• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Frontispiece
 The gates on grandfather's...
 The little foot-page
 The fortunes of Toby Trafford
 The merrythought
 The boy settlers
 A battle
 The astrologer's niece marries
 My autograph-book
 Elfie's visit to cloudland and...
 April
 Busy corners in the orient
 A great fight
 Charlie's shadows and their shadow...
 An Easter processional
 Jack-in-the-pulpit
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover
 Spine






Title: St. Nicholas
ALL VOLUMES CITATION PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00239
 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
regular
 Subjects
Subject: Children's literature -- Periodicals   ( lcsh )
Genre: periodical   ( marcgt )
 Notes
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: VID00239
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
    Frontispiece
        Frontispiece
    The gates on grandfather's farm
        Page 411
        Page 412
        Page 413
        Page 414
        Page 415
        Page 416
        Page 417
    The little foot-page
        Page 418
        Page 419
        Page 420
    The fortunes of Toby Trafford
        Page 421
        Page 422
        Page 423
        Page 424
        Page 425
        Page 426
        Page 427
        Page 428
        Page 429
        Page 430
    The merrythought
        Page 431
        Page 432
        Page 433
    The boy settlers
        Page 434
        Page 435
        Page 436
        Page 437
        Page 438
        Page 439
        Page 440
        Page 441
        Page 442
    A battle
        Page 443
    The astrologer's niece marries
        Page 444
        Page 445
        Page 446
        Page 447
        Page 448
        Page 449
        Page 450
        Page 451
    My autograph-book
        Page 452
        Page 453
        Page 454
        Page 455
        Page 456
        Page 457
        Page 458
        Page 459
        Page 460
        Page 461
        Page 462
        Page 463
    Elfie's visit to cloudland and the moon
        Page 464
        Page 465
        Page 466
        Page 467
        Page 468
        Page 469
    April
        Page 470
    Busy corners in the orient
        Page 471
        Page 472
        Page 473
        Page 474
        Page 475
    A great fight
        Page 476
        Page 477
    Charlie's shadows and their shadow house
        Page 478
        Page 479
        Page 480
    An Easter processional
        Page 481
    Jack-in-the-pulpit
        Page 482
        Page 483
    The letter-box
        Page 484
        Page 485
        Page 486
    The riddle-box
        Page 487
        Page 488
        Unnumbered ( 83 )
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
    Spine
        Spine
Full Text
























































PORTRAIT OF A CHILD. FROM A PAINTING BY ADRIAEN HANNEMAN.
IN THE ROYAL MUSEUM AT THE HAGUE.
(ENGRAVED FOR ST. NICHOLAS BY T. JOHNSON.)


- Zr


1







'-.-'1


ST. NICHOLAS.


VOL. XVIII.


APRIL,. -1891.


THE GATES ON GRANDFATHER'S

By: BY'MAR HALLOCK'FOOTE.


-LITTLE Eastern children, transplanted in their
babyhood to the far West, have to leave behind
the grand er and granthe rndthhers, and all
the dear old places associated with those best
friends of childhood. '
Of our Canon children, Jack was the only
one who could remember grandithler's house;
although Polly had romanced about it so much
that she thought she could remember. .Polly
was born there, but. as she was taken away onl\-
eighteen months afterward, it 's hardly likely
that she khew much about it. And Baby was
born in the Caion, and never in her life had
heard the words. grandpapa or gratdmgama
spoken in the second person.
For the sake of these younger ones, deprived
of-their natural right, to the possession of grand-
parents, the mother uied to tell everything she
could put into \\ordi, and that the children
could understand, about the old Eastern home
where her own childhood was spent, in entire
unconciouiness of any such fate as that which
is involved in the words, Gone West."
The catalogue of grandfather's gates always
pleased the children, because in the Cation there
were no gates but the great rock gate of the
Cation.itself, out of which the river ran shouting
and clapping its hands like a child out of a dark


room into the sunhlght; and into which the sun
took a last peep, at night, under the red curtain
of the sunset.
Grandfather's gates were old gates long before
Jack began to kick out the toes of his shoes
against them, or practised with thei'rwooden
latches and'latch-pins. Most of them hal been
patched and strengthened, in veak places, by
hands whose work in this world was done.
Each had'its own particular creak, like a famil-
iar voice, announcing, as far as it could be heard,
which gate it was that was opening; and, to
Jack's eyes, each one of the farm-gates had a
distinct and expressive countenance of its ow-n,
which he remembered as well as he did the
faces of the men who worked in the fields-
Two or three of them were stubborn obstacles
in his path, by reason of queer, unmanageable
latches that would n't shove, or weights' that
a small boy could n't lift, or a heavy trick of
yawing at the top and dragging at the bot-
tom, so that the only way to get through was
to squeeze through a wedge-shaped opening,
where you scraped the side of your. leg, and
generally managed to catch some part of your
clothing on a nail or on a splinter. Others fell
open gaily, on a downhill grade, but you had
to tug yourself crimson in order to heave them


Copyright, -89, by THE CENTURY Co. Allrights reserved.


No. 6.


FARM.






THE GATES ON GRANDFATHER'S FARM.


shut again. Very few of those heavy old
field-gates seemed to have been intended for
the convenience of boys. The boy on grand-
father's farm who opened a gate was expected
to shut it. If he neglected to do so he was
almost sure to hear a voice calling after him,
" Hey, there! Who left that gate open ?" So
that on the whole it was no saving of time to
slip through, besides being a strain on one's
reputation with the farm-hands.
Some of the gates were swinging and creaking
every day of the year; others were .silent for
whole months together; others, like the road-
gate, stood open always, and never creaked;
and nobody marked them, except that the chil-
dren found them good to swing upon, when the
grass was not too long.
The road-gate had once been quite a smart
one, with pickets and gray paint ? but it had
stood open so many years, with the grass of
summer after summer cumbering its long stride,
that no one ever thought of repainting it, any
more than they would of decorating the trunk
of the Norway spruce which stood nearest to
it, between it and the fountain that had ceased
to .play and had been filled up with earth and
converted into a flower-bed.
The road-gate being always open, it follows
that the garden-gate was always shut.t The
garden was divided from the dooryard by the
lane which went past the house to the carriage-
-house and stable. Visitors sometimes spoke of
the lane as the avenue," and of the dooryard
as the lawn "; but these.fine names were never
used by grandfather himself, nor by any of the
household, nor were they appropriate to the
character of the place. The dooryard grass
was left to grow rather long before it was cut,
like grandfather's beard before he would con-
sent to have it trimmed. Dandelions went to
seed and clover-heads reddened. Beautiful
things had time to grow up and blossom in
that rich, dooryard grass, before it was swept
down by the scythe and carried away in wheel-
barrow loads to be fed to the horses. It was
toward night, generally, that the men wheeled it
away, and the children used to follow load after
load to the stable, to enjoy the horses' enjoyment
of it. They always felt that the dooryard grass
belonged to them, and yielded it, at the cost of


many a joy, as their o% n personal contribution
to those good friends of theirs in the stable -
Nelly, and Duke, and Dan, and Nelly's colt
(which was generally a five-year-old before it
ceased to be called the colt ".
The garden-gate was a small one, of the same
rather smart pattern as the road-gate. The
grapevine which grew inside the fence and
over, and under, and through it had super-
added an arch of its tenderest, broadest, most
luminous leaves, which spanned the gate-posts,
uplifted against the blue sky, and'was so much
more beautiful toward the middle of summer
than any gate could be, that no one ever looked
at the little garden-gate at all, except to make
sure that it was shut.
It had a peculiar, lively click of the latch,
which somehow suggested all the pleasures of the
garden within. The remembrance of it recalls
the figure of John, the gardener, in his blue
denim blouse, with a bunch of radishes and
young lettuces in his clean, earthy hands. He
would take a few steps out of his way to the
fountain (it had not then been filled up), and
wash the tender roots, dip the leaves and shake
them, before presenting his offering in the
kitchen.
There was another figure that often came
and went when the garden-gate clicked; the
little mother, the children's grandmother, in her
morning gingham and white apron and garden-
-hat, and the gloves without fingers she wore
when she went to pick her roses. Sometimes
she wore no hat and the sun shone through her
muslin cap... It came to a point just above her
forehead, and was finished with a bunch of nar-
row ribbon, pale straw-color or lavender. Her
face in the open sunlight or under the shade of
her hat had the tender fairness of one of her
own faintly tinted tea-roses. Young girls and
children's faces may be likened to flowers, but
that fairness of the white soul shining through
does not belong to youth. The soul of a mother
is hardly in full bloom until her cheek begins to
sink a little, and grow soft with age.
The garden was laid out on an old-fashioned
plan, in three low terraces, each a single step
above the other. A long, straight walk divided
the middle terrace, extending from the gate to
the seat underneath the grape-vine and pear-


412


[APRIL,






THE GATES ON GRANDFATHER'S .FARM.


tree; and another, long, straight path crossed
the first one at right angles, from the blackberry
bushes at the top of the garden to the arbor-:
vita hedge at the bottom. The borders were
of box, or polyanth us, or primroses, and the beds
were filled \1ith a confusion of flowers of all
seasons, crowding the spaces between the rose-
bushes; so that there were literally layers of
flowers, the ones above half hiding, half sup-
porting the ones beneath, and all uniting to
praise the hand of the gardener that made them
grow. Some persons said the garden needed
systematizing that there was a waste of mate-
rial there. Others thought its charm lay in its
careless lavishness of beauty as if it took no
thought for what it was, or had, but gave with
both hands and never counted whatrwas left.
It.was certain you could pick armfuls, apron-
fuls, of flowers there, and never miss them from
the beds or the bushes where they grew.
The hedge ran along on top of the stone wall
which guarded the embankment to the road.
In June, when the sun lay hot on the whitening
dust, Jack used to lean with his arms deep in
the cool, green, springy mass of the hedge, his
chin barely above its close-shorn twigs, and
stare at the slow-moving tops of the tall chest-
nut-trees, across the meadow, and dream of
journeys, and of circuses passing, with band-
wagons, and piebald horses, and tramp of ele-
phants, and zebras with stiff manes. How
queer an elephant wpuld look walking past the
gate of Uncle Townsend's meadow!
When the first crop of organ-grinders began
to spread along the country roads, Jack, atilt
like a big robin in the hedge, would prick his
ear at the sound of a faint, whining sweetness,
far away at the next house but one. After a
silence he would hear it again in a louder strain,
at the very next house; another plodding silence,
and the joy had arrived. The organ-man had
actually perceived grandfather's house, far back
as it was behind the fir-trees, and had stopped
by the little gate at the foot of the brick walk.
Then Jack races out of the garden, slamming
the gate behind him, across the dooryard and
up the piazza steps, to beg a few pennies to en-
courage the man. He has already turned back
his blanket and adjusted his stick. Will grand-
mother please hurry ? It takes such a long


time to find only four pennies, and the music
has begun !
All the neighbors' children have followed the
man, and are congregated about him in the
road below. Looks are exchanged between
them and Jack, dangling his legs over the brink
of the wall, but no words are wasted.
Then come those moments of indecision as
to the best plan of bestowing the pennies. If
you give them too soon, the man may pack up
the rest of his tunes and go away; if you keep
them back too long, he may get discouraged
and go, anyhow. Jack concludes to give two
pennies' at the close of the first air, and make
the others apparent in his hands. But the
organ-man does not seem to be aware of the
other two pennies in reserve. His melancholy
eyes are fixed on the tops of the fir-trees that
swing in a circle above Jack's head, as he
sits on the wall. "Poor man," Jack thinks, "he
is disappointed to get only two pennies He
thinks, perhaps, I am keeping the. others for
the next man. How good of him to go on play-
ing all the same!" He plays all his tunes out to
the end. Down goes the blanket. Jack almost
drops the pennies in his haste to be in time.
The man stumps away down the road, and Jack
loiters up the long path to the house, dreamy
with the droning music, and flattered to the
soul by the man's thanks, and the way he took
off his hat when he said good-day. Nobody
need try to make Jack believe that an organ-
grinder can ever be a nuisance.
The road-gate, the garden-gkte, and the gate
at the foot of the path, were the only gates that
ever made any pretense to paint. The others
were of the color that wind and weather freely
bestow upon a good piece of old wood that has
never been planed.
Jack became acquainted with the farm-gates,
one by one, as his knowledge of the fields pro-
gressed. At first, for his short legs, it was along
journey to the barn. Here there was a gate
which he often climbed upon but never opened;
for within its protection the deep growl of the
old bull was often heard, or his reddish-black
head, lowering eye, and hunched shoulders were
seen emerging from the low, dark passage to
the sheds into the sunny cattle-yard. Even
though nothing were in sight more awful than


89g.]


413





THE GATES ON GRANDFATHER'S FARM.


a clucking hen, that doorway, always agape and
always dark as night, was a bad spot for a small
boy to pass, with the gate of retreat closed
behind him, and the gate of escape into the
comfortable, safe barn-yard not yet open.
The left-hand gate, on the upper side of the
barn, was the children's favorite of all the gates.
The barn was built against a hill, and the roof
on the upper side came down nearly to the
ground. The children used to go through the
left-hand gate, when, with one impulse, they
decided, "Let's go and slide on the roof!"


-IT -


THE GATE OF THE BARN-YARD.
This was their summer coasting. Soles of shoes
were soon polished, so that the sliders were
obliged to climb up the roof on hands and
knees. It was not good for stockings, and in
those days there were no "knee-protectors";
mothers' darning was the only invention for keep-
ing young knees inside of middle-aged stockings
that were expected to last out" the summer.
It was a blissful pastime, to swarm up the
roof and lie, with one's chin over the ridge-pole,


gazing down from that thrilling height upon the
familiar objects in the peaceful barn-yard. Then
to turn round carefully and get into position for
the glorious, downward rush over the gray, slip-
pery shingles! It could not have been any
better for the shingles than for the shoes and
stockings; but no one interfered. Perhaps grand-
father remembered a time when he, too, used to
slide on roofs, and scour the soles of his shoes,
and polish the knees of his stockings.
The upper gate had another, more lasting
attraction; it opened into the lane which
went up past the
barn into the or-
chards- the lovely,
side-hill orchards.
Grandfather's farm
was a side-hill farm,
altogether,facingthe
river, with its back
.- .. to the sunset. If
you sat down com-
fortably, adjusting
yourself to the slope
of the ground, the
afternoon shadows
stretched far before
you; you saw the
low blue mountains
across the river, and
the sails of sloops
tacking against the
breeze. One or-
chard led to an-
other, through gaps
in the stone fences,
and the shadow of
one tree met the
shadow of its neigh-
bor, across those
long, sun-pierced aisles. The trees bent this
way and that, and shifted their limbs under
the autumn's burden of fruit. The children
never thought of eating a whole apple, but
bit one and threw it away for another that
looked more tempting, and so on till their
palates were torpid with tasting. Then they
were swung up on top of the cold, slippery
loads, and jolted down the lane to that big,
upper door which opened into the loft where


414


[APRIL,


I C r -p~p~a

L~






THE GATES ON GRANDFATHER'S FARM.


the apple-bins were. Here the wagon stopped,
with a heavy creak. Some one picked up a
child and swung it in at the big" door; some
one else caught it and placed it safely on its feet
at one side; and then the men began a race,-
the one in the wagon bent upon filling a basket
with apples and ieai7ng it in at the door, faster
than the man inside could carry it to the bin
and empty it and return for the next.
These bins held the cider-apples. The ap-
ples for market were brought down in barrels
from the orchards, and then the wagon-load
of apples and children went through still an-
other gate, that led to another short lane, un-
der more apple-trees, to the fruit-house, where,
in the cool, dim cellar, that smelled of all deli-
ciousness, the fruit was sorted and boxed, or
barreled, for market. And in the late after-
noon, or after supper, if the children were' old
enough to stay up so late, they were allowed
to ride on the loads of fruit to the steamboat
landing.
It is needless to say that this gate, which led
to the fruit-cellar, was one Jack very early
learned to open. In fact it was so in the
habit of being opened that it had never ac-
quired the trick of obstinacy, and gave way at
the least pull.
When Jack was rather bigger, he was al-
lowed to cross the road with his cousin, a boy
of his own age, and open the gate into Uncle
Townsend's meadow. This piece of land had
been many years in his grandfather's possession,
but it was still called by the name of its earlier
owner. Names have such a persistent habit
of sticking in those long-settled communities,
where there is always some one who remembers
when staid old horses were colts, and gray-
haired men were boys, and when the land your
father was born on was part of his grandfather's
farm on the ridge.
A brook, which was also the waste-way from
the mill, ran across Uncle Townsend's meadow.
Sometimes it overflowed -into the grass and
made wet places, and in these spots the grass
was of a darker color,, and certain wild flowers
were finer than anywhere else; also certain
weeds, among others the.:purple, rank "skunk
cabbage," which the children admired without
wishing to gather.,


Water-cresses clung to the brookside; in
the damp places the largest, whitest blood-
root grew; under the brush along the fences,
and by the rocks, grew the blue-eyed hepat-
ica, coral-red columbine, and- anemones, both
pure white and those rare beauties with a pale


THE LANE.
pink flush. Dog-tooth violets, wild geraniums,
Solomon's seal, Jack-in-the-pulpit, came in due
season, and ferns of every pattern of leaf and
scroll. Later, when the wet places were dry,
came the tall fire-lilies, and brown-eyed Rud-
beckias, "ox-eyed daisies" the children called
them, together with all the delicate, flowering
grass-heads, and stately bulrushes, and patches
of pink and white clover,-and all over the
meadow there was a sleepy sound of bees, and
shadows with soft edges lost in deep waves of
grass.
Of course the brook did not stop at the
meadow. It went on, gurgling over the stones,
dark under the willows; but there were no
more gates. The brook left the home fields,
and took its own way across everybody's land,
to the river. That was along walk, which Jack
took only when he was much older.
Another journey, which he grew up to, by
degrees, was that one to the upper barn. How
many times over did he repeat his instructions
before he was allowed to set out: Go up the
hill, past the mill, until you come to the first


1891.]


415






THE GATES ON GRANDFATHER'S FARM.


turn to the left. Turn up that way and follow
the lane straight on "-but this was a figure of
speech, for no one could go straight on who
followed that lane -" till you come to the three
gates. Be sure to take the left-hand one of the
three. Then you are all right. That gate opens
into the lane that goes past the upper barn."
Near the upper barn were three sugar-


lowing spring, with broad foreheads, and curly
forelocks, and clear hazel eyes, and small
mouths just made for nibbling from the hand.
Often, of a keen April morning, when the
thawed places in the lane were covered with
clinking ice, the children used to trudge at their
father's side to see the lambs get their break-
fast of turnips, chopped in the dark cold


ACROSS THE FIELDS.


maples the only ones on the place which
yielded sap; and in one of the neighboring
fields there was a very great walnut-tree, second
in size only to the old chestnut-tree in the
burying ground, which was a hundred and fifty
years old, and bigger round the body than three
children clasping hands could span.
Those up-lying fields were rather far away for
daily rambles. Jack knew them less and so
cared less for them than for the home acres,
which were as familiar to him as the rooms of
grandfather's house.
But when grandfather's children were children,
the spring lambs wintered at the upper barn;
and beauteous creatures they were by the fol-


hay-scented barn, while the hungry creatures
bleated outside, and crowded against the door.
Half the poetry of the farm-life went into the
care of the sheep, and the anxieties connected
with them. They were a flock of Cotswolds,
carefully bred from imported stock. Their
heavy fleeces made them the most helpless of
creatures when driven hard, or worried by the
dogs; and every neighbor's dog was a possible
enemy.
On moonlight nights in spring, when watch-
dogs are restless, and vagabond dogs are keen
for mischief, the spirit of the chase would get
abroad. The bad characters would lead on the
dogs of uncertain principles, and now and then


416


[APRIL,





x89-.] THE GATES ON GR

one of unspotted reputation, and the evil work
would begin. When the household was asleep,
a knock would be heard upon the window, and
the voice of one hoarse with running would give
the alarm:
The dogs are after the sheep "
The big brother would get down his shot-
gun, and the father would hunt for the ointments,
the lantern, and the shears (for cutting the wool
away from bleeding wounds), and together they
hurried away-the avenger and the healer.
Next day, more than one of the neighbors' chil-
dren came weeping, to identify a missing favor-
ite. Sometimes the innocent suffered for being
found in company with the guilty. There were
hard feelings on both sides--even the owners
of dogs caught with the marks of guilt upon
them disputed the justice of a life for a life.
There is one more gate, and then we come to
the last one-the gate of the burying-ground.


A


.NDFATHER'S FARM. 417

That way the mothers went of an afternoon
with their sewing, or the last new magazine, or
the last new baby; or in the morning to bor-
row a cupful of yeast, or to return the last loan
of a bowlful of rice, or to gather ground-ivy (it
grew in Uncle Edward's yard, but not in grand-
father's) to make syrup for an old cough. That
way came the groups, of a winter evening, in
shawls and hoods, creaking over the snow,
with lantern-light and laughter, to a reading
circle, or to one of those family reunions which
took place whenever some relative from a dis-
tance was visiting in the neighborhood. Along
that path went those dear women in haste, to
offer their help in sudden, sharp emergencies:
and with slower steps, again, when all was
over, they went to sit with those in grief, or
to consult about the last services for the dead.
That was the way the young people took
on their walks in summer-the stalwart coun-


THE PATH OVER THE HILL.


A path went over the hill which divided
grandfather's house from that of his elder
brother, whose descendants continued to live
there after him. Uncle Edward's children were
somewhat older, and his grandchildren were
younger than grandfather's children; but, though
slightly mismatched as to ages, the two house-
holds were in great accord. The path crossed
the "line fence" by a little gate in the stone
wall, and this was the gate of family visiting.


try boys and their pretty city cousins in fresh
muslins, with light, high voices, pitched to the
roar of the street. That way went the nutting
parties in the fall, and the skating parties in
winter. All the boys and girls of both houses
grew up. opening and shutting that gate on
one errand or another, from the little white-
headed lad with the mail to the soldier cousin
coming across to say good-by.
Between the two neighboring homes was the


J.50






THE GATES ON GRANDFATHER'S FARM.


family burying-ground; so that all this pleasant
intercourse went on with the silent cognizance
and sympathy, as it were, of the forefathers who
trod the path no more. The burying-ground
was by far the best spot for a resting-place, on
either of the farms,-in a hollow of the hills,
with a stone fence all round, draped as if to
deaden sound, with heavy festoons of wood-
bine. Above the gray granite and white
marble tombstones, the locust-trees -rose, tall
and still. The beds of myrtle, underneath, were
matted into a continuous carpet of thick, shin-
ing leaves, which caught the sunlight, at broad
noon, with a peculiar pale glister-like moon-
light. The chestnut-tree stood a little apart,
with one great arm outstretched as if calling


attention, or asking for silence. Yet no child
ever hushed its laughter, as it passed the little
gate with the gray pickets, overhung by a
climbing rose, which opened into the burying-
ground; and when, in the autumn, the old
chestnut-tree dropped its nuts, the children
never hesitated to go in that way and gather
them because of the solemn neighborhood.
They had grown up in the presence of these
memorials of the beloved dead. But no one
ever opened that gate without at least a mo-
mentary thoughtfulness. No one ever slammed
it, in anger or in haste. And so it became a
dumb teacher of reverence a daily reminder
to be quiet, to be gentle, for the sake of those
at rest on the other side. of the wall.


THE little page, Ralph, lay under a tree,
Gazing up into the sky.
A very blithe little foot-page was he.;
His hair was yellow as it could be,
And blue was his sparkling eye.


TTW













By Xatherine S. Alcorrx i


His little round cap.was red as a rose;
.His doublet was bottle-green.
Silken and soft were his crimson hose; /
His queer little shoes turned up at the toes;
And his cloak had a velvet sheen.


[APRII,






THE LITTLE FOOT-PAGE.


He mused as he lay there: "My lord, the king,
I heard the herald proclaim,
Has lost the stone from his signet-ring;-
And whosoever the stone will bring,
Whatever his state, or name,


"Shall have, henceforth, at his command
'Jewels and raiment fine.
His name shall be honored in all the land;
His home, a palace superbly grand.
These splendors 'shall all be mine.

"The other foot-page is so dull, and so slow,-
Oh, Rodna's a dreadful dunce! -
He never will find the stone, I know;
Bless me! he does n't know where to go.
I '11 hie me away at once.

"I '11 go where the king sat yesternight
To hear the minstrel sing;
For the ground is strewn with violets white,
And he clapped his hands with all his might;
And there I shall find the ring.


"Then the herald will lead me awayby the hand,
And cry in his loudest voice:
Here is the brightest foot-page in the land!
His the treasure and palace grand!
In him doth the king rejoice.'


" My life will be joyous and free from care,
For of course I shall find the stone;
And far away in the future fair,
Perhaps I shall wed the Princess Claire,-
And even come to the throne."
So musing and planning, the page lay there,
Gazing up into the sky;
Building such wonderful castles in air,
They far exceeded the palace fair -
And the midday hour drew nigh.
Then gaily the little foot-page uprose,
And took his way to the town;
Skipping along on his queer little toes
And saying, Perhaps before night who
knows?-
In my palace I '11 lay me down."


W/,,


419





THE LITTLE FOOT-PAGE.


But alas, and alas, for the day-dreams bright!
Alas, for the palace fair!
As he entered the town, with a footstep light,
He beheld a most bewildering sight:
The beautiful Princess Claire

Was leading a little foot-page by the hand;
While the herald, with loudest voice,
Cried," Here is the brightest foot-page in the
land!
His is the treasure and palace grand!
In him doth the king rejoice.


"And the king, my master, doth bid me say
To each, and every one,
'Go clothe yourself in your best array,
For the finest feast will be given to-day,
That ever was under the sun.' "

Then the other foot-page went home alone,-
Sadder and wiser he,-
And donned his holiday dress with a groan.
For Rodna had sought, and found the
stone,
While Ralph lay under the tree.


-._, ?.


420











THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.

By J. T. TROWBRIDGE.


[Begun in the November number.]

CHAPTER XXI.
BOATS WANTED."

TOBY was like a bird escaped from its cage,
when he went home and told his mother and
sister how he had regained his freedom, and
found that they approved his conduct.
The story of the twenty-dollar note, which
sounds commonplace enough to us, drew from
the widow tears of joy and pride.
Oh, my son!" she said, "the growth in
manhood you will gain by such a high-minded,
upright course will be worth to you more than
any money can be. I have great happiness
in you, my dear, dear boy!" embracing him
affectionately.
Toby! said Mildred, laughing, but with
bright tears in her eyes, "you're a trump!"
Toby freed himself from the fond embrace
(boys of sixteen do not like demonstrative affec-
tion from even their own mothers), winked
hard, choked, laughed, and said:
Guess I '11 go and hoe those beans "
He had hardly ever been happier in his life
than when at work that forenoon in the garden;
or when, after dinner, he shouldered an ax and,;
with hammer and nails, and saw, went (as he
expressed it to Aleck) to tinker up his wharf.
This was a simple structure, consisting of
two or three planks supported by stakes, at the
foot of the short street leading down to the lake.
As the stakes were subject to the wrenching
force of the ice in winter, it was nearly always
necessary to right them, or drive new ones, the
following season.
He was working and whistling, with his feet
bare and his trousers-legs turned up, when Lick
Stevens sounded his bell, and leaped from his
bicycle to the beach, by Toby's side.
I thought I 'd come around and help you,"


he said, laying his wheel over on the slope of
the shore. How 's the water ? I have n't
been in it this summer. Have you?"
Well, rather! said Toby, with a humorous
smile.
"Oh, yes! I forgot. I meant, in a-swimming.
Let me help you straighten up that stake."
"All right," said Toby, "if you '11 press
against it with this bean-pole for a lever, while
I knock it with the ax-head."
He was rather surprised to see Lick take hold
as if he really meant to assist him. Benevolence
was not one of that young man's distinguishing
traits, and Toby strongly suspected him of
coming from some other motive.
It was n't long before Lick threw down the
bean-pole, and went to meet Bob Brunswick
who came lounging along the shore. They had
a little whispering and laughing talk together,
which Toby believed was about himself. He
paid no attention to it, however, and soon both
came to watch him. at his work, and now and
then to lend a hand.
In a short time Yellow Jacket and Butter
Ball appeared; and there \aas more whispering
and tittering between them and the first-comers.
They 've got some joke they 're keeping
from me," thought Toby; "but I won't let
them see that I mind it."
Rebuilding a wharf was so little like a com-
mon job of work, that even Yellow Jacket took
hold and helped. All were in the best of spirits,
as boys usually are when working together; gos-
siping and joking about the loss of the scow,
Tom and his twenty-dollar bank note, and espe-
cially about Tom's unblacked boots. There were
also private whisperings and winkings among the
rest, that puzzled Toby.
The sight of a boat coming across the water
seemed to excite this mysterious merriment to
a very high pitch. Evidently some extraor-
dinary joke was anticipated, and became more
421






THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.


and more certain of fulfilment, as the boat
approached. They would set to work and leave
off, explode with laughter and turn suddenly
sober, look at each other and at Toby and the
boat, in a way that finally wore out his patience.
"What is all the fun about ? he said, endeav-
oring not to betray his vexation. Gan't you
tell, and let me snicker like an idiot, too ? "
Lick Stevens, though the prime mover in the
mischief, had more self-control than the rest.
With mock gravity, but with a dancing light in
his eyes, he said something about the awkward
way in which the man rowed.
"He 's pulling straight here !" said Bob
Brunswick, with a nudge of his elbow in Butter
Ball's fat ribs.
"It's somebody from Three Springs," ob-
served Yellow Jacket. "I 've seen that boat.
It 's a good model, but it does n't begin to be so
good a model as mine. I tell ye, my boat-"
He stopped bragging to laugh. Indeed all
laughed again, except Toby, who declared that
he could n't, for the life of him, see anything
to be so silly about.
He returned to his work, and was nailing the
planks to the replaced stakes, when the boat
rounded to, with a plash of paddles, within a
few yards of the wharf.
Who is there over here that wants a boat ?"
asked the oarsman, addressing the boys.
This question produced an astonishing ef-
fect. LickStevens grinned maliciously. Yellow
Jacket choked, and rushed to capture a wasp
on some weeds by the bank. Bob Brunswick
stuffed his sleeve into his mouth, while Butter
Ball rolled over on the beach.
Nobody answered. Toby rose from his kneel-
ing posture, and stood on the edge of his wharf.
"Who is Tom Tazwell ? Is he a son of the
storekeeper ? asked the man, resting on his oars.
He seemed somewhat disgusted at the way his
first question had been received by the others,
and addressed himself to Toby. "Or Toby
Trafford ? Where can I find one or both of
them? "
"You find one of them here," replied Toby.
"I saw your notice posted at the Springs,"
said the man.
"My notice ? at the Springs? Toby echoed
wonderingly.


SYes," said the man; "' Boats wanted.' "
"Boats! exclaimed Toby.
"'Apply at once to Tom Tazwell or Toby
Trafford, at Lakesend,'" the man in the skiff
added. Is this Tazwell, or Trafford ? "
I am Trafford," said Toby, the blood rush-
ing hotly into his face.
He stooped and drove a nail into a plank,
where no nail was needed; bending and break-
ing it, and hammering it down, in a singularly
irrational and reckless manner. He would have
been glad if a few of the nails that grew on his
companions' fingers had been in its place.
He understood the situation perfectly, and
mastered his chagrin in a moment. Some of
his acquaintances had taken a foolish pleasure
in laughing at him, at every opportunity, for
burning up Mr. Brunswick's scow; and their
wit had evidently culminated in this sorry prac-
tical joke.
If such a notice had been posted as the man
described, he felt sure-that Lick Stevens had
had a hand in the mischief, and that he had told
the other boys about it. Determined that they
should not see he was annoyed, he rose up,
wiped his forehead, set his hat on one side, and
said :
"So you saw the notice ?"
"Yes," said the man; and as I have a boat
to sell, I thought I would row across and let
you look at it."
Yellow Jacket had by this time come back
with the wasp in his grimy fist. Butter Ball sat
up on the beach; Bob Brunswick was able to
take the sleeve out of his mouth; Aleck's smile
became a little uncertain, and all listened.
"What 's the matter with your boat that you
want to dispose-of it? Toby asked.
"Nothing whatever, only I am buying a
larger one, a sail-boat, and I don't care to keep
two. This one carries a sail," said the man,
rowing alongside the wharf, to show the place
for the mast; but it is built more particularly
for a rowboat."
"Why did n't you bring the sail with you, if
you have one ? Toby inquired.
"Because there is no wind, and the sail is a
little in the way when I row," replied the man.
"The sail, a. rudder, this pair of oars, and the
rowlocks, go with the boat."


422


[APRIL,






THE FORTUNES OF TOBV TRAFFORD.


For how much ?"
"Thirty dollars."
"That's too much for an old boat like that,"
said Toby, with a shrewd air of bargaining.
The man said the boat was only two years
old, and came do0 n presently three dollars in
his price.
"If you '11 say tw ent -five dollars, I can't say
certainly I shall wait to consult a friend first -
but I think," said Toby, I '11 come over and
look at your sail."
"'What I offer you." replied the owner, "cost
fifty-five dollars in cash, two years ago. But I
don't mind, if you'll let me hear from you in a
day or rtwo."
All right." said Toby, looking the boat care-
fully over; -- I 'li see you to-morrow or next day."
"That will do," said the man, rowing away.
" Good-day."
Good-afternoon." said Toby, lifting his old
straw hat and \waving it.
Then he turned to his companions. Itwas now
his turn to laugh, and theirs to appear puzzled.
Lignum-vit.,e Toby!" Lick exclaimed, with
a sardonic squint, I-did n't know you wanted
a boat, and I don't believe you do."
"I have a friend who wants one,' replied
Toby, keenly enjoying the outcome of the joke,
which a timely recollection of the schoolmaster
had enabled him to turn against those who
would have made him its-victim.

CHAPTER XXII.
"NOT A VERY GOOD DAY FOR BOATS, EITHER.'
"AND did you--was it you"-stammered
Bob Brunswick, in stupid astonishment, "that
posted all them notices ?"
"All them notices?" Toby repeated, with
contempt for the false syntax.
"There 's one on our ice-house," said Bob.
"And one in the post-office, Lick says," struck
in Butter Ball, while Lick scowled and tried to
hush him up.
"Why, who do you imagine took the trouble
to post them, if I did n't ?" said Toby, with a
smile, looking hard at Aleck. Come, boys!"
he added, good-naturedly, "now you're all
here, suppose you help me get my boat down
into the water."


To this they readily agreed, following him
to the barn, where four pairs of hands took hold
of the boat, to lift and haul and steady it on its
keel, under which were placed rollers cut from
a bean-pole.
These rollers Toby shifted as the boat passed
over them, carrying them forward as they were
left behind; in this way it was dragged out
of the barn, across the yard into the street,
and down the street to the lake, where it
was launched, stern foremost, almost without
stopping.
Well, boys!" said Toby, as he made fast
the painter to' a ring in the wharf, "that's
a good job. and I 'm much obliged to you.
I don't believe she goingg to leak a drop! I
must anchor a float out there, to cairy the stern
line to, and keep her from chafing."
"I jest haul mine up against the willer-tree,"
said Yellow Jacket, standing oi the wharf, with
his suspenders showing conspicuously crossed
on his yellow flannel shirt, "and let her chafe.
You 'e painted the 'Milly' up nice enough for
Sunday. But for an every-day boat, a boat for a
feller like me, give me the Bluebird'every time."
That vws the name of his crat. w which, accord-
ing to tradition, had been originally painted
blue, though it had been painted various colors
since, as they came handy, and been knocked
about, losing partsof the outer coats in spots,
until Toby had suggested that a- more -appro-
priate name for it would be the Ring-streaked-
and-speckled bird."
This is my boat," said Lick Stevens, stand-
ing beside his bicycle, which he was preparing
to push up the slope of the street. I 'd rather
have it than -Hallo! what does the doctor
want, .driving down here ?"
The boys recognized Dr. Patty's well-known
covered buggy, and Dr. Patty himself who,
pulling rein at the foot of the street, put his
head out of the hood to speak to Toby.
Is n't that your boat ? he said, looking at
the Milly.
"I call it mine," replied Toby.
I don't suppose it's my business to ask
what you want of more boats," said the doctor;
"but I saw that notice in the post-office -"
Oh! said Toby, keeping a steady counte-
nance, while his companions tittered sheepishly.






THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.


"And as I have a boat in my shed, which is
of no earthly use to anybody since Ned went
away, I 'd like to get rid of it."
Pretty well dried up, is n't it ?" said Toby,
not knowing what else to say to this surprising
offer.
"It 's dry enough to make a good fire, if
that 's what you 're securing more boats for,"
said the doctor, with quiet pleasantry.


or four days? Toby inquired, with a business-
like air that surprised the boys more and more.
"Certainly," said the doctor. I don't sup-
pose anybody else will be after it. Here, you
rascal!"
Which last remark was not addressed to the
boy, by any means, but to the doctor's horse,
as he was putting his head down to nip a bunch
of grass on the edge of the bank. The doctor


STOBY SHIFTED THE ROLLERS AS THE BOAT PASSED OVER THEM."


That 's what some foolish people seem to
think I want boats for," Toby replied, severely.
" But I 've got through making bonfires of that
sort this season; they're too expensive. What's
the price, Dr. Patty ? "
The doctor hesitated a moment. "I sha'n't
drive a hard bargain with you, Toby. Say ten
dollars. I suppose it will cost five more to paint
and putty it, and put it into repair."
Will you give me the refusal of it for three


pulled him up, turned the buggy, disappeared
within the hood, shook the reins, and drove
back up the street.
"Well, boys! what do you think of it, as far
as you 've got ? said Toby, cheerfully.
You must have a good many friends who
want boats," replied Lick Stevens.
I seem to have friends that want me to buy
up all the boats on the lake," said Toby. "I '11
do my best to please 'em. I '11 get up a corer


[APRIL,






THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.


in boats, likely as not! I wonder if here is n't.
another one!"
An old gentleman came tramping along the
shore, walking stiffly, with a stout cane.
Is it a quiz, or what ? he said, coming to a
halt before. the group of staring boys,-"that
notice in the post-office ? I went to Tazwell's
Tom to ask about it, and he was mad as a hat-
ter! He seemed to think I meant to insult
him."
"You won't insult me," said Toby, keeping
a sober countenance, though he was chuckling
inwardly. "What is it, Mr. Holden?".
"Why, that notice, of Boats wanted,' said
the lame man. Tom said it must be your
doings, or some rogue's that. was trying, to
fool both of you. But as. I 've got a boat-"
Toby's companions all laughed, and it was
more than he could do to keep from joining
with them.
"I did n't know you had a boat, Mr.
Holden," he said, struggling to compose his
features.
"It ain't mine," said the lame man; "it be-
longs to Mr. Aikin; who has boarded with me
for two summers."
S" Oh, I know him, and I know the skiff,"
said Toby.
"He has written me that he ain't coming
back, this summer, and he 'd like to let it to
somebody that will take-good care of it, and
pay a few dollars for it."
How many dollars ? said Toby. .
"He leaves that to me," replied the lame
man. "It 's a very good Whitehall boat. If
you want it, and will keep it in repair, there
won't be any trouble about terms."
"All right," cried Toby. Will you keep it for
me till I go around and look at it ?"
"Certainly," replied Mr. Holden,-" if it ain't
a quiz, as I said before."
"It 's no quiz at all, as far as I am con-
cerned," said Toby. "Where is the boat ?"
Turned bottom up behind my house, with
some boards over it."
"I '11 come over there very soon. That's
how many ? said Toby, as the old gentleman
limped away. One two three" (count-
ing on his fingers) -" and it does n't seem to be
a very good day for boats, either! Don't you
VOL. XVIII.-33.


think it would be a good plan, Lick, for you to
hop on your bicycle, and ride around and take
down those notices? They won't worry me at
all, if you leave them; but they may put some
worthy people to unnecessary trouble, as I have
all the boats engaged now that I can think of
any use for."
"I know what use you mean to put 'em
to," said Yellow Jacket, turning away with a
sour look.
Toby was on the point of retorting, Then
you know more than I do"; but he merely
laughed.
He was unwilling that his companions should
think him less completely a master of the situa-
tion than he appeared. And indeed, such an
answer would not have been altogether sincere.
The idea had in fact occurred to him, which
had been guessed by the wasp-catcher; although
Toby was. ot. yet ready to admit, even to him-
self, that he entertained it seriously.

CHAPTER XXIII.
YELLOW JACKET CHANGES HIS MIND.
TOBY felt eager to talk with Mr. Allerton about
it, since it was. to him he vas indebted'for the
original suggestion.
Now that Yellow Jacket had suffered the
opportunity to pass, why should not he, Toby
Trafford, keep a few boats to let, until he could
find some more desirable occupation? He did
not suspect that Yellow Jacket had begun to
think better of the slighted proposal, the mo-
ment he saw a chance of its being taken.up by
another; and that the thought of it had come
back buzzing about that tousled head, sting-
ing him worse than if it had been one of his
own hornets.
"It seemed just the thing for him," Toby
said to himself, after his companions were gone.
And why not for me Milly will laugh, I know,
and say it is beneath me. But I guess it is n't
worse than blacking Tom Tazwell's boots "
He would not venture to mention the plan to
his sister, nor even to his mother, before consult-
ing the schoolmaster. He accordingly put on
his coat, and was on his way to Mr. Allerton's
boarding-house, when he had the good fortune
to meet the schoolmaster on the street.


425






THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.


"I have something very particular to say to
you, if you have a little time to spare," said the
boy, with a shining countenance.
"I have plenty of time," his friend replied.
"It is vacation now; and we are at the longest
days in the year. Leisure is a luxury, to teachers
as well as to pupils, after long confinement in the
school-room; it is sweet, when it is well earned.
But what does Shakspere say?
'If all the year were playing holidays,
To sport would be as tedious as to work.'

You are having a vacation, too, it seems."
"Then you have heard the news," said Toby,
"about my leaving the store ? "
"The truth is," said Mr. Allerton, "I called
there this afternoon, to ask you a question con-
cerning a certain matter, when I was told,
rather gruffly, by your friend Tom, that you
were not there any more. On the whole, I
was n't much surprised nor very sorry to hear it."
I am glad to hear you say that," Toby ex-
claimed. Tom 's boots -and the twenty-
dollar bill -there's a long story about them.
But tell me first what was the question you
wished to ask?"
"Why," said the'schoolmaster, "about that
notice in the post-office. Did you have any-
thing to do with putting it up ?"
Toby chuckled hysterically, while trying to
shape his mouth for a reply.
I judged not," Mr. Allerton went on; and
when I saw some boys laughing over it, I con-
cluded it must be a stupid joke somebody had
attempted to. play at your expense.. What do
you know about it ?"
"That's one thing I wanted to tell you.
And the funny thing that has come of it! But
I can't talk of it here on the street," said Toby,
laughing at every word.
"Let's go down by the lake; that 's my
favorite walk," said Mr. Allerton.
"Suppose we go through Mr. Holden's place;
there 's something I want to show you," replied
Toby.
They entered a shady yard, and the boy,
knocking at a side door, asked for Mr. Holden,
who, however, was not at home.
I want to show this gentleman Mr. Aikin's
Whitehall boat," Toby said to the servant. And,


without more ado, he took his friend to the
north side of the house.
There they found the skiff, as Mr. Holden
had described it, turned bottom up, and pro-
tected from the weather by a covering of loose
boards set aslant against the gable. Some of
these boards Toby removed, while he told with
outbursts of glee how this boat and two others
had been offered to him that afternoon.
Mr. Allerton listened with lively interest and
entertainment. They examined the paint and
seams, which they found in a satisfactory con-
dition. And the schoolmaster said, patting the
little coil of hair under his hat:
"Now, all this means something. What do
you think it is, Toby ? "
S" It means, for one thing," said Toby, that if
you want to buy a boat, or merely to hire one
for the season, you can have one on almost
your own terms."
I am glad you thought of me, Toby." The
teacher stood with his arms. behind him, his blue
frock-coat jauntily buttoned, the pink in the
buttonhole fresh and fragrant, and looked at
the skiff contemplatively. But did you think
of anything else ? "
Yes," said Toby, I thought of what you
proposed to Yellow Jacket."
"Well?" said Mr. Allerton, regarding him
curiously.
"And I wondered whether," Toby stam-
mered a little,- since he declined it, whether
it would be a very bad thing for me ? "
Mr. Allerton clapped him on the shoulder.
"Toby, you 've hit it! "
Toby laughed excitedly.
Do you think so ? Is n't it absurd? What
will people say ? "
"No matter what they say. It is n't absurd
at all. I know, from talks I have had with peo-
ple, that there is a demand for just that sort of
thing. Here you are, out of business; and here
it is, raining boats, so to speak, most unex-
pectedly and most opportunely, just as you
happen to need them. I wonder it has n't
occurred to you before."
It has," said Toby. When you first men-
tioned it as something that might suit Yellow
Jacket, I thought for a moment you were going
to propose it to me."


426


[APRIL,






THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.


"You were in my mind all the time," Mr.
Allerton replied. But I was n't quite sure it
would strike you favorably. Then, of course, it
is n't anything you should look at as a perma-
nent business. It promises to be profitable for
only about three months in the year, during the
season of summer boarders, and I would n't
have advised you to give up any other employ-
ment to undertake it. Now put back the boards
and let 's go and look at Dr. Patty's boat."
On the way, -Toby told the sequel to the
story of the twenty-dollar note, to the master's
extreme gratification.
"It is what I believed you would do," he
said, and I am all the better pleased that you
should have done it without waiting to be ad-
vised by anybody."
You gave me something better than ad-
vice," Toby answered. You made me see so
clearly what it is always best not to do in such
cases, that the straightforward course seemed
the only one left. I feel that I have got the
full value of the money out of it; and now Tom
and his father are welcome to the paltry bank-
note."
He could laugh, and call it "paltry," and yet
the twenty dollars he must now work to earn,
to pay for the scow, appeared'to him anything
but a trifle.
"You will never regret it," said the school-
master. "And now you. won't be offended,
will you, if I say something that may seem like
taking a liberty ? If you need a little money to
pay Mr. Brunswick, or to secure the boats that
you have taken the refusal of, it will give me
pleasure to lend it to you."
"Oh, Mr. Allerton Toby exclaimed, with
an outburst of gratitude.
"I was ready to do as much for Yellow
Jacket, if I had seen him take hold of the thing
in earnest; and why should n't I do it for
you ? "
"Because I have done nothing to deserve
such kindness, and can do nothing to repay
it! murmured Toby, his eyes filling.
You will have opportunity enough to repay
it, if not to me, then to somebody who needs help
when you are able to lend it," said Mr. Allerton.
" Now, here 's another thing," he said, hastening
to change the-conversation, as a loaded omni-


bus rolled up to the railroad station, opposite
the end of the short street in which Toby lived.
"These people have just come back from the
Three Springs. A bus-load went over at two
o'clock. I noticed the same yesterday and the
day before. The company will soon have to
put on two or three busses."
It is growing to be a big business, all since
the railroad was built," said Toby.
"Now look here!" Mr. Allerton resumed.
"It is nearly two miles around to the Springs, by
the road. It is less than a mile across the lake.
How many of these excursionists, do you sup-
pose, would prefer a rowboat, or a sailboat, to
an omnibus, in fine weather ? Is n't here an
opportunity to pick up a little business, Toby ? "
"If one could only let them know there are
boats waiting for them!" said Toby, entering
eagerly into the scheme.
"We can manage that," said Mr. Allerton.
"Here is this fence, right in sight of passen-
gers as they come out of the station. Does n't
your friend Yellow Jacket live here ? "
"Yes; that is Mrs. Patterson, taking clothes
from the line," replied Toby.
"For a small consideration she will let you
put up a sign on her fence BOATS TO THREE
SPRINGS-with a hand pointing down your
street. And no doubt she or some of her fam-
ily will be glad to answer inquiries, and direct
people to the lake. Perhaps you can make
Yellow Jacket himself useful. There he is now,
coming out of the door! "
The wasp-catcher came and leaned over the
fence, and spoke to the schoolmaster.
Mr. Allerton," he said, resting on his elbows
in an uneasy attitude; and speaking with some
embarrassment, I 've been thinking that thing
over, you spoke to me about, and I rather guess
I '11 try it."
Toby was astounded. Mr. Allerton put his
hand up under his hat, and arranged his top-
knot.
Well, Patterson! he replied, this takes
me somewhat by surprise. I had quite given
you up. You declined it so very positively, you
know."
I 've had time to think it over," said Yellow
Jacket; and I 've changed my mind."
"I 'm a little afraid you are late in coming


427,






THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.


to a different decision," Mr. Allerton answered
reluctantly. "I '11 see what can be done, how-
ever. Now is n't this vexatious ? he said to
Toby as they walked on.
It is only since he has seen me getting the
boats, that he has changed his mind," said
Toby, with a disappointed look. Do you
think I ought to step out and leave him the
chance ?"
We '11 see about that," Mr. Allerton replied.
"Let 's go and look at Dr. Patty's boat, all the
same."
CHAPTER XXIV.
FOUR-LEAVED CLOVERS."
DR. PATTY was at home; he conducted his
visitors to the barn, threw open the doors, and
showed the boat, half-full of litter, and covered
with a thick coat of dust. He took out of it a
bucket, a milking-stool, a horse-collar, a rake,
two or three old brooms, and a pair of oars;
then raked out and swept out enough of the.
straw and the hayseed to exhibit, as he said,
"the anatomy of the animal."
The ribs are all sound," he remarked, and
it was a very good boat, when Ned had the
care of it. He thought everything of it, and I
used to enjoy an evening on the lake in it my-
self. But all that is over," he added with a
sigh. "I don't suppose Ned will ever use it
again; and I have n't the heart to."
Where is Ned? Mr. Allerton inquired.
Studying his profession abroad; walking
the hospitals of Paris, at the present time.
Ned is a good boy," the doctor went on, and
he writes to us every week. 'But he is an only
child-and--" the doctor faltered a little, we
miss him! "
"No doubt, no doubt!" said Mr. Allerton,
with kindly sympathy. "But if he is a good
boy-"
"Yes, I know how much we have to be
thankful for!" exclaimed the doctor. "So many
sons, possessing his advantages, with the hopes
and affections of their families, fling them all
away in their reckless pursuit of what they
call a good time! Yes, I am grateful for such
a boy as Ned."
Mr. Allerton gave Toby a significant touch
on the shoulder. It seemed to say, You are


a good son, too, and a blessing to your mother,
and I hope you always will be !"
It seems to be a pretty good boat; don't
you think so, Tobias ?" said the schoolmaster.
"And ten dollars appears to be a reasonable
price for it."
"You don't suppose I would want to make a
dollar out of Toby here ?-the son of one of
the best friends I ever had replied Dr. Patty.
"I would sooner give him the boat."
"I am sure you would," said Mr. Allerton.
"Now, what do you say to letting him take it,
give it a coat of paint, see what he can do with
it, and pay for it if he keeps it; or return it in
good condition, if a little, experiment he thinks
of trying does n't turn out to be a success ? "
"That will do; if he will agree not to burn
it up," said the doctor, with a pleasant twinkle.
It's my rule to pay for the boats I burn up,
if nobody else does," said Toby, smiling.
"How about Brunswick's boat?"
"I suppose that will take about twenty dollars
out of my pocket."
"That's too bad!" said Dr. Patty. Don't
the Tazwells pay something ?"
Not a cent," Toby replied, and explained
why.
The doctor was indignant. "Now, see here,
Toby!" he said, "don't give yourself the least
trouble to pay for this boat, whether you burn
it or not. Fact is, I believe nothing would please
Ned more than for me to make you a present
of it."
"Oh, I won't ask that!" said Toby. "If I
make anything out of it, I shall prefer to pay
for it."
Mr. Allerton explained what it was proposed
to do with it; and inquired the best way of
getting it into the water.
"Right under it here," said the doctor, "is
a kind of shoe, or drag, made of a couple of
planks, which Ned nailed together for that very
purpose." And he kicked away some litter.
"Why, yes; this will do," said the school-
master, "if we can hitch a horse to it."
"My horse has been hitched to it more than
once, and can be again, when you are ready to
take it."
I 'd like to take it now! said Toby, with a
bashful laugh.


428


[APRIL,






THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.


The doctor flung a fragment of harness on his To be called something besides "Yellow
horse, in an adjoining stall, and brought out a Jacket or Josh,"- to be addressed as Pat-


whiffletree and a rope;
the hitching up was
quickly done, and in
ten minutes the boat was
on its way to the lake.
Mr. Allerton walked be-
hind, and Toby on one
side, to steady it on the
drag, while the doctor
led his horse,- a small
procession, much stared
at as it passed through
the village.
Some of his late pupils
smiled to see the school-
master's white hand
grasping the dusty rail,
and streaks of cobwebs
embroidering the blue
frock coat. -But there
was one face that took
on a morose expression.
Yellow Jacket looks
bilious," said Toby, as
they turned down Water
street.
"I '11 cure him of
that," said Mr. Allerton.
"Nothing eases the
heartache like doing a
kindness .to the person
who has caused it.
Come, Patterson! he
called out cheerily, "will
you lend a hand ?"
Yellow Jacket, stand-
ing in his mother's yard,
sulked and scowled for


a moment; then set his lips with sudden resolu-
tion, walked to the fence, put his hands upon
it, and cleared it like an athlete, and with half
a dozen swift strides placed himself beside the
schoolmaster.
"This ain't no work for you," he said;
"you 're getting your clothes all over dust."
"That's nothing; it will brush off," Mr.
Allerton replied, giving way to the wasp-catcher.
"What a muscular arm you have, Patterson! "


-C-

-a-


YELLOW JACKET HELPS TOBY WITH HIS BOAT. (SEE NEXT PAGE.)


terson," in the respectful tone the schoolmaster
always employed,- was a novel sensation to
the village idler. At the lake-side he waved off
both the doctor and Mr. Allerton, who offered
to assist, and, lifting the boat by the stern,
swung it around, hauled it into the water by
main strength, and sent it afloat with so vigor-
ous a push that Toby very nearly went into
the lake with it.
Mr. Allerton dusted his clothes with his hand-


429





THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.


kerchief, removed a cobweb epaulet from his
shoulder, and remarked:
You are a young Hercules, Patterson! "
Yellow Jacket did n't know just what a Her-
cules was, young or old; but he was pleased
to understand that his strength was compli-
mented, and replied: "If you have any more
boats to launch, bring 'em on! "
Theresis one more, if the doctor will kindly
lend us his horse," said Mr. Allerton. I think
we might take that Whitehall boat, even if Mr.
Holden is not at home."
Dr. Patty was willing both to lend his horse,
and to go himself and guide him; and so a
third boat was soon afloat beside the other two.
The doctor's boat was by this time full of
water, and Toby proposed that it should be
hauled out again, to give him a chance to
wash it.
"That's a good idea," the doctor said, as he
led his horse away.
"The Whitehall will do to use, after you have
scoured it up a little," said Mr. Allerton. "Then
when you have your other boats in service, you
can paint it at your leisure. No, Tobias," he
went on, answering the question Toby had put
to him when they were on the way to the doc-
tor's; "I don't think it is your duty to withdraw
now, and give anybody else your chance. For
that is what he proposed to do for you, Patter-
son, as soon as you told us you had changed
your mind."
"It 's jest my luck! Yellow Jacket grum-
bled. "Luck is always against me."
"Is that so, Patterson? "
"Yes; I don't know why it is. I can find
more four-leaved clovers than any other feller
in town. That's a sign of good luck, you know,
so I always think my luck is coming, but
somehow it never does."
"Perhaps you spend too much time catching
wasps and hunting four-leaved clovers, instead
of doing with right good will those things that
command what.you call luck. That does n't
depend upon signs, but upon something in our-
selves. Fortune may seem a little capricious


sometimes, but, after all, it is character and
conduct that make the man."
It was a habit the schoolmaster had, to talk
to boys in this way, in or out of school; but he
generally had the good sense to make his ser-
mons short. He picked off a last bit of cobweb
from his sleeve, arranged the coil of hair under
his hat, and went on:
I fancy it will be as well for you in the end,
Patterson, if Tobias has the management of this
thing, now that he has taken hold of it. While
you were hesitating and holding back, he sailed
in, like the early bird that catches the worm."
"The worm came to him, without much sail-
ing in on his part," replied Yellow Jacket, his
tawny eyes lighting up with a gleam of triumph.
"I mean the boats. Was n't that luck ?"
"He made it luck, by being ready to take
advantage of it. But you remember, Patterson,
I said to you qnce, that the lack of boats, or of
a little money, need n't stand in your way if
you decided to take hold of the enterprise. Now,
Toby, we will say, holds the stroke-oar. But I
am persuaded there will be more business than
he can attend to; and when he needs help he
will gladly call on you."
"That I will! cried Toby.
"No, you won't do no such thing," replied
Yellow Jacket, his headlong negatives following
one another like sheep over a broken wall; for
I ain't going to pull no second-oar nor play no
second-fiddle to nobody! No, sirree!"
With which declaration of independence he
turned defiantly away.
"The Fourth of July is near, but I would n't
give utterance to such sentiments, even on that
proud day," said the schoolmaster, with a
serious meaning in his good-humored smile.
Wait a moment, Patterson. Let 's help Toby
haul the doctor's boat out of the water; then I
will walk up the street with you."
The young Hercules put forth his strength
again, and pulled the boat up on the gravelly
shore. Then he turned and walked moodily
away, accompanied by the schoolmaster who
was talking to him in a low tone.


(To be continued.)


430

























V ING COLIN and his gracious
Queen
S(A goodlier couple ne'er
was seen,
Devoted, young, and fair)
Were never known to disagree,
So perfect was the harmony
Between the loving pair.

But, as it
chanced,
one hap- I
less day,
While at the
royal table
they
Were din-
ing, well
content,
'The butler
placed be- I
fore the
King
A roasted fowl a luscious thing,
Of richness redolent.

King Colin smiled, as well he might;
He had an honest appetite
As honest monarchs ought,-
And to his wife said he, "What part
Do you prefer, my dearest heart? "
Said she, The Merrythought !"

In grieved surprise the King laid down
His knife and fork, and with a frown


Pushed back his plate of delf.
"You do forget," said he, I fear,
That is the very part, my dear,
I always take myself!"
" But you will surely not refuse
Your dear whatever she may choose "
The Queen rebuking cried.
Still mild, but firm, he shook his head,
" I must have that or none! he said;
And she the same replied.
Then, shocked this discord to behold,
Though on the board the fowl grew cold,
A reverend Priest they sought;
And while he listened, grave and mute,
Poured forth the tale of their dispute
About the Merrythought.





THE MERRYTHOUGHT.


With smile benign, Let this," said he,
"Henceforth your kindly contest be:
Which shall be first to yield !
Each vie with each in generous strife,
So shall you lead a peaceful life,
And all your woes be healed."


They thanked
the man of
robe and
cowl,
And, ordering
straight an-
other fowl,
Sat quickly
down once
more
With spirits light
and faces
gay
And hunger
sharpened
by delay;
And smiling,
as before,


"You '11 take the Merrythought, my dear! "
The King remarked, in accents clear.
But Nay! she cried, "not so !
That you shall eat, yourself, my love! "
" Indeed it shall be yours, my dove.
It was your choice you know !"

" But I would yield! "And so would I !"
Alas the wordy war ran high,
And sore was their dismay.
The Queen retired in tears and gloom;
The King, distracted, paced the room;
The fowl untasted lay.

It chanced that near the palace gate,
A Sage of reputation great
SHis lonely tower had placed;
And now, by fearful doubts appalled,
The King this man with joy recalled,
And sent for him in haste.

He came, he heard, he mused awhile,
Then spoke, with neither tear nor smile.
Upon his features grim:


"The truly wise lifts up no voice
Of clamorous will; he knows no choice,
All things are one to him.

"Nor good nor bad he owns, and hence
Preserves a wise indifference.
This do, and live serene "
Then on their royal knees they fell,
Their fervent gratitude to tell,
Their joyful tears between.


Once more a
smoking fowl
adorned
The board so
late in sorrow
scorned.
Down sat the
royal pair.
" Now," cried the
King, and
waved his
knife,
"What will you
have,mydear-
est life ?"
Said she, "I
do not care!"

His visage fell,-he looked perplexed.
" But really, now," he cried, half vexed,
This plan will never work!
I must cut something, don't you see ?
And if I suit nor you nor me,
But both the question shirk,-

" Why, by my crown, I think we '11 go
Till doomsday hungry, quibbling so
Come, quickly, love, decide! "
And still she sobbed, with tearful voice,
" I do not care,-I have no choice !"
And he the same replied.

Then rose the King, in fierce despair,
And ground his teeth, and tore his hair,
With rage and hunger mad.
The servants from his presence crept,
The butler hid his face and wept;
The Queen hysterics had.


[APRIL,


432






THE MERRYTHOUGHT.


6!


a; L~~


When things had reached this pretty state,
Loud slammed the outer palace-gate,
And with his cup-and-ball
The Fool, a man of merry ways,
The King's delight on holidays,
Came strolling down the hall.


"What, ho! "he cried, "What's happened now?
Frowns, Sire, upon your royal brow!
Her Majesty in tears !
The dinner waiting put to slight,
The servants gone!-why, such a sight
I have not seen for years! "

With sigh and groan, they told their tale,
Nor scorned their misery to bewail
With tears that fast did run-
To mourn their dinner unenjoyed,
Their sweet domestic bliss destroyed,
Their harmony undone.

But ere they had repeated half
Their woes, the Fool began to laugh
And shake his sides with glee.
He turned and twisted round about
Till all his little bells rang out,
And tinkled waggishly.

I 'm but a Fool," he cried, "'t is true,
Yet pardon, Sire if I were you,
This quarrel soon should cease!


As sure as I 'm my mother's son,
I'd have two fowls instead of one-
A Merrythought apiece!"

Forth from the
palace went
the Fool,
When softly fell
the twilight
cool,
His pockets
stuffed with
gold.
Within
his
tower,
the Sage, un-
moved,
Some deep, la-
borious prob-
lem proved,
The Priest his
Aves told.


I1-


433'





THE MERRYTHOUGHT.


And from the board, where, snugly yoked,
Two roasted fowls had lately smoked,
With savory richness fraught,


King Colin and his gracious Queen
Rose,--loving, satisfied, serene,-
And pulled a Merrythought!


THE BOY SETTLERS.


BY NOAH BROOKS.


[Begun in the November number.]
CHAPTER XII.
HOUSE-BUILDING.
THERE was a change in the program of
daily labor, when the corn was in the ground.
At odd times the settlers had gone over to the
wood-lot and had laid out their plans for the
future home on that claim. There was more
variety to be expected in house-building than in
planting, and the boys had looked forward with
impatience to the beginning of that part of their
enterprise. Logs for the house were cut from
the pines and firs of the hill beyond the river
bluff. From these, too, were to be riven, or
split, the "shakes" for the roof-covering and for
the odd work to be done about the premises.
Now, for the first time, the boys learned the
use of some of the strange tools that they had
brought with them. They had wondered over
the frow, an iron instrument about fourteen
inches long, for splitting logs. At right angles
with the blade, and fixed in an eye at one end,
was a handle of hardwood. A section of wood
was stood up endwise on a firm foundation of
some sort, and the thin end of the frow was ham-
mered down into the grain of the wood, making
a lengthwise split.
In the same way, the section of wood so riven
was split again and again until each split was
thin enough. The final result was called a


"shake." Shakes were used for shingles, and
even, when nailed on frames, for doors. Sawed
lumber was very dear; and, except the sashes
in the windows, every bit of the log-cabin
must be got out of the primitive forest.
The boys were proud of the ample supply
which their elders had brought with them; for
even the knowing Younkins, scrutinizing the
tools for wood-craft with a critical eye, remarked,
That 's a good outfit, for a party of green set-
tlers." Six stout wedges of chilled iron, and a
big maul to hammer them with, were to be used
for the splitting up of the big trees into smaller
sections. Wooden wedges met the wants of
many people in those primitive parts, at times,
and the man who had a good set of iron
wedges and a powerful maul was regarded with
envy.
"What are these clumsy rings for?" Oscar
had asked when he saw the maul-rings taken out
of the wagon on their arrival and unloading.
His uncle smiled and said, "You will find
out what these are for, my lad, when you under-
take to swing the maul. Did you never hear
of splitting rails ? Well, these are to split rails
and such things from the log. We chop off a
length of a tree, about eight inches thick, tak-
ing the toughest and densest wood we can find.
Trim off the bark from a bit of the trunk, which
must be twelve or fourteen inches long; drive
your rings on each end of the block to keep it


[APRIL,






THE BOY SETTLERS.


from splitting; fit a handle to one end, or into
one side of the block; and there you have your
maul."
Why, that's only a beetle, after all," cried
Sandy, who, sitting on a stump near by, had been
a deeply interested listener to his father's de-
scription of the maul.
Certainly, my son;
a maul is what people
in the Eastern States
would call a beetle; but
you askYounkins, some
day, if he has a beetle
over at his place. He,
I am sure, would never
use the name beetle."
Log-cabin building
was great fun to the
boys, although they did
not find it easy work.
There was a certain
novelty about the rais-
ing of the structure
that was to be a home,
and an interesting learn-
ing the use of rude
tools, that lasted until
the cabin was finished.
The maul and the
wedges, the frow and
the little maul intended
for it, and all the other
means and appliances
of the building were
all new and strange to
these bright iads.
First, the size of the
cabin, twelve feet wide
and twenty feet long,
was marked out on the
site on which it was
to rise, and four logs were laid to define the
foundation. These were the sills of the new
house. At each end of every log two notches
were cut, one on the under side and one on the
upper, to fit into similar notches cut in the log
below, and in that which was to be placed on top.
So each corer was formed by these interlacing
and overlapping ends. The logs were piled
up, one above another, just as children build


" cob-houses," from odds and ends of play-
things. Cabin-builders do not say that a cabin
is a certain number of feet high; they usually
say that it is ten logs high, or twelve logs high,
as the case may be. When the structure is as
high as the eaves are intended to be, the top


- g- ^^ ;,.-.
MAKING "SHAKES" WITH A FROW.
logs are bound together, from side to side, with
smaller logs fitted upon the upper logs of each
side and laid across as if they were to be the
supports of a floor for another story. Then
the gable-ends are built up of logs, shorter and
shorter as the peak of the gable is approached,
and kept in place by other small logs laid across,
endwise of the cabin, and locked into the end
of each log in the gable until all are in place.






THE BOY SETTLERS.


On these transverse logs, or rafters, the roof is
laid. Holes are cut or sawed through the logs
for the door and windows, and the house begins
to look habitable.
The settlers on the Republican Fork cut the
holes for doors and windows before they put on
the roof, and when the layer of split shakes
that made the roof was in place, and the boys
bounded inside to see how things looked, they
were greatly amused to notice how light it was.
The space between the logs was almost wide
enough to crawl through, Oscar said. But they
had studied log-cabin building enough to know
that these wide cracks were to be chinked"
with thin strips of wood, the refuse of shakes,
driven in tightly, and then'daubed over with
clay, a fine bed of which was fortunately near
at hand. The provident Ydunkins had laid
away in his own cabin the sashes and glass
for two small windows; and these he had
agreed to sell to the new-comers. Partly-hewn
logs for floor-joists were placed upon the
ground inside the cabin, previously leveled off
foi the purpose. On these were laid thick slabs
of oak and hickory, riven out of logs drawn
from the grove near by. These slabs of hard
wood were "puncheons," and fortunate as was
the man who could have a floor of sawed lum-
ber to his cabin, he who was obliged to use
puncheons was better off than those with whom
timber was so scarce that the natural surface
of the ground was their only floor.
My! how it rattles," was Sandy's remark
when he had first taken a few steps on the new
puncheon floor of their cabin. It sounds
like a tread-mill going its rounds. Can't you
nail these down, Daddy ? "
His father explained that the unseasoned
lumber of the puncheons would so shrink in
the drying that no fastening could hold them.
They must lie loosely on the floor-joists until
they were thoroughly seasoned; then they
might be fastened down with wooden pins
driven through holes bored for that purpose;
nails and spikes cost too much to be wasted
on a puncheon floor. In fact, very little hard-
ware was wasted on any part of that cabin.
Even the door was made by fastening with
wooden pegs a number of short pieces of
shakes to a frame fitted to the doorway cut


in the side of the cabin. The hinges were
strong bits of leather, the soles of the boots
whose legs had been used for corn-droppers.
The clumsy wooden latch was hung inside to a
wooden pin driven into one of the crosspieces
of the door, and it played in a loop of deerskin
at the other end. A string of deerskin fas-
tened to the end of the latch-bar nearest the
jamb of the doorway was passed outside
through a hole cut in the door,, serving to lift
the latch from without when a visitor would
enter.
"Our latch-string hangs out! exclaimed
Charlie, triumphantly, when this piece of work
was done. "I must say I never knew before
what it meant to have the 'latch-string hanging
out' for all comers. See, Oscar, when we shut
up the house for the night all we have to do
is to pull in the latch-string and the door is
barred."
"Likewise, when you have dropped your
jack-knife through a crack in the floor into the
cellar beneath, all- you. have to do is to turn
over a puncheon or two and get down and find
it," said Sandy, coolly, as he took up a slab or
two and hunted for his knife. The boys soon
found that although their home was rude and
not very elegant as to its furniture, it had many
conveniences that more elaborate and hand-
somer houses did not have. There were no
floors to wash, hardly to sweep. As their sur-
roundings were simple, their wants were few.
It was a free and easy life that they were grad-
ually drifting into, here in the wilderness.
Charlie declared that the cabin ought to have .
a name. As yet, the land on which they had
settled had no name except that of the river by
which it lay. The boys thought it would give
some sort of distinction to their home if they
gave it a title. Liberty Hall," they thought,
would be a good name. to put on the roof of
their log-cabin. Something out of Cooper's
novels, Oscar proposed, would be the best for
the locality.
"' Hog-and-hominy,' how would that suit ?"
asked Sandy, with a laugh. "Unless we get
some buffalo or antelope meat pretty soon,
it will be hog and hominy to the end of the
chapter."
"Why not call it the John G. Whittier


436


[APRIL,






THE BOY SETTLERS.


cabin?" said Uncle Aleck, looking up from
his work of shaping an ox-yoke.
"The very thing, Daddy!" shouted Sandy,
clapping his hands. Only don't you think
that 's a very long name to say in a hurry?
Whittier would be shorter, you know. But,
then," he added, doubtfully, "it is n't every-
body that would know which Whittier was
meant by that, would they ? "
"Sandy seems to think that the entire pop-
ulation of Kansas will be coming here, some
day, to read that name, if we ever have it. We
have been here two months now and no living
soul but ourselves and Younkins has ever been
in these diggings, not one. Oh, I say, let 's
put up just nothing but Whittier' over the
door there. We 'll know what that means,
and if anybody comes in the course of time,
I '11 warrant he '11 soon find out which Whittier
it means." This was Oscar's view of the case.
"Good for you, Oscar!" said his uncle.
"Whittier let it be."
Before sundown, that day, a straight-grained
shake of pine, free from knot or blemish, had
been well smoothed down with the draw-shave,
and on its fair surface, writ large, was the
beloved name of the New England poet,
thus: WHITTIER.
This was fastened securely over the entrance
of the new log-cabin, and the Boy Settlers,
satisfied with their work, stood off at a little
distance and gave it three cheers. The new
home was named.

CHAPTER XIII.
LOST!

"WE must have some board-nails and some
lead," remarked Uncle Aleck, one fine morn-
ing, as the party were putting the finishing
touches to the Whittier cabin. Who will go
down to the Post and get them ?"
"I," "I," I," shouted all three of the
boys at once.
Oh, you will all go, will you? said he,
with a smile. Well, you can't all go, for we
can borrow only one horse, and it's ten miles
down there and ten miles back; and you will
none of you care to walk, I am very sure."
The boys looked at each other and laughed.


Who should be the lucky one to take that
delightful horseback ride down to the Post, as
Fort Riley was called, and get a glimpse of
civilization ?
"I '11 tell you what we '11 do," said Sandy,
after some good-natured, discussion. "Let 's
draw cuts to see who shall go. Here they are.
You draw first, Charlie, you being the eldest
man. Now, then, Oscar. Why, hooray! it-'s
my cut! I 've drawn the longest, and so I am
to go. Oh, it was a fair and square deal, Daddy,"
he added, seeing his father look sharply at him.
.The matter was settled, and next morning,
bright and early, Sandy was fitted out with
his commissions and the money to buy them
with. Younkins had agreed to let him have
his horse, saddle, and bridle. Work on the farm
was now practically over until time for harvest-
ing was come. So the other two boys accom-
panied Sandy over to the Younkins side of the
river and saw him safely off'down the river road
leading to the Post. A meal-sack in which to
bring back his few purchases was snugly rolled
up and tied to the crupper of his saddle, and
feeling in his pocket for the hundredth time to
make sure of the ten-dollar gold piece therein
bestowed, Sandy trotted gaily down the road.
The two other boys gazed enviously after him,
and then went home, wondering as they strolled
along, how long Sandy would be away. He
would be back by- dark at the latest, for the
days were now at about their longest, and the
long summer day was just begun.
At Younkins's cabin they met Hiram Battles,
a neighbor who lived beyond the divide to the
eastward, and who had just ridden over in search
of some of his cattle that had strayed away,
during the night before. Mr. Battles said he
was "powerful worriedd" Indians had been
seen prowling around on his side of the divide;
but he had seen no signs of a camp, and he had
traced the tracks of his cattle, three head in all,
over this way as far as Lone Tree Creek, a small
stream just this side of the divide; but there he
had unaccountably lost all trace of them.
"Well, as for the Indians," said Charlie,
modestly, "we have seen them passing out on
the trail. But they were going hunting, and they
kept right on to the southward and westward;
and we have not seen them go back since."


- 437






THE BOY SETTLERS.


The lad 's right," said Younkins, slowly,
"but still I don't like the stories I hear down
the road a piece. They do say that the Shians
have riz."
"The Cheyennes have risen! exclaimed
Charlie. "And we have let Sandy go down to
the Post alone!"
Both of the men laughed -a little unpleas-
antly, it seemed to the boys, although Younkins
was the soul of amiability and mildness. But
Charlie thought it was unkind in them to laugh
at his very natural apprehensions; and he said
as much, as he and Oscar, with their clothes
on their heads, waded the Republican Fork
on the way home.
"Well, Charlie," was Oscar's comforting re-
mark, as they scrambled up the opposite bank,
I guess the reason why they laughed at us
was that if the Cheyennes have gone on the war-
path, the danger is out in the west; whereas,
Sandy has, gone eastward to-day, and that is
right in the way of safety, is n't it ? He 's gone
to the Post; and you know that the people
down at Soldier Creek told us that this was a
good place to settle, because the Post would be
our protection in case of an Indian rising."
Meanwhile, Sandy was peacefully and bliss-
fully jogging along in the direction of the
military post. Only one house stood between
Younkins's and the fort; and that was Mullett's.
They all had occasion to think pleasantly of
Mullett's; for whenever an opportunity came
for the mail to be forwarded from the fort up to
Mullett's, it was sent there; then Sparkins, who
was the next neighbor above, but who lived off
the road a way, would go down to Mullett's and
bring -the mail up to his cabin; when he did
this, he left a red flannel flag flying on the roof
of his house, and Younkins, if passing along
the trail, saw the signal and went out of his
way a little to take the mail up to his cabin.
Somehow, word was sent across the river to
the Whittier boys, as the good Younkins soon
learned to call the Boy Settlers, and they went
gladly over to Younkins's and got the precious
letters and papers from home. That was the
primitive way in which the mail for the settlers-
on the Republican Fork went up the road from
Fort Riley, in those days; and all letters and
papers designed for the settlers along there were


addressed simply to Fort Riley, which was their
nearest post-office.
So Sandy, when he reached Mullett's, was
not disappointed to be told that there were
no letters for anybody up the river. There had
been nobody down to the Post very lately.
Sandy knew that, and he was confident that he
would have the pleasure of bringing up a good-
sized budget when he returned. So he whipped
up his somewhat lazy steed and cantered down
toward the fort.
Soon after leaving Mullett's, he met a drove
of sheep. The drivers were two men and a boy
of his own age mounted on horseback and carry-
ing their provisions, apparently, strapped behind
them. When he asked them where they were
going, they surlily replied that they were going
to California. That would take them right up
the road that he had come down, Sandy thought
to himself. And he wondered if the boys at
home would see the interesting sight of five
hundred sheep going up the Republican Fork,
bound for California.
He reached the fort before noon; and, with a
heart beating high with pleasure, he rode into
the grounds and made his way to the well-
remembered sutler's store where he had bought
the candy, months before. He had a few pen-
nies of his own, and he mentally resolved to
spend these for raisins. Sandy had a "sweet
tooth," but, except for sugar and molasses, he
had eaten nothing sweet since they were last
at Fort Riley on their way westward.
It was with a feeling of considerable impor-
tance that Sandy surveyed the interior of the
sutler's store. The proprietor looked curiously
at him, as if wondering why so small a boy
should turn up alone in that wilderness; and
when the lad asked for letters for the families
up the river, Mullett's, Sparkins's, Battles's, Youn-
kins's, and his own -people, the sutler said, "Be
you one of them Abolitioners that have named
your place after that man Whittier, the Abolition
poet? I 've hearn tell of you, and I 've hear
tell of him. And he ain't no good. Do you
hear me ?" Sandy replied that he heard him,
and to himself he wondered greatly how any-
body, away down here, ten miles from the new
home, could possibly have heard about the name
they had given to their cabin.


438


[APRIL,





THE BOY SETTLERS.


Some soldiers who had been lounging around
the place now went out at the door. The sut-
ler, looking cautiously about as if to be sure
that nobody heard him, said: "Never you mind
what I said just now, sonny. Right you are,
and that man Whittier writes the right sort of
stuff. Bet yer life I 'm no Abolitioner; but
I 'm a Free State man, I am, every time."
"Then what made you talk like that, just
now ?" asked Sandy, his honest, freckled face
glowing with righteous indignation. "If you
like Mr. John G. Whittier's poetry, why did you
say he was n't any good ?"
"Policy, policy, my little man. This yere 's
a pro-slavery guv'ment, and this yere is a pro-
slavery post. I could n't keep this place one
single day if they thought I was a Free State
man. See ? But I tell you right here, and don't
you fergit it, this yere country is going to be
Free State. Kansas is no good for slavery; and
slavery can't get in here. Stick a pin there, and
keqp your eye on it."
With some wonder and much disgust at the
man's cowardice, Sandy packed his precious
letters in the bosom. of his shirt. Into one
end of his meal-sack he put a pound of soda-
biscuit for which his uncle Charlie had longed, a
half-pound of ground ginger with which Charlie
desired to make some "molasses gingerbread,
like mother's," and a half-pound of smoking-
tobacco for his dear father. It seemed a long
way off to his father now, Sandy thought, as he
tied up that end of the bag. Then into the other
end, having tied the bag firmly around, about a
foot and a half from the mouth, he put the pack-
age of nails and a roll of sheet lead. It had
been agreed that if they were to go buffalo-
hunting, they must have rifle-balls and bullets
for their shot-guns.
The sutler, who had become very friendly,
looked on with an amused smile, and said,
"'Pears to me, sonny, you got all the weight at
one end, have n't you? "
Sandy did not like to be called sonny," but
he good-naturedly agreed that he had made a
mistake; so he began all over again and shifted
his cargo so that the nails and a box of yeast-
powder occupied one end of the meal-sack, and
the other articles balanced the other. The load
was then tied closely to the crupper of the sad-


dle and the boy was ready to start on his home-
ward trip. -His eyes roved longingly over the
stock of goodies which the sutler kept for the
children, young and old, of the garrison, and
he asked, "How much for raisins ?"
"Two'bits a pound for box, and fifteen cents
for cask," replied the man, sententiously.
Give me half a pound of cask raisins," said
the boy, with some hesitation. He had only
a few cents to spare for his own purchases.
The sutler weighed out a half-pound of box
raisins, did them up and handed them across
the counter, saying, "No pay; them 's for
Whittier."
Sandy took the package, shoved it into his
shirt-bosom, and, wondering if his Thank you"
was sufficient payment for the -gift, mounted his
steed, rode slowly up the road to a spring that
he had noticed bubbling out of the side of a
ravine, and with a thankful heart, turning out
the horse to graze, sat down to eat his frugal
lunch, now graced with the dry but to him
delicious raisins. So the sutler at Fort Riley
was a Free State man! Was n't that funny!
It was a beautifully bright afternoon, and
Sandy, gathering his belongings together, started
up the river road on a brisk canter. The old
horse was a hard' trotter and when he slackened
down from a canter poor Sandy shook in every
muscle, and his teeth chattered as if he had
a fit of ague. But.whenever the lad contrived
to urge his steed into an easier gait he got on
famously. The scenery along the Republican
Fork is (or was) very agreeable to the eye.
Long swales of vivid green stretched off in every
direction, their rolling sides sloping into deep
ravines through which creeks, bordered with
dense growths of alder, -birch, and young cot-
tonwood, meandered. The sky was blue and
cloudless, and, as the boy sped along the breezy
uplands, the soft and balmy air fanning his face,
he sung and whistled to express the fervor of his
buoyant spirits. He was a hearty and a happy
boy.
Suddenly he came to a fork in the road which
he had not noticed when he came down that
way in the morning. For a moment he was
puzzled by the sight. Both were broad and
smooth tracks over the grassy prairie, and both
rose and fell over the rolling ground; only, one


439






THE BOY SETTLERS.


led to the left and somewhat southerly, and the
other to the right. Pshaw muttered Sandy,
and he paused and rubbed his head for an idea.
"That left-hand road must strike off to some
ford lower down on the fork than I have ever


Absorbed in a mental calculation as to the
number of days that it would take that flock
of sheep to reach California, the boy rode on,
hardly noticing the landmarks by the way, or
taking in anything but the general beauty of the


FILLING IN THE CHINKS IN THE WALLS OF THE LOG-CABIN.


been. But I never heard of any ford below
ours."
With that, his keen eyes noticed that the
right-hand road was cut and marked with the
many hoof-tracks of a flock of sheep. He ar-
gued to himself that the sheep-drivers had told
him that they were going to California. The
California road led up the bank of the Repub-
lican Fork close to the trail that led from Youn-
kins's to the ford across the river. The way
was plain; so, striking his spur into the old
sorrel's side, he dashed on up the right-hand
road, singing gaily as he went.


broad and smiling landscape over which the yel-
low light of the afternoon sun, sinking in the
west, poured a flood of splendor. Slackening
his speed as he passed a low and sunken little
round valley filled with brush and alders, he
heard a queer sound like the playful squealing
of some wild animal. Slipping off his saddle
and leading his horse by the bridle over the
thick turf, Sandy cautiously approached the
edge of the valley, the margin of which was
steep and well sheltered by a growth of cotton-
woods. After peering about for some time, the
lad caught a glimpse of a beautiful sight. A


440


[APRIL,






THE BOY SETTLERS.


young doe and her fawn were playing together
in the open meadow below, absolutely uncon-
scious of the nearness of aby living thing
besides themselves. The mother-deer was
browsing, now and again, and at times the
fawn, playful as a young kitten, would kick
its heels, or buitt its head against its mother's
side, and both would squeal in a comical way.
Sandy had never seen deer in a state of living
wildness before, and his heart thumped heavily
in his breast as he gazed on the wonderful
sight. He half groaned to himself that hewas
a great fool to have come away from home
without a gun. What an easy shot it was!
How nicely he could knock over the mother,
if only he.had a shotgun! She was within such
short range. Then he felt a sinking of the
heart as he imagined the horror of death that
would have overtaken the innocent and harm-
less creatures, sporting. there so "thoughtless of
man's hunting instincts and cruelty. Would he
kill them, if he had the weapon to kill with ?
He could not make up his mind that he would.
So he crouched silently in the underbrush and
watched the pretty sight as if it were a little
animal drama, enacted here in the wilderness,
mother and child having a romp in their
wildwood home.,
"Well, I '11 give them a good scare, any-
how," muttered the boy, his sportive instincts
getting the better of his tender-heartedness at
last. He dashed up noisily from the under-
brush, swurig his arms and shouted: "Boo "
Instantly, deer and fawn, with two or three
tremendous bounds, were out of the little valley
and far away on the prairie, skimming over the
rolls of green, and before the boy could catch
his breath, they had disappeared into one of
the many dells and ravines that interlaced the
landscape.
But another animal was scared by the boy's
shout. In his excitement, he had slipped the
bridle-rein from his arm, and the old sorrel, ter-
rified by his halloo, set off on a brisk trot down
the road. In vain Sandy called to him to stop.
Free from guidance, the horse trotted along, and
when, after a long chase, Sandy caught up with
his steed, a considerable piece of road had been
covered the wrong way, for the horse had gone
back over the line of march. When Sandy was
VOL. XVIII.-34.


once more .mounted and had mopped his pet-
spiring forehead, he cast his eye along the road,
and, to his dismay, discovered that the sheep-
tracks had disappeared. What had become of
the sheep ? How could they have left the trail
without his sooner noticing it ? He certainly
-had not passed another fork of the road since
coming into this at the fork below.
"This is more of my heedlessness, mother
would say," muttered Sandy to himself. "What
a big fool I must have been to miss seeing
where the sheep left the trail! I shall never
make a good plainsman if I don't keep my
eye skinned better than this. Jingo! it 's
getting toward sundown!" Sure enough, the
sun was near the horizon, and Sandy could see
none of the familiar signs of the country round
about the Fork.
SBut -he pushed on. It was too late now to
return to the fork of the road and explore the
other branch now. He was in for it. He re-
membered, too, that two of their most distant
neighbors, Mr. Fuller and his wife, lived some-
where back of Battles's place, and it was barely
possible that it was on the creek, whose woody
and crooked line he could now see far to the
westward, that their log-cabin was situated.
He had seen Mr. Fuller over at the Fork,
once or twice, and he remembered him as a
gentle-mannered and kindly man. Surely, he
must live on this -creek! So he pushed on
with new courage, for his heart had begun to
sink when he finally realized that he was far
off his road.
The sun was down when he reached the
creek. No sign of human habitation was in
sight. In those days cabins and settlements
were very, very few and far between, and a trav-
eler once off his trail might push on for hun-
dreds of miles without striking any trace of
human life.
In the gathering dusk, the heavy-hearted
boy rode along the banks of the creek, anxious-
ly looking out for some sign of settlers. It
was as lonely and solitary as if no man had
ever seen its savageness before. Now and
then a night-bird called from the thicket as if
asking what interloper came into these soli-
tudes; or a scared jack-rabbit scampered away
from his feeding-ground as the steps of the


441


189i:]






THE BOY SETTLERS.


horse tore through the underbrush. Even the
old sorrel seemed to gaze reproachfully at
the lad, who had dismounted and now led
the animal through the wild and tangled un-
dergrowths.
When he had gone up and down the creek
several times, hunting for some trace of a set-


LOST!


tlement and finding none, he reflected that
Fuller's house was on the side of the stream to
the west. It was a very crooked stream and
he was not sure, in the darkness, which was
west and which was east. But he boldly
plunged into the creek, mounting his horse
and urging the unwilling beast across. Once
over, he explored that side of the stream, hither
and yon, in vain. Again he crossed, and so
many times did he cross and recross that he


finally had no idea where he was. Then the
conviction came fully into his mind: He was
lost!
The disconsolate boy sat down on a fallen
tree and meditated. It was useless to go far-
ther. He was tired in every limb and very,
very hungry. He bethought himself of the
soda-biscuits in his sack.
He need not starve at
any rate. Dobbin was
grazing contentedly while
the lad meditated, so
slipping off the saddle
and the package attached
to it, Sandy prepared to
satisfy his hunger with
what little provisions he
had at hand. How
queerly the biscuits
tasted! Jolting up and
down on the horse's back,
they were well broken
up. But what was this
so hot in the mouth?
Ginger? Sure enough, it
was ginger. The pound-
ing that had crushed
the biscuits had broken
open the package of
ginger, and that spicy
stuff was plentifully
sprinkled all over the
contents of the sack.
Gingerbread," mut-
tered Sandy grimly, as he
blew out of his mouth
some of the powdery
spice. "Faugh! To-
bacco i" he cried next.
His father's package of
smoking-tobacco had shared the fate of the
ginger. Sandy's supper was spoiled, and re-
signing -himself to spending the night hungry
in the wilderness, he tethered the horse to a
tree, put the saddle-blanket on the ground,
arranged the saddle for a pillow, and, having
cut a few leafy boughs from the alders, stuck
them into the turf so as to form a shelter around
his head, and lay down to pleasant dreams.
And this is Saturday night, too," thought


442


[APRIL,






THE BOY SETTLERS.


443


the lost boy. "They are having beans baked
in the ground-oven at) home in the cabin.
They are wondering where I am. What would
mother say if she knew I was lost out here
on Flyaway Creek ? And the boy's heart
swelled a little and a few drops of water stood
in his eyes; for he had never been lost before
in his life. He looked up at the leaden sky, now
overcast, and wondered if God saw this lost
boy. A few drops fell on his cheek. Tears?
No, worse than that; it was rain.
"Well, this is a little too much," said Sandy,
stoutly. Here goes for one more trial." So
saying, he saddled and mounted his patient
steed, and, at a venture, took a new direction
around a bend in the creek.. As he rounded
the bend, the bark of a dog suddenly rung from
a mass of gloom and darkness. How sweet the
sound! Regardless of the animal's angry chal-
lenge, he pressed on. That mass of blackness was
a log-barn, and near by was a corral with cows
therein. Then a light shone from the log-cabin
and a man's voice was heard calling the dog.
Fuller's!
The good man of the house received the lad


with open arms, and cared for his horse; inside
the cabin, Mrs. Fuller, who had heard the conver-
sation without, made ready a great pan of milk
and a loaf of bread, having risen from her bed
to care for the young wanderer. Never did
bread and milk taste so deliciously to weary
traveler as this Full-fed, Sandy looked at the
clock on the wall, and marked with wondering
eye that it was past midnight. He had
recounted his trials as he ate, and the sym-
pathizing couple had assured him that he had
been deceived by the sheep-driver. It was
very unlikely that he was driving his flock to
California. And it was probable that, coming
to some place affording food and. water, the
sheep had left the main road 'and had camped
down in one of the ravines, out of sight.
As Sandy composed his weary limbs in a
blanket-lined bunk opposite that occupied by
Fuller and his wife, he was conscious that he
gave a long, long sigh as if in his sleep. And,
as he drifted off into slumber-land, he heard
the good woman say, "Well, he 's out of his
troubles, poor boy!" Sandy chuckled to him-
self and slept.


(To he continued.)
[In a note to the Editor of ST. NICHOLAS, Mr. Brooks calls attention to an error that occurred in Chapter IX of his story which
appeared in the February number of this Magazine. The author was misled bya slip in.a digest of the land laws of the United States into
saying that the public larids are divided into townships of ten miles square. As a matter of fact the townships are six miles square, and
each one is divided into sections of one mile square, thus providing for sections of 640 acres each, and quarter-sections of 160 acres.]



A BATTLE.

BY RICHARD E. BURTON.


I SAW a battle yesterday.
And would you have me tell
The story of this fearful fray,
And how it all befell?

Against the mists the sun made war;
The foggy mists, you know,
That in the morn by sea and shore
Their ghostly .forces show.

The sun shot down his shafts of light
And pierced their ranks, and made
Them scatter into shreds of white
And flying bits of shade.


It was an utter rout, I ween;
The mists were vanquished foes,
No bugle called, no blood was seen,
I heard no clash of blows,

Yet in an hour the day was clear,
The sky triumphant shone;
While, from a bush that budded near,
The wind a flower had blown

Till at my very feet it lay,
All white within the sun;
It was a flag of truce, to say
The fight was fought and won.


i891.]










THE ASTROLOGER'S NIECE MARRIES.*

By TUDOR JENKS.


OF course, when she had finished her educa-
tion, I thought my niece would be glad to stay
quietly at home with me for a year or two at
least. But she was of a restless disposition and
soon tired of the monotony of our quiet village
life. I did my best to entertain her, and was
even ingenious; I thought, in providing her with
amusements. For instance, when a traveling
circus came to a neighboring city, by the use of
the well-known spell (Magic Book VIII, chap.
II, 32) I caused the advance-agent to believe
our village a populous city full of those persons
of limited means who usually patronize the thea-
ter and the fine arts generally. As a result of
my well-meant deception, he gave performances
for a week to an audience consisting only of me,
my niece, the innkeeper's family, and the inn-
keeper.
The performers, especially the ring-master,
were furious and thought the advance-agent was
crazy. We did n't mind that, as he insisted upon
completing the performances; but my niece
found no pleasure in the show except as a
means of amusing herself at the expense of
those who took part in the ring. When one of
the acrobats would leap into the air and begin
to turn a somersault, she would secretly use
some form of enchantment-for she had never
forgotten the knowledge of the science picked
up in her youth-and cause the poor fellow to
remain hanging in the air upside-down. This
seriously interfered with the show, but the cir-
cus-people did not mind it very much until she
carried her skylarking beyond all reason. But
when she made the trick-mule suddenly become
as gentle as a lamb, and rode him around the
ring, she sitting as placidly upon him as Queen
Elizabeth upon a palfrey, and the trick-mule
carrying her with a proudly angelic smile, and
when she claimed the large reward the ring-
master had offered,-it was really too much.
With tears in his eyes the ring-master said it


would ruin the circus to pay her, and so she let
the reward go unpaid, on condition that they left
at once. I concluded that she had lost interest.
in the hippodrome.
I tell this only as an instance of my unremit-
ting efforts to supply her with pastimes of a
really elevating character, and to show that it
was not lack of diversion, but a restless disposi-
tion, which caused her to say she would go to
seek her fortune.
I had no wish to leave home. My cook was
an artist, and my house had a southern exposure
and an astrological cupola of the most modern
construction. So I told her flatly that I would
not go under aiy considerition'whatever.- '
We started the next morning. I suggested a
sea route, as I was very susceptible to sea-sick-
ness and desired above all things to go by land.
She acquiesced at once, and set sail early in a
lug-rigged barker, or a bark-rigged lugger, one
or the other, and as I went below I heard the
captain order the crew to luff.
I cannot say what luffing is, because, when I
came on deck again, we had been out for three
days. It seemed longer, and I do not at all
care for marine life it interferes sadly with
accuracy in astrological observations and with
regularity of meals, both of which are hobbies
of mine.
On the morning of the fifth day, one of the
sailors said out loud, Land-hoe!" and I con-
cluded he was an agriculturist, but had n't time
to verify this conclusion because my niece
insisted upon being rowed ashore at once. I
was not ready to go ashore, but she preferred
not to go alone, and so we went together.
As we rowed into a beautiful bay surrounded
by the customary palm trees, a sentinel on shore
said, Boat ahoy !"
I answered pleasantly, Boat ahoy."
"What boat is that ? he inquired.
"It 's just an ordinary boat," I answered.


* See story, "The Astrologer's Niece," in ST. NICHOLAS for February, 1888.






THE ASTROLOGER'S NIECE MARRIES.


What boat is it,? he'sked again.
"I 'm sure I don't know," said I. "What
do you want to know for ? "
"If you don't answer the hail, I '11 fire on
you! he said sternly.
"I am answering as fast as I can," I replied
good-naturedly. "What do you expect me to
say? "
At this he raised his crossbow and leveled it


destination, and ventured to inquire of my niece
where she thought we were going. She ad-
mitted that she did n't know, and added lan-
guidly that she did n't feel like talking. So on
we went in silence for about half an hour.
Then I asked the captain of the guard,-I
knew he was the captain because he would n't
keep step,-and he told me we were going to
the Palace. I asked whether it was far. He


-iF


E CE T A GE G ED B T E E I DRE-S.

"'WE CAME TO A GATE GUARDED BY TWO LARGE ETHIOPIANS IN FANCY DRESS."


(I think that is the technical term employed by
military men) at the boat,- in fact, at me.
"Come ashore!" he cried in a peremptory
tone.
"We are coming," I answered. He seemed
very obtuse and unreasonable, but I make it a
point never to quarrel with soldiers on duty.
We landed at a neat little quay, and were
received by the comrades of the conversation-
alist with the crossbow.
They surrounded us in a very attentive way
and said, Forward, march! "
We started. I was a trifle uneasy about our


said it was about as far as any place he ever
saw, and suggested that I should keep my
breath for walking. I despise useless taciturn-
ity, but followed his advice under protest. We
walked on for another half-hour,' and then just
as I had concluded to refuse further pedestrian-
ism, we saw in the distance several minarets
from the top of which pennants were rippling
in the breeze.
That 's the Palace," said the captain.
In a few minutes we came to a lofty wall,
and a gate guarded by two large Ethiopians
in fancy dress, each carrying a curved sword.


445






THE ASTROLOGER'S NIECE MARRIES.


"Your sword is bent, my friend," I said to
one of them.
He scowled and looked uneasily at it.
Why don't you have a straight one ? it
would reach farther," I went on, "and it is
really curious why so many of the Eastern
nations prefer-"
I was interrupted. He tried to cut my head
off, and if he had used a straight sword would
have succeeded. I dodged him, remarking,
without loss of dignity:
"You see, now, that illustrates what-"
My niece here pulled me by my robe and
I dropped the subject. They rolled up the
gate, a kind of portcullis, and we entered. I
should like to describe the courtyard in detail,
but as I had left my spectacles at home, hav-
ing forgotten them in our hasty embarkation,
I could not see anything but a confused blur of
colors.
Going up some very tiresome stairways, we
were led into a vast audience-room and brought
before a kind of king or something-one of
those men who sit on fancy chairs and order
people around.
Whom have you brought before us ? asked
this very consequential individual.
"Lord of," began the captain in a second-
tenor voice.
"Tut, tut! "said theking. "Who are they?"
"Royal and Imperial-" said the captain.
"And so forth," rejoined the monarch;
"Thanks! Who are they ? "
"I don't know," said the captain.
"Where from? said the king.
"I don't know," said the captain.
"What do they want? asked the king.
"I don't know," answered the officer.
"Enough," said the king, hastily; "we are
satisfied that your specialty is honest ignorance.
We appoint you Court Historian."
The captain bowed low.
Return to your post for the present; and
forget as much as you can until you are called
upon to assume your new duties." The captain
withdrew.
Now," said the king to me, "who are
you?"
"An astrologer, your Highness," I answered
with some natural pride.


"A star-gazer, eh?" he said pleasantly.
"Well, what did you come here for?"
"I don't know," I answered after a moment's
reflection.
The king seemed vexed.
"Does anybody know anything about any-
thing in particular ?" he asked with fine sar-
casm. It made me shake in my sandals,
especially as the headsman who was standing
beside the king here tightened his belt and
took a large and shiny ax from a page at his
left.
But, as usual, my niece came to the rescue,
and said, in her quiet and unpretending way,
that she knew considerable about several things.
The headsman looked at her very keenly,
handed the ax back to the page, and said in
a low tone that he was going out to luncheon.
He went.
"Well, well," said the king. Suppose you
tell us about this ?"
To my surprise my niece said that she had
come to his kingdom to marry the prince.
Naturally the king was a little put out. It
seemed sudden to him, no doubt. I am sure
it did to me. He seemed lost in thought for a
few moments, and then said absently:
"Oh!-yes. Well, where 's-the-the
headsman ?"
"Gone to luncheon, your Majestic Majesty,"
answered the page.
"Very inconvenient," said the king, look-
ing annoyed. He 's never here when he 's
needed. No matter. This amuses us. We
find this novel and-yes-amusing in a way.
We must get sport from this. Young woman,"
said he to my niece, "if you can sit down for a
few moments, the executioner will be back, and
he will attend to you first. The astrologer can
afford to give you precedence. He won't have
long to wait. The audience is over. I '11 be
at the executions this afternoon."
Long live the king! said the crowd.
Then a brass-band struck up Pop goes the
Weasel," and the audience room was emptied.
Soon we were alone with the guards. They
had no captain and seemed at a loss to know
what to do next. My niece sat in a very com-
fortable chair playing a curious game which
she invented herself. It was a round box with


446


[APRIL,





THE ASTROLOGER'S NIECE MARRIES.


447


little partitions in it, and four or five marbles
rolling around between them. She would try
to make the marbles roll into a little box in the
center. She seemed much amused by it. It
appeared stupid to me. I wondered how long
we should have to wait there. The noise of the
marbles made me nervous.
At this moment the captain, or rather the
Court Historian, came in.


of preparing for instant execution," but they
could n't see it, and, as it only annoyed them
and set them to talking about some "old
crank," I saw they cared more for mechanics
than for logic, and said nothing further. What
a number of dull people there are in foreign
climes!
We followed them along some very damp
corridors which needed whitewashing, and soon


"'DOES ANYBODY KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ANYTHING IN PARTICULAR?' ASKED THE.KING."


"Shoulder' .arms!." he said sharply. The
men obeyed. Conduct the prisoners to the
-donjon! he went on.
"This is all right," I said. "I suppose you
know your own business. But it seems to me
that you are acting queerly for a Court His-
torian !"
It is all right," he said. "I have forgotten
all about that. Forward march! "
We were escorted to the donjon.
Don't ever go to a donjon if you can help it.
We stayed there the rest of the day. I was
looking through the bars, and my niece said
nothing until late in the afternoon. Then she
told me she had got them all in.
"You have got us all in," I said, with bitter
meaning. She laughed.
I told her I was very glad; but I had n't the
least idea what she meant. Pretty soon the
guards came and told us to prepare for instant
execution. I pointed out the illogical absurdity


came to a large plaza. I could not see very
well, but I heard many voices saying, "Here
they come! "Bring them out! See the
old fogy!"-by which they must have meant
the captain, I suppose.
It suddenly occurred to me that possibly they
meant to execute me and my niece. My mind
sometimes will grasp an idea with breathless
celerity. It was an annoying experience, and
I resolved to avoid the scaffold, if it were pos-
sible to do so without loss of dignity or the
family prestige.
My dear child," said I to my niece, has it
occurred to you that they have invited us out
to an afternoon execution, and that they mean
to chop our heads off?"
She admitted that they seemed to think they
were, but begged me to give myself no uneasi-
ness, promising to see that no harm came of our
little pleasure excursion. Young girls are so
rash! but my niece always takes me with her.


1891.]






THE ASTROLOGER'S NIECE MARRIES.


"But what is this ab-
surdity about a prince ?"
I asked.
She said it was no
absurdity at all. That
she had come to marry
the prince, and would
marry the prince if
she liked his looks.
Have n't you seen
him ?" I asked in some
surprise.
She shook her head,
and then assured me '
again that I need not be
uneasy-that the whole
journey was her own
plan, and she felt sure .-
of its ultimate success.
It is not profitable to '
argue with a person
who pays no attention
to what you say, and -
who never on any ac-
count does anything you
think it best to do, so I THE ROYAL GUARDS S
said no more.
Amid renewed jeers, we climbed the steps to
the scaffold.
The headsman was waiting for us. His ax
looked very large to me, but he seemed strong
enough to handle it. The king was there, and
was plainly in a hurry to get away, for he said
with some attempt at pleasantry:
Now, then, Headsman, here 's the young
lady who wishes to marry the prince. Off she
goes,--and then for the old star-gazer!"
I thought his remarks were not in the best
of taste. They put my niece's head upon the
block, the headsman raised his ax, and the
ax-head immediately flew off in the form of a
black crow, saying, Caw! "
The headsman looked after it with much
interest.
Never," said he with emphasis, "in the
whole course of my professional experience, did
I ever see anything like that."
"My niece," I said, "is certainly not an or-
dinary girl. You '11 all admit that, I am. sure,
when you have known her so long as I have."


URROUND THE ASTROLOGER'S NIECE. (SEE NEXT PAGE.)

The headsman sent the page for another ax.
The people waited in silence, hardly knowing
what had .taken place. The king seemed to
enjoy the experience. It was something new,
and kings (at least all the kings I know) are ter-
ribly bored, and fond of novelty. He clapped
his hands and called out, Brava! "
The crowd separated at one point and the
page arrived with the spare ax. The heads-
man handled it with the caressing hand of an
artist, poised it lightly in the air, and brought it
down with a swish upon my niece's swanlike
neck. I had a swanlike neck when younger.
Huzza!" cried the hireling crowd. But
they had shouted too soon. As the keen edge
neared her golden ringlets, the ax-head left the
handle and becoming a garland of flowers en-
circled her neck in a really effective manner. I
could not but admire the esthetic value of the
colors against her fair skin. Old men are some-
what forgetful, and I do not distinctly recall
whether I have mentioned my niece's beauty.
It is a family characteristic, and in my young


448


[APRIL,






THE ASTROLOGER'S NIECE MARRIES.


days I was universally admitted to be the hand-
somest astrologer in our parish.
The king had by this time lost his temper.
" He had come out," as he remarked in high
dudgeon, to see an execution not to witness
an exhibition of legerdemain! (His choice of
language was always excellent, by the way.) So
now he rose to his feet, and ordered the guards
to seize the prisoners.
The guards were arranged in a hollow square
around the scaffold, and at the word of com-
mand they pointed some very jagged halberds
and. other painful poking instruments in our
direction. I looked at my niece with some mis-
giving, but apparently she was quite able to
take care of herself. She stood up also, and
pronounced some magical words. I do not
really know just what they were. In fact, she
had rather gone ahead of me in the text-books
and could do a number of things which I should
not like to attempt. Probably, if I had been


the Appendix in the back of the book, and
usually aimed at the more picturesque methods.
This time I heard her silvery laugh, and I
looked with curiosity at the advancing guards.
When they began their short march they were
veterans. After a few steps they became re-
cruits. A few steps more, and they were cadets,
and so it went on. They became boys and
then toddlers; and finally, when they reached
the foot of the platform, they were babies, creep-
ing on all fours and crying and cooing.
Those babes in uniform were very ridiculous.
After. a great shout of laughter, some of the
women in the crowd picked up the helpless
infants and bore them away in their arms. I
afterward learned that the foundling asylum
was much overcrowded that night.
This last experience seemed to open the
king's eyes to the peculiarities of my niece's
disposition. He realized that she must be
coaxed rather than driven. I do not mean to


... i ''.. -


"'THIS IS PREPOSTEROUS' SAID THE DUCK IN A RAGE" (SEE NEXT PAGE.)
llITHIS IS PREPOSTEROUS!) SAID T]HE DUCK IN A RAGE)I {SEE NEXT PAGiE.)


ia'her situation I should have disappeared from
view, or changed myself into a humming-bird
or a dragon-fly,- something with wings, you
know,-- and soared gently away into the blue
ether. But she was not satisfied with ordinary
magical charms. She took most of hers from


say he told me so, for in all the course of our
acquaintance we did not exchange a dozen
words. He called me the "star-gazer," and
seemed to think me rather a fussy old fellow.
Perhaps he was right,- my horoscope indicated
something of the kind.


449


1891.]





THE ASTROLOGER S NIECE MARRIES.


The populace had now run away and the king
and a few courtiers came to the foot of the plat-
form and invited us to come to the palace and
make ourselves at home. The king offered his
arm to my niece, and she took it with an ease
of manner which she inherited from her grand-
father. My father was a sorcerer, and of the
very best school. All his housework was done
by familiars, and genii did the farm work and
ran errands.
When the king had escorted my niece and
her uncle to the private audience room, we sat
down to a very well-served table, and then the
king and my niece came to an understanding.
I heard only the last part of the conversation.
You cannot marry my son! said the king,
decidedly. It 's against all precedent."
My niece said in her winning way that she
did n't care a button for precedent, and that
several great men had called attention to the
fact that there could n't be a precedent for any-
thing the first time it was done.
I won't argue," said the king, "but I will
only say, I forbid it!"
Then, to my secret amusement, my niece said
very sweetly, as she toyed with a sprig of celery,
that she was not fond of argument herself, and
therefore would only say that she would then
and there turn the king into a canvas-back
duck, unless he consented to the wedding.
"I defy you!" said the king.
My niece clapped her hands, and he became
a canvas-back duck.
"This is preposterous! said the duck in a
rage.
My niece giggled.
It is monstrous!" said the duck, walking
bow-legged around the table.
I joined in the mirth. Star-gazer," indeed!
It is high treason!" insisted the royal. fowl.
My niece rose from the table. The duck
looked at her in perplexity. Then he said:
I give in. Please fix me straight again."
She clapped her hands, and he regained his
shape.
Now," said he uneasily, "I am a man of
my word. Send for my son."
Several admirals, dukes, and footmen started
for the door, but the seneschal had a good lead,
and soon returned, ushering in a young man


whose physical perfections were only not noticed
because of his graceful bearing and exquisite
air of high breeding and royal intelligence.
When I saw him I had a curious remembrance
of having seen him before. But it was a mis-
take. I was thinking of a certain beautiful
miniature of myself, which my father had given
me on my twenty-first birthday.
"Come in," said the king pleasantly. This,
my son, is your promised bride. She is the
niece of this old gentleman. He is a star-gazer.
Bow to your uncle-in-law. The wedding will
'take place to-morrow. Good-evening, young
people. Good-evening, star-gazer."
He retired through the cloth-of-gold portiere,
and the-prince, by his courtly bearing, soon put
us all at our ease. At first his manner, while
with my niece, was just a trifle constrained; but
at 12.45 A. M., when I went to bed, they had
eaten twelve philopenas and had ordered the
yawning butler to bring more almonds.
Next morning a grand procession set forth
for the cathedral. I, however, with her permis-
sion, remained at home and watched the event
through my second-best magic telescope, with
which one can look around two corners and
through a thin stone wall.
I will briefly describe what took place. The
king must have spent the night in plotting
mischief, for he had gathered together a large
army, and secured the services of several witches,
enchanters, exorcisers, and so on. Just as the
ceremony was to be performed, these myrmidons
surrounded the bridal party and attempted to
seize my niece. I was not al.irnidc, lfor I had
much confidence in her presence of, mi'd and
her readiness of resource in emergencies.
Just as they gathered around her, 'she began
to grow larger. Soon she increased so enor-
mously thakt-he took the prince up in one hand,
put him under her. arm, and walked in a leis-
urely way down the aisle. He did not seem to
object. In fact, he had previously done his
best to protect her, and had knocked down one
witch with her own broomstick early in the
proceedings.
Still my niece continued to grow. She rose to
the top of the cathedral, put her golden' ringlets
through the roof, and the slates began to tumble
upon the people below. How they scattered!


450


[APRIL,





THE ASTROLOGER'S NIECE MARRIES.


At this moment the king begged for pardon,
and promised reformation and acquiescence-
at least I judged so from his attitude. Upon
the disappearance of the rabble, my niece re-
gained her proper size; and after the wedding
party was brought together again, she became a
lovely bride, shrinking and tender.
When the bridal couple came down the aisle,
they were beautiful. I threw down the glass
and hastened to meet them at the palace gate.
The prince seemed very happy, and so did
the princess-my niece. I felt that I was safe
in leaving her to her husband's care, and I set
sail the next day for home.
I have received a letter from her since. It
























A Youth i19 the dayS of Dea
Nash' -
Fell heir to a deal of old tpr
Said be, "I will Wear then?,
There 'S rpo ope to share tt
1Fey-dey! but 1'II cut a rpe
daSh!"


told many particulars of her new life, and de-
scribed her husband's flawless character and
disposition at some length. This was the post-
script:
P. S.-Jack says (John is my husband's name- one
of them) that magic is beneath the dignity of a married
woman. I think so, too, and have promised to give it up,
maybe. The king is an old duck--not a canvas-back,
you know. He sends his love to the star-gazer."
I feel lonely without her. One could not be
long dull in her company. Astrology, too, is not
what it once was-there is too much cutting of
rates and competition.
May my dear niece be happy, for she cer-
tainly married the man of her choice!


451











MY AUTOGRAPH-BOOK.

BY EDWARD LIVINGSTON WELLES.


-_N a little seven-by-nine
room, in one of, the
S upper stories of the old
New York Tribune
l building, many years
ago, I frequently saw
a man with a very
-_ round bald head and
a fringe of nearly white
hair under his chin. He sat at a desk which
was almost on a level with his shoulders. He was
somewhat careless in his dress, and being very
near-sighted, he leaned down upon the desk,


describing almost the segment of a circle in the
lines as he wrote. This was Horace Greeley,
the founder and chief editor of the Tribune-
and the note below is a rather superior specimen
of his writing. I leave you to judge for your-
selves as to its quality.
I fancy that Mr. Greeley made a much better
editor than he would have made book-keeper,
for it would seem that his early education in the
art of penmanship must have been sadly neg-
lected, or else had somewhat deteriorated in
the later years of his life, under the influence
of hasty editorial writing.


/


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Above is a note from Rembrandt Peale, a
artist who lived in Philadelphia, and who die
in i860, at the age of eighty-two. His fath
and his brother, as well as himself, painted
'several portraits of George Wash-
ington, and the old gentleman,
you will see by his note, prided
himself considerably on this dis-
tinction. As he was born in 1778,
and made his last sketch of Wash-
ington from life in 1795, he must
have been a rather young artist at
that time.
Perhaps you would like to see


how some of our millionaires wrote. I will
give you two signatures; though I have quite
a number of others, for which there is not room
in these pages.


S


aa7,"3


453


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MY AUTOGRAPH-BOOK.


And now we will glance at the autographs
of a few celebrated English poets and authors.
Here, for instance, is a note from Charles Dick-
ens, written when he was living in London in
1850. I have two of later date, one written in
1855, and the other written in one of my books,
when he was on his last visit to this country in
i868. Under his name and upon the same
page, Sol Eytinge, the artist, made a little pen-
and-ink sketch of Dick Swiveller," with the


legend, "May the wing or Friendship never
moult a feather." To this William \\inter, the
dramatic critic of the T2i:.r', added the sen-
tence, "Under this wing is the happiness of
many generations."
Charles Reade, the author of "The Cloister
and the Hearth," and many other widely read
novels, wrote me the little note given on the
next page. The "bit of truth" which he
"throws in" was this sentence, written on a


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separate page: The understandings of men do Next on our list is a brief note from the Poet
not want sharpening, so much s enlarging." Laureate of England-Lord Tennyson:



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456 MV AUTOGRAPH-BOOK. iAfRIL,
And no\\ we will take a look at a very in this coun-ry,-during his first visit, I be-
charming letter, which I prize as one of the lieve. He subsequently wrote a line or two in
choicest gems in my whole collection. It a volume which I sent to him. Here is the
was written to me while "Mr. Thacleray was little note. Is it not all I claim for it?,..









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VOL. XVIII.-35.


457





458


MY AUTOGRAPH-BOOK.


[APRIL,


Following Thackeray's letter is a note from Below you may see the name of George Cruik-
Robert Browning; to hi is added the auto- shank, the Engish artist who illustrated some









forwarded as funnThackeray's letter is a note as some of his pictures.





MY AUTOGRAPH-BOOK.


459


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SV' A UTOG RAPH-BtOOK.


In the following note from Richard Henry
Stoddard; the poet, there is a reference to the
letter from Mr. Thackeray, which you have al-


ready seen. Mr. Stoddard's little poem I prize
especially because he wrote the autograph copy
for me before the verses had appeared in print.


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MY AUTOGRAPH-BOOK.


d~gE 4 a-eer -in ChY ~~~~


And here we have a sentence in French, writ-
ten in my book some years ago by Madame
Rachel, the great French actress. Translated
into English it is something like this:

To all generous hearts how dear is the Fatherland!
And my Fatherland is wherever the arts are
understood.

Beneath the autograph of Rachel in my book
is the verse here copied. It was written by John
Brougham, a well-known comedian, and is quite
characteristic of him.

For some people, autographs seem to possess


no interest whatever, and I have often been
amused to see with what indifference they look
over my volumes, when I have shown them.
Others will read every word, and seem thor-
oughly to appreciate the autographs, and to such
people it is a pleasure to show them.
In these days when photographs are so abun-
dant and cheap, a collection of portraits of
celebrities, with autographs, may be made quite
interesting, and many people who care little for
the autographs may be attracted by the pictures.
One of my volumes is thus arranged, and those
who examine my books usually find it the most
interesting of the three.


THE END.


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7 lhaCts of aLl colors to go witk yor,0 g5owny,
htreds and .bight-feds and biclCy-n4nz;ebowzvn
ith Itent ad uastcIle high-pea'd crown.



6nbr'ellas for Sundays and fArm-days, a Iin-
_)arranted v/aterpfoof, siflKpuCe and finh);
-handleF of malachite,~TiesT desi,"



Iee ouf new star, see our merchandise. ay!
Our prices are low 4s The lowest ,Tey say,_
1,xcept for our Lest things,whch wigVie awy.







STAR-BLOSSOMS.
BY BESSIE CHANDLER.
HE watched the soft blue sky, where stars were coming,
Like daisies that the meadow stud,
And said, Oh, see a little star has blossomed,
And there 's another one in bud "














ELFIE'S VISIT TO CLOUDLAND AND THE MOON.

BY FRANCES V. AND E. J. AUSTEN.


TRICK THE TENTH.

A FEW FACTS ABOUT THE MOON. IT IS MADE OF
CHEESE! ELFIE
AND E-MA-JI-
NA- SHUN START
FOR THE MOON.
THE CLOUD
SHIP.

PIECE of. the
-moon?" cried
Elfie.
"Yes,mydear,
a piece of the
moon!" replied E-ma-
ji-na-shun. The moon
is made of the very finest
quality of green cheese, as you
may have heard. Of course I know many
persons say it is n't; but you may quote me
as authority for saying that it is. You see the
people who live in Cloudland and the Realm
of Fancy li;e almost entirely on cheese, and the
moon is the cheese they eat. We eat just so
much every day, and every day the moon is
just that much smaller until there is nothing left
but the faintest rim, which is the rind of the
cheese, and then that is eaten up too. Then
for the two weeks which pass before there is
another full moon, we have to live upon what
we have laid by during the two weeks of plenty.
But as soon as the new cheese is completed, we
fall to and devour that, and so on forever."
And who is the Man in the Moon, and where
do the new moons come from ?" asked Elfie.
"The Man in the Moon," said E-ma-ji-na-
shun, "is a very jolly old chap, whom I created
and placed up there in charge of the stores.
He also makes the new moons out of the Milky
Way, which your papa will show you the next


time you ask him. As soon as the old moon is
eaten up, he sails in a cloud ship to the Milky
Way, and lays in a new supply of cream and
begins to make a new cheese. He first makes
a thin half-circle for a foundation. That is the
new moon; then he lays cheese on in thick layers
every day until the moon is round and full.
Then he takes up his residence upon it, and
does nothing but look jolly till the cheese is all
gone. He sends down the day's supply by cloud
ships, and keeps five of them busy all the time.
Just break off a bit of the piece of moon
there by your side and see how good it is."
Elfie nibbled a piece of the cheese and found
it very nice indeed, nicer than any cheese she
had eaten on the earth.
"Oh, how I should like to go there! she
cried, and see the dear jolly old man! What
a lot of things he must have to talk about; for
he has looked down at the world so long that he
must have seen plenty of strange sights."
"Well, my dear, if you wish to see the Man
in the Moon, come along. Let us borrow
Mother Goose's broomstick and off we will go.


"HE FIRST MAKES A THIN HALF-CIRCLE FOR A FOUNDATION."
It's a long way, and you must hold on tightly.
Order out the broomstick, Mother "
But the broomstick did not wait to be ordered,






ELFIE'S VISIT TO CLOUDLAND AND THE MOON.


for before E-ma-ji-na-shun had done talking-
hey, presto !-there it was, prancing as if it were
the finest-looking horse in Cloudland.
Elfie waved her hand to Mother Goose and
mounted the stick. E-ma-ji-na-shun sprang on
behind, and shoo-whizz! they were off.
That was something like a ride. They
mounted so quickly that the clouds they passed
through looked as if they were falling, and the


and nearer in its descent, she saw that it was
the exact shape of a ship, with masts, sails, and
rigging complete. The deck was heaped up
with what seemed quite a mountain of cheese.
Tiny goblins dressed like sailors, and with round
full-moon faces, were running about pulling on
ropes and hoisting the snow-white sails on the
purple masts. One of them, whose head was
very large and round, and who had long spidery


" ELFIE SAW SOMETHING WHICH SEEMED TO HER A LIGHT FLEECY 'CLOUD FLYING ALONG BEFORE THE WIND."


sky began to look so near that Elfie was afraid
she would bump her head. Suddenly E-ma-ji-
na-shun seized the string which served for reins
and brought the broomstick to a standstill.
What's the matter ? thought Elfie. We
certainly are not at the moon yet."
Look out! cried E-ma-ji-na-shun. Here
comes one of the cloud ships laden with cheese!"
Elfie saw something which seemed to her a
light fleecy cloud flying along before the wind,
as she had often seen clouds do on a windy day.
E-ma-ji-na-shun told her that every one of
those tiny cloudlets she had seen was a ship
carrying messages or freight to and fro among
the people of Cloudland.
As the cloud she was looking at came nearer


legs growing from beneath his chin, was stand-
ing on top of the heap of cheese and directing
the sailors.
"That man," said her guide, "is the cele-
brated 'Captain Nemo,' whom your brothers
have read about; perhaps you know him better
as Mr. Nobody. He is the captain of this ship,
the Golden Fleece.' "
As he spoke, the crew of the cloud ship caught
sight of Elfie and the broomstick, and they
rushed to the side of the vessel to give a hoarse
little cheer, which sounded to Elfie very much
like the sighing of the wind. They passed quite
near, and the crew waved their tiny caps, while
Captain Nobody shouted through his speaking-
trumpet, A pleasant voyage to you! "


465






ELFIE'S VISIT TO CLOUDLAND AND TIHE MOON.


Just then a gust of wind filled the sails and
away the ship went through the air, pitching
and tossing quite like a real ship on the ocean.
The last Elfie saw of it, it was disappearing
into a sea of mist, with all the wee sailors hard
at work hauling and pulling, while Captain No-
body was running about giving orders and stamp-
ing his feet because
the sailors were too
slow in obeying.
As soon as the
Golden Fleece had
vanished into the
mist, E-ma-ji-na-shun
started the broom-
stick, and away they
went again on their
voyage.
It seemed only a
-.-7 very short time be-
S- fore Elfie was aware
CAPTAIN NOBODY. that they were com-
ing quite close to a very large something! It
grew bigger and bigger as they came nearer.
"There's the moon!" shouted E-ma-ji-na-
shun; "it is only a little time past being
full, so "that you will be able to see it at its


"THE CREW WAVED THEIR TINY CAPS."


very best. Now be careful, my dear, as you
step off!"
As he spoke the broomstick descended very
gently to the surface of the moon.


ELFIE ARRIVES AT THE MOON.

TRICK THE ELEVENTH.
ELFIE ARRIVES AT THE MOON. SHE MEETS
THE MAN IN THE MOON.

SOW, step off carefully,"
saidoldE-ma-ji-na-shun,
"or you will fall into one
of those pits the moon-
goblins have made in
digging cheese."
Elfie did as she
Swas told, and was
very careful as she
stepped from the broomstick; then she looked
around her. Here she was actually at the
moon at last! What a wonderful sight! As
far as she could see, in every direction, there
were stretched out miles upon miles of cheese.
In some places it was quite flat, forming great
level plains, but it was broken up here and there
by what looked like great mountains and deep
valleys. "These were made," said E-ma-ji-na-
shun, "by the goblins, digging out the supplies
for the people of Cloudland."
On all sides, hundreds of these little fellows
were hard at work digging away at the golden
soil, piling it into heaps, and loading it into tiny
railroad-cars which ran from the mines to the
wharves at the edge of the moon, where it was
thrown into heaps all ready for loading into the
next cloud ship that put in for a cargo. Elfie
noticed that on the top of every heap and
mountain a big fire was blazing away brightly.
E-ma-ji-na-shun told her that these were kept


[APRII ,






ELFIE'S VISIT TO CLOUDLAND AND THE MOON.


S "







THE CHEESE MINES OF THE MOON.

burning all the time, so that the workmen, who
never slept, could see to work at night. The
cloud ships came for their cargoes at all hours,
and no delay was possible.
It is the light from these fires that makes
the moon shine so to the people of the earth,"
added the old gentleman, with a sly twinkle in
his eye. "If you will look out of your win-
dow on the next windy night we have, you
may perhaps see some of the cloud ships at the
wharves loading up with cheese."


During this talk, they were
walking along toward the
center of the moon, and Elfie,
who kept her eyes open, saw
that there was a very high
i r-- mountain, resembling a fantas-
S tically shaped castle, rising out
of the middle of the plain.
There 's the home of the
Man in the Moon," said her
si guide. "Of course, as that
part of the moon gets eaten up,
he has to move over toward
the edge; but he always builds
himself a castle where he can rest comfortably
after the hard work of making the new moon."
As they came near, she saw in front of a large
hole in the side of the mountain, shaped like a
door, an enormous man. Elfie thought he must
be at least fifty feet high. He was dressed in
a long, brown coat, which reached to his knees;
on his legs were long blue stockings, and pur-
ple trunks; his shoes were ornamented with
buckles, his cap was blue and cut to a point in
front, while a long amber-colored feather which


THE CLOUD SHIPS ON A WINDY NIGHT.


467


x8gr.]






ELFIE'S VISIT TO CLOUDLAND AND THE MOON.


floated up from it showed that he was a little
bit vain of his personal appearance. His head
was very, very large, forming at least one-third
of his whole height. The face was round and
full and very jolly-looking, a slight droop to
the left eyelid giving his eyes such a quaint, sly
look that nobody who looked at him could
possibly help laughing.
He was sitting down on a great heap of
cheese, having his dinner; and (to show
you what a very extraordinary man he
was) he was eating the front
of his own house !
"Hullo! he shouted,
when he saw our little
traveler, hullo What brings
you here? It is n't often that
I have the pleasure of speak-
ing to any Earth-children.
Come here and let me shake
hands with you."
He stooped down and took
Elfie's hand in his mighty fist
and shook it warmly.
"Sit down, sit down, little
one; here is a nice seat. Of
course you wish to ask'ques-
tions. I never knew an Earth-
child who did not. Go right
on, and I will tell you all you
wish to know."
Elfie settled herself corn-
fortably on the soft cheese
seat, ready to enjoy herself.
"In the first place," she
said, "I 'd like to know about
some of the things you have
seen from here, and why do
you look so jolly, please ? I should have thought
that you would feel more like crying all the
time, for you have to work so hard making the
new moons. Then I have read and heard so
much of the misery that there is in the world,
and which you must see every night. I can't
understand how you manage to look so happy
about it."
While Elfie spoke, the Man in the Moon
looked very serious, and as she finished, he
buried his face in his hands. When he uncov-
ered it the smiling, happy look had gone.


"My little girl," he said, "you have asked
me questions which would take me a lifetime to
answer. This, though, I can say -that I have
seen a great deal of trouble, misery, and wretch-
edness down upon the Earth, but I have seen also
a great number of things to rejoice at, and to
make me glad. Long, long ago, I found that
to sit down and make myself miserable about
things that I could not help, did me no possible


ELFIE MEETS THE MAN IN THE MOON.
good; and that one who does so only cripples his
powers for usefulness. By being bright and
cheerful I have made many people happy, and
kept my own heart young. You- andothers--
might remember this.
As for my working so hard making me cry,
I can tell you that the very best help toward
making a contented mind is to work -work -
work. Not, certainly, to toil on forever with no
rests for play or pleasure, but to do something
every day. I have always found that when I
sit down to rest with the knowledge that I have


468


[APRIL,






ELFIE'S VISIT TO CLOUDLAND AND THE MOON.


accomplished something, I am always the hap-
pier for it and enjoy myself much better.
Now for the things I have seen. I could, as
you may well believe, tell you more stories about
the things that have happened under my light,
than you could get into the biggest story-bobk
that was ever written.
"Some day I will tell you some of these
stories, but I think you are now pretty well
tired after your long flight with E-ma-ji-na-shun,
so we will wait for another time.
Come and see me again, and I will give you
a packet of stories that will last you till next
Christmas. Good-by! my dear little child--
good-by good-by good-by! "
Elfie certainly had begun to feel very sleepy;
she had had so much to see and to think about
that she was feeling quite tired. Several times
during the last part of the speech she had felt
her head nodding, and as he was saying -
"Good-by good-by! her head sank lower
and her eyes closed. The Man, the castle, the
moon, and E-ma-ji-na-shun grew dimmer, at last
disappeared altogether, and Elfie was fast asleep.

TRICK THE TWELFTH.
ELFIE RETURNS TO EARTH. WHERE IS E-MA-
JI-NA-SHUN? THE NEW PUZZLE.
WAKE up, wake up, Elfie! called a familiar
voice. "Wake up! Why, you have been fast
asleep before the fire for the last two hours."
Elfie opened her eyes and found herself in
the same chair that Mr. Krome had sat in when
he had taken her on his lap and told her about
E-ma-ji-na-shun.
She could hardly believe her senses. Where
were all the wonderful things she had seen ?
Where was the Toy Castle? Mother Goose -


the broomstick, the moon, and the dear old
Man? And where was E-ma-ji-na-shun?
She sat up in the chair and rubbed her eyes.
There was the fire just as it had looked when
E-ma-ji-na-shun had appeared out of the smoke.
Everything was just as usual, but while she
looked she heard the ashes drop from the grate,
and she started as she recognized the familiar
chuckle of the quaint old man who had shown
her the wonders of Cloudland.
Could it have all been a dream, she won-
dered. No! She was sure it all had happened.
She could remember everything she had seen
and every word she had heard. Where was
Mr. Krome? He had gone away while she
had been in Cloudland. How did she get
back?-and she laughed as she thought how
E-ma-ji-na-shun would have chuckled and
said:
Ha, ha another of my tricks, my dear."
Well, it was no use worrying about it. One
thing she made up her mind about. She would
have Mr. Krome bring E-ma-ji-na-shun to her
again the first time he called. She wished very
much to go to the moon again; there was one
question she had never asked, and now it was
worrying her as the other questions had worried
her before her journey to the Realm of Fancy.
Now, I am sure you will think that Elfie was
one of those little people who are bound to
worry about something-who, if they have one
thing explained to them, are not happy till they
are miserable over something else.
I think so myself, and I am quite out of
patience with her.
What do you think worries her now ? Why,
this: How the moon stays up there without
tumbling down?
What do you think about it?


469











They promised me a flower-bed
That should be truly mine,
Out in the garden by the wall
Beneath the ivy vine.

The box-wood bush would have to stay;
The daily rose bush too;
But for the rest they'd let me plant
Just as I chose to do.

Though not a daffodil was up
The garden smelled of spring,
And in the trees beyond the wall
I heard the blackbirds sing.

I worked there all the afternoon;
The sun shone warm and still;
I set it thick with flower seeds
And roots of daffodil.

And all the while I dug I planned,
That,when my flowers grew,
I'd train them in alovely bower ,
And cut window through;

The visitors who drove from town
Would come out there to see ;
Perhaps I'd give them each a bunch
And then how pleased they'd be !

I made my plans-and then for weeks
For got. my roots and seeds ,
So when I came that way again
They all were choked with weeds.
K.Pyle.











BUSY CORNERS IN THE ORIENT.

By FRANK STILES WOODRUFF.


EVERYBODY' has heard about the dogs and
donkeys of Oriental cities, how the dogs roam
about without owners, and how the donkeys
bear patiently' their many burdens and get only
scanty thanks in:return. But all Eastern streets
boundd int.rovel and fascinating sights-bright
gown riny shops, veiled women wearing wooden
sandals, gaunt camels swaying along with rude
bells tinkling. .From the first the energetic
peddlers are conspicuous. If the traveler
approaches the Levant by way of Constan-
tinople, he plunges at once into their favorite
haunts. The first night in this great, historic
city will not be forgotten, for the howling of the
hungry street-dogs is hardly silenced before the
coming of daylight brings out a multitude of
these noisy venders, and then sleep is out of the
question. One would think they were trying
to arouse the people in thenext street, to have.
them all ready for making purchases. Some are
shouting in Turkish and some in Greek, adver-
tising the excellence of the good things that
they have in the high baskets on their backs
or on diminutive .mouse-colored donkeys. We
look down from .the hotel window and watch
them as they pass along or stop for bargaining.
There are loads of tempting white grapes, rosy
peaches, and a profusion of fresh vegetables
evidently just in from the gardens along the
Bosphorus, or those bordering the Sweet Waters
beyond the Golden Horn. In all the. towns
along the Asia Minor coast these scenes are
repeated, with perhaps a trifle less noise. At
Smyrna, in early autumn, the mina swarms with
sellers of the luscious sugar-melons, and a little
earlier all the ports of the Greek Archipelago
echo with Sweet, fresh figs !"
But it is in the streets of Syrian cities that
we are most interested. Beyrout, where the
Turkish jargon gives place to Arabic, is our first
point of approach, and sailing down the coast
in the afternoon light, the setting .of the city is


truly superb. From the rocky harbor the grace-
ful beach of St. George's Bay sweeps around 'to
the northeast, reminding one of the Bay of
Naples. The houses, rising on terraces as they
recede from the sea, are of varied architecture,
presenting colonnades of slender pillars cut from
Italian marble, tall minarets, orlittle square dwell-
ings with flat roofs. East of the city rises to
a height of more than eight thousand feet.the
majestic range of Lebanoni capped with snow in
.winter, and to the rugged slopes cling a score
of pretty villages, like swallows' nests under the
rocky eaves. We can be quite resigned to the
treelessness of the mountain-sides. What deli-
cately tinted crags, what alternations of light
and shade as the deep chasms fill with even-
ing shadows, what gorgeousness on clouds and
peaks as the sun plunges finally into the blue
waves of the Mediterranean! We find Beyrout
a city of nearly a hundred thousand inhabi-
tants, many of whom are Europeans, and have
brought with them European houses and streets
and shops and costumes. But within the old
city, inside the dingy walls that at the beginning
of this century inclosed all there was of Bey-
rout, we can find the same queer, narrow,
crooked streets and miniature shops ,as in
Damascus or Hamath.
Landing at the wooden pier by a small boat
from the steamer, we meet our friends, the
hawkers, in full cry. Among the jostling
crowd 'of travelers, soldiers, porters, and beg-
gars, they sell and thrive.
Khamsi, khamsi cries one seedy-looking
individual with a leather bottle strapped upon
his back. He means "only five paras for a
refreshing, cool drink of lemonade,"-lemons
from the groves of Sidon, with snow from the
crown of Lebanon! The goatskin looks any-
thing but clean, and the man himself is not
attractive, but we notice that a small boy has
handed over his half-cent, and out pours his





BUSY CORNERS IN THE ORIENT.


draught from the brass spout. At the same time
the bearer of the goatskin replaces the stopper
(his left thumb), puts on a business-like air, and
repeats his shrill cry, Khamsi, khamsi! with
new ardor. We always knew beforehand when
the lemonade man was coming, by the clinking
of two little:brass plates that he carried in his
right hand, and which he used to aid his voice
in bringing himself into notice. Sometimes, in
the winter, he will change the drink, and de-
light the taste of his customers with cocoa in-
stead of lemonade. But whether with cocoa
or lemonade, the man with the goatskin is a

G~t~tstwabr m,, ,,


















THE BREAD-SELLER.
regular institution in his' quarter of the town,
and many a copper slips into his hand.
Here comes the bread-seller. He is one of
'a large class, and the flat pancake-like loaves
that he has in his basket show how the Beyrout
i i' people make bread. The same flat cake, of vary-
I ing size and thinness, is everywhere the form of
bread in Palestine and Syria. When fresh it is
very sweet and palatable; but when old, much
like shavings.
A t some towns in Mount Lebanon the loaves
are baked in circular form, about two feet
across, and almost as thin as paper. It is re-
S lated that once a foreigner on eating his first
\ \meal in the mountains, took one of these loaves
and spread it on his lap, thinking it was some new
\ style of napkin. Strange as this seemed to his
"KHAMSI, KHAMSI!" .(LEMONADE-SEILLR.) Syrian host, we can hardly be surprised at the


472


[APRIL,






BUSY CORNERS IN THE ORIENT.


mistake, for to our Western eyes this thin, flex-
ible sheet looks far more like cloth than like
bread. But this kind of bread has one great
advantage, for it does away with the necessity
of using spoons. Those sitting at dinner tear off
a piece from the loaf, fold it as a cup, and then
dip a portion of food from the general dish in
the center of the table; devouring thus with
each mouthful both spoon and contents. The
housewives of Beyrout enjoy a touch of that
convenient cooperation that is proposed by cer-
tain reformers of to-day; not that they take
their meals in large public dining-rooms, but
they do have public ovens, thus doing away
with some of the household's "private gear."
The dough is flattened out into -disks of the
proper size, and the boys or girls of the family
put these on trays and carry them to the nearest
oven, where they are soon baked on the smooth
hot slabs. We cannot stop here to describe the
various and interesting processes of bread mak-
ing as they are practiced in the villages of Leb-
anon, or in the Bedouin camp. Other things
close at hand crowd upon our attention.
Bordering the narrow bazaars and under-
gloomy archways are the queer little shops.
Here business never becomes very brisk. Life
creeps along sluggishly, and the shopkeepers
seem to have their full share of the general
sleepiness. Here is an old white-turbaned citi-
zen with water-vessels piled up about him.
These are his stock in trade,- a very little shop
and very cheap ware. A few dollars would buy
him out. All his goods are of the light unglazed
pottery manufactured near the city, and are
quite necessary in every household. Those
slender-necked bottles hanging on the wall are
used on the table as carafes; the little jugs with
spouts are the ordinary drinking-vessels. In-
stead of using glasses or cups, all Syrians drink
directly from the little jugs, lifting them up above
the face and letting a stream fall into the mouth.
They never let the spout of the pitcher touch
the lips, as that is considered a serious breach
of etiquette. Some of the larger vessels are
used for carrying water from the village well or
fountain, and at almost any hour of the day,
especially near nightfall, you may see scores of
women and girls chatting around the public
reservoir. Their vessels filled, they carry them
VOL. XVIII.-36.


quickly home, balanced gracefully on head or
shoulder.
The big jar standing on the floor (almost
big enough to accommodate one of the Forty


THE POTTERY MERCHANT.
Thieves") will: find its way to some house for
holding the family supply of oil or olives. On
account of the scarcity of wood, vessels of clay
have always been most important to the Orien-
tal, and their manufacture seems to have been
an old art when Jeremiah went down to the
potter's house," and beheld the work that the
craftsman wrought on the wheels;"
The jars are very 'brittle; a careless motion
may shiver one in pieces and send a tearful
maiden home from the fountain with her sad
story of a broken jar. But I fancy this fact is
no little satisfaction to our old vender, and he





BUSY CORNERS IN THE ORIENT.


chuckles over others' troubles as he puffs away
at hisjoseh. All typical Orientals smoke. The
tobacco-pipes are of various forms, and this one
is called ajoseh, because the water reservoir at
the bottom is usually a cocoanut that the Arabs
call jouse-el-Hind (Indian-nut). The ordinary
pipe of the East is the narghile, or hubble-
bubble, such as you have often seen in pictures.
This is a glass vessel, surmounted by a little
brass bowl for the tobacco, and provided with a
flexible tube four or five feet long. The. glass
vessel is partly filled with water, a portion of
moist tobacco is placed in the brass bowl, a
red-hot coal is laid on this, and the pipe is
ready. The smoke being drawn through the
water is cooled and purified, while the sound
of the air agitating the water gives the pipe its
name, hubble-bubble.
It is always a delight for the Syrians to gather
in some public caf6 and entertain themselves
with pipes and tiny cups of black coffee. At
such times the professional story-teller is wel-
come. Some winter night we look in upon such
a scene. A score of men sit about on low stools,
while at one end of the arched room sits the
story-teller. Sometimes he recounts very vividly
the valorous deeds of his warlike ancestors;
again, he speaks of love, throwing into the form
of verse his visions of beauty and gentleness;
now the listeners forget their pipes as he
brings back to their minds scenes of 186o,
when feuds between Druses and Maronites had
sprinkled the sides of Lebanon with Christian
blood. Between the stories, the low gurgle
of the water-pipes sounds a musical applause,
and we Westerners realize that we are, in very
truth, in the land of "The Thousand and One
Nights," listening to the magic language of
"Aladdin and Sindbad," and the "Forty
Thieves"-the much-loved language that the
Arabs call "The tongue of the angels." Fi-
nally, at a late hour, there are signs of breaking
up. The story-teller is rewarded with a copper
bit from each of the company, the host is paid
for his evening provision of pipes and coffee,
and the men retire to their homes.
The next morning our friend the caf6-keeper
washes out his pipes, places them in order on
long shelves, and is ready for another day's
entertaining.


Near-by is the native barber's place of busi-
ness. What an odd little establishment it is!
Like niost Eastern craftsmen he is content with
a simple outfit, and he finds his customers quite
satisfied. Almost everything in his shop is of
native manufacture. The towels, of cotton and
silk, are woven on the hand-looms of Hamah;
the brass water-vessel and the inlaid frame of
his hand-mirror come from thebazaars of Damas-
cus; but the razors are doubtless of English
make. The demure victim in the picture is re-
ceiving a fashionable shampoo, and, as usual, he
helps the barber by holding the tin neck-basin
while the water falls upon his head from above.
All sorts of mechanical arts in the East im-
press us with their simplicity-not that Syrians
are behindhand in making beautiful things, but


THE BARBER SHAMPOOING A CUSTOMER.


the methods and machines are very simple.
Everything is hand-made. The rich rugs whose
combinations of color and whose silky sheen


[APRIL,






BUSY CORNERS IN THE ORIENT.


are so much prized in our American homes
are all made laboriously by hand in the vil-
lages of Syria, Persia, and Kurdistan. Work
in brass, silver, and mother-of-pearl, while some
of it is exceedingly delicate, is all done without
the aid of any improved machinery. The ex-
quisite weaving of cotton and silk that has made
Syria famous is wrought on the rudest of hand-
looms.
The carpenter behind the chips and shav-
ings illustrates Eastern wood-working. He is
making a chair-round on his rough turning-
lathe. With his right hand he revolves the
piece of wood, using a kind of bow such as
our jewelers use on small lathes. The chisel
he holds with his left hand assisted by his toes,
We are inclined to pity him and his bungling
machine, but our pity he does not need. Give
him time, and he will bring out some very fair
work, specimens of which may be seen hang-
ing about his shop. His principal work is the
manufacture and repairing of furniture. He
receives little, but fortunately his wants are few.
Ordinarily his water-pitcher and pipe will be
within reach, and no doubt secreted somewhere
about the room are a few flat loaves and a bit
of fresh cheese that will satisfy him till evening.
Then he will stop work, slip his feet into the big,
red, sharp-pointed shoes, and trudge away off
to his home.
The work of an Eastern farmer is even ruder
than the carpenter's. His crude plow, drawn
by cows, makes a shallow drill instead of turn-
ing a furrow. He reaps with a sickle, instead of
using a self-binder, and as for the threshing, it
is about the same process that Ruth saw at the
threshing-floor of Boaz in the valley of Bethle-
hem. We hear rumors of railroad building in
Syria (those Western conveniences must come
some day), but now, instead of the noisy clang
of engines and cars, the produce of the land
swings quietly along the rough roads to the sea-
board. Camels and mules and donkeys form
the freight-trains of the East.
But let us turn to more literary subjects and in-
quire into the profession of the public letter-writer.
All natives of Syria use Arabic, and in ordi-
nary speaking make use of words and phrases
familiar to all classes. The language, as writ-
ten, deals with the more formal, literary words,


of which the common people often know noth-
ing. Hence the language may be regarded as
composed of two dialects, more or less distinct
-spoken Arabic and written Arabic. The







M.











i-




ORIENTAL TURNING-LATHE.

general lack of learning has created a somewhat
honored profession, represented by the public
letter-writer. His office presents rather a liter-
ary aspect from the specimens of fine hand-
writing that adorn the walls. A small chest for
writing-materials, a low four-legged stool for his
patron, and (with the inevitable water-pipe) his
outfit is complete. His pens are not at all like
ours, but are merely pieces of reed cut from the
water-courses, and sharpened in very much the
same way that our grandfathers sharpened their
quill pens. The scribe kneels on one knee,
places a sheet of paper on his left hand, takes
the reed pen in his right, and is ready for the
dictation of his customer. The letter, as a rule,
will be largely introduction and conclusion, for
which the scribe has regular formulas to suit
men of every rank. A little space somewhere be-
tween the formal phrases of ceremony is incident-
ally reserved for news, but the most important
items will probably be found in a postscript.
Through the influence of Europe and America,
schools of every grade are multiplying and im-


475






BUSY CORNERS IN THE ORIENT.


THE PUBLIC LETTER-WRITER AND HIS CUSTOMER.


proving in Syria; and as time goes on the pub-
lic scribe will find himself with fewer and fewer
patrons, till finally he may have to give up his
profession altogether and become private secre-
tary to some great man-a mudir or pasha.


Can it be that when the dawn of New Year's
day shall usher in the year 2000 A. D., the foot
of Western, civilization will be treading these
picturesque byways, and steam-whistles echo-
ing among the hills of the sunny East?


A GREAT FIGHT.


Ss ""' -HE first I heard of it was
when Fred came rushing
into the house after break-
fast. "The enemy!" he
cried. "The enemy is
upon us!" "Where?"
cried the others of us,
jumping up. "In the battle-
field, of course!" he said;
and he seized his flag and
rushed out again. We all fol-
lowed as quickly as we could. I put on the
helmet, and Max took the drum, and we let


Toddles have the bugle this time because he 'd
just tumbled down; and he had the hearth-
broom, too, so he was all right. We ran into
the field and found that the enemy had taken up
a strong position behind the old cannon. (Ours
is a real battle-field, you know, and. has been
there ever since the war.) So we formed in line,
and Fred made a flank movement, meaning to
take the enemy in the rear;'but when he heard
Fred coming, he charged on our line, and Tod-
dles ran away, but Max and I retreated in good
order, and formed again behind a rock, and be-
gan to shell him with green apples. He stopped


476


0


[APRIL,






A GREAT FIGHT.


to eat the apples, and meanwhile Fred com-
pleted his flank movement, and falling upon the
enemy's rear, whacked it violently with a stick,
waving his flag all the time, and shouting
"Yield, caitiff! Yield, craven hound! (I tell
him that nowadays people don't say those things
in war, but he always says that Roland and
Bayard did, and that what suited them will
suit him.)
Well, the enemy turned suddenly on Fred,
and drove him back against the cannon; but


his back, and putting himself at our head, ral-
lied us for a grand charge. We rushed forward,
driving the enemy before us. A panic seized
him, and he fled in disorder; we pursued him
as far as the fence, and he got through a hole
and escaped, but not before we each had a
good whack at him. It was a glorious victory.
Fred-made us a speech afterward from the
cannon, and we all waved our -well, what-
ever we had to wave, and vowed to slay the
invader if he ever dared to show his nose on


WE RUSHED FORWARD, DRIVING THE ENEMY BEFORE US."

by that time we had advanced again, and Tod- our side of the fence again. Ah, yes! it was
dles was blowing the bugle as hard as he could, a splendid fight.
which seemed to disconcert the enemy. Fred "Who was the enemy?" Why, did n't I
took a flying leap from the cannon right over say? Farmer Thurston's pig, of course!













CHARLIE'S SHADOWS AND THEIR SHADOW. HOUSE;
A BEDTIME STORY.

BY MATTIE E. PETTUS.


IT was Charlie Percy's bedtime. What fun
he had had, all that long, lovely day, playing
with his little Cousin Lorraine and the white
rabbits, out under the old chestnut-trees on
Grandfather Stockholm's farm
Lorraine had just gone away in the carriage
with her mama. Charlie felt lonely.
He was four years old. Standing on the
porch now, he was wondering if there would be
any use in asking to stay up longer?
"No," he concluded, "it would n't be any
use!",' For there was Aunt Lil in the.door,
waiting; and there were the great cedars, and
Norway-spruce trees0on'the lawn, rustling their
branches :not bowing politely, as they some-
imnes did, but shaking, from side to side, as if
they were saying: No! no! too late! Good-
night! "
So Charlie took Aunt Lil's hand, and they
went upstairs very slowly, one step at a time.
His bright -eyes looked curiously at two tall,
dark shadows (no, one was short and one tall),
standing upon the wall beside him.
Aunt Lil saw them, too, and she. nodded
pleasantly to the little one, Charlie's own
shadow.
But he would never have known it for his
own, it looked so stout, and had such a funny
head.
"Come along upstairs with us, Master
Shadow! ". said Aunt Lil. You must go to
bed, you know, when Charlie does!"
The little boy laughed heartily.
"Tum along, Master Sadow!" he repeated.
"Look, Aunt Lil, your sadow tummin' too! Is
it doin' to put my sadow to bed ?"
"Why, I think so," said his auntie. "See,
Charlie! They are coming into the room with
us! Now.they are hiding until we light the


candle! Oh, the sly things! Wait a minute!
You '11 see them again!"
Sure enough, as soon as the candle was
lighted, there, they were!
Charlie clapped his hands, and was much
amazed when he saw the little shadow also clap-
ping his hands, silently, indeed, but vigorously,
as if he in his turn liked the fun of coming back,
and taking another peep at Charlie, and the
pretty room where he slept, with the white bed
looking so soft and so cozy.
. "Where were they. Aunt Lil, when-whenit
was dark-before-before you marked the can-
dle burn ?"
Charlie looked intently all around.
I 'm sure I don't know i" said his auntie.
"Do you suppose they tell anybody where they
hide?"
She placed the candlestick on the high bu-
reau, and began to get the little boy ready for
bed. As he always loved to do just at this
time, Charlie held up his cheek to be kissed,
and his aunt bent down to him.
For one moment he had forgotten his nlew
friends the Shadows, big and little, but there
they still loomed, dark and silent, on the oppo-
site wall, as if watching their friends sitting near
the bureau.
They seemed to imitate the good-night kiss,
too, for the moment Charlie saw them, he cried
out joyfully:
"Oh! look at 'em! Little Sadow a-kissin'
Big Sadow! Does he like him? Does he talk
to him?"
"Good-evening, Mr. Shadow! said Aunt
Lil, politely, for she thought she would go on
with the new game. "How are the other lit-
tle Shadow children ? Are they at home to-
night in your shadow house? And do you






CHARLIE'S SHADOWS AND THEIR SHADOW HOUSE.


479


take them out riding in a shadow
S1^ carriage, with a shadow horse? "
c .A And have they dot a auntie,

__ while his dark blue eyes shone
bright as stars, so lively was
i. his interest in this queer new
family.
Charlie want to see their
shadow house!" was his next re-
mark.
[- -- "Please, Auntie, play it all over
again!"
But Aunt Lil had put the light
out, and "Little Sadow," and
"Big Sadow," had "silently
stolen away" into the darkness.
Charlie wondered "if they
lived in the wall," -and where
their shadow house" could be?
There was no end to his questions
--if only Aunt Lil would keep
on answering them! But she said
it was really "sleepy-time!"
"Come, Charlie boy," she
Added, "after you have said your
prayers, you can get into bed by
moonlight. I will pull up the
blind. But first let us look
South of the window and see
A -^ the shadow house on the
grass. Then, our boy
R must go to sleep!"
She put aside the white
Curtains, and Charlie,
'AC 4/'- with his arms around
her, stood in the bright
S .- \ / moonlight and looked
t / ----' out of the window at the
S"sadow house."
How plainly they saw
it,-the black picture of the long, low
farm-house, peaked roof, chimneys and all,
clearly drawn in shadows on the grass!
You 've seen them often, on many a summer evening, I am
S sure, little Bright Eyes now reading this true history But per-
haps you may like the shadow pictures better, knowing the "story-
game that Charlie and Aunt Lil have made up about them!
"Mr. Sadow's big sadow house!" cried Charlie, laughing. "All dark!
All the children in bed ? "






CHARLIE'S SHADOWS AND THEIR SHADOW HOUSE.


He began to understand the game, and yet it
was just enough of a riddle to be very en-
tertaining.
"They don't need any lights in their win-
dows! "said Aunt Lil. "Neither do we, the
moon is so bright!"
A many new neighbors we 's dot! said
Charlie wisely. But we tan't see 'em in day-
times!"
An unexpected difficulty now occurred to
Charlie.
"Poor. Sadows tan't walk! House is lyin'
down flat!"
The little fellow pretended to be much grieved
at the misfortunes of his "new neighbors," but
the corners of that naughty little mouth twitched,
and let the laugh.come out!
Flat ? I should think so! said Auntie Lil.
"How could shadows live in it if it was n't ?
They are flat, are-n't they? Oh, Charlie, look!
Now we know why the house is dark! The
Shadow children have been out riding to-night!
Here comes their carriage!"
Indeed, 'it seemed that they were to know
more of the "Shadow family" and their be-
longings, for at this moment Uncle James
came home,, driving the rockaway, with old
" Prince" drawing it.. Swiftly they came in
through the open gate, stopped under the win-
dow, and there, I hardly need remind you, on
the grass lay the shadowy carriage and horse
of Charlie's silent friends !
Old Prince stood like a statue, and very


handsome and proud he looked, as if he knew
all about everything! It was very easy for
Charlie to imagine "Big Sadow," "Little
Sadow," and all the children" inside the car-
riage.
Oh! I want 'Raine to see it! he exclaimed,
clinging so tightly to Aunt Lil that she could
hardly breathe.
'Raine, his little cousin, had gone to New
York with her mama, to stay all night. They
had taken the train after tea, and Charlie had
almost forgotten to. be lonely "without her
while he played with his new neighbors who
lived in the shadow house.
"Come now," said Aunt Lil; while Uncle
James looked up and shook his finger at the
little white figure in the window, so surprised
was he to see the little boy still out of bed at
that unusually late hour.
"Good-night, Uncle James. .Do you know the
Sadow people ?" the white-robed figure called
out. But his uncle only shook his head, and
Aunt Lil said:
"Come, come, we must say good-night to
Little Shadow, and Big Shadow, and perhaps,
sometime, we may see them again!"
"Yes; see 'em when 'Raine has come home
again! murmurs Charlie sleepily, his head
resting comfortably on the soft pillow, and his
eyes blinking drowsily.
To. his loving heart no pleasure can.-be quite
perfect without 'Raine; not even the "Sadow
people "!


-7 y.
L)C-


480









AN EASTER PROCESSIONAL.

BY HELEN GRAY CdNE.












SI





















LLT sing, c. brigh- t morn breaking
From the cl'ri- u .-u c t
Lillec fa-tir theI),r 4hath forsake
Larks in lid t their mu.-.i: making.
Sing th song of brit ing; and raking
Tht Ueta t V-ur lIa.- t!
ApIle b-:tiIs in white are dre-smin
And in heaen'W ble irch
Little clouds, ikk cherubs l pressi_
R nrk on r ,nk -%irl cheeks -_r,.sing,
Shed their ofurimes: like a bIle-s. in
(-rn Air ',ful nir T, I






JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.


JACK-IN-THE- PULPIT.


APRIL is a strange month, my hearers, and, I
may add, a month that has caused a good deal of
remark, especially in poetry. For my own part,
I rather prefer her predecessor March, a strong,
vigorous month as you know, one that speaks his
own mind, and knocks boys and girls about in good
belaboring fashion. But April is different, a sort of
weather-and-water month, so to speak or to be
more poetical, she is a blue-eyed, weepative, yet
laughing thing, rather difficult to depend upon
unless she feels like it.
And now, suppose we take up the case of a dear
little boy who puzzles himself over many things
and often asks conundrums without knowing it.
He is a pet of our friend Bessie Chandler who
sends you this little song about him; and, as you
may suppose, she is very fond of the little fellow:

THE TUNKUNTEL.
"WHAT is a Tunkuntel? he asked,
And have you got one here?
Why don't you let me play with it?
And why is it so dear? "
"A Tunkuntel," I vaguely said,
"I 've really never seen.
Is it a kind of animal ?
I don't know what you mean."
Oh, yes, you do Don't tell me that!
You know it very well,
For you always say you love,me,
More than a Tunkuntel."

SWEEPING A TREE.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT : If I had not seen it with
my own eyes I should never have believed that trees not
only need sweeping sometimes, but get swept. As I
crossed Washington Square, here in New York, one
morning, I saw a man vigorously brushing the trunk.of
an elm with a broom made of stiff wires, and, of course,


I stopped to investigate the subject. The sweeper
was affable, and in answer to my question told me he
was waging war against the caterpillars that had snugly
bestowed themselves for the winter in the crevices of the
bark. On looking more closely, I saw what appeared to
be many bits of soiled cotton-wool. Each one of these
rolls of fuzz, I learned, had contained a caterpillar, and
later, became the abiding place of countless eggs which
only awaited the warm rays of the sun to hatch out into
wriggling young leaf-destroyers. "So you see, Miss,"
said my informant, "in order to save the trees, we have
sometimes to give them a sweeping."
My curiosity gratified, I walked on, leaving him en-
gaged in his singular but useful occupation.
Please show this letter to your young congregation,
dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit, and believe me,
Yours truly, AGNES L. SLADE.

PICKEREL FROM THE SKY.
"OH, oh, Mr. Jack you may think or ex-
claim reproachfully as I announce this item. But
do not be shocked, my beloved, you are going to
hear only a true story.
You see, this is how it was: Deacon Green
found in a newspaper the statement that a lady
walking in the town of Newburyport, Mass., had
been startled by a live pickerel falling at her feet,
as if it had been tossed to her from the sky;
and that she had taken the fish home, cooked it,
and eaten it for her breakfast.
Thereupon, that dear Little School-ma'am,
who would n't doubt the Deacon for the world,
cast about in her mind as to what to do- next.
Suddenly it occurred to her that Harriet Prescott
Spofford, the poet and author, lived at Newbury-
port. And so, the dear little soul, instead of bother-
ing the Deacon with tedious details, straightway
wrote to Mrs. Spofford, and in time received the
following reply:
MY DEAR FRIEND: The incident is perfectly true.
Mrs. J., crossing the fields from the West Newbury
road to the Artichoke Hills, saw a large hawk drop the
fish. She picked it up, but, as it flopped, called her
husband, who held it for her. It was, of course, alive,
and they had it at breakfast the next morning, andit
weighed about a pound-and-a-half. There have always
been pickerel in the Artichoke, which on one side of the
West Newbury road almost loses itself in marshy shal-
lows, but on the other is a mile-long succession of dark,
still pools, all overshadowed and painted by the thick,
leafy woods among which it winds. Hawks also are a
frequent sight all about here, with their beautiful flight.
We have eagles, too! A pair of them build up the river
beyond the "Laurels," and come sailing down, and we
live in constant dread of the gunners finding them out.
One rainy day I saw one of the pair get his talons caught
in the chains of the bridge, just on the edge of the is-
land -he was flying low, I suppose, on account of the
heavy air and he hung there with his wide wings
stretched almost a minute before he disentangled him-
self and swept away and was a magnificent picture on
the gray sky.
While driving on my way to verify the pickerel story,
my faithful old Michael, whose word I would take as
soon as any one's in the whole world, said that when a
boy in Ireland he had many a time seen a raven drop by
accident the egg it had stolen, and then turn over and
tumble and catch the egg again before it could reach the
ground! I believe it because Michael says so.
Yours, H. P. S.


482


[APRIL,






JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.


BRAVE LITTLE SAILORS OF THE AIR.
DEAR JACK: Will you please show your great
big crowd of boys and girls (me among them) this
paragraph which I copy from the Portland Tran-
script for the ioth of December last? D. T.
Thousands of goldcrests annually cross and recross the
North Sea at the wildest period of the year, and, unless
the weather is rough, generally make their migrations
in safety. And yet this is the smallest and frailest
British bird-a mere fluff of feathers, and weighing
only seventy grains.

Good Take courage, then, my little folk, my
weak ones, and all who having but little strength
yet seem to have long and difficult paths before
you. That there are human goldcrests, we may
be sure.
THAT UNFORTUNATE GRASSHOPPER.*
ASHEVILLE, N. C.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: In the November ST.
NICHOLAS, Benjamin Webster told of a dead grass-
hopper clinging to a stalk of goldenrod. I can give no
explanation as to how the insect came there, or why he
stayed there after death; but write to tell you that I found
a grasshopper in exactly the same fix last summer.
However, my grasshopper was not in favor
of the goldenrod, for he clung to some stiff
weed whose name I cannot give. E. 0. E.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: I have learned
from good authority the probable cause of the
grasshopper being found dead and stuck to
that stem of a goldenrod.
Grasshoppers in the late autumn are sub-
ject to a fungous disease, and thiugrasshopper
may have jumped up there, and having died
of some fungous disease, stuck there, as flies
will stick to a window-pane after being dead l
from a similar cause. ERNEST FORBES.
Very good, boys. And here is still an-
other letter which undoubtedly bears 4
upon the case in hand:

FLIES DO SOMETIMES DIE. d
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: My brothers
and I were so much interested in the stiff-
grasshopper picture that accompanied B.
Webster's letter of last November, that we
have tried to learn something more about the matter.
The most satisfactory thing we came across was a short
article copied from the London Globe which, while it
did n't mention grasshoppers at all, either stiff or nimble,
threw a good deal of light upon our subject. The article
said, in substance, that house-flies,like many other insects,
are subject to the attacks of a parasitic fungus which de-
stroys great numbers of them, especially toward the end
of autumn. We sometimes see the victims glued to the
window-panes in the attitude of life, with legs widely
spread and wings raised as if in preparation for flight,
but with a white halo on the glass all round them, and
with bodies pale and distended. The spores of the fun-
gus, which are exceedingly minute and are present in the
air, have been carried against the fly's body, and such as
struck its under surface had adhered, when each spore
had sent out a long tubular projection, which penetrated
the skin and body.
Once established, the parasite-fungus meets with
suitable nourishment in the various fluids of the fly's
See page 83 of ST. NICHOLAS for November, 189o.


body, by aid of which it will speedily multiply itself
until its victim, drained of its life's support, finally dies.
The thread-like tube first produces a series of detached,
rounded bodies. These cells, which have an indefinite
power of self-multiplication, are carried by the blood to
all parts of the body, and thus the disease spreads.
The particular species of fungus which makes havoc
with the house-flies is called Empusa musca, and is one
of a group which are distinguished by their habit of
subsisting upon living insects. Under its attack the fly
becomes gradually feebler, and finally quite unable to
move; and then the viscid secretion upon the pads of the
feet hardens and glues the insect to the surface to which
it is clinging, while the fungus spreads round it and leaves
some of its spores adhering so as to form the halo above
described. HENRY C. E.- .
WHAT IS THIS P
WHAT in the world does this picture represent?
All I know about it is. that the ST. NICHOLAS
artist requested me to show it to you, and when I
asked him what it was, he disrespectfully called
me a landlubber.
I repeat, what is it? Is it fireworks? Is it a
baseball-bat lunatic asylum? Is it a wild flower
that has no idea how to behave itself; or what is
it ? If any of you really know, pray write to your


distracted Jack. I 've asked the Deacon and the
dear Little School-ma'am, and though they evi-
dently know all about it, they simply smile and
reply: Ask the children."
Now, there remains, it appears, one more open
question which this congregation has not yet settled:

AN ANSWER REQUESTED.
DEAR JACK: I want to know if you think that
horses, cows, dogs, and cats, etc., have languages
of their own, and can understand each other's
language, and also what proof can you give to
support your opinion ? Your interested reader,
FANNIE S. B--

Jack has his own opinion on this question, Miss
Fanny,-but before replying he would like first
to hear from a few hundred of his observing young
hearers and investigators.


483





































HUDSON, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to send you a beautiful
patriotic poem, written by my little nine-year-old brother.
He composed it one night after being put to bed, as he
could not get to sleep. He entitled it War," but now
wishes he had named it They are Coming," which seems
more appropriate, there not being much war about it.
GERTRUDE Du B-.
WAR.
THEY are coming, they are coming,
To destroy our native land:
They are coming, they are coming,
From every shore and strand.
They are coming in the morning, they are coming in the
night,
And now, my fellow-countrymen, we must all take flight.
They are coming, they are coming,
With all their swords erect,
They are coming, they are coming,
Ourselves we must protect.
They are coming in the morning, they are coming in the
night,
And now, my fellow-countrymen, we must all prepare to
fight.
They 're upon us, they 're upon us,
Oh, help us every one!
We '11 be murdered! We '11 be murdered!
The father and the son.
And now we must prepare to flee
Across the meadow and the lea.


COLUMBUS, 0.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My home is out west, in Colum-
bus, Ohio, and I write to tell you of a boy's good luck, or
rather of the generous hearts of some of our inhabitants.
In the Dispatch, a newspaper published here, there
was a picture of Santa Claus, and the one who collected
the most of these would receive a little Shetland pony.
Mama gave the most of ours to children who came


around to collect them, as Perin and I already have a
pony and cart.
There is a little cripple boy who sits in a small wagon in
front of my uncle's office; he has never stood upon his
feet; he sells papers, supporting his mother, little sister,
and little brother. Many persons buy papers of him
and give him twenty-five cents or fifty and do not wait
for the change. This little cripple boy collected 167,430
of these coupons and received the pony.
A little girl had collected three thousand of the coupons
and gave them all to him. A gentleman gave him a little
wagon, another the harness, another the fur robe and
whip, another a whole suit of clothes.
Every one was delighted that this poor little cripple
boy should receive the prize, and I think he never before
had such a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.
Your respectful reader, MINNIE M. M--.


FORT COLLINS, COL.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken you for seven or
eight years, but have never written you a letter.
I have been attending the Agricultural College at this
place since last September, and like itvery much. There,
are about ninety students in attendance, but about half of
them live in town. The dormitory has room for about
thirty boys.
We have the regular Government uniform, light-blue
trousers and dark-blue blouse.
The college grounds cover one hundred and sixty acres,
so we have plenty of room to move around in.
My home is in Denver, where I go sometimes to spend
Sunday, as I get a little homesick if I have to stay at
school all the time, and Denver is only ninety miles
away. From your best friend,. J. S. D.


DIXON, ILL.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am very much interested in
your story about" The Boy Settlers," because I live right
here at Dixon where they started from.
My grandpa, P. M. Alexander, has lived here fifty
84






THE LETTER-BOX.


years and knows Mr. Brooks very well, and my grandpa
lived in Father Dixon's family for some time. I go very
often to the store of the Mr. Brubaker, who was men-
tioned in the first chapter; and Artiein your "Boy Emi-
grants" is Captain Upham of the United States Army,
who lives near us this winter.
I am too young to write more, as I am only seven
years old. Your little friend, LEX. ALEXANDER.


WILD CLIFF, NEW ROCHELLE, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I would like to tell you about
my visit to Nantucket, last summer. I went with Aunt
Lill, who has a house there. We went on the Puritan,"
one of the finest boats on the Fall River line. We had
Aunt Lill's dog with us; its name is Cleopatra, but it
is called Pat. I was very glad when I got to Nantucket.
All the old houses have a hole in the roof.where the
women used to sit with their telescopes, watching for
the fishing-boats and whaling-vessels. I did not know
how to swim when I went there, but after a while I began
to learn, because I saw that all the other boys were hav-
ing a good time in the water. I soon learned to swim,
dive, and do all the funny tricks that the other boys did.
On one part of the island there is a" toboggan slide," for
the use of the bathers, who slide down it into the water.
You have to pay ten cents for a bath-house, and.ten cents
for the toboggan. I had a friend called Jack, a very nice
boy, and his mother took me to a place called Walwinet,
in a sail-boat Another day she invited me to go with
them to Siasconset, and allowed me to drive half the way
back. There is a man called the town-crier, who goes
around ringing a bell, and calling out in a loud voice that
there is great surf at the south shore, or an auction inthe
town, or a fire somewhere, or anything else that does
not happen every day. In September my brother Wal-
lace came to Nantucketland then we had lots of fun. We
gathered such pretty shells, and stones, and many other
curious things.
Iwish I could go to Egypt, as Lucy Ellsworth did.
My mama has just been reading her diary to us. We all
liked it so much. Mama says she has seen her, and that
sheis a pretty little girl Good-by,now.
Your little friend, ARTHUR S- .


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live in Kingston, N. Y., but
am visiting in Hammonton, N. J.
I read your story in the November ST. NICHOLAS
about "The Mules and the Electric Car," and now I
want to tell you another.
In the house where I am staying there is a large tank
tohold water. Once or twice it was found empty. Afaucet
was found open in the barn and all the water running
out, but all the men said they had not left it open; Be-
sides horses there are two old mules. One morningwhen
one of the men opened the barn-door he saw one of the
mules go to the faucet, turn on the water with its teeth
and take a drink. Then they knew who had done the
mischief. Was n't it clever ? But it required more than
animal intelligence to know enough to turn the water off.
ISABELLA W, C--.

YOKOHAMA, JAPAN.
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am so fond of your maga-
zine that I don't know how I 'd get along without you.
I live in Japan and am sixteen years old. Japan is a
very interesting country, especially all the Japanese cus-
toms. Is n't it funny? At New Year's when you have
bought anything in a shop, this shop--I mean the
shopkeepers send you a nice present with their card and


wishing you a happy New Year. Very nice things they
send, too. For example: a porcelain shop, where we
had bought something a little while ago, sent us a very
pretty hand-painted Japanese cup and saucer (European
shape). Was n't that kind? I wish the shops in America
and Europe would be as generous as those in Japan!
Now, I hope this letter will reach its destination..
Good-by, dear ST. NICK. My heartiest thanks for all
your interesting stories. Your friend, M. E---.

CALDWELL, KANSAS.
DEAREST ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl eleven years
old, and I have you bound each year. I read a great deal
and could not do without you. Whenever you come there
is a great rush, and I claim the right to cut the leaves.
I have a brother Earl, and together we have a pony
which we call "Snip." I enjoy riding horseback.
My papa is an experienced hunter, and I enjoy going
to hunt with him. We have several bird-dogs and it is
so interesting to watch them point at the quail, and then
when papa kills the birds, they run to fetch them to us.
Papa used to have a ranch and we used to go to visit it.
Earl and I would go on horseback, or out to see the cows
get milked. We would go down to the creek and wade
in the water sometimes.
Papa has a kodak, to take pictures with, and he takes
them quite often.
Mama reads to us often, because my eyes are quite
weak, and they hurt when I read at night.
From your loving little friend,
VIRGINIA G-.

CHICAGO, ILL.
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am one of your constant
readers. We all enjoy you very much. At the end of
the year we give away the ST. NICHOLAS that we have
read, to a hospital; then we get the ones already bound.
I would like to tell you how we spent our holidays this
winter. We went to Nashville, Montgomery, Mobile,
and New Orleans. About the first thing I did when we
arrived at Nashville was to get the ST. NICHOLAS. The
capitol here is on a high hill with lovely grounds. From
there you have a good view of the city. We visited
Mrs. Polk's residence. President Polk is buried in the
front yard.
At Montgomery, we went to the capitol. It is a large
building on a hill, and was the first capitol of the Con-
federacy. We saw the oldest house in the city, where
Lafayette stayed when he came to the United States.
This house is two stories high, and is made out of lime-
stone.
It was lovely at Mobile to see roses blooming in.the
middle of winter.
I noticed the milk-wagons in New Orleans. These
reminded me of Tante Modeste taking Lady Jane riding.
We saw the Margaret statue. I think it is erected to
the Mother Margaret that is spoken of in Lady Jane."
We crossed the river from New Orleans to Algiers,
and from there rode to a sugar-plantation. Near the mill
there were fields of sugar-cane. At the mill we saw the
sugar-cane crushed and the juice boiled. It was very
interesting. We saw negro-cabins near this plantation.
At our school we have an orchestra that consists of
three violins, two flutes, and a piano. I play the vio-
lin. I also belong to a quartette. I am still, dear ST.
NICHOLAS, your devoted reader, HONORA S-- .

ST. PAUL, MINN.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have never seen, in your
"Letter-box," a letter from St. Paul. Some people think
that we have a very hard time in winter, but we do not.
There is not one bit of snow to be seen just now. Why,


485







THE LETTER-BOX.


on Christmas, we had just enough snow to cover the
streets. But they had some very cold winters before I
came out here. I never saw a city having more hills
than St. Paul; I was born in New York City, and lived
there until two years ago. I have visited quite number
of cities, but I must say, although I love my birthplace
dearly, that I like St. Paul better than any of them.
There is so much ground around the houses, and so
many trees. In summer, the people visit the surround-
ing lakes. The schools are closed at present for the
holiday vacation, and the lakes, ponds, and rinks are
thronged with school children, whose favorite sport is
skating.
We have a number of very nice theaters here, and
papa and mama have gone this evening to attend the
opening of the Metropolitan Opera House.
I like "The Story of the Golden Fleece," and "The
Fortunes of Toby Trafford," but Little Lady Jane -
why, it 's just lovely.
You ought to see the rush that is made for you when
you come here! And, remember, if any one wants a
good, healthful climate let him come to St. Paul.
Your devoted reader, JULIE M. C- .

NEW YORK CITY.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl eleven years
old. I have spinal-complaint, and have not walked since
I was three years old.
I am out a great deal in pleasant weather in my little
carriage, and when it is rainy I have my chair close to the
window. I used to mind very much not being able to
run around like other little girls, but I am getting used
to it now and try not to cry when the pain is very bad.
I like Lady Jane" so much, and I am sorry it is
going to end so soon.
A little girl eleven years old ought to write better than
this, but you know it is hard, lying so flat, so please
excuse it. I am your loving little reader,
PANSY M. M-.

VANCOUVER, WASHINGTON.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live in Vancouver. My
grandmama sends you to me for a Christmas present.
She lives at St. Klamath. I went there on -a visit and
had a nice time, for we went to a huckleberry patch, but
I ate more than I picked, and it was n't very much use
to take me along.
My grandpa shot a large gray wolf in the cow-corral
one winter, but it got away through the soft snow, though
it was badly wounded. CLYDE B- .

WHITE OAKS, N. M.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am little boy, ten years old.
I live in White Oaks; it is a mining camp. We live
'way up in the mountains.
We have lots of snow up here, and it is snowing
while I write. My sister took you for two years, and
we both like you very much. I think "The Bells of
St. Anne," and the "Golden Casque" are very nice
stories; but this is enough for the first time, and I
must end.
Your little friend, ROBBIE H. L- .

TOWANDA, PA.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My sisters Amy and Lita
and myself thought we would write you a letter. We
have five brothers and a dear, sweet mama, and a hand-
some papa. We live on a small farm, have no near
neighbors, so we girls are very much attached to each
other.
Amy takes care of the chickens and sells the eggs, and


papa lets her have the money. Lita has some ducks,
and I have the three small boys to dress in the morning,
for mama is not very well, and we can't afford to keep
more than two servants. Well, I will leave the rest for the
other girls to write. Your loving and devoted reader,
DONNA T--

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: The boys are quarreling in
the nursery, and Donna has gone in to quiet them.
Donna and Amy are twins, but they are just as different
as they can be. Donna is the peacemaker, and Amy
the one that stirs up all the rows and quarrels. They
are fourteen and I am thirteen. These are the first let-
ters that we have ever written, and we hope they will be
printed soon. We have great times here, and Amy sells
the chickens' eggs, and has the money, and I have the
money from the ducks.
But Amy is waiting for her turn and I must stop.
Your admiring reader, LITA T- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: It seems as if the girls had
told you all about us; they have n't' left anything for
me to tell. We have the dearest donkey named Csesar,"
and a little donkey-cart. Donna has a cat named" Vaga-
bonda," she calls it Vag, and I have a large Newfound-
land dog named "Napoleon." My brother Jack calls
Donna and me the "sin twisters "; he means the twin
sisters.
Lita is the literary member of our family, and Bob is
our musician. I must stop now or this letter won't get
mailed to-night. Your interested reader,
AMY T-.


WE give herewith the key to the enigmatical letter by
"Queen Daisy," printed in the Letter-box of last month:
Cyprus (cypress)- Florence James James Flat-
tery Virginia Java Orange Sandwich Great
Bear Florence -Fear Victoria Cologne Good
Hope Florence Virginia Darling James Ma-
deira James Newfoundland Friendly Lena -
Florence Virginia -Pesth (pest) Constance -Vic-
toria Chili Farewell Concord.



WE thank the young friends whose names follow, for
pleasant letters received from them: Grace H., Natie B.,
Gertrude N., Madge McE., Howard M. N., Helen De
F. B., Samuel C. S., Willie M., R. W. B., Bessie G.,
Clinton De W. Jr., Howard F. C., Virgie L. H., Edith
S., Geoffrey S. S., Grace S., Matalea W., Ethel C., R.
Sherman B., Harry A., Eleanor H. H., Isabel H., Ruth
L. S., Alford S., Alice and Gertrude, Linda P., Helen P.
M., M. S. A., Carrie B. B., Albert P. T., Katie M. S.,
Phyllis P., Claribelle W., Mildred L. M., Bertha S.,
Ogla D., Emmie L. B., Mattie G., Louise F., Lucile P.,
Jessie F., Louis H. Du B., Susie L. P., Eleanor A. M.,
R..C. H., Rita D. H., Florence L., Nellie R. M., Dor-
othy G., Winnie W. C.," Mother Bunch," Mabel H. L.,
Mary A. McC., Naomi and Kathryn, C. Louise H., Al-
bert D. D,, Mary B. H., Elsie D. G., Susie F. H., J.
Leggett P., Gladys and "Baby Beth," Claudia W. E.,
B. Franklin G., U. Erna S., Lucile E. T., Rebecca L.
W., Grace May C., Erna H. S., Mollie Lee, E. J. F.,
James G., Annie and Edith R., Norah R. M., M. H. J.,
Alice May R., Phyllis S. C., Laura M. D., Cyril T. H.,
Amy E., Florence S. W., Wm. D., Laura O'B., Frank
O. P., R. H. J., Florence B., Yula A. C., Eliza L. W.,
Vida B., Edith F., Alice G. M., Harold McL., Kenneth,
Mollie C. H., H. F., Louis V. M., Harry G. B., Lucy
Curran, Roger H. Hovey.


486










ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE MARCH NUMBER.


WORD-SQUARES: I. i. Navew. 2. Abele. 3. Venal. 4. Eland.
5. Welds. II. I. Canon. 2. Agama. 3. Names. 4. Omega. 5. Nasal.
III. x. Vodka. 2. Ozone. 3. Dowel. 4. Knell. 5. Aello.
HEADS AND TAILS. George Kennan. CROSS-WORDS: I, Giraffe.
2. Eclogue 3. Ottoman. 4 Cleaver. 5. Glacier. 6. Exclude.
7. Knuckle. 8. Suffice. 9. Naughty. to. Nankeen. ii. Avidity.
X2. Auction.
PI. For me there is no rarer.thing
Than, while the winter's lingering,
To taste the blessedness of spring.
Were this the spring, I now should sigh
That aught were spent; but rich am I !
Untouched spring's golden sum doth lie. C. F. BATES.
WORD-BUILDING. E, we, awe, ware, wager, Wagner, wearing,
watering, wreathing, weathering.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Primals, Jackson; finals, Calhoun. CRoss-
wORDS: x. Judaic. 2. Armada. 3. Cartel. 4. Kadesh. 5. Sissoo.
6. Ormolu. 7. Natron.
GREEK CROSS. I. I. Oread. 2. Ruler. 3. Eloge. 4. Aegis.


5. Dress. II. z. Tread. 2. Ruler. 3. Elite. 4. .Eetes. 5. Dress.
III. i. Dress. 2. Remit 3. Ember. 4. Sieve. 5. Strew. IV. z. Strew.
2. Thiva. 3. Rival. 4. Evade. 5. Wales. V. z. Strew. 2. Tripe.
3. Rider. 4. Epeus. 5. Werst.
INCOMPLETE SENTENCES. I. Thorough, through, trough, tough.
2. Pirates, prates, pates, pats. 3. Bramin, brain, bran, ban. 4. Stat-
ute, statue, state, sate. 5. Thrilled, trilled, tilled, tiled, tied, ted, ed.
6. Grabble, gabble, gable, gale.
NOVEL ACROSTIC. Primals, G: finals, meddle. Cross-words:
i. G-loo-m. 2. G-rip-e. 3. G-ran-d. 4. G-ore-d. 5. G-row-l.
6. G-rap-e.
NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
In winter when the dismal rain
Came down in slanting lines,
The wind, that grand old harper, smote
His thunder-harp of pines.
HOUR-GLAss. I. Centrals, Sadiron. Cross-words: I. Russian.
2. Adage. 3. Add. 4. I. 5. Are. 6. Above. 7. Asunder. II. Cen-
trals, Riddles. Cross-words: i. Spirals. 2. Slice. 3. Ode. 4. D.
5. Elk. 6. Shelf. 7. Missile.


To oUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the i5th 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 JANUARY NUMBER were received, before January z5th, from Maude E. Palmer- A. H. R. and
M. G. R.- Paul Reese -John A. Gamewell- Aunt Kate Jennie and Mama- A. L. W. L.-" Deerfoot "-" The McG.'s "- E. M. G.-
" May and '79 "- Ida and Alice Billy and Kit- Agnes and Elinor- Clara B. Orwig Lisa Bloodgood- Jo and I- M. Robertson-
Ida C.Thallon--Nan and Grace -" Blithedale "-"Papa and J."- Madge Clark- Nellie L. Howes Fredrica Ballard Hubert L.
Bingay -" Infantry"- May -" Lehte "- Dame Durden -" Me and Unk "-Arthur Gride-- Blanche and Fred-" The Wise Five"-
Gertrude L.-Josephine Sherwood-" Tivoli Gang"-" Suse "- J. A. F. and J. H. C.- Alice M. Blanke and "Tiddledywinks"-
Winifred D. and Frances W.-Thida and Nardyl-"The Owls"-No name, Binghamton--Papa and Ed.-"Charles Beaufort."
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JANUARY NUMBER were received, before January z5th, from C. S. P., Elaine S., 2- Percival
and Bess, 2- Carrie S., ix-Edwin L. Reichenbach, 2- Pearl F. Stevens, zo--H. S. and P. S., x-May O. Davenport, ir-Elaine
S., I Calman, 6-" Cat and Dog," 5 Paul Harold W., o-- Arthur B. Lawrence, 3-" Queen Elizabeth," Effie K. Talboys, 9 -
Blanche Smith, 5-"We Three," lo-Calman, 5-Edith W. Allyne, 4-H. M. C. and Co., 6-C. S. P., x-"Uncle Mung," ro-
Mater et Filius, 6-Marion S., 9-Carrie Thacher, 4-Robert A. Stewart, 4-H. H. Francine, 5-Nelle M. Archer, 2-Edna and
Arthur Haas, 2-Reggie and Nellie, o--Jeoffrey Parsons, ao-M. L. M. and C. E. M., 8-Clara and Emma, i-"Tootsie
Toots," -"Badger Girl,"i-R. M. Huntington, 9-E. H. Rossiter, o1-Camp, I-Miriam and Jessie, zo-Estelle and Clarendon
Ions and Mama, 3 Grandma and Arthur, 7 -" Squire," 4- Maud Taylor, 7- Sissie Hunter, 4- Edith P., 2.


4>


PRIMAL ACROSTIC.
EACH of the eleven following groups
Sof letters maybe transposed so as to
form a name. When theyall have been
rightly arranged, the primals will spell
the name of a famous man (born in April)
who wrote about the characters mentioned.
I. Chklsoy. 2. Hlmtae. 3. Lraei. 4. Gklnraei.
5. Clssaeu. 6. Bnsstaaei. 7. Clprseei. 8. Gseeu. 9. Nn-
tyao. 10. Mreoo. II. Glmraeou. ROSSIE M. S.

PI.

YB eht drue gibred atht crashed het dolof,
Hirte fagl ot lapsir beerez fluerund,
Heer cone het temetbald armfres odost,
Dan difer het hots radeh nurod eht drowl.

Het feo glon nices ni clinsee stepl,
Ekali het quercroon nitles peless;
Dan mite hte dunire gribed sha twesp
Wond het krad master chihw seadraw sperce.

RHOMBOIDS.
I. ACRoss-: I. To handle awkwardly. 2. A species
of willow. 3. To result from. 4. To retard the motion
of. 5. The French word for "heads." DOWNWARD:
I. In stone. 2. An exclamation. 3. Continued or repeated
practice. 4. To fix the thoughts on. 5. To surround.


6. To govern. 7. To consume. 8. A pronoun. 9. In
stone.
II. ACROSS: I. A stand. 2. A constellation. 3. Per-
taining to the morning. 4. The characters in the Norse
alphabet. 5. A surgical contrivance. DOWNWARD: I. In
stone. 2. Toward. 3. To equip. 4. An untruthful per-
son. 5. A flower. 6. A number. 7. A snare. 8. In
this manner. 9. In stone.
The first words (reading across) in each of the rhom-
boids will, when read in connection, name a covering for
a certain portion of the hand. "R. H. OMBOID."

WORD-SQUARE.
I. A VEHICLE. 2. An open surface. 3. A coin. 4. An
oral relation. "THE DAUNTLESS THREE."

A PENTAGON.


I. IN a menagerie. 2. Enticed. 3. More recent.
4. Pertaining to Meton, the Athenian. 5. Signify. 6. Ob-
servances. 7. An old word meaning a tax. J. P.







THE RIDDLE-BOX.


WORD-BUILDING. b ,oin. An arbor. 12. A summary of Christian belief.
I. A vowel. 2. A preposition. 3. A drunkard. 4. A 13. Pertaining t.:. the principal city of the ten tribes of
multitude. 5. A fish resembling the trout. .6. One orf l I. 4. rt ;rrnin~ to the church.
the Gorgons. 7. Large wasps. S. .bridge-. *' tetn the abo%e \iords have been rightly guessed, the
YR.'i.i AIND THi-SBE. 'central letter idi:at.ed by stars) will spell a name
sometimes given to. Easter. .. CYRIL DEANE.


BEHEADINGS.
I. BEHEAD to scribble, and leave to creep. 2. B head
visionary, and leave wood of the pine or fir. 3. Behead
a kihd of grain, and leave a pronoun. 4. Behead tol it,
and leave a measure of weight. 5. Behead a fruit, and
leave to pass over. 6. Behead a refuge, and leave a
bower. 7. Behead to count, and leave an African fowl.
8. Behead a contest, and leave a line of light. 9. Behead
a lineage, and leave a unit. Io. Behead a molecule, and
leave a masculine nickname. II. Behead the name of
.'.,t plrnt on which the cochineal bug feeds, and leave a
.cloU: iStne. 12. Behead a small violin, and leave a
tbai':'u"n 13 Behead a ring of a chain, and leave a
14. Behead enraged, and leave degree. 15. Be-
taJ ., k knot, and leave a short poem.
"t-headed: letters will spell the name of a great.
i* .r and navigator who was born inf '786.
M. TAYLOR.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC.
MY primals mean joined; my finals, affirms. Each
cross-word contains nine letters.
-CROSS-WORDS: I. Being in unison. 2. Careless.
3. MiscrofOpic animals found in water. 4. A scolding
woman. Finished with great care. 6. Glass bottles'
for holding wines. "THE LANCER."

A CROSS PUZZLE.
.


15*


4 K
4


CROSS-WORDS: I. A masculine name me;
haired.. 2. To keep in order, as the feathe
3. A' tright, dazzling light. 4. To expostulat
ing the authority of a magistrate. 6: .f
rupeds. 7. Fissures. 8. Elevates. 9. A sl


DOUBLE DIAGONALS.
S 12 ,,'.II .
S.13 4 18
1o 9 9 7 7
2 14
86 5 4
17 6 ,, z5 20


CROSS-WORDS: I. A sheriff's deputy. 2. Orginiaors.
3. A dosel. 4. Small singing birds found in Etirope.
5. Footmen. 6. A number. 7. Able to pay all just
debts.. ... ... .- .. i,.
The diagonals (from the upper left-hand corner to the
lower right-hand corner, and from the upper right-hand
corner to the lower left-hand corr'r i a ill spell the name
of a popular writer; and the letters indicated by figures
(from I to 20) spell the name of one of her stories.
SCLAIRE GIWRO.
CROSS-WORD ENIGMA.
M9Y first'is in'r i;:r-.r. but not in knife
My s-c:.n.]. in bagpipe, but not in fife.;
My thi.:! rs in bobbin, but not in spool;
My fourth is in jester, but not in fool;
My fifth is in April, but n6t in June;
My sixth is in mercury, not in the moon;
My seventh in carriage, but not in cart;
My eighth is in pudding, but not in tart;
My ninth is in settle, but not in chair;
My tenth is in leopard, but not in bear.
My whole a famous battle, as all of you must know-
It was fought by Santa Anna over fifty years ago.

NUMERICAL ENIGMA.


I AM composed of seventy letters, and am a quotation
from "The Leviathan."
My 25-41-7-53-20-49 is an absolute ruler. My 57-
12-44-29 is to regard with care. My 33-68-63 is to trifle.
My 31-47-38-28 is to keep afloat. My 26-14-65-56
is to lift. My 50-22-59 is a border. My 40-35-8-21-5
are vegetables. My I-Io-I6-62 is erudite. My 45-6-
3-70-43 is a fen. My 23-51-17-37-67-61 is to enumer-
ate. My 48-19-46-58 is a pipe. My 66-2-30-69 is what
aning"red- Jacques met in the forest of Arden. My 36-60-32-39-
r of a bird. 42-55-34-I11 are what Marcus Brutus would not "lock
:e. 5. Hav- from his friends." My 9-18-54-4-24 is what Hamlet
rican quad- read. My I3-64-i5-27-52 is what lago told Roderigo
v-- IO. A to put in his purse. '""' CORNELIA BLIMBER."


THE DE VINNE PRESS, NEW YORK.


488




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