting-woman to Marigold. "I will leave you
with him. It is the King's wish. Have no fear,
but draw near him and speak to him just as your
mood prompts." And with these words the wait-
ing-woman glided from the chamber.
Marigold stood for some time gazing at the
Prince. She did not feel at all afraid, though he
was looking at her quite steadily. Crouched be-
side his chair was a great hound, with meek eyes
and a drab skin of satin gloss, and not far away,
on a pile of cushions, lounged a court-jester, whose
bells jingled from every part of his many-colored
clothes as he started up to get a better view of
Marigold's ill-clad little form.
"Ho ho laughed the jester, showing all his
teeth in a funny grimace, whom have we here,
by all that is odd ? May it please your highness,"
he went on, addressing the Prince, this is a beg-
gar-child who has come to wear your velvet doub-
let and play prince in your place, since you are no
merrier than a graveyard, and tax the wits of your
poor fool to divert you, till he feels as stupid as one
of your father's own prime ministers."
Peace, Fool," said the Prince, not angrily, but
with a ring of command in his voice. Go," he
added, waving his hand with a weary gesture; and
the fool at once rose, surprised that his young mas-
ter should pay him enough note even to dismiss
him from the royal presence. Jingling his bells,
and turning his queer, wizened face twice or thrice
toward Marigold, the fool slowly trundled from
the room.
And now Marigold and the Sad Little Prince
were left alone together.
Pray tell me who you are," the Prince said, in
slow, grave tones, after he had looked a long while
at Marigold, and why you have been brought
"I am Little Marigold," was the answer. "The
King, your father, has sent me hither. He hopes
that I can cure you of your great sadness, though
I much fear that I have no art to do so."
The Prince shook his head. His eyes wandered
toward the greyhound lying at his feet, with its
long drab nose resting on its slim paws. Mari-

gold drew nearer, and smoothed the hound's sleek
skin and patted its head.
"Do you pity it because it is a dog ?" asked the
Prince, softly.
Marigold thought for a moment. "Indeed, no,"
she presently answered, "for there are many hu-
man beings who are not so happy as dogs."
The Prince started. "I see no unhappy people,"
he said; and then, with a heavy sigh, he added-
"except myself."
Why are you unhappy ?" asked Marigold, very
tenderly. The smile which had so won the King
was on her lips now, but her blue eyes had a sweet,
sober spark in each of them.
I do not know," said the Prince, with another
sigh; "do you? "
You seem to have everything that brings hap-
piness," replied Marigold. "You are not sick?"
Oh, no "
"You are not poor," continued Marigold.
Poor repeated the Prince, in a puzzled
voice; what is that ?"
Ah, do you not know what it is? exclaimed
Marigold, clasping her little hands together, while
a look of deep sorrow filled her face. "Often
enough it is to see those whom we love suffer for
food, for rest, for all that makes life dear and good! "
The Prince seemed to muse; his dark eyes had
brightened a little. I do not know what it means
to love anybody," he said.
"Ah," cried Marigold, softly, do you not love
your father, Prince?"
An eager yet troubled look crossed the Prince's
face now. I have never thought about loving
the King," he said. "I have been taught to bow
before him-to do him honor; that is all. He is
always going to the hunt, or to a state council, or
to a ball when we meet. He pats my head; he
tells me to be cheerful; he laughs with the waiting-
ladies while he talks to me; he has only a few
minutes to stay; people bring him messages,
letters; perhaps some one of the gentlemen says:
'Your majesty will be late.' Then he twirls his
mustache and answers: 'Ah, true!' and then he
goes. It is always that way; he has no sooner
come than he is going. Do you understand?"
"Yes," said Marigold, thoughtfully, I under-
"None of the others will let me love them,"
continued the Prince. I think it is because they
fear me too much. Only a few have the right to
speak when I do not address them. Once I asked
why this was so, and a page told me it was because
I am so great. I do not feel at all great; surely,
I look very frail and small; every mirror in the
palace tells me that. And yet, do you know, Little
Marigold, that it takes five gentlemen-in-waiting




to put me to bed, and five more to give me my
That must be very bad," said Marigold. She
was thinking of how she ate her own dinner of
barley or boiled herbs, sometimes carrying it out
under the big wild-grape vine near the old well,
with no attendants but a stray thrush among the
leaves, or the quaint grigs in the grass.
"Now tell me of these whom you call the poor,"
said the Prince, and he laid one of his slight hands
on Marigold's plump arm.
And then Marigold answered, to the best of her
young wit. And when she told him of the famine
and woe that she had seen here in his father's own
city, and how people said that all the evil sprang
from the King's heedless rule, the Prince leaned
his head on his hand and sat mute for a very long
time, with lowered eyes.
But at last several courtiers entered the chamber,
and Marigold was led away and left in a great
room that overlooked a marble balcony half
smothered in pink roses. She watched the joyous
view till she grew tired; then she dropped asleep
on a great damask couch, and the sun slanted low,
and the day darkened around her while she slept.
It was quite dark when something awoke her.
But the light of a taper shone in her face, and
while starting up from the couch she saw that the
Prince stood beside her. Some one else held the
taper, however, and, as Marigold's senses cleared,
she perceived that this some one was the fool
whom she had seen in the morning. But he
might now have passed for a wise man, this same
fool, his gaudy, bell-trimmed dress being changed
for one of dark cloth. And the Prince was like-
wise clad.
Then, while Marigold was rubbing her eyes,
since she was still but half awake, the Prince
touched her arm and said, in a voice that was faint,
yet clear and firm:
"Do not be afraid, Little Marigold. It is only
the fool and I. He has helped me, as I knew that
he would, and you and he and I are going on a
On a journey repeated Marigold, now quite
"Yes," replied the Prince. "You shall see.
Make no noise, but come with us."
The Prince held out his hand. Marigold rose
and took it. Then the three passed from the
room, and went through many long, still corridors,
guided by the fool, who had blown out his taper,
since the lamps hanging in these various passages
made it no longer needful. And at length they
came forth into the open starlight, through a small
outer door which the fool unlocked with a key that
he carried.

Then they stole across the palace grounds, in
and out of the groves and bosks of shrubbery, fear-
ful of being discovered by the guards. But the
fool was wary, taking a roundabout route and
letting his keen eyes peer through the darkness
with much caution. And at last they reached the
street through a narrow gate-way to which the fool,
by some artful means of his own, had also pro-
cured a key.
"Let us follow him," whispered the Prince to
Marigold, pointing toward the fool, who walked
ahead. "He knows where I wish to go."
The Prince had given Marigold a dark cloak
like that which he himself wore. The hour was
still early; they met several passers, but their plain
attire and the obscure dusk together saved them
from notice. For some time the streets which
they traversed were of noble breadth and lined
with wealthy homes; but finally these grew
crooked, ill-lit, and noisome. Groups of ragged
people lounged in the door-ways; sometimes a
child's cry sounded shrill and mournful; here and
there a candle flickered in the small, cramped
rooms, where gaunt forms lay stretched in weary
The fool paused and looked at his young master.
The Prince grasped little Marigold's hand still
tighter, and shuddered.
"And so these are the poor?" he said, in low
yet deep tones.
Yes," said Marigold.
Strange murmured the Prince, as if to him-
self. "I have never known of them till to-day.
What right had I to be sad when these were suf-
fering and dying so near me ? "
The fool came close to the Prince's side. His
lean, grim face was all wrinkled with hidden
laughter. So ho your highness," he chuckled,
"here are the folk that pay for your royal father's
feasts and hunts. The roasted ortolans and pea-
cocks, the costly fish and the precious wines, are
all flavored with their tears, only you that eat and
loll at your ease don't care for that."
The Prince grew pale in the faint light where
they stood; the fool half turned away, chuckling
to himself.
"I wonder if he is really a fool?" thought
Marigold. I hardly understand what he says,
but it does not sound very foolish, somehow."
Just then the Prince moved toward a group of
rough men in tattered garments, who stood together
under one of the few lamps. He drew Marigold
along with him. "Be careful, your highness,"
whispered the fool; but whether the Prince heard
or no, he did not heed this warning.
"Will you tell me what it is that makes you
poor?" he said, looking straight at the nearest



man of the group, and speaking with bold yet mild
The man stared and laughed; he had on a
dingy, wine-red jerkin that was frayed and torn;
one of his feet was bare, the other wore a shoe
with a long point at the toe and trodden down at
the heel.
"What makes me poor, my lad?" he said,
while the laugh died on his lips and a drawn,
fierce look followed it. "Why, because the King
and his court feast and game and hunt all day
long, and lay taxes on the people to help feed their
There was a silence. "Then the King is not a
good man?" asked the Prince, with his dark, still
eyes fixed full on the hollow-cheeked
face above his own. --
He 's a brave King," cried another
voice in the crowd. He fought well in '
the last wars. We can't forget that."
An old woman had pushed forward -
by this time, joining the gathered men.
Gray hairs straggled over her brow,
seamed with deep lines; her dress was
a mass of rags. Want had gnawed her
to the bone. She lifted one skinny hand
and shook it with an air of rage.
"Who cares if the King is brave?"
she cried, her voice all a wild whine.
" We forget it, and it is he who makes
us forget it. He fills himself with good
cheer while we starve. He has no more
time to make just laws for his realm.
He must tread the dance instead, with
the last court-beauty; he must play at
tennis; he must rattle the dice with his
lords; he must squander dainties on his
son-him that they call the Sad Little
Prince. Sad, indeed! He should have
something to make him sad, the idle,
lounging youth Let him come here and
see the babies dying on their mothers'
breasts! Let him live on a crust a day,
and less, as we are forced to live Then
he might be sad in. good earnest. Then
he might droop in his gilded chair, and
dream that the whole world had gone
awry! Bah! I would like to speak my
mind to the King! I would like to say
my say to the spoiled boy that he loads with sweets
whose cost for one week would keep us wretches
hale and strong for a year "
The Prince was looking straight at the old
woman as she ended this angry outburst. Mari-
gold saw that his lip was quivering, and that a great
tear was on either of his pale cheeks. Perhaps
the dimness made no one else see this save Mari-



gold; she was so close to him. After a little pause,
the Prince said, very slowly, to the old woman:
"I think you are right, though you are angry.
People who are angry are not often right. But
perhaps you shall not always suffer. Perhaps
there will be a change. It may happen soon
- I don't know. Tell your beads to-night
and pray for it."
His eyes were full of tears now, and his voice
trembled. Only Marigold saw the tears, but all
heard the new voice with which he spoke. A
murmur rose in the crowd. The wan faces leaned
forward, eager and curious.
Who are you? cried a voice. "You are no
child of the people. You do not speak as we

'--_ _-- __-_--:_--_-- __-_-- --_- -'-_) j
--=-- -: g--


speak. Where did you get that look? It is like
one of the Saints'."
"Come," whispered the fool, who stood behind
the Prince and plucked his cloak. Come, or it
will be too late."
"Tell us who you are now cried the old wo-
man; and she caught the front of the Prince's
cloak as if to tear it away from his slight form.


"No-stay! said a fourth voice, dragging the
old woman back. It may be a miracle. Per-
haps he is the Holy Child come to us in flesh and
blood from the Madonna's arms. Who knows?"
A sudden awe seemed to fall on the group.
Many of the rough men crossed themselves, reced-
ing several steps.
At this point the fool threw his arm about the
Prince and hurried him onward, while his hand
still clung to Marigold's. No one followed the
three as they sped along with fleet haste. In si-
lence they glided onward through the squalid
streets. At last they were in the haunts of thrift
and wealth once more. The Prince drew a deep
breath as he pressed Marigold's hand.
Oh, Little Marigold," he said ,"you don't know
what a change you have wrought in me! I shall
never be sad again. I have no right to be. I
must think only of making others happy "
When they reached the palace grounds, the fool
unlocked the small entrance as before. But as
they were moving across the lawns a gleam of near
lights came to them through the thick screens of
"What are those lights?" asked the Prince,
"Your father lolds high revel to-night," an-
swered the fool, in his grandest pavilion."
The Prince seemed to muse for a moment.
"Little Marigold and I will go to the revel," he
The fool gave one of his loudest chuckles, but
there was more surprise than mirth in the sound.
"In that dress," he said, "your highness will
look like a beetle among so many butterflies."
Come," said the Prince to Marigold. The two
children went across the lawns together, till the
lights grew very near and bright. Sweet music
floated to them across the starry dimness. Pres-
ently a splendid pavilion rose before them, all
ablaze with lamps. It was propped on slim pillars
that were wound with blossoming vines. Its floors
were crowded with gayly dressed people, whose
gems flashed and whose ribbons fluttered.
"Are you afraid? said the Prince, pausing and
turning to Marigold.
"No," answered Marigold, shaking her head.
There is something in your face and the clasp
of your hand that makes me brave."
They walked onward. When they came to the
stately steps of the pavilion, two armed men moved
forth from the shadow.
You can not pass," said one of the men. We
do not know you."
Besides," growled the other, this is no place
for children."
Marigold's companion threw back his cloak. A

star of diamonds, like that which the King had
worn in the wood, only smaller, burned on his
I am the Prince," he said.
The men drew back, quick as thought, and
bowed so low in their clinking armor that the
plumes of their helmets nearly swept the ground.
Then the Prince and Marigold passed up the lofty
flight of steps together.
As they came among the merry-makers, many
eyes were turned upon their small, dark-clad fig-
ures. But presently, It is the Sad Little Prince,"
passed from lip to lip.
A sort of awed hush fell upon the revel. Every-
body stopped dancing. The music ceased as well,
for the players, though hid in a distant bower of
leafage, had seen the sudden commotion and won-
dered at its cause.
The Prince, still holding Marigold tightly by the
hand, moved onward. His head was thrown a lit-
tle back; his pale, boy-face seemed cut from mar-
ble; they who watched him told themselves that
he had never before looked so like his dead moth-
er, who had been a good and lovely queen.
At the farther end of the vast room was a dais,
and here, in a high chair of gold scroll-work, sat
the King. A throng of courtiers were about him.
He wore a dress of black velvet slashed with scar-
let, and a circlet of rubies on his head, that made
a line of living fire. He started up as the Prince,
with Marigold at his side, drew nearer, pausing
near the dais.
"My son," exclaimed the King, "why are you
here? "
-There was a dead silence. The Prince stood
erect and calm; his dark cloak fell about his slen-
der form in graceful folds; the diamond star was
still visible on his breast- the star that it was
death for any in that great kingdom to wear, save
his father and himself.
His voice rang clear and full when he now spoke.
It was not like a boy's voice, nor yet was it deep
as the voice of a man. But all who heard it were
thrilled, as though from the first notes of a mellow
flute when touched by master-fingers.
"Father," he said, "I have come to tell you
that you can change all my sadness, if you so
wish, into deep rejoicing. For Marigold has taught
me what I never knew before -that there are
thousands in the world who suffer, while I am
guarded from the least real pain. And to-night
Marigold and I have gone into that dreary part of
the city where men and women and children are
calling to you for mercy from the famine, while you
will not hear. And they say bitter things against
you, and they are right to say them. But if you
will not aid these unhappy folk, give me the power


to do so, and by thus filling my mind with their
sore needs I shall live a new life and forget the
strange woe that has weighed upon me. You
yourself sent me Little Marigold, and it is she whose
simple speech, though she guessed it not at the
time, has shown me that my dismal mood was a
sin. For while I mope and grieve because of
nothing, while you dance and laugh and speed the
chase, our land, that looks to you as its head and
help, lies waste for leagues. Not as father, but as
King, I plead of you to save and succor your peo-
ple. Not as your son, but as the King that is to
be, I cry out to you this night. Even as I have
cast off my trance of gloom, do you fling aside, 0
King, the trance of neglect that has wrapped your
heart, lest they whom you now wrong rise up and
tear you from your throne, seizing by force the
food and alms that you deny them! "
As the Prince's voice grew still, a low murmur
ran through all the rich hall, for he had spoken
not as a child, but as one inspired by some wise
and pure spirit.
Every eye was now fixed on the King. At
the boy's first words, his face had clouded with
wrath, but in the silence that followed the Prince's
earnest speech he stood with downcast head, as
though stung by exceeding shame.
Then, while all gazed upon him in wonder, he
took the circlet of rubies from his brow and cast it
under foot. And afterward he thus spoke, in a
voice that trembled as none present had ever heard
it tremble till now:
"The Prince is right. And even as you have
seen me throw these jewels beneath my feet, so
shall I fling aside all aims of giddy pleasure in
the future, till the people over whom God has
appointed me justly to rule are once again blest
with ease and thrift."
Then for a moment the King paused, and a
smile of mockery curled his lips as he looked
around at the bright-robed throng about him.
"Oh, my courtiers he said, pointing to the
form of Marigold, where she stood with her hand
still clasped in the Prince's, "not one of all you
here could lift the veil of darkness from my son's
mind and soul as yonder little child has done "

Then the King descended from the dais, and
went up to Marigold and kissed her, while she
stood barefoot amid the splendid throng. And
after that he kissed his son, and giving to each of
the children a hand, he passed with them out from
the pavilion, while a great silence reigned among
the amazed courtiers.

On the morrow the King rose a new man. The
forest glades rang no more with the bugles of his
hunting-train; his halls of feast were void and
still; the gaming-board knew him no longer. But,
in place of this, he sat for hours in his chamber of
council; he rode abroad dispensing humane chari-
ties; by degrees the famine lessened, and the land
grew loud in praise of his merciful deeds. And
the Prince often rode at his side, or sat near him
while he framed new laws for the common good
of his subjects.
Nor was the Prince any longer called sad, for a
look of sweet joy lit his face, and he was like some
slender flower that has drooped with drought, but
raises itself in new balm and beauty after freshen-
ing rain.
As'for Little Marigold, she would have gone back
in content to her lowly parents and dwelt on the
woodside as before. But this the King would not
He sent rich gifts of value to her parents, but
retained her in the palace. He had her taught by
learned masters and trained in all the gentle
niceties of life. And her grace and loveliness
waxed with years, till at last she had grown a
fairer maiden than any in the kingdom. And
when the hour was ripe, he gave her in marriage
to the Prince, who had learned tenderly to love
her, and was now tall of stature and most comely
of presence. And when, in due time, the King died,
she became Queen Marigold, reigning with her
Already it had passed into a legend how she
had saved the people from sharp suffering in
her early childhood; and for this reason, and
because of many sweet virtues afterward shown,
the long reign of Queen Marigold was full of peace,
honor, and love.




$ C-~~~~ i



IN a mountain spring, a crystal drop
Came trembling up to the glassy top:
It came from the dark, cool depths of earth
And the sunlight kissed it at its birth.

Far up in the azure realms of sky,
The clouds of summer were sailing by,
And the little drop looked up, and said,
As it saw the glory overhead,
" Oh, would that to me the boon were given
To move in the shining ranks of heaven "

And oft again in its downward course,
As it hurried from its mountain source,-
A bubble, borne by the brimming brook
To many a wild and shadowed nook,
Or loitered slow with the wayward stream,-
It thought of its childhood's sky-born dream.
But on and away the waters flow,
Through woodland and meadow far below,
Over sandy plain and stony bank,
And through swamps, like jungles, dense and
Imprisoned long within rocky walls,
Now plunging down over dizzy falls,
They turn the wheels of the busy mill;
Now white with foam, now dark and still,
Till at length a river, deep and wide,
It flowed where cities stood by its side,
And at last the river reached the sea,
And the dream and dreamer ceased to be:

The drop was lost in the heaving deep,
Where all the rivers of earth must sleep.

But the sun that kissed the new-born drop,
And whose floods of sunbeams never stop,
Had not forgotten his little child,
Born of a mist in the mountain wild,
And he loosed his threads of golden light,
And up from a wave of snowy white
The drop was lifted so tenderly
It never knew when it left the sea,
But found itself drawn up to the sky,
Afloat in the heavens, soft and high,
As free as the winds of airy space,
As fair as the morning's tender grace.

One tranquil eve, 'mid the purple ones
That shine in the light of setting suns,
It saw far down on the distant earth
The forest-spring where it had its birth,
And all of the winding way it went,
With many a murmur of discontent;
And the early dream came back again,
As the thoughts of youth come back to men:
That thread of silver that ever turned
Away from the skies for which it yearned,
That wandering life of fall and foam
That seemed to lead it away from home-
It now could see was the very road
That led it up to its blest abode.

. .- .





In a Mother Hubbard cloak
And a Mother Hubbard bonnet,
With a most bewitching poke,

One morning met a curly dog.
He was of medium size-
His ears were drooped, his tail was limp,
And the tears stood in his eyes.

Said Polly to the curly dog:
" Why do you look so sad ? "
" Because," replied he, with a sniff,
" The times are very bad.

" You see," said he, "the streets are full
Of little Mother Hubbards,
But though I've wagged my tail most off,
They never speak of cupboards."

Said Polly Betsey: Come with me.
'T would melt a heart of stone !
I '11 give you lots of bread and
And a juicy mutton-bone."

She took him home and fed him well;
His tears were turned to laughter;
And now, wherever Polly goes,
The curly dog trots after.








THE retirement of Lew Bartland rendered
another meeting of the club necessary, in order to
fill the vacant office of commodore.
It was held early in the following week. Lew
was not present, and the Web Foote faction had
everything its own way. Web had some oppo-
nents among the Tammoset boys and Lew's Demp-
ford friends; but they could not unite upon any
one candidate, and, when the ballot was taken,
Web was elected by a large majority.
It was just what he expected. He was at the
summit of his ambition. He was jubilant-he
walked upon air.
A committee of ten members was then chosen,
"to decide what measures should be taken for the
removal of the obstructions in the river"; in other
words, to get rid of the Tinkham Brothers' mill-
dam. Somehow the impression had got abroad
that it would not be safe for individuals to
meddle with it without a strong backing. The
time had come, therefore, when it behooved the
valiant Argonauts to take action as a club.
After the meeting had adjourned, the new com-
mittee held a consultation with closed doors. Its
deliberations remained'a mystery; but the election
of the new Commodore made no little noise in
both towns. The De;mford Gazette had a para-
graph about it:
"We understand that the special meeting of
the Argonaut Club on Tuesday evening was a
perfectly harmonious gathering; and that Webster
Foote, Esquire, was chosen Commodore -vice
Lew Bartland, resigned by an almost unanimous
vote. This means the speedy destruction of all
impediments to the free navigation of our beautiful
river. Among our rising young men, there is not
one more popular or more prominent just now than
Commodore Foote."
We will not begrudge the new Commodore the
gratification with which he read this bit of local
gossip. He saw it first in the Dempford Gazetteh
and it was natural that he should send at once for
the 7'mmoset Times, for the pleasure of seeing it
there also. It was the same paper masquerading
under another name across the river.
The Tinkham Brothers likewise took pains to
procure a copy of the Times, having heard that

there was something in it about the mill-dam
troubles. Rupe brought it to them one afternoon
in the mill. They read the paragraph with dif-
ferent feelings from those it inspired in the swelling
bosom of Commodore Foote. But they were not
"That's the same strutting little fellow who
wanted to know what we were going to do with
our d-a-am! drawled Mart.
Upon which Lute, whose ingenuity sometimes
extended to the making of a pun, stuttered out:
I knew by his g-g-gait that he would be
c-c-commodore "
"By his gate that he would become a door!
O Lute! 0 Lute!" cried Rush, shaking with
laughter; while Mart merely drew down the droll
corner of his mouth and gave Lute a reproachful
"I hear there has been a good deal of this kind
of 1-1-literature in the papers," said Lute. "And
I should n't wonder if there would be m-m-more
before they get through with us."
"We 'll begin a scrap-book," said Mart, cutting
out the paragraph with a chisel on his work-bench.
"This may be the nucleus of a large and interest-
ing volume."
"The confounded editors!" exclaimed Rush.
"They always take the popular side of a question
like this."
S" Must n't b-blame 'em," said Lute. If they
should take the other side; how would their bread
get b-b-buttered? "
"I would try to take the side of justice, if I went
without butter and bread, too !" rejoined Rush.
"What do they know about us and our business
here? An item like that will prejudice hundreds
of people !"
And sell perhaps a hundred extra p-p-papers,"
said Lute. "We must n't let Mother see that!"
"No," said Mart, carefully folding the nucleus
of his future volume and placing it in his pocket-
book. "We'll let her be happy and sleep nights
as long as she can. There's worry enough in store
for her, I 'm afraid."
"When she does find out, as I suppose she will
some time," Rush replied, "we want to be able to
say, Oh, yes Trouble about the dam ? of course!
There has been all the time, but we have n't minded
it, and the dam is still there !'"
If it is still there, as I t-t-trust it will be," said
Lute. "What makes the Argue-nots" (the boys

* Copyright, 1882, by J. T. Trowbridge. All rights reserved.


VOL. X.-29.


had taken up Mr. Rumney's word) "so quiet just
now, I wonder? Planning their c-c-campaign, I
Nothing which the boys could think of had been
neglected in preparing for all possible contingen-
cies, only Mart would not yield to the clamorous
request of the younger boys that they might go
to town and borrow their Cousin Tom's revolver.
Cousin Tom was sick, and they knew he would be
glad to lend it in a good cause.
"No, boys," Mart said, "I don't want any
weapons deadlier than what we've got. Not at
present. I should be sorry to shoot anybody. It
would n't look well, and I don't believe I should be
happy about it afterward."
"Not in defense of your property?" cried
"Not even in defense of our property. This
carrying revolvers is a foolish business, as a gen-
eral thing."
"It's c-c-cowardly i said Lute.
"But Cousin Tom carries one."
He carried one in Texas, where he did n't like
to go unarmed among armed and violent men.
That 's another thing."
"Don't we expect to have violent men to deal
with ?" said Rush, who saw the wisdom of Mart's
decision, and yet had a boyish inclination for re-
"Yes, rather!" drawled Mart. "And there's
no knowing what they may drive us to. But I
don't want to meet 'em with a pistol in my fist, if I
can help it. A time might come, you know, when
I could n't resist the temptation to use it."
Meanwhile, the brothers kept careful watch over
their property by day, and at bed-time every night
one of the older ones returned quietly to the mill.
There a bed of shavings was prepared, and there
he lay down in his clothes, by an open window
overlooking the dam.
Attached to a nail within reach of his hand was
the end of a piece of twine, which was a ball by
day, but which also, every evening, was carried on
its unwinding way out of the mill, thrown up the
bank, unrolled along the ground, and finally tossed,
what was left of it, into a window of the house.
Behind the window, which was left open, another
of the boys slept, with that end of the string tied
to his wrist; while the other end, as said before,
remained fastened to the nail in the mill.
Lute was generally the one to betake himself to
the pile of shavings, because he was a light sleeper.
The first sound of marauders trying their operations
would have been sure to wake him. Then a jerk
of the string would have been enough to bring the
other boys at once to his assistance.
Every morning the twine, cast loose from the

casement, was drawn along the ground and over
the bank by a pair of hands at the mill, wound in
a ball, and kept ready for use the next night. All
which was most carefully done, in order not to ex-
cite the suspicions of the mother.
Still, no marauders came. Everything was omi-
nously quiet; it was like a calm preceding a storm.



IT was still early in the season for many boats to
be passing the dam. If one appeared when the
flash-boards were in, the brothers made haste to
remove them and let it through, often receiving
scanty thanks for their pains.
"No matter for their thanks," said Mart, as
Rush one day complained of this lack of civility.
" That's an article they can be as stingy of as they
please. We'll treat 'em well a good deal longer
than they treat us well."
Then, one afternoon, an incident occurred.
Web Foote had had a very good sail-boat the
year before, but it had been beaten in one or two
races late in the season, and as he could not bear
to be beaten in anything, he had, during the win-
ter, been building a new yacht, which was expected
to outstrip everything of its size that sailed.
It was now finished. Originally called the
"Nymph," immediately on his accession to office
he had hastened to have the name changed to the
Commodore," much to the distress of the painter,
who found difficulty in lettering so broad a name
upon so narrow a stern. The boat was sharply
built, fore and aft; besides, Web insisted on having
the letters large.
The yacht was launched, and the new letters on
the stern were hardly dry, when the Commodore
started one afternoon to take his namesake up the
He would have liked the glory of sailing from
Dempford, with his commodore's pennant flying,
announcing to all the world the new dignity of the
owner. But, though wind and tide were favorable,
there were bridges in the way of the mast, which
had to be laid ignominiously from stern to stem,
with its long, taper end projecting forward over the
Web had expected a friend to make the trip
with him, but the friend had not come; and, after
waiting an hour, the impatient Commodore set out,
accompanied only by a stout boy in a small boat.
The small boat had the yacht in tow; and the
stout boy did the rowing, assisted by the tide;
while the Commodore, on board the larger craft,
gave useless orders and steered unnecessarily.




They made a.prosperous start. But, in addition
to the hour's delay in waiting for his friend, Web
found that the tide was an hour earlier than he had
supposed. That made two hours. The result was
that, in order to get the yacht up into the lake that
afternoon, the high-souled Commodore had to get
down into the skiff, and pull an oar with the boy.
That vexed Web Foote. He was mad at his
friend who had failed him, mad at the boy who
did not row faster, mad at the bridges which were
in the way of his sail, and mad at the tide which
turned before they reached the dam.
Then, you may be sure, he was thrice mad at
the dam itself, when they came to it, and found
the flash-boards in.
"I wish Milt Buzrow was here with his crow-
bar he said, mopping the sweat of toil and rage
from his face.
In the absence of Buzrow and crow-bar, he was
constrained to stop at the mill and send the boy in
with an impertinent message to the owners :
Tell 'em Commodore Foote is here with his
yacht, and if they don't pull out their flash-boards
he'll smash 'em "
Which the boy, overawed, perhaps, by the sight
of the big brothers, wisely modified thus:
Commodore Foote would like to have you
take up your flash-boards, and let his yacht
"Commodore Foote shall be accommodated,"
said Mart.
The brothers had watched the Commodore's
approach; and, while they laughed to see him
fume at the oar, and glance wildly over his
shoulder at the dam, they had awaited with some
concern to see what he would do. Lute had
even overheard the original order to the boy.
"Did you tell 'em what I told you to ?" Web
demanded, when the boy went out to him.
"Ay, ay, sir said the boy, who had been in-
formed by him, on starting from Dempford, that
that form of expression was nautical, and would
be becoming in him; though it might be varied
sometimes, by Ay, ay, Commodore "
And what did they say ? "
They said Commodore Foote should be ac-
Well for them! Up with your flash-boards
here!" Web called out haughtily to Mart, who
followed the boy from the mill. I can't be kept
waiting all day "
Mart concealed his irritation, if he felt any, by
an amused drawing down of his mouth, and an
exaggeration of his usual drawl.
Don't be impatient, my little man I '11 let
you through in a minute."
He was stooping with great deliberation to reach

the ropes that fastened the boards to the post, when
the Commodore retorted, sharply:
"Don't little man me! I 'd have you know
that you are talking to Commodore Foote, of the
Argonauts! "
"Commodore Foote, or Commodore Little-toe,
it does n't make much difference to me," said Mart,
holding the ropes, but leaving the boards in their
place. "You wont get through any sooner for
being so excessively polite."
I'll make a hole in your dam And, spring-
ing on board the yacht, the Commodore seized and
brandished a boat-hook.
"You can do that; and other people can make
a hole in your yacht, and in you too, if necessary,"
said Mart. "You have n't a monopoly of making
holes, by any means. I'm going to let you pass."
So saying, he pulled up the flash-boards. The
retarded water swept through in an impetuous cur-
rent. The stout boy in the small boat pulled in
vain against it, with the yacht pulling more pow-
erfully in the other direction. Web missed a stroke
at the platform with his boat-hook; and the yacht,
swinging about, was drifting down-stream, towing
the tow-boat stern-foremost, when Mart caught
hold of the projecting end of the mast, and stop-
ped it.
See what a bother your dam is snarled
"Yes," drawled Mart, starting the yacht for-
ward again. It's a necessary evil. Why don't
you sail up in this wind? "
"Don't you see the bridges?" retorted the furi-
ous Commodore.
"Oh! the bridges are a bother, too! said
Mart. "Why don't you have'em taken away?
Seems to me I would! I don't see what right
they have to stop one of your pretty little pleasure-
You talk like a fool! said Web.
No matter how I talk, as long as I am helping
you in a good, sensible way," Mart replied, with
strong arms shoving the yacht ahead. Don't
you remember, I said I would do all I could to
oblige gentlemen? It's a pleasure to help one who
is so very civil."
"Lucky for you the opening aint too narrow
for my breadth of beam! said the little Commo-
dore -speaking of the yacht, of course, and not of
his own personal dimensions, as Mart by his smile
seemed inclined to construe him. "There'll be
bigger boats than mine going up here soon. Do
you know what 'll happen then ? "
I suppose the bridges, if any are left, will all
be draw-bridges, and dams will have locks," Mart
A lock is just what we p-proposed to build, in


the first place," said Lute, who, with Rush, had
come out to stand by his brother and see the
yacht through. "It would help you m-m-more
than the dam hinders. Don't you see?"
Skiff and yacht were now well through the dam,
but the current was strong against them, until Lute

We are not going to be bothered by any lock,
or any dam either That 's what '11 happen "
"The 'C-c-commodore !'" said Lute, reading
the name on the stern. "He shows about as
much good t-t-temper as he does good t-t-taste."
I don't see how you could keep from catching

-- ___ -

illustrated his meaning by putting in the flash-
boards. This at once set the water back, and
made the further progress of the boats up to the
outlet comparatively easy. Nevertheless, Web's
last word were flung back spitefully at the mill-

him up by the nape of the neck, and giving him a
good ducking!" Rush said, excitedly, to Mart.
" I would, if I had been you."
Mart smiled grimly.
No, you wouldn't, Rocket! It is n't quite time
for that. Come, boys "




What a club it must be that is bossed by such
a p-p-puppy !" said Lute, as they went back into
the mill.


MRS. TINKHAM was a woman of keen observa-
tion; and Letty and the boys were in constant fear
lest something should happen, or some unlucky
word be let fall, that might defeat all their plans
for preserving her peace of mind-so sure were
they that her feeble health and maternal anxiety
would not let her sleep, as they did, when she
should know all.
It was indeed a wonder that she could be kept
in ignorance so long. But the younger ones
guarded well their tongues, and, so far, suspicious
circumstances and unlucky allusions to the dan-
gerous subject in her presence had been lightly
explained away.
"How long can we keep it up?" they asked
themselves, watching her pale, serene face with
tender concern, and dreading the time when the
threatened storm should burst.
The day after Commodore Foote took his yacht
up the river was Saturday, on which day Letty
ran out to the mill, in a flutter of excitement, to
carry her brothers a bit of joyful news.
"Who do you think has come to the house?
My old school-mate, Tilly Loring! I thought you
would want to know in time, to brush up a little for
The necessity of brushing up a little to meet a
pretty girl of sixteen made her visit rather an em-
barrassing pleasure to the busy boys. But they
gave an extra five minutes to their toilet that day,
and were amply repaid in smiles by the charming
"I 'm so glad you've come, on M-m-mother's
account! was Lute's cordial greeting. She has
hardly seen a friendly face since we c-c-came here."
"Don't the neighbors call on you? How
strange!" said the visitor. "I thought that it
was the custom in the country to call on new-
"So did I," replied the widow. And to tell
the truth, I rather dreaded making acquaintances.
I wanted to be alone with my children, and enjoy
our new happiness. We have been let alone to
our hearts' content."
"They don't seem to be a very social set just
around here," said Letty, who thought she knew
well enough why people avoided the new family
that had come to the mill. "But some have called
to see the boys on business."
That was one of the convenient phrases those


youthful conspirators used, to keep their mother in
ignorance of what was going on.
It's all business," she said. "And I am glad;
for that makes them happy."
It makes us almost too happy !" said Mart.
"We don't care to have quite so much on our
hands as we have had lately. Some things are
quite too pressing."
"Even the girls who call have some business
errand," said the widow. "Two drove into the
yard one day, and I thought surely we were going
to have visitors. But no i they had only brought
some message to the shop."
They were now seated at table; and Matilda
-or Tilly, as everybody called her-placed be-
tween Letty and Rush, was plied with questions
regarding their friends in town.
She chatted merrily, telling all the news she
could think of; but sobered suddenly when some
one asked about Cousin Tom.
Tom Darrill? oh! he is dreadfully sick, they say.
It's consumption, after all, that he brought home
with him from Texas; and they say he can't live."
Oh, boys said the widow, some of you must
try to see him soon. He thinks so much of you "
Then up spoke Rupert. I've been wanting to
go in and borrow his revolver, but the boys wont
let me."
This was one of those indiscreet allusions to the
great trouble which the younger ones would now
and then let fall, in spite of themselves, and which
had to be explained away.
"What do you want with his revolver?" the
widow asked, surprised; while Rupert was over-
come with sudden confusion.
"Boys have a m-m-mania for shooting," said
Lute. "I've hardly outgrown it myself. But
we've all got something to do, now, besides
p-p-popping at a mark."
"I should hope so!" exclaimed the widow.
I 've the greatest dread of pistols, and everything
of the kind."
I wish Tom would give me his revolver," said
The idea of your wanting a revolver, after
what Mother has said rejoined Letty, and, to
change the conversation, she turned again to
Tilly, and begged her to "tell everything she
knew about everybody else."
Last Saturday," said Tilly, "I went to visit
Sarah Ball. She lives in Dempford now, you
know. How far is Dempford from here ? "
About a stone's throw from our b-b-bank,"
said Lute.
"What do you mean ?" cried Tilly. "I sup-
posed I was miles and miles away, or I should have
come over to see you when we went out to ride."


"The town lies just across the river," said Rush.
" But it 's a mile or more to the village."
"So near? How I wish I had known! The
Balls live in the village, and keep a horse and a
boat. Boating will be all the rage there this sea-
son. They've got up a club; all the big boys are
joining it, and all the little boys want to join it, too.
They've been having a great excitement lately
about choosing a commodore."
There was a pause, in which the widow, if she
had not been intent on dishing out the pudding,
must have noticed the startled and conscious
glances the younger boys gave the older ones, and
Letty's air of constraint. Lute stammered out:
A commodore is an article no well regulated
club is c-complete without. I hope they g-got one."
"They had one--a splendid fellow!" said
Tilly. "But he resigned, and a new one was to
be elected. Everybody was talking about it. It
seems there has been a great fuss over a dam
which somebody has put across the river."
At this, even the older boys were filled with
consternation. But the mother went on, serenely
dishing out the pudding.
I 've heard they were having some trouble with
a dam," observed Mart. Is n't it settled yet ?"
Oh, dear, no! and it is n't likely to be soon,"
Tilly rattled on, while Letty tried to silence her
with a nudge. "The young men are all up in
arms about it; and, of course, the girls and every-
body else take their side. Somebody has put a
dam right across the river to stop their boats. Of
course, they wont stand it; and I would n't, either,
if I were in their place."
"Have some p-p-pudding? said Lute, taking a
plate from his mother and passing it to the visitor.
"It's the meanest thing you ever heard of!"
said Tilly, her warmth of manner showing how
ardently she had espoused the cause of her Demp-
ford friends. "Thank you," taking the plate.
"Think of one man, or two or three (for I
believe there are several owners of the factory -a
large factory somewhere on the river) pretending
they have a right to take all the water for their
business, and not leave any for the boats."
Notwithstanding the anxiety they felt on their
mother's account, the boys could n't but be amused
at this version of the story.
That does seem preposterous," said Mart. "I
should think they might be contented with a fair
share of the water, and leave some for other folks."
"Yes, indeed! replied Tilly. That 's what
everybody says. They 're going to tear it away "
"Tear what away?" said Lute. "The w-w-
water ?"
"No, the dam. It's decided now. The com-
modore who resigned was Lew Bartland. Every-

body likes him; and his sister, Syl Bartland, is a
lovely girl--an intimate friend of my friends."
The boys did not dare look at each other. Mrs.
Tinkham dished out the last of the pudding, while
Tilly continued: "But Lew was too soft-hearted;
he wanted to put off doing anything about the dam.
So he got the whole club against him. They were
going to put in his place a conceited fellow that no-
body seems to like half so well. But he 's awfully
smart, they say; and he 's dead-set against the
"In that case," said Rush, "I should think the
mill-owners would give up and clear out."
So should I Tilly exclaimed. But they're
as obstinate as they are mean."
They must be very mean! said Mart. Think
of their wanting to take all the water and stop all
the boats! Where can this factory be, boys? "
"I don't know," said Rush; "and I have n't
heard of any such men."
"I hope there wont be any trouble with our
dam," said Mrs. Tinkham, placidly stirring her
tea. "But I confess it has seemed to me as if
something untoward must happen, we have been
so very happy here."
"Why! have you got a dam?" cried Tilly.
"Yes, a little one -a sort of plaything for
boys," said Mart. "But we don't take all the
water and stop all the boats, do we, Lute? Not
quite You must go out and see it after dinner."
"And the seats in the willow-tree I wrote
you about them," said Letty. "It's a lovely spot."
She tried to change the conversation. But Tilly
persisted in returning to the dangerous topic.
"The Argonauts belong to the best families in
Dempford. That 's what the club boys call them-
selves-- Argonauts -though I hardly know why."
"In picking up so many interesting particulars
about them," said Mart, "I wonder you did n't
learn the origin of the name. Who were the old
Argonauts, Rocket? You were reading up about
them the other day."
"They were a boating-club named after their
commodore's yacht, 'Argo '; their commodore was
a fellow named Jason," was Rush's familiar version
of the classic myth. "The 'Argo' was called a ship;
but it was n't half so large as some yachts built
nowadays; and Jason could n't have held a candle
to your new Dempford commodore. They pre-
tended to sail in search of a golden fleece; which
means, I suppose, that they fleeced everybody
they came across."
You 're making fun of me! And Tilly turned
her bright, questioning eyes on Master Rush.
I beg your pardon, Miss Loring! It happened
some time before any of the present Argonauts
were born; thousands of years ago, in fact; that



is, if it ever happened at all. But it's as true, I 've
no doubt whatever, as the most important part of
the story you've brought fresh from Dempford."
"What do you know about the Dempford Argo-
nauts ?" said Tilly, with puzzled surprise.
A good deal; I should think I ought to! I've
met some of them. Andwe can see their new club-
house from our garden."
This was said as they were rising from the table.
Can you? Show it to me! exclaimed Tilly.
I shall be delighted to," replied Rush; and
they went out together. You see the top of that
square building over the hill yonder? That's it,
on the shore of the lake that makes in there."
"Is that indeed the Argonaut-Club's new
house ? said Tilly, greatly interested, and shading
her eyes with her hand to get a better view.
"Yes," said Rush. "And here is something
else you have heard of." He led her to the edge
of the bank. "This is the willow-tree; and down
there, you see the water pouring over something
like a low board fence ? "

Oh, yes 1 is n't it pretty? "
"Do you think so? Well, don't whisper it to
Mother, and I'll tell you a secret. That 's the
dreadful thing that stops the boats! "
You 're joking cried Tilly.
"Not a bit. It's too serious a subject. This
little old mill is the great factory you have heard
of; and that is the identical dam your Argonauts,
and half the people in two towns, are crazy over."
"No, no Tilly exclaimed, stopping her ears
with her hands.
"And we boys," Rush went on, laughing, but
rather bitterly, "are the mean, obstinate, horrible
men, who take all the water for their business, and
don't leave any"-
I wont hear it! It isn't so! It can't be!"
He had pulled one hand away, and was trying
to hold it; but she struggled to free her wrist, and
again clapping both palms to her ears to shut out
the cruel, astounding, incredible words, she ran
across the plank and threw herself upon a seat in
the great willow.

(To be continued.)


J ,

SAY How old must a fellow be
(A fellow who 's pretty old !)
Before he can follow the call ,of the sea,
And be a sailor bold?



{. iI!I:!II. I'


.ffl '~i,'

.1. i,

1: r6

'~iII~'Ii~' _____ ____

I ___i





THERESA started from the uncomfortable sleep
into which she had fallen in her low seat by the
bedside of her husband, Luigi.
She had been awakened by a stream of sunlight
coming in at the window of her room, high up
among the roofs of Rome.
It was only reflected sunlight, but it was all the
sunshine that visited the room shut in by the high
walls opposite.
Luigi was sleeping now, and more quietly than
for many days. His fever was less, and the deep
color seemed fading from his cheeks. Perhaps it
was because he was no longer so restless that she
had been able to fall into this unexpected sleep.
But now she must rouse herself, indeed.
Across the foot of the bed lay her boy, fast
asleep, too, and she moved quietly, that she might
not wake him, for she must go out. The sun
warned her that it was late. She had promised
her little boy she would go the first thing in the
morning for some bread. Before he finally cried
himself to sleep, his last words had been: "Oh,
Mother! when it is morning, if I lie still, will you
give me some bread?" And at intervals through
the night he had awakened to sob out his appeal.
His, words still echoed in her ears. They had
formed part of her dreams in her uneasy sleep.
She must hurry out, while both were quiet; she
must find some bread. Find bread? How should
she do it? She had spent her only remaining
paoli for their last loaf of bread, and the poor,
bare room could show how she had parted already
with everything of value they had possessed.
She went to the window and looked out through
the small bit of reflected sunlight. On a turn of
the roof, not far along, was another window,
jutting out from a row of buildings facing in
another direction. Here was a little balcony, where
real sunlight fell upon a few pots of plants, and a
young girl had just come to the window, and was
scattering some crumbs for the birds that were
fluttering around.
"Crumbs of bread, crumbs of bread!" said
Theresa to herself, as she looked greedily at the
crust that the gay young girl held in her hand.
Some of the crumbs fell far down into the court
below. Theresa would have liked to stretch out
her hands to catch them. But the birds lingered
on the edge of the balcony and found a full share.
"He careth for the sparrows," said Theresa to
herself, as she turned back into the room and

looked at her sleeping husband and child. Lying
on the bare table was a faded rose that she had
picked up from the pavement the last time she
had been down into the streets. Theresa laid
it across her boy Maso's hand. It would say
to him that she was coming back. She had told
him she would go for bread in the morning if he
were still.
She stopped to speak to the padrona (or land-
lady) as she went down, to tell her that she had
left them both alone, and would soon come back.
But the fadrona was very cross. She turned her
back upon Theresa, and would have nothing to say
.to her, but muttered something as she shrugged
her shoulders.
Theresa left, thinking it as well to be spared her
angry words. She knew, indeed, that she could
not depend upon her for help in the sick-room, for
the woman dreaded contagion, was afraid to go
near the sick man, and would have liked to have
driven them all out of the house, and for some
days had been threatening to do so.
The streets seemed damp .and cold, as Theresa
came down, and the high, blank stone walls along
the narrow lanes were wet with mold. No wonder
she hurried along to the more sunny squares and
wider streets.
She had learned how to make her way through
crowded passages, how to "blot" herself against
the wall to make room for a passing mule or
donkey, for she had had some months' experience
in Rome.
How different it had all seemed when Luigi. first
brought her there-proud and delighted to show
her his beautiful Rome !
For she was born far away, in a quiet Maine
village. It was strange how Luigi had found his
way there, but he had come with some of his com-
patriots to one of the'larger towns to find work as
a house-painter, and in the summer had strayed
into the country. He fell in love with and married
Theresa, because, as he always said, she bore his
mother's name- though his mother would spell it
without the "h" (Teresa). But Luigi had many
other reasons to give, even if Theresa's blue eyes
and golden hair had not been enough. Theresa
never thought it necessary to tell her reasons for
marrying Luigi. But when his summer's job was
done, she willingly went with him to New York to
find more work.
Here they lived happily enough many years.



There was plenty of work for Luigi, and Theresa
was glad in making his home happy.
But Luigi took a severe cold one December, and
the doctors said he could not bear the changes
of spring. He was himself very sure that Rome
would cure him, and was glad to listen to their
hopes of what his native air would do. So Luigi
and Theresa took their little earnings and started
on their way to Rome. They went first to Liver-
pool, where little Maso was taken ill, and the care
of him used up a large portion of their small
fortune. They drifted on to London, and here
they found kind friends, and Luigi revived and
had work.
They remained there till his cough came back,
and then they set out again and went forward to
They arrived in the beautiful October weather,
and Luigi's health improved directly and his spirits
rose. He wanted Theresa to admire everything--
even these narrow streets, with their picturesque
arches and door-ways, that now she found so
gloomy; and she, too, rejoiced in the sun, and
the blue sky, with sunsets like those at home. But
Luigi found all his old friends scattered and gone;
and as for relations, he had never had any to
leave, so there were none to find. And then there
seemed to be nothing he could do, and the cough
came back, and their money was dwindling away.
So they had to leave the sunny apartment where
they had ventured to live at first, and be grateful
at last for the little room up many stairs, dark-
ened by the high walls opposite, that shut out
even the sky. And this room their cross padrona
grudged them. Happily, they had paid her in
advance, and they could stay some weeks longer;
but then what should they do?
Little Maso had been so considerate and
thoughtful. He had not complained when their
fare had grown less and less. The day before, she
could give scarcely any thought to him-could
not even remember when or what food he had
eaten last, because for two days Luigi had been
at times delirious, often in high fever, and she had
not dared to leave his side a moment.
She would not have called in a doctor, even if
she had had the money to pay him, for she knew
how to take care of Luigi- her nursing was better
than any doctor's care. .
But food he must have when his fever should
leave him, and Maso must have his bread, and
where could she find it? All her money was gone;
where should she go?
She had no knowledge of the streets of Rome
save what she had learned from Luigi. Indeed,
the Epistle of Paul to the Romans had been her
earliest association with the old city, and one of

the first questions she had asked Luigi, when they
arrived, related to the Apostle. Where was Paul
imprisoned, and where was the "hired house"
in which he had lived two years ?
Luigi could not tell her much about it, but he
made some inquiries, and then took her to the
small Church of Santa Maria, in Via Lata, said
to be the actual house in which St. Paul lodged
when in Rome. Theresa thought of this little
subterranean church this morning. If this were
indeed the first old, old church that ever was in
Rome, ought there not to be Christians near
who might help her in distress? She had never
looked for American acquaintances in Rome, and
would not know where to find Americans. Luigi's
intercourse had been with his own people. And,
indeed, even if she had known the name of some
American minister or clergyman, she might have
been too proud to ask for bread.
But something of the idea of the Christian
Church came before her as she pondered-some-
thing prompted by the sight of the walls below the
great dome of St. Peter's, in connection with the
remembrance of that low church sunk beneath
the pavement that might have been the church
of St. Paul. She saw dimly a Christian Church
that, after all, was neither of these, but a spiritual
church with the majesty of the one and the sim-
plicity of the other, and wide enough to welcome
all the children of God. She did not think exactly
this, but she dreamed of help that must come from
some high source. As for human help, she had
but one hope. A few days before he had been
taken ill, Luigi had earned a little money by sitting
as a model for some young artists he had met.
They were a friendly set, but Theresa had not seen
them since they had last moved.
One of them had wanted to have Maso sit for
him some time-her pretty Maso, with his blue
eyes and golden hair. Perhaps, if he would still
like Maso to go to him, she could venture to ask
directly for some money to buy bread.
Maso was looking a little wan now, but oh!
what a pretty picture he made just asshe left him.
She made her way then to the Piazza di Spagna,
with its magnificent staircase leading to the Church
of the Trinita del Monti, for here she might
chance to meet some of the artists looking for a
It was a forlorn hope; but twice, when she had
been here with Luigi, they had met with these
young friends of his, and she knew they lived not
far away.
Alas! she was too early for the artists. There
was quite a crowd of people in the square, and
some picturesque models were grouped on the
stair-way of the church. She turned back toward




the fountain on the piazza, where the beggars were
thronging. Such a handsome girl, with an Italian
head-dress stood near them on the corner.
Theresa looked at them all questioningly. Were

more foreign. She had a talent that way. Once, at
home, long ago, she had dressed herself as a beg-
gar, for a joke, and, going to her married sister's
door, had begged for a crust of bread. Her sis-


-. -

I~ ~ 'rj9 t1


they, too, starving? Did these women leave at
home little boys pining for food, and husbands
sick on their beds? They did not look so--they
did not look worn or unhappy. Many of them
were gayly laughing and talking. This was their
daily business, and they earned more than enough
for their daily bread.
A new thought struck her. She turned toward
the fountain in the square, with its sparkling waters.
About it often gathered a group of beggars. Old
Sandro had just left his place, not far from the
fountain. It was said, she remembered, that San-
dro had heaped up a little fortune in the years he
had been begging, and that he paid quite a sum
for the privilege of sitting there.
Why could not she sit down in that empty place
that old Sandro had left? Perhaps in a few min-
utes she might get two or three centesimi, enough
to buy the bit of bread that Maso was starving for
-and there was the bread! She was jostled just
now by a brown Italian boy, with a tray of rolls
upon his head, crying, "Pane, pane!" He had
seated himself now on the steps, at a little distance,
with the tray upon his knees. But she shrank from
appearing like an American begging, and tried to
wind her cloak about her, that she might look

ter herself had come to the door, and, not recog-
nizing her, had given her a loaf of such nice
bread! The remembrance of this came to her now
like a flash, as she pulled her cloak over her
shoulders. If her sister should see her now! -but
she had no time to think; she must hurry, before
old Sandro should be back. She hastily moved
toward the place, when a voice stayed her-the
voice of a lady, talking English to a young man.
She saw them look, as she turned suddenly, and
stopped, as if caught in a guilty act. "English !
an American lady talking English Theresa said
to herself. The lady saw Theresa start, and saw
her worn and anxious face, as she stopped before
her suddenly.
"What can I do for you ? she asked, after a
moment. "You know me, perhaps? "
"Oh, no," said Theresa. I was startled when
I heard some one speaking English. It is so long
since I have heard any English words. I talk it
indeed, with my little boy, but it is long since I
have heard it in the street."
"And I am an American, too, as you are," said
the lady, "and I was talking English with my boy,
though he is a grown-up one."
The young man seemed eager to go on, as if



annoyed that his mother should be talking in this
crowded place with a woman in such a shabby
waterproof. But his mother was not to be hurried
away. There was something in Theresa's face that
attracted her. She felt that there must be some
deep misery hidden beneath its sad expression.
"What can I do for you ? Will you not let me
send one of those oranges to your little American
boy?" she asked suddenly, as an orange-peddler
jostled against the party still blocking the way.
Theresa's face lighted up, and she could not help
involuntarily glancing toward the bread-vender
sitting on the steps chatting with his friends, still
with his tray of rolls on his knee. Her new friend
saw the glance.
"Here, Frank, take my work," she said, as she
drew some knitting out of a basket-bag she held;
" I am going to send a lunch to the little American
boy." In a few minutes she had filled the bag with
rolls and oranges, and handed it to Theresa, who
was standing watching her quick motions with
distended eyes. As Theresa took the basket, she
scarcely seemed to see from whom she received it.
"It is a little breakfast for your boy, from your
American friend," said the lady, rousing her.
Theresa took the basket mechanically, but her
eyes were wandering. She seemed suddenly to
become conscious of the sky--of the sunlight
sparkling in the glittering waters of the fountain.
Then she looked absently into the face of her kind
friend, and exclaimed: Indeed, the Church of
Christ is in Rome! Thank you, dear lady. I was
hoping for help, but almost in vain. You have
saved my boy from starving! "
She then hurried away as though every moment
were precious. The streets had never seemed to
her so crowded before. How everybody pushed
against her the children, the screaming men and
boys with their wares, and the beggars crowding
one on another. She clutched the basket with a
feverish grasp, lest she should lose any of its
precious contents. At last she reached the house,
and hastened up the stairs, so breathless that she
had to sit a few moments on the top step to recover
herself, and so absorbed in thought that she did
not hear the voices of her new friend and the
fadrona talking below. When a little recovered,
she opened the door quietly.
There was Maso, wide awake, and his face
beamed with delight as she lifted up the basket,
in silent answer to his silent question. For both
of them knew they must be quiet, so as not to
rouse Luigi.
As Theresa drew near to the bed, Luigi half
opened his eyes, and smiled to see her by his side,
and then turned over to go to sleep again. He
knew her-he was better !

Yes, Maso," she said in low tones to the boy,
"bread for you, and oranges for Papa's parched
mouth when he wakes."
I will be very careful," said Maso, as he eagerly
took the oranges and the rolls from the basket,
counting them one by one. You shall have your
share, Mamma; and oh we can make them last
such a long time."
The door was partly open, and for a few moments
Theresa did not see that the kind lady was stand-
ing there.
"Will you let me come in? she asked at last,
in a soft tone, that she might not wake the sleeper.
" I have sent my boy to bring you something more
substantial for your breakfast. We followed you,
but you came so fast that we could hardly trace
you. You were so pale, too, as you stood there,
that I thought you were ready to faint, and I have
told Frank to bring also a flask of wine."
It was needed when it came. The excitement of
joy for poor Theresa was hard to bear, after all her
struggle with herself, and she needed the bread as
well as Maso. Her kind friend knew how to admin-
ister the food she brought. Theresa's little story
was told plainly enough by the bare room in which
she was found, and by the sick man at her side,
and her own appearance showed how long she had
herself been deprived of food. The kind lady did
all she could for her then. Later in the day, she
came with a proposition that seemed at first to
come too suddenly to Theresa.
She would like to take little Maso directly to the
Home the Gould Memorial Home. What this was
-what it meant -Theresa did not know, and how
could she part with Maso ? But her new friend told
all her plan: that, as soon as possible, Luigi should
be moved away out into the fresh air,-to Albano,
to Frascati somewhere where there might be hope
of his recovery,--and meanwhile Maso should be
taken to the Home.
And it is a home-a real home," she went on,
turning to Maso. "Mrs. Gould planned it for a
home, full of little brothers and sisters, happy with
their play and lessons, who sit down to dinner
almost before they are hungry, and sleep in clean,
soft beds at night."
Little Maso's eyes beamed as he listened.
"Yes," their new friend continued, "the chil-
dren have their soup every day, and rice, or mac-
caroni, or beans. Most of them grow fat and rosy,
because, they have enough to eat. They learn
lessons every day, and the older ones are taught
to print. And they have the love without which
children can not be good and happy."
"Oh, take my boy in! cried Theresa. "Oh,
take him to this Home, and then I shall be free to
work-shall be stronger to do it when I know that




he, at least, is not starving! Ah, it would break
my poor mother's heart if she knew what we have
suffered! But he has been so patient! And who
is Mrs. Gould? May I see her? May I thank
her? Ah how could she know that there are little
children whom their mothers would care for, if
they could, but that they, too, have no home ?"
Alas! said her kind friend, our dear Mrs.
Gould is no longer living, save as she lives in this
kind work of hers. She had resided for many years
in Rome, and seeing how much helpless poverty
there was, and how the poor children suffered, her
heart was moved for them."
And could I learn to print ? exclaimed Maso,
who had followed every word with eagerness.
" Oh! let me go there now, if Mamma can come to.
see me! I want to learn to help her. I want to
be made right smart! "
Ah, it is American you talk with your little
boy," said the lady, as she turned to Theresa,
who was smiling at Maso's words. But I knew
you to be an American before you spoke."
Yes, he is a Yankee boy," said Theresa.
"We call him Tommy at home; but his father
always called him Maso, and it has seemed more
natural here. And I don't know why, but some-
thing in your voice made me know you to be an

American, and that was why I shrank at the
thought of an American seeing me begging."
Theresa had told already the whole story of that
"You looked so pale and sad," said the lady,
" I could not help following you."
"Ah, indeed I must have been a beggar with
my looks," said Theresa, with tears in her eyes.
"But you will help me find work, will you not?
I might have found work, perhaps, but I could not
speak the language; and I was so anxious for
Luigi that I was scarcely fit to undertake anything.
But I can work- you will let me ? And if it is a
home for Maso, it must be best for him. Food
for my boy! Ah! I have often had to put him to
bed to make him forget his hunger. Yes, food
and a good home for my poor, starving boy "

This little boy, born in New York, the son of
an American mother, rescued from starvation,
was indeed taken to the Gould Home, where he is
being taught to be, as he asked, right smart."
Mrs. Gould little thought, when she planned
a home for "foreign" waifs, that she would be
able to give Christian help to the poor American
mother who found herself destitute in the Eternal
City, under the shadow of St. Peter's.

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f -or- i savThat he \w&s cgy,

A A asked if ie could tell me
t A n
a word That rymed wt3 Bay.

f irs+ he shook his head in doLu[
1_\ f I (_
am n yjy it his crri

4The- hfrihteni y u4 he smiled Jtme,
- 1J ay swere ,_ i If'
=__7 1,1n~ oj-ah answeredl I ^^





YEARS ago, when Indians and bears were plen-
tiful in California and white men were not, on
my way to San Francisco I was riding through
what were known as the tule marshes, bordering
the San Joaquin River near its mouth. Those
were days before railroads, steam-boats, or even
ordinary sailing vessels, when journeys of four
or five hundred miles were made on horseback
-swimming streams when you came to them,
or "canoeing" them when they were very wide,
and leading your horse from the stern of the
" dug-out."
I was to cross the San Joaquin in this latter
fashion, and was approaching the point from
which travelers shouted to the Indian ferryman
on the opposite shore, and called him over in his
cranky craft.
The sun of a brilliant summer's day was setting
behind me, and his dazzling rays, already nearly

level with the tops of the bushes that sprang
up by the horse-path, lit up the tall, sturdy
trunks of the forest trees that stretched far to my
right. I was about breaking the silence of the
vast solitudes by -shouting with all my might,
"Whoop-ee which was the ferry-call, and had
just turned my horse's head toward the river-
bank, when two bears, which had come down
from the woods for their evening drink, and had
been concealed from my view by the bend in
the road and the tall bushes, suddenly appeared
not twenty paces in front, scratching for roots
in the middle of the road. Now, horses love
bears about as much as do little children who
have heard nurses' stories of them; so, no sooner
had the beast on which I was riding caught a
glimpse of the great, shaggy intruders, than he
gave a snort of surprise, and whirled so suddenly
in his tracks that I went over his side, saving




myself from a tumble only by clutching the high
pommel of my California saddle and holding
on for dear life. Back up the road scampered
my flying steed, while I clung like a Camanche
to his flanks. Righting myself in the saddle,
however, I brought the heavy Spanish bit to bear,
and soon reined in the frightened animal. I had
much difficulty in making him face about, but the
great, jingling spurs which we wore in those days
were very persuasive, and, though with fear and
trembling, the poor horse, puffing like a locomo-
tive, began to retrace his steps.
We had gone back only a few yards when we
saw the bears again, and, despite my own and the
horse's nervousness, I burst out laughing at their
comical appearance. They had been as much
frightened, probably, as we, but seeing our cow
ardly flight, had taken courage and trotted up the
road after us, until they came into the full glare
of the sun; and there they both stood, motionless,
on their hind legs, side by side, each shading his
eyes with his right paw and apparently transfixed
with wonder and amazement. Horses they were
familiar with, because the plains of the SanJoaquin
were covered with roving bands of wild horses;

Indians they had occasionally seen and put to.
flight; but what that white-faced object, with the
blue shirt and colored handkerchief around his
neck, was, must have been to them, just then,
the one absorbing inquiry of the bear intellect,
for they were certainly taking their first look at
a white man. The left paw of each hung by
his side, limp and nerveless; and, under the
paw which deftly and with a most ludicrous effect
shaded the vision, the little, wide-open, piggish
eyes were, in their puzzled expression, irresistibly
I had no gun with me, and I don't think I should
have used it if I had had one; but I bethought me
of the ferry-call, and yelled, "Whoop-ee at the
top of my lungs. That broke the spell and inter-
rupted- their gaze at the same moment, and two
more frightened bears never got down from their
hind legs and took to the woods.
The Indian ferry-man across the river gave me
the answering shout, "Hy-yar!" and I shouted
"Whoop-ee again. I heard the bushes clash
and snap and break, as those two utterly aston-
ished bears burst madly through them in their
flight. I did not call them back.







DURING my last summer's vacation among the
takes of Central New York, I resolved to make,
if possible, a paper boat which should be easy to
row or paddle, light enough to be carried short dis-
tances with comparative ease, and, at the same
time, safe and even durable if managed with
reasonable care.
A short description of this boat, and the manner
in which it was made, may be interesting.
It was to be twelve feet long. The first thing
-was to make a frame-work (Fig. I -page 465), on
which to stretch the paper. A board about a foot
wide, an inch thick, and eleven feet six inches in
length, was taken as a sort of keel, or backbone,

and was cut tapering, for about a third of its length,
toward each end, and beveled on the under edges
(A, Fig. 2). The cross-boards (B, B, Fig. 2) were
next sawed from a pine plank one inch in thick-
ness. These were shaped, as shown by A, Fig. 4,
thirteen inches wide by twenty-six long, and cut
away in the center to avoid useless weight. They
were fastened cross-wise to the bottom-board, as
shown in Figs. I and 2, with long, stout screws, so
as to divide the keel into three nearly equal parts.
Then the stem and stern pieces (C, C, Fig. 2) were
added. These were of green elm, screwed to the
bottom-board, and bent, as shown in Fig. 2, by
means of a string or wire, fastened to a nail driven

S' /


7 / 'i i.




into the bottom. I used elm because I found it
tougher, and less apt to be broken in bending than
any other wood at hand, and preferred the green
wood because, on drying, it would retain, to a
considerable extent, the shape into which it had
been bent. For gunwales (a, a, Fig. 3), I pro-
cured, at a carriage factory, some light strips of
ash, about twelve feet in length, an inch and a half
wide, and three-eighths of an inch thick. They
were nailed to the cross-boards and fastened to the
end-pieces (C, C) in notches, by several wrappings
of annealed iron wire (as shown in Fig. 3), although
copper would have been better, because less apt to
rust when exposed to dampness. For fastening

are probably as good as anything for the ribs, but
no doubt twigs of some other trees, such as hazel,
or perhaps birch, might answer very well. For
the ribs near the middle of the boat, twigs five or
six feet long were required, and it being rather
difficult to get these of sufficient thickness through-
out, I used, in several cases, two twigs for one rib,
fastening the butts side by side on the bottom-
board, and the smaller ends to the gunwales, as
before described. In drying, the rattan became
very tight, and the twigs hard and stiff.
The frame-work was now complete, and ready
to be covered. For this purpose I bought about
eighteen yards of very strong wrapping-paper. It
was of a light cream color, smooth on the surface,


) l, I I\ ;


FIG 4 .

and very tough, but neither stiff nor very thick;
and, being made in long rolls, it could be obtained
of almost any length desired. It was only about a
yard wide, so that it required two breadths to
reach around the frame in the widest part. I cut
enough off the roll to cover the frame, and soaked
it for a few minutes in water. I then turned the
frame upside down and fastened the edges of the
two strips of paper to it, by lapping them carefully
on the under side of the bottom-board and tacking
them to it, so that the paper hung down loosely on
all sides. It was then trimmed, lapped, and doubled
over as smoothly as possible at the ends of the
frame, and held in place by means of small clamps.
Along the edges it was drawn tight, trimmed, and
doubled down over the gunwale, where it was firmly
held by slipping the strips of ash (b, b) just inside



the gunwales to the cross-boards, I used nails
instead of screws, because they are
not so apt to loosen and come out.
The ribs, which consisted of long,
slender switches of osier willow, were
next put in, but, before doing this, I
two strips of wood (b, b, Fig. 3) sim-
ilar to the gunwales were bent and
placed as in Fig. 3. They were only
used temporarily as a guide in put-
ting in the ribs, and were not fast-
ened, the elasticity of the wood being
sufficient to cause them to retain their
position. The osiers averaged a little
more than half an inch in thickness
at the larger end, and were cut,
stripped of leaves and bark, and put
in place while quite green and fresh.
They were attached to the bottom-
board by means of shingle-nails
driven through holes which had been
previously made in them with an awl,
then bent down until they touched
the strips of ash (b, b, Fig. 3), and
finally cut off even with the top of
the gunwales, and notched at the end
to receive them (B, Fig. 4). Between the cross-
boards, the ribs were placed at intervals of two
or three inches, while in other parts they were
as much as five or six inches apart. The ribs
having all been fastened in place, as described,
the loose strips of ash (b, b, Fig. 3) were with-
drawn, and the frame-work appeared somewhat
as in Fig. I. In order to make all firm, and to
prevent the ribs from changing position, as they
were very apt to do, I bought some split cane, or
rattan, such as is used for making chair-bottoms,
and, after soaking it in water for a short time, to
render it soft and pliable, wound it tightly around
the gunwales and ribs where they joined, and also
interwove it among the ribs in other places, wind-
ing it about them here and there, and forming an
irregular net-work over the whole frame. Osiers
VOL. X.-30.


of the gunwales into notches which had been cut
at the ends of the cross-boards. The shrinkage
caused by the drying would stretch the paper, thus
fastened, tightly over the frame-work. As soon as
thoroughly dry, it was varnished, inside and out,
with asphaltum varnish thinned with turpentine,
and, as soon as that had soaked in, a second coat
of the same varnish was applied, but with less tur-
pentine; and, finally, the laps or joints of the paper
were covered with pieces of muslin stuck on with
the unthinned varnish. The loose strips of ash
(b, b) were now removed, and another layer of
paper was put on, and fastened along the edge of
the boat by replacing the strips as before. When
the paper was dry, the laps were covered with mus-
lin, as had been done with the first covering, and the
whole outside of the boat was varnished several
times, until it presented
a smooth, shining sur-
face. I then took some
of the split rattan, and,
after wetting it, wound
it firmly around both
gunwale and inside strip,
passing it through small
holes punched in the
paper just below the
gunwale, until the inside
and outside strips were
bound together into one
strong gunwale. A piece
of oil-cloth was then put
into the boat, between
the cross-boards, and-
tacked to the bottom-
board. This was intend-
ed to protect the bottom -
of the boat, for which
purpose it answered very
In this way a canoe
was constructed which
seemed, at first, a suc-
cess; being light, per-
fectly water-tight, and
much steadier in the
water than I had antici-
pated; but in a few days I was disappointed at
finding that it was becoming leaky, the "muslin
having loosened at some of the joints. After sev-
eral unsuccessful attempts to stop the leaks sep-
arately, I covered the whole boat with unbleached
muslin, sewed at the ends and tacked along the
gunwales. It was then tightened by shrinking, and
finally received three coats of a mixture of var-
nish and paint. This stopped the leaking entirely,
-and added but little to either the weight or cost.

Although, since receiving this last coating,- it is
not, strictly speaking, a "paper boat," I continue
to call it so, because there is still twice as much
paper as cloth in its composition.
A double-bladed paddle (D, Fig. 5) was at first
used to propel it, and answered the purpose, but
was found to be awkward, the boat being rather too
wide. It was afterward rigged with wooden, and
finally with iron, rowlocks (B, B, B, Fig. 5) and
light oars. I also put in several extra thwarts or
cross-sticks, fore and aft, and made a movable
seat (A, Fig. 5). With these improvements it is so
satisfactory that I have since made no changes.
The lake on which, as before stated, my summer
was passed, is one of the largest in the eastern
portion of the group. Most of them are sit-
uated within short distances of each other. About

three miles and a half (in a straight line) east of
our lake is a smaller one, surrounded by high hills.
It is a very picturesque sheet of water, abounding
in fish, water-fowl, immense frogs, and innumer-
able mosquitoes. Having seen this lake from a
distance, and not knowing much about it, except
by hearsay, I thought I would tramp across country
with my canoe and explore it for myself; but as I
should have to carry blankets and provisions, be-
sides my boat, and travel, by the shortest road, at




least five miles, over a very hilly country, I hesi-
tated for some time about attempting it. At last,
however, one beautiful morning in the early part
of September, I started, having got together my
baggage the night before. The boat was launched,
and my traps" were stowed carefully away in
convenient places in the bow and stern. My out-
fit consisted of two India-rubber blankets, a large
army blanket, a double-barreled gun, ammunition
sufficient for twenty shots, cotton, arsenic, knife
and scissors (for removing and preserving the skins
of birds, in case I should shoot any), provisions
for two or three days, cup, sketch-book, soap,
towel, and other necessary articles. For carrying
the boat, I also took a sort of yoke (C, Fig. 5),
which brings all the weight upon the shoulders,
and in that way lightens the labor. Between me
and the shortest "portage" lay some four and
a half miles of water. This was perfectly plain
sailing, or rather rowing, but, as I had been over
the same route several times before, it was not
very interesting. After li i n.-. tying the larger
articles, such as blankets' and oars, inside the.
canoe, and putting the smaller ones into the
pockets of my shooting-coat, I took a short rest,
then shouldered my boat, and started on the road.
It was shortly after noon; the mercury ranged
among the nineties, and the first half of the way
was all uphill. By the time I had gone two miles,
I began to think that I had undertaken a rather
difficult and uncomfortable task; but, encouraged
by the constant assurance of the boys and farm-
ers along the road that it was "jest on ahead,"
I persevered. Passing through one or two small
hamlets, I arrived, about sunset, at the foot of the
little lake, which lay quietly sleeping, without a
ripple on its surface, surrounded by high hills,
which seemed like immense giants silently watching
over its slumbers. The twilight deepened, and by
the time I had arranged my things, and launched
my boat (for I had decided to camp about half a
mile from the foot of the lake), the moon was
shining brightly. It was a beautiful night. The
sky was perfectly free from clouds, and the air
clear and delightfully cool after the broiling heat
of the day that had just passed. As I rowed
along, slowly, in order to avoid striking against
stumps and snags, the intense silence was broken,
at intervals, by the deep bellowing of some yellow-
throated frog among the reeds, or by the shrill
chirping of the crickets in the fields beyond. At
times, a perch or pickerel, basking in the moon-
light, near the surface of the water, alarmed by
the boat's approach,, would turn suddenly down-
ward, causing a slight ripple to break under the
very bows; or farther ahead, the track of a
swiximing mink or muskrat would be marked by

a flickering line of silver light. A strange, fasci-
nating weirdness seemed to enhance the beauty of
the scene.
Coming to a good camping-place, the canoe was
unloaded, lifted from the water, turned over, and
propped up on one side with the oars; then, spread-
ing my blankets underneath, I turned in and slept
till morning. I awoke and breakfasted early, in-
tending to row to the other side of the lake, but,
in turning over the boat, one of the rowlocks
(which were then of wood) was broken. Having
no means of successfully repairing the injury, this
was at first rather discouraging; but, launching the
canoe, I paddled about half a mile to a small
village on the east shore, where, after a short
search, I found a carpenter, who very kindly lent
me the necessary tools, and even allowed me to
take them away to the shore. I have frequently
noticed, in wandering about in this way, the kind-
ness of the people in the country districts. I wore
an old straw hat, a dirty brown shooting-coat, a
pair of disreputable-looking blue pants with an
immense tear in one knee, and shoes which had
quite forgotten the sensation of being blacked.
But in spite of this costume, which was too un-
couth for anybody except, perhaps, a very unam-
bitious tramp, and although a perfect stranger,
wherever -I went every one received me with the
same kindness. After mending the rowlock, I
returned the tools, shoved off, and rowed to the
head of the lake (which is about five miles in
length), fishing with a spoon-hook as I went, and
catching a fair string of perch and pickerel. By
this time a strong wind was blowing from the foot
of the lake, and the waves were rolling so high as
to make rowing difficult. I therefore landed and
waited, knowing that in an hour or so it would
become calmer. I built a fire, and when it had
burnt low, dressed two of the smaller fish, rolled
them in large green leaves, and, laying them
among the hot coals, covered them over. Fish
cooked in this way are excellent, if they are first
split open to the backbone from beneath, and
well salted and buttered inside. But, unfortu-
nately, I had no salt. After dinner, I sat down
under a tree on the shore, and amused myself,
until the wind slackened, by watching the gulls fly-
ing about over the water, and noting the methods
of a solitary kingfisher, which sat fishing on an old
tree-trunk near by.
I returned to the foot of the lake, and ate sup-
per, which consisted of a pickerel with salt (for I
had begged some at a farm-house since my last
meal), and some roast corn, besides what I had
brought from home. I slept under the boat as
before, but not very comfortably; for during the
first part of the night the mosquitoes were very




numerous and persevering, and toward morning,
when they disappeared, it became so much cooler
that I had some difficulty in keeping warm. Just
before daylight, as I lay about half asleep, I was
aroused suddenly by the whistling of the wings of
a flock of ducks, which, judging from the sound,
must have passed directly over the spot where I
was lying. I kicked off the blankets, grasped my
gun, and crawled out into the frosty air; but,

---- - I' I'

i 4

although I strained my eyes in all directions, I
could see nothing on account of the darkness. I
waited a few minutes with the hope that more
might follow, but at last gave it up, rolled myself
in the blankets, and went to sleep. When I again
awoke it was broad daylight, but, owing to the
cloudiness of the sky, the sun had not made
its appearance. Two woodchucks were feeding
on a hill-side some two hundred yards away, rising
on their hind feet at times to reconnoiter; a song-
sparrow, in spite of the dreariness of the weather,
was singing cheerfully in a thicket near by,
while out on the lake ducks and other aquatic
birds could be seen, feeding a few minutes in
one place, then changing to another, with short,
restless flights. They seemed so wild that I made
no attempt to shoot them, although I bagged a
grebe which incautiously allowed me an excellent
chance for a shot.
On account of the sudden fall of temperature,
and the alarming lowness of my stock of pro-
visions, I determined to go home at once, and had
no difficulty in finding some one to drive me over,
boat and all, for a very reasonable price. The
horse was soon hitched to a light "democrat"
wagon, and driven to the lake, where my traps"
had been previously arranged. While engaged in
loading, an old farmer who came along stopped

and examined the boat carefully, and then, turn-
ing with a most comical expression of amazement
on his face, exclaimed: "Wall, I swan, if it aint
made o' paper !" The nine miles that lay between
us and home were soon traversed, and I got back,
after my two days and nights of "roughing it," in
comparatively good order.
The time selected for my cruise was not a very
good one; my bed was not so comfortable, nor my

meals so good, as they would have been at home,
where I might have staid, reading a book, swinging
in the hammock, or doing nothing. But, notwith-
standing all this, I enjoyed the trip, although I
suppose most boys would be unable to understand
how any sane person could have taken it unless
constrained by the most dire necessity. Although
I saw nothing extraordinary, the fish, birds, plants,
and animals were all interesting to me; while the
new scenery and the novelty of the entire situation
were very pleasing for a change.
During the three months- that I have used my
boat, I have often landed it, through heavy breakers,
on a very stony shore, besides running it against
a fair number of submerged snags and stones,
sometimes with considerable force, but, owing to
itslightness and toughness, it never received the
slightest injury. I have been out in it in very
heavy seas, and have found it much easier to man-
age at such times than a heavier boat. In rowing
parallel to high waves it is apt to ship a little water
occasionally, unless carefully managed, but all small
boats with low sides experience this difficulty. As
the sides of my canoe are only twelve or thirteen
inches high at the lowest part, I don't think it
surprising that a little water should get over in a
heavy sea. When not in use, I usually left the
boat out-of-doors, turning it bottom up, and put-




ting a block of wood, or some other object, under
each end, to keep it off the ground.
The approximate cost of the materials used in
the construction of the canoe was as follows:
Varnish, 5 qts. ............................ $.9o
Paper, 18 yds ........................... x.20
Cloth, 8 yds. .......................... .72
Bottom-board .......................... .60
Gunwales ................. ............ .50
Cross-boards. ......................... .25
Paint .... .............................. 5
Split rattan ......................... .25
Nails, screws, wire, etc................. 25
Total ............. ............... $6.7
The paddle that I used at first cost little or
nothing, but the oars and iron rowlocks were made
to order for four dollars.

Since the foregoing article was written, I have
had a second season's experience with this curious
boat, and believe more firmly than ever in its con-
venience and practicability. It has proved strong

and durable; and has been used for fishing, shoot-
ing, and ordinary boating, being equally service-
able in either case. Perhaps the best evidence in
its favor is the fact that there are at present, in the
village where it was made, some eight or ten boats,
in most respects like the one described, all of
which, with the exception of one or two which
were carelessly constructed, have been entirely
satisfactory, and no accidents have happened.
The builders were all boys, most of them quite
young, and some of the best boats were made by
the younger boys. The most popular model seems
to be a shallow, sharp-pointed canoe, propelled
with a double-bladed paddle; the principal objec-
tion already mentioned-that of shipping water
in a heavy sea-being effectually obviated by a
light decking fore and aft.
Like all light boats they must, of course, be
carefully managed ; but I consider them quite
as safe as a round-bottomed, wooden boat of the
same size.



BUTTON, button, who has the button ? asked
a glove that had been dropped on the toilet-table.
I've got it," answered Jimmy's jacket. "I've
several buttons, in fact."
"No," put in the closet-door, I have it myself;
the carpenter gave it to me."
I had a dozen or so," said a boot, looking
rather down at the heel.
"And I have a hundred or more," yawned the
easy-chair, but they don't button anything; they
don't belong to the working class."
Here 's a bachelor's button," remarked a vase
of flowers on the bureau.
There's a button-wood tree in the garden,"
said the button-hooker. I suppose you all grew
"I know better than that," pouted the closet-
door. "Mine grew in the veins of the earth,
where all the precious metals are found. It's a
poor relation of theirs."

And we," added a pair of ivory sleeve-buttons,
"we grew in the land of the white elephant. We
were carved from the tusks of the leader, who
threaded the jungles and swam the rivers at the
head of his troops."
My buttons," said the glove, "were nearly re-
lated to the gem which Cleopatra dissolved for
Antony. They were mother-of-pearl, grown in
the shell of the pearl oyster, for which divers risk
their lives."
"That's something of a fish story," thought
Jimmy's jacket. My buttons are only glass; but
glass is sometimes made of sand, and who knows
but their atoms may have been swept down to the
sea-shore from farthest India ?'"
"And I," whispered the bachelor's button, "I
sprang from a tiny seed, with all my splendor of
blue and purple wings, like the Afrite from the jar
which the fisherman found on the beach. It is a
miracle how I was packed away there "





-"THIS, of a truth, I always note,
And shape my course thereby:
That Nature has never an overcoat
To keep her furrows dry.

"And how should the hills be clothed with grain,
The vales with flowers be crowned,
But for the chain of the silver rain
That draws them out of the ground.

"There 's time for the night as well as the morn,
For the dark as the shining sky;
The grain of the corn and the flower unborn
Have rights as well as I."


You all have seen the poor-moths flutter about
the candle or lamp, blinded and yet hopelessly at-
tracted by the light, until at last they fall into the
flame and perish. Well, I'm told that in Iceland
the gleam of waterfalls attracts the moths in just
the same way, and that moth after moth flies delib-
erately into the cataract. I 've heard say, too, that
one reason why Iceland offered advantages for ob-
serving such things is because there is no night
there in summer! But that, I suppose, is too
ridiculous to be believed. What say you, young
philosophers ?

A DEAR little escaped canary-bird once told your
Jack-in-the-Pulpit that the reason he fled from his
wire home near the window was because he wanted
to go up and see other cages hanging from the sky
-and he knew there must be thousands hanging
there, because thousands of birds were flying down
from it every day. Poor little thing He did n't

even know that he was a prisoner, and that all the
other birds were free !
It is a foolish notion of mine, perhaps, but, do
you know, I think we children are somewhat like
that little canary-bird. We all reason from our
Now, if any one of my youngsters knows exactly
what I mean, or even guesses at it, let him rise
and explain.


SOH, yes! April is here again, and it is a year
since your Jack first mentioned that "cloudy
Saturday" theory. Well, it was rather a pretty
theory, but the weather of this spring season has
evidently been too much for it. Here are two
letters out of many of the same sort. We may as
well admit that, in several portions of this country,
the clouds insist on having the sky entirely to
themselves throughout more than one Saturday
in the year.
NEw YORK, Feb. 6, 1883.
DEAR JACK: In the April number you told us that some one had
said that there is only one Saturday in the whole year in which the
sun does not shine at some time during the day. I have watched the
Saturday this year, and it is not so; for the sun did not shine at all
here on either the first or the third Saturday of January.
Your friend, SUSIE E. M-.
ARLINGTON, N. Y., Feb. 7, 1883.
DEAR JACK: I have been watching the weather closely on Sat-
urdays, and on January zoth was rewarded by seeing a Saturday
come and go without giving us a glimpse of Old Sol."
For January 27th we had planned a skating party; but, at night,
I had to record the fact that, on two successive Saturdays, the sun
had failed to shine.
As our skating for that day had to be given up, we decided to go
the next week.
But February 3d came and went, without one ry of sunlight.
Whether we have a chance to air our skates on February moth, re-
mains to be seen.
We may not see another sunless Saturday in a year, but I am
rather skeptical about the truth of the statement that there is only
one Saturday in the year on which the sun does not shine."
Yours truly, B. V.

BEFORE we say good-bye to this Saturday sub-
ject, here is a letter that may interest you:
DEAR JACK: I am one of your constant readers. I see some of
the boys have been watching for the one Saturday in the year on
which the sun does not shine. I am sure it would be useless to
watch for it in San Diego, or on any other day of the week, either.
I got my papa to ask the signal service man here, and he says he
can not remember any day, during the years he has been here, on
which the sun did not shine. I am twelve years old, and have never
been in any town but this, and have never seen a snow-ball; but
some winters we can see the snow lying on the mountains 40 or.50
miles from here, and on Christmas morning, three years ago, I saw a
cake of ice a quarter of an inch thick, which formed on a bucket of
water that had stood out-of-doors during the night. We have a
machine here now for making ice, which they go around selling in
December; but I would like to go where they have the snowy win-
ters, and see the skating and sleigh-riding that we read about. I
suppose Mr. Santa Claus takes off his fur clothing when he comes
here. At any rate, I am sure he can not use his sleigh; but he fills our
stockings all the same. My brother and I get all our pieces that we
speak at school, on recitation day, out of our old ST. NICHOLASES.
Your friend, ANNIE KILLER.


I DON'T know why, but there was something
not quite natural about the Deacon's manner as
he handed your Jack this letter. There seemed
(between ourselves) to be a little more pride than



usual in his dignified air. It was n't exactly bom-
bastic; and yet--well, I may have imagined it all.
Or, maybe, the letter,-ah, yes! I actually came
near forgetting it--perhaps the letter will explain.
Here it is:
PHILADELPHIA, Jan. 30, 1883.
DEAR DEACON GREEN: A short time ago we came across an ex-
planation of the word bombast, and seemg your question in the
ST. NICHOLAS, I thought I would write and tell you what I know
about it. The old meaning of the verb bombast was to inflate, and
the noun meant cotton used to stuff out clothes.
An old writer, in a book about plants, calls the cotton plant the
bombast tree; and another queer old book, called "Anatomic of
Abuses," tells of doublets "stuffed with four, or five, or six pounds
of bombast, at least."
It gradually became applied to a certain kind of writing,
and an old English writer says:

" The sounds are fine and smooth, the sense is full and
Not bombasted with words, vain ticklish ears to feed,
But such as may content the perfect man to read."

Now, dear Deacon Green, we all like you so much, and
have made a great many speculations as to what you look
like! I imagine you are just a little like what Prince Hal
called Falstaff,-"A sweet creature of bombast,"-but not
in the present meaning of the word. Oh, no My brother
Ned says he likes to think of you as being fat and jolly.
But, whether thick or thin, I hope you will long con-
tinue to write for the ST. NICHOLAS.
I am your faithful reader, BLANCHE MCC.


WOULD ever you think,
You dear little chicks,
In what way a wasp
To the window sticks?

I '11 tell you just how:
I watched him myself,
And sat still, close by,
On the window-shelf.

He opens his mouth,
And, what do you think?
He puts out his tongue,
And, quick as a wink,

He lifts up his leg
And gives it a lick;
And then, dears, he can
To the window stick!
L. E. D.

This may be correct enough as poetry-
your Jack does n't pretend to be a judge
on that point-but, when it comes tofacts,
he has the birds and the Deacon and the
Little School-ma'am to back him when he
says that wasps generally hold on to glass
as flies do-that is, by the aid of the little
disks with which their feet are supplied.
Some say that these disks act as suckers; :. ..
others, that they secrete a sticky fluid; .
but, in either case, it is to these disks
that wasps and flies owe their power of climbing
window-panes and walking on the ceiling with backs
downward. The Deacon says he knows that wasps
are very neat, and that, like many other respect-
able insects, they keep their bodies and their
nests as clean as possible; and he suggests that
what L. E. D. saw was the performance of the
wasp's toilet, as other insects are known to cleanse
their legs and antenna after the manner described
in the last of these verses.


THE Little School-ma'am has heard of a re-
markable lily, and has handed your Jack this
extract from a letter written by a gentleman who
seems to know all about the wonderful flower:

"There is a remarkable lily, popularly known as the 'Easter
Lily of Bermuda,' which is supposed to have been brought many
years ago to Bermuda from 'the Cape,' by Gov. Lefroy, one of
Bermuda's earlier governors, and which is now grown in great
quantities upon those lovely islands. It is much sought after for
the decoration of their parish churches at Easter, and at this,

F r i I r. F i C I

their season of bloom, SIDE AND TOP OF SINGLE BLOSSOM.
the air is heavily laden
with their delightful per-
fume. This lily is noted for the freedom with which it blooms, often
producing twenty or thirty flowers on a single stalk, which seems
to us, accustomed to seeing only three or four, a very large
number; but not long ago a remarkable specimen was sent
on here from Bermuda, having one hundred and forty-five per-
fect buds and blossoms, nearly all of which were in full bloom
at one time. The stalk, which was about one inch wide and
two broad, was thickly clothed with narrow, dark-green leaves
for its entire length (about four feet). Surmounting this were
grouped thickly the snow-white, trumpet-shaped blossoms, a mass
of snowy white."



'; .R. TI Rl :EY.. C- K.

S' YOUNG Mr. Tur-key-Cock came out
out *hi h- of the barn one fine morn-ing. He shook
out his feath-ers and stretched his neck, and then, see-ing
some ti-ny lit-tie chick-ens close, by, he ran to-ward them with his tail
set up proud-ly like a fan, and mak-ing a sort of drum-ming noise with his
wings. The lit-tie things, who had left their egg-shells on-ly the day be-
fore, were fright-ened, and ran a-way as fast as they could to the old hen,
who spread her wings o-ver them. This as-ton-ished the young tur-key-
cock, who had nev-er be-fore sup-posed that a-ny one could be a-fraid of him.
"I won-der if I could make a-ny-thing else run a-way," thought he. He
looked a-round the barn-yard, and saw a lit-tle calf; so he walked qui-et-ly
o-ver to it, with his feath-ers ly-ing smooth. The calf looked up, and then
turned a-way and rubbed a fly off its side with its nose. Then Mr. Tur-key
swelled up his feath-ers, and gave a long "gob-ble," and rushed drum-ming
up to the calf. Boss-y gave one quick look, thenjumped
,. ,.. sll-wise, and took an-oth-er look, and then shook its
head, kicked up its heels, cut two or three
'. fun-ny cap-ers, and ran a-way.
Now the tur-key was proud in-deed,
,. for he had fright-ened the calf, which
Swas big-ger than he. So he looked a-bout
.j ..- ....to find some oth-er creat-ure to try his
'-" trick up-on. At last he saw a horse
crop-ping the grass. So he flew down and walked qui-et-ly to-ward it.
When quite close, he ran at it, gob-bling and drum-ming, and the horse,
which had not seen him com-ing, gal-loped a-way in a fright.



~---:- ,U



"Ah!" thought Mr. Tur-key, "I can scare ev-ery-thing! What fun
it is!" --- Just then a long, shrill whis-tle was heard, and an en-gine
came a-long on the oth-er side of the
mead-ow, draw-ing a train of cars. Mr.
Tur-key knew noth-ing a-bout trains or
rail-roads, and he looked hard at the
S A -- "That can be noth-ing but a ver-y big,
.. '. black sort of a horse," thought he. I will
S-.go o-ver there and wait for it to come back
.- a-gain." So he strut-ted a-cross the field,
--. think-ing all the time what a splen-did bird
he was, since ev-ery-body was a-fraid of
S him. He walked a-long the rail-road track, all
S-read -v to run at the black i-ron horse when it
S-shuld hd come. He had
not long t.:, wait.
Th- e I vhis-tle a. iv .
was heard, and he puffed him- ,,,,
self up and ran at the great "'' '--
black thing as it came whizz-
ing a-long. Did the -en-gine
run a-way? Yes, but it car-ried Mr. Tur-key with it, which was more than
he had bar-gained for. A great wind seemed to sweep him up on a big
black thing, and he was car-ried a-long at a ter-ri-ble rate un-til a
bell rang, and the train stol:ppd Lt a a sta-tion, and a man shout-ed:
" Hel-lo look at that tr-key v- on the cow-catch-er !"
Mr. Tur-key got a home, but, to the lat-
est day of his life, he J .. .nev-er a-gain tried to
fright-en e-ven a chick-en.

_-,t...-__ .)<
,' , J .' ,
, "1 .







-=- ''.

7 x_


INSTEAD of the usual four subjects for composition, we give this month two picture-subjects--
"A Shark in Sight" and "The Birthplace of Robert Burns." The most acceptable composition
on either, one of these two subjects, not ex-
ceeding 750 words in length, written and
composed entirely by a boy or girl un-
der 16 years of age, and received at this
--_-- office before April 15th, shall be printed,
------- with the picture to which it was written, in
.'..'.- "- the June number of ST. NICHOLAS, and
a' ,.4 ,._..-_ paid for at the rate of $5.00 a printed page.
.9r The composition for the second picture
.6 may be entitled simply "Robert Burns,"
--- if desired.
Those who desire the return of their com-
positions, if unsuccessful, should notify us
7- ; to that effect when sending us their MSS.,
'- and should inclose sufficient postage for the

SOME of our boy-readers who are lovers of Natural History will be
interested in these two letters relating to an article which we printed
last October:
CHELTENHAM P. 0., PA., Oct. 2, I882.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I notice in your October number an
article entitled "A Picus and his Pots," in which the author upholds
the very erroneous theory that the smaller American woodpeckers -
I suppose he means the "Picus villosus," "Picus fubescens," and
" Centurts Carolinus," or hairy, downy, and red-bellied wood-
pecker-subsist, in a very poetical way, by drinking the sap of
various trees.
I feel it my duty, as a lover of birds, to absolutely contradict this

whole theory; and the author could certainly never have been led
into believing such a fallacy if he had ever examined the contents
of the stomach of any woodpecker, which would at once convince
him of the fact that all the members of this family live on insects,
with occasionally a little corn or fruit. Or the structure of the
tongue alone would overthrow at once the above fallacy, for what
use could a sap-drinking bird have for a tongue such as belongs to
the woodpecker family? It is long and narrow, and covered above
with sharp spines, set pointing back into the mouth, and it is kept
moist and sticky by a viscous liquid which exudes from two glands,
situated one on each side of the head.
It is well known that the woodpeckers drill holes in apple and
other trees, apple-trees particularly; but if anyone will examine the
stomach of a bird killed while engaged in this occupation, he will
find that it contains, not the sap of the tree, but numbers of minute




-~-- '''

- 7 TR: 1MR5 a


insects, larva, and eggs, which, if allowed to remain in the tree,
would certainly injure it, and in time destroy it utterly.
I hope none of the readers of ST. NICHOLAS have been led (or
rather misled) into believing that a bird formed preeminently for the
destruction of insects should subsist upon, or even drink, the sap of
any tree. If any one has been so misled, I would refer him to the
writings of Wilson (in his description of the downy woodpecker),
Nuttall (in his description of the same), or to the large work ofBaird,
Brewster, and Lawrence (vol. II., p. 512), all of whom have studied
the matter much more fully than
Yours truly,
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Mr. Haines is the one who is mistaken.
He refers to books and tongues; I refer to the acts of the bird (Picus
vanlus), as I have seen them with my own eyes. But Mr. Haines
can"console himself that he errs in good company. Alexander
Wilson, curiously enough, falls into the mistake of asserting that
the downy woodpecker (Pircs fubescens) is the bird that bores the
rings of pits in the holes of our apple trees, when, in fact, it is the
yellow-bellied woodpecker (Picus various) that does it. The
hairy woodpecker (Picus villosus) and the downy woodpecker
(Picus Aubescens) never peck in green, healthy wood, as they
find the insects, larvm, and eggs upon which they feed in dead,
decaying wood. The picus of which my paper treated (Picus
various) is the true "sap-sucker." He pecks green wood, and
prefers afperfectly healthy tree, which is full of sap. I have had my
eyes within three feet of this bird when it was drinking from its pits.
I have carefully noted its habits, for fifteen years, in the woods, from
Georgia to Michigan, and I kvow I am not mistaken, and that Mr.
Haines and his teachers are mistaken. 1 donot deny that the yellow-
bellied woodpecker (Picus various) eats insects, larven, and insect
eggs; I do assert that it drinks sap out of the pits it makes. The red-
bellied woodpecker (Picus Carolinas) occasionally drinks sap,-this I
have seen it do from the troughs in a maple orchard or "sugar-camp,"
-but it does not peck green wood. The great ivory-bellied wood-
pecker is the only woodpecker (save the yellow-bellied woodpecker)
that I have ever seen pecking green wood, and then it was done to
reach a hollow where winged ants were lodged. The bright-eyed
boy-readers of ST. NICHOLAS can, if they live in the country, satisfy
themselves on this subject this winter, as follows: Take a good
opera-glass and go watch in any grove of cedar trees until you find
my bird (Picus various) sitting below his ring of pits. Train your
glass upon him, and patiently observe him delicately dipping his
bill into the little wells of aromatic juice. You can't be mistaken;
he finds no insects there; the wood is green and sound; the pits
are full of liquid-he is drinking his nectar i I have seen one of
these birds stay for three or four weeks, almost constantly every day,
on one tree, where it had pecked twenty or thirty pits. Could it
get enough insects out of these pits to keep it alive so long ? The
wounds it had made in the tree kept bleeding and it kept drinking,
that was all! Why does it take to the cedar trees in very cold
weather? Because the cedar's blood does not freeze. Why does
it peck in green, healthy wood if it is hunting for insects? Picus is
no fool; he knows what is good i Mr. Haines might as well look
into Ben Franklin's books for a true account of the telephone, as to
look into Wilson's or Audubon's or Baird's books for all the facts of
nature. One must use one's own eyes and ears. If I see a bird
drink sap, see the same thing over a thousand times, must I refuse
to believe my senses because Wilson did not happen to record the
fact ?
Then Mr. Haines is again mistaken if he thinks our particular
picus eats corn. I might safely offer him a moon-stone, or some
other great prize, for every grain of corn he will ever find in the
stomach of this bird.
Wilson, in his eagerness to contest the sap-drinking theory, says:
"The bird pecks its holes only in theautumn and winter, and mostoften
on the south and west sides of the tree-boles." The south and west
sides of trees are the warm sides, and there the trees bleed mostfreely
when punctured. But Wilson, himself, asserts that the birds choose
the healitiest trees in which to peck their pits, and yet he thinks
they are after worms, etc., etc., and he is quite sure it is Picus fu-
bescens that does the work. He is wrong all around I could fill
ST. NICHOLAS with facts in proof of my bird's tipplinghabit. I may
note one more glaring error in Wilson's account of this picus: He
says it associates with the downy and the hairy woodpeckers, which
is not true. Picus various, as he names it, is a lonely bird, curiously
solitary in its habits, except in the mating season. It never, at any
time, place, or season, "associates with" the other little wood-
In still another particular Mr. Haines is wrong. He says: "The
structure of the tongue alone would overthrow at once the above
fallacy, for what use could a sap-drinking bird have for a tongue
such as belongs to the woodpecker family?" Now, let me answer
this: The red-headed woodpecker (Picus erythrocepflalts) and the
golden-winged woodpecker (Picus auratus) live mostly on berries
and fruits and grain in summer and autumn. What use have they
for the woodpecker tongue, according to Mr. Haines ? In fact, the
two last-named species have almost ceased to peck wood at all for
food. They have not left the country because the woods have been
cut down, as the ivory-billed and pileated species have; but have

adapted themselves to the new environment, eating cherries, berries,
apples, corn, and seeds.
Again, the red-headed species is an expert fly-catcher, and may
be seen taking insects on the wing as deftly as a pewee; but what
use has a fly-catcher for a woodpecker's wedge-shaped bill accord-
ing to Mr. Haines? Again, thePicus auratus bores in the ground
for grubs and worms, just as the woodcock does-why is n'tits bill
like a woodcock's?
The fact is, boys, Mr. Haines might as well tell you that a red-
headed woodpecker does n't eat ripe mulberries because its bill is
wedge-shaped, as to tell you that a Picus various does n't drink
sap because its tongue has barbs on it! MAURICE THOMPSON.

WE made space in the December Letter-Box for some samples of
the hearty and cheering letters about ST. NICHOLAS that come
pouring in upon us like a tide, and we can not refrain from print-
ing a few more here. We wish we could print them all, but we
have the more reason to be grateful to the hosts of our friendly cor-
respondents because their welcome compliments do not decrease in
number or heartiness, despite our inability to make room for more
than a very few out of the mass.
This time, we shall head the list with this appreciative and kindly
greeting from a father:
PHOENIXVILLE, PA., Dec. 18, r882.
DEAR EDITORS: Allow me to add that our little
daughter, too, belongs to that great army of little people to whom
ST. NICHOLAS has become a dear old friend and companion, as well
as an instructor and educator. Full of impatience and expectation,
she always looks forward to the appearance of the new number, and
does not mind to take the long walk to the bookstore as often as
three times a week, about the time it is due, and great is her disap-
pointment when she returns home without it.
Permit us to do what no doubt many parents have done before
us: to express toyou, and all those interested in the publication of
this excellent periodical, our full appreciation of, and sincere thanks
for, the noble and successful efforts you are making to instruct, edu-
cate, and entertain our children.
With the highest regards from Mrs. L. and myself, I remain
Your obedient servant, M. G. L.

And not less encouraging is this cordial and interesting letter from
an "island home" in the beautiful Lake Erie:

December 6, i882.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I do not live in the"piney woods"of
Florida, nor at an Indian frontier-post, as some of your charming
little readers do, but dwell with five small boys, on an island in the
middle of Lake Erie.
My urchins range from baby in the crib to Hugh, a ten-year-old,
but each and all of the five, in varied fashion, welcome joyfully the
monthly coming of ST. NICHOLAS to our island home.
Would that the power in pen or pencil were mine to give to your
chaste, cheerful pages pictures of and among these grape-growing
islands of the West, where summer lingers longer and Jack Frost
arrives later than at any like latitude on all this broad continent of
ours. The waters, heated by the summer's sun, retain their latent
heat, and this heat, given off as cooler days creep on, softens the air
and preserves for weeks our flowers and garden-plants in native
greenness, when far south of the Ohio the touch of winter is upon
the land.
Pardon the digression, and permit me, as by first intention, to
thank you most heartily for the pure pleasure and solid teaching
which you, as the "Great School-ma'am," are giving to thousands
throughout this world of ours, my own little flock among the grow-
ing number.
I have but to add that we are Canadians, living at the extreme
southern point of the New Dominion; but I believe that glorious old
Santa Claus knows no lines of latitude or politics.
I beg to remain, dear ST. NICHOLAs, for the boys and myself,
Sincerely and faithfully yours, F. B. Me.

Next comes this frank letter from "another nineteen-year-old ":

OSWEGO, January 4, 1883.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: On looking through the Letter-Box of the
December number of ST. NICHOLAS, I find one letter written by
Julie B., who is nineteen years old. I am nineteen also, and do not
feel a bit "grown up" either, and enjoy ST. NICHOLAS immensely.
My brother and I commenced taking it when it first started, and now
my little sister takes it. She had read the old numbers, which we
have bound, over and over again, and so, when Christmas came, and




she found ST. NICHOLAS in her stocking, she was so delighted Of
all her presents, I think she liked that best. Your true friend, N. H.

Then here is a hearty missive from a high-school girl at the other
side of the continent:
SAN FRANCISCO, Dec. 6, 1882.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am very happy that there is in existence
such a magazine as the ST. NICHOLAS; though I am in the senior
class of the high school, yet I take great pleasure in the ST. NICHO-
LAS. I live in a city noted for its cable roads, there being five roads
which scale the numerous hills which abound in San Francisco.
Among the course ot studies which I pursue are chemistry, geome-
try, literature, Latin, rhetoric, zoology, astronomy, and history. I
am seventeen years old, and I remain,
Your ardent reader and subscriber, ELISE F.

Perhaps Elise and others may not know that ST. NICHOLAS once
described the cable roads of San Francisco (see ST. NICHOLAS for
November, 1878), and that, since that article was published, a cable
road has been built and is now in operation in the city of Chicago.
From the pile of hearty letters written by dear young friends
between the ages of ten and fifteen, we have room for only a half-
dozen, selected at random. And we shall begin with this cordial
greeting from an English girl:

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl living in London, or
rather a suburb of London.
Four years ago, Papa brought me home a copy of ST. NICH-
OLAS, and I had my choice of that or another magazine, but
directly I had read one number, I chose dear old ST. NICHOLAS,
and I have taken it ever since, and think there is no magazine
to equal it, in either England or America.
The nicest tales, in my opinion, are "Donald and Dorothy" and
"Jack and Jill."
I hope I shall always take it, for I sometimes think I shall
hardly ever get too old to enjoy it. A friend of mine was taking
an English magazine, and I recommended ST. NICHOLAS to her,
and she thinks it is the nicest magazine she ever read. I should
think it must be jolly in America. If I could pop corn once, and
help pull candy, and have a good coast and some snow-balling, I
should be quite happy, for our snow melts here as soon as it comes
And I should like to be in America on the Fourth of July and
on Thanksgiving Day.
In fact, I should n't mind living there at all. But now, dear
ST. NICHOLAS, good-bye. From your loving and constant reader,
FLO. A- .

TRENTON, N. J., Jan. 27, 1883.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am .a little girl nine years old; and
never had.a magazine of my own before last Christmas, when I
was delighted to find ST. NICHOLAs among my presents: I was
very much amused with the "Brownies' Ride," for my teacher
calls me "Brownie," because I have brown eyes. I am just
aching for the March number; so please hurry it up, and oblige
Your little fend, H. H. E.

BRANDENBURG, MEADE Co., KY., Jan. 14, 1883.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have read you nearly four years. You
were first given to me as a Christmas present by my brother; I
do not know how we could do without you. We live in the
country, five miles from our post-office. My little brother, nine
years old, goes to the post-office the most. The first sound he
hears when he returns is, "Did you get the ST. NICHOLAS?" If
the answer is "Yes," all crowd around to get the first look. We
can scarcely wait until our lessons are studied, to read it. Then
I, being the oldest, read aloud. The next month always seems so
far off, so long to wait to get another ST. NICHOLAS. Every
one, from my teacher to my baby brother, two years old, hails
ST. NICHOLAS with delight.
I think your stories are just splendid, "Donald and Dorothy"
especially. Dorothy's picture is perfectly lovely.
I am very thankful for the composition subjects you have every
month. I dislike very much to write compositions, and it does n't
seem so hard when I get the subjects from you.
Yours truly, NELLIE G-- .

FRASCATI," VA., Feb. 5, x883.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I cannot tell you how delighted I was
when I awoke on Christmas morning and found the ST. NICHOLAS
among my many other presents. I appreciated it more than any of
them. The first time we ever got the ST. NICHOLAS a friend made
it a present to my sister and myself for the whole year. My aunts
all thought it such an excellent paper. We enjoyed reading it so
much, that the next year they subscribed to it for us. This is now

the third year we have taken it, and I hope we will subscribe to it a
great many more years. I think it is the best magazine for children
that has ever been published. Sister and I both thought "Donald
and Dorothy" a lovely story, and were very sorry when it ended.
When the ST. NICHOLAS comes, she and I rush for it; first we each
look at the pictures, and then the one who first got it reads it. My
sister and I are two little girls who have lost our dear papa and
mamma, and so we live in the country on a large farm with our
grandpapa and aunts. We have plenty of horses, and we often go
out riding on horseback. I have often ridden on horseback by
myself to our post-office, which is just one mile from us, to get the
mail. We have three dogs and three cats, which are our pets. We
have chickens also, but of all the many pleasant things we have to
entertain ourselves with, the ST. NICHOLAS is the nicest and the
best. Your constant reader, CORINNE LOUISE K.

MADISON, Wis., Dec. I1, 1882.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl, eleven years of age, and
for the past five years I have been a constant reader of your maga-
zine, and think, with many others, that it is the best one I ever
read. I.have learned many beautiful pieces of poetry from it, and
last week, at the close of school, I repeated "Little Guido's Com-
plaint." It is in the October number for I882. JANIE H. H-- .

Last of all, we must add these two letters from young wanderers,
for it seems their writers have, indeed, seen something of the world:

FORT D. A. RUSSELL, WY. TER., Dec. 6, 1882.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl eleven years old. My
papa is a doctor in the army. I was born at Fort Wingate, New
Mexico, and since then I have been North, South, East, and I am
now West again. We live right on the prairie. It blows here all
the time. I take your ST. NICHOLAS, and think it perfectly lovely.
My sisters Edith and Lisa delight to hear the baby stories. And
when we get through I send it to my five cousins in Ireland, who
love to read it too. With many thanks for such a lovely book, I
am your grateful little friend, AILEEN MAY V- .

FORT ELLIOT, TEXAS, Jan. 14, 1883.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: You get so many letters from little children
all over the world, I thought I might write a letter also. I had
ST. NICHOLAS first at White Earth Reservation, Minnesota, way
out in the Indian country. In summer it was awfullyhot-I couldn't
run hardly-and in the winter it was very, very cold. I saw
Indians nearly all the time. I was a little frightened at first. I
was staying at a hospital. A few Indians were very kind to me,
and one Indian named Me-Shig-Ke-Ge-Thig was a great friend
of ours. Emme-Gah-Bouh, the Indian clergyman, was so good,
and we liked him very much. The Chippewas are good Indians.
Last year I was in Europe, and in Switzerland. I was so glad
to see ST. NICHOLAS again. It had a different blue cover outside,
and in Germany and England it had a differentblue cover. Very
many little English children take ST. NICHOLAS, and German
children too, and American children buy it over there, and all that
buy it like it very much, usually. I think more of it now than I
ever did before, and I should feel very badly if I could not see it.
Papa got a Christmas number for me for one of my Christmas pres-
ents, and I like that very much too. Now I am way out in Texas.
It is a long, long way from the railroad. We have lots of
"Northers," very bad winds, and we have some prairie fires here.
They were n't very bad, for the grass was not long enough. We
had a fire here--a pile of wood took fire. I like the post very
well, but I had rather be at my own grandpa's. There are four
companies of soldiers. We have a little Agassiz Association. We
have nine members. I hope I will always have a copy of ST.
NICHOLAS. Good-bye. From your loving friend, .

Lucy C. AND OTHERS.-We can not direct you to any purchaser
of canceled or used postage-stamps, which, so far as we know, are

READERS of the clever story of "Louis's Little Joke," in this
number, will be interested in this extract from a letter which the
author sent with her MS.:

"The story was. suggested by my seeing in the laundry, one
morning, suds which had stood for hours, the froth white and pure,
and strong enough to be sliced off with a knife. It looked wonder-
fully like the beaten whites of eggs, and kept its form when trans-
ferred to a plate. I suppose it was the force with which the suds
had been driven through flannel by the strong arms of the washer-
woman that made it so lasting. I have seen foam stand for hours on
a lake-shore after a heavy gale."




THE Gould Memorial Home and Schools, mentioned by Miss
Hale in her story, "Alone in Rome" (page 460), is beautiful
charity in Rome, which was begun by Mrs. Emily Bliss Gould, and
after her death continued, in her name, by a society of ladies and
gentlemen. It is supported chiefly by the gifts of American and
English friends. A club of young people in Boston, called "The
Italian Band," does much to help, and other cities in this country
also contain associations in aid of the Gould Home and Schools.
There are individuals, besides, who gladly give the eighty dollars a
year necessary to support a child in the Home. Theinstitution has
been in existence about ten years, and usually has in its care some
forty children, who receive daily instruction in needle-work, dress-
making, housekeeping, tailoring, shoe-making, etc., beside all the
careandcomforts of a real home. An English lady, Mrs. Edgecombe
Edwards, is now the president of the executive committee which
has the actual supervision of the work.

L. M. D.--We can answer your question ourselves. You can
buy [or order "Through the Looking-Glass" at any bookstore,
and the price of the most popular edition is $1.50.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: The suggestion concerning the use of
Christmas cards on a screen I have adopted, and modified in this
way: Taking an old green baize screen, light blue silesia (a pret-
tier background than canvas) was tacked over it on one side, and
the cards adjusted by means of a fine silver wire-surgical wire.
We made the holes for the wire with a small awl. The wrong
side of the screen was finished with pink silesia, plaited and
tacked. The whole completed, a pretty plush gimp was put on
over the tacks, and the black-walnut edges of the original screen
gilded. This was done with a bottle of gilt-paint, and powder
and brush (costing about 50 cents).
It may seem strange to the boys and girls that a mother, with
three little ones not old enough to read, should watch for the
pretty ST. NICHOLAS with avidity. I do, however. Have the
many readers of the magazine ever thought of passing it on to
those unable to see it otherwise? Our copy goes to a cripple
in the Hartford Hospital after we finish it, and affords a double
pleasure. Yours sincerely, "AUNT LOTO."

IT gives us great pleasure to note this month a larger accession
of Chapters and new members than in any one previous report.
Their addresses will be found below. We are also pleased to print
the following very kind responses to our hint in the February
report. The first is 'from the President of the Rochester, N. Y.,
Nat. Hist. Society:
"You may refer to me questions on parasites, infusoria, and pond-
life. The only trouble is that replies may be delayed at times,
owing to my frequent absence from home.
"Yours truly, H. F. ATWOOD.
Office German Insurance Co."
The next is from an enthusiastic member of the Ottumwa
"I have had considerable experience with fossils-have labeled
the collection in a large public museum in this city. I will gladly
undertake the identification of any specimens sent me.
"W. R. LIGHTON, Ottumwa, Iowa."
The third comes from Professor Dudley, of Cornell University:
"ITHACA, N. Y., Jan. 20, 1883.
"I have not yet outgrown my sympathy for the younger
people. I will gladly answer their questions so far as time will
permit, and will nake time for their sakes, even when I am busy.
My especial department is certain parts of Phaenogamic and Crypto-
gamic Botany; among other things, the grasses, ferns, and mosses.
"I shall always be delighted to serve the boys and girls, even at
the busiest moments. WILLIAM RUSSEL DUDLEY."
This will make the eyes of our young microscopists, fossil-hunt-
ers, and botanists sparkle with delight. But we caution them that,
when they avail themselves of these most generous offers, they must
observe two invariable rules :
First. Never write for assistance on any question until you have
fairly exhausted all your own means for learning the answer.
Second. Always inclose sufficient postage for the return of your
specimens, and also an envelope stamped with a three-cent stamp,
and addressed to yourself. We hope that we shall be able before long
to refer students in all departments to equally satisfactory sources

of information. The call is now particularly urgent for a competent
mineralogist, conchologist, and entomologist. Members of the
A. A. will kindly call the attention of their elder friends to this need
of our Society, as they may very likely not read ST. NICHOLAS.

No. Name. Members. Secretary's Address.
397. Mansfield Valley, Pa. (A) 8.. Mr. Prestley.
398. Roseville, N. J. (A).......22..Miss Sara Darrach, 3I N. ix,
Newark, N. J.
399. New York, N. Y. (I)...... 4..E. B. Lent, 221 E. 39.
400. Fargo, D. T. (A) ......... 6..Frank Brown.
401. Louisville, Ky. (A) ....... 7..James Speed, 836 4th Ave.
402. Cayuga, N. Y. (A) ....... o..H. D. Willard, Box 94.
403. Newark, N. J. (B) ....... 4.Chas. Barrows, 168 Market st.
404. Baraboo, Wis. (A)........ 7 Miss Dora Coffall, Box 13x3.
405. Lexington, Ky. (A)....... 6.. (Not furnished.)
406. Fort Elliot, Texas (A)..... 9..Thos. Hood, care Capt.Hood.
407. New York, N. Y. (J) ..... 7..A. C. Weeks, 120 Broadway.
408. Hartford, Ct. (E) ......... 2..W. H. St. John, 194 Farm-
ington Ave.
409. Sag Harbor, N. Y. (A).... o..C. R. Sleight.
410. Princeton, Ill. (B) ...... o..Miss E. M. Richardson.
411. New Salem, Mass. (A).... i2..D. F. Carpenter.
412. Syracuse, N. Y. (B) ...... 8..B. Burnet Nash.
413. Denver, Col. (C) .......... 5. ..W. Henderson, 454 Cal. st.
414. New York, N. Y. (K)..... 6..H. Ries, 139 W. 49.
4x5. Waterbury, Conn. (C)..... 5.. Win. Carter.
416. Racine, Wis. (A) ......... 4..J. McColman, 926 Main.
417. Keyport, N. J. (A) ....... 6..Phelps Cherry.
418. Boston, Mass. (D)......... Harry C. Sanborn, 49 Law-
rence street
419. Chicago, Ill. (M) ........ 8..Geo. Lynne, 107 Sedgwick st.
420. Hanover, Ind. (A)........ 8..C. Danner.
421. Petaluma, Cal. (A).. .... ,z..Miss Mary Denny.
422. Brooklyn, N. Y. (G)...... 4..R. C. Avery, 98 Second PL

Florida shells, for minerals.-S. A. Howes, Battle Creek, Mich.
Correspondence in South and West and in British America desired,,
with view to exchanges.-H. N. Johnson, Waterbury, Conn.
Common opal, for other minerals.-S. B. Arnoldy Whipple Bar-
racks, Arizona Territory.
Minerals, fossils, and woods, for foreign, Southern, and Pacific
coast woods.-L. L. Lewis, Box 174, Copenhagen, N. Y.
Insects and birds' eggs, for insects and minerals; send for printed
list.-E. Hamilton, Grand Rapids, Mich.
Birds' eggs.-Wm. Sicard, 1404 L st., N. W., Washington, D. C.
Fossils:-C. R. Eastman. Cedar Rapids, Iowa.
The address of Chapter 388 should read as follows: C. F.
Gettemy, Galesburg, Ill.
Attacus Cynthia cocoons, for cocoons of Io, Luna, Polyphemus,
and Cecropia.-A. C. Weeks, 120 Broadway, N. Y.
Ores, for ocean curiosities or insects.-Eddie Boynton, Cedar
Rapids, Iowa.
Dakota grain, grass, and prairie flowers, for sea-shells or minerals.
-Jesse French, Grand Rapids, Dakota.
Polyphemus, Cecropia, Promethea, and Io cocoons, for lepidoptera.
-Fred. A. Brown, Maiden, Mass.
Insects and minerals.-Lillie M. Stephan, Pine City, Minn.
Petrified wood, buffalo teeth, for iron pyrites or buhl-stone.-
Frank Brown, Fargo, D. T., Box 1769.
Cocoons of Promethea and Cecropia, for minerals.-Henry Gilbert,
27 Inman st., Cambridge, Mass.
Celebrated Spanish poison-plant, Loco," for sea-shells or birds'
eggs.-Thomas S. Hood, Fort Elliot, Texas.
Woods, for pressed ferns from West or South.-Harry G. White,
39 Union st., Taunton, Mass.
Chapter 351, East Boston, Mass. (B) has 26 members, instead of 6.
Robins' and bluebirds' eggs.-Helen Montgomery, Box 713,
Saco, Maine.
Edelweiss, for pressed autumn leaves.-Alice M. Guernsey,Ware-
ham, Mass.
The address of Chapter 374 should be changed to F. E. Cocks,
Sec. Brooklyn E, 136 Seventh st.
Colorado minerals, for eggs or insects.-R. W. Anthony, 796
Welton st., Denver, Col.
Nest and eggs of yellow-headed blackbird, for eggs or insects.-
W. I. Strong, 804 Cal. st., Denver, Col.
Florida moss, shells, cocoons.-Box 14, i :i N. J.
Correspondence on entomology.-John .'. .. *., 3 Lafayette st.,
Albany, N. Y.
Pentremites, for petrified wood.-Miss Jessie P. Glenn, Bowling
Green, Ky.
Flint, satin slate, asbestos, serpentine.-C. Hadden, Jr., 69
Remsen st., Brooklyn, N. Y.
Cocoons and chrysalids.-Jas. P. Curtis, 57 Seward Ave., Auburn,
N. Y.
Agatized wood and minerals.-L. Wadsworth, Box 2772, Denver,



Did you ever hear of pussy willows in October? On October 5th,
I found a, tree with pussy willows on nearly every twig.
CANTON, N. Y., Feb. 8, 1883.
I caught a chipmunk in my squirrel-trap, and was about to let it
go, when I saw on the lower part of the abdomen a bunch as large
as the end of my finger, with a black
thing as large as half a pea sticking. "
out. It felt like an acorn. The black
thing that. stuck out was ringed like a
cocoon. It fell out of the chipmunk, and
looked something like this:
It was sparingly covered, with short, stiff, light-colored hairs.
When I touched it, it moved a little. I took it home and laid it in a
box, but when I went again for it, it was gone. MARK MANLEY.
[Will some one name this parasite? We venture to suggest a
species of A carina, in spite of the apparent articulations. ]
How the statement became established that Citkeronia regalis
(see Jan. report) is rare in N. E. (and I confess it has authority),
I do not know. The observations of naturalists here do not war-
rant it. The larve are plentiful on butternut trees in New London,
Conn., and are also found feeding in freedom on bayberry. Last
season a friend of mine, who offered 25 cents each for full-grown
caterpillars, was surprised to have a youth bring him 40, as the re-
sult of one day's hunt. A company of three have at least o50 of
the larvm feeding, but the result can not be known until spring.
The larve suffer terribly from ichneumons, and .the per cent. that
survive is small. Larvae of the Pine moth (Eacles imperialis)
were also plentiful last season. They were found by me feeding
upon white pine, arbor vitr, maple, ash, hickory, and bayberry.
The caterpillar was uniformly green, tending to black, on all food-
plants but hickory and bayberry. On these they, were in second
and third stage, and were red. A. W. PEARSON.
D. M. Perine asks about a red speck on a house-fly. It is a
parasite that is common on flies late in summer. It has three pairs
of delicate legs, which are little used. It adheres-to the fly by means
of its mouth, which is a strong sucker. Very often the body will
break before the sucker will let go. I have taken thirteen from one
fly. I can not give you the name of the little fellow; in fact, I ques-
tion if it has ever been christened. There is a good field for some
of your amateur entomologists in studying its life history, structure,
and habits. The house-fly is infested by two other parasites. The
first is a minute worm, called Filaria, which is often found in.the
fly's head or proboscis. The other is a vegetable growth (. .
musci), a sort of fungus, like the mold on stale bread. i i. ..
celia of this fungus, which are analogous to stalks of higher growths,
penetrate the tracheae, and, filling them, suffocate the fly.
You may often see adhering to the window a fly with a whitish
deposit around it for half an inch. This is made up of thousands of
spores, the fruit of the fungus. A.
[" A." will please accept our thanks for his kind answer.]
H. A. Cooke, of North Brookfield, Mass., asks what is a hair-
snake." The scientific name is Gordius aquaticus. It is called
Gordius from its habit ... ,.i i .,. i a sort of Gordian knot."
As found wriggling iti :.: .. ,.:...: .bout in a pool, it is in its
imago state, and is free. Not so, however, in its larval condition. It
was then a parasite, and lived inside of some insect. Of course, no
member of the A. A. accepts such boyish fallacies as that a horse-
hair transforms itself into a hair-snake. GENESEE.
I should like to know the scientific name ofa bug that swims about
on top of the water, and, when it is disturbed, goes under water. It
is black, about half an inch long. We call them "eel-bugs."
[They are a genus of Coleoptera called Gyrin6ide. Common
name, "whirligigs."]
DEAR SIR: The curious "bug" described by Bina J. Ray in your
September number is generally known as the "Devil's Coach-
horse." It is quite common in this latitude. It is sometimes of a
green color, and at other times is brown, and I think possesses the
property of the chameleon in the power to change its color.
It is very pugnacious, and its bite quite painful. I have seen two
of them, placed in a cage with a full-grown mocking-bird, make a
determined fight, catching and sticking close under the bird's wings.
It was only after a protracted conflict, and with considerable diffi-
culty, that they were overcome by the bird and killed.
The head of this insect appears to be composed entirely of mouth
and eyes, the latter protruding like round knobs. The neck is very
small, and the abdomen bulbous-shaped. It is provided with wings,
which are used readily. The head turns easily on the neck in any
direction without moving the body; and the insect follows with its
eyes every movement of an enemy, by turning the head only, like an
owl. This gives it a comical, and at the same time a rather formida-
ble, appearance, when angry or alarmed. OLD BOy.

I write to inform you of the organization of a Chapter of the
Agassiz Association in Salt Lake City. Several of us boys have been
more or less interested in natural history for some time, and when
we read about the A. A. in ST. NICHOLAS, we thought that it was
just what we wanted. So on Wednesday, August 2d, four of us met
and organized the Chapter.
We have already taken several tramps after specimens. On the
first one we found the terminal moraine of a glacier, and our hon-
orary member gave us a long description of glaciers the manner of
their formation and movements, and the way in which moraines are
formed. Our last trip was to a mining district situated 9300 feet
above.the sea. It lasted five days, and we walked sixty miles, and
found many rare alpine plants, fossils, minerals, and bugs.
FRED. E. LEONARD, Box 265.

No abatement of interest. We are working up an entertainment,
with the profits of which we intend to get a room. At one meeting
we debated the question: "Resolved, That specialists accomplish
more in natural history than generalists." We should like to have
other Chapters take it up and let us know what they make of it. I
have always read that quartz has no "cleavage," but I have a speci-
men ofmilky quartz which shows a rem .1 .-1-. 1 : i:.,... f.1.:
-4 by 2 inches. W. R: ....: ,I .,.. .. .
Questions from Albany, A: How does a cat purr? Tell some-
i.:... -i ':..; mouse. What are the differences between but-

I desire to obtain some popular science monthly or weekly, that
treats, in a popular way, all the natural sciences. The A mnrican
Naturalist is more technical than I wish. W. STRIBLING.

[Any one who will recommend a good paper to us, answering this
description, will confer a favor.]
I am happy to inform you that a Natural History Association has
been formed in our high school. We have 17 members, all of
whom are very enthusiastic in their work. We all desire to connect
ourselves with the A. A. We had a cabinet made, which cost
$25.00. The Board of Education has kindly advanced the cost of
this, provided we leave our collection in the building. They also
allow us to meet in the building. We have an entrance fee of 50c.,
in order that none but "workers" may join. We are very careful
about electing new members. Address W. R. GWYNN, Box 237.
The special work of the term in Wareham, Mass., Chapter A,
has been determinative mineralogy: we purchased io different
minerals, and have analyzed them. We have a cabinet which has
a number of specimens in it, together with several books, some pur-
chased by the Chapter, and others presented by the Smithsonian
Institution and the Department of the Interior.
We receive, through Mr. Glosser, the following report of Chapter
C, No. tog, Washington, D. C. Listen to what the members have
learned in one month :
Amber contains the fossil remains of 800 species of insects, and
many kinds of plants.
Some snails breathe through an orifice which is on the right
side in dextral and on the left in sinistral shells.
Deposits of metalliferous rock are formed in layers, beginning at
the walls of the seams, which are sometimes highly polished. The
central layer is composed of interlacing crystals.
The shark family contains the largest fishes. Sharks are nearly
the only viviparous fishes, and the female is larger than the male.
Most of the movements of plants are independent of their
growth. The ends of morning-glories revolve until they strike
something, which they twine about."
In concluding this report, we wish to remind the Association of
the prize offered in February for the best essay on evidences of
design in Nature. We now fix the date at which all essays must
reach us as May 15. We hope for a large number of papers. Chap-
ters will bear in mind Agassiz's birthday, on the 28th of May.
Longfellow's poem on A.'s 50th birthday, and Whittier's "Prayer
of Agassiz," are among the most appropriate selections for reading
or recitation. We hope to have full reports of the manner in which
the day is observed.
Some time ago we hinted that we wished to receive photographs
of all members of the Society, for an A. A. album, but only a
few understood what we meant. We have, however, made a
beginning, and shall be pleased to receive a group picture of each
Chapter, and individual photographs of as many members as possible.
We must remind new members (and some older ones) that an
inclosed, self-addressed envelope stampedd), or a postal card, are
conditions of correspondence. No answers to postal cards. Re-
ports and letters should be written on ordinary commercial note-
paper- not foolscap and on one side of the leaf. Address all let-
Principal of Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass.






THE central picture in the above illustration may be described by
one word of ten letters. With these letters words may be formed
describing each of the smaller pictures.

My primals spell the Christian name, and my finals the surname,
of a famous novelist.
CROSS-WORDS: I. Gladdened. 2. One-half of a romp. 3. A sea
east of Italy. 4. A bird similar to a crow. 5. Profitable. 6. To amuse.
7. Greets. "MARGUERITE."
I. READ forward, I am always present; read backward, I never
can be lost.
II. Read forward, I am a recompense; read backward, I am part
of a bureau. F. J. M.
BOTH of the following verses maybe answered by words sounding
alike, but spelled differently:
Covered by me
The prisoner bows his head.
His fate is fixed-
His life-long doom is read.
Covered with me
E'en dullest things look bright,
A contrast this-
From darkness into light.
F. J. M
ONE day I called my (i) principal tributary oa the A mazon serv-
ant, whose name was (2) a county of Georgia and told him he was a
lazy fellow, and deserved to be punished for allowing the (3) divis-

ion of Western Africa fowls in
S the garden. The (4) sea-port city
of China rooster had spoiled my
pansy bed, and the little (5) cele-
brated town ofJavas were ruin-
ing the pinks. (6) A county of
Georgia showed no (7) cafe on
the Carolina coast, but promptly
repaired the damage as well as
he could. I then sent my (8)
29 cape of Florida servant to tell
the esthetic Miss (9) county of
Idaho (1o) county of West Vir-
ginia that I had a fine (ai)
county of lississippi for her. He
soon returned, saying she would
be with me as soon as she had
finished practicing a Christmas
(12) county of Ohio.
At this juncture my brother,
who was a famous hunter, re-
turned from a hunting expedition,
with the news that he had killed
a (I3) county of Kentucky, a (14)
lake in British A merica, and a
(15) city of New York; and had
accidentally shotaneighbor's (16)
county of Alabama. As we were
bothbecoming (17) a kingdom of
Central Europe, we sent word to
the (18) county of Illinois to serve
dinner. Miss (19) county ofldalo
now appeared,with a (20) country
ofEast Africa on her head, and
an (21) inhabitant of Afghanis-
tan thrown over her shoulders.
Our dinner consisted of (22)
county of Minnesota soup, a fine
boiled (23) river of Idaho, and a
S roasted (24) country of Europe.
The vegetables were served on
the finest (25) country ofAsia.
For dessert we had (26) county
ofNew York ice, (27) sea-port
city of Spain grapes, (28) coun-
try of South A merica nuts, and
a last of all, some delicious (29)
sea-port town ofA rabia coffee.


Top Row: I. i. In quire. 2. A gleam. 3. One who uses an
agricultural implement. 4. A word expressing affirmation. 5. In
quire. II. i. In quire. 2. A sharp blow. 3. A sharp instrument.
4. A large metallic vessel. 5. In quire. III. i. In quire. 2. Three-
fourths of a small brook. 3. A large stream. 4. A sheltered place.
5. In quire.
MIDDLE Row: I. I. Inquire. 2. Uppermost. 3. A wanderer.
4. An inclosure. 5. In quire. II. i. In quire. 2. A wooden vessel.
3. A governor. 4. To entreat. 5. In quire. III. r. In quire. 2.
To bind. 3. A cavalryman. 4. An edible fish. 5. In quire.
BOTTOM Row: I. I. In quire. 2. A vehicle. 3. A contestant.
4. A color. 5. In quire. II. i. In quire. 2. To fold. 3. More
uncommon. 4. To fondle. 5. In quire. III. i. In quire. 2. A
dandy. 3. A boatman. 4. A wooden nail 5. In quire.
"A. P. OWDER, JR."


THE answer to the accompanying illustra-
tion is an oft-quoted proverb.

EACH of the words described contains seven
letters. When these are rightly guessed, and
placed one below another in the order here
given, the first line of letters will spell the
surname of a much-loved poet, and the third
line, the name of one of his poems.
CRoss-woRDS : I. The part toward which
the wind blows. 2. Very plain. 3. Closest
at hand. 4. The first book of the Bible.
5. Acting as a drudge for another at an
English school. 6.' A precious stone. 7.
That which quiets. 8. Freedom from bust-
ness. 9. A public conveyance. io. To coax.
Ryeve rate si dewersan yb a slomsob, cCH
Ryeve gish hitw nossg dan hertulag tlenb,
Pealp-slombo puno eth bezseer sost hetm, -
Pilar skown erh won, nad si tencton. S

I am composed of fifty-seven letters, and
am a quotation from the Merchant of Venice.
My 49-3-43-27-13 is to squander. My
45-22-56-2-18-42 is a day of the week. My
55-41-11-44-9-25 is to entice.. My 34-29-
51-40 is a multitude. My 53-31-20-46 is a
pronoun. My 8-38-12-4 is a small horse.
My 36-32-15 is misery. My 52-16-o9--
57-50 is a fleet of armed ships. My 7-21-
39-10-23-28 is to help. My 30-35-24 is to
scatter abroad. My 33-48-26-6-17-54 is to
pull with a twist. My 14-5-37-47 is sin.
Why do we dread to-morrow, and so destroy to-day?
For if we borrow trouble, we surely have to pay.
(These words will appear by holding the picture near and on a
level with the eye. The second line may be seen by reading from
the right-hand side of the picture.)
DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Primals, Robert Burns; finals, Tam O'Shan-
ter. Cross-words: i. RioT. 2. OperA. 3. BlossoM. 4. EchO.
5. RecklesS. 6. TrasH. 7. BananA. 8. UnicorN. 9. RevolT.
ro. NovicE. I.. ScouR.
WORD SYNCOPATIONS. I. T-rib-une. 2. R-even-ue. 3. Ma-lad-y.
4. Be-wild-er.
True wit is nature to advantage dressed,
What oft was thought, but ne'er so well expressed.
Pope's Essay on Criticism, lines 297 and 298.
RHOMBOID. Across: i. Inert. a. Overt. 3. Eneid. 4. Tales.
5. Dents.
2. Ha-R-sh. 3. Na-I-ve. 4. Re-S-in. 5. Me-T-al. 6. St-O-op.
7. Pe-T-er. 8. Ha-L-ve. 9. Sk-E-in.

WE loaded the. frst at the station,
With barrels and barrels of flour;
The busy freight agent had told us
The train would last in an hour.
We hurried about pretty lively,
And piled up the barrels so fast
That,when the long train reached the station,
Our whole was quite ready to last.

ONE word is concealed in each sentence.
x. Hal was discouraged, for his three vent-
ures all proved disastrous. 2. Shall Percival
or Reginald go for the parcel? 3. Thelate-
ness of the hour prevented Anna from.
making the call she had intended. 4. She
IW A PF.. E ..- was not especially entertaining. 5. All the
theaters seemed well patronized.

I. MY first is in strive, but not in vie;
My second in prove, but not in try;
My third in awkward, but not in sly;
My fourth is in sing, but not in cry;
My fifth is in nature, but not in sky;
S My whole holds castles for which we sigh.

II. My first is in leopard, but not in cat;
My second is in thin, but not in fat;
My third is in board, but not in slat;
My fourth is in stood, but not in sat;
My fifth is in fly, but not in bat;
My sixth in carpet, but not in mat;
My whole is something to puzzle at.
WORD SQUARES. 1. I. Inert. 2. Never. 3. Evade. 4. Redan.
5. Trent. II. i. Abhor. 2. Brave. 3. Haven. 4. Overt. 5. Rents.
III. i. Grate. 2. Raven. 3. Avert. 4. Terse. 5. Enter.
mond: I. C. 2. Aha. 3. Chart. 4. Art. 5. T. Upper Right-
hand Diamond: T. 2. Era. 3. Trend. 4. Ant. 5. D.
Central Diamond: i. T. 2. Tea. 3. Tepid. 4. Aid. 5. D.
Lower Left-hand Diamond: i. T. 2. Via iid. Timid4. Air. 5
D. Lower Right-hand Diamond: a. D. 2. Dew. 3. Depot. 4.
Won. 5. T.
An abiding place for soap, or starch, or cuffs, or paper collars
Is number two, which holds three things you use for number one;
Our one and two combined bring the nation many dollars,
Paid over by all those who have much letter-writing done.
CUBE. From I to 2, marine; a to 6, enrage; 5 to 6, serene; I to
5, morals; 3 to 4, retain; 4 to 8, Norman; 7 to 8, ensign; 3 to 7,
Racine; I to 3, moor; 2 to 4, earn; 5 to 7, sole; 6 to 8, even.
DIAMOND. I. L. 2. See. 3. Shore. 4. Leopard. 5. Erase.
6. Ere. 7. D.-- CHARADE. Naughty.

LATE Answers to JANUARY PUZZLES were received from F. W. Islip, Leicester, Eng., oe-Sydney Bilbands, Bonchurch, Eng., I.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE FEBRUARY NUMBER were received, before February 20, from Fannie S., i-C. M. M., 6-C. A.
Neff, i--Percy Merrell Nash, 3--Helen M., 2-Hattie I. Weisel, 2--Carry H. Bailey, i--Sallie Seaman, 3-Frank R. Gadd, i -
John Burnet Nash, I -Roy Guion, 4- E. L. B., 3 Curiosity," I Philip Embury, Jr., 5 -J. Webb Parker, 3-Stiles A. Torrance,
i-Leila L. Parsons, i- J. M. L., 4- Alicia and Jessica, 9 Alice L. P., i- Daisey Osbi, i-R. H. Murphy, Jr., 4--Theodore H.
Piser, Edith Howland and Willis Brower, Frank Osborne, I- Carleton V. Woodruff, 5- Paul Reese, 8- Alcibiades," 7-
Lillian Byrne, 4-Willie Koehnle, 8- Edith Sinclair, x--Etta M. Taylor, 2-"Brooklyn," 6-"Oscar" and "Harry," 3-Tom
Orrow, 3-J. X. Watson, 2-Charlie M. Philo, --Nannie McL. D., 4-Daisy and Dandelion, 2-L. I., 9-Dillaye G. Thompson, 2-
Gracie A. R., 6 Minnie A. Olds, 4 -" North Star" and "Little Lizzie," 4 -J. B. Whitehead, 4- Edith Howland, 3- The Stewart
Browns," 7- Effie K. Talboys, 8-- Isabella Purington, 3- Willie Frautwine, 4 -L. E. and C. Yelkcnih, 9 L. Wager, I Helen and
Harry, 3 Warren Dickinson, 9 Livingston Ham, i Harry B. Sparks, 7 Sam Pell, 8- E. Reyemllae, 5- Florence G. Lane, 7-
Nellie Caldwell, 5- D. B. Shumway, 8 Harver and. Mazy,-6- Lulie M. Bradley, Joe B. Sheffield, 2 -G. Mather, 5-Mamma,
Madge, and I, 6--" Queen Bess," 8-"M. N. Bank," 2-E. Riley, 2--Vin and Henry, 6--Appleton H., 7-L. Gilman, 6--A. D.
Close, 4.-Hazel, 8-B. Stromenger, 3-Dycie, 6-Pernie, 9-J. A. Nowland, 3-K. B. and A. B., 9-B. and C. Wehl, 6.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE FEBRUARY NUMBER were received, before February 20, from Delia Marble-"Lode
Star"-Sallie Viles-Philip C. Kennedy-H. A. Davis--"Arabi Bey"-Harry L. Reed-Amy Slade-R. R. R. "Vere-de-Vere
Vaughan" -Clarence A. Cobleigh -Belle Bartholomew- Minnie B. Murray-Helen Smith-Maggie M. Perkins-R. T. Losee-
"Two Subscribers" -L. V. Pirsson and H. W. Faulkner-Helen F. Turner-Mammaand Weddie- Howard S. -Neely and Frank-
"The Houghton Family"-Pinnie and Jack- "Professor and Co."-Louis R. Custer-John C. and Wm. V. Moses-"A. P. Owder,
Jr."-Grandma, Frank, and Anna-Katie Schoonmaker- "Ursa Major and Ursa Minor"-Heath Sutherland-"Town and
Country"- Tom and Ida-Eugene and Bessie Smith-Papa, Mary, Anne, and Belle Casal-" Mama and Bae "- Sarah C. Dwight-
Pearl Stevens-Scrap- Teresa and Elizabeth -Dexter S. Crosby, Jr., and Harry W. Chandler, Jr.- Cuchee Smith- Sadie and her
Aunt-"Three"-Lillie C. Lippert- Francis W. Islip- K. M. B.- Mary Ingham- Lizzie Owen-" Erasmus "-Edward J. Colgate-
C. J. Child-Papa, Elida, and Samuel Whitaker-G. Lansing and J. Wallace-G. L. Waterhouse-H. M. Baynes-Grace Eddington.




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