Front Cover
 An old-time valentine
 How the mails are carried
 A family drum corps
 The fortunes of Toby Trafford
 Going to the head
 The story of the golden fleece
 To prince Oric
 Elfie's visit to cloudland and...
 The boy settlers
 Mehitable lamb
 The artful ant
 Lady Jane
 A little girl's diary in the...
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00237
 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: VID00237
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
        Front Cover 3
    An old-time valentine
        Page 251
    How the mails are carried
        Page 252
        Page 253
        Page 254
        Page 255
        Page 256
        Page 257
        Page 258
    A family drum corps
        Page 259
        Page 260
        Page 261
    The fortunes of Toby Trafford
        Page 262
        Page 263
        Page 264
        Page 265
        Page 266
        Page 267
        Page 268
        Page 269
        Page 270
    Going to the head
        Page 271
    The story of the golden fleece
        Page 272
        Page 273
        Page 274
        Page 275
        Page 276
    To prince Oric
        Page 277
    Elfie's visit to cloudland and the moon
        Page 278
        Page 279
        Page 280
        Page 281
        Page 282
        Page 283
        Page 284
        Page 285
        Page 286
        Page 287
        Page 288
    The boy settlers
        Page 289
        Page 290
        Page 291
        Page 292
        Page 293
        Page 294
        Page 295
    Mehitable lamb
        Page 296
        Page 297
        Page 298
        Page 299
        Page 300
        Page 301
        Page 302
        Page 303
    The artful ant
        Page 304
        Page 305
        Page 306
    Lady Jane
        Page 307
        Page 308
        Page 309
        Page 310
        Page 311
        Page 312
        Page 313
        Page 314
        Page 315
    A little girl's diary in the east
        Page 316
        Page 317
        Page 318
        Page 319
        Page 320
        Page 321
        Page 322
        Page 323
    The letter-box
        Page 324
        Page 325
        Page 326
    The riddle-box
        Page 327
        Page 328
        Unnumbered ( 83 )
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

'14 1't.



---- -- --
'----- I






VOL. XVIII. FEBRUARY, 1891. No. 4.



ONE February midnight, while bright:stars laughed above,
A poet, in his garret, sat rhyming love and "dove";
He drew his gown about him, because the air:was chill;
He wrote of Venus' snowy swans, and dipped his gray goose quill.
And when the cold east kindled with morning's rosy fires,
.Wh-ehn alIl the merry sparrows: chirped, and spaikled all the spires,
Appeared proper bachelor- who could not write a line
(At least in rhyiiel in l,.ppy time, to get his valentine.
He grasped the hand..that- penned it, with fervor quite absurd;
.He cried, 'T is elegant indeed! "- a cheerful chink was heard,
.A silver sound of kissing coins; the poet rhymed for these,
And -yoked his teams of "loves and doves to bring him bread and cheese!
To seal the precious missive, well pleased the lover sped;
He sealed it with a heart and dart, extremely neat and red;
He wrote upon the back a name ('t was:Janre, iftell I must);
He would have liked to sand the same with diamonds ground to dust.
To -knock just like the po-tman, he used'his utmist'art;
-And-Mistress aiae canie'tripping down; she saw the heart and dart; '
STrim Jine., ith eyebrowi jetty, and dimple in her chin. -
AValeiitife ? It-:can'f be mine! "-arid yretsshe took it in.:
And she ari sister Betty laid by their work awhile,
And bent'their heads above the sheet, and .praised the sugared style;
'T.was all of roguish Cupids," and "rainbow-piniohed Hours,"
And "golden arrows tipped with flanie," and." fetters made of flowers."
"I vow it 's -vastly pretty; and yet, my dear, you see
It says within To Chloe'-it can't be meant for me! .
And yet it says without To Jane'- I think it must be mine !"- -
Meantime the poet toasted cheese, and blessed St. Valentine !
Copyright, i89o,by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved.

t he

WE stamp a letter and
drop it into the
iron box upon the
side of a lamp-
post, secure in the
Knowledge that it
i'- will reach the
friend to whom we
wish to send it,
even though he
live thousands of
i miles away. Some
day the postman
-b ring the answer
t7 : ,ui d ,.or, and
S- so common a con-
venience has this
Great service now
become, that we give no thought to the wonder
of it. But of all that was done with that letter
after it was mailed, until it reached the one
to whom it was addressed, the many hands
through which it passed, the many watchful
eyes which cared for it, we know next to noth-
ing; for so far as the working part is con-
cerned, the post-offices and postal cars offer only
closed doors to the general public. It is right,
moreover, that this should be so, and if at some
time the thought has come that we would like
to inspect the contents of a mail-bag, it has
been followed by the thought that we would
not care to have our own letters and packages
handled by outsiders.
The government strictly requires that no one
but duly authorized persons, under oath, shall


be allowed to handle the mails; and the busi-
ness part of the post-office and the postal car
are closed to all others.
All this privacy, however, is peculiar to the
mail itself. A knowledge of the work of sorting
it, and of the methods by which this great busi-
ness is carried on is free to every one.
In cities and large towns the letters are gath-
Sered from the boxes by the carriers and taken
to the central office or to designated branch sta-
tions. In smaller places they are mailed directly
at the office. If the office is large enough to re-
quire a number of clerks, one is detailed for the
work of getting the mail ready for despatch,
and is called the mailing clerk. The table at
which he works is called the mailing table, and
is raised so high from the floor that he can work
comfortably at it while standing. The back
edge is usually a few inches the higher, so that
the top will incline toward the person at work;
and into the table is set, so as to be even with
the top, a large piece of rubber an inch or more
in thickness. On the table beside this lie the
canceling stamp and ink pad. -The government
requires that the stamp be of metal, and the ink
black and indelible, but this rule is sometimes
broken in small country offices by the use of
rubber stamps and colored inks. The govern-
ment furnishes all necessary' stamps and ink,
and the only excuse for not following the rule
is that where there are few letters the rubber
stamp and common ink may be more conve-
nient. The penalty for removing the cancel-
ation from a stamp and using the stamp again,
is imprisonment for from six months to three
years, or a fine from $1oo to $500.
The letters and postal cards taken from the


box are arranged in piles, all right side up; and
the mailing clerk, placing a pile of them on the
table in front of him, cancels them with almost
incredible rapidity, sliding each piece, before he
strikes it, upon the rubber in the table, thus
securing a good impression of the stamp, and
a slight rebound to aid the next stroke.
It has become a custom which all thoughtful
persons always observe, to place the stamp on
the upper right-hand corner of the envelop, but
few people have ever stopped to think what
was the reason for this choice of position. The
canceling stamp and the postmarking stamp
are fastened side by side upon the same handle,
and if the stamp is correctly placed one blow
makes both impressions. If, however, the stamp
is on the lower right-hand corer the postmark
falls on the address, and both are blurred, while
if the stamp is on the left-hand side, the p6st-
mark, which is always at the left of the can-
celer, does not strike the envelop at all, and a
second blow is necessary to secure it. So if the
stamp is anywhere except in the upper right-
hand corner it makes just twice as much work
for the clerk, and this, where he is stamping
many thousand pieces every day, is no small
matter. There has been in use for some time,
in the post-office in Boston, a number of can-
celing machines, into which the letters, all faced
upward, are fed. These machines, if the stamps
are correctly placed, do the work quite well,
leaving on the envelop the row of long black
lines which we all have noticed on Boston letters.
I am not able to learn, however, that there is
any other office in the country, as yet, which
uses these. The Boston office has also quite
recently put in operation a most ingenious
machine for canceling and postmarking postal
cards, which,differs from the other in the greater
rapidity of its work. Two hundred cards can
be placed in it at once, a crank is turned, and
click, click! they fall into a basket, all stamped.
It seems to be the impression of many people
that the mail when sent from an office is gath-
ered carelessly together and thrown into a mail
bag which is then locked and despatched. This
is wholly wrong, for even in the smallest offices
the letters and cards are all gathered face up-
ward and tied into a neat package. The govern-
ment furnishes the twine to do this, and some

idea of the immensity of the postal service can
be formed from the fact that in one year the
cost to the government of the twine for this
purpose (which though strong is of the cheap-
est quality) was nearly seventy-two thousand
As the offices grow larger the size of the mail-
ing case increases and the distribution grows
more elaborate. The mailing case is a case of
pigeonholes, set up before the mailing clerk, each
opening being labeled Boston," Providence,"
"New York," "Boston and Albany," etc. Into
the first are put all the letters for Boston, into the
second all those for Providence, while into the
one marked Boston and Albany go all the let-
ters for the offices on the road connecting these
two places, unless there may be among them

cities so large as to have a box to themselves.
Of course, the larger the office is, the more let-
ters there will be, and consequently a need for
more boxes. Boston, for instance, sends mail-
pouches directly to many hundred of the larger
towns all over New England, and therefore



there must be, in the mailing case of the Boston
office, a box for every one of those towns.
So far in this article I have spoken, for con-
venience, only of letters;.but the same'methods
apply also to newspapers and packages, except
that the greater size of these requires. larger
boxes for sorting, and more sacks for carrying.
Letters and all sealed mail are always sent in
leather pouches, locked; newspapers and other
similar matter, in large canvas sacks, merely,
drawn together -with a cord and fastened with a
slide. It is to be noticed that the bag-i ade of
leather is always called a "pouch," while the
one made of cloth is always called a "sack."
-Nearly every railroad in the United States
carries, at least once a day, one or-more men
whose business it is to receive, sort, and deliver
the mail gathered at the towns along or near
that road.
If there is little work to be done, one man
does it alone, in a small room built in a part of
the baggage-car or smoking-car. As the busi-
ness increases, two or more men work together,
having a whole car for their accommodation.
This car is drawn directly behind the engine, so
that there shall be no occasion for any passing
through it. With still more business, between
the large cities, two or more cars are run; until
between New York and Chicago we have a
whole train run exclusively for the mail service,
made up of five cars and worked by twenty
men. A line of railroad between two cities,
used in this way, for sorting the mail, is called
an R. P. 0.," or Railway Post-Office," and
there is an immense number of such in the
country, taking their names from the chief
offices on the line.
Such are the Boston and Albany," Boston,
Springfield, and New York," Portland and
Island Pond," Chicago and Cedar Rapids,"
and many hundred others. The runs vary
greatly in length, ranging from twenty miles to
as high as a thousand miles. The extremely
long runs, with the exception of the New York
and Chicago," are found only in the West,
where there are great distances between the
cities. On such a run there will be two or more
men, one crew sleeping while the other works;
The New York and Chicago is divided into
three sections. On this run, the twenty men who

start out from New York aite relieved by as many.
more at Syracuse, and these in turn are relieved
at Cleveland by another company who take the
train into Chicago. As a general thing, how-
ever, a_run is planned to be about the distance
which can be covered'in.a day.
On all the more:imp.otant lines there are two
sets of men, one for day and. one for night ser-
vice. If: the run is a' short one with but little
mail, one.,man does the work alone, running
every da,; and visually having several hours to
rest'at -one end of the road or the other. Where
the run is long enough, so that the trip takes all
day, there will be four sets of men. One man,
or set of men, starts at one end of the run, and
covers the entire line, meeting the other some-
where on the route, and returning the next day:
When these men have worked a week, they 'go
home to rest a week, and the others take their
places. Such isthe arduous nature of the work,
the strain.to mind and bbdy, and particularly to
eyesight, from working all day loig in the con-
stant jar and rattle,' that few men would be able
to retain a place were it not for these periods
of rest.. :
The railway mail service of the whole country
is divided for convenience into eleven divisions,
all under the charge of a general superintendent
at Washington. Each separate division has
a superintendent of its own. There were, for
the fiscal year ending June 30, 1888, 5094 clerks
in the service, and they handled that year
6,528,772,060 pieces of ordinary mail matter,
besides registered pieces. The salaries of the
clerks range from $500 to $1300 according to
the amount of work,or responsibility. ."-
We have seen how the mail is made- ip and
despatched from the post-office. Let us see how
it is received at the postal car. On a run of
average importance, one whole car will" be
devoted to the work.. In one end 'of this car
a space several feet in length is reserved for
string the sacks filled with mail. Often a hun-
dred or more of them are on board at one time.
Near this space are the doors, one on each
side, through which the mails are received and
'On many postal-cars there is fastened to
each doorway an ingenious iron arm called a
crane, which can be swung outward; and, while


the train is still at full speed, this catches and brings in a pouch hung on a frame at some way-
station so small that the train does not stop there.
In the opposite end of the car is the letter case, where the letters are sorted. This con-
tains several hundreds of pigeonholes labeled with the names of all the large cities of the
country, the railway post-offices with which this one connects, etc. If the run happens to be

for each one of the Southern States, and Western
States and Territories.
Each car is furnished with canceling stamp, pad,
and ink; for each car is a post-office in itself, and
must receive, wherever it stops, the letters which for .
convenience people would rather mail there than at a
post-office. The postal clerk is only required, however, to
keep on hand two-cent stamps, and he is not obliged to make
change. Between the ends of the car and occupying much the larger space, the "paper man"
has his station. Where two or more men run in the same car, one man has command of the
others and is called the clerk in charge." As a general thing he sorts only letters, and is spoken
of sometimes as the letter clerk," while the others are called paper men or helpers." On
the New York and Chicago train, mentioned before, one whole car is devoted to sorting letters,
and the four others to papers. The responsibility of the clerk in charge is -supp'oed to be the
greatest, and he usually receives the largest salary. Through the middle of the ci r et ends a table
two or three feet in width, made in sections so as to fold up if necessary, and often twenty feet long.




On this the papers are sorted, and all around
it are hung the sacks, covering the walls before
and behind. In a postal car fitted up with the
latest improvements, from one hundred to two
hundred sacks can be hung, and half as many
pouches in addition. The sorting of the pa-
pers differs from that of the letters in the par-
ticular that the former are in most cases thrown
directly into the sacks, while the latter are sorted
into boxes. A very recent invention, which is
found a great improvement, is a double floor,
laid firmly on rubber springs above the floor of
the car, in front of the cases and tables where
the clerks have to stand all day long. This
greatly diminishes the jar of the train.
It is the duty of the helper to lock and un-
lock all the pouches, and to put off and take on

\ 1


all the mail at the stations. And just here a
word about mail locks and keys. All over this
whole great country, from Maine to California,
and from St. Paul to New Orleans, every mail
lock is the exact counterpart of every other
one of the many hundreds of thousands; and
every one of these, the key in any post-office
in the country, whether it be the smallest cross-
roads settlement or the immense New York
City office, will lock and unlock. Every key
is numbered, and though the numbers run high
into the thousands,-the key which I last used
was number 79,600,-a record of every one is
kept by the government, and its whereabouts
can be told at any time. Once in six or seven
years, as a measure of safety, all the locks and
keys are changed. New ones of an entirely
different pattern are sent out, and the old ones
are called in and destroyed.
When the helper takes in a pouch at a sta-
tion, he unlocks it and pours out the mail upon
his table. Before he hangs it up, he must look
into it carefully to see that no stray letter or
paper remains at the bottom, as is very apt to
be the case; for any that were left there would
be delayed, perhaps a whole day. If the pouch
which he opens is from a small office the let-
ters will all be in one package, and this he hands
directly to the letter clerk, and sorts the papers
himself. If it is from a larger office the letters
will be in several packages. All those for Bos-
ton will be by themselves in a package, on the
face of which is tied a brown paper slip, printed
plainly "Boston." Another will be marked
"New York," etc. These he throws directly
into the pouches going to those cities. The
remainder of the letters will be for various
places and will be tied in a number of bundles
which the letter clerk must sort, or work as
the process is called. If the run is a long one
with much business, there will be a great many
packages; and if the letters were put up with-
out system, it would be impossible for the letter
clerk to work them all until he was far past
many of the offices on the line, and then all the
letters which he found for those places would
have been carried by and thus delayed. To ob-
viate this, the offices along the line are divided
into sections, the sections being numbered.
Thus, for instance, on the Boston and Albany,


moving west, the sections are as follows, the
distance being two hundred and three miles:
I. Boston to South Framingham. 2. South Framing-
ham to Worcester. 3. Worcester to Palmer. 4. Palmer
to Springfield. 5. Springfield to Westfield. 6. West-
field to Pittsfield. 7. Pittsfield to State Line. 8. State
Line to Chatham Village, N. Y. 9. Chatham Village to
Albany, N. Y.
All mail for places between Boston and
South Framingham is put into one package
and marked Boston and Albany, West, No. i,"
and that for the other sections is marked in a
similar manner. The clerk is in his car long
before the train leaves Boston, and before he
starts, his No. i mail-and often much more-
is worked. Then the No. 2 is finished before
he reaches South Framingham. Thus, he is
always able to keep ahead of time.
The letters for the large cities are quickly
disposed of. Those for the Western and South-

nearly all New England, and he must have
in his mind the location of every one of the
hundreds of post-offices in all this area, and
know just which way to send a letter so as to
have it reach its destination quickest. If this
could be learned once for all it would be no
small task, but time-tables, and stage-routes,
and post-offices, are continually changing, and
he must keep up with the changes. There
are at present in the New England States,
for example, the following numbers of offices:
Maine, o166; New Hampshire, 526; Ver-
mont, 523; Massachusetts, 839; Rhode Island,
129; Connecticut, 484. In New York State
the number rises to 3317. The agent who runs
on the Boston and Albany railway, for instance,
must have in his mind the location of every
office in Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Con-
necticut, and a part of those in New Hampshire,
Vermont, and New York. This run is not ex-

. "*".


em States and Territories are made up into
packages by States merely, and sent on their
way to be more fully worked by someone else
before their destination is reached. All this is,
however, only a small part of the postal clerk's
duty. His run connects more or less directly
with half a hundred others, extending over

ceptional. Many others are equally hard; some
harder. An agent is expected to keep in mind
the location of 5000 offices. Where the run is
so long that its distribution requires more than
this, one man is trained to take charge of some
part of it while another learns some other part.
The superintendent of a division in which a


-1-- ?i


Railway Post Office is situated must learn tion. The time required by each man is also
of all the changes relating to distribution in noted, and is reckoned into the standing, since
his division, keep his men informed of them, and the efficiency of a postal clerk depends largely
see that the men properly perform their duties, upon the rapidity with which he can work. An


The first division comprises all of New England,
and the headquarters of the superintendent are
in Boston. Twice a week he issues a printed
bulletin of several pages, giving information of
changes that have been made and instructions
for new work. These bulletins are sent regu-
larly to all postal clerks and to the larger offices.
Once in so many months every clerk is examined
by his superintendent, or some one designated
by him, to see how well the clerk has mastered,
and retained, the work of his position. The way
in which this examination is made is interesting.
The examinations are made by States, and we
will suppose a clerk is to be examined on Mas-
sachusetts. The examiner has a small case of
pigeonholes, usually made to fold up so as to
be light and portable. This is labeled, by means
of movable labels, just as a car would be in which
the man to be examined is an agent. In addi-
tion to this the examiner furnishes a set of cards,
as many in number as there are offices in Mas-
sachusetts, the name of some one office being
written on each of the cards.
The clerk takes these cards and rapidly sorts
them into their proper places in the case, just
as if he was sorting so many letters into the case
in his car. The examiner watches the operation,
and when it is done takes the cards out, one by
one, to see what errors have been made. A
written report of every examination is made
out, giving the percentage of each clerk, as
in the case of a pupil at a school examina-

efficient paper clerk will throw from fifteen to
twenty pieces in a minute, and an equally good
letter clerk will sort from thirty to forty letters
in the same time. The reason the latter is able
to work so many more pieces is because they
are already faced up for him, while the paper
mail comes in a jumble.
Another way in which the division superin-
tendent can oversee the work of his clerks is by
means of the facing slips.
As already has been stated, all the letters go-
ing to any one office, or to any division of a
railway, are tied into a bundle on the face of
which is placed a brown paper slip, about as
big as a postal card, on which is plainly printed
the destination of the package. Every postal
clerk, or post-office clerk using one of these
slips is obliged to put on it his own name and
address, and the date it was used. Now when
some other clerk comes to open the package,
if he finds in it any letters which have been put
there by mistake, and thus have been delayed,
he at once writes upon the back of the slip a
list of the errors, and sends it in to the office of
the superintendent of the division. Here an ac-
count is kept with every man in the division.
He is debited with all the errors reported
against him, and credited with all that he
reports against anybody else. At the end of
each month a record of this account is sent
him, that he may be encouraged in well-doing,
or spurred on to improvement.


. ; \


It is this complex system, so' carefully en-
forced, which has given us our present excellent-
mail service.
The contract of the government with all
railways requires the latter to deliver the mails
at, and bring them from, offices within eighty
rods of the station. Where the distance is greater,
the government has to furnish a carrier.
After the mails are received at the office of
destination the work is simple. All letters are

stamped on the back with the day and hour of
receipt, so that if they have been delayed on
the way it will be shown that the delay was not
at that office. Unless it is a large office, the let-
ters and papers are put directly into the boxes.
If the office is large enough for free delivery,
the carriers take the larger part of the mail,
but their work, and the methods for quickly hand-
ling the mail in a city office, would furnish mate-
rial for a separate article.

* k'

,, ."
A l;


A LITTLE man bought him a big bass-drum;
Boom boom boom!
"Who knows," said he, "when a war will come?"
" I 'm not at all frightened, you understand,
But, if I am called on to fight for my land,
I want to be ready to play in the band."



He got all his children little snare-drums;
Boom- tidera-da-boom!
And they'd practice as soon as they'd finished
their sums.

i; i II ,I
r-- ------ I
;~(.'" '''''!~r.~ii
-I~-C_, ---

i `I



Boom- tidera-da boom!
" Won't you stop it, I beg you? he often said.
" I 'm trying to think of a text, but instead
The only thing I can get into my head

" We 're just like our papa," in chorus said they,
" And, if we should ever get into the fray,
Why, it's safer to thump than to fight any day!"
Boom- tidera-da-boom!

And, showing her spirit, the little man's wife-
With some of her pin-money purchased a fife;
Boom-tidera-da--boom !
And, picking out tunes that were not very hard,
They 'd play them while marching around the
back yard,
Without for one's feelings the slightest regard.
Boom -tidera-da-boom-a-diddle-dee-
Boom-tidera-da- boom!

The little old parson, who lived next door -
Would throw up his hands, as he walked the

Is your boom-tidera-da-boom-a-diddle-
Boom- tidera-da-boom! "



And all of the people, for blocks around -
Kept time at their tasks to the martial sound;
Boom- tidera-da -boom!
While children to windows and stoops wouldfly,
Expecting to see a procession pass by,
And they could n't make out why it never drew nigh,
With its boom-tidera-da-boom-a-diddle-dee-

4/- lj
., -K *-

It would seem such vigor must soon abate;
Boom- tidera-da-boom!
But they still keep at it, early and late;
Boom- tidera-da-boom!
So, if it should be that a war breaks out,
They '11 all be ready, I have no doubt,
To help in putting the foe to rout,
With their boom-tidera-da-boom-
Boom tidera-da Boom -
Boom- tidera-da-boom-a-diddle-dee -




(Begun in the November number.)
As they walked down to the lake together,
they saw the wreck, still adrift and smoking,
not far from shore. But it was deep in the
water, and the hay was reduced to a low,
sunken, black, and formless mass, which ex-
posed scarcely any surface to the wafting wind.
"The water has got into the old hulk, and
foundered it, and soaked out the fire," Mr. Al-
lerton observed.
"Don't call it an old hulk,"- Toby replied.
"It was almost new when I had the bad luck
to borrow it."
But it could n't have had much value."
"That 's what I hope Mr. Brunswick will
say; but I 'm afraid he won't!"
"There are not so many boats on this lake
that it seems necessary to burn them up," said
the teacher. "I wonder there are not more.
Summer boarders are coming now, and if other
people are half as fond of the water as I am,
row-boats and sail-boats should be in de-
"Do you spend the summer here?" Toby
"A large part of it, at any rate; I don't
know of a more attractive place to pass a va-
cation. If I thought I should keep your school
another year-"
"You'11 do that, very surely! "
It is n't sure at all. I find there are many
discordant elements in the place, and I am by
no means satisfied that I am the man to har-
monize them. But, as I was saying, if I
thought I should stay, I would have a boat
of my own."
"You can take mine any time," said Toby.
" I 've been so busy I have n't put it into the
water yet. But I mean to have it in soon."

"I am very much obliged to you. I should
think it would be a good thing, for somebody
who has a little leisure, to keep a few boats to
let, and to take people out rowing."
"That 's a good idea!" Toby exclaimed.
"Is n't there anybody you can suggest it to ? "
"How about the young fellow you call Yel-
low Jacket ? "
Toby thought a moment.
"It would be just the thing for him, if he
only had the boats, and a little business enter-
prise. Shiftless habits and one leaky boat
would n't answer."
"I 'm afraid not," said the master. But
the fellow seems to have good stuff in him, if
one could manage to get hold of him and bring
it out."
"He 's a jolly, good-hearted chap," said
Toby; "though something of a braggart. He
might get a good living, if he would only take
hold of some kind of work, and stick to it, in-
stead of letting his mother and sisters support
him. About all he cares to do is to catch
wasps and paddle his boat. That 's he, out
there now, with the three other boys."
"Which is Yellow Jacket ? "
"The one with the suspenders crossed on
his back over his yellow flannel shirt. He
nearly always wears yellow flannel-to be in
keeping with his nickname, I suppose. They
are going to look at the wreck."
"He has really saved two or three lives,
I hear." Mr. Allerton mused a moment. I
think I must manage to get acquainted with
While Yellow Jacket and his companions
were rowing around the foundered scow, and
punching their oars into the heap of burnt
hay, Mr. Allerton and Toby walked on to-
ward Mr. Brunswick's house.
There 's Mr. Brunswick now, coming down
to the shore said Toby, drawing an anxious


breath. He 's looking off at the scow. I 'd
give something to know what he 's thinking."
Perhaps we shall find out," said the school-
master. I. don't see why you should be afraid
of meeting him."
"I 'm not exactly afraid," replied Toby;
"but I know it will be disagreeable. I should
dislike to tell him, even if I knew I was n't to
blame for anything. A fellow hates explanations
and a row and all that sort of thing, even when
he 's sure of being in the right. He's calling."
"How is she ? shouted old Bob, from the
shore, to young Bob in Yellow Jacket's boat.
"What ?" young Bob answered, standing
upright in the bow, and calling back over the
heads of his companions.
"How 's the scow ?"
"There's no scow left! There's a half-burnt
bottom, that 's all,- full of water and burnt
straw," replied his son, from the boat. Young
Bob, to illustrate, punched an oar into the mass.
"The upper part of the sides is all gone! he
The iceman stood silent for a moment, with
his hands on his hips, and his arms making
triangles with his sides; then turned to accost
Toby, with ironical pleasantry.
"Wal, young feller! That's a pooty picture "
"You see what has happened," said Toby,
trying to be pleasant in return, but making a
sickly business of it.
I ruther think I du !- Don't take more 'n
half an eye to see that," replied the elder Bob,
with a smile as cool as if it had been kept on a
large quantity of his own ice until served up for
the occasion. I never thought you 'd be fool
enough to burn her up, whatever happened."
Neither did I think so," said Toby, more at
his ease. "But you see I-or somebody-was.
It makes very little difference to you who was
the fool. Your scow is burnt, and she '11 have
to be paid for. That 's the short of it, Mr.
"Yes; that 's to the p'int; that 's fair," said
the iceman, his sarcastic grin somewhat relax-
ing. "Who 's to pay?"
I-if nobody else does; if I live," replied
Toby, his spirits rising more and more. "I
borrowed it, and I 'm responsible." He had
said that to himself many times, and it was now

a satisfaction to say it aloud to the owner of
the boat, with the schoolmaster within hearing.
" Only I hope it won't be very costly."
I don't know 'bout that," Mr. Brunswick
said, doubtfully. Scow was new last summer.
Had her built a-purpose for my business.
Guess she must 'a' cost twenty dollars and
up'ards. I 've got the bills for the lumber
and labor."
Mr. Allerton, who had kept in the back-
ground, now said:
I should suppose Mr. Tazwell would pay
for the scow without raising a question."
"Mabby he will, and mabby he won't," re-
plied the elder Bob. I 've no dealing's with
Tazwell, as I told Toby here. I shall look to
Toby; he can look to Tazwell."
"That 's all right," said Toby. "I have
saved the oars."
He was starting to go, when Mr. Brunswick
How did the fire ketch ? Ye ha'n't told
me yit."
I did n't suppose that would make much
difference, as far as you are concerned," Toby
answered. "Tom Tazwell tried to light his
cigarette, I tried to hinder him, we got into a
scuffle, and somehow the hay caught from his
"Wal!" The iceman's lips tightened with
a grim expression. "If he was my boy, I guess
he 'd never hanker much after lighting' another
cigarette on a load of hay, long as he lived!"
Then he called to young Bob in the boat:
Can't ye manage to hitch yer painter on to
what's left of her, and tow her in ? "
There was a consultation in the boat; then
Yellow Jacket made answer:
Ain't nothing to hitch on to."
Pull ashore," said old Bob,." and I '11 give
ye an ice-hook. Ye can ketch on to her with
He once more turned his ironic grin upon
Toby and the teacher.
We 'll haul her up," he said; "and if Taz-
well wants what 's left of his hay, he can come
and git it. Or he can send an idiot of a boy with
a cigarette and matches. Guess the' won't be
no danger of its gittin' afire a second time!"
He turned and entered the tool-room of the


ice-house, from which he presently brought out
a long-handled ice-hook. While the boys in the
boat were rowing in to receive it, Mr. Allerton



and Toby walked back along the shore to the



ToBY did not return to the store until Mon-
day morning. By that time he had pretty well
recovered from the inconvenience his burns
occasioned, and was ready for work again.
Peters, the clerk, whose duty it was to open

the store, was taking down the shutters, when
Toby made his appearance. Neither Tom nor
his father had arrived. Mr. Tazwell usually
came late; and Tom
went to business or
stayed away, about as
he pleased.
":.'.o" .We did n't see you
S on Saturday afternoon,"
S '"Peters remarked with a
mE .... P,, s look of quiet drollery,
over a shutter he was
handling. "How was
that ? "
"Did n't you know ?"
replied Toby, as drily.
Mr. Tazwell gave Tom
and me a stint, to get
some hay, and excused
us from the store till this
Did you bring home
the hay ? asked Peters.
"We brought it part
way," said Toby.
I guess Tazwell was
delighted," suggested
No doubt about it,"
replied Toby.
He was sick with anx-
iety to know what Mr.
Tazwell had said of the
catastrophe, and what
was generally thought of
his own share in it; but
he would not ask, and
HE SHORE." Peters did not volunteer
to tell him. Toby helped
about the shutters, and then went to work
The morning was well advanced when Tom
and his father walked in together, cheerfully
Tom gave Toby a supercilious look, but Mr.
Tazwell took no notice of him. He was a polite
and politic man, who had his impulses well
under control. He rarely raised his voice above
a low and well-modulated tone, and he was
often most quiet when most angry; but at such


times there would be an expression in his gray
eyes, and even in the stoop of his genteel shoul-
ders, which those who knew him understood.
There was no mistaking the silent manner
that took possession of him the moment he saw
Toby. The boy stood ready to give him Good-
morning," if spoken to; and to receive any
amount of censure for interference with Tom
and his matches. But Mr. Tazwell passed him
and without a word entered the counting-room.
Determined to rise above his trouble, Toby
turned to Tom and asked: Howis Bertha this
morning ?"
Well enough," Tom replied, with something
of the repressed and ominous paternal manner;
but he could n't resist the temptation to add,
"-thanks to Yellow Jacket."
Toby had very little jealousy in his nature;
but he felt this as a blow. Tom, who was stoop-
ing behind a box in the back room, to change
his boots, looked up and said:
"Was n't he splendid ?"
"Who ? said Toby.
"Yellow Jacket, of course. Father says he is
going to make him a handsome present."
I hope he will," replied Toby. He won't,
though, and you know it."
I know it ? said Tom, in a blaze of resent-
ment. The son had not yet acquired the self-
control which worldly prudence imposed upon
the father. Then why should I tell you so ?"
"Just to hurt my feelings." That was what
Toby thought, and firmly believed, but he was
too. proud to say it. Yet his burning sense of
injury would not let him remain silent. If he
chooses to give Yellow Jacket something," he
said, ." I don't know who is to object. I was
only thinking-" But there he stopped, afraid
of saying too much.
"Speak out! What were you thinking ? "
Tom demanded.
He might give something to some other
people, too," said Toby. "There are enough
who feel, if he has any money to spare, some of
it belongs to them."
The moment he had made this allusion to
the creditors he believed to have been defrauded,
he felt how indiscreet it was, and was sorry
for it.
Mr. Tazwell's treatment of him, which seemed

so cruel under the circumstances, and which had
no doubt been caused by Tom's misrepresenta-
tions, would not alone have provoked him to
it; nor would he at another time have cared
much for Tom's ungenerous taunts. But these-
were sparks to something compressed in his
bosom, ready for an explosion. What Mr. Bruns-
wick had said to him of the failure had reawak-
ened his worst suspicions, lulled for a season;
and he was full of the feeling that his mother
was the victim of a deep and deliberate wrong.
But Tom did not-or pretended he did not
-understand him.
Oh! said he; you think you are entitled
to something, as well as Yellow Jacket ? I see
what has made you flare up so. You want a
"I want a reward ? Toby repeated,, with
amazement and indignation. "For what?"
For what you think you did, helping Yellow
Jacket lift Bertha out of the water."
"Helping Yellow Jacket -!" Toby ex-
claimed; but there he paused.
Was it possible that no more was known of
what he had done for Bertha than what Tom
himself had seen while swimming aimlessly
about behind the scow and calling for help?
Or, even if all were known, could anybody deem
him so base as to wish for any other recompense
than to know that Bertha and her friends recog-
nized his readiness to risk anything for her sake ?
Such astounding injustice and ingratitude, on
the part of her own brother, filled him with rage
and grief. He could make no reply to such a
charge as that.
How much do you think you ought to
have?" Tom urged, with an exasperating
"Tom Tazwell," said Toby, "you know no
more what is in my mind than a barking dog
knows what's going on in the moon!"
And he went about his affairs, while custom-
ers coming in prevented Tom from following
up his attacks.
All that day, and the next, Mr. Tazwell ad-
dressed not a word to Toby, who received his
orders from Peters, and from Tom, who was
more insolent than ever.
By Wednesday, Toby had made up his mind
to endure his employer's silence no longer. A


little before noon he walked into the counting-
room, where Mr. Tazwell was seated at his
Mr. Tazwell," he began, in a voice that
trembled despite his utmost efforts to be brave.
The merchant turned and gave him a cold look
out of his gray eyes. I was n't here Saturday
night -"
The boy had got so far, when he was stopped
by his own heart-beats.
"We were made aware of that fact," Mr.
Tazwell replied, in his most ominous quiet tones.
His words broke the spell, and Toby took
For that reason," he said, I did n't draw
my week's pay. As mother has need of the
money, I-"
Mr. Tazwell took from his pocket-book a
number of bank-notes, which he spread on the
desk and turned over with his thumb. Drawing
out four one-dollar bills, he shoved them toward
Toby, without a word.
So far so good. But what the boy most
dreaded to say was still to come. The sight of
the bank-notes that were still lying on the desk
emboldened him. He fumbled his week's wages
in his nervous fingers, and made the venture:
There is the scow,- Mr. Brunswick's boat
that got burnt, and that he expects to be paid
twenty dollars for."
"I am sorry for Mr. Brunswick," the mer-
chant replied, as if he were expressing regret for
something that had occurred at the North Pole.
But Toby was not to be rebuffed. He had
got his breath now, and he spoke boldly:
He looks to me for the pay; and I suppose
I must look to you."
Look to me ? queried the merchant. I
don't understand."
"You mean to say," Toby replied, his heart
swelling with something besides fear of his em-
ployer, "that you don't understand why you
should pay for the boat that was burnt when
we were bringing home your hay in it? "
Certainly; that 's just what I mean to say.
The boat was borrowed against my advice and
without my consent."
"I did n't think so," said Toby. "You told
us we had better take the wagon; but when
Tom suggested the boat, you did n't object.

Anyway, Tom consented to my borrowing it;
he was glad enough to have me. And we were
both in your service. And Mr. Brunswick would
like to be paid," he added, facing his employer
with pale but unflinching looks.
"No doubt," said Mr. Tazwell. So would
I. But I have n't asked you to pay me for my
hay, and fork, and rake; let alone Thomas's rifle."
"No," said Toby, "and I should think it
strange if you had!"
It would n't be strange," said the merchant,
in a low, even tone, but with an intense glitter
in his steady eyes. Nine employers out of ten
would think themselves justified in keeping back
the amount out of your wages. But out of regard
for your mother, I have n't proposed to do it."
I am obliged to you for your regard for my
mother!" said Toby, aware that his face was
growing white.
He meant this for sarcasm, but the politic
Tazwell did not see fit to take it so.
"I accept the loss of the hay, but I have
nothing to do with the loss of the boat. You
borrowed it, and you burned it up. I have heard
that Brunswick says he told you he would n't
lend it to me,- coupled with some insulting
remark that I don't care to repeat."
Toby could not deny this.
Now, I say if he was foolish enough to lend
the scow to you, and you accepted it on such
terms, I wash my hands of the result."
When it was Tom's matches that fired it ?"
returned Toby.
"It was your interference with Thomas and
his matches that caused the accident."
Mr. Tazwell's level tones, as he said this,
and the eyes of the man, as he looked piercingly
at Toby, even the stoop of his shoulders as he
leaned over toward the boy, were full of their
most relentless expression. Poor Toby felt that
he was losing the battle.
"I did interfere!" he exclaimed. "For I
could n't sit still and see him light his cigarette
right there on the load of hay. Do you say he
did right ? "
"By no means. I would n't have him light
his cigarette anywhere. I am opposed to his
smoking at all. But there is n't the slightest
probability that he would have set the hay afire,
if you had let him alone -not the slightest."



Toby felt that further argument was useless;
and the burning fullness of his heart could not
be relieved by any words he was prepared to
speak. He stood for a moment, with pale and
quivering lips, then silently withdrew.


THE boy carried home his meager week's
earnings, with an account of his recent inter-
view with Mr. Tazwell.
"It was all I could do to keep my wrath from
bursting out on him," he said. "But I held
it in. Now there 's twenty dollars I must pay
Mr. Brunswick out of my own pocket, if I ever
can; for I sha'n't let you pay a dollar of it,
Mother! I would n't work for Tazwell another
day, if it was n't for earning that money."
The widow counseled patience; but it was
with pain and pity that she saw him return
to the store that afternoon.
Mr. Tazwell now condescended to give him
orders, and even Tom spoke to him pleasantly.
There was a rather brisk trade, but after five
o'clock the customers had departed. Then
Mr. Peters went to his supper, in order to come
back and remain in the store while the rest
went to theirs, and to shut it up afterward.
Tobias! Mr. Tazwell called from his office,
the door of which was open, "see here a mo-
Toby went, hoping to hear that Mr. Tazwell
had something more generous to say regarding
the payment for the scow.
"As there seems to be not much else to do
just now," said the merchant, "you may take
my boots and black them."
It was not the first time he had been re-
quired to do that menial service; and he had
submitted to it humbly. The boots were on
the floor beside the desk. He took them in
silence, and carried them to the back room,
where he had begun to polish one, when Tom
came in.
"While you are about it," Tom said, "you
may black mine."
Toby stood with his coat off, his left hand in
a boot, and his right holding the brush, and
gave Tom a look; remembering all at once

something Tom had predicted, at the time when
he announced the failure.
Tom did not heed the look, but taking a
pair of boots from a closet, dropped them be-
side the box where the blacking was kept, and
walked out again.
"He said I might be his bootblack some
time," thought Toby. "We '11 see!"
He took the time occupied in polishing one
boot, to consider what he should do.
"I '11 black his father's boots," he said to
himself, "but I won't black Tom's. If that is
expected of me, it 's time for me to strike. I '11
find out! "
He put down brush and boot, and walked
behind the main counter to the office door, bent
upon another and perhaps final interview with
the merchant.
The door was closed, but not latched; and he
overheard Tom talking earnestly within. With-
out the slightest intention of being an eaves-
dropper, Toby paused, fearing he had chosen a
bad time for his visit.
Tom was asking for money to enable him to
make some sort of trade for a rifle to replace
the one he had lost in the lake.
Yellow Jacket declares he can't get it; and
if he can't, nobody else can. And it's too bad
that I should lose a gun that way, through no
fault of my own."
"I don't know about that," the father re-
monstrated, but in the tone of indulgence that
usually softened his reproofs of his son. I
have begged you so many times to give up your
smoking! If it had n't been for that-"
If it had n't been for Toby, Tom inter-
rupted him. If he had only minded his own
business. Aleck says he '11 trade for twenty
dollars; and everybody knows his rifle 's worth
more than that and my old shot-gun. Only
twenty dollars, father!" pleaded Tom.
Just the sum which Toby himself had asked
for to pay Mr. Brunswick for his boat! But
how differently was this second request re-
ceived. It was no longer in Toby's power to
cease to listen and to go away.
I '11 tell you what I '11 do," said Mr. Tazwell.
"I '11 give you the twenty dollars, provided you
will make me the most solemn promise you ever
made in your life, not to smoke any more."


Tom had made several such promises before; He 's in a hurry to finish his trade with Lick
but he was ready enough to make another. Stevens," thought Toby. And he muttered
I have n't touched tobacco since that time," aloud, with a grim sort of smile: He would
he said; "and I don't mean ever to smoke again, have had to wait a long while, if he had stayed
I pledge you my word I won't, if you '11 give for me to black his boots."
me the money." The other pair were now polished, and the
"Well, remember," the father replied, in a owner was calling for them. Toby remained
tone more of entreaty than command; "and, to wash his hands and to put on his coat; then,
one thing, Thomas, don't let Toby nor anybody without haste, but with a swelling heart, obeyed
know it. It would n't do, you understand, to the summons. He found Mr. Tazwell sitting
have it get out, just now, that I have money to with one shoe off, and showing about as much
spare for such a purpose." impatience as it was in his calculating nature
But what shall I tell Aleck, if I make the ever to betray.
trade? Tom asked. Toby had at his tongue's
"Tell him he must keep the money to boot' end a little speech regarding
a secret, and even he may as well be led to Tom and his boots, and
suppose you came by it in some other way." the understanding
At first, when Toby began to listen to this that he, Toby, was
conversation, the rush of blood to his head there to learn the
made such a roaring sound that he could hardly business, and not
hear anything else. But
that tumult had sub-
sided. He regained his
self-possession; and, in-
stead of breaking in im-
petuously on father and
son, as he was tempted
to do, he returned quiet-
ly to the back room and
to his task.
It seemed to take a
long time to put a satis-
factory polish on the
second boot. This might
have been owing to his
agitated frame of mind;
he felt that the crisis had
come, and was hardly
aware what his hands
were doing.
Presently Tom came
in haste for his boots.
Not ready yet ? he
said impatiently; you
said impatiently; you "TOBY PICKED IT UP AND PUT IT IN HIS POCKET. (SEE PAGE 269.)
are a slow coach."
You may as well take them as they are," for such tasks as he had the most of the time been
Toby replied significantly. set to do. But he did not deliver a word of it; a
"I won't; and I can't wait any longer for result he would not have believed possible, when
them," Tom declared, as he clapped on his hat he went so resolutely to confront his employer.
and left the store. For, as he stooped to set down the boots, an



object on the floor fixed his attention, and put
everything else for the moment out of his
thoughts. It was lying close beside the edge of
the desk, that hid it from the merchant's eyes,
but not from the boy's. He could almost have
picked it up, without being detected in the act;
but he made no attempt to do so.
"Try to be a little more prompt in future,"
said Mr. Tazwell, pulling on one of the neatly-
fitting congress-boots, and regarding it. But
you have done them well. And, Tobias," as
Toby was retiring, stay and look after things
until Mr. Peters comes back; then you can go
He took his hat, and walked off with his cane
under one arm, putting on his gloves. Toby
watched till he had turned a corner, then stepped
back into the office, saw the thing he had no-
ticed still on the floor by the desk, picked it
up, and put it into his pocket.
It was a twenty-dollar bank-note.

IN a short time the clerk, Peters, returned to
the store; and Toby, with the bank-note in his
breast pocket, and an uncomfortable feeling un-
der it, started for home.
Was it the little monitor, conscience, that
troubled him ? He could not understand why it
should. He had promptly and defiantly de-
clared to himself that he was justified in taking
the money and keeping it, and handing it over
to Mr. Brunswick in payment for the scow.
"Yes and even if I should keep it myself,"
he argued, where would be the wrong?
Has n't he "- meaning the merchant kept
back from us a hundred times as much, and
more, by downright dishonesty ? But this is n't
dishonest, to get back a little that he owes us,
when it seems as if it had been dropped on pur-
pose under my very hand.",
But suppose the money should be missed, as
it probably would be, and he should be accused
and questioned ? It was n't so pleasant thinking
of that, but he reasoned :
They can't call it stealing, for I won't deny
anything. Yes! I found the money, and I
went straight and handed it over to the rightful

owner. The rightful owner is Mr Brunswick;
I gave it to him.' That 's what I '11 say, and
they may make the most of it."
So, with his coat buttoned over the bank-note
in his pocket, and the uneasy feeling under it
in his unreasoning heart, he took his way home-
ward, along one of the shady village streets.
The parsonage was to be passed, and he was
rather sorry he chose that way, when he discov-
ered Tom Tazwell talking with Aleck the Little,
in front of the gate. They seemed to have two
guns under discussion, one of which Aleck
had leaned against the fence, while Tom poised
and aimed, and carefully examined the other.
All this Toby saw when he was far enough off
to have changed his course and taken another
way home, perhaps without being noticed by
either of the boys. But why should he avoid
Tom? At all -events he must n't appear to
avoid him now, he said to himself as he walked
straight on.
But while he was still at a distance, sudden
and strange movements on Tom's part attracted
his attention. Holding the gun by his side while
it rested on the ground, he felt in one of his
pockets, gave a start, felt in another; then, hand-
ing the gun to Lick Stevens, explored all his
pockets with an air of wonder and consterna-
He has missed the money just as he was
going to pay it over and close the bargain," said
Toby to himself, with a thrill of interest." He
sees me! I must n't laugh!" For the thrill
touched his risibilities, and he shook with sup-
pressed convulsions of merriment.
Having evidently satisfied himself that the
money was lost, Tom put back those of his
pockets which he had turned wrong side out,
and started to walk very fast toward the store.
Then he saw Toby. Lick, meanwhile, with both
guns in his keeping, leaned by the gate-post,
watching his friend with an incredulous smile.
To hide his emotion, and give the muscles of
his face some mechanical employment, Toby
called out: "What 's the matter, Tom?"
Have you come straight from the store? "
asked Tom anxiously.
As straight as convenient, with a corner to
turn," Toby replied, as unconcernedly as pos-
sible. "Why ? "



"Have you seen-have you picked up"
(Tom hesitated) "anything by the way?"
I have seen lots of things by the way," said
"But I-I might have dropped it-I went
home for my shot-gun," said Tom; you did n't
go up to the house ? "
"Not to-day," replied Toby. "What have
you dropped ?"
"No matter," said Tom suddenly. "I thought
I had it in my vest pocket, and how I ever
lost it is a perfect mystery. Did you go into
the office after I left?" Tom was recovering
from his bewilderment, and beginning to retrace
in memory all his movements since his father
gave him the money.
"Yes," said Toby; "I carried your father
his boots."
Tom was fearful that the bank-note, if he in-
quired for it explicitly, would be connected im-
mediately with his trade for Lick Stevens's gun;
a difficulty which Toby perceived. A moment
later Tom hurried away.
When Toby approached the parsonage gate,
he found Aleck the Little laughing derisively;
and it was a relief to Toby to be able to laugh,
too. "Tom did that pretty well, did n't he ?"
said the parson's son. He would make a tip-
top actor!"

"How so ? Toby asked.
"He was going to trade for my rifle; and he
was to give me his fowling-piece and twenty
"You don't say so ?"
"Yes," said Aleck; "but you must n't tell.
He made me promise not to; for he said he
was ashamed of giving so much to boot. Now,
see the fellow's craft. He 's just like his dad,
for all the world."
"I don't understand," replied Toby.
"Don't you see? said Lick: He had no
twenty dollars It was only a pretense. Now,
he '11 be back here in a little while, and beg
me to trust him for the money,, because he has
been so unlucky as to lose it. He had already
teased me to make the trade, without the cash
down, but I would n't. Do you blame me ?"
Not a bit!" said Toby.
He wondered how Aleck could bring himself
to speak in that way of Tom, whose most intim-
ate friend he professed to be; yet he was not ill-
pleased to hear Tom belittled. It was with
quite altered feelings that he now went on
If the money is missed," he said to himself,
"it will be accounted for well enough; Tom
had it, and has no idea how or where he lost
it! It will never be traced to me."

(To be continued.)




SWIFTLY past the rueful class,
With a skipping tread,
Little Mary Ellen's
Going to the head.

Roughly straying yellow locks,
Ribbon lost at play,
But she is the one who spelled
The word the proper way.

Apron-strings that all untied
Switch the dusty floor-
Little, unkempt, heedless maid,
Her victory counts the more.

Quality is in oneself,
After all is said -
Little Mary Ellen 's
Going to the head.



(Begun in the November number.)

NEXT morning the heroes awoke, and left
the ship moored in the river's mouth, hidden by
tall reeds, for they took down the mast, lest it
should be seen. Then they walked toward the
city of Colchis, and they passed through a
strange and horrible wood. Dead men, bound
together with cords, were hanging from the
branches, for the Colchis people buried women,
but hung dead men from the branches of trees.
Then they came to the palace, where King
yEetes lived, with his young son Absyrtus, and
his daughter Chalciope, who had been the wife
of Phrixus, and his younger daughter, Medea,
who was a witch, and the priestess of Brimo -
a dreadful goddess. Now, Chalciope came out
and she welcomed Jason, for she knew the
heroes were of her dear husband's country.
And beautiful Medea, the dark witch-girl, saw
Jason, and as soon as she saw him she loved
him more than her father and her brother and
all her father's house. For his bearing was gal-
lant, and his armor golden, and long yellow
hair fell over his shoulders, and over the leop-
ard skin that he wore above his armor. And
she turned white and then red, and cast down
her eyes, but Chalciope took the heroes to
the baths, and gave them food. Then zEetes
asked them why they came, and they told
him that they desired the Fleece of Gold.
Then he was very angry, and told them that
only to a better man than himself would he
give up that Fleece. If any wished to prove
himself worthy of it he must tame two bulls
which breathed flame from their nostrils, and
must plow four acres with these bulls. And
then he must sow the field with the teeth of
a dragon, and these teeth when sown would
immediately grow up into armed men. Jason
said that, as it must be, he would try this adven-

ture, but he went sadly enough back to the ship
and did not notice how kindly Medea was look-
ing after him as he went;
Now, in the dead of night, Medea could not
sleep, because she was so sorry for the stranger,
and she knew that she could help him by her
magic. Then she remembered how her father
would burn her for a witch if she helped Jason,
and a great shame came on her that she should
prefer a stranger to her own people. So she arose
in the dark, and stole just as she was to her sister's
room, a white figure roaming like a ghost in the
palace. And at her sister's door she turned back
in shame, saying," No, I will never do it," and she
went back again, and came again, and knew not
what to do; but at last she returned to her own
bower, and threw herself on her bed, and wept.
And her sister heard her weeping, and came to
her, and they cried together, but softly, that no
one might hear them. For Chalciope was as
eager to help the Greeks for love of her dead
husband, as Medea was for love of Jason. And
at last Medea promised to carry to the temple
of the goddess of whom she was a priestess a
drug that would tame the bulls. But still she
wept and wished she were dead, and had a mind
to slay herself; yet, all the time, she was longing
for the dawn, that she might go and see Jason,
and give him the drug, and see his face once
more, if she was never to see him again. So,
at dawn she bound up her hair, and bathed her
face, and took the drug, which was pressed from
a flower. That flower first blossomed when
the eagle shed the blood of Prometheus on the
earth. The virtue of the juice of the flower was
this, that if a man anointed himself with it, he
could not that day be wounded by swords, and
fire could not bur him. So she placed it in a
vial beneath her girdle, and so she went secretly
to the temple of the goddess. And Jason had
been warned by Chalciope to meet her there,
and he was coming with Mopsus who knew the
speech of birds. Then Mopsus heard a crow


that sat on a poplar tree, speaking to another
crow, and saying:
Here comes a silly prophet, and sillier than
a goose. He is walking with a young man to
meet a maid, and does not know that, while he
is there to hear, the maid will not say a word
that is in her heart. Go away, foolish prophet;
it is not you she cares for."
Then Mopsus smiled,
and stopped where he
was; but Jason went on,
where Medea was pre-
tending to play with the
girls, her companions.
When she saw Jason she
felt as if she could not
come forward, nor go
back, and she was very
pale. But Jason told
her not to be afraid, and
asked her to help him,
but for long she could
not answer him; how-
ever, at the last, she gave .
him the drug, and taught
him how to use it. So
shall you carry the Fleece
to lolcos, far from here;
but what is it to me
where you go, when you
have gone from here ?
Still remember the name
of me, Medea, as I shall
remember you. And
may there come to me
some voice, or some bird
with the message, when-
ever you have quite for-
gotten me!"
But Jason answered,
"Lady, let the winds
blow what voice they
will, and what that bird
will, let him bring. But
no wind nor bird shall ever bear the news that
I have forgotten you, if you will cross the sea
with me, and be my wife."
Then she was glad, and yet she was afraid,
at the thought of that dark voyage, with a
stranger, from her father's home, and her own.

So they parted, Jason to the ship, and Medea to
the palace. But in the morning Jason anointed
himself and his armor with the drug, and all
the heroes struck at him with spears and swords,
but the swords would not bite on him nor on
his armor. And he 'felt so strong and light
that he leaped in the air with joy, and the
sun shone on his glittering shield. Now they

all went up together to the field where the
bulls were breathing flame. There already was
AEetes, and Medea, and all the Colchians had
come to see Jason die. A plow had been
brought, to which he was to harness the bulls.
Then he walked up to them, and they blew


fire at him that flamed all round him, but the utes of striking and shouting, while the sparks
magic drug protected him. He took a horn of fire sprang up from helmet, and breastplate,
of one bull in his right hand, and a horn of and shield. And the furrow ran red with blood,


the other in his left, and dashed their heads
together so mightily that they fell. When they
rose, all trembling, he yoked them to the plow,
and drove them with his spear, till all the
field was plowed in straight ridges and furrows.
Then he dipped his helmet in the river, and
drank water, for he was weary; and next he
sowed the dragon's teeth on the right and left.
Then you might see spear points, and sword
points, and crests of helmets break up from
the soil like shoots of corn, and presently the
earth was shaken like sea waves, as armed
men leaped out of the furrows, all furious for
battle. But Jason, as Medea had told him to
do, caught up a great rock, and threw it among
them, and he who was struck said to his neigh-
bor, "You struck me. Take that! and hewed
him down through the helmet; but another said,
"You shall not strike him! and ran his spear
through that man's breast, but before he could
draw it out another man had cleft his helmet
with a stroke, and so it went. A few min-

and wounded men crawled on hands and knees
to strike or stab those that were yet standing
and fighting. So ax and sword and spear
flashed and fell, till now all the men were
down but one, taller and stronger than the rest.
Round him he looked, and saw only Jason
standing there, and he staggered toward him,
bleeding, and lifting his great ax above his
head. But Jason only stepped aside from the
blow which would have cloven him to the
waist, the last blow of the Men of the Dragon's
Teeth, for he who struck fell, and there he lay,
and died.
Then Jason went to the king, where he sat
looking darkly on, and said, 0 King, the field
is plowed, the seed is sown, the harvest is
reaped. Give me now the Fleece of Gold, and
let me be gone." But the king said, Enough
is done. To-morrow is a new day. To-morrow
shall you win the Fleece."
Then he looked sidewise at Medea, and she
knew that he suspected her, and she was afraid.


Now LEetes went and sat brooding over his
wine with the captains of his people; and his
mood was bitter, both for loss of the Fleece,
and because Jason had won it not by his own
prowess, but by magic aid of Medea. And, as
for Medea herself, it was the king's purpose to
put her to a cruel death, and this she needed
not her witchery to know. And a fire was in her
eyes, and terrible sounds were ringing in her ears,
and it seemed she had but one
choice, to drink poison and die,
or to flee with the heroes in the
ship, "Argo." But at last flight
seemed better than death. So '"
she hid all her engines of witch- .
craft in the folds of her gown,
and she kissed her bed where ,
she would never sleep again, l t
and the posts of the door, and '
she caressed the very walls with 'IL
her hand in that last sad fare- '
well. And she cut a long lock '
of her yellow hair, and left it in
the room, a keepsake to her
mother dear, in memory of her
maiden days. Good-by, my
mother," she said, this long
lock I leave thee in place of
me; good-by, a long good-
by to me who am going on a
long journey: good-by, my
sister Chalciope, good-by;
dear house, good-by."
Then she stole from the
house, and the bolted doors c
leaped open of their own ac-
cord, at the swift spell Medea TH HARV
murmured. With her bare feet she ran down
the grassy paths, and the daisies looked
black against the white feet of Medea. So
she sped to the temple of the goddess, and
the moon overhead looked down on her.
Many a time had she darkened the moon's
face with her magic song, and now the Lady
Moon gazed white upon her, and said, "I am
not, then, the only one that wanders in the
night for love, as I love Endymion the sleeper,
who wakens never! Many a time hast thou
darkened my face with thy songs, and made
night black with thy sorceries. And now,

thou too art in love! So go thy way, and
bid thy heart endure, for a sore fate is before
But Medea hastened on till she came to the
high river bank, and saw the heroes, merry at
their wine in the light of a blazing fire. Thrice
she called aloud, and they heard her, and came
to her, and she said, "Save me, my friends, for
all is known, and my death is sure. And I will

give you the Fleece of Gold for the price of
my life."
Then Jason swore that she should be his
wife, and more dear to him than all the world.
And she went aboard their boat, and swiftly
they rowed to the dark wood where the dragon
who never sleeps lay guarding the Fleece of
Gold. And she landed, and Jason, and Or-
pheus with his harp, and through the wood they
went, but that old serpent saw them coming,
and hissed so loud that women wakened in
Colchis town, and children cried to their moth-
ers. But Orpheus struck softly on his harp,


and he sang a hymn to Sleep, bidding him
come and cast a slumber on the dragon's
wakeful eyes.
This was the song he sang:

Sleep! King of gods and men !
Come to my call again,
Swift over field and fen,
Mountain and deep:
Come, bid the waves be still;
Sleep, streams on height and hill;
Beasts, birds, and snakes, thy will
Conquereth, Sleep!
Come on thy golden wings,
Come ere the swallow sings,
Lulling all living things,
Fly they or creep !
Come with thy leaden wand,
Come with thy kindly hand,
Soothing on sea or land
Mortals that weep,
Come from the cloudy west,
Soft over brain and breast,
Bidding the Dragon rest,
Come to me, Sleep!

This was Orpheus's song, and he sang so
sweetly that the bright small eyes of the
Dragon closed, and all his hard coils softened
and uncurled. Then Jason set his foot on the
Dragon's neck, and hewed off his head, and
lifted down the Golden Fleece from the sacred
oak tree, and it shone like a golden cloud at
dawn. But he waited not to wonder at it, but
he and Medea and Orpheus hurried through the
wet wood-paths to the ship, and threw it on
board, cast a cloak over it, and bade the heroes
sit down to the oars, half of them, but the
others to take their shields, and stand each
beside the oarsmen, to guard them from the
arrows of the Colchians. Then he cut the
stern-cables with his sword, and softly they
rowed, under the bank, down the dark river
to the sea. But by this time the hissing of
the Dragon had awakened the Colchians, and
lights were flitting by the palace windows, and
NEetes was driving in his chariot with all his
men, down to the banks of the river. Then

their arrows fell like hail about the ship, but
they rebounded from the shields of the heroes,
and the swift ship sped over the bar, and leaped
as she felt the first waves of the salt sea.
And now the Fleece was won. But it was
weary work bringing it home to Greece, and
that is another story. For Medea and Jason
did a deed which angered the gods. They slew
her brother Absyrtus, who followed after them
with a fleet. And the gods would not let them
return by the way they had come, but by
strange ways where never another ship has
sailed. Up the Istes (the Danube) they rowed,
through countries of savage men, till the Argo
could go no further, by reason of the narrow-
ness of the stream. Then they hauled her
overland, where no man knows, but they
launched her on the Elbe at last, and out into
a sea where never sail had been seen. Then
they were driven wandering out into Ocean,
and to a fairy far-off Isle where Lady Circe
dwelt, and to the Sirens' Isles, where the sing-
ing women of the sea beguile the mariners; but
about all these there is a better story, which
you may some day read, the story of Odysseus,
Laertes'-son. And at last the west wind drove
them back through the Pillars of Heracles, and
so home to waters they knew, and to Iolcos
itself, and there they landed with the Fleece,
and the heroes all went home. And Jason was
crowned king, at last, on his father's throne, but
he had little joy of his kingdom, for between
him and beautiful Medea was the memory of
her brother, whom they had slain. And the
long story ends but sadly, for they had no hap-
piness at home, and at last they went different
ways, and Medea sinned again, a dreadful sin
to revenge an evil deed of Jason's. For she
was a woman that knew only hate and love,
and where she did not love with all her heart,
with all her heart she hated. But on his dying
day it may be that he remembered her, when
all grew dark around him, and down the ways
of night the Golden Fleece floated like a cloud
upon the wind of death.



(Six Years Old.)

Syou remember, centuries gone by,
When you were Prince, and I, your subject, came
To kiss your hand and swell the loud acclaim
Wherewith the people greeted you, and cry-
" Long life, and love, and glory, oh, most high
And puissant lord! "-the city was aflame
With torches; banners streamed; and knight and dame
Knelt at your feet-your proud smile made reply.
I think you do remember; for I caught *
That same swift smile upon your royal lips
When once again (the centuries' long eclipse
At end), I found my monarch, and my homage brought:
"Long life, and love, and glory, now as then "
And you ?- your smile is my reward again.
Louise Chandler Moulton.

--i2. .. 2~.cs~

~--- J-~ul





LD Mother Goose
evidently did not hear what Santa Claus said,
for she came hobbling along, humming to her-
self in a cracked voice:
There was an old woman who lived in a shoe "

"NXone of that!" shouted Santa Claus, and
the clatter of the icicles, which fell in a perfect
shower, made Mother Goose look up.
None of that! repeated Santa Claus. "I
am so tired of that old woman and her everlast-
ing shoe that I am thinking of having her
scratched out of my new books. If you have n't
any new rhyme you had better go home again."
"Ho! ho!" cried Mother Goose. "You
ungrateful soul, you! Why, that old poem -
yes, I insist upon it-f-oem," she repeated,
striking her stick on the ground, that old poem
has pleased more children than you could count
in a month of Sundays! None of the modern
poets seem to know how to write to please the
babies. Here are the last verses I 've received.
Read 'em! read 'em! and then tear 'em all up.
I declare that unless I get some really good
ones before next Christmas I '11 just send out the
same old batch! The children never seem to
get tired of those. Listen to this nonsense," added
the old lady, taking a sheet from the bundle.

MRS. ARITHMETIC gave a fine ball
To little and great, to big and to small;
No one was neglected; she tried very hard
Not to leave out one person who should get a card.
There was sweet Miss Addition, the first one to come,
And she footed it gaily with young Mr. Sum,
Who,'t was easy to see, was her favorite. Though
Subtraction proposed, she had answered him No !

This refusal, of course, made Subtraction quite solemn,
And he left very early, hid away in a column.
Then Multiplication, that jolly old elf,
Who was always on very good terms with himself
(Though all those who-knew the same Multiplication
Declared that he caused them unending vexation).
Division came later, and, needless to say,
Behaved himself meanly, as is always his way.
He made friends into foes, and spoiled all the fun
Of the poor little figures, from 9 down to I.
The cute little Fractions were there (very small)
With their brothers the Decimals, not quite so tall,
And every one present had brought his relations,
None prouder than Lord Algebraic Equations.
The Duke Logarithm and the Count Trigonometry
Had quite a long chat with the Marquis Geometry.
Only five of the figures danced in the quadrille,
Six, Seven, and Eight went away feeling ill,
While old Mr. Nine, who ate a large supper,
Sat down in the library and read Martin Tupper.
At last it was time for the people to go;
Each charming young figure selected her beau,
And in leaving their hostess, they said, one and all,
They had greatly enjoyed Dame Arithmetic's ball.

Fancy giving that for the mamas to read to
their babies. They always will put too many
ideas into the poetry. They will be expecting
the babies to think, next thing we know!
one. Did
you ever
hear the
like? "
Why is the
little boy
Why does
the little
boy cry ?
Hehas eaten
so much of
the rare
roast beef,
He has no
room left
for the


"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed jolly old Santa
Claus. Old Mother Goose is suffering from
what men and women on earth call Pro-fes-
sion-al Jeal-ous-y. We shall have to give you
some medicine in the shape of some ad-verse
crit-i-cism. That will cure you! Ha!
ha! ha!"
"Oh, you will, will you ?-you '11 give me
some of that medicine, will you ? You would
better not! Why, there is not a man nor a
woman on earth who has ever been a child
who would not rise up and declare such con-
duct shameful! No, sir; you would better not
- so take my advice. As for the poets, I have
given them up, long ago, as hopeless. So many
of them have taken to living altogether up here
' in the clouds,' and they bother me all the time
for orders to compose new rhymes for the chil-
dren; but I have forbidden them to stir outside
of the gardens of their own house.
"Then the house where they live when they
are in the clouds, I am sure is just like a
lunatic asylum, for they strut about declaiming
and making up new poems on everything that
takes place on earth, so that it is really quite
laughable to see them.
Some of them are nice, lovable people, and
I take care they are not bothered by the noisy
ones; but some are quite dangerous, and one class,
especially, I have had to
shut up by themselves.
They call them on earth,
the Spring poets- they
are dreadful, indeed. But
there, Santa Claus! I
can't stay here chattering
to you; just look through
that lot of nonsense when
you have time, and if you
find anything worth sav-
ing, save it.
"Mercy on us! Who
is that ?" said the old
lady suddenly, as she THEY STRUT
caught sight of Elfie. Dearie, dearie me she
said, setting her spectacles straight, I declare,
child, you gave me quite a turn. I actually thought
it was Contrary Mary, who had run away again.
Come here, and let me look at you," and
Mother Goose fell back into an arm-chair which

one of the little goblins had brought for her, and
beamed so sweetly on Elfie that the little girl
slipped down from Santa Claus's knee and ran
into the kind old lady's outstretched arms.
"And what is
your name, my
dear?" said the
dame, after em-
bracing Elfie and
setting her on a

footstool, which had risen through the floor
at a nod from E-ma-ji-na-shun.
"I 'm Elfie," replied the little girl.
Elfie, eh ?-and a dear sweet little girl you
look," said old Mother Goose; "and so you
have started out with old E-ma-ji-na-shun to


explore the wonders of Cloudland, have you ?
Well well there are not many little girls
like you who come up here. Nearly everybody
waits till they are older; but we love the chil-
dren best, after all," and she stooped down and
kissed Elfie again. Now, what, of all that I


can show you, would you like to see most?"
Mother Goose asked.
Oh!" said Elfie, "I want to see where you
live, and I want to see the Old Woman who
lives in the shoe, and Jack and Jill, and Tommy
Tucker, and Jack Horer, and Jack Sprat, and
Little Bo-peep."
Ha! ha! ha! laughed Mother Goose, "and
so you shall, my lamb, you shall see them all,
and more, too; and what is better, I will give
you a ride on my broomstick. What do you
think of that?"

started out with Mother Goose. They passed
through the wonderful entrance, across the ter-
races, and down the snow steps.


There Elfie saw one of Santa Claus's sprites
leading the celebrated broomstick up and down,
for Mother Goose said he had become rather
warm on the way from her dwelling, and she
did not care to leave him standing still in the
snow for fear that he might become chilled.
Elfie examined the famous stick very curi-
ously, for she had often wondered how a broom-
stick could make such journeys as this one did.
She was rather surprised, and a wee bit disap-
pointed, to see that it was nothing but an ordi-
nary every-day broomstick, with a very old,
worn-out broom at one
end. Mother Goose
Elfie was at first a little timid about riding on who had been looking
the broomstick; but, at the kind old lady's sug- after it, and taking it
gestion, she made a short trial trip on a broom by the handle sat down
that happened to be in the room on it, exactly as a lady
and found it delightful. Then she would take a seat on
did not know how to say enough,
but she said Thank you!" over
and over again until Mother
Goose stopped her with a kiss.
"Come along then, dearie! ]
E-ma-ji-na-shun will come with
us, for you could not go a step
up here without him. Say good-
bye to Santa Claus, and we will -
start at once, for I must get
Blue his supper, and see that Contrary Mary a horse; Elfie took a seat in front of her, while
has n't run away again." E-ma-ji-na-shun jumped on behind and perched
Elfie went up and kissed Santa Claus, and himself gracefully on the broom-part.



No sooner was Mother Goose seated than the
stick began to jump and dance about, and, after
one or two leaps as if to show its powers, away
it went sailing through the air; keeping well
up above the tallest trees.
Elfie thought it delightful, and told Mother
'Goose so, but the old lady was too busy man-
aging her steed to be able to give much atten-
tion to her. They flew and flew till they came
in sight of what looked to Elfie like an enor-
mous book standing on end; one of the covers
was toward them, and the broomstick, guided

by Mother Goose, descended gently to the
ground in front of it.
Here we are at home! said Mother Goose,
and she took Elfie in her arms and jumped
down from the broomstick; which at once
started of its own accord in the direction of
the stable.

VOL. XVIII.- 24.


HY, what a funny
house it is!" cried
Elfie, taking a good
look at what Mother
Goose called her home.
"It looks like a great book."
"Yes, my dear, that is just what it is intended
to be," said the old lady. "You see it is quite
different from other houses, for though it is
built in stories the stories are one behind the
other, just like a book, a story for every leaf.
Come along, now, and you shall see."
Mother Goose clapped her hands and in-
stantly the cover of this wonderful book flew
open. But we must not forget what a splendid
sight this cover was. It was covered with all
sorts of the loveliest colors, and pictures of all
of Mother Goose's children done in gold and
silver. It was like the outside of the finest
Christmas book you ever saw, only a thousand
times more beautiful.
Well, when the cover flew open, Elfie saw
the first story and a wonderful sight it was.
There was the old woman that lived in the
celebrated shoe, and scores upon scores of chil-
dren ran about the place laughing and shouting
at the top of their voices, and evidently driving
the old woman nearly crazy. The old woman
herself looked older and more wrinkled than
anybody whom Elfie had ever seen, and she
seemed to be worrying herself all the time
about the behavior of the children, for she
would run about in every direction, correcting
this one, punishing the other, or kissing an-
other, just as she thought each deserved.
The shoe had a door in the side and was
as big as an ordinary house; a line of windows
was in front where the holes for the laces would
be in a real shoe, and the roof was made of what
looked like a stocking stuffed into the top. On
a big sign in front was written the story:
There was an old woman who lived in a shoe,
Who had so many children, she did n't know what
to do;


So she gave them some broth, without any bread,
And spanked them all soundly and sent them to bed.
Elfie wanted to stay and play with the chil-
dren, but Mother Goose told her that, if she did,


his supper, and was introduced to Jack Sprat
and his wife. Then she had a long talk with
Little Bo-peep, who told her all about losing the
sheep, and she met Miss Muffet and the spider.
It took them a long time
to see all the book, but they
were through at last, and old
Mother Goose said:
Now I will show you
some other friends of yours.
They don't properly belong to
my family, but as I am in the
story-telling business, they are
placed in my charge to take
care of. Look this way!"
Elfie looked up and saw a
Very pretty cottage, and there,
leaning out of the window,
was a lovely little girl with
blue eyes and golden hair,
and a red hood on her head.
AN ORDINARY HOUSE." In front of the door, and al-

the old woman might punish her and send her most blocking it up, was a dreadful sight-
to bed just as she did the others. So, after a nothing else than a hideous wolf, stone dead.
little while they passed on to the second story. Little Red Riding Hood!" cried Elfie. "Do
Here lived Jack and Jill, Contrary Mary, and let me go up to her and kiss her! She knocked
Little Boy Blue. They were having a game all at the door, and a sweet little voice inside called
together, and Mother Goose gave Elfie permis- out:
sion to join in. Jack and Jill would walk up a lit- Pull the string of the latch and walk in."
tie hill at the end of a long walk, to a well that Elfie pulled the string and the door opened.
was at the top, where they would fill a pail with She ran upstairs, and after kissing Little Red
water. Then they would start
back, carrying the pail between
them- when they would trip up
and come tumbling down with the /
pail of water rolling after them. / N
Then Contrary Mary would
at once sprinkle them with her
watering-pot, while Little Boy
Blue blew a loud toot-toot on his
horn; and everybody laughed till
it was time for Jack and Jill to
start off again. On the walls were
big sheets of paper with the stories
of Jack and Jill, Contrary Mary, -
After leaving this story they went through Riding Hood (for she felt as if they were old
the others. Elfie saw Jack Homer eating the friends) she sat down with her on the edge of
celebrated pie, out of which he picked a plum the snow-white bed, and began to ask her about
for her; she heard little Tom Tucker sing for her adventures and how she came there.


"Well, dear," said Red Riding Hood, you
must know that after my grandmother was eaten
up, and the horrid wolf was killed, there was no
one to live in the cottage. So the people of
Cloudland said that as the earth children would
always love to hear my story, it would be best
for me to live here forever, and keep the wolf,
just as he was killed, in front of the door; so that
any one who disbelieved the story, could see us
both and know it was true."
How deeply interesting," said Elfie; "but
do you live here all by yourself? Don't you
ever see anybody?"
"Oh, yes," replied Red Riding Hood. "Cin-




derella lives in the palace you see over there,
and she often calls, and the Sleeping Beauty is
not far away. Then Jack the Giant Killer calls
every Saturday evening," she added with a
pretty blush. He wishes me to marry him
when we grow up, but I do not think they will
let us marry," she sighed.
Then the two Babes that were lost in the
Wood are buried under the leaves close by here,
and the Robins often come and tell me their
sad story.
Oh, yes," she went on, I have lots of com-
pany; all the people in the fairy-story books are
good friends of mine, and we sometimes have a
big picnic in the woods all together.
Puss in Boots and Hop-o'-my-thumb make

great fun for us, and sometimes when Blue
Beard or some-of the other people won't be-
have, we get E-ma-ji-na-shun to give them
indigestion, so that they get quite ill and
keep quiet."
"And how are Cinderella and her prince,
and the Sleeping Beauty and her prince, and
all the rest of the good people ? asked Elfie,
full of curiosity.
Oh, they are all well and happy," replied
Red Riding Hood. "You see, we story-book
people, after our stories are finished, just go on
living happily forever."
"Is n't that splendid! said Elfie. But
Mother Goose is waiting for me. Good-bye,
dear; I am so glad to have met you!"
"Good-bye, Elfie! Call again when you come
to Cloudland. Good-bye and Elfie ran down
to Mother Goose, who had waited for her in
front of the house.
"Now, Elfie, child, what is the next thing
you wish to see in Cloudland ?" said Mother
Goose, with a smile.
"The toys and the dollies," said Elfie, at
Mother Goose clapped her hands. E-ma-ji-
na-shun touched Elfie on the shoulder, and be-
fore she quite knew what had happened Elfie
found herself flying toward the Cave of the
North Wind. But what toys and dolls she saw
in that region is told in another part of her



SOT very far from the crimson
.lake on which floated the
Iceberg which contained the
I cave of the North Wind,
Elfie saw a very large
castle which was quite
different 'from the others she had seen. It
somehow reminded her of the doll's house
which she had at home, although it was a
thousand times larger: and she thought to her-
self, I wonder if that is where the dollies live."
E-ma-ji-na-shun, who never seemed to require


her to speak, but who an-
swered her thought just as if
she had really asked a ques-
tion, said':
"Yes, you are quite right;
that is the home of the dollies
--in fact it is more. It is
Toy Castle, and there it is ill "'
that all the toys that are used |- L J


on earth are made and stored. Let us go
and see them!"
In front of the castle or house or villa (Elfie
hardly knew which to call it, for it looked not
unlike either of them),
was a very pretty garden,
set thick with toy trees,
and laid out with imi-
tation flower-beds and
gravel walks. The front
of the house was a queer
mixture of a castle, a
villa, and a doll's house.
They opened the front
gate and walked up the
path leading to the front
door; on each side of
this walk were little green
trees, all placed very
neatly on round stands
and carefully arranged ,,,ih '""
in two perfectly straight THE DOLL GARDENER.
lines. They were all neatly painted a bright
green, and were evidently the pride of the doll

gardener who attended them, and who was
leaning against the fence.
When they reached the door, which was
painted green like the trees, they saw it was
adorned with a very handsome knocker and
that there were also two bell-handles, one on
each door-post. To make quite sure, they pulled
each bell and knocked a rat-tat-tat on the
knocker. They had not long to wait before the
door was opened by a very trim little doll,
dressed in a neat cotton gown, with a cute,
pretty apron, and a tiny lace cap. She was not
half as tall as Elfieeand had to stand on a
chair to reach the door-knob.
She made a stiff little curtsy, and said in
a very funny voice:
"Will you be pleased to walk in, madam ?"
She spoke her words without any change in
her voice, all on one note like this,

Will you be pleased to walk in, madam.
and stopped short at the end as if she spoke
by clockwork. "Which is exactly what she


does," said. E-ma-ji-na-shun, in answer to Elfie's
They followed the hired-girl dolly into the
hallway of the villa, and she turned with funny
little jerky steps into the parlor on the right, and

held open the door for Elfie and her companion
to follow.
When the little girl looked around the room,
she at first thought she must be in an immense
toy-store. The ceiling was so high above
her head that the paper lanterns hanging from
it, with which the room was lighted, seemed
like tiny stars. There were thousands of these
lamps, and they gave an excellent light. Very
little light came in at the windows, for though
they were real glass, they were nearly covered
by the curtains painted on them. "Just like
those in my doll's house!" thought Elfie.
Toys of every kind lay scattered all over the
room, and hung from hooks in the walls and
ceiling. Some of them Elfie had never seen
before, but many looked like those Santa Claus
had brought on Christmas Day for her and her
little friends. Then there were dolls of all sorts,
conditions, and sizes amusing themselves in all
sorts of ways, while a great number simply hung
from the hooks or sat on the'shelves, which ran
all round the room, and these looked gravely on
while the others played.

Some little boy-dolls were having much fun
spinning a great top, which was larger than any
one of them; more of them were riding around
the room on toy bicycles or playing football
with a rubber ball, while a group in the corner
were trying to break in a very fierce and restive
rocking-horse which seemed to take great de-
light in kicking off the tiny jockeys as soon as
they had mounted him.
Against one side of the room there was, a
great pile of dolls, some in boxes, and others
simply wrapped in tissue-paper, and most of
them only half dressed. There were so many
of them that Elfie could only just see the top
of the heap as it extended toward the ceiling.
Then on the floor, on the chairs, on the tables,
were other dolls, big dolls and little dolls, white
dolls, black dolls, red dolls, gentlemen-dolls,
and lady-dolls, though by far the greater num-
ber were ladies; walking about and talking with
sweet little clockwork voices, and playing all
sorts of cute little games. Some of the ladies
were dressed most gorgeously in satin, silk, tulle
or lace; and, as Elfie stood looking at them with
delight, a band of toy musicians struck up the
"Blue Danube" waltz, and straightway a space
was cleared on the floor, the dolls took partners,

and away they started with a dance. Round
and round the room they flew, and no doubt
they would have danced forever if the music had
not stopped with a loud click! The conductor
of the orchestra came forward and said:

Ladies and gentlemen, the band needs winding up!



Then the dolls who had been dancing walked
around the room three or four times, arm in
arm; and the gentlemen-dolls said to the lady-
dolls, "May I bring you something ? -ice-
cream or lemonade ?" and some of the ladies

While Elfie was laughing and enjoying the
sight, with the aid of E-ma-ji-na-shun, who ex-
plained everything she did not quite understand,
one of the lady-dolls who was very richly dressed
in a purple silk polonaise, with a canary satin


said, No, thank you; I am not the least tired
or thirsty,"-and others said, "Well, if you will
be so kind, I will take just the tiniest morsel of
ice-cream "- or "the smallest drop of lemon-
ade "; and then the gentlemen-dolls would go
into the corer and come back with other little
waiter-dolls who carried tiny trays with glasses,
with real lemonade in them, and dishes with a
wee speck of ice-cream, which the lady-dolls
tasted, and seemed to enjoy very much, and
altogether they appeared to be having a very
good time, indeed.

skirt, and real lace at her throat and on the
sleeves, came up to her and said:
How do you do? I am pretty well, thank
you. How did you leave your mama and
papa? It is very nice weather I think it
will rain to-day click!
Elfie had a hard time not to laugh at the
strange, squeaky little voice, especially as while
the dolly was speaking Elfie could hear the
whirr-r-r of the clockwork which served her
for lungs. When the young lady had reached
" rain to-day," she stopped short, opened her



mouth two or three times without speaking, and
then pointed to a keyhole in her shoulder.
She needs winding up," said E-ma-ji-na-
So Elfie took one of the keys that were lying
on a table and wound her ladyship up.
Directly it was done, she began again: You
seem to be surprised that we are having such a


good time here. But you see, this is our home,
and the home of all the dollies that are made,
until a batch of us are sent for to keep up the
supply on earth. At Christmas time the house
is cleared out entirely, and Santa Claus takes
the whole lot with him to supply the little earth-
children. Then, during the year, as the children's
birthdays come round, more of us are sent for,
and it keeps the workmen busy to make us fast
enough. Some of the dresses that you see have
taken quite a long time to make. The dress that
I wear took one of the best of the dolls' dress-
makers two whole days to make"--click!
Elfie looked again at the dolly's frock and
saw that it was very much finer than any of her
own, and the fine lady-doll was gazing quite
scornfully at Elfie's gown. But Elfie's mama
had taught her not to think so much about her
dress as about her behavior, so she said to the
doll, gently:
"I suppose you have n't any kind mama to
teach you to be good and unselfish; mine has

told me that so long as my clothes are clean and
whole, I should never be ashamed of them."
The doll looked surprised and tried to speak
but only made a whizzing noise with a click! -
click!-and pointed to her shoulder. Elfie
wound her up again and she said:
"Why, I never heard of such a thing! All
we have to think about up here is the kind of
dresses we are going to wear, and the number
of times we shall be asked to dance."
Poor thing! said Elfie, for she thought of
all the loving talks she had had with her kind
mama, and the funny stories her papa had told
I hope you can be sent to me on my birth-
day or next Christmas so that you can hear all
the good things I hear."
So do I," said dolly, "for I shall have to
belong to somebody, and I would rather be
given to you than to some little girl who would
not be so kind to me."
I would give you the loveliest name! cried
"What would you call me?" piped dollie.
"Maggie May! replied our little traveler.
"I have a great mind to call you that now as
long as I am here; shall I ?"


Oh, yes! squeaked the doll, and then I
shall not find it so strange to be called by a
name when I go to the earth. Oh, dear when
I think of going I feel quite wretched! We lead



such lovely lives here, and play all day long the
most delightful games, which dear old Santa
Claus invents for us. We are always sorry when
the time comes for us to leave, for we never know
what our future will be. Some of the dolls have
come back to tell us of their adventures; one
dolly "- click!
Elfie wound her up again and Maggie May
continued: "whose mistress named her Isabella,
came back here yesterday, and I will ask her to
tell you the sad things that happened to her."

(To be continued.)

-- A
C / *1~

~ip~- i.


Maggie May walked across the room with
her funny jerky walk and stopped in front of a
little invalid chair which stood in one corner.
In it lay a poor pale-faced dollie, propped up on
pillows. She looked frightened, and shook her
head when Maggie May spoke to her, but in a.
few moments Maggie nodded to two little sailor
dolls, who had been very busy in the recess be-
hind the invalid playing with a toy ship a very
fine specimen with three masts and fitted with
ten brass cannon. These merry tars hitched
up their trousers, touched their caps to Maggie
May, and giving a "Yo-heave-ho !" raised the
invalid chair, with poor Isabella, upon their
brawny shoulders; then, with the greatest of
care, they brought the chair and its suffering
burden over to where Elfie was standing, and
set Isabella down before her. She looked a little
bit afraid when she saw Elfie, but the little girl
looked at her so kindly and with so much pity,
that the afflicted doll took courage and held
out one thin little arm.
Elfie took her up and saw that she was a
cripple; she had only one arm and but one leg,
her head was quite bald, and one of her poor
eyes was out.
Elfie did not like to ask her how she came to
be so miserable, for she looked so much like one
of Elfie's own little dolls which she had thrown
into the woodshed, out of the way, that she felt
ashamed. The little doll did n't wait to be
asked questions, but after being wound began
to tell Elfie of her adventures.




[Begun in the November Number.]



A WIDE, shallow river, whose turbid waters
were yellow with the freshets of early summer,
shadowed by tall and sweeping cotton woods
and water-maples; shores gently sloping to the
current save where a tall and rocky bluff broke
the prospect up stream; thickets of oaks, alders,
sycamores, and persimmons-this was the scene
on which the Illinois emigrants arrived as they
journeyed to their new-home in the Far West.
On the north bank of the river, only a few hun-
dred rods from the stream, was the log-cabin of
Younkins. It was built on the edge of a fine
bit of timber-land in which oaks and hickories
were mingled with less valuable trees. Near-by
the cabin and hugging closely up to it, was a
thrifty field of corn and other garden stuff, just
beginning to seem promising of good things to
come; and it was a refreshing sight here in the
wilderness, for all around was the virgin forest
and the unbroken prairie.
Younkins's wife, a pale, sallow, and anxious-
looking woman, and Younkins's baby boy,
chubby and open-eyed, welcomed the strangers
without much show of feeling other than a
natural curiosity. With Western hospitality, the
little cabin was found large enough to receive
all the party, and the floor was covered with
blankets and buffalo-skins when they lay down
to sleep their first night near their future home in
the country of the Republican Fork. The boys
were very happy that their journey was at an end.
They had listened with delight while Younkins
told stories of buffalo and antelope hunting,
of Indian ".scares and of the many queer ad-
ventures of settlers on this distant frontier.
What is there west of this ? asked Charlie,
as the party were allotting the floor and the
shallow loft among themselves for the night.

"Nothing but Indians and buffalo," said
Younkins, sententiously.
"No settlers anywhere? cried Sandy, eagerly.
"The next settlement west of here, if you can
call it a settlement, is Fort Kearney, on the other
side of the Platte. From here to there, there
is n't so much as a hunter's camp, so far as I
know." This was Younkins's last word as he
tumbled, half dressed, into his bunk in one
corner of the cabin. Sandy hugged his brother
Charlie before he dropped off to sleep, and whis-
pered in his ear, We're on the frontier at last!
It 's just splendid! "
Next day, leaving their cattle and wagon at
the Younkins homestead, the party, piloted by
their good-natured future neighbor, forded the
fork and went over into the promised land.
The stream was rather high as yet, for the snow,
melting in the far-off Rocky Mountains as the
summer advanced, had swollen all the tributaries
of the Republican Fork, and the effects of the rise
were to be seen far down on the Kaw. The
new-comers were initiated into the fashion of the
country by Younkins, who directed each one to
take off all clothes but his shirt and hat. 'Then
their garments were rolled up in bundles, each
man and boy taking his own on his head, and
wading deliberately into the water, the sedate
Younkins being the leader.
It seemed a little dangerous. The stream was
about one hundred rods wide, and the current
was tolerably swift, swollen by the inrush of
smaller streams above. The water was cold,
and made an ominous swishing and gurgling
among the underbrush that leaned into the
margin of the river. In Indian file, Mr. How-
ell bringing up the rear, and keeping his eyes
anxiously upon the lads before him, they all
crossed in safety, Sandy, the shortest of the
party, being unable to keep dry the only gar-
ment he had worn, for the water came well up
under his arms.
Well, that was funny, anyhow," he blithely


remarked, as he wrung the water out of his
shirt, and, drying himself as well as he could,
dressed and joined the rest of the party in the
trip toward their future home.
Along the lower bank of the Republican Fork,
where the new settlers now found themselves,
the country is gently undulating. Bordering the
stream they saw a dense growth of sycamores,
cottonwoods, and birches. Some of these trees
were tall and handsome, and the general effect
on the minds of the new-comers was delightful.
After they had emerged from the woods that
skirted the river, they were in the midst of a
lovely rolling prairie, the forest on the right;
on their left was a thick growth of wood that
marked the winding course of a creek which,
rising far to the west, emptied into the Republi-
can Fork at a point just below where the party
had forded the stream. The land rose gradually
from the point nearest the ford, breaking into a
low, rocky bluff beyond at their right and near-
est the river, a mile away, and rolling off to the
southwest in folds and swales.
Just at the foot of the little bluff ahead, with
a background of trees, was a log-cabin of hewn
timber, weather-stained and gray in the summer
sun, absolutely alone and looking as if lost in
this untrodden wild. Pointing to it, Younkins
said, "That's your house so long as you
want it."
The emigrants tramped through the tall, lush
grass that covered every foot of the new Kansas
soil, their eyes fixed eagerly on the log-cabin
before them. The latch-string hung out hospi-
tably from the door of split "shakes," and the
party entered without ado. Everything was
just as Younkins had last left it. Two or
three gophers, disturbed in their foraging about
the premises, fled swiftly at the entrance of the
visitors, and a flock of blackbirds, settled around
the rear of the house, flew noisily across the
creek that wound its way down to the fork.
The floor was of puncheons split from oak
logs and laid loosely on rough-hewn joists.
These rattled as the visitors walked over them.
At one end of the cabin a huge fireplace of
stone laid in clay yawned for the future comfort
of the coming tenants. Near-by, a rude set of
shelves suggested a pantry, and a table, home-
made and equally rude, stood in the middle of

the floor. In one corner was built a bedstead,
two sides of the house furnishing two sides of
the work, and the other two being made by
driving a stake into the floor and connecting
that by string-pieces to the sides of the cabin.
Thongs of buffalo-hide formed the bottom of
this novel bedstead. A few stools and short
benches were scattered about. Near the fire-
place long and strong pegs driven into the logs
served as a ladder on which one could climb
to the low loft overhead. Two windows, each
of twelve small panes of glass, let in the light,
one from the end of the cabin and one from
the back opposite the door, which was in the
middle of the front. Outside, a frail shanty of
shakes leaned against the cabin, affording a sort
of outdoor kitchen for summer use.
"So this is home," said Charlie, looking
around. "What will mother say to this--if
she ever gets here ?"
"Well, we 've taken a heap of comfort here,
my old woman and me," said Younkins, looking
around quickly and with an air of surprise.
"It 's a mighty comfortable house; leastways
we think so."
Charlie apologized for having seemed to cast
any discredit on the establishment. Only he
said that he did not suppose that his mother
knew much about log-cabins. As for himself,
he would like nothing better than this for a
home for a long time to come. "For," he
added, roguishly, "you know we have come
to make the West, 'as they the East, the home-
stead of the free.'"
Mr. Younkins looked puzzled but made no
remark. The younger boys, after taking in the
situation and fondly inspecting every detail of
the premises, enthusiastically agreed that nothing
could be finer than this. They darted out of
doors and saw a corral, or pound, in which the
cattle could be penned up, in case of need.
There was a small patch of fallow ground that
needed only to be spaded up to become a
promising garden-spot. Then, swiftly running
to the top of the little bluff beyond, they gazed
over the smiling panorama of emerald prairie
laced with woody creeks, level fields as yet un-
disturbed by the plowshare, blue distant woods
and yet more distant hills among which, to the
northwest, the broad river wound and disap-



peared. Westward, nothing was to be seen
but the green and rolling swales of the virgin
prairie, broken here and there by an outcropping
of rock. And as they looked, a tawny yellow-
ish creature trotted out from behind a roll of
the prairie, sniffed in the direction of the boys,
and then stealthily disappeared in the wildness
of the vast expanse.
"A coyote," said Sandy, briefly. "I've seen

without discomfort, while it was so high, were
left on the south bank to receive the returning
There the boys sat, hugely enjoying the
situation, while the others were loading the
wagon and yoking the oxen on the other side.
The lads could hear the cheery sounds of the
men talking, although they could not see them
through the trees that lined the farther bank of

--~-- -
t-2. -. _
~-S~ HI-4.Es

I,~~; i.~ W
-. ---*---e---

.- ._ .j: .

*. ... .

them in Illinois. But I just wish I had my gun
now." His wiser brother laughed as he told
him that it would be a long day before a coyote
could be got near enough to be knocked over
with any shot-gun. The coyote, or prairie-wolf,
is the slyest animal that walks on four legs.
The three men and Charlie returned to the
further side of the fork, and made immediate
preparations to move all their goods and effects
to the new home of the emigrants. Sandy and
Oscar, being rather too small to wade the stream

the river. The flow of the stream made a
ceaseless lapping against the brink of the shore.
A party of catbirds quarreled sharply in the
thicket hard-by; quail whistled in the under-
brush of the adjacent creek, and overhead a
solitary eagle circled slowly around as if look-
ing down to watch these rude invaders of the
privacy of his dominion that had existed ever
since the world began.
Hugging his knees in measureless content, as
they sat in the grass by the river, Sandy asked,


almost in a whisper, "Have you ever been
homesick since we left Dixon, Oscar?"
"Just once, Sandy; and that was yesterday
when I saw those nice-looking ladies at the fort
out walking in the morning with their children.
That was the first sight that looked like home
since we crossed the Missouri."
Me, too," answered Sandy, soberly. "But
this is just about as fine anything can be. Only
think of it, Oscar! There are buffalo and ante-
lopes within ten or fifteen miles of here. I know,
for Younkins told me so. And Indians, not
wild Indians, but tame ones that are at peace
with the whites. It seems too good to have
happened to us; does n't it, Oscar ? "
Once more the wagon was blocked up for a
difficult ford, the lighter and more perishable
articles of its load being packed into a dugout,
or canoe hollowed from a sycamore log, which
was the property of Younkins, and used only at
high states of the water. The three men guided
the wagon and oxen across while Charlie,
stripped to his shirt, pushed the loaded dug-
out carefully over, and the two boys on the
other bank, full of the importance of the event,
received the solitary voyager, unloaded the
canoe and then transferred the little cargo to
the wagon. The caravan took its way up the
rolling ground of the prairie to the log-cabin.
Willing hands unloaded and took into the house
the tools, provisions, and clothes that constituted
their all, and, before the sun went down, the
settlers were at home.
While in Manhattan, they had supplied them-
selves with potatoes; at Fort Riley they had
bought fresh beef from the sutler. Sandy made
a glorious fire in the long disused fireplace. His
father soon had a batch of biscuits baking in the
covered kettle, or Dutch oven, that they had
brought with them from home. Charlie's con-
tribution to the repast was a pot of excellent
coffee, the milk for which, an unaccustomed
luxury, was supplied by the thoughtfulness of
Mrs. Younkins. So, with thankful hearts, they
gathered around their frugal board and took
their first meal in their new home.
When supper was done and the cabin, now
lighted by the scanty rays of two tallow can-
dles, had been made tidy for the night, Oscar
took out his violin, and, after much needed

tuning, struck into the measure of wild, warb-
ling "Dundee." All hands took the hint and
all voices were raised once more to the words
of Whittier's song of the "Kansas Emigrants."
Perhaps it was with new spirit and new tender-
ness that they sang:

No pause, nor rest, save where the streams
That feed the Kansas run,
Save where the Pilgrim gonfalon
Shall flout the setting sun!

I don't know what the Pilgrim's gonfalon
is," said Sandy, sleepily, "but I guess it 's all
right." The emigrants had crossed the prairies
as of old their fathers had crossed the sea.
They were now at home in the New West. The
night fell dark and still about their lonely cabin
as, with hope and trust, they laid them down to
peaceful dreams.



"We must n't let any grass grow under our
feet, boys," was Mr. Aleck Howell's energetic
remark, next morning, when the little party had
finished their first breakfast in their new home.
That means work, I s'pose," replied Oscar,
turning a longing glance to his violin hanging
on the side of the cabin, with a broken string
crying for repairs.
Yes, and hard work, too," said his father,
noting the lad's look. Luckily for us, Brother
Aleck," he continued, "our boys are not afraid
of work. They have been brought up to it, and
although I am thinking they don't know much
about the sort of work that we shall have to
put in on these beautiful prairies, I guess they
will buckle down to it. Eh ?" and the loving
father turned his look from the grassy and roll-
ing plain to his son's face.
Sandy answered for him. Oh, yes, Uncle
Charlie, we all like work! Afraid of work?
Why, Oscar and I are so used to it that we
would be willing to lie right down by the side
of it, and sleep as securely as if it were as harm-
less as a kitten! Afraid of work ? Never you
fear' the Dixon boys who fear no noise'- what's
the rest of that song ?"
Nobody knew, and, in the laugh that followed,


Mr. Howell suggested that as Younkins was
coming over the river to show them the stakes
of their new claims, the boys might better set
an extra plate at dinner-time. It was very good
of Younkins to take so much trouble on their
account, and the least they could do was to
show him proper hospitality.
"What is all this about stakes and quarter-
sections, anyway, Father ?" asked Sandy. "I 'm
sure I don't know."
He does n't know what quarter-sections
are!" shouted Charlie. "Oh, my! what an
ignoramus "
"Well, what is a quarter-section, as you are
so knowing? demanded Sandy. I don't
believe you know, yourself."
It is a quarter of a section of public land,"
answered the lad. Every man or single woman
of mature age--I think that is what the books
say who does n't own several hundred acres
of land elsewhere (I don't know just how many),
is entitled to enter on and take up a quarter of
a section of unoccupied public land, and have
it for a homestead. That 's all," and Charlie
looked to his father for approval.
"Pretty good, Charlie," said his uncle. "How
many acres are there in a quarter-section of
land ?"
"Yes, how many acres in a quarter of a sec-
tion ? shouted Sandy, who saw that his brother
hesitated. "Speak up, my little man, and don't
be afraid!"
I don't know," replied the lad, frankly.
Good for you!" said his father. "Never be
afraid of saying that you don't know when you
do not know. The fear of confessing ignorance
is what has wrecked many a young fellow's
chances for finding out things he should know."
"Well, boys," said Mr. Bryant, addressing
himself to the three lads, "all the land of the
United States Government that is open to settle-
ment is laid off in townships ten miles square.
These, in turn, are laid off into sections of six
hundred and forty acres each. Now, then, how
much land should there be in a quarter-section? "
One hundred and sixty acres! shouted all
three boys at once, breathlessly.
Correct. The Government allows every
man, or single woman of mature age, widow or
unmarried, to go upon a plot of land, not more

than one hundred and sixty acres nor less than
forty acres, and to improve it, and live upon it.
If he stays there, or 'maintains a continuous
residence,' as the lawyers say, for a certain
length of time, the Government gives him a
title-deed at the end of that time, and he owns
the land."
What ?-free, gratis, and for nothing ?" cried
Certainly," said his uncle. "The home-
stead law was passed by Congress to encourage
the settlement of the lands belonging to the
Government. You see there is an abundance of
these lands, so much, in fact, that they have not
yet been all laid off into townships and sections
and quarter-sections. If a large number of
homestead claims are taken up, then other set-
tlers will be certain to come in and buy the
lands that the Government has to sell; and
that will make settlements grow throughout that
"Why should they buy when they can get
land for nothing by entering and taking pos-
session, just as we are going to do ? "interrupted
Because, my son, many of the men can not
make oath that they have not taken up Govern-
ment land somewhere else; and then, again,
many men are going into land speculations, and
they don't care to wait five years to prove up a
Homestead claim. So they go upon the land,
stake out their claim, and the Government sells
it to them outright at the rate of a dollar and a
quarter an acre."
Cash down ?" asked Charlie.
"No, they need not pay cash down unless
they choose. The Government allows them a
year to pay up in. But land speculators who
make a business of this sort of thing generally
pay up just as soon as they are allowed to, and
then, if they get a good offer to sell out, they sell
and move off somewhere else, and do the same
thing over again."
People have to pay fees, don't they, Uncle
Charlie ?" said Sandy. I know they used to
talk about land-office fees, in Dixon. How much
does it cost in fees to enter a piece of Govern-
ment land ?"
"I think it is about twenty-five dollars -
twenty-six, to be exact," replied Mr. Bryant.



"There comes Younkins," he added, looking
down the trail to the river bank below.
The boys had been washing and putting
away the breakfast things while this conversa-
tion was going on, and Sandy, balancing in the
air a big tin pan on his fingers, asked: How
much land can we fellows enter, all told ? "
The two men laughed.
"Well, Alexander," said his father, ceremo-
niously, We two fellows,' that is to say, your
Uncle Charlie and myself, can enter one hun-
dred and sixty acres apiece. Charlie will be
able to enter the same quantity three years from
now, when he will be twenty-one; and as for
you and Oscar, if you each add to your present
years as many as will make you twenty-one,
you can tell when you will be able to enter. and
own the same amount of land; provided it is
not all gone by that time. Good-morning, Mr.
Younkins." Sandy's pan came down with a
crash on the puncheon floor.
The land around that region of the Repub-
lican Fork had been surveyed into sections of
six hundred and forty acres each; but it would
be necessary to secure the services of a local
surveyor to find out just where the boundaries
of each quarter-section were. The stakes were
set at the corner of each section, and Younkins
thought that by pacing off the distance between
two corners they could get at the point that
would mark the middle of the section; then, by
running lines across from side to side, thus:
they could get at the quarter-sections nearly l
enough to be able to tell about where their
boundaries were.
"But suppose you should build a house, or
plow a field, on some other man's quarter-sec-
tion," suggested Charlie, "would n't you feel
cheap when the final survey showed that you
had all along been improving your neighbor's
property ?"
There is n't any danger of that," answered
Younkins, "if you are smart enough to keep
well away from your boundary line when you
are putting in your improvements. Some men
are not smart enough, though. There was a
man over on Chapman's Creek who wanted to
have his log-cabin on a pretty rise of ground-
like, that was on the upper end of his claim.
He knew that the line ran somewhere about

there; but he took the chances-like, and when
the line was run, a year after that, lo, and
behold! his house and garden-like were both
clean over into the next man's claim."
What did he do ?" asked Charlie. "Skip
out of the place?"
"Sho! No,indeed! His neighbor was a white
man-like, and they just took down the cabin and
carried it across the boundary line and set it
up again on the man's own land. He's living'
there yet; but he lost his garden-like; could n't
move that, you see "; and Younkins laughed one
of his infrequent laughs.
The land open to the settlers on the south
side of the Republican Fork was all before
them. Nothing had been taken up within a
distance as far as they could see. Chapman's
Creek, just referred to by Younkins, was eigh-
teen or twenty miles away. From the point at
which they stood toward Chapman's, the land
was surveyed; but to the westward the surveys
ran only just across the creek, which, curving
from the north and west, made a complete circuit
around the land and emptied into the Fork, just
below the fording place. Inside of that circuit,
the land, undulating, and lying with a southern
exposure, was destitute of trees. It was rich,
fat land, but there was not a tree on it except
where it crossed the creek, the banks of which
were heavily wooded. Inside of that circuit
somewhere, the two men must stake out their
claim. There was nothing but rich, unshaded
land, with a meandering woody creek flowing
through the bottom of the two claims, provided
they were laid out side by side. The corner
stakes were found, and the men prepared to
pace off the distance between the corners so as
to find the center.
"It is a pity there is no timber anywhere,"
said Howell, discontentedly. We shall have
to go several miles for timber enough to build
our cabins. We don't want to cut down right
away what little there is along the creek."
"Timber ? said Younkins, reflectively. "Tim-
ber ? Well, if one of you would put up with a
quarter-section of farming land, then the other
can enter some of the timber land up on the
North Branch."
Now, the North Branch was two miles and a
half from the cabin in which the Dixon party were


living; and that cabin was two miles from the
beautiful slopes on which the intending settlers
were now looking for an opportunity to lay out
their two claims. The two men looked at each
other. Could they divide and settle thus far
apart for the sake of getting a timber lot?
It was Sandy who solved the problem. I '11
tell you what to do, Father!" he cried, eagerly,
"you take up the timber claim on the North
Branch, and we boys can live there; then you
and Uncle Charlie can keep one of the claims
here. We can build two cabins, and you old
folks can live in one and we in another."
The fathers exchanged glances, and Mr.
Howell said: "I don't see how I could live
without Sandy and Charlie."

Mr. Howell looked vaguely off over the rolling
slope on which they were standing, and said:
"We will chance it with the boys on the tim-
ber land; but I am not in favor of taking up
two claims here. Let the timber claim be in
my name or yours, and the boys can live on
it. But we can't take up two claims here and
the timber besides-three in all-with only two
full-grown men among the whole of us. That
stands to reason."
Younkins was a little puzzled by the strictness
with which the two new-comers were disposed
to regard their rights and duties as actual set-
tlers. He argued that settlers were entitled to
all they could get and hold; and he was in
favor of the party's trying to hold three claims of

f' 7:


~- ..


Younkins brightened up at Sandy's sugges-
tion, and he added that the two men might take
up two farming claims, side by side, and let the
boys try and hold the timber claim on the North
Branch. Thus far, there was no rush of emi-
gration to the south side of the Republican
Fork; most of the settlers went further to the
south; or they halted further east, and fixed
their stakes along the line of the Big Blue, and
other more accessible regions.
"We '11 chance it, won't we, Aleck ?" said
Mr. Bryant.

one hundred and sixty acres each, even if there
were only two men legally entitled to enter
homesteads. Would n't Charlie be of age be-
fore the time came to take out a patent for the
But he is not of age to enter upon and hold
the land now," said his father, stiffly.
So it was settled that the two men should
enter upon the quarter-section of farming land,
and build a cabin as soon as convenient, and that
the claim on the North Fork, which had a fine
grove of timber on it, should be set apart for the


-----.-'-~t~-_1~? ..~~~-i~
~--~-~-~ ,
~-~ I,



boys, and a cabin built there too. The cabin the one hundred and sixty acre lot of farming
in the timber need not be built until late in the land, on which the party had arrived in the
autumn; that claim could be taken up by Mr. morning.
Howell, or by Mr. Bryant; by and by they would It was dark before they returned from looking
draw lots to decide which. Before sundown, over the timber land in the bend of the North
that night, they had staked out the corners of Fork of the Republican.
(To be continued.)



GREEN sat on the
north door-step, and
sewed over and over
a seam in a sheet. She
had just gotten into her
teens, and she was tall
for her age, although
very slim. She wore a
low-necked, and short-sleeved, brown delaine
dress. That style of dress was not becoming,
but it was the fashion that summer. Her neck
was very thin, and her collar-bones showed.
Her arms were very long and small and knobby.
Hannah Maria's brown hair was parted from
her forehead to the back of her neck, braided in
two tight braids, crossed in a flat mass at the
back of her head, and surmounted by a large
green ribbon bow. Hannah Maria kept patting
the bow to be sure it was on.
It was very cool there on the north door-step.
Before it lay the wide north yard full of tall
waving grass, with some little cinnamon rose-
bushes sunken in it. Hardly anybody used
the north door, so there was no path leading
to it.
It was nearly four o'clock. Hannah Maria
bent her sober freckled face over the sheet, and
sewed and sewed. Her mother had gone to the
next town to do some shopping, and bidden her
to finish the seam before she returned. Han-
nah Maria was naturally obedient; moreover, her
mother was a decided woman, so she had been

very diligent; in fact the seam was nearly
It was very still--that is, there were only
the sounds that seem to make a part of stillness.
The birds twittered, the locusts shrilled, and the
tall clock in the entry ticked. Hannah Maria
was not afraid, but she was lonesome. Once
in a while she looked around, and sighed. She
placed a pin a little way in advance on the seam,
and made up her mind that when she had sewed
to that place she would go into the house and
get a slice of cake. Her mother had told her
that she might cut a slice from the one-egg cake
which had been made that morning. But before
she had sewed to the pin, little Mehitable Lamb
came down the road. She was in reality some
years younger than Hannah Maria, but not so
much younger as Hannah Maria considered her.
The girl on the door-step surveyed the one
approaching down the road, with a friendly and
patronizing air.
Hullo," she sang out, when Mehitable was
within hailing distance.
Hullo," answered back Mehitable's little,
sweet, deferential voice.
She came straight on, left the road, and struck
across the grassy north yard to Hannah Maria's
door-step. She was a round, fair little girl; her
auburn hair was curled in a row of neat, smooth
"water curls" around her head. She wore a
straw hat with a blue ribbon, and a blue and
white checked gingham dress; she also wore
white stockings and patent leather ankle-ties."




Her dress was low-necked and short-sleeved,
like Hannah Maria's, but her neck and arms
were very fair and chubby.
Mehitable drew her big china doll in a doll's
carriage. Hannah Maria eyed her with seeming
disdain and secret longing. She herself had given
up playing with dolls, her mother thought her too
big; but they had still a fascination for her, and
the old love had not quite died out of her breast.
"Mother said I might come over and stay
an hour and a half," said Mehitable.
Hannah Maria smiled hospitably. "I 'm
keeping' house," said she. Mother 's
gone to Lawrence."
Mehitable took her doll out of the
carriage with a motherly air, and sat
down on the door-step with it in her
How much longer you goin' to
play with dolls ? inquired Hannah
I don't know," replied Mehitable,
with a little shamed droop of her
"You can't when you get a little
bigger, anyhow. Is that a new dress .'
she's got on ?"
"Yes; Aunt Susy made it out of
a piece of her blue silk." '
"It's handsome, is n't it ? Let me '
take her a minute." Hannah Maria
took the doll and cuddled it up against
her shoulder as she had used to do
with her own. She examined the blue
silk dress. My doll had a real hand- MEHIT
some plaid silk one," said she, and she spoke as
if the doll were dead. She sighed.
"Have you given her away ? "inquired Me-
hitable in a solemn tone.
No; she 's packed away. I 'm too old to
play with her, you know. Mother said I had
other things to 'tend to. Dolls are well enoughh
for little girls like you. Here, you 'd better
take her; I 've got to finish my sewin'."
Hannah Maria handed back the doll with a
resolute air, but she handed her back tenderly;
then she sewed until she reached the pin. Me-
hitable rodked her doll, and watched.
When Hannah Maria reached the pin she
jumped up. "I 'm coming' back in a minute,"
VOL. XVIII.- 25.

said she, and disappeared in the house. Pres-
ently Mehitable heard the dishes rattle.
"She 's gone after a cooky," she thought.
Cookies were her usual luncheon.
But Hannah Maria came back with a long
slice of one-egg cake with blueberries in it.
She broke it into halves, and gave the larger
one to Mehitable. "There," said she, "I 'd
give you more, but mother did n't tell me I
could cut more 'n one slice."
Mehitable.ate her cake appreciatively; once
in a while she slily fed her doll with a bit.

.',1 l '
I 1j.

Hannah Maria took bites of hers between the
stitches; she had almost finished the over and
over seams.
Presently she rose and shook out the sheet
with a triumphant air. There," said she, it 's
Did you sew all that this afternoon ? asked
Mehitable, in an awed tone.
My yes. It is n't so very much to do."
Hannah Maria laid the sheet down in a heap
on the entry floor; then she looked at Mehita-
ble. Now, I've nothing' more to do," said she.
"S'pose we go to walk a little ways?"
I don't know as my mother 'd like to have
me do that."



Oh, yes, she would; she won't care. Come
along I '11 get my hat."
Hannah Maria dashed, over the sheet, into
the entry and got her hat off the peg; then she
and Mehitable started. They strolled up the
country road. Mehitable trundled her doll-car-
riage carefully; once in a while she looked in to
see if the doll was all right.
"Is n't that carriage kind of heavy for you to
drag all alone ? inquired Hannah Maria.
No; it is n't very heavy."
"I had just as lief help you drag it as not."
Hannah Maria reached down and took hold
by one side of the handle of the doll-carriage,
and the two girls trundled it together.
There were no houses for a long way. The
road stretched between pasture-lands and apple-
orchards. There was one very fine orchard on
both sides of the street a quarter of a mile
below Hannah Maria's house. The trees were
so heavily loaded with green apples that the
branches hung low over the stone walls. Now
and then there was among them a tree full of
ripe yellow apples.
"Don't you like early apples ?" asked Han-
nah Maria.
Mehitable nodded.
"Had any ?"
"They don't grow in your field, do they ?"
Mehitable shook her head. Mother makes
pies with our apples, but they 're not mellow
enoughh to eat now," she replied.
Well," said Hannah Maria, we have n't got
any. All our apples are baldwins, and greenin's.
I have n't had an early apple this summer."
The two went on, trundling the doll-carriage.
Suddenly Hannah Maria stopped.
Look here," said she; my Aunt Jenny and
my Uncle Timothy have got lots of early
apples. You just go along this road a little
farther, and you get to the road that leads to
their house. S'pose we go."
"How far is it ?"
"Oh, not very far. Father walks over some-
I don't believe my mother would like it,"
Oh, yes, she would! Come along."
But all Hannah Maria's entreaties could not
stir Mehitable Lamb. When they reached the

road that led to Uncle Timothy's house, she
stood still.
My mother won't like it," said she.
"Yes, she will."
Mehitable stood as if she and the doll-car-
riage were anchored to the road.
I think you 're real mean, Mehitable Lamb,"
said Hannah Maria. "You 're a terrible afraidd
cat. I 'm goin' anyhow, and I won't bring you
a single apple; so there! "
"Don't want any," returned Mehitable with
some spirit. She turned the doll-carriage
around. Hannah Maria walked up the road
a few steps. Suddenly she faced about. Me-
hitable had already started homeward.
Mehitable Lamb said she.
Mehitable looked around.
"I s'pose you '11 go right straight home, and
tell my mother, just as quick as you can get
Mehitable said nothing.
"You '11 be an awful telltale if you do."
"Sha'n't tell," said Mehitable in a sulky voice.
"Will you promise,-' Honest and true.
Black and blue. Lay me down and cut me in
two,'-that you won't tell ?"
Mehitable nodded.
"Say it over then."
Mehitable repeated the formula. It sounded
like inaudible gibberish.
"I shall tell her myself when I get home,"
said Hannah Maria. I shall be back pretty
soon anyway, but I don't want her sending
father after me. You 're sure you 're not goin' to
tell, now, Mehitable Lamb? Say it over again."
Mehitable said it again.
"Well, you '1 be an awful telltale if you do
tell after that! said Hannah Maria.
She went on up one road toward her Uncle
Timothy Dunn's, and Mehitable trundled her
doll-carriage homeward down the other. She
went straight on past Hannah Maria's house.
Hannah Maria's mother, Mrs. Green, had come
home. She saw the white horse and buggy
out in the south yard. She heard Mrs. Green's
voice calling Hannah Maria, Hannah Maria!"
and she scudded by like a rabbit.
Mehitable's own house was up the hill, not
far beyond. She lived there with her mother
and grandmother and her two aunts; her father



was dead. The smoke was coming out of the
kitchen chimney; her Aunt Susy was getting
supper. Aunt Susy was the younger and pret-
tier of the aunts. Mehitable thought her per-
fection. She came to the kitchen-door, when
Mehitable entered the yard, and stood there
smiling at her.
"Well," said she, did you have a nice time
at Hannah Maria's ?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"What makes you look so sober ?"
Mehitable said nothing.
Did you play dolls? "
"Hannah Maria 's too big."
"Stuff!" cried Aunt Susy. Then her short-
cake was burning, and she had to run in to see
to it.
Mehitable to9k her china doll out of the car-
riage, set her carefully on the step, and then
lugged the carriage laboriously to a corner of the
piazza, where she always kept it. It was a very
nice large carriage, and rather awkward to be
kept in the house. Then she took her doll and
went in through the kitchen to the sitting-room.
Her mother and grandmother and other aunt
were in there, and they were all glad to see her,
and inquired if she had had a nice time at Han-
nah Maria's. But Mehitable was very sober.
She did not seem like herself. Her mother
asked whether she did not.feel well, and in spite
of her saying that she did, would not let her
eat any of her Aunt Susy's shortcake for supper.
She had to eat some stale bread, and shortly
after supper she had to go to bed. Her mother
went up-stairs with her, and tucked her in.
"She 's all tired out," she said to the others,
when she came down; "it 's quite a little walk
over to the Greens', and I s'pose she played
hard. I don't really like to have her play with
a girl so much older as Hannah Maria. She
is n't big enough to run and race."
She did n't seem like herself when she came
into the yard," said Aunt Susy.
"I should have given her a good bowl of
thoroughwort tea, when she went to bed," said
her grandmother.
"The kitchen fire is n't out yet; I can steep
some thoroughwort now," said Aunt Susy, and
she forthwith started. She brewed a great
bowl of thoroughwort tea and carried it up to

Mehitable. Mehitable's wistful innocent blue
eyes stared up out of the pillows at Aunt Susy
and the bowl.
"What is it? she inquired.
"A bowl of nice hot thoroughwort tea. You
sit up and drink it right down* like a good little
I 'm not sick, Aunt Susy," Mehitable pleaded
faintly. She hated thoroughwort tea.
"Well, never mind if you 're not. Sit right up.
It '11 do you good."
Aunt Susy's face was full of loving determi-
nation. So Mehitable sat up. She drank the
thoroughwort tea with convulsive gulps. Once in
a while she paused and rolled her eyes piteously
over the edge of the bowl.
Drink it right down," said Aunt Susy.
And she drank it down. There never was a
more obedient little girl than Mehitable Lamb.
Then she lay back, and Aunt Susy tucked her
up, and went down with the empty bowl.
Did she drink it all ?" inquired her grand-
Every mite."
"Well, she '11 be all right in the morning, I
guess. There is n't anything better than a bowl
of good hot thoroughwort tea."
The twilight was deepening. The Lamb
family were all in the sitting-room. They had
not lighted the lamp, the summer dusk was
so pleasant. The windows were open. All at
once a dark shadow appeared at one of them.
The women started-all but Grandmother
Lamb. She was asleep in her chair.
Who 's there ? Aunt Susy asked in a grave
Have you seen anything of Hannah Maria ?"
said a hoarse voice. Then they knew it was Mr.
Mrs. Lamb and the aunts pressed close to the
"No, we have n't," replied Mrs. Lamb.
"Why, what 's the matter?"
We can't find her anywhere. Mother went
over to Lawrence this afternoon, and I was
down in the east field hayin'. Mother, she got
home first, and Hannah Maria was n't anywhere
about the house, an' she 'd kind of an idea
she 'd gone over to the Bennets'; she 'd been
talking' about goin' there to get a tidy-pattern



of the Bennet girl, so she waited till I got
home. I jest put the horse in again, an' drove
over there, but she 's not been there. I don't
know where she is. Mother's most crazy."
"Where is she ?" they cried, all together.
"Sittin' out in the road, in the buggy."
Mrs. Lamb and the aunts hurried out. They
and Mr. Green stood beside the buggy, and
Mrs. Green thrust her anxious face out.
Oh, where do you suppose she is?" she
Now, do keep calm, Mrs. Green," said Mrs.
Lamb in an agitated voice. We 've got some-
thing to tell you. Mehitable was over there
this afternoon."
"Oh, she was n't, was she ?"
"Yes, she was. She went about four o'clock,
and she stayed an hour and a half. Hannah
Maria was all right then. Now, I tell you what
we '11 do, Mrs. Green: you just get right out of
the buggy, and Mr. Green will hitch the horse,
and we '11 go in and ask Mehitable just how
she left Hannah Maria. Don't you worry. You
keep calm, and we '11 find her."
Mrs. Green stepped tremblingly from the bug-
gy. She could scarcely stand. Mrs. Lamb took
one arm, and Aunt Susy the other. Mr. Green
hitched the horse, and they all went into the
house, and up-stairs to Mehitable's room. Me-
hitable was not asleep. She stared at them in
a frightened way, as they all filed into the room.
Mrs. Green rushed to the bed.
"Oh, Mehitable," she cried, "when did you
last see my Hannah Maria? "
Mehitable looked at her, and said nothing.
Tell Mrs. Green when you last saw Hannah
Maria," said Mrs. Lamb.
I guess 't was 'bout five o'clock," replied
Mehitable in a quavering voice.
"She got home at half-past five," interposed
Mehitable's mother.
"Did she look all right ? asked Mrs. Green.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Nobody came to the house when you were
there, did there ? asked Mr. Green.
No, sir."
Aunt Susy came forward. Now look here,
Mehitable," said she. Do you know anything
about what has become of Hannah Maria?
Answer me, yes or no."

Mehitable's eyes were like pale moons; her
little face was as white as the pillow.
"Yes, ma'am."
Well, what has become of her ? "
Mehitable was silent.
"Why, Mehitable Lamb! repeated Aunt
Susy, "tell us this minute what has become of
Hannah Maria!"
Mehitable was silent.
Oh," sobbed Mrs. Green, "you must tell
me. Mehitable, you '11 tell Hannah Maria's
mother what has become of her, won't you ?"
Mehitable's mother bent over her, and whis-
pered, but Mehitable lay there like a little stone
"Oh, do make her tell!" pleaded Mrs. Green.
"Come, now, tell, and I '11 buy you a whole
pound of candy," said Mr. Green.
Mehitable, you must tell," said Aunt Susy.
Suddenly Mehitable began to cry. She
sobbed and sobbed; her little body shook con-
vulsively. They all urged her to tell, but she
only shook her head between the sobs.
Grandmother Lamb came into the room.
She had awakened from her nap.
"What's the matter ?" she inquired. "What
ails Mehitable ? Is she sick ?"
Hannah Maria is lost, and Mehitable knows
what has become of her, and she won't tell,"
explained Aunt Susy.
"Massy sakes! Grandmother Lamb went
up to the bed. "Tell grandmother," she whis-
pered, an' she '11 give you a pep'mint."
But Mehitable shook her head, and sobbed.
They all pleaded, and argued, and com-
manded, but they got no reply but that shake
of the head, and sobs.
The child will be sick if she keeps on this
way," said Grandmother Lamb.
"She deserves to be sick!" said Hannah
Maria's mother in a desperate voice; and
Mehitable's mother forgave her.
"We may as well go down," said Mr. Green
with a groan. I can't waste any more time
here; I 've got to do something."
Oh, here 't is night coming on, and my poor
child lost! wailed Hannah Maria's mother.
Mehitable sobbed so, that it was pitiful in
spite of her obstinacy.
"If that child don't have something' to take,


she '11 be sick," said her grandmother. "I
dunno as there 's any need of her bein' sick if
Hannah Maria is lost." And she forthwith went
stiffly down-stairs. The rest followed-all ex-
cept Mrs. Lamb. She lingered to plead longer
with Mehitable.

I would n't go over to Timothy's to-night,
if I were you," said Mrs. Green. "Jenny's dread-
ful nervous, and it would use her all up; she
thought so much of Hannah Maria."
Mrs. Green's voice broke with a sob.
"No, I 'mnot going there," returned Mr. Green.



"You 're mother's own little girl," said she,
"and nobody shall scold you whatever happens.
Now, tell mother what has become of Hannah
But it was of no use. Finally, Mrs. Lamb
tucked the clothes over Mehitable with a jerk,
and went down-stairs herself. They were having
a consultation there in the sitting-room. It was
decided that Mr. Green should drive to Mr.
Pitkin's, about a quarter of a mile away, and
see if they knew anything of Hannah Maria,
and get Mr. Pitkin to aid in the search.

"It is n't any use. It is n't likely they know
anything about her. It's a good five mile off."
Mr. Green got into his buggy and drove away.
Mrs. Green went home, and Aunt Susy and the
other aunt with her. Nobody slept in the Lamb
or the Green house that night, except Grand-
mother Lamb. She dozed in her chair, although
they could not induce her to go to bed. But first
she started the kitchen fire, and made another
bowl of thoroughwort tea for Mehitable.
"She'll be sick jest as sure as the world, if she
does n't drink it," said she. And Mehitable lifted



her swollen, teary face from the pillow and drank
it. "She don't know any more where that Green
girl has gone to than I do," said Grandmother
Lamb, when she went down with the bowl.
"There is n't any use in pesterin' the child so."
Mrs. Lamb watched for Mr. Green to return
from Mr. Pitkin's, and ran out to the road. He
had with him Mr. Pitkin's hired man and eldest
Pitkin's harnessed up, and gone the other
way, over to the village, and we 're goin' to
look round the place thorough, an'-look in
the well," he said in a husky voice.
If she would only tell," groaned Mrs. Lamb.
" I 've done all I can. I can't make her speak."
Mr. Green groaned in response, and drove
on. Mrs. Lamb went in, and stood at her
sitting-room window and watched the lights over
at the Green house. They flitted from one
room to another all night. At dawn Aunt Susy
ran over with her shawl over her head. She
was wan and hollow-eyed.
They have n't found a sign of her," said she.
"They've looked everywhere. The Pitkin boy's
been down the well. Mr. Pitkin has just come
over from the village, and a lot of men are going
out to hunt for her, as soon as it's light. If
Mehitable only would tell!"
I can't make her," said Mrs. Lamb, despair-
"I know what I think you 'd ought to do,"
said Aunt Susy in a desperate voice.
What? "
Whi her."
Oh, Susy, I can't! I never whipped her in
my life."
"Well, I don't care. I should." Aunt Susy
had the tragic and resolute expression of an
inquisitor. She might have been proposing
the rack. I think it is your duty," she added.
Mrs. Lamb sank into the rocking-chair and
wept, but, within an hour's time, Mehitable
stood shivering and sobbing in her night-gown,
and held out her pretty little hands, while her
mother switched them with a small stick. Aunt
Susy was crying, down in the sitting-room.
"Did she tell ? she inquired, when her sister,
quite pale and trembling, came in with the stick.
No," replied Mrs. Lamb. I never will
whip that dear child again, come what will."

And she broke the stick in two, and threw it
out of the window.
As the day advanced, teams began to pass
the house. Now and then, one heard a signal
horn. The search for Hannah Maria was being
organized. Mrs. Lamb and the aunts cooked
a hot breakfast, and carried it over to Mr. and
Mrs. Green. They felt as if they must do
something to prove their regret and sympathy.
Mehitable was up and dressed, but her poor
little auburn locks were not curled, and the
pink roundness seemed gone from her face.
She sat quietly in her little chair in the sitting-
room, and held her doll. Her mother had pun-
ished her very tenderly, but there were some red
marks on her little hands. She had not eaten
any breakfast, but her grandmother had made
her some more thoroughwort tea. The bitter-
ness of life seemed actually tasted, to poor little
Mehitable Lamb.
It was about nine o'clock, and Mrs. Lamb
and the aunts had just carried the hot breakfast
over to the Green's, and were arranging it on
the table, when another team drove into the
yard. It was a white horse and a covered
wagon. On the front seat sat Hannah Maria's
aunt, Jenny Dunn, and a young lady, one of
Hannah Maria's cousins. Mrs. Green ran to
the door. Oh, Jenny, have you heard ? she
gasped. Then she screamed, for Hannah Maria
was peeking out of the rear of the covered wagon.
She was in there with another young lady cousin,
and a great basket of yellow apples.
"Hannah Maria Green, where have you
been ?" cried her mother.
"Why, what do you think! That child
walked 'way over to our house last night,"
Aunt Jenny said volubly; "and Timothy was
gone with the horse, and there was n't anything
to do but to keep her. I knew you would n't
be worried about her, for she said the little
Lamb girl knew where she 'd. gone, and "
Mrs. Green jerked the wagon-door open, and
pulled Hannah Maria out. Go right into the
house! she said in a stern voice. "Here she

would n't tell where you 'd gone.. And the whole
town hunting Go in."
Hannah Maria's face changed from uneasy
and deprecating smiles to the certainty of grief.
"Oh, I made her promise not to tell, but I


s'posed she would," she sobbed. "I did n't
know 't was going to be so far. Oh, mother,
I'm sorry! "
Go right in," said her mother.
And Hannah Maria went in. Aunt Susy and
Mrs. Lamb pushed past her as she entered.
They were flying home to make amends to
Mehitable, with kind words and kisses, and to
take away the taste of the thoroughwort tea,
with sponge cake and some of the best straw-
berry jam.
Later in the forenoon, Mehitable, with the
row of smooth water curls round her head,
dressed in her clean pink calico, sat on the

door-step with her doll. Her face was as smil-
ing as the china one. Hannah Maria came
slowly into the yard. She carried a basket of
early apples. Her eyes were red. Here are
some apples for you," she said. "And I'm
sorry I made you so much trouble. I 'm not
going to eat any."
Thank you," said Mehitable. Did your
mother scold? she inquired timidly.
"She did, first. I 'm dreadful sorry. I won't
ever do so again. I kind of thought you 'd
I 'm not a telltale," said Mehitable.
No, you 're not," said Hannah Maria.


Artful Ant.
A OegIcVE cgr&e


7/P' 1 ONCEonatime
an artful Ant
Resolved to give
/ a ball,
A 4 A / For tho' in stature
she was scant,
She was not what you 'd call
A shy or bashful little Ant.
(She was not shy at all.)

She sent her invitations through
The forest far and wide,
To all the Birds and Beasts she knew,
And many more beside.
(" You never.know what you can do,"
Said she, "until you've tried.")

Five-score acceptance came in
Faster than she could read.
Said she: Dear me! I 'd best begin
To stir myself indeed "
(A pretty pickle she was in,
With five-score guests to feed!)

The artful Ant sat up all night,
A thinking o'er and o'er,

How she could make
her scanty store,
Enough to feed
(Between ourselves, I
think she might
Have thought of
that before.)

She thought, and
thought, and
thought all night,
And all the follow-
ing day,
Till suddenly she
struck a bright
Idea, which was
(but stay!
Just what it was I
am not quite
At liberty to say.)

Enough, that when
the festal day
Came round, the
Ant was seen A


To smile in a peculiar way,
As ir- (but you may glean
From seeing tragic actors play
The kind of smile I mean.)

From here and there and everywhere
The happy creatures came,
The Fish alone could not be there.
(And they were not to blame.
"They really could not stand the air,
But thanked her just the same.")
The Lion, bowing very low,
Said to the Ant: I ne'er
Since Noah's Ark remember so
Delightful an affair."
(A pretty compliment, although
He really was n't there.)

They danced, and danced, and danced, and
It was a jolly sight!
They pranced, and pranced, and pranced,
and pranced,
Till it was nearly light,

And then their thoughts to supper chanced
To turn. (As well they might!)

Then said the Ant: It's only right
That supper should begin,
And if you will be so polite,
Pray take each other in."
(The emphasis was very slight,
But rested on "Take in.")

They needed not a second call,
They took the hint. Oh, yes,



The largest guest took in" the small,
The small "took in" the less,
The less "took in" the least of all.
(It was a great success !)

As for the rest -but why spin out
This narrative of woe ? -
The Lion took them in about
As fast as they could go.
(He went home looking very stout,
And walking very slow.)

And when the Ant, not long ago,
Lost to all sense of shame,
Tried it again, I chance to know
That not one answer came.
(Save from the Fish, who could not go,
But thanked her all the same.")





THE next morning, when Margaret brought
little Jane, Mrs. Lanier sent for them to come
to her room, and there she heard the strange
story that Paichoux had told Margaret.
Putting together one thing and another, the
incidents seemed to form a chain of which there
was only one link missing, and that was an
explanation of the mystery surrounding the fate
of the young mother. What had become of
her? and how had Madame Jozain got posses-
sion of the child, as well as of the property ?
It is work for a skillful detective," said Mrs.
Lanier, when Margaret.had told her of Pai-
choux's plan.
And Margaret replied that with the aid of a
little money the snarl could soon be unraveled.
"The money will be forthcoming," returned
Mrs. Lanier. "It shall be my sacred duty to
begin an investigation as soon as the child's
identity is established. Mr. Lanier will interest
himself with me, and every possible effort shall
be made to get at the bottom of the mystery.
Meanwhile, my good Margaret, you must leave
little Jane with me. Jane Chetwynd's child
must not be dependent on charity."
To this Margaret readily agreed, and then
Lady Jane was called from the nursery, where
she had been with Mrs. Lanier's little girls,
during this long, serious conversation.
The child came in dressed in her homely
orphan's garb, with all her beautiful hair braided
and hanging stiffly down her back; but she was
lovely in spite of her unlovely attire, her sweet
little face was dimpled with smiles, and her
wide eyes were full of pleasant expectation.
Come here, my dear," said Mrs. Lanier
holding out her hands. Now, tell me: which
name do you like best, Lady Jane, or simply

She hesitated a moment, and looked wistfully
at Margaret, while a slight shadow passed over
her face. I like Lady Jane, but Mother Mar-
garet likes Jane best."
Then Mrs. Lanier opened a drawer and took
out a photograph in a velvet frame.
My dear," she said, holding it before her,
"who are these ?"
In an instant the child's face changed. Every
vestige of color fled from it, as she fixed her
eyes on the picture with a look of eager affec-
tion and pitiful surprise.
"It 's papa and mama!" she exclaimed
passionately. It's my dear, dear mama!"
Then, with a cry of distress, she threw herself
into Margaret's arms and sobbed bitterly.
"This is proof enough for me," said Mrs.
Lanier, as she laid the picture away, the
recognition was instantaneous and complete.
She is Jane Chetwynd's child. Margaret, leave
her to me; I will love her and comfort her."
An hour after, Mrs. Lanier was sitting in her
library, writing hastily and excitedly, when the
door-bell rang, and, just as she was addressing
a letter to Richard Chetwynd, Esq.," Arthur
Maynard entered.
The boy looked quite pale and anxious as he
glanced at Mrs. Lanier's flushed, excited face.
"Don't ask me any questions; just wait a
moment," she said, with a reassuring smile.
Presently, there was a sound of children's
voices on the stairs, and three little girls entered
the room quietly and demurely. They were
dressed exactly alike in dainty white frocks and
broad sashes; two were pale and dark; they
were Ethel and May Lanier; and one was fair
and rosy, with wonderful golden hair hanging in
burnished, waving masses below her waist, while
the thick fringe across her forehead, although
it looked a little refractory, as if it had just
been cut, gave her a charmingly infantile and
picturesque appearance.

The moment the little Laniers saw Arthur
Maynard, they ran to him, talking and laughing
gaily, while Lady Jane (for it was she, though
quite metamorphosed through the skill of Mrs.
Lanier's French maid, and one of Ethel's dainty
suits) remained standing shyly in the center of
the room.
Mrs. Lanier was watching the sweet face
with its puzzled, anxious expression. Lady Jane
held her hands tightly clasped, and her soft
brows were slightly contracted while she looked
with large, serious eyes at the merry group.
Presently, a winsome smile broke over her face,
and, going slowly forward, she said softly:
If you please, are n't you the boy who gave
me the blue heron ? "
Arthur Maynard was quite beside himself
with delight. Holding out both hands, he drew
her to him, and, putting his arms about her
caressingly, said gaily:
"Yes, Lady Jane, I 'm the very boy. And
so you remember me ? I thought you 'd for-
gotten me long ago."
"Oh, no, no I had n't, but"-with a little
tremulous smile -" you-you did n't know me,
did you?"
"Yes, you darling, I did; I was only waiting
to see if you really remembered me."
Oh, but you did n't know I saw you once
"No, indeed. When and where was it?"
asked Arthur, eagerly.
It was a long while ago. It was Mardi-
Gras, and I was lost; but you could n't see me,
because I had on a domino," replied Lady Jane,
with dancing eyes, and a roguish little smile.
" I called you, and you heard me, because you
looked around; but you could n't see me."
"Well, I declare! Now I remember. Of
course, I could n't guess that the little, pink,
crumpled thing was Lady Jane. Why did n't
you call me again? "
Oh," with a little sigh, "I thought maybe
you did n't remember me."
"As if I could ever forget! But where is
Tony? Have you given him away? and he
looked into her eyes with a smile.
No, I did n't give him away. I loved him
too much to give him to any one; but he 's
lost. He broke his string while I was out sing-

ing, Tante Pauline said, and she was too lame
to catch him, and I searched everywhere for
him, and then I could n't sing any more -
and-and-" Here she paused, flushing deeply,
while tears gathered on her lashes.
"She 's. just the same adorable little crea-
ture," whispered Arthur to Mrs. Lanier, while he
stroked her hair softly. Then he bent over her
and asked her very earnestly and gravely :
"Do you remember that day on the cars,
Lady Jane, when I gave you Tony ?"
"Why, yes,- or I would n't know you,"
she replied ingenuously.
"Well, your mama was with you then.
Where is she now ? "
"Oh," with a very sad sigh, I don't know;
she's gone away. I thought she'd come back,
and I waited, and waited; but now I don't look
any more. I think she 's with papa, and is n't
coming back."
"When did she go ? My darling, try to re-
member about your mama," urged Mrs. Lanier
It was so long ago, I can't tell when it was,"
she said dejectedly. I was ill, and when I got
well, Tante Pauline said she had gone."
"Was it in Good Children Street that she
went ? "
"No, it was before. It was away across the
river, because Tante Pauline, and Mr. Raste,
and I, and Tony in his basket, all came in a big
You see Jane Chetwynd never left Gretna,"
said Mrs. Lanier, to Arthur, in an awe-struck
Where is Tante Pauline now ?" continued
I don't know. I ran away, and I have n't
seen her for ever so long."
"Why did you run away from her? Did n't
you love her ?"
"No, no! Please don't ask me,- Oh, please
don't!" and suddenly she covered her little,
flushed, troubled face with both hands and
began to cry silently.
We must n't question her any more, Arthur,"
said Mrs. Lanier, softly, as she soothed the child.
Her little heart has been probed to the very
depths. She is a noble little soul and she won't
utter a complaint against that wretched woman.




"Never mind, my darling. Forget all about
Tante Pauline. You will never see her again,
and no one shall make you unhappy. You-are
my child now, and you shall stay with me
always, and to-morrow we are going to buy
Christmas presents for all your friends in Good
Children Street."
"And I"-whispered Arthur, pressing his
cheek close against her golden head-" I have
a Christmas present for you, so don't cry any
more but prepare to be very happy."
"I have just written to her grandfather," said
Mrs. Lanier, after they had sent Lady Jane away
to the children, all smiles and dimples again.
" I see by the papers that he has returned from
Europe. There 's not the least doubt that she
is Jane's child, and, if he has any heart, he '11
come and investigate this mystery. I don't
dare do anything until I shall have heard
from him."
That will be very soon; he will probably be
here in a day or two, for he is on his way now."
"Arthur, what do you mean? How has he
heard ?"
"Oh, Lady Jane has a great many friends
who are deeply interested in her. Paichoux,
the dairyman, has been in correspondence with
the millionaire, and I have been interviewing
Paichoux. The little Frenchman put me on
Paichoux's track. It seems that Paichoux got
Mrs. Churchill's watch from Madame Jozain's
son, and Paichoux was inspired to write to the
jeweler in New York, whose name and the num-
ber of the watch were on the inside of the case,
to find out for whom that watch was made.
After some delay a letter came from Mr. Rich-
ard Chetwynd himself, telling Paichoux that the
watch was made for his daughter Jane Chet-
wynd. The jeweler had forwarded Paichoux's
letter to Mr. Chetwynd, who was in Paris, and
the millionaire has hastened home to investigate.
His prompt action is a favorable omen for
Lady Jane."
The next day, the day before Christmas, and
just one year from the time when Lady Jane
sat on the church steps eating the bread and
apple given to her by a charitable impulse, she
was making almost a royal progress in Mrs.
Lanier's carriage, as lovely in her rich dress as
a little fairy and every bit as much admired as

Pepsie had predicted she would be, in the future,
when she should ride in a blue chariot drawn
by eight white horses. Mrs. Lanier's generosity
allowed her to remember every one with suitable
gifts, and her visit to Good Children Street was
something long to be remembered. Mrs. Lanier
when she found herself once more in the presence
of Diane d'Hautreve, almost wept with shame
and regret, to think that for all these years
she had forgotten one who was once a queen
in society by right of both birth and wealth.
" It is unpardonable in me," she said to herself
when she saw the gentle lonely woman hold
the child to her heart so fondly. It is un-
pardonable to forget and neglect one so entirely
worthy of the best, simply because she is poor.
However, now that I have discovered her
through Lady Jane, I will try to make up for
the indifference of years by every attention that
I can show her."
While these thoughts were passing through
Mrs. Lanier's mind, Lady Jane was unfolding
before Mam'selle Diane's dazzled eyes a rich
mourning silk.
"You must have it made right away," she
whispered, pressing her rosy cheek to her
friend's, "for Mrs. Lanier says you will visit
your friends again, and I want you to wear my
Christmas present the first visit you make."
Then Pepsie was made happy by a beauti-
ful wheeled chair for the street, which was so
arranged with numerous springs that she could
be lifted over rough places without hurting her
poor back; and Madelon was the recipient of a
beautiful, warm cloak; and Tite's love of finery
was fully gratified by a gay hat "wid fedders
on it"; little Gex was fitted out with a supply
of useful articles; and the Paichoux, one and all,
were remembered with gifts suitable for each,
while the orphans' Christmas tree was loaded
with presents from Lady Jane, who only the
year before had clung to the railings cold and
hungry, and peeped in at the glittering display
which was being prepared for other little or-
phans not half as friendless and needy as she
. And the homely, kind face of Mother Marga-
ret fairly shone with happiness, as she watched
her little favorite dispensing pretty gifts with a
beaming smile of love and good-will to all.



IT was Christmas eve, and Mrs. Lanier's
beautiful house was bright with lights and flow-
ers, and merry with music and laughter.
There were, beside the little Laniers and Lady
Jane, a dozen children or more who had been
invited to see the wonderful Christmas tree,
which Mr. and Mrs. Lanier, and Arthur May-
nard had spent the greater part of the day in
decorating. It stood at one end of the draw-
ing-room, and its broad branches were fairly
bending beneath the treasures heaped upon
them. It glowed and sparkled with the light
of a hundred wax-candles, reflected over and
over by innumerable brilliant objects, until it
seemed like Moses's burning bush, all fire and
flame; and amid this radiant mass of color
and light were the most beautiful gifts for every
member of the family as well as for the happy
little visitors; but the object which attracted the
most curiosity and interest was a large basket
standing at the foot of the tree.
Who is that basket for, Papa ? asked Ethel
Lanier, of her father, who was unfastening and
distributing the presents.
"We shall see presently, my dear," replied
Mr. Lanier, glancing at Lady Jane, who stood,
a radiant little figure, beside Arthur Maynard,
watching every movement with sparkling eyes
and dimpling smiles.
At last, with a great deal of difficulty, the
basket was untied, and Mr. Lanier read, in a
loud, distinct voice, from a card attached to it:
" For Lady Jane Churchill. With Arthur May-
nard's love and good wishes."
"There! I thought it was for Lady Jane!"
cried Ethel, delightedly. "I know it's some-
thing lovely."
Mr. Lanier, with no little ceremony, handed
the basket to Arthur, who took it and gave it to
Lady Jane with a low bow.
"I hope you will like my present," he said,
smiling brightly, while he helped the wondering
child untie the strings that fastened.the cover.
Her little face was a study of mingled curi-
osity and expectancy, and her eyes sparkled
with eagerness as she bent over the basket.
It's so large. What can it be ? Oh, oh, oh i

It's bny / she cried, as the cover was lifted and
the bird hopped gravely out and stood on one
leg, winking and blinking in the dazzling light.
It's Tony! dear, dear Tony!" and in an instant
she was on her knees hugging and kissing the
bird passionately.
I told you I would find him for you," whis-
pered Arthur, bending over her, almost as happy
as she.
And you knew him by the three little crosses,
did n't you ? Oh, you're so good, and I thank
you so much," she said, lifting her lovely, grate-
ful eyes to the boy's face. She was smiling, but
a tear glistened on her lashes.
"What a darling she is!" said Mrs. Lanier,
fondly. "Is n't it pretty to see her with the
bird. Really, it is an exquisite picture."
She was like an anxious mother over a child
who had just been restored to her.
"You know me, Tony, don't you ? and you 're
glad to see me?" Lady Jane asked, over and
over, while she stroked his feathers and caressed
the blue heron in the tenderest way.
Do you think he remembers you, Lady
Jane ?" asked Mr. Lanier, who was watching
her with a smile of amusement.
Oh, yes, I know he does; Tony could n't
forget me. I 'm sure he 'll come to me if I
call him."
"Please try him. Oh, do try him!" cried
Ethel and May.
Mr. Lanier took the bird and placed him be-
hind a chair at the extreme end of the room,
where he stood gravely blinking and nodding;
but the moment he heard Lady Jane's little
chirp, and the call Tony, Tony," he ran flutter-
ing to her and nestled close against her.
Every one was pleased with this exhibition
of the bird's intelligence, and the children were
nearly wild over the new acquisition. The other
presents were forgotten for the moment, and
they could do nothing but watch every move-
ment with admiration and delight.
To Lady Jane, the recovery of her lost treas-
ure was the crowning point of happiness; and
she consented reluctantly to leave him alone in
the conservatory, where he was to spend the
night, and Where he looked very comfortable, as
well as picturesque, standing on one leg under
a large palm.




It is almost time for Mr. Chetwynd's com-
ing," said Mrs. Lanier, glancing at the clock.
" Mr. Lanier will meet him at the station and
bring him here, if he will accept our hospitality.
I '11 confess I 'm filled with consternation. He
used to be such a grim, cold man; he never even
softened to Jane's young friends; he was polite
and kind, but never genial, and I dare say
he has quite forgotten me. It 's a trial for me
to meet him with this awful mystery hanging

It is Mr. Chetwynd," she said to Arthur.
"They have come; he is in the library, and
Mr. Lanier asks me to bring the child."
A few moments later, Mrs. Lanier led Lady
Jane into the room where Mr. Richard Chet-
wynd waited to receive her. He was a tall, pale
man, with deep, piercing eyes, and firmly closed
lips, which gave character to a face that did not
lack kindliness of expression. As she advanced,
a little constrainedly, holding the child by the


over Jane's last days. Oh, I hope he will take
kindly to the child! He idolized her mother
before she thwarted his plans, and now I should
think his remorse would be terrible, and that
he would do everything to atone for his un-
I have faith in Lady Jane," laughed Arthur.
"It must be a hard heart that can withstand
her simple winning ways."
Just at that moment a servant entered, and
handed Mrs. Lanier a card.

hand, he came forward to meet her with an air
of friendly interest.
Perhaps you have forgotten me, Mrs. La-
nier," he said, cordially extending his hand;
" but I remember you, although it is some time
ago that you used to dine with my daughter in
Gramercy Park."
Oh, no, I have not forgotten you, Mr.
Chetwynd; but I hardly expected you to recall
me among all Jane's young friends."
I do, I do, perfectly," he replied, with his eyes

fixed on Lady Jane, who clung to Mrs. Lanier
and looked at the tall, grave stranger with timid
Then he held out his hand to the child.
And this is Jane Chetwynd's daughter.
There is no doubt of it; she is the image of
her mother," he said in a low, restrained voice.
I was not prepared to see such a living proof.
She is my little Jane as she was when a child
-my little Jane-my darling! Mrs. Lanier,
will you excuse me ?-the sight of her has quite
unnerved me!"
And suddenly sinking into a chair, he pressed
the child to his heart and hid his face on her
bright, golden head.
What passed between Lady Jane and her
grandfather, Mr. and Mrs. Lanier never knew,
for they slipped quietly out of the room, and
left the saddened man alone with the last of his
family- the child of that idolized but disobedient
daughter, whose marriage he had never forgiven
until that moment, when he held in his arms,
close to his heart, the little one, her living image.
It was some time before Mr. Chetwynd ap-
peared, and when he did he was as cold and
self-possessed as if he had never felt a throb of
emotion, nor shed a tear of sorrow on the pretty
head of the child, who held his hand, and prat-
tled as freely and confidingly as if she had
known him always.
"What will Mother Margaret say," she ex-
claimed, looking at Mrs. Lanier with wide glis-
tening eyes," when I tell her that I 've found
Tony and my grandpapa both in one Christmas?
I never saw a grandpapa before; Pepsie read to
me about one in a book, and he was very cross,
but this one is n't. I think he 's very good."
Before long, Mr. Chetwynd did not seem to
have any other interest in life than to gratify
every wish the child expressed.
"She has taken complete possession of me,"
he said to Mrs. Lanier; and now my greatest
happiness will be to make her happy. She is
all I have, and I shall try to find in her the
comfort of which her mother deprived me."
In spite of his affection for the child, his feel-
ings did not entirely change toward the mother;
he could not forget that she had disappointed
him, and preferred a stranger to him; that she
had given up wealth and position to bury herself

in obscurity with a man he hated. It was a
bitter thought, yet his fatherly affection would
spare no pains to solve the mystery that hung
over her last days.
Money and influence together soon put the
machinery of the law in motion; therefore it was
not a month after Mr. Chetwynd's arrival in
New Orleans, before everything was as clear as
day. The young widow was traced to Madame
Jozain's; there were many who remembered the
death and funeral. The physician's certificate
at the Board of Health bore the name of Dr.
Debrot, who was found, and interviewed during
one of his bright moments; he described the
young mother and child, and remembered even
the blue heron; and his testimony, sad though
it was, was still a comfort to Jane Chetwynd's
friends. She had died of the same fever that
killed her husband, and she had been carefully
nursed and decently buried.
A careful search was made for her personal
effects; but nothing was recovered except the
watch that Paichoux was fortunate enough to
secure. Mr. Chetwynd handed Paichoux a large
check in exchange for it, but the honest man
refused to take any more than he had paid
Raste Jozain in order to get possession of it.
However, the millionaire proved that he was
not ungrateful, nor lacking in appreciation,
when he presented Paichoux with a rich, plain
watch suitably inscribed, from the donor to a
most valued friend. And when the pretty Marie
was married, she received from the same jewelers
who had made the watch an exquisite silver tea-
service, which was the pride of her life, and
which was cherished not only for its value, but
because it was a gift from Lady Jane's grand-
Mr. Chetwynd made a number of visits to
Good Children Street in company with Mrs.
Lanier and Lady Jane. And there were a
great many long consultations held by Mam'-
selle Diane, the millionaire, and the banker's
wife, while Lady Jane played with her jolly
little friend the canary, among the branches of
the rose bush. During these conversations
there was a great deal of argument and anx-
ious urging on the part of the visitors, and a
great many excuses, and much self-depreciation
on the part of the gentle faded lady.



"I have been buried so long," she would
say pathetically, that the great world will ap-
pal and confuse me. I shall be like a blind
person suddenly made sensible of the light."
But you will soon become accustomed to
the light," urged Mrs. Lanier.
"And I might long for seclusion again; at
my age one cannot easily change one's habits."
"You shall have all
the seclusion you wish
for," said Mr. Chet-
wynd, kindly.
"Besides I amso old-
fashioned," murmured I
Mam'selle Diane,blush-
ing deeply.
"A quality which I ;
greatly admire," re-
turned Mr. Chetwynd, .
with a courtly bow.
"And think how f ^
Lady Jane loves you,"
said Mrs. Lanier, as if
to clinch the argument.
"Yes, my love for
her and hers for me
are the strongest points
in the situation," replied
Mam'selle Diane, -re-
flectively, "when I
think of her I can
hardly refuse to comply
with your wishes."
At that time it
seemed asif Lady Jane
acted the part of fairy
godmother to those
who had been her
friends in her days of
adversity, for each had -
only to express a wish /
and it was gratified. I
Pepsie's cottage in
the country was about
to become a reality. In one of the charming,
shady lanes of Carrollton they found just such
a bowery little spot as Pepsie wished for, with
a fine strip of land for a garden. One day Mr.
Chetwynd and Lady Jane went down to Good
Children Street and gave the deed of it to Ma-

demoiselle Madelon Modeste Ferri, which was
Pepsie's baptismal name although she had
never been called by it in all her life. The lit-
tle cripple was so astonished and delighted that
she could find no words of thanks; but, after a
few moments of very expressive silence, she ex-
claimed: "After all, my cards were right, for
they told me over and over that I should go to

C- 2__I (I Iir-=

live in the country; and now I 'm going, thanks
to Lady Jane "
When little Gex was asked what he most
wished for in the world, he hesitated for a long
time, and finally confessed that the desire of his
life was to go back to Paris.




"Well, you shall go, Mr. Gex," said Lady
Jane, confidently, "and I shall see you there,
for I 'm going to Paris with grandpapa soon."
It is needless to say that Gex went, and the
little shop in Good Children Street saw him no
more forever.
And Margaret, the good Margaret. What
could Lady Jane do for her ? Only the noble
woman and the destitute orphans could testify
to the generous aid that came yearly in the
shape of a check for a large amount from Lady
Jane for dear Mother Margaret's home.
"And Mam'selle Diane, dear Mam'selle, what
can I give her ?" asked Lady Jane, eagerly.
There is only one thing to do for her," said
Mrs. Lanier, and that is to take her with you.
Your grandpapa has begged her to take charge
of your education. Poor, lonely woman! she
loves you dearly, and, in spite of her reluctance
to leave her seclusion, I think she would go to
the world's end with you."
And it was so arranged that when Mr. Chet-
wynd and Lady Jane left New Orleans, Mam'-
selle Diane d'Hautreve went with them, and
the little house and tiny garden were left to
solitude, while the jolly canary was sent to
keep Tony company in the conservatory.

ALL this happened years ago, some ten or
twelve, more or less, and there&have been many
changes in that time.
In front of the iron railing where Lady Jane
clung on that cold Christmas Eve, peering into
the warmth and light of the Orphans' Home,
there is now a beautiful little park, with mag-
nolias, oaks, fragrant white jasmine, and pink
flowering crape myrtle. Flowers bloom there
luxuriantly, the birds sing merrily, and it is a
spot beloved of children. Their joyous laughter
mingles with the songs of birds and the busy
hum of little voices in the Orphans' Home a few
paces away.
In the center of that square, on a green
mound bordered with flowers, stands a marble
pedestal, and on that pedestal is a statue: it
is the figure of a woman seated, and holding a
little orphan to her heart. The woman has a

plain face, the thin hair is drawn back aus-
terely from the broad forehead, the eyes are
deep set, the features coarse, the mouth is wide.
She is no high-born dame of delicate mold,
but a woman of the people; her hands, caress-
ing the orphan at her side, are large and rough
with honest toil; but the face, and the whole
figure, is beautiful with purity and goodness. It
is Margaret, the orphans' friend, who though a
destitute orphan herself, by her own worth and
industry earned the wealth to found homes and
asylums, to feed and clothe the indigent, to
save the wretched and forsaken, and to merit
the title of Mother to the Motherless.
And there sits her marble image through
summer's heat and winter's cold, serene and
gentle, under the shadow of the home she
founded. It is a monument of honest, simple
virtue and charity, as well as an enduring testi-
mony to -the nobility of the women who erected
this statue in respectful recognition of true great-
ness, under the homely guise of honest toil.
If one of my young readers should happen
near this spot, just at the right moment, on
some fine evening in early spring, he or she
might perchance see an elegant carriage draw
up near the statue of Margaret, while its oc-
cupants, an elderly woman of gentle and dis-
tinguished appearance, and a beautiful young
girl, study the homely, serene face of the or-
phans' friend.
Presently the girl says reverently: Dear
Mother Margaret! She was a saint, if ever earth
knew one."
Yes, she was a noble woman, and she came
from the poor and lowly. All the titles and
wealth of earth could not ennoble her as did
her own saintly character."
The occupants of the carriage are Lady Jane
and Mam'selle Diane d'Hautreve.
The beautiful child is now a beautiful girl of
seventeen, her schooldays are over, and she has
not disappointed the expectations of her friends.
At home and abroad she is known not only as
the Chetwynd heiress, but also for her many ac-
complishments, as well as for beauty and char-
itableness. And her wonderful voice, which time
has enriched and strengthened, is a constant de-
light to those who hear it. And the good sis-
ters and grateful little orphans in Margaret's



Home count it a day long to be remembered
when Lady Jane sits down among them, and
sings the hymns she loved so well in those old
days when she herself was a homeless little
Mr. Chetwynd still likes to spend part of
the year abroad; but he has purchased a beau-
tiful winter home in the garden district of New
Orleans. The Laniers are neighbors, and Lady
Jane and Mam'selle Diane spend several months
every spring in its delightful seclusion.
And here Madelon comes to bring her de-

when the bright-faced little cripple, who seems
hardly a day older, spreads out her beautiful
needlework before Lady Jane, and expatiates
eloquently on the fine results she obtains from
the Paris patterns, and exquisite materials with
which she is constantly supplied. She is a natural
little artist with th'e needle, her dainty work sells
readily and profitably. "Just think! she says
with one of her bright smiles, I could buy a
piano now, if I wished to, and I think I shall,
so that you can play to me when you come."
During sunny afternoons, on a certain lawn


licious cakes, which she now sells to private cus-
tomers instead of from a stand on the Rue
Bourbon, and Tante Modeste often rattles up in
her milk-cart, a little older, a little stouter, but
with the same bright face; and on the same seat
where Lady Jane used to sit, is one of Marie's
little ones, instead of one of Modeste's. Only
think, my dear," she says proudly, "Tiburce
is graduated, and is studying law with Marie's
husband, who is rising fast in his profession."
But of all Lady Jane's good times, there is
none pleasanter than the hours she spends
with Pepsie in the pretty cottage at Carrollton,

in the garden district, there is nearly always
a merry party playing tennis; while a gentle-
faced woman sits near holding a book, which
she seldom reads, so interested is she in watch-
ing a golden-haired girl and a handsome young
man, who frequently interrupt their game to
enjoy the grave antics of a stately blue heron
stalking majestically about the lawn, or posing
picturesquely on one leg under a glossy palm.
But we must not approach the border-land
of romance. Lady Jane is no longer a child,
and Arthur Maynard is years older than the boy
who gave her the blue heron.




The quaint and interesting diary from which these extracts are taken was kept by a little girl only ten
years old, and of her own accord, as a record of her travels last year through Egypt, Italy, and
Greece. The selections here given are printed, word for word, as they were written.

T was Tuesday morning at nine o'clock when we started
from New York harbor and in the evening I was quite
sick and stayed in bed until Friday then I got up
and Saturday I was able to go to the meals in the
saloon. Fraulein is sick in bed yet and said a few
days ago that she was a miserable wretch.
Yesterday a man was sitting on the northern
deck and a wave came from the south and went
over the top of the deck and gave him such a
ducking that I think he will not forget it. A
few days ago Mamma and Papa were sitting on the
deck without having their chairs tied on and the ship
gave an awful rock and they went pretty near head
THE over heels. And another time all the gentlemen went on
TMAS A.ROF the southern deck and a big wave came and wet them very
much and wet Bradford so much that he had to change every
stitch. I have had quite a good many falls and once I cut my knee but not very much. Yes-
terday the ship rocked ten feet.
LONDON, Oct. 27th.
We are now in Morley's Hotel and right in front of our parler is the Trafalgar Square with
two very beautiful fountains and five Statues. We arrived here on Friday, Oct. 25th. Yester-
day we went out shopping with Miss W- to show us the stores and how much money to
pay for it. And we went to the Parliament Houses. In the first room there was a throne
but the Queen does not sit in it very often; then we went into the next room and we saw another
great big throne, where the Queen sits when all the lawyers come together. It is a very foggy
and rainy morning.
In church I could not understand a word, because the minister spoke so softly. There are
a good many children there: boys and girls. The girls wore very pretty white caps, black short-
sleeved dresses, white collars and long white aprons. I thought altogether they looked very
pretty. The boys were dressed in uniform. We saw the boys march in to their dinner and first
they all stood behind their benches and folded their hands and sang a little prayer and took
their seats. Mamma and Papa are going out to walk but I can not go, because it is so wet
and muddy. The name of the church where we went was "the Foundling Hospital."
The lights in London are very pretty in a dark night like to-night. We went by the
treasury and saw two horse-guards on coal black horses and red shirts brass and silver helmets and
a blue mantel to keep themselves from getting wet. When the church-bell rings it always rings
a tune, but it is so much out of tune that I can not make any thing out of it.
Oct. 28th.
To-day we went to St. Paul's church and the Tower of London. Fraulein and I borrowed a
peace of paper and a pencil from Papa and wrote down what we thought we could not remember.

First in St. Paul's we went up 24 steps, then we went up 122 steps into the Library where 12,000
volumes were. Then we went up another lot of stairs and came to the Whispering Gallery, and
Mamma, Fraulein, Bradford, Helen, and I went over to the other side and Papa and another man
stayed near the entrance. The man that stayed with Papa found out what Bradford's name was
and he asked him how old he was in a whisper and Bradford and all the rest of us heard him just as
clearly as if he was right next to us and Bradford answered that he was nine years old and then the
man replied he would be a man soon and lots of other things, which I did not understand. I
will have to stop now, because I must go to bed. Good-night everybody.
Oct. 29th.
We did not come to the Hotel yesterday for our Luncheon, but we ate it in the Throne Room
of Richard II. The room had a place, where the music players sat, when they played. To-
day we are going to the Zoo and Westminister Abbey, so I think I can write quite a good
deal. Here I am again at my journal, to write all I saw to-day. First we went to West-
minister to see it, but the minister began to preach, so we could not walk about to see
things. The next place was the Zoo, where we saw Lions, Tigers, Leopards, Monkeys, Cats,.
Parrots, and O so many other animals, so many I could not count them. We fed the elephants.
There was a monkey and her name was Sally and the keeper showed us her tricks. He gave her
an apple to come out of her house. Then he cut another apple into a little piece and a big
piece, and he said: "take the smallest piece, Sally," and she took the smallest piece and ate it.
Then he told her to take some soop and she took up the spoon and drank a little bit, then he took
it and fed her; then she took the cup and drank it all down. He told her take up three straws.
"Sally, there is one, now go on." And she counted three and gave it to him. Then he said
again: take up five, Sally," and she counted five straws, and gave it to her master. Take up one
straw and stick it through the key-hole," he said, and she did. Stick it through the loop-hole,
Sally," and she did. Now stick it through my button-hole," said he, and she did. Then we went
to the other monkey, who had his cage write next to Sally's. And when he saw that we were
coming to him he came down from the bars turned his back to us and sat down. Then he
sat around and put his hand through the bars and begged for some biscuits. We gave him some
but he would beg over and over again, until we went away. Then
we went. to the snakes of all kinds. And-the Alligators were
very big. We saw a turtle a foot and a half long and
about three-quarters of a foot wide.
GIBRALTAR, Nov. 8th.
The last day on the steamer" Merzipore"
coming from London was Guy Fawkesday, so
we had a very merry time; we had all kinds of
races, cock-fights and we had a potato race only
for the ladies and a flat race only for the childern.
There were seven childern on board, we made
it three more which is ten. I think Gibraltar
is a very pretty place. We went to the house
where the guards stay and got a guide. He took
us up a beautiful path with flowers blooming all
over the wall. Then we went up a big hill and came to
where the cannons are, and we went out and saw real live LEGGED RACE.
monkeys, not in a cage, but wild and cross, climbing all over
the trees and coming in through the cannon holes to get some water to drink. .
November 26th.
.. We went to Algeciras where we saw two very young bulls used for the Bull fight.. Nine
young horses and two pretty little poneys, seven dogs two aggravate the bull, a little wild hog and


two big white mice with little pink ones. In more cages were other white mice with little
bits of pink eyes ...
SUEZ, January 9, 1890.
When we came from Naples in the Orizaba we went through the Suez canal; there were
lots of little and big Arab boys begging for money and they ran along the sand-bank until we got to
Suez. Miss F--- a friend of mine only on the steamer lent
me some of her paints to sketch the sand-bank while we were
standing still. I made a sketch and put it in my Journal.
They have no ladie's saddles here so everybody has
to ride on gentle-mans saddles. Helen, Papa and I
went out riding yesterday and just as the donkey
boys heard that somebody wanted to have a ride
they all came rushing because they wanted to have
their donkeys taken so they could earn some
money. They all came around Papa and crowded
him so that he said he thought he was going
to be swallowed up. The Hostess came out
with a whip to drive them away but they did n't
care at all. The waiter went up to the top of the
house with a bucket full of cold water and pouredit down
LH LE on the donkeys and men both. At last Papa jumped on a
GIRLS ON THE o le e ue g
,MERZIPOTR. donkey and all three of us rode away. We saw quite a good
many camels some lying down
and some standing. To-day we went to church and when
we came home -we saw donkey-boys. They asked us
if we wanted a ride and we said no. They said do
you want to ride my Miss Mary Anderson. Then
another one said: ride my Good old Man. Those
names were funny names for donkeys I think and
I suppose you think so to.
CAIRO, Jan. 12, 189o.
We went through the principal streets. Just
before sunset we went to the mosque in the
Citadal. They would not let us go in without
great big flopping slippers which we wore all the
time walking around the mosque.
I bought a piece of alabaster for a cabin of
curiosities when I am at home. This is a beauti- THE
ful Hotel we are staying at. Everything is furnished NAMED "MISS
Wednesday, 15th.
Yesterday it rained very hard in the morning; but in the afternoon it just sprinkled. Papa,
Fraulein, Helen and myself went to the dentists. I had a double tooth pulled out, Helen had
a single tooth pulled and I do not know what Papa had done with his tooth neither do I know
what Fraulein had done with hers. We walked to the dentists and without a bit of exagger-
ation that the donkeys went up to their knees in water. The streets were all flooded with the
When we got there the servant washed our rubbers inside and out and so we could not put
them on. In Suez we saw a hole caravan lying down. I hope it is not going to rain
all the while we are here. Mamma and Papa are going up the Nile next Tuesday. I went




to the Arabic meusium with Mamma and Papa. There were some very pretty lamps and places
to put the Koran in.
January I7th.
Yesterday morning we went all of us to the Isl of Rhoda with our man who brings us around.
We went to the gardens, mosque and up some steps to see the view. We saw the two great
big pyramids. We are going to see the dancing howling
dervises this afternoon. The gardener gave us two man-
darins each, we eat them on the way back again to the
Hotel. We have seen a beautiful yet small mosque
all set in with beautiful stones and nearly every one
had a different pattern. Day before yesterday we
g- went to see the fair. We saw a dancing lady
dancing with little tin saucers two in each hand
and slapping them together. Papa gave her
some money and we went on. There were lots
of people dressed up and one man was all dressed
in bags had red paint on his cheeks and had a
sword in one hand. Then we saw an old man
with one eye out and a great big terban. I should
say it was half a foot'wide made of bags.
THE January 19th.
THE GREAT RAIN. To-day I am going to begin with the pyramids. We
took a large wagon and we went a beautiful road which led
there. We bought some eggs for lunch but we forgot to eat them because we had plenty
other things for all of us. When we got there Papa got a letter out of his pocket and read it to
the sheak. Then he stepped out of the carriage and gave him a decoration and on this decoration
was the head of Washington. Papa gave Mamma his kodak and while the sheak was listing with
great attention to him Mamma took his picture. The sheak was very good to us and he gave us
all two very nice Arabs and they too~kus inside the pyramid to the kings chamber and to the Queens.
It was awfully hot inside and I thought it very lucky that I had and all the rest had taken off our
cloaks. Then when we came out we went to have lunch.
We brought it out with us so we did not have the trouble
to by it on the way or go into the Mena Hotel a beau-
tiful Hotel that was near the pyramids. Then after
we had finished our lunch we got two other
Arabs to help us up to the top of the pyramids.
We got up the best way we could and took rests
when we were tired. When we got up to the top
our Arabs tried to sell us some old money but we
would not by them anyway I could not because
I had no money. We stayed up there and an
Arab asked Papa if he would like to see him
go down the pyramid we were on and up the other
in ten minutes. Papa asked how much he would
ask for it and he said 5 shillings or six. Papa said yes
and he went down one and up the other. He did it inI ON TE
minutes and nine moments. Then we went down again and THE PYRAMIDS.
the Arabs said always yump, yump. I could not understand
them at first but at last I did. Then we went to ride camels and see the sphinx. We
rode the camels to the sheak's house where we all sat cross-legged on a mat and the sheak


passed around tea. Our dragoman was offered some and he said "no I can not take it, give it
to the children." Then we said we did not drink tea. He said: Well if the gentleman will
give me permission to drink it I will. He drank it because papa
said he might. When we got through we took the camels
and rode to our carriage which was standing out in the
road. Then we said good-by to the sheak and we
drove away to our Hotel. Just think I climbed up
the pyramids at the age of' io. I hope I shall
remember it all my life.
January 2 st.
4 Yesterday we had a donkey-ride. We saw a man
dance and another do some tricks. My donkey's
name was Yanky-doodle. He would not run but
when we got near to the Hotel he ran and gal-
lopped like everything. This morning we saw the
new English soldiers come
past our Hotel. I
"WHILE have not very much
WAS LISTING to write because I
TION MAMMA TOOK HIS PICTURE." wrote yesterday morn-
ing. It was a beautiful day and we were going to
the Bulack museum, but Papa does not feel well.
He went to Mr. Stanley's banquet last night and I
think that is what made him ill.
We are going to pack to-day because we are going
to Mrs. H- 's for three weeks while Mumma
and Papa go up the Nile.
January 23rd.
Yesterday we went to the Geesa museum where
we saw so many, many "JUST
things which I am
., : going to write about MIDSAT THE AGE
S. now. When we went
....in the first room there were two statues in
'-' ;-' "the middle of it. There was one lady and one
S' man. Herr Brugsch Bay said they looked per-
fectly new when he found them and now they
have lost some of the color since they were
removed. There were many stones all put in
wooden cases with writings on them. I can not
describe every room and everything because there
were to many things. The second room was
larger than the first. There was a wooden man in
the middle with a railing around it. The feet were
new but everything else on the body was old and
,AN ARAB ASKED PAPA IF HE WOULD cracked. More rooms had old stones and stone kings. There
LIKE TO SEE HWE GO DOWU THE were great big kings and little ones all in the same room.
OTHER It TEN MINUTES." Mamma read the hyroglificks to us and told us storys about
them. I will.repeat one story Mamma told me. There was a big stone with oxen hiding behind
some bushes and the men who owned the cattle were hunting them in a little boat. One man



came to the others and said he saw them behind the bushes. He took them in the boat with
them and whipped very hard when they got on the land. Then we went to the next room where
was a mummy in a glass case. The under jaw was gone and so was the breast. Then we got
to very, very old mummy cases; some with the bottom broken out and some with the top broken
off. The next room consisted of big black statues and quite small sphinxes. Then we went
up some long stairs into a little room with a little table in it and some chairs around it. We
had two baskets of lunch with us, one for Mr. and Mrs. D- and one for us. When we had
finished we went up another pair of stairs where the mummies were. Herr Brugsch showed us
and told us about the mummies and where he found them. We saw a queen with a little-baby at
the foot of it. Some of them were still wrapped up in the linnen in which they were found. One
mummy was so old that his skin stuck to his bones. His neck was awfully long; I should
say it was nearly half a foot. Then we saw the meat which was found in a basket. There was
a calfs head, a leg of motten and different things. In another basket they found little blue stone
slaves because they thought he would come to life again and then all these little slaves would
work for him. I [have] nothing more to say or write about
the museum interesting but the jewels. There was a big and
long beautiful chain which a queen wore around her
neck when she was found. And a bracelet made oi -* '
gold and shaped into a snake. A little boat was -.- --
there with little lead images rowing. .

February 4, I89o.
Yesterday was the day we were going to the -
sham battle. We ordered a carriage and went to the
place where the battle was to be when the soldiers
said it was not going to be until to-morrow. Now
we could not go to-morrow because we have our
French lesson. We had put our lesson off until to-morrow\
and.-we -are going to make up for it Saturday. Next nmre W
a soldier comes I am going to ask him why they put it off unidl TOO THE"'" MEL
to-day. Well we were not going home without seeing anything AND RODE TO OUR CARRIAGES."
so we drove to the Obalisk and the Virgen tree. It looks very old but we don't believe that the
holy family ever rested in its shade because it could not be two thousand years old. The
Obalisk was just covered with bee-hives. There were pictures of ducks, snakes, knives and other
things carved in the stone.
(To be concluded.)



GooD-day to you, my friends and Valentines!
Skating, and coasting, and snowballing are in
danger, I am told, for there is a suspicious warmth
in the air, and all the icicles in my meadow are
shedding tears.
Ah, well! the course of true winter never did
run smooth outside of the Arctic regions, so we
may as well be content.
Meantime, we must improve the shining mo-
ments. February is a short month in this part of
the country; therefore, without further delay, let
us take up our first subject:
DEAR MR. JACK: My father read something
aloud to my little brother and myself last Saturday,
that interested us very much. It was from Dar-
win's "Voyage of the Beagle," and I thought, as
it was very short, I would copy it for you to show
to your happy crowd. Here it is:
We everywhere [near Maldonado, in Uruguay]
saw great numbers of partridges (Nothura major).
These birds do not go in coveys, nor do they conceal
themselves like the English kind. It appears a very
silly bird.
A man on horseback, by riding round and round in a
circle, or rather in a spire, so as to approach closer each
time, may knock on the head as many as he pleases. The
more common method is to catch them with a noose, or
little lazo, made of the stem of an ostrich's feather, fast-
ened to the end of a long stick. A boy on a quiet old
horse will frequently thus catch thirty or forty in a day.
You and the Little Schoolma'am will be sorry for
these partridges and so am I, but that does not
affect the fact that it means considerable fun for
the Maldonado boys.
DEAR JACK: Is this statement true? It was sent
to my mother, and the friend who sent it said he had cut
it from the Houston "Post," published in Texas.

"A shoemaker of Hubbard City is about to patent a
most useful invention. He calls it a patent garden
protector. It consists of two pieces of hard wood, each
about ten inches long, sharpened at one end andhaving
a hole bored in the other. These are to be tied to the
legs of chickens that infest gardens, with the sharp ends
of the sticks in such a position that they will drag
behind. Then when the chicken attempts to scratch,
the sharp ends of the pieces of wood will stick in the
ground and thus walk the chicken right out of the
garden in spite of itself."
Your little friend, HERBERT G.
Well, my boy. I've inquired of the Deacon,
and he says "it sounds plausible"; but my birds
titter over it very suspiciously. They tell me the
domestic hen is exceedingly cute, and if she should
find herself being walked out of a garden by any
patented trick of this sort, she would not stop
scratching, but would simply turn herself about
and be walked into it again. Authorities differ,
you see.
Now you shall hear a true story, which has been
written down on purpose for you by Tot's owner.
TOT came to me one morning with a puzzled and in-
quiring look in her large, beautiful brown eyes. What
would you do with him?" she seemed to say. "He
worries me more than all the others put together."
Tot was a small cream-colored Eskimo dog, and it
was one of her adopted children, a turtle, that was just
then causing her motherly heart so much anxiety. After
thus questioning me with her expressive eyes, a bright
idea seemed to strike her. She ran to her closet and
separated the troublesome turtle from the other members
of her rather singular family, pushing him with her nose
into a corner of the room. Then she brought some
pieces of muslin, and covered him over so that not a bit
of him could be seen. "There, now, I think he will
sleep and give me time to attend to my other children,"
was her apparent comment.
Tot was in the habit of adopting all the motherless
strays she came across. At the time of which I write,
we had two little ducks that had been left orphans. Tot
heard them complaining one day. It seemed to make
her very miserable. At last she could bear it no longer;
so downstairs she went, and, to my utter astonishment,
returned with one of the ducklings, safe and sound, in
her mouth, depositing it in the box with her three pup-
pies. In the course of the day she succeeded in bring-
ing the other little fellow upstairs and placing him with
his brother. The ducks seemed quite happy with their
adopted mother, and, when older, followed her every-
where, running after her, and screaming if she got too
far ahead of them. A singular thing it was that Tot and
her own children never injured these feathered found-
lings. But I am sorry to say that Tot never loved the
turtle, always covering up the ungainly little creature
whenever it ventured to put out its head or be sociable
with the rest of the family. Your friend, A. E.

I'VE heard the dear Little Schoolma'am give
wonderful accounts of beautiful things that she
finds upon the school-room windows, on cold
Monday mornings, when the big boy has belated
himself in lighting the school-house stove-but
they are tame compared with the scenes which your
friend Mabel Nichols views at home. Hear this
description which she has lately sent you:

FROM eve till dawn, the long night through,
Cold winter's elfin band
Such pictures drew
As never grew
Beneath the touch of human hand.
In dawn's dim light they faintly gleamed
On frozen panes, and glimpses seemed
To give of fairy-land.

The boughs of great old trees were bent
With silver sheen; and forth was sent
A frosty light from distant height,
Where glitt'ring spires appeared to sight,
And far-off castle walls.

Now here at hand, like a silver strand,
Hanging in mid-air fairily,
A drawbridge spanned the chasm grand,
Gleaming before us airily.

A stream flowed down the mountain's side,
And cast a silvery spray,
Then dashing on with leap and slide,
With graceful bound and easy glide,
It reached the boulders gray,
And in deep gorges swept away.

Now o'er the cold, gray landscape came
A wavering light, a pale rose tinge
That touched the leaves and mosses' fringe,
Then slowly grew to ruby flame
Setting the distant peaks aglow,
Melting from frozen heights their snow.

So fairy-land now fades away;
And we may watch in vain.
Our frost-made pictures melt from sight -
The drops roll down the pane.
LONG, long ago some men traveling in the low
countries of South America came upon a remark-
able dwelling.
Only a little one-story habitation, seven feet by
nine, left by its owner sweet and clean. A cot of
one room, just large enough to hold a whole
family of little ones, provided they did not need
too much room for running and jumping.
Such a beautifully decorated little dwell-
ing! None but a master in the art could
have fashioned the delicately orna-
mented roof reaching high above the
vines clinging about it-and
a roof warranted not to leak
during the hardest rain,
and sure to last for ages
and ages. There weretwo
entrances to this primitive C
mansion, one at the front
and one at the rear, not .-~...
very large to be sure, but '
large enough for one to
crawl 'through comfort-
ably, and these entrances A VERY C





scalloped and cut with a perfection not to be ex-
celled were always open, too, as if waiting for an
occupant. And all to be had rent free! Now was
not this a remarkable structure for our travelers
to find in the wilderness?
There were unmistakable proofs, too, of its
having been inhabited, and by savages, undoubt-
edly of a very ancient day. On examining the
dwelling and remnants of others (for the discover-
ers found only one perfect one), these wise men
decided it must have been at one time the bony
covering of some animal of the armadillo family.
Further research and study convinced them they
had found, not only a perfect armor of the Glyp-
todon, the gigantic armadillo of prehistoric times,
but, what was still more wonderful, that this armor,
abandoned by its original wearer, had become,
probably, the very first habitation of man.
The only perfect one of these dwellings, now
known to be in existence, is in the possession of
the French Government, and is kept in the Jardin
des Plantes, in Paris.
A number of casts or copies have been taken of
this ancient homestead, and one of these is to be
found in each of the larger museums in the United
SPEAK as you think, be what you are, pay
your debts."


JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT and the Little Schoolma'am
request us to give their thanks to May G. M., of Troy,
N. Y., and to D. B. McL. (who writes from Scotland),
for good letters on the difference between red and white
clovers. May's letter, they say, is excellent because it is
the record of close personal observation of nature, and
D. B.'s is admirable because it proves that when once
his attention is called to a subject he is just the boy to
study it up, and, on request, pass along the informa-
tion he gains. They thank, also, Helen T. G., a little girl
of Southern Dakota, who has sent them a very neatly
written account of John James Audubon..
Judging from the letters Jack has received, it is very
evident that the history of the great naturalist has lately
been read by hundreds of his congregation.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl, eleven years
old, and am always glad when the day brings you. I
like all of your stories. I have been so anxious to read
" Lady Jane," I have been going up town every day for.
nearly a week to see if you had come. To-day brought
you. It seemed real to us when we read of the kind
Margaret who took Lady Jane in, for my little brother
had a nurse that was an adopted daughter of Margaret's,
and she had told us so many things about Margaret,
how she was kind and good, and always ready to help
the poor and needy.
Your little friend, ALICE B.

DURING the winter season, whatever has to do with
charity or helpful giving has an especial claim. And as
the following letter from Mrs. Dodd embodies a prac-
tical and excellent plan for helping poor children, and
one which, in part, answers the question often asked by
children and young girls, "What can we do?" we
gladly show it to our readers.


GLEN RIDGE, Nov. 21, 1890.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS READERS: You have all been
so interested in the pictures of the busy "Brownies,"
that I am sure you will wish to join the real living little
"Brownies," who are working for their needy and suf-
fering brothers and sisters. If I but had the talent of Mr.
Palmer Cox, I would draw a picture of my little Brownies
carrying boxes and packages to homes of distress, to hos-
pitals, and to cases of need, wherever they might be; but
as it is, you will have to imagine such a one, with all
the little Brownies, representing yourselves and your
companions. This charity that I speak of exists now
among the grown people, but we have formed a children's
branch of this Guild, and call the children the Brownies'
Branch of the Needlework Guild of America." Each
little society, wherever it may be, is independent, with
the exception that a yearly report is to be sent once a year
to headquarters. There need not be any sewing circles,

unless you desire them. By simply giving two articles
of clothing for children, you become a member of the
Guild, during a whole year .This seems very little,
but, children, if you could only have been present at our
last meeting,when, to our surprise and delight, we opened
packages containing altogether two thousand garments,
you could have seen how much many can do by each giv-
ing a little. The two meetings are in October and January,
as then the distribution is more necessary than in the
warmer months. Each Guild is formed of President,
Vice-President, Secretary and Treasurer, Directors, and
Subscribers. The directors are those who collect from
ten other people outside of the Guild-workers, so that
when they hand in their yearly offering, their package
will contain two garments given by themselves, with
twenty others from their ten subscribers. It is of great
advantage to be a director, as you have a vote in giving
to any charity in which you may be interested. Any
little boy or girl who can talk may be a Brownie, and
even a director, as each child can surely get ten friends
to contribute two garments each. The very first little
Brownie who ever joined, and who is just eight years old,
has fifteen subscribers. It would be better for the very little
members to choose some older person for their president,
until they are old enough to do for themselves. The gar-
ments given must be new; we know ourselves how nice a
feeling it is, to have new clothes on; and while cast-off
clothing has made many a child warm and comfortable,
there is a little different feeling about being dressed in
new clothes; one feels as if one could act better. Do
not you all think so too ? I hope I shall have encouraging
words from all the places from which I see your letters
dated in the "Letter-box." Help me to form a band
of Brownies, all around the world, and remember that
each guild will add a link. Not only form one for your-
selves, but start them in other places. As it will be too
late for the January work this year, let it be February,
and then next year we may begin in good order. I shall
be most happy to answer any questions that the Brownies
may desire to ask, as this is a regularly organized guild,
and we shall have to abide byits rules. All Brownie cor-
respondence may be addressed to
Secretary of the Glen Ridge Branch, Glen Ridge,
New Jersey.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have just finished reading
your last number, and was so interested in Lady Jane."
I thought the little girls and boys might like to read a
letter from New Orleans.
I am a little boy nine years old, and have two sisters,
one eleven and the other eight. We have a Creole nurse
who lives on Good Children Street. When she first
came to us, four years ago, she could scarcely understand
English, and, although a grown woman, had never been in
the American portion of the city. You know Canal Street
divides the city into two parts. The French is below and
the English above.
Lady Jane's Mardi Gras was just as natural as could
be. I have often seen a crowd of boys scrambling for
nickels on the Banquette.. I like to read travels and
about fights.


In the October ST. NICHOLAS I read How a Single
Shot Won a Fight" over about five times. I think it
was a pretty good shot, don't you ?
I am just finishing Robinson Crusoe," but always
put down any book I am reading to exchange for the new
ST. NICHOLAS. From your little friend,

WE are indebted to Mr. Thornycroft, the well-known
builder of torpedo boats, for the following letter and the
spirited picture which accompanies it. This instantane-
ous view of a torpedo boat at full speed is a welcome
supplement to the article by Ensign J. M. Ellicott
in the November ST. NICHOLAS.

from all points of the world come here to visit the canon,
I thought your readers might like to hear what a boy of
eleven thinks of it.
We drove from our home in Cafion City to the top of the
Grand Canon in two hours and a half. The distance is
about twelve miles by carriage road, which goes to the
highest point. As we stood at the top, we could look
down, down, to the Arkansas river, which runs through
the cation; by its side is the railroad, and the cars passed
while we were looking over; they looked like little tin
cars in the toy-stores. The river looked like a silverthread.
By the side of the track were three tents; they looked
like ant-hills; the track-walkers stay in these tents when
theyrest from walking; they walk the track always before
every train is due, to see whether rocks are on the track;

f ~f cr
1, .1 w.

f~~.i i *44rr~~j
tr C '/ 4. .'
~~%,r 42, -


Nov. Io, i89o.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Some of the young members of
my family have called my attention to the interesting
article in your November number, entitled David and
Goliath in Naval Warfare." Will you allow me to make
a slight correction? It was the "Ariete," built for the
Spanish Government which, at the time it was built, was
the fastest vessel afloat. The "Coureur," built later for
the French navy did not attain quite so high a speed as
given in your magazine; it was a sister vessel to the
Ariete, but carried rather more load.
Will you accept the accompanying photograph of the
Ariete which I myself took from the deck of another tor-
pedo boat, when the Ariete was running at full speed ?
The American torpedo boat, the Cushing,"I ampleased
to say, is fitted with Thornycroft" boilers, designed by
my firm. Yours faithfully,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I went to the top of the Grand
Canon of the Arkansas last week. As so many people

if they find any, they flag the train, and it stops; men are
then sent at once to take the rocks from the track. These
rocks often fall; some of them are large enough to smash
the cars.
Mama was afraid to let me look down, for it was two
thousand feet to/the bottom, and about a quarter of a
mile across to the other side.
While we stood on the edge of the chasm, five ravens
flew across to the other side; it was so quiet up there
that we could hear the rustle of their wings.
We ate our lunch on a big rock at the top, and it tasted
very good, for we were hungry. At the base of the en-
trance of the Grand Canon, is marked on the rocks
"5280 feet," which is the height from the level of
the sea.
Then we climbed two thousand feet more, to the top,
so we were 7280 feet above sea level.
There is a mountain near Caion City called Monument
Mountain; some people call it Fr6mont. When at the
top of the cation, the top of Monument Mountain is level
with the eye.
I have taken ST. NICHOLAS three years.
Ever your friend, HELBERT B-- .


MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have never seen a letter
from Russia in the "Letter-Box," so I thought I would
write you one, and I hope you will print it.
I have eight sisters and three brothers. Two of my
brothers are in England, and the third one is at home,
but the others come home for the summer holidays, and
we have great fun !
We live on an island quite close to Lake Ladoga, and
we generally bathe there every day if it is fine weather.
Our island is called St. Catherine's Island; it is a mile
long, and Empress Catherine built a palace here; our
house is on the same foundation as the palace was, and we
have some of her old furniture. The distance from here
to St. Petersburg is sixty versts (nearly 40 miles). On
another island, and very far from us, at the mouth of the
Neva, is the fortress where Nihilists are kept.
Not long ago people were allowed to visit the fortress,
but now it is forbidden; but, this wiiter the governor
there has been ill, and the officer who took his place is a
friend of my father's, so he let us go and see it. We
did not see the prisoners' cells, but we saw a very nice
church. In the church there is a Bible which was given
by Peter the Great. The cover is gold, with some dia-
monds, rubies, and emeralds set in it. There is also a
picture supposed to be painted by St. Luke, and which
some Russians say works miracles. We were not al-
lowed to see anything else.
We have a very nice skating-ground, with fir-trees all
round it. We all skate every day. We have also an ice-
hill on the skating ground, and we go down on small
sledges or mats.
I like your stories, very much, and I think Little
Lord Fauntleroy is the prettiest story I have ever read.
Sincerely yours, MARGARET McC.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I can not resist giving you
a few suggestions as to the proper answer of the ques-
tion asked by your correspondent, Kate G. C., from
Fort Du Chesne, some time ago: "Can Indians be
civilized ? There are eighty-seven Indian boys in
this building, the "Wigwam,"-a dozen of them little
fellows, between twelve and fifteen, and just as full of
fun, nonsense, and boyish life as the brightest white
boys can be. What do you think some of them an-
nounced to me a few weeks ago? "A pair of little
wrens are building in our honeysuckle vine." Soon
every boy knew it. The house-raising was watched
with interest, the four blue eggs hailed with delight, and,
though many times a day the vines were parted, and
the mother and her brood watched by eager black eyes,
the little ones grew to the flying age so tame that when,
one early morning a few days ago, they left their nest,
the Indian boys played with them for a little while, and
then saw them fly away with happy father and mother to
the sheltering trees of the National Cemetery, near-by.
Can Indians be civilized?
Again: A tiny kitten, "the smallest thing, to live
alone," as our youngest boy says, was found down
the road, and brought to the sitting-room in the arms
of a great six-foot Indian boy. Its bed is in the
basement, but every morning it is found on the softest
pillow of my lounge, brought up by some gentle pair

of hands. Midget, as the kitten is called, has eighty-
seven devoted friends.
Can Indians be civilized?
The other day I was very busy. "I have ten
thousand things to do at once," I exclaimed. "How
I wish I could help you do some of them," was the
earnest reply of a boy who has been here but seven
While I am writing, two Indian boys, a Sioux, from
Dakota, and an Onondaga, from New York, are play-
ing a game of chess by my table. A little full-blood
Sioux boy, looking at the pictured bull-fights in a
" Harper's Weekly," says: "Je whiz What bad man,
to try kill cow and cow kill horse I no like it."
For three years I have been in daily contact with
these boys, and have met with, not only perfect courtesy,
but, better than that, perfect kindness and thoughtful-
ness toward me, and remarkable loyalty, harmony, and
friendliness among themselves.
There are fourteen tribes represented; no quarreling,
no bad feeling. What would "Kate C. G." say, I won-
der, could she see what I am watching? Four good-
looking, manly, Indian seniors, who are just graduated,
playing tennis remarkably well. A fifth Indian senior
is watching them-a clever, earnest fellow, who, as vale-
dictorian of his class, has just taken the highest honor
given by the school. If the Letter-Box printed illus-
trated letters, I would send you a picture of our H. I.
N."-Hampton Indian Nine--who play so good a
game of ball, in so honest, fair, and gentlemanly a way,
that they are sought by every neighboring club.
Can Indians be civilized?
Pardon me if my letter is too long. I hope, for the
sake of justice to the Indians, that it is interesting
enough to print. Very sincerely yours,

MANY of our young readers, and their elders too, for
that matter, will be glad to know that revised and en-
larged editions of two excellent and most entertaining
books for young folk have recently been issued by the
United States Book Company, New York: Histories
of My Pets," and Stories of My Childhood," by Grace

WE thank the young friends whose names follow, for
pleasant letters received from them: Louise W., Wil-
lie A. B.,Jr., Belle A., L. W. J., Isabella C., Mabel E.
W., Fanny T. and Rosa R. R., Milton D., Elsie M. R.,
Rhoda S., Nellie H., Ray B., Edythe P. G., Frances P.,
Lemuel A. DeB., Agnes R., Three Irish Girls," Edith
M. W., Maud R., Lutie M., B. F. and H. B., Harry W.,
W. B. G., Heine K., Keleka A., Mary S., Sophia G. M.,
Helen B., Isabel M. G., MarieW., Howard W. D., Mar-
garet K., Marion and Edith, Bertie J. C., R. D. S.,
Irene, Nellie and Blanche, Catharine and Sibyl, Millicent
W. D., Nellie U., Florence G. G., Leslie, Madge, Frank
0. 0. P., Florrie G., Tom C. G., Elsie G., Rachel B., Vir-
ginia E. V., Albert A., Elmer E. L., Alice G. R., G. B.
F., M. E. D., May M., Leila C., MaryN., Emily D.,
Margaret A., E. Lowber S., MayM., C. A. S., Mabel
and Edith P., Marie L. M., Lucy H. C., E. N. H. and
R. T. G., Anna M. G., Edna G., Nellie D., Willie K.,
Lola K., George, M. I. H., Hattie D., Rebecca B.,
" Coeur de Lion."


NOVEL ACROSTIC. New Year's Day. Cross-words: I. Nayword.
2. Evasion. 3. Wadding. 4. Yestern. 5. Earlier. 6. Analogy.
7. Rhenish. 8. Slyness. 9. Dowager. 1o. Acetate. ix. Yankees.
WORD-SQUARE. I. Raven. 2. Adore. 3. Votes. 4. Erect.
5. Nests.
OCTAGONS. I. i. Cab. 2. Tamar. 3. Caloric. 4. Amoroso.
5. Baronet. 6. Risen. Cot. II. i. Car. 2. Laver. 3. Cara-
van. 4. Avarice. 5. Revived. 6. Racer. 7. Ned.
CUBE. From I to 2, chateau; 2 to 4, umpires; i to 3, caldron;
3 to 4, nations; 5 to 6, evident; 6 to 8, tedious; 5 to 7, eastern;
7 to 8, notions; i to 5, cede; 2 to 6, unit; 4 to 8, sips; 3 to 7, noon.
WORD-BUILDING. A, at, tan, tarn, train, rating, tearing, Tangiers,
mastering, smattering.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Primals, Bayard; finals, Taylor. Cross-
words: x. Bonnet. 2. Armada. 3. Yearly. 4. Astral. 5. Rubigo.
6. Detour.

DIAMOND. I. T. 2. The. 3. Thumb. 4. Emu. 5. B.
REVERSALS. Maria Edgeworth. I. Tram. 2. Elba. 3. Liar.
4. Lodi. 5. Etna. 6. Live. 7. Rood. 8. Brag. 9. Sore. 0o. Flow.
ii. Ergo. 12. Leer. 13. Part. 14. Pooh.
ST. ANDREW'S CROSS OF DIAMONDS. 1. x. L. 2. Law. 3. Local.
4. Laconic. 5. Waned. 6. Lid. 7. C. II. X. C. 2. Tar. 3. Tires.
4. Caravan. 5. Revel. 6. Sal. 7. N. III. x. C. 2. Dar(k).
3. Danes. 4. Canteen. 5. Reeve. 6. See. 7. N. IV. x. C.
2. Mar. 3. Meros. 4. Cartoon. 5. Roost. 6. Sot. 7. N. V. I. N.
2. Eel. 3. Error. 4. Nervous. 5. Loose. 6. Rue. 7. S.
PENTAGON. I. C. Cad. 3. Caleb. 4. Calamus. 5. Demure.
6. Burse. 7. Seek.
NUMERICAL ENIGMA. "Of all sound of all bells -bells, the music
nighest bordering upon heaven-most solemn and touching is the
peal which rings out the old year." CHARLES LAMB.

To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and
should be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE NOVEMBER NUMBER were received, before November i5th, from Paul Reese- Clare Sydney
H.- Maud E. Palmer E. M. G.-" Sandyside "-Annette Dembitz -" The McG.'s "- Mama and Jamie-Edith Sewall-Alice Mil-
dredBlanke and Sister- Josephine Sherwood-" The Wise Five "-" Lehte "- Frank and Ned -"We Two "-" Infantry"-Jo and I -
John W. Frothingham, Jr.--W. L.--Helen C. McCleary-" Paganini and Liszt"-"Uncle Mung"-Ralph Rainsford- Hubert L.
Bingay-Ida C. Thallon -Reggie and Nellie-No Name-"Miss Flint"-Jessie and Miriam-"Charles Beaufort"-" Camp"-
Isabel, Pansy, and Arthur- Scotia.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE NOVEMBER NUMBER were received, before November i5th, from H. S. and E. A. Coffin, x- E. A. and
A. Jones, 2-Hyme, 6-H. M. C. and Co., 5- S. W. and Emma Walton, 3-R. Mount, i-"We Three," 5-- "Maud and Nell," 2-
Catherine Bell, I -Clara and Emma, 3- C. and Estelle Ions, 2 -Albert Walton, 5--Maud C. Maxwell, 6-Joyce Wharncliffe, 2 -
"Pye," 3--Effie K. Talboys, 6-"A Proud Pair," 8 -Arthur B. Lawrence, 3- Honora Swartz, 3- Alice C. Caldwell, 3- Robert A.
Stewart, 6 -" Blanche and Fred," 8 Alice Duryee, 4- M. Covington, i Franklin Carter, Jr., I Capo Ie Cane, 4 James Munro, I -
"Dog and Cat," 8-" May and 79," 6- Laura Kready, Bertha Snyder, and Maud Huebener, 6- Nellie M. Archer, x-"The Lan-
cer," 3-EdithD. White, I -" McGinty and Catnip," i- B. T., 2--A. B. C. D., i--Georgette, 3-A. and G. V., i- E. De Stael, r -
Alice B. Ross, i- Phyllis, i -"The Nutshell," 6-" Lucia and Co.," 8-"Benedick and Beatrice," 6- "Squire," 6- Pearl F.
Stevens, 7- F. D. 3 -" Toodles," 2 -Alex. Armstrong, Jr., 8 -Mina and Florence, 5 Elsa Behr, 3- Sissie Hunter, 2-- Mollie
V. Sayers, 8-" White Star," 8 Adrienne, 2 -" Mama and Elizabeth," 7.


ALL of the words described contain seven letters.
When rightly guessed and placed one below another, the
fourth row of letters will spell the name of a poet, the
first row of letters will spell the name of one of his
poems, and the last row of letters may all be found in
the word comprehension.
CROSS-WORDS : I. Emblems. 2. Burdensome.
3. Amendments. 4. Sliding boxes. 5. Manifests.
6. Great numbers. 7. Small singing birds. 8. Deri-
vations. DYCIE.

2 19
3 i8
4 17
5 i6
6 15
7 14
8 13
9 12
10 II

i. A LETTER from Wales; 2 to 19, a Roman weight;
from 3 to 18, a spring of mineral water; from 4 to 17,
the instrument by which a ship is steered; from 5 to 16,
empty; from 6 to 15, according to rule; from 7 to 14,
an extract of.lead; from 8 to 13, the act of drawing;

from 9 to 12, a band of musicians; from o1 to II, per-
taining to coins.
From I to Io, the surname of an eminent person who
was born in February; from II to 19, a name given to
the second day of February. G. F.
EACH of the following descriptions suggests the name
of a bird. Example: A vegetable and a winged animal.
Answer, peafowl.
I. An insect, and one of a base-ball nine. 2. To fight,
and a series. 3. A masculine nickname, and a preposi-
tion. 4. A share, and a steep elevation. 5. A farm-
building, and to imbibe. 6. To murder, and a graceful
animal. 7. A tract of lowland, and a jolly time. 8. A
state of equality, and to decay. 9. An instrument used
in partaking of food, and a masculine nickname. o1. Much
seen in winter, and what flags are made of. II. A stupid
fellow. 12. A lash, needy, and a masculine nickname.
13. A monarch, and a disciple of Izaac Walton. 14. A
musical instrument, and a winged animal. 15. A worth-
less dog, and the Christian name of the author of Ben
Hur." 16. Found on the seashore, and a musician.
17. A foreign country. 18. Used by artists, to support,
and an aquatic fowl. 19. A personal pronoun, and a pre-
position. 20. A tortoise, and the emblem of innocence.
21. Found in the barnyard, a letter, and a number. 22. A
coin, and a biped. 23. To drink, and part of an army.
I. A vowel. 2. A French pronoun. 3. To allow.
4. A time of fasting. 5. A small bay. 6. Tacit. 7. Small
singing-birds. 8. A watchman. ELDRED AND ALICE.


I. I. A wanderer. 2. A measure of weight. 3. Per-
taining to the voice. 4. To exalt. 5. To let anew.
II. 1. Natroi. 2. A feminine name. 3.- Aquatic
fowls closely. allied to the gulls.- 4. A French. word
meaning "listlessness." 5.. A substance .which exudes
from certain trees. E. H. LAWRENCE.
UA i 1A A P~- ;* 1 I 7 *

FROM 25 to I, the "Athens of America"; 25 to 3,
a Scandinavian town; 25 to 5, a gulf of the Indian Ocean;
25 to 7, an Atlantic Bay; 25 to 9, a large island; 25 to
SI, a city of South -America; 25 to 13, a city of Germany;
25 to 15, an Asiatic country: 25 to 17, a range of moun-
tains in Europe; 25 to i9, a city in Germaniy; 25 to 21,
a city in India; 25td -23,a city: in Maine; -3 to 5, acoun-
try in Africa; 7 to 9, the former name of city in Japan-;
I1 to 13, a town in: Ohio;, 15.to:17,-a lake in North
America;. 19 to 21, a town in France; 23 to I,.a city in
France; from 4 to 6, a famous volcano; from 8 to Io,
a town of Syria'; from 12 to 14, an ancient city famous
for its purple dye; from 16 to 18, one of the great divi-
sions of the globe; from 20 to 22, one of the United
States; from 24 to 2, one of the United' States.
R. P. M.
No eth dwin nii'rubyfare
Wons-kafels loaft-listl,
Falh clindehi ot nutr ot rian
Pigpinn, prindgip, clih.
Tenh bet swath slewl eht stamers,'
Dan lonslew sevirr wells het eas:
Fi eht trinew veer neds
Who tapelans ti Iwil eb.
EXAMPLE: Separate conferred, and make the first
quality and indebted. Answer, best-owed.
I. Separate harkens, and make catalogue, and entity.
2. Separate to exceed, and leave uncovered, and to strive.
3. Separate in mental apprehension, and leave an idea,
and a confederate. 4. Separate a pretty, red stone, and
leave a fish, and what it might be caught with. 5. Separ-
ate the order of plants to which mushrooms and toad-

stools Belong, and leave sport, and a masculine nickname.
6. Separate oriental, and leave a point of the compass,
and the osprey. 7..Separate a diminutive nobleman, and
leave a title of nobility, and a marine fish. 8.. Separate
a name:for the sea-cow, and'leave to gtieve,'and a prep-
psition. 9. .Separate disclosed, and:leave: to open, and
a masculine nickname.= 1o. Separate a thread used by
shoemakers, and -leave a substance produced by bees, and
termination. '
SWhen thie.above words are rightly guessed and placed
one.below the other, the initials of,the first row of words
will spell the surname of an American-poet who was born
in February; 'and the initials' of the second row, the title
of one of his most beautifulpoems. CYRIL DEANE.

I. UPPER SQUARE: I. Idle talk. 2. Anopening. 3. An
exclamation. 4. To try.
II. LEFT-HAND SQUARE: I. A narrow board. 2. A
Buddhist priest. 3. A masculine name. 4. Employment.
III. RIGHT-HAND SQUARE: I. To move fast. 2. A
flower. 3. A celebrated mountain in Greece. 4. An
East Indian tree, valuable for its timber.
IV. LOWER SQUARE: I. A famous German philoso-
pher. 2. The agqve. 3. A part of speech. 4. A pavilion.
C. B.
CROSS-WORDS: I. To fire. 2. The bassoon. 3. Per-
taining to the language of the ancient Norsemen.- 4. A
pole. 5. In. rodent. 6. A heavy stick or club. 7. A
short story intended to enforce some- useful precept.
8. Small flat pieces'of anything on'which to draw, paint,
'or engrave; 9. A mineral- named after 'Herder, its dis-
The central letters, reading downward, spell a word
'meaning estimable. : .. ",THE LANCER."
I AM composed of ninety-nine letters, and: form a four-
line verse.
My 46-90-25-99 is the author of "The Song of the
Shirt." My 3-60-82-18-33 is the name pf an English
poet, a friend of Southey, who died at the age of twenty-
one. My 42-14-93-8-51 is the author of "Lamia." My
73-48-38-66-29-79-22 is the nidie of the attendant fool
of King Arthur. My 27-71-88-63-5-96-40-85 is the
name of one of the knights of the Round Table. My
31-98-56-20 is a roaring sound; My 62-35-11-24-54-
13 are sounds. My 77-87-69-1-74 are passages. My
36-64-57-45-10-91 is an edge. My 95-58-89-15-80-7-
83-70 are advantages. My 9-52-34-50-32-68 is a con-
flict. My 6-39-19-41 is a quarter of an acre. My
2-84 is an exclamation. My 65-61-12-86-4is early. My
16-37-49-78-43-26 is a celebrated magician supposed to
have lived in Britain about 450 A. D. My 59-21-44-94-
28-17-97-67 is the author of the stanza on which this
enigma is founded, and my 23-72-55-47-92-30-53-75-
81-76 is one of his most famous poems.



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