• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Frontispiece
 The song of the goldenrod
 Lost in a cornfield
 An oversight
 The fortunes of Toby Trafford
 The old clock's story
 Tee-wahn folk-lore
 Tee-wahn folk-stories
 Timothy
 Catching terrapin
 Two lads of Block Island
 A rainy day
 Chan ok; A romance of the eastern...
 The isle of skye
 Stocking or scales
 A prairie home
 The swimming-hole stories
 The sad history of will o' the...
 A model undertaker
 How the great plan worked
 Choosing a boat
 To Malcom Douglas
 A formal call
 Jack-in-the-pulpit
 Mammy's bed-time song
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Matter
 Back Cover
 Spine






Title: St. Nicholas
ALL VOLUMES CITATION PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00245
 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: VID00245
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 song of the goldenrod
        Page 811
    Lost in a cornfield
        Page 812
        Page 813
        Page 814
        Page 815
        Page 816
    An oversight
        Page 817
    The fortunes of Toby Trafford
        Page 818
        Page 819
        Page 820
        Page 821
        Page 822
        Page 823
        Page 824
        Page 825
        Page 826
    The old clock's story
        Page 827
    Tee-wahn folk-lore
        Page 828
        Page 829
        Page 830
    Tee-wahn folk-stories
        Page 831
        Page 832
        Page 833
        Page 834
        Page 835
    Timothy
        Page 836
    Catching terrapin
        Page 837
    Two lads of Block Island
        Page 838
        Page 839
        Page 840
        Page 841
        Page 842
        Page 843
        Page 844
    A rainy day
        Page 845
    Chan ok; A romance of the eastern seas
        Page 846
        Page 847
        Page 848
        Page 849
        Page 850
        Page 851
        Page 852
        Page 853
        Page 854
    The isle of skye
        Page 855
        Page 856
        Page 857
        Page 858
    Stocking or scales
        Page 859
        Page 860
        Page 861
    A prairie home
        Page 859
    The swimming-hole stories
        Page 862
        Page 863
    The sad history of will o' the wisp
        Page 864
        Page 865
    A model undertaker
        Page 866
        Page 867
        Page 868
    How the great plan worked
        Page 869
        Page 870
        Page 871
        Page 872
        Page 873
    Choosing a boat
        Page 874
        Page 875
        Page 876
    To Malcom Douglas
        Page 877
    A formal call
        Page 878
        Page 879
    Jack-in-the-pulpit
        Page 880
        Page 881
    Mammy's bed-time song
        Page 882
        Page 883
    The letter-box
        Page 884
        Page 885
        Page 886
    The riddle-box
        Page 887
        Page 888
    Back Matter
        Page 889
    Back Cover
        Page 890
        Page 891
    Spine
        Page 892
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S, GOLDENROD.

GOLDENROD.


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ST. NICHOLAS.


VOL. XVIII.


SEPTEMBER, 1891.


No. II.


-P




BY GRACE DENIO LITCHFIELD.

OH, not in the morning of April or May,
When the young light lies faint on the sod
And the wind-flower blooms for the half of a day,-
Not then comes the Goldenrod.

But when the bright year has grown vivid and bold
With its utmost of beauty and strength,
Then it leaps into life, and its banners unfold
Along all the land's green length.

It is born in the glow of a great high noon,
It is wrought of a bit of the sun;
Its being is set to a golden tune
In a golden summer begun.

No cliff is too high for its resolute foot,
No meadow too bare or too low;
It asks but the space for its fearless root,
And the right to be glad and to grow.
Copyright, 1891, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved.






THE SONG OF THE GOLDENROD.


It delights in the loneliest waste of the moor,
And mocks at the rain and the gust.
It belongs to the people. It blooms for the poor.
It thrives in the roadside dust.

It endures though September wax chill and unkind;
It laughs on the brink of the crag,
Nor blanches when forests turn white in the wind;
Though dying, it holds up its flag!

Its bloom knows no stint, its gold no alloy,
And we claim it forever as ours -
God's symbol of Freedom and world-wide Joy-
America's flower of flowers!


THERS .oull:i p!,,l,-
:,k.bl lu," .. ul',:.uglt
Petunia just an ordinarily
nice little girl. But her father, and her mother,
and her two big brothers, and the girl, and
the hired man, and her grandfather, and her
grandmother, and Aunt Lila, and Uncle Carl,
and their hired man were quite convinced that
no other child ever existed one half as sweet,
and smart, and bright, and beautiful, and alto-
gether lovable as she.
Her father's house was in Northern Kansas,
and her grandfather's homestead in Southern


L-I. E ~r


Nebr:,-k.i. 'lThe little. t.un ,.,n thle Stat: hinr
>..ai all lIai di.i.:lel rien .
"Hurry, Pet!" called her mother one morning
in September. "We are going to Grandpa's."
Laughing and shouting with delight Petunia
ran for her sun-bonnet and tied it on her yellow
head. It was such fun to go to Grandpa's.
The gentle red and white Jersey calf was a
source of endless delight to her. And the hens
at Grandpa's did not lay their eggs in an old
barn as they did at home, but in dozens of queer
little boxes, nailed up under the eaves of the
thatched shed. And it was such a bit of frolic


,,






LOST IN A CORNFIELD.


to climb up and peek in, and nearly break one's
neck in doing so. Then Uncle Carl would, if
he happened to be at the farm, carry her down
to the mill on his shoulder. Petunia loved to
see the foamy white cataract, sparkling and
dashing down into the cool, green sheet below.
Petunia always called the spray "snow," which
was what it most resembled.
Her father brought around the team and farm-
wagon. He lifted her in behind, where a com-
fort" was spread. Then he helped her mother
to the high seat in front, climbed up beside her,
shook the reins, and away they went.
It was very early in the morning. Indeed,
the sun himself had not been up long. A sky
of pale, bright blue globed down on the bluffs
and valleys. Pet, looking up, thought she was
looking into a great, big, blue bowl turned
upside down. It was speckled here and there-
just like a robin's egg. Here, on the high
Kansas land, one could see so far away. Off
to the northwest a grayish haze lay upon the
hills. On both sides were great forests of corn.
The stalks were all in regular rows, like bat-
talions of soldiers. Pet did n't think that. She
would n't have known what a battalion of sol-
diers meant unless you told her-and perhaps
not even then. For she was such a little thing,
only two years and a half old in June.
"T'ank you," she said to the fat meadow-lark
with the pretty yellow vest, who, perched on a
post, trilled out a gay, sweet song as she passed.
It won't be long 'fore we's at Dranpa's!"
she told herself gleefully.
All they had to do was to drive down the
steep hill that dipped and curved so queerly,
cross the Kansas bridge, and then the railroad
track, pass through the little town of Bubble,
keep on straight north, rumble between the wal-
nut-trees over the bridge above Rose Creek,
drive east about a mile, turn to the left, and
keep on, up and down the rolling road, till,
within hearing and almost within sight of the
old mill, one came on it-the little house where
Grandpa lived. It was all very easy indeed
to do--when one knew how.
Very tall were the sunflowers by the roadside.
" Big as giants, I dess," Pet said. Above their
great, coarse, dull green leaves their golden
disks with hearts of brownest velvet nodded


quite condescendingly down on the trio in the
wagon.
Dood-mornin' !" Pet said frequently in reply
to their bowing, for she was a very polite little
girl.
It would be very warm by and by, but now
the morning air was delicious,-pure and cool
and sweet.
At her grandpa's they were all so glad to see
Petunia. She was the only child in the family,
and the darling of them all. Do you wonder
how so many people lived in such a tiny house ?
A great many western farmers live in very small
houses. Not, of course, because land is scarce
or dear, but because when they begin farming
they need so many horses and machines, that
they think they will manage with any kind of a
house for a while. And they always intend,
when the sheds and stables are all built, and
the crops are good, to erect a fine, comfortable
dwelling. This the majority of them do. That
is why, in driving through Kansas and Nebraska,
you so often see large, new frame-houses, almost
invariably painted white with green shutters,
and in the rear of each a long, low, log or sod
structure, now used for a shed or hen-house, but
formerly the abode of the family. Sometimes,
as in the case of Petunia's grandfather, those
who have homesteaded the land live till old in
the first little house. Pet's Uncle Carl worked
in Bubble, and spent only Sunday at the farm.
Her Aunt Lila taught school on the next sec-
tion. The hired man slept in the barn. There
was no one in the house over night except Pet's
grandfather and his wife, and Aunt Lila. When
Pet came on a visit she slept with her aunt.
That day Sunday- Uncle Carl was at
home. So after he had taken Pet down to the
mill, after she had seen the Jersey calf, and had
brought in a pail of warm, pinkish eggs she had
found in the queer boxes under the eaves of the
shed, and had eaten four of Grandma's cookies,
she announced her intention of going out to see
the corn grow, or, as she herself said it: "doin'
out to see the torn drow."
They all laughed heartily at this quaint
announcement of the little girl, but not till the
small figure in the blue gingham (that Aunt
Lila herself had made) and the pink plaid
sun-bonnet had disappeared. It was a regular






LOST IN A CORNFIELD.


custom with Petunia, this doin' out to see the
torn drow!" Her grandfather had a half-sec-
tion, three hundred and twenty acres, all planted
in corn.
When Pet was there in April she watched
the men plowing. She liked to see the stream
of wee, hard, yellow grains drop three and three
in the furrows.
Early in May all over the land were seen
pencilings of bright green. These looked like
little knots of wavy ribbon, running up and down,
but always in precise and even lines, at the sides
of the dusky furrows of upturned earth. Through
it were scattered thousands of pale-tinted, strag-
gly blossoms.
In June the young corn was as high as Pet's
waist. Wild roses rioted underneath its emer-
ald tufts, the full-blown ones soft pink, and the
buds deep crimson.
In July it was far taller than Uncle Carl,
but just as green as ever. There had been
plenty of rain, followed by very hot sunshine.
That was why it had grown so splendidly. .
Pet took much interest in her grandfather's
crop. She used on every visit to go out, just as
she did on this particular morning, and with her
head on one side critically note its progress.
Then she would return to the house, and very
gravely express her opinion on the subject.
To-day she was not a little puzzled. The
long, lovely green streamers were green no
more. They were not thick either. They had
become yellow and thin. When they rustled
they crackled like paper. The corn itself was
swathed in ever so many wrappings that looked
like stiff crinkly silk. And the fine, soft tassels
that waved in the fresh morning breeze were
golden, too.
To be sure their corn had changed also, as
had all they had passed in coming over from
Kansas. But she had been fancying her grand-
father's would look quite the same as usual.
The sun was high up now. She could feel the
warmth on the top of her head. How lovely
and cool it looked in under the corn So very
tall the corn was! Even when Pet pushed
back her sun-bonnet, and stared straight up, she
could hardly see the top of it. She thought it
would be nice to walk in there, to keep on and
on, till she came to the end of the long, narrow


path, then turn around and come right back.
Petunia did n't know anything about the "ten
thousand men who marched up a hill and then
marched down again," but she meant to do
practically the same thing. So she entered
one of the aisles,- not as wide as those you
see in a church,- and she walked on and on
between the stiff, high, golden stalks.
Such a lovely place as that corn-forest was!
The sun could n't shine in there to burn the top
of one's head! And the long shimmering rib-
bons, and the fuzzy silken tassels, all seemed
murmuring together in a queer, soft, brisk,
breezy sort of way. On and on between the
rows of corn the feet in the stubby little shoes
went plodding; on and on!
My! panted Petunia, "me mus' be pitty
near de end now! Dacious! dere are a but-
terfly!"
A butterfly, indeed, a big, creamy butterfly,
with spots of brown and rose all over his wide-
spread wings. And he was the laziest butterfly
Petunia ever saw. He sailed along so slowly
she was quite sure she could catch him. He
wheeled away to the left. After him the sturdy
little legs went racing. As she almost touched
him, he floated upward, and lit over her head.
For some time she stood looking up at him, and
waiting for him to come down. Finally, she
shook the cornstalk. He did not seem to like
the disturbance, for away down the narrow road
he flew, with Petunia in full chase.
All at once he disappeared. Where did he
go ? To save her life Petunia could n't tell.
Very still and sorrowful she stood, and looked-
everywhere. As she was peering between the
great thick stalks at each side she suddenly
caught her breath with a sharp little gasp of
pleasure.
'.' Oh, doodness! she exclaimed, clasping her
wee hands, "what a nice wabbit! "
Not ten feet away, with his long, pointed ears
and funny little bit of a bushy, white tail erect,
sat a large, gray jack-rabbit. Petunia imagined
he looked like her own dog, "Dixie." She
would like to make friends with him. She
wished she could pat him on the head. Per-
haps she could coax him home with her!
Gently but directly she went toward him. As
she came near, he straightened up, and looked






LOST IN A CORNFIELD.


in astonishment at the little girl smiling at him.
Then, with one terrific bound (Petunia fancied
that he had jumped over her head), he was off
and away!
Two big tears trembled out, and hung shining
on her brown lashes.
Butterfly gone, an' wabbit gone!" she
sobbed. She was very tired. She really did
not know how tired she was. She had walked
a long way. She had run so hard. And it had
become hot in the corn by this time. Not the
blistering warmth of the midday sun that was
torturing without, but a close, heavy, dank heat,
caused by the thickness of the corn and the
moisture of the earth.
Dess me go home now an' get some moah
tookies!" she decided. She turned, as she
supposed, in the direction of her grandfather's
house. In reality she was going farther and
farther away. She walked on. Still more tired
and hungry she grew. It was so far back.
She wished she had not come such a long way.
Suddenly she stopped. She heard a rush through
the air, the whir of wings. Down, almost at her
feet, whirled a covey of quail. She did not
try to catch them. She was afraid they would
vanish, as did the butterfly and the jack-rabbit.
But she stood very still and watched them as
they stalked about in state.
More intense the heat grew. It was not
near night-time, but for a moment Petunia had
fancied it must be, because of the sudden dark-
ness. Suddenly came a sweeping coolness-like
a chilly wind. The corn rustled. Pet thought
it must be angry about something. Every
streamer seemed to be chattering loudly and
harshly, and doing battle with its brother. The
quail swung up, and circled away. Petunia
heard overhead a quick, sharp pattering. A
few drops plashed on her sun-bonnet. Sud-
denly there was a blaze of flame. She was
dazed. She could not see at all. Then out
bellowed an awful roar that seemed to the little
girl to shake the ground.
Pet was fearfully afraid of thunder, and she
began to cry and to run. But the rain poured
more heavily, the corn swayed and crashed, the
lightning blazed on, and the thunder apparently
did not cease for one whole minute at a time.
Poor little Petunia She could find no way out


of the forest of corn. Crazed with fright she
hurried this way and that. Once she slipped
and fell. Looking up she saw a huge hawk
whirling overheard. So she staggered to her
feet again, and ran on-anywhere. She re-
membered that hawks ate young chickens.
How did she know they would not hurt little
children ?
No way was there out of that forest of gold.
At least there was none that Pet could find.
North she ran; and south; and east; and west.
Corn, corn! -there was nothing but corn. To
the right, to the left, before and behind. If
she could even see through it-or over it! In
a vague kind of way she remembered when it
was.so small and weak she could have pulled
many a root of it up with her own tiny hands.
Now every stalk of corn seemed like a tree in
her path.
How the storm kept beating down, down!
Her legs ached so she could hardly move them.
"Oh, Mama!" she shrieked. "Oh, Papa Pet
f'i'tened-so, so f'i'tened!" Only the storm
roared back an answer. Then she saw such
terrifying things. A lithe brown animal, like a
very long mouse, ran before her. She screamed
louder than ever, for she was more afraid of
gophers than of anything else. She stepped on
an ant-hill. A hundred infinitesimal black specks
went scurrying across her feet. A mottled frog
opened his mouth so wide she thought he meant
to swallow her. So she kept on running, stum-
bling, picking herself up, and falling again. The
storm died away. The sun shone out for a little
while. Then the terrible twilight came. The
night closed down--down.
Poor Petunia could run no more. When she
fell now, she was too tired to get up. So she
lay there like a little hurt bird that would never
fly again.

Such a time as there was at the farmhouse
when Petunia was missed! It was almost the
hour for dinner. Every room was searched.
The barn was searched. Uncle Carl ran to the
neighbors' houses. No one had seen her. No
one could imagine what had become of her.
They were all afraid she might have wandered
down to the mill-stream, and fallen in. Her
mother cried with terror as the day wore on and





LOST IN A CORNFIELD.


" 'FOUND! FOUND! '


no trace was found of her. Then Grandpa
remembered how she had gone out to see the
corn grow. Perhaps she had wandered in, and
was lost in that vast, waving field! God help
us!" murmured her father. "There's a whole
half-section in corn. She may be dead before
we find her!"
The news that Petunia was lost was sent to
all the farmhouses around. By the time the
storm burst, seven men on horseback were, at
different points, picking their way through the
corn. The drenching rain, the crashing thunder,
the blinding lightning, the approaching night
they dreaded not at all. Each thought only of
the poor little baby lost somewhere in that
wilderness of stalks, terrified at their strange
whisperings, and wondering perhaps why no
one came to take her home.
Very carefully had every one to make his


way, lest his horse should tread on her. There
was no use calling while the storm lasted. Their
voices could not be heard above its roar. When
it was over they shouted, and listened and
shouted again.
Twilight came-then darkness. They lit the
lanterns tied to their saddles, and holding them
low plodded on and on.
It was nine o'clock!
It was ten o'clock! And overhead a great
white moon went sailing up the sky. Its radi-
ance glistened across the wet corn till it was all
one vast and tremulous sea of gold. Suddenly,
breaking the stillness of the night, Grandpa's
strong old voice rang out triumphantly: "Found!
Found, boys! Found!"
Petunia's father gave a cheer that rang up
to the blue Nebraska sky, a veritable pean of
praise. The other men heard the joyful cry,


816


[SEPT.





LOST IN A CORNFIELD.


and sent back echoing shouts, answering the
glad tidings.
At first, when Pet awoke she could not remem-
ber where she was. The corn and the moon
- and the men and the horses! And the
lanterns dancing like fireflies! What did they
mean ? Why was she there in that strange place
at night ?
But when her grandfather dismounted, and
lifted her up before him on the saddle, she re-


membered what had happened, and a delight-
ful sense of security came stealing over her. She
was stiff and sore. But she managed to turn
and clasp both her tired little arms around his
neck. Her tear-stained cheek, blackened with
prairie-mold, she cuddled close down upon his
breast.
Oh, Dranpa," she sobbed, I don't want to
see the torn drow any more "
Then she went to sleep again.


b ,',- .. '..y coffee is rt sweet at all,
,i 5 I L aid little Johnny Grey;
S"o put another lump in,please,
S, It is n't nice this wey."





Enough for even you "

"MIybe,"he said, and gravely stirred
The fragr nt, steoaning cup,sd

I ehaa n't wound it up e it wh
jPejrha-ps, you know, trhe reason was '-. '- '* -











THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.


BY J. T. TROWBRIDGE.


[Begun in the November number.]
CHAPTER XLIII.
"WHAT YOUR ENEMIES HAVE DONE."
TOBY had not wasted a great amount of
breath in giving the alarm. But his cries had
hardly ceased when they were echoed first by
one voice, then by another, farther and farther
away, and more and more prolonged. The cries
were followed soon by the sound of footsteps
running hurriedly through the village streets.
And it was not long before the fire-bells began
their terrible clamor.
Toby had extinguished the wharf with his
own hands, and saved the Milly," before any
help arrived. Then men and boys rushed to
the spot, and a fire-engine came rattling down
the street.
The glare that guided them had not quite
faded out of the sky. The burning boat was
like a pretty piece of fireworks, a floating foun-
tain of flame that lighted up the lake and cast
wild gleams along the shore.
Toby, utterly exhausted, hatless, coatless,
drenched to the waist, his pale face streaked
with sweat and soot, had sunk down at the
end of his half-burnt oar-box, with the empty
bucket by his side.
Nothing but a little bit of an old wharf!"
some one said. "A great thing to raise an
alarm about!"
Toby did not even turn and look at the
speaker. Somebody answered for him.
"It was a new wharf to-day, and you can
see by what is left of it whether it was little.
How did it happen, Toby? "
Still he did not answer; his heart was too
full. The spectators pressed around him, ques-
tioning, conjecturing, examining the charred
ruins, and watching the burning boat.
Is n't that one of your boats, Toby ?"
"It 's one of my boats," he answered, in a
cold, unnatural tone of voice.


It 's burning up "
"Let it burn!" he said. Don't you sup-
pose I know it ? "
"Could n't you hinder it ?"
"Do you suppose I would n't have hindered
it if I could ? "
"You are a master-hand for burning up
boats, Toby, I must say! "
The last speaker was Mr. Brunswick, the
iceman, who had just joined the crowd.
I have n't burnt any boats myself," replied
Toby, desperately. If the truth were known,
I guess you 'd find this fire was set with some
of the same kind of matches that burnt your
scow. Where 's Bob to-night ?"
Home and abed, I s'pose," said the iceman;
"I have n't seen him."
It was n't like the younger Bob to be at home
and abed during the excitement caused by a
midnight alarm of fire.
Toby looked around at the familiar faces
dimly illumined by the gleam from the water.
Those of Yellow Jacket and Butter Ball, fel-
lows who never missed an opportunity of run-
ning with an engine unless they could reach a
fire before it, were conspicuous by their absence.
Neither was Tom Tazwell on the spot.
Of the gang Toby suspected, only Lick
Stevens was seen, sauntering about, cool and
indifferent, making sarcastic remarks. Yellow
Jacket, Butter Ball, and the younger Bob ap-
peared later, coming singly and from different
directions; but no Tom Tazwell.
A hand was laid on Toby's shoulder, and a
voice different from the rest said:
This won't do, Tobias! You are wet and
heated, and you will get cold. Where 's your
coat? "
"I did n't stop for any coat," said Toby.
"I 'm not cold."
But the schoolmaster, who carried a light
overcoat on his arm, insisted on laying it over
the boy's shoulders.
i8





THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.


What your enemies have done is despicable,
but you are not going to be cast down by it.
Not much more than the flooring of the wharf.
is gone, and one boat."
"Your sail was in that," said Toby.
"I don't care anything about the sail," Mr.
Allerton replied. How did the boat get
loose? "
The fastenings burned off, and the wind took
it out. I had to stay and put out the main fire,
and save the Milly.' Yes, Dr. Patty," Toby said,
turning to a new-comer, it was Ned's boat, and
I'm glad enough I paid you for it last week, so
there need n't be any question about it now."
"I don't know as to that," said the doctor,
grasping the boy's hand. You left some
money at my house. But I never meant to
take pay for the boat; and I should be as
mean as the scoundrels who fired your property
if I should take pay for it now. That 's the
way I feel, and that 's the way every honest
man in the community will feel about this
abominable outrage."
"Thank you, Dr. Patty!" faltered Toby.
He had borne up bravely until Mr. Allerton
laid his coat on his shoulders. The kind words
and kinder touch that accompanied the act
had caused his first tears to start. And now
Dr. Patty's sympathy and indignation caused a
choking spasm in his throat.
Others echoed the doctor's sentiments, and
asked Toby what he intended to do.
"Do ?" said he. I 'm going to fight this
fight out if it costs me my last cent and my
last breath Burke, where 's your father? "
He 's here; just come," replied the boy.
"They have served you a shabby trick,
have n't they, Toby ? said the carpenter, ap-
proaching. But it ain't so bad as it might be.
I guess the posts and the 'jise,' for the most part,
are all right."
"To-morrow is Sunday," remarked Toby.
"Can you give me Monday? "
"Maybe I can," said the carpenter. "For
what ?"
"To rebuild this wharf," replied Toby.
Is it decided so suddenly ? "
It was decided the minute I caught sight of
the fire. If it burns, I '11 rebuild it,' I said.
That's what I '11 do every time. The scamps


who meant to spite me and do the railroad com-
pany a service may as well know it,". Toby
added, raising his voice, to make himself heard
distinctly by Lick Stevens or any others of the
suspected gang who might be near.
"Here is your sister, coming to bring your
coat," said Mr. Allerton. You must go home
with her at once and change these wet clothes."
The fire-engine boys, with their hose-carriage
and their machine, red lanterns and tinkling
bells, moved slowly up the street. The light
shell of the drifting boat burned to the water's
edge, the last feeble gleams died out, and dark-
ness settled upon the lake, the shore, the black-
ened wreck of the wharf, and the departing
throng.
CHAPTER XLIV.
YELLOW JACKET'S SECRET.
IF anybody derived satisfaction from the de-
struction of Toby's property and other injury
done to his business, it certainly was not Yellow
Jacket. He withdrew himself from his compan-
ions. He frowned upon Butter Ball, he glow-
ered at Lick Stevens. A settled dissatisfaction
took possession of him; his countenance was
downcast; his look was glum. He wandered
much alone, but he shunned the lake, and his
boat lay idle under the willow. If he observed
one of his favorite insects on a wayside road he
gazed at it listlessly and passed on. Assuredly
something ailed the wasp-catcher.
He saw Toby's wharf triumphantly rebuilt,
another and finer boat replace the one that was
destroyed, and things go on again very much as
they had gone before. But life was no longer
the same to Yellow Jacket.
What 's the matter with the fellow ? peo-
ple asked. He does n't sit on the fence and
whittle, nor even brag any more! "
He had had fits of moroseness, it is true, ever
since his falling out with Toby. They were
transitory; he did not quite forget to smile.
But now it seemed as if nothing short of a
chance to save another life or two would rouse
him from his melancholy, and give his vapid
existence a flavor.
Mr. Allerton, who had never lost his interest
in him,--who always bowed when they met, and
respectfully called him "Patterson,"-watched


819






THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.


his conduct with profound curiosity. More than
once the solitary one acted as if he desired to
speak with him. But if the schoolmaster paused
or turned aside, to afford him an opportunity,
Yellow Jacket would suddenly give his head a
sidelong toss, and stalk away.
But one evening Mr. Allerton saw him stop
on the opposite side of a street, and look over
at him. When the schoolmaster stopped, too,
Yellow Jacket dropped his head and walked on.
Patterson !" Mr. Allerton called. Yellow
Jacket stopped again, but with his head down,
and without looking around.
"I 've thought for some time, Patterson,"
said Mr. Allerton, going over to him, "that I
should like to have a little talk with you; and
that perhaps you have something to say to me."
I don't know as I 've got anything to say
to anybody," Yellow Jacket replied, with his
eyes on the dust, which he began to kick with
his toes.
"You ought to have. You seem to be very
much alone lately. That is n't natural. I
thought, at one time, you and I were going to
become better acquainted," Mr. Allerton went
on. Come, let 's take a little stroll together.
I '11 go your way, or will you go mine ? "
It does n't make any sort of difference to
me which way I go," said Yellow Jacket.
Not a word more was spoken for a minute or
two, as they walked side by side in the lonely
but lovely country, under the twilight sky.
Yellow Jacket, however, was inclined to walk
fast and leave Mr. Allerton behind.
What a pair of shoulders you have, Patter-
son!" said the schoolmaster. "You should
have some occupation, to bring such muscles
into play. How many days' work have you
done this summer, Patterson ?"
Not many," muttered Yellow Jacket.
"You see," said Mr. Allerton, my idea of
somebody's keeping boats, and making a busi-
ness of it, was n't a bad one. I never could
understand why you did n't take it up. Do
you think you could have got along in it any
better than Toby has ? I mean, without mak-
ing so many enemies."
I don't know. I could n't have built up
such a business. I have n't got that sort of go
in me," Yellow Jacket admitted.


"That 's what I concluded; and that 's why
I suggested, after you had let the first chance
pass by, that he should manage it and you
should assist him. We both meant well by
you, Patterson, though you have n't seemed to
think so."
Toby has said things to me that I can't get
over," muttered Yellow Jacket.
But when Mr. Allerton urged him to name
them he was ashamed to acknowledge what
trifles had given him offense.
"Some boyish words, no doubt, which he
was sorry for as soon as he had spoken them,"
said Mr. Allerton.
I don't mind about 'em now," Yellow Jacket
replied. "I like to see fair play."
"Do you think Toby has had fair play ?"
No, I don't! And that 's what makes me
mad!"
Yellow Jacket spoke impetuously, but sud-
denly paused, with a fierce downward fling of
his head, as he quickened his pace.
I 'm glad to hear you say that," replied the
schoolmaster. "It shows that I have n't mis-
judged you."
"I like fair play," Yellow Jacket repeated,
sententiously, charging the words with a mys-
terious meaning.
"I believe you do, Patterson, and I believe
that you, if anybody, can help Toby to get it."
Yellow Jacket gave a ferocious sort of laugh.
"I guess I could if I should tell what I know!"
he said quickly.
Ever since the fire, Toby and his friends had
tried in vain to fix the responsibility upon the
guilty parties. Suspicion was strong, but proof
was lacking. That Yellow Jacket possessed
the secret which would bring them to punish-
ment and compensate Toby for his trouble and
loss, Mr. Allerton had not the slightest doubt.
"And you are going to tell me, Patterson! "
"I don't know about that. I like fair play.
But I don't want to have it said that I went back
on my friends."
"Your friends! Do you fancy they really are
your friends, Patterson ? "
"I 've been with 'em, all the same. I don't
want to be called a traitor, though I like fair
play."
"But you are going to tell me, Patterson.


820






THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.


You have been wishing to tell me for some
time."
"I 've thought he ought to know, and I
could tell you better than I could anybody else,
But mind you, Mr. Allerton, I ain't going to
have folks p'int at me as a turncoat."
Yellow Jacket stopped and stood facing Mr.
Allerton, speaking in a low, determined voice.
"Well, Patterson, I don't want you to do
anything dishonorable. But don't let a false
sense of obligation keep you from doing a
simple act of justice. You owe that to Toby.
What more do you owe to those who have
injured him ? "
"I don't owe 'em nothing!" said Yellow
Jacket, emphatic with his double negatives.
"All I ask is, that you won't give me away.
Promise that, and I '11 put Toby on the track
of something that '11 pay him a hundred times
over for all the damage I've ever done him."
If he can have that without your name
being mentioned, of course I never will men-
tion it. But I don't quite see how it can be."
It can be, easy enough, Mr. Allerton. You
won't need to lug me in. What I tell you will
be its own proof. You know Tazwell is trying
to buy Mrs. Trafford's lake-side lot ? "
Yes; he has been after it again very recently,
and I believe she has about concluded to let
him have it. She is to give him his answer
to-morrow. But what has that to do with-"
Why, that 's it! exclaimed Yellow Jacket.
" I 'm just in time !"
"Patterson! What do you mean ? exclaimed
Mr. Allerton, who had not given that other
secret a single thought.
"There 's a mineral spring on that lot worth
thousands of dollars. That 's why Tazwell
wants it."
Mr. Allerton was silent with astonishment.
"We fellows discovered it the day we had
that row about the swallows. Somebody had
dug out a hole in a wet place; I s'pose to get
water to put out the fire. When we came
along, that hole was a bubbling spring. It's a
gold mine!' says Lick Stevens. It 's regular
Vichy water!' says Tom Tazwell. He made
Lick and me agree not to tell; and after his
father had the water examined, he offered us
twenty-five dollars apiece if we 'd keep the


secret till he had bought the property-swin-
dled the Widow Trafford, for that 's what it
amounts to," said Yellow Jacket.
"This is surely very important information,
Patterson 1"
"I know it. And I could n't stand by and
see the game go on, without putting in a word;
particularly after Toby was used so badly in the
wharf business. What do I care for the twenty-
five dollars? We just covered the hole up
again, with sticks and brush; but the spring
can't be stopped, as it was before. The water
is running all down the ravine, and only a little
digging is needed to make a splendid well.
Now you 've got my secret."
"But, Patterson!-the Traffords, as well as
myself, will be very greatly obliged, but -I
thought there was something else."
"Have n't I said enough? replied Yellow
Jacket, with a triumphant and cheerful manner,
quite unlike his late remorseful behavior.
He was not without conscience, but he felt
that he had now made up for all the evil he
had done Toby.
But there is one thing more you can and
ought to tell. Who fired the wharf?"
Gloom fell again upon the wasp-catcher's
countenance.
"I 've given you something' to offset that, a
hundred times over! "
So saying, Yellow Jacket dropped his head,
and walked sullenly on. Mr. Allerton followed,
but soon saw how vain it was to attempt to
draw from him another word on the unpleasant
subject.
CHAPTER XLV.
A YOUNG GIRL'S CONSCIENCE.
THE next day Toby and his friend visited
the lake-side lot, reopened the spring, and
brought away some bottles of the water.
Mrs. Trafford, convinced at last that she had
been well advised when she declined Mr. Taz-
well's proposals, now gave him her final answer.
Although he had raised his bid to eight hun-
dred dollars above what the property had cost
her, he had not yet offered more than a third or
a quarter of its probable value.
"There 's no need of being in a hurry to sell
it," said Toby.


821






THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.


However, he began to advertise it in a prac- say to you for Toby, and if you or he will walk as far as
tical and inexpensive way. Whenever he had the foot of our lane this evening, a little after sundown,
time in taking passengers across the lake, he I will meet you there, if I am not watched. BERTHA.
time in taking passengers across the lake, he
would invite them to land at his lot, and visit "If she is not watched!" said Milly. "What
the swallow-tree and the mineral spring, can that mean ? And she cannot come and
Everybody praised
the water; and every-
body said, looking off -
upon the landscape and
the lake, What a mag-
nificent site for a hotel! "
Toby's ambition was
to see the hotel there,
which would repay his
mother for her losses in .
other transactions with
Tazwell, and also in- s .
crease the patronage of -
his boats.
"The hotel can be .
placed here, pr any- :
where below, on the
slope," remarked Mr.
Allerton. "The water
can be carried down to
an artificial fountain, in
underground pipes."
The swallows took
their flight to warmer
skies, and summer tour-
ists became scarce. But
before hauling his boats
up at the close of the
season, Toby found
that, notwithstanding
his losses, he had made
a clear profit of nearly
two hundred dollars.
The outlook was
bright for another year.
There had been no
second attack upon his
wharf, and public opin- TOBY TAKES HIS PASSENGERS TO VISIT THE SPRING.
ion appeared to have come over permanently see us! In fact, she has n't been here, Toby,
to his side. since your wharf was burned; I've noticed that."
OnemorningMillytookfromthepost-officethe Yet there had been a time during his at-
following note, written in a school-girl hand: tempted negotiations for the lake-side lot when
DEAREST MILLY, I love you as much as ever, but I Mr. Tazwell had seemed to be glad of the friend-
cannot come and see you, and I know why you do not ship between his wife and daughter and the
visit us any more. I have something very particular to Traffords.


822






THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.


Milly and her brother went to keep the ap-
pointment with the young girl, for no miscon-
duct on the part of her father or brother could
prevent them from loving her.
They wandered along by the lake-shore, and
soon saw her little hooded figure hurrying down
the lane.
Bertha seemed pale and excited, and sadly
changed from the merry, whistling child Toby
had met that afternoon when she went with him
and Tom for the boat-load of hay. How many
things had happened since then !
Oh, Milly! Oh, Toby! she said, I am
wild to do this! And I am afraid it is dread-
fully wrong. But I can't help it."
Her voice was broken by sobs that showed
how much she had suffered from some inward
struggle.
"Dear Bertha!" said Milly, putting both arms
around her, "I think it is almost impossible for
you knowingly to do wrong. You have such a
good little heart! "
He is my own brother! Bertha went on,
wiping her eyes and throwing back her hair
under her hood. "He was dreadfully angry
because I told you about his killing the swal-
lows. But there are some things that ought to
be known; and I told Tom I would tell you.
How could I bear to have you or Mr. Allerton
think I let the cat get the birds? But what I
have to tell now is so much worse than that
was! Shall I?"
If you think we ought to know, tell us, cer-
tainly, Bertha; and we will take care that no
wrong comes to you or to anybody for it," said
Milly; while Toby stood by, with intense sym-
pathy and interest, waiting for the narrative.
You have never found out who burned your
wharf and your boat," said Bertha, looking up
at Toby.
"No," he said; "and that is the very thing
I am most eager to know."
"I have known it ever since that first Sunday
afterward, and I have felt, ever since, that I
ought to tell you," said the poor child, clasping
her hands nervously.
Milly strove to soothe and encourage her.
That Sunday," she went on, after casting one
timid look up the lane, Aleck Stevens came to
our house and had a long talk with Tom in


Tom's room. I can't tell you how it happened
that I I did n't mean to listen, but I was in
the next room and I could not help hearing
every word they said. It was n't Tom, and it
was n't Aleck, that set the fire. It was John
Ball, the boy they call Butter Ball. But they
put him up to it. They laughed about him, and
declared that they could put him up to any-
thing."
It is about as I expected," said Toby. But
there were more of the boys mixed up in the
affair."
"Yes, two more," said Bertha; "and Tom
and Aleck were saying they wished those two
had stayed at home-Yellow Jacket and Bob
Brunswick. They helped scatter the shav-
ings over the wharf, but they would n't have
anything to do with setting the fire. Tom was
afraid they would tell, but Aleck said he knew
how to shut their mouths. He seemed to con-
sider it all a good joke; but Tom was troubled.
I let them know I overheard them, and told them
I would tell papa and you. Aleck laughed;
but Tom said if I did he would do something
to get even with me. But I went straight and
told papa."
And what did he say ?"
"That the boys had done a very inconsider-
ate thing."
Inconsiderate!" said Toby, with a scornful
laugh.
"Oh, he was very angry with Tom," added
Bertha. "But I felt as if I should never have
another happy day in my life until I had told
you."
Thank you so much, dear," said Mildred,
once more embracing poor Bertha. But you
know that you can depend upon us. Can't she,
Toby?"
Of course," said Toby. I'm glad to know
the truth. But I 'd sooner see my worst ene-
mies go unpunished than that any harm should
come to you, Bertha!"
Oh, thank you! I shall feel so much bet-
ter! And now I must run home before they
miss me."
The child gave Mildred a loving kiss,
hurriedly held out her hand to Toby, and, with
something between a laugh and a sob, hastened
back up the lane.


823





[SEPT.


THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.


CHAPTER XLVI.
BOB BRUNSWICK COMES TO GRIEF.
ON their way home Mildred and her brother
met Mr. Allerton who was taking his evening
walk. To him, as their best counselor and
friend, they told what they had just learned from
Bertha.
No," said the teacher, thoughtfully, it
won't do to use her name in the matter, and for
her sake I should hope there might be no great
noise made about it. Yet those rogues deserve
some retribution. Toby, leave this affair to
me."
Parting with his friends at Toby's wharf, he
continued his walk along by the lake, and soon
knocked at Mr. Brunswick's door.
Saying that he wished to speak a word to the
iceman, on business, he was ushered into a large
kitchen, where he found the elder Bob smoking
his pipe by the stove, while the younger Bob,
on the other side of it, sat mending a braided
whip.
Mr. Brunswick nodded without rising, and,
giving a jerk with his thumb toward a vacant
chair, invited the visitor to si' down."
"'Bout ice ? he said, poising his pipe, and
giving Mr. Allerton an amiable grin.
No, I 've called to see you about something
of an opposite nature," replied Mr. Allerton.
"About fire. I want a little help from you in
securing evidence against the boys who burned
young Trafford's wharf."
"I should be glad to help you, Mr. School-
master; for I consider that a most despisable
thing and a disgrace to this town. But I don't
see how I 'm to furnish proofs."
Bob, who had looked up with interest from
the whip he was rebraiding, to hear what the
visitor had to say, dropped his eyes again, and
plied his fingers with nervous haste.
If you will ask your son here, perhaps he
can help," said Mr. Allerton.
Bob looked scared, while Mr. Brunswick gave
his chair a hitch so as to bring himself facing
his visitor.
"This is a matter I don't want to hear any
nonsense about!" said he. 'T ain't the first
time I 've heard Bob's name mentioned in the
business; and if I find he had a hand in it, I


tell you-and I tell him -I '11 make him sorry
for it, with a vengeance "
I never touched a hand to it! Bob ex-
claimed, with all the earnestness of fear.
I know whose hand set it," said Mr. Aller-
ton; and I'm glad to say it was n't your son's.
But he knows, too; and the safe course for him
is to confess, and clear his own name, before it
is too late. The boy who lighted the shavings
was John Ball; is n't that so, Robert? "
Bob breathed hard, with wild eyes and parted
lips, but did not reply.
"That 's right; don't answer till you are
convinced of what I know," Mr. Allerton con-
tinued. "The ringleaders who put the foolish
fellow up to it were young Tazwell and the
Stevens boy. But two others were present, and
in one sense countenanced the affair, since they
helped scatter the litter on the wharf, before it
was set on fire."
Was my boy one of them ?"
"Ask him," said the schoolmaster.
There was a set expression in the jaws of the
elder Brunswick, and an angry look came into
his eyes as he arose and moved back his chair.
Bob said he, what do you say to that?"
Bob was dumb. His hand dropped by his
side. The whip he was mending lay across his
knee with the butt resting on the floor.
Rising suddenly, Mr. Brunswick took the
whip, and grasped his son by the shoulder. He
had lost all control of his temper.
Bob was pushed from his chair by the sudden
grasp, and was thoroughly frightened.
"Father," he cried, don't touch me! I '11
tell all I know."
That 's just what we want! said his father,
raising the boy to his feet, and flinging the whip
into the corner, lest he should, in his wrath, be
tempted to use it.
"We all scattered it," said the culprit;
"though I don't know as Tom did, he kept
watch-just to play a trick on Toby. But when
Lick says to Butter Ball, Touch a match to it
and see the fun!' and Tom gave him some
matches, then Yellow Jacket and me, we backed
out."
Bob," said his father, slowly, I 'm ashamed

of you. I did n't think you 'd be a sneak! Why
did n't you tell me of this ? "






THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.


Because I was afraid of what Lick Stevens
or Tom would do," Bob confessed.
Then Mr. Allerton interrupted. "I would
like to ask your son a question. I wish to know
if he will stand by the statements he has made,
when called upon."
"If he lives and I live," said Mr. Brunswick,
" he '11 do jest that, every time! He owes
nothing' to those fellows! The idee of his goin'
with that Tazwell cur, anyway, and barkin' for
him,- I never believed a boy of mine would
be such a dolt! Let the truth come out, I say,
pinch where it will! "


MR. BRUNSWICK LOSES HIS TEMPE]
Mr. Brunswick," said Mr. Allerton, "you're
an honest man "
So saying, he put on his hat and departed.

C' CHAPTER XLVII.
"TO SEE JUSTICE DONE."
MR. ALLERTON next called upon the Ball
family, and, armed with Bob's confession, ex-
torted from John (better known to us as
Butter Ball) an acknowledgment of his own
share in the outrage.
It was impossible not to pity the afflicted
parents, and even the poor tool himself.
VOL. XVIII.-- S.


How could you, how could you, John?"
moaned his mother.
They made me do it," he pleaded. "They
kept telling me the wharf had no right to be
there, and anybody could tear it away or burn
it up. But I did n't know that the boats were
under it!"
I trust you will be as easy with him as you
can," said the mother, in a voice broken by
grief and shame; "for in some things, we 're
obliged to admit, our John is n't over-and-above
bright."
"It 's our fault more than his, maybe," said
the father. "We ought
to have prevented him
from going out nights,
and have kept him out
of idle company."
Let us hope this ex-
posure may prove a good
l.. thing for him, after all,"
"':;'" replied the teacher, clos-
ing his note-book; "and
-. that it may be the means
". of breaking up a gang
of idlers who are the
pest of the village. For
4 the sake of innocent
relatives, I shall try to
avoid making a public
scandal of the matter.
,.. But it seems no more
S than just that Tobias
Should receive some
compensation for his
R. losses."
You 're right," said Mr. Ball. I 'm not a
rich man, but I am willing to stand any reason-
able amount as our share of damages. And I '11
do what I ought to get our boy out of the trouble
that we should never have let him get into."
Mr. Allerton's interview with Aleck Stevens's
father was hardly less distressing. He found the
clergyman alone in his study, and there laid the
unpleasant business before him.
The good minister heard the story with sor-
row and mortification; but he was not greatly
surprised. a
I have suspected it all along," he said. If
any such mischief is afoot, Aleck is sure to be


825






THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.


in it. He has no excuse; or only one-he has
no mother. I have done my best to discipline
him, but in vain. Nobody knows," he groaned,
"nobody without the experience can possibly
ever know, what it is to have an undutiful
son !"
Mr. Allerton wished the boy himself might
have heard the tone in which these words were
spoken.
"Tobias must be recompensed," the minister
went on. To pay my share, I will cut off my
son's allowance, and make the retribution fall
in part where it belongs."
The next day, after consulting with Toby and
his mother, Mr. Allerton called on Mr. Tazwell
in his office.
The merchant received him with extreme
politeness, and asked to what he was indebted
for the honor of the visit.
Mr. Allerton put down his hat, arranged his
lock of hair, and laid on the merchant's desk
the following bill of items:

Thomas Tazwell, Jr., to Tobias Trafford, Dr.
For I Wharf destroyed by fire ........... $25 oo
IBoat ......... 25 00
I Mast and Sail, etc. .......... 10 oo
Incidental damages ................. 40 00

Total ......................... $ioo oo

The old shrug came into the Tazwell shoul-
ders, and the polite smile congealed.
"I don't understand this, Mr. Allerton."
"Perhaps something I have in my note-book
here will serve to enlighten you."
And Mr. Allerton read the statements of
Robert Brunswick and John Ball.
"The bill is made out to your son," he added;
"but I thought it proper to present it to you."
And what interest have you in the affair ?"
The merchant had ceased to smile. He fixed
a keen eye on his visitor.
"The mast and sail were borrowed of me.
More than that, I am a friend to Tobias, and
have undertaken to see justice done him."
I never will pay that bill in this world!"
Tazwell declared.
Mr. Allerton folded the bill, patted his top-
knot, and took up his hat.
Good day, Mr. Tazwell."


One moment! Understand me," said the
merchant.
"I understand you to say you will not pay
the bill," replied the schoolmaster, standing
erect and resolute, in his buttoned blue frock-
coat ; it is something I shall not ask you twice
to do. It is an honest claim and one that can
be legally enforced."
It is an atrocious claim!" said the merchant.
Mr. Allerton replied: The fire was an out-
rage, and your son was the chief instigator of
the mischief."
The wharf was a public nuisance; and though
it may have been mistaken zeal on the part of
those who burnt it, nobody can blame them
much," argued Tom's father.
"The parents of the other boys take a dif-
ferent view of the matter," said Mr. Allerton.
" This malicious burning of property is a criminal
offense, Mr. Tazwell."
He was going again.
Allow me to look at the bill once more," said
the merchant. I may be willing to pay some-
thing, but this is exorbitant."
Not at all. The property destroyed is placed
at its actual value. And you must admit that
one hundred dollars is a small sum for the actual
damage, the trouble, inconvenience, and loss of
time caused by such an attack upon the boy and
his business."
"But he sends me the bill for the entire
amount."
Because your son is held chiefly responsible.
However, if you decide to pay one half, I have
no doubt Mr. Stevens and Mr. Ball will make
up the other half. As for Josiah Patterson and
Robert Brunswick, although they were pres-
ent and knew of the mischief, they were opposed
to setting the fire."
I can do nothing without first consulting
the other parties," said the merchant finally.
"It will be proper for you to do so," replied
Mr. Allerton, who thereupon took his leave,
having accomplished in the interview quite as
much as he expected.
How the matter was arranged between Tom's
father and the fathers of Aleck and Butter Ball,
Toby never precisely knew. But one thing was
certain: within three days he received a check
from Mr. Tazwell for the full amount of the bill.


(To be concluded.)








:' yrt L 9







VIC'

By ANNIE L. HYDE.

S ITTLE JOHNNY never liked to go to bed.
The fact is, there never was a little boy who
_. ,_ ,: -orrier than he was when the clock struck eight,
... 111i he was told it was bedtime.
SIt 's always eight o'clock just as we 're having the
SI .: fun!" he would say, and beg for just a few mo-
m.i -rs more of play with Bob or sister Emily, who were
n muciic older than he and were allowed to sit up longer.
But all the begging and coaxing were of no avail; the big old clock on the stairs had certainly
struck eight loud enough for all to hear, and to bed he must certainly go.
"I tell you what, old fellow," said he to the clock, one evening as he was on his way up-
stairs, "you 're the greatest bother in the house! You make more noise when it 's eight o'clock
than we children do at blindman's-buff down-stairs, and I think if you can't be quieter, you'd
better just leave and go somewhere else! Do you hear? But the old clock ticked on as loudly
as ever, and Johnny thought he saw a sort of smile on its big round face. He sat down on
the stairs opposite to have a good look. Yes, there certainly was a smile, and, what was stranger
still, the loud ticking as he listened sounded like words, and gradually he could hear whole
sentences in rhyme, something like this: "Strange you never-hear me striking, telling you-
it's growing late Don't you know you 're very sleepy, and I 've told you it is eight? "
"Dear me, how very strange!" said little Johnny. "You're the funniest old clock I ever
did see. I didn't know you could talk."
Then the clock replied: "Ah! you never stop to listen though I call you every day, in the
morning for your lessons, in the evening from your play. All day long I stand here calling,
if you children would but heed. Sometimes when they do not listen it is very bad indeed!"
"Why?" asked little Johnny. The clock went on: "Once I heard a dreadful story of a
boy so fond of play, he would never hear us calling, never wanted to obey."
Tell me all about him," said little Johnny, deeply interested.
Far away from here it happened, in the land where I was born. All the week he played
and shouted, gathered poppies in the corn, climbed the trees for nuts and apples, helped
the farmer toss the hay, chased the butterflies and rabbits all the golden summer day. But
when rang the village school-bells, calling, calling far and wide, and the bright-ficed village
children laid their toys and games aside, he was crying, pouting, scolding, No, he would n't,
should n't go,' till at last his gentle mother, grieved and weary, left him so."
"What a very naughty boy!" said little Johnny.
"Loud the kitchen clock was calling,' Hurry, hurry, do not stay Still there 's time for you to
catch them; run and join them while you may!' My, how loud that clock was ticking! But he






THE OLD CLOCK'S STORY.


did n't stop to hear, singing, dancing through
the meadows without thought of care or fear.
Now the bells had all done tolling, they had
closed the school-house door, still he seemed to
hear that ticking even louder than before. Then
he looked behind-oh, horror!-and his very
heart stood still, for the kitchen clock was
following, jumping, bumping down the hill! "
Oh, how dreadful! said little Johnny.
Fast he flew across the meadow, climbed
the fence and leaped the brook; but he knew
the clock was following, though he dared not
stop to look. Louder, louder came the tick-
ing; faster flew the frightened child- stumbling,
falling through the hedges, over thorns and
brambles wild! "
I 'd like to have seen 'em !" said Johnny.
"When at last, all worn and tired, the poor
child could run no more, then he saw that he
was standing just beside the school-house door.


Ah, how glad he was to enter and to study with
the rest, for'the ticking would not follow if he
only did his best!"
I 'm glad he got rid of the horrid old thing!"
said little Johnny.
"Ah, but he had learned a lesson! When the
bells rang loud and clear, who of all the village
children was so quick as he to hear? And,
whatever he was doing, at his work or at his
play, when the clock struck he would listen,
glad and ready to obey. Now, my boy, if you
don't listen when I tell you it is eight, I 'll come
ticking, whirring, jumping"-

"Why, my dear little boy, here you are
asleep on the stairs and the clock striking nine!"
Little Johnny sat up and rubbed his eyes, and
looked very hard at his mama and then at the
clock; but the steady old timepiece was looking
as it always did and ticking as soberly as ever.


TEE-WAHN FOLK-LORE.

By CHARLES F. LUMMIS.

INTRODUCTORY.


FANCY that if almost any
of us were asked, "When
did people begin to make
fairy stories?" our first
thought would be, "Why,
of course, after mankind
had become civilized, and
had invented writing." But
in truth the making of
myths, which is no more
than a dignified name for
"fairy stories," dates back
to the childhood of the
human race.
Long before Cadmus in-
vented letters (and I
fear Cadmus himself
was as much of a myth as was his dragon's-
teeth harvest), long before there were true
historians or poets, there were fairy stories


and story-tellers. And to-day, if we would
seek the place where fairy stories flourish,
we must go, not to the nations of the Grimms
and the Andersens and the countless educated
minds that are now devoted to story-telling for
the young, but to races which have no books,
no magazines, no alphabets-even no pictures.
Of all the native peoples that remain in
North America, none is richer in folk-lore than
the Pueblo Indians of New Mexico, who are, 1
believe, next to the largest of the native races left
in the United States. They number nine thousand
souls. They have nineteen cities (called pueblos,
also) in this Territory, and seven in Arizona; and
each has its little outlying colonies. They are
not cities in size, it is true, for the largest (Zuli)
has only fifteen hundred people, and the smallest
only about one hundred; but cities they are,
nevertheless. And each city, with its fields, is
a wee republic-twenty-six of the smallest, and


828


[SEPT.






TEE-WAHN FOLK-LORE.


perhaps the oldest, republics in the world, for
they were already such when the first European
eyes saw America. Each has its governor, its
council, its sheriffs, war-captains, and other
officials who are elected annually; its laws,
unwritten but unalterable, which are more
respected and better enforced than the laws
of any American community; its permanent
and very comfortable houses, and its broad
fields, confirmed first by Spain and later by
patents of the United States.
The architecture of the pueblo houses is quaint
and characteristic. In the remote pueblos they
are as many as'six stories in height-built some-
what in the shape of an enormous terraced
pyramid. The Pueblos along the Rio Grande,
however, have felt the influence of Mexican
customs, and their houses have but one and
two stories. All their buildings, including the
huge, quaint church which each pueblo has,
are made of stone plastered with adobe mud,
or of great, sun-dried bricks of adobe. They
are the most comfortable dwellings in the south-
west-cool in summer and warm in winter.
The Pueblos are divided into six tribes, each
speaking a quite distinct language of its own.
Isleta, the quaint village where I live, in an
Indian house, with Indian neighbors, and under
Indian laws, is the southernmost of the pue-
blos, the next largest of them all, and the chief
city of the Tee-wahn race.* All the languages of
the Pueblo tribes are exceedingly difficult to learn.
Besides the cities now inhabited, the ruins of
about fifteen hundred other pueblos -and some
of them the noblest ruins in the country-dot
the brown valleys and rocky mesa-tops of New
Mexico. All these ruins are of stone, and are
extremely interesting. The implacable savages
by whom they were surrounded made neces-
sary the abandonment of hundreds of pueblos.
The Pueblo Indians have for nearly two
centuries given almost no trouble to the Euro-
pean sharers of their domain; but their wars
of defense against the savage tribes who sur-
rounded them completely, with the Apaches,
Navajos, Comanches, and Utes, lasted until
a very few years ago. They are valiant fighters
for their homes, but prefer any honorable peace.
They are not indolent, but industrious-tilling
their farms, tending their stock, and keeping all


their affairs in order. The women own the
houses and their contents, and do not work
outside; and the men control the fields and
crops. An unhappy home is almost an unknown
thing among them; and the universal affection
of parents for children and respect of children
for parents are extraordinary. I have never
seen a child unkindly treated, a parent saucily
addressed, or a playmate abused, in all my long
and intimate acquaintance with the Pueblos.
Isleta lies on the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad,
upon the western bank of the Rio Grande, on a
lava promontory which was once an island -
whence the town takes its Spanish name. Its
Tee-wahn title is Shee-ah-whfb-bak. Its popu
lation, according to the census taken last year,
is a little less than twelve hundred. It is nearly
surrounded by fertile vineyards, orchards of
peaches, apricots, apples, cherries, plums, pears,
and quinces, and fields of corn, wheat, beans,
and peppers, all owned by my dusky neighbors.
The pueblo owns over one hundred and ten
thousand acres of land, a part of which is re-
served for pasturing horses and cattle.
The people of Isleta are, as a rule, rather
short in stature, but strongly built. All have a
magnificent depth and breadth of chest, and a
beautifully confident poise of the head. Most
of the men are wonderfully expert hunters, tire-
less runners, and fine horsemen. Besides ordi-
nary hunting they have general hunts--for
rabbits in the spring, for antelope and deer in
the fall-thoroughly organized, in which vast
quantities of game are killed.
Their amusements are many and varied. Aside
from the numerous sacred dances of the year,
their most important occasions, they have vari-
ous races which call for great skill and endurance,
quaint social enjoyments, and games of many
kinds, some of which are quite as difficult as
chess. They are very fair weavers and pottery-
makers. The women are good housewives, and
most of them excellent seamstresses.
Yet, with all this progress in civilization,
despite their mental and physical acuteness and
their excellent moral qualities, the Tee-wahn are
in some things but overgrown children. Their
religion is one of the most complicated systems
on earth. Besides the highest deities, all the force
of nature, all animals, as well as many things


* Spelled Tiguan by Spanish authors.


829






TEE-WAHN FOLK-LORE.


that are inanimate, are invested by them with
supernatural powers. They do not worship idols,
but images and tokens of unseen powers are re-
vered. They do nothing without some reason,
generally a religious one, and whatever they ob-
serve they can explain in their own superstitious
way. Every custom they have and every belief
they own has a reason which to them is all-
sufficient; and for each they have a story. There
is no duty to which a Pueblo child is trained in
which he has to be content with the bare com-
mand, Do thus "; for each he learns a fairy tale
designed to explain how people first came to know
that it was right to do thus, and detailing the sad
results which befell those who did otherwise.
It is from this wonderful folk-lore of the Tee-
wahn that I have learned-after long study of
the people, their language, customs, and myths
- and taken, unchanged and unembellished,
this series of Indian fairy-tales.
The use of books is not only to tell, but to
preserve; not only for to-day, but for ever. What


portance with natives. Upon it depends the
preservation of the amusements, the history,
the beliefs, the customs, and the laws of their
race. A people less observant, less accurate of
speech and of memory, would make a sad fail-
ure of this sort of record; but with them it is a
wonderful success. The story goes down from
generation to generation, almost without the
change of a word.
Here in Isleta, the quaint pueblo of the Tee-
wahn where I am living, I have become deeply
interested not only in the folk-stories themselves,
but also in the manner of handing them down.
Winter is the season for story-telling. Then the
thirsty fields no longer cry for water, the irrigat-
ing-ditches have ceased to gnaw at their banks,
and the men are often at leisure. Then, of
an evening, if I go over to visit some vecino
(neighbor), I am likely to find, in the great
adobe living-room, a group of very old men and
very young boys gathered about the queer little
corner fireplace with its blazing upright sticks.


.4-


"AS I COME IN, KINDLY OLD TATA LORENSO IS JUST BEGINNING A STORY."
an Indian wishes to perpetuate must be saved They, too, have come a-visiting. The young
by tongue and ear, by telling-down," as were men are gathered in another corner by them-
the world's first histories and poems. This oral selves, eating roasted corn, and talking in whis-
transmission from father to son is of sacred im- pers so as not to disturb their elders, for respect


830






TEE-WAHN FOLK-LORE.


to age is the corner-stone of all Indian training.
They are not required to listen to the stories,
being supposed to know them already.
As I come in, kindly old Tata (grandfather)
Lorenso is just beginning a story in the musical
Tee-wahn, and one of the boys runs to bring me
a little hewn wooden stool that I may join the


THE ANTELOPE BOY.


ONCE upon a time there were two towns of the
Tee-wahn, called Nak-bah-tdo-too-ee (white vil-
lage) and Nah-choo-ree-too-ee (yellow village).
A man of Nah-bah-t6o-too-ee and his wife were
attacked by Apaches while out on the plains
one day, and took refuge in a cave, where they
were besieged. And there a boy was born to
them. The father was killed in an attempt to
return to his village for help; and starvation
finally forced the mother to crawl forth by night
seeking roots to eat. Chased by the Apaches,
she escaped to her own village, and it was
several days before she could return to the cave
-only to find it empty.
The baby had begun to cry soon after her
departure. Just then a coyote [the small
prairie-wolf] was passing, and heard. Taking
pity on the child, he picked it up and carried it
across the plain until he came to a herd of
antelopes. Among them was a mother antelope
that had lost her fawn; and going to her the
coyote said:


circle. Lorenso pauses to make a cigarette from
the material in my pouch (they call me Por todos,
because I have tobacco "for all"), explains for
my benefit that this is a story of the beginning of
Isleta, pats the head of the chubby boy at his
knee, and begins again. I give as literal a
translation as is possible.


"Here is an ah-bod (poor thing) that is left
by its people. Will you take care of it ? "
The mother antelope, remembering her own
baby, with tears said "Yes," and at once
adopted the tiny stranger, while the coyote
thanked her and went home.
So the boy became as one of the antelopes,
and grew up among them until he was about
twelve years old. Then it happened that a
hunter came out from Nah-bah-t6o-too-ee for
antelopes, and found this herd. Stalking them
carefully, he shot one with an arrow. The rest
started off, running like the wind; but ahead of
them all, as long as they were in sight, he saw a
boy! The hunter was much surprised, and,
shouldering his game, walked back to the vil-
lage deep in thought. Here he told the cacique
[who is the priest or religious head of the town]
what he had seen. Next day the crier was
sent out to call upon all the people to prepare
for a great hunt, in four days, to capture the
Indian boy who lived with the antelopes.
While preparations were going on in the vil-
lage, the antelopes in some way heard of the


- .- W 9@






TEE-WAHN FOLK-STORIES.


intended hunt and its purpose. The mother
antelope was very sad when she heard it, and
at first would say nothing. But at last she
called her adopted son to her and said: "Son,
you have heard that the people of Nah-bah-t6o-
too-ee are coming to hunt. But they will not kill
us; all they wish is to take you.
They will surround us, intending to
let all the antelopes escape from the
circle. You must follow me where
I break through the line, and your
real mother will be coming on the
northeast side in a white manta
(robe). I will pass close to her, and
you must stagger and fall where she
can catch you."
On the fourth day all the people
went out upon the plains. They
found and surrounded the herd of
antelopes, which ran about in a
circle when the hunters closed upon
them. The circle grew smaller, the
antelopes began to break through,
but the hunters paid no attention
to them, keeping their eyes upon
the boy. At last he and his ante-
lope mother were the only ones left,
and when she broke through the
line on the northeast he followed -
her and fell at the feet of his own
human mother, who sprang forward
and clasped him in her arms.
Amid great rejoicing he was taken
to Nah-bah-tdo-too-ee, and there
he told the principles [the old men
of the town] how he had been left
in the cave, how the coyote had
pitied him, and how the mother
antelope had reared him as her
own son.
It was not long before all the
country round about heard of the
Antelope Boy and of his marvelous
fleetnessoffoot. You must know that THE COYOTE
the antelopes never comb their hair, and while
among them the boy's head had grown very
bushy. So the people called him Pee-hlek-o-
wah-wee-deh (big-headed little boy).
Among the other villages that heard of his
prowess was Nah-choo-r e-too-ee, all of whose


people had the bad road [that is, were thought
witches]. They had a wonderful runner named
Pee-k'woo (Deer-foot) and very soon they sent
a challenge to Nah-bah-tdo-too-ee for a cham-
pionship race. Four days were to be given for
preparation, to make bets, and the like. The race


i-d0L :9


CG


was to be around
Ithe world [the
Pueblosbelieved
'. itwas animmense
A- plain whereon
the racers were
to race over
a square course
to the extreme
S east, then to the
if -" extreme north,
and so on back
to the starting-
point]. Each
village was to
W sR stake all its prop-
erty and the
CARRIES THE BABY TO THE ANTELOPE et an th
MOTHEE. lives of all its
people on the result of the race. So powerful
were the witches of Nah-choo-r6e-too-ee that
they felt safe in proposing so serious a stake;
and the people of Nah-bah-tdo-too-ee were
ashamed to decline the challenge.
The day came, and the starting-point was


832





TEE-WAHN FOLK-STORIES.


surrounded by all the people of the two villages,
dressed in their best. On each side were a huge
pile of ornaments and dresses, stores of grain,
and all the other property of the people. The
runner for the Yellow Village was a tall, sinewy
athlete, strong in his early manhood; and when
the Antelope Boy appeared for the other side,
the witches set up a howl of derision, and began
to strike their rivals and jeer at them, saying,
" Pooh! We might as well begin to kill you
now What can that do-deh (little thing) do?"
At the word "Hdi-ko!" ("Go!") the two
runners started toward the east like the wind.
The Antelope Boy soon forged ahead; but
Deerfoot, by his witchcraft, changed himself
into a hawk and flew lightly over the lad, say-
ing, "We do this way to each other!"* The
Antelope Boy kept running, but his heart was
very heavy, for he knew that no feet could equal
the swift flight of the hawk.
But just as he came half-way to the east, a
mole came up from its burrow and said:
My son, where are you going so fast with a
sad face ?"
The lad explained that the race was for the
property and lives of all his people; and that the
witch-runner had turned to a hawk and left him
far behind.
Then, my son," said the mole, I will be he
that shall help you. Only sit down here a little
while, and I will give you something to carry."
The boy sat down, and the mole dived into
the hole, but soon came back with four cigarettes
[These are made by putting a certain weed
into hollow reeds].
Holding them out, the mole said, Now, my
son, when you have reached the east and turn
north, smoke one; when you have reached the
north and turn west, smoke another; when you
turn south, another, and when you turn east
again, another. Hdi-ko!"
The boy ran on, and soon reached the east.
Turning his face to the north he smoked the first
cigarette. No sooner was it finished than he
became a young antelope; and at the same
instant a furious rain began. Refreshed by the
cool drops, he started like an arrow from the


bow. Half-way to the north he came to a large
tree; and there sat the hawk, drenched and
chilled, unable to fly, and crying piteously.
Now, friend, we too do this to each other,"
called the boy-antelope as he dashed past. But
just as he reached the north, the hawk-which
had become dry after the short rain-caught
up and passed him, saying, "We too do this
to each other!" The boy-antelope turned west-
ward, and smoked the second cigarette; and at
once another terrific rain began.t Half-way
to the west he again passed the hawk shiver-
ing and crying in a tree, and unable to fly;
but as he was about to turn to the south, the
hawk passed him with the customary taunt.
The smoking of the third cigarette brought
another storm, and again the antelope passed






.


,iij '
: 1 1
















RAIN FALLS ON PtE-K'HOO.
the wet hawk half-way, and again the hawk








dried its feathers in time to catch up and pass
him as he was turning to the east for the home-
i i i''










I-






RAIN FALLS ON PCE-K'HOO.
the wet hawk half-way, and again the hawk
dried its feathers in time to catch up and pass
him as he was turning to the east for the home-
stretch. Here again the boy-antelope stopped
and smoked a cigarette-the fourth and last.


A common Indian taunt, either good-natured or bitter, to the loser of a game or to a conquered enemy.
i I should state, by the way, that the cigarette plays an important part in the Pueblo folk-stories,- they never
had the pipe of the Northern Indians,- and all rain-clouds are supposed to come from its smoke.





TEE-WAHN FOLK-STORIES.


Again a short, hard rain came, and again he
passed the water-bound hawk half-way.
Knowing the witchcraft of their neighbors,
the people of Nah-bah-t6o-too-ee had made the
condition that, in whatever shape the racers


they have made the customary response, "Is
that so ?" to show their attention; while the
old men have nodded approbation, and smoked
in deep silence.
Now Lorenso turns to Desiderio, who is


K,;-.4 -1~~~





f ,ia


"THE TWO RUNNERS CAME SWEEPING DOWN THE HOME-STRETCH, STRAINING EVERY NERVE,"


might run the rest of the course, they must re-
sume human form upon arrival at a certain hill
upon the fourth turn, which was in sight of the
goal. The last wetting of the hawk's feathers
delayed it so that the antelope reached the hill
just ahead; and there, resuming their natural
shapes, the two runners came sweeping down
the home-stretch, straining every nerve. But
the Antelope Boy gained at each stride. When
they saw him, the witch people felt confident
that he was their champion, and again began to
push, and taunt, and jeer at the others. But
when the little Antelope Boy sprang lightly
across the line, far ahead of Deer-foot, their joy
turned to mourning.
The people of Nah-bah-tdo-too-ee burned all
the witches upon the spot, in a great pile of
corn; but somehow one escaped, and from him
come all the witches that trouble us to this day.
The property they had won was taken to Nah-
bah-t6o-too-ee; and as it was more than that
village could hold, the surplus was sent to Shee-
ah-whib-bahk (Isleta), where we enjoy it to this
day; and later the people themselves moved
here. And even now, when we dig in that little
hill on the other side of the charco (pool), we
find charred cor-cobs, where our forefathers
burned the witch-people of the Yellow Village.

During Lorenso's story the black eyes of the
boys have never left his face; and at every pause


far more wrinkled even than he,-it is a
mystery that those countless furrows can play
across his shriveled face without crowding one
another off,- and says, You have a tale,
brother." And Desiderio, clearing his throat
and making a new cigarette with great impres-
siveness, begins: My sons, do you know why
the coyote and the crows are always at war?
No? Then I will tell you."

THE COYOTE AND THE CROWS.

ONCE on a time many crows lived in the edge
of some woods. A little out into the plain
stood a very large tree, with much sand under
it. One day a coyote was passing, and heard
the crows singing and dancing under this tree,
and came up to watch them. They were danc-
ing in a circle, and each crow had upon his
back a large bag.
Crow-friends, what are you doing ?" asked
the coyote, who was much interested.
Oh, we are dancing with our mothers," said
the crows.
How pretty! And will you let me dance,
too ? asked the coyote of the loo-whit-lah-wid-
deh crow (captain of the dance).
Oh, yes," replied the crow. Go and put
your mother in a bag, and come to the dance."
The coyote went running home. There his
old mother was sitting in the corner of the fire-


*rrr,
--





TEE-WAHN FOLK-STORIES.


place. The stupid coyote picked up a stick and
struck her on the head, and put her in a bag,
and hurried back to the dance with her.
The crows were dancing merrily, and singing:
"Ai nana, que-de-rah, que-ee-rah." ("Alas,
Mama! you are shaking, you are shaking!")
The coyote joined the dance, with the bag on
his back, and sang as the crows did:
"Ai nana, que-e-r, uee-ra, ue-e-ra." [Ai nana
is an exclamation always used by mourners.]
But at last the crows burst out laughing,
and said, "What do you bring in your bag ? "
"My mother, as you told me," replied the
coyote, showing them.
Then the crows emptied their bags, which
were filled with nothing but sand, and flew up
into the tree, laughing.
The coyote then saw that they had played
him a trick, and started home, crying "Ai nana / "


When he got home he took his mother from the
bag and tried to set her up in the chimney-
corner, always crying, "Ai nana, why don't you
sit up as before? But she could not, for she
was dead. When he found that she could not
sit up any more, he vowed to follow the crows
and eat them all the rest of his life; and from
that day to this he has been hunting them, and
they are always at war.

As Desiderio concluded, the old men hitched
their blankets around their shoulders. No
more stories to-night ?" I asked; and Lorenso
said:
In-dda (no). Now it is to go to bed.
Too-kwai (come)," he said to the boys. Good
night, friends. Another time, perhaps."
And we filed out through the low door into
the starry night.


(To be continued.)


LAST DAYS AT THE SEA-SHORE.


835
































1 TIMOTHY grows in the tangle tall
Between the road and the gray stone wall;
From its long green stalks upreaching high
Its long green fingers point to the sky;
And some turn purple, and some look tanned
To a ruddy brown, like a sunburned hand.
Bending and beckoning, to and fro,
As the breeze runs by through the clovers low,
And the redtop ripples, feathery-fine,
And the daisies shake and the buttercups shine,
Stirring whenever the light wind blows,
Under the warm sky Timothy grows.



STimothy goes where the blown grass bows,
Sturdily trudging behind the cows;
His hard little feet are red and bare,
S And his brown face laughs neathh his tow-white
hair.
SAs blue are his round eyes, boyish-quick,
S-1 As the ripe blue berries he stops to pick;
i And his few front teeth are sharp and small,
SLike the chipmunk's he chases along the wall.

r.

,_ And whistling and following over the hill,
While the cow-bells clink in the evening still,
Where in the tangle his namesake grows,
Under the bright sky Timothy goes.


p.

*1~


i-

:-
i--~- I I-

I
\Jr:~~ci


ili


IBfg~












CATCHING TERRAPIN.


BY ALFRED KAPPES.


IN the shoal waters along the coast south of
Cape Henlopen, terrapin are caught in various
ways. Dredges dragged along in the wake of
a sailing vessel pick them up. Nets stretched
across some narrow arm of river or bay en-
tangle the feet of any stray terrapin in their
meshes; but these require the constant atten-
dance of the fisherman to save the catch from
drowning. In the winter, in the deeper water,
the terrapin rise from their muddy quarters on
mild sunny days and crawl along the bottom.
They are then taken by tongs, their whereabouts
being often betrayed by bubbles.
The method shown in the drawing is resorted
to only in the spring and in water not over a foot
or two in depth. Turtles will rise at any noise,
and usually the fisherman only claps his hands,


though each hunter has his own way of attract-
ing the terrapin. One hunter whom I saw when
I made the drawing uttered a queer guttural
noise that seemed to rise from his boots.
Whatever the noise, all turtles within hearing
- whether terrapin or snapper will put
their heads above water. Both are welcome
and are quickly sold to the market-men. The
snapper slowly appears and disappears, leaving
scarcely a ripple; and the hunter cautiously
approaching usually takes him by the tail.
The terrapin, on the contrary, is quick, and will
descend in an oblique direction, so that a hand-
net is needed unless he happens to come up
near by. If he is near enough the man jumps
for him. The time for hunting is the still hour
at either sunrise or sunset.


i
=ii-~--~J

c ,
---~-~- i



























BY SARAH J. PRICHARD.


ON Block Island, a hundred years and more
ago, there was living a retired sea-captain,
named Milo Merritt. This Captain Merritt
was the unconscious cause of some strange and
peculiar happenings.
Having been compelled to leave the sea at a
time when his love for old ocean was at the
strongest, he never tired of talking about it.
Ever good-tempered, with a vivid imagination
and keen interest in all things past and present,
he was the idol of the boys who flocked to his
cabin to hear something new.
Poor lads of Block Island! They had not
much in their hard, plain lives to satisfy the
natural longing for pleasant places and bright
living.
One December afternoon, two boys, Casper
Lee and Peter Downs, lingered in the low, snug
cabin of Captain Merritt to hear the last of a
thrilling story of a run from the pirates off some
foreign coast.
The imagination of the old captain filled up
the dim places in the narrative with lurid light,
and scenes of the most stirring action crept into
the story with wonderful frequency.
The driftwood fire burned itself to embers,
and was forgotten until Mrs. Merritt looked
into the room.
"What in the world does this mean?" she
said in sober tones. "You, a-sitting right here be-


fore your own hearth and a-letting every mite
of fire go out? It 's time, captain, that these
boys went home. They 've nigh two mile to
go, and it a-growing dark fast."
"So 't is," said Captain Merritt, dropping his
right arm, so lately involved in action on the
high seas, and glancing oceanward.
"Come, come, boys," he urged; "get off
with you, right away. It '11 be pitch-dark in no
time, and you 've got to fight every blessed inch
of your way across to-night."
"We know the way well enough," said Peter
Downs.
There 's no hurry at all," chimed in Casper
Lee. We want to know whether the man
caught hold in time -"
Milo," cried Mrs. Merritt, if you tell these
boys another word, I '11--"
Captain Merritt did not await his deserts. He
firmly declined to tell another detail, and sent
the boys on their way, bidding them make good
time for the meeting-house. If you get there
before dark you '11 be all right," he assured the
lads as they set off.

Block Island 's no place at all!" cried Peter,
between two breathing of the gale that whirled
the sand about their feet as they went onward.
"How on earth, Pete, are we ever to get
away?" questioned Casper. "Captain Merritt


rc. 7D






TWO LADS OF BLOCK ISLAND.


will never sail any more; he could n't tread a
deck now to save his life; and, just as like as
not, if he could, he would n't take us."
"S'pose not! ejaculated Peter, and then the
lads, with bent heads, plodded their way through
the blowing sand toward their homes, in silence
but with busy thoughts.
Casper's thinking culminated in the words:
"I say, Peter Downs, there 's only one way
to do! If you and I are ever to get to sea
we shall have to run away."
"Yes," assented Peter. No ships worth
anything will ever come in here if they can
help themselves. We've got to go to the
ships. And we can't get to them without a boat,
anyhow," continued Peter, and you know we
have n't a boat and no chance to get one, unless,
Casper, a ship should wreck ashore, as ships
used to do. Then, I s'pose," he went on with
increased hope, if we could find a small boat,
't would be ours as much as anybody's."
Small chance of that happening, out of one
of Captain Merritt's stories," observed Casper.
"Well, you never can tell what 's coming,"
remarked Peter, "-though I should say that
that 's a lantern light ahead! "
The rays that shot through the tiny slits in
the tin of a lantern did not give much light, but
the boys, accustomed to the gathering gloom,
soon discovered a group of men in front of a
little store where groceries, dry-goods, and
West India products were sold.
What 's happened ? asked Casper, step-
ping briskly into the group, as fresh as if he
had not been breasting a furious wind for the
last hour.
But Peter, catching sight of his father stand-
ing in the dim light of the store-door, shot off
homeward, to escape censure for being out so
long after dark.
Not many minutes later, Casper followed
Peter, to tell him what was at that moment
about to happen on Block Island.
Cautiouslylooking in through the many-paned
window of the kitchen, Casper saw his friend
sitting alone at a little round table, eating his
supper.
The red glow of the peat-fire on the hearth,
with the feeble rays of a candle, made the room
seem full of light and warmth to the lad look-


ing in, and the lad he looked upon seemed
innocent of any intent other than eating his
supper.
Casper tapped upon the pane. Peter turned
pale with fear. Who could be about knocking
at windows on such a night ? Not his mother,
who had placed her truant boy's supper on
the table, lighted a candle for him, and then
gone to meeting. Not his father, for Peter knew
he was at that minute at the little store. He
had not long to wonder, for the breezy voice of
his friend Casper called, Let me in, Pete !"
Peter hastened to open the door, and, with
face elate with eagerness, Casper Lee came in.
Anybody here ?" he asked, advancing to the
table, and seizing as he did so a generous slice
of rye-bread.
Only you and me," answered Peter; "I
thought you 'd go right on home."
I was going home," said Casper, "but
thought I 'd come and tell you the news."
News ?" said Peter. What news ? "
Give a fellow a drink of milk and I '11 tell,"
said Casper, smiling.
Here! Take my cup. There's plenty more
in the buttery. Mother's gone to meeting, I
s'pose. It's meeting night, and I forgot all
about being at home in time to milk the cow,"
explained Peter.
I wonder whether you 'd have had supper
all ready for her, if she 'd gone and forgotten
you," said Casper. But it's news that's come
this time, and no mistake. Pete, there 's a big
ship-or there was at dark-adrift and help-
less, coming right on here, and maybe we '11
get our boat this very night, if we are smart.
Everybody '11 be attending to the wrecked stuff
and the ship; and nobody '11 think about the
ship's boats. If any comes adrift, we '11 be the
first to get it. Come on!"
"Where to ? said Peter, rising at once from
the table.
"To the cave, to be sure," replied Casper.
"We can watch from there a long time, and
nobody will think of finding us out. Come,
hurry! he added, taking up the last slice of
rye-bread and thrusting it into his pocket.
Now, we 're off," said Peter.
The fire having been replenished with peat,
and a fresh candle lighted, they set forth.


839






TWO LADS OF BLOCK ISLAND.


The night was very dark, and the darkness
seemed alive and moving with the rush and
roar of wind and wave.
Seeing how black it was, the lads turned back
to secure the means to make a light should one
be necessary. A candle and a foot-stove, the lat-
ter filled with a ball of burning peat, with a few
dry twigs, completed their outfit.
Poor lads! To them all the world outside
of bare Block Island was bright and pleasant
and inviting. Pearls, diamonds, gold, indeed
everything worth having, could be had simply
for the seeking; while at home nothing could
or would ever be, but the same weary round of
raising corn and mending nets; fishing in sum-
mer and waiting all winter for things that never
yet had come into their lives.
Their fathers were fishermen; their uncles and
great-uncles went out and came in, bringing
only cod and other fish in their boats. If there
was anything better to be had anywhere in the
world, the lads were determined to seek it, and
this was the black December night on which
they were resolved to set forth to make their
fortunes. Innocent lads! They never knew
that Captain Merritt's imagination and grim
reality were not one and the same thing; and
the captain himself, quietly sleeping in his cabin,
never dreamed of the thoughts and plans his
words had kindled in the lads' young minds.
There was not at that time a lighthouse on
Block Island. Life-saving stations had not been
organized anywhere on the coast.
Casper and Peter were fast friends. Their
young lives had been passed together from the
time they were big enough to creep along the
sands of the shore. Casper had more of the spirit
of daring in him than fell to the lot of his com-
panion; but, in scenes of real danger, Peter was
the better able to find, or make, a way of escape.
On that night in December, so long ago, the
air was full of sound, as the lads crawled down
the bank which at that time existed along the
eastern shore of the island. They crept cau-
tiously beneath it, and occasionally a voice
could be heard upon the bluff over their heads,
from the islanders, who were making their way
to the north, in the direction they knew winds
and waves must drive the ship they had seen at
nightfall.


Peter carried the foot-stove. Casper walked
just a step or two ahead, and both kept silence
until they reached a headland, in which their
cave was to be found. This cave was no more
than a fissure in the bluff. The boys would
never have thought or spoken of it as a cave,
had not Captain Merritt called it one.
"It 's just above us, now; must be there,"
said Casper. "You hold on a bit till I find it."
No, no!" ejaculated Peter, whose soul
was awed into silence by the great white break-
ers thundering in all about them. I 'm com-
ing, too," he called, stumbling along over the
boulders that now strewed the way.
"This is nothing to what we 've got to come
to when once we get upon the high seas, Peter
Downs. Don't be a coward. It 's only a few
more black rocks to get over and we 're there."
Pshaw That 's nothing but a pile of sea-
weed," Casper added, as Peter grasped his arm
with, Casper What is that ? "
Over their heads seemed to tower to the very
sky the grim blackness of the bluff up which they
intended to climb to their secure hiding-place out
of the way of wind and wave. Up there they
could see all the coast for miles and miles by the
light of day, and could discern a glimmer of
light far out into the night.
They began to search for the fissure. Pres-
ently Casper called out, "I 've found the cave!
Hold on a bit. Hand us the old foot-stove till
I light up, will you ? "
Casper blew aside the ashes, and soon the
feeble twinkle of one little candle did its best to
light up all the big bluff. It only lasted for a
minute, for there came a great burst of sound as
if the mighty cliffs over their heads had burst
asunder. Then the candle went out.
"Thunder in December. That 's queer!"
observed Casper.
"'T was n't thunder! There has n't been a
gleam of lightning to-night, Casper Downs,"
said frightened Peter, clinging fast to his friend.
"What was it, then ? "
"I don't know-Casper, come! Let 's get
home; I 've had enough of this." And Peter
took a step backward, stepping into water as he
did so.
Casper heard the splash, and was too fright-
ened to utter a word.


840






TWO LADS OF BLOCK ISLAND.


Where could they be? No water, so far as
he knew, had ever come up to the entrance of
the cave.
We 're in a fix!" decided Peter. I say,
Casper, what's to be done ?"
"As we can't go back we 've got to go
ahead!" said Casper, with forced cheerfulness,
helping his friend out of the. water into a dry
place. Then, trying to climb higher, he actually
struck his head against a wall of rock that
seemed to bar the way.
Stop a minute, Bub," said Casper. Casper
never had called Peter "Bub," except when
under very great excitement.
I 'm going to try the light again," he added,
doing his utmost to appear calm and to speak
encouragingly.
But the peat was too far gone. No light
could be won from its feeble glow.
Get ahead, won't you ? My feet are in the
water again," urged Peter. Never mind the
light."
"You stand still just where you are till you
hear me speak. I '11 have to feel around before
I go ahead," explained Casper.
"All right! The water washes against my
feet, though; and it is n't any too warm, either,"
observed Peter, still in ignorance of their true
situation.
Presently Casper spoke:
"I may as well tell you at once, Peter," he
said, "that we are not in the cave. I don't
know where we are, nor what will become of
us. Pete, I can't find any opening leading out
of this. It's all closed up overhead. You get
close to me, and we '11 hope for the best. If we
can weather it out, we will. It must be nearly
high tide now."
Peter did not speak. He only held out his
hand and touched Casper.
Casper pulled him up one step higher, say-
ing, Look out for your head," for Peter was
an inch the taller, and Casper had none too
much room above his head.
It was an awful place for the two laddies to
be in. Whether the sea would pour in and
drown them there among the rocks neither
could tell. They turned their faces seaward
and waited, shivering and despairing.
In another moment a flash of light was on the
VOL. XVIII.- 59.


waters. It was quickly followed by the sound
that they had heard once before.
It's the ship's gun!" gasped Peter. She 's
firing a minute-gun to bring help."
"And she's driving right on," said Casper.
Poor things!" ejaculated Peter. There
can't one of them be saved if they drive against
this bluff."
I 'd give up the boat to save them," said
Casper, with great solemnity.
I 'd give up 'most anything to know that
we have n't got to be drowned in here, like
rats," remarked Peter.
"Well, I 've had enough of the sea for once,"
added Casper. I '11 make a solemn vow with
you, Peter, here and now, that if we are saved
and those poor people yonder are n't drowned,
I '11 never run away to sea as long as I live!"
I '11 make the same vow, Casper," said his
friend. "And somehow, I believe," added
Peter, that if we do make that promise, we
will all be saved."
"What 's the good of promising if we don't
believe it 's any good ? said Casper; and, the
water advancing still, they clung together and
watched its rise, and strove to see the ship.
A third and fourth gun flashed and roared
amid the terrible voices of the night.
"Are you sure, perfectly certain, Casper, that
there is no room a little higher up ? said Peter.
Not a mite, Bub. I 've bumped all around
everywhere. We 're in the highest place we
we can climb to."
Peter said no more. He felt the water ooze
through his boots, and after a few moments
Casper grasped hard at Peter's waist, for he, too,
had found out that the water was at his feet.
Steadily it rose, until their feet were covered,
and the chill of it was deathly.
Let's count fifty," suggested Peter, and feel
if it gets any higher." They counted and tried.
It was rising. It covered their shoes and ran
in over the tops.
I think I see the ship !" suddenly cried Peter.
The lad was right. The great white-sailed
bark was driving straight for death and destruc-
tion upon the rocks. The lads heard a sail go
rattling down the mast. The men on board were
doing their utmost to keep off-shore.
And still the cold tide crept higher.






TWO LADS OF BLOCK ISLAND.


"It 's nearly up to my knees now," calmly
remarked Peter.
But your mouth is higher up than mine,"
said Casper.
"I wonder if Captain Merritt ever got into
such a fix ?" asked Peter, as once more he felt
the rise of the sea.
"That poor ship!" he cried at the same in-
stant, for the lads had distinctly heard the great
keel strike on the rocks. The vessel had come
ashore not more than five hundred feet from the
spot where the boys were. Between the ship
and the cliff there was nothing to be seen but
one seething field of foam. Just outside the
surf the waves met a reef that broke their force
and threw them back, only to come again more
gently, but just as surely, to lap out the lives
of the lads prisoned in the bluff.
The cries of distress from the passengers and
crew reached the ears of Casper and Peter and
made them forget for a moment their own peril.
I wish," moaned Peter, "that somebody
would try to save them! "
They might as well try to save us," replied
Casper. ~ How on earth could any boat live
along shore to get to you and me to-night ?
Peter, I wish I had n't gone after you to-
night. Then you 'd just have gone up to bed,
and would have known nothing about the ship,
and would have been safe."
Does n't the moon come up pretty soon ?"
Peter interrupted. "Seems to me Don't
say such things, Casper; I can't stand that and
this water too. It's just gone over my knees.
Seems to me I begin to see things better- and
hark!" went on Peter. "Don't you hear
Indians out there? "
"Bub, are you hungry?" inquired Casper,
with a slightly tighter clasp about Peter's waist.
You know you don't hear Indians! Casper
was alarmed. He thought his friend was out
of his head.
"I do," cried Peter. "Can't you? If I
did n't know better I should think 't was one of
our own Indians."
Block Island had at that time nearly half as
many Indians as white men.
The moon was rising, but the clouds were so
dense that it only dimly lightened the blackness.
The time wore on. There was nothing for


the situation but to wait in the hope that the
tide might turn. The ship thumped on the
rocks; the lads clung together, cold and weary,
yet bravely trying to cheer each other with
assurances that aid was at hand.
Everything echoed that night. It was the
echo of the voices of the Indians on the bluff,
sixty feet over the little cleft, that had caused
Peter to think that he heard Indians on the
ship. The echo came from a bank of fog at
sea.
At the first gun, the inhabitants of Block
Island began to gather-men, women, boys,
Indians, negroes.
The old fishermen of the island were there,
looking on, but powerless to aid. Men who
had waited outside many a night, with their
lives hanging on the chance of being able to
ride the highest wave to the land, were there,
and they all, to a man, had said: "There 's
nothing can be done till the tide falls."
It was then that the voice of a woman rang
out-of a woman who herself had been saved
from a wreck only a few years before. She
cried:
"Fetch boats; Lower them down the bank.
I '11 go down in the first boat."
"A mad scheme! Don't listen to 'Long
Kattern,' cried anotherwoman, but Long Kat-
tern had been heard, and two-score men were
off to do her bidding. The boats had been
drawn on shore, for at that time Block Island
had no harbor. Oxen, carts, boats, men, all
were put in motion, and, before the water rose
to the clasped hands of the lads in the cave,
the smallest of the boats was hovering over the
bluff. Long Kattern stepped to the front, but
the men of the island bade her go back to her
place, and without a single word, two of their
number stepped over the bluff's edge into the
boat.
It was a strange scene. The moon had risen,
and only specters of ship and breakers, of cliff
and shell could be seen, as the hundred strong
hands stood ready to lower the boat.
"All ready ? asked the men on the cliff.
"All ready," came the response from the
boat, and slowly the brave men sank from the
sight of their comrades.
Twenty feet below, the boat struck a loose


842





TWO LADS OF BLOCK ISLAND.


843


rock that gave way and went tumbling down, making thunderous noises as it went. The
lads in the cleft thought the cliff was falling over their heads. Their cold hearts grew colder,


i'r4'it


/95 ~ ~ I' iiii

( It












V.


[itir Fini r -I I. it 1 i :- It.:.uClih :o the water on
h .-i : d-.
l H,-I1.! Hel. '" Ihv -holii.ui.l ii uinison, with all
iie m cLtt .. I l th' tI iri t.nt *.:.met-ing shut out
ii-e m. i.-ihIi r ri L. lre lt .. _.: .e. .\ voice, closet
[hiThi. a-, heiariJ. 3lii., "" i '. :e any one?"
TIh i .: t ii r.J,-,J ir.. ie Lt,,iii :. l .tat Peter's cry
I: .- riai: hi ...l the c:i r ,ti rh,. L,..: rn n, and they,
i-rl in, rhat i -,_,ie ..:.- U : li.'- [l-issengers were
i ri -ur ..:all...J .' .r \\! I-r ari you ? "
Heri H lc.'" ih:,uthi-l lthi, lds in reply.
i;i.:le-: I .,~ Lhe -i :u!.: th. e iL.h : rowed to the
llace. a i. itli ; jrk C. t:r I pulled into it.
STh.-rc '- anj : .rh.-r." Ii- n-gi,d. and Peter like-

Doi:i't :tr. for .:our lives!" com-
irmi.le.l .-.nl of the two


THE RESCUE OF PETER AND CASPER.






TWO LADS OF BLOCK ISLAND.


men, giving the signal for the boat to be
hoisted.
There was not much liveliness in the two
poor lads just then. Thoroughly benumbed,
they crouched down in the boat and clung to
it, as they saw the lines slowly tighten, and the
dangerous ascent began.
"It 's heavier, anyhow, than 't was when we
let it down," remarked some one upon the bluff,
during the long, slow, cautious pull.
Careful now! Easy, lads! as the heads of
the men came into sight.
"There fourr in the boat," cried Long Kat-
tern, clapping her hands and leaning at a risky
angle over the edge to see.
Everybody crowded to the edge.
Keep off; keep back; or the edge will give
way and topple over," cried a voice from the
boat, and instantly the crowd fell back, leaving
space to haul the boat up.
"Take 'em out gently. I reckon there is n't
much to 'em," said one of the boatmen. "They
have n't spoken a word since we got 'em in.
They were in a little place under the cliff most
full of water, and could n't 'a' held out much
longer."
Hard brown hands were reached down to
Casper and Peter, and the boys were set upon
their feet wet and dripping.
Take 'em to the nearest home; that's mine,"
said a soft, gentle voice.
It was Peter's mother who spoke. She was
waiting for the cart that had brought the boat,
expecting to take the rescued lads in it.
"Mother, mother!" gasped Peter, groping
forward, scarcely able to take a step. "Don't
you folks, any of you, know Casper Lee and
Peter Downs ?"
Why, fellows !" yelled out a voice over the
cliff's brink to the men who were being lowered
again. "We 've fetched up two of our own
boys from below, but how the Old Mohican
they ever got there 's more than I know!"
The news so astounded the men at the ropes
that the boat came near dropping its passengers
as they let it careen.
Meanwhile, the dripping boys were hurried
into the cart. Mrs. Downs dragged off her cam-
let cloak and covered neither boy in her anxiety
to cover both with it. The oxen were set in


motion, and a few of the women went with the
cart, leaving the ship and its passengers and
crew to what fate might befall them. Nothing
in life seemed one-half so important just then to
Mrs. Downs as that the boys should be made
warm in bed. Every mother of the number
knew just what ought to be done, and each one
knew that a different thing ought to be done.
Meanwhile, brave men in the boat descended
toward the surging sea once more.
They did look an instant to see that the little
cleft was entirely shut in by the waters. They
were thankful there were no lads in it then,
as they shot out a little way, as far as the lines
that held their boat would let them go.
Then they saw there was no use in trying to
do more. They decided to go back and wait
for daylight and low water.
Turning toward the cliff, as their boat slipped
down the wave, they beheld, on its crest, another
boat. Its oarsman- brave man that he was! -
had risked his life in the ship's little dory, to carry
ashore a line by which a cable could be brought
to land, so that, when the tide should turn, the
ship might not drift out into deep water.
He never would have reached the shore alive,
had not the men and their boat been so near the
spot when the dory toppled and went under.
I 'll save that brave fellow, if I die for it,"
exclaimed one of the two Block Islanders. He
whirled the boat about and watched for the man
to rise. The man was saved, and the little line
he carried and clung to when he went down
was hoisted up the cliff in safety, and, more-
over, drew up a cable that was made fast to
the meeting-house before the tide went down.
The bark rode out the gale until the light of
day; and, before another night came, every
soul was fetched off in safety from the ship and
spent a thankful Christmas at the hospitable
houses on the island.
Captain Merritt, and many Block Islanders
who heard of Casper's and Peter's escape, came
the next day to hear the thrilling story of the
rescue, but to no one of them, save Peter's
mother, was all the truth made known.
Casper and Peter faithfully kept their promise,
made in darkness and danger. They were often
tempted to run away, for, in the days that fol-
lowed, Block Island grew again to be dull and





1891] TWO LADS OF

stupid, and the stories of Captain Merritt and
the wild tales told by Long Kattern did, many
a time, stir their blood to longing for the larger
ventures of the world.
In after years, in due course of time, Peter
was master of a coasting-vessel, and Casper, at
middle age, had all the risks and the danger
that his spirit craved as a soldier in the war;


BLOCK ISLAND. 845

and, finally, when the active life was over
for them, the two men, old and full of days,
used to sit at the harbor's mouth in the sun-
shine and talk of the scenes of their boyhood.
And no adventure of their lives was more fre-
quently recounted to the boys of a later day
than their rescue from the cleft in the Block
Island bluff, on that December night.


'//










CHAN OK; A ROMANCE OF THE EASTERN SEAS.


BY J. 0. DAVIDSON.


[Begun in the May number.]
CHAPTER X.
IN DEADLY PERIL.
NEXT morning Frank was summoned to the
office, and the agent informed him that the
authorities had arranged to send out in search
of the pirates the United States frigate "Dic-
tator," the only available war-vessel in the
















with the two "boys," to point out their place of
concealment and to identify the pirate.
The frigate was to sail the next day, so he ad-
vised Frank to make his preparations to go on
board that night. "You, of course, are in the
company's pay," said the agent, and we '11 see
what we can do for you when you return. Good
luck to you "
With a final hearty handshake, the good-
natured agent sent Frank on his way. It
was late that night before Frank had finished
visiting his friends and making the purchases
for his new outfit; and ten o'clock struck be-
fore he started from the office to embark. The
harbor rules did not allow shore boats to lie
beside the wharves at night, because of the many
thieves and desperate characters composing their
crews; so these boats are anchored a short dis-
tance from shore. A passenger desiring a boat
must first notify the policeman on duty. That


officer calls the craft next in order, and takes
the passenger's name and destination. The
passenger is then expected to steer the boat,
and must see that the crew (limited to two)
remain forward.
Frank complied with these regulations, and
soon found himself dancing over the harbor's
dark waters in one of the swift and graceful
"pull-away" boats for which Hong-Kong is
noted.
There were only two of the crew visible.
One, a man, tended the sails; the other, a
woman (as is often the case in Chinese boats),
held an oar which she occasionally used on the
leeward side to steady the boat.
As Frank steered for the twinkling light of
the distant man-of-war, he could not but con-
trast his present position with that of a few
nights before, when he lay starving in the cuddy
of his miserable ark of refuge. Then, he re-
flected, death stared him in the face; now he
was safe again. His employers had given him
ample proof of their esteem, and had promised
still further rewards and their confidence, should
he return successful from his present mission.
Little did he think that, at that very moment,
his life was in greater peril than ever before.
Suddenly he was aroused by a gentle twitch
at the tiller-rope. Turning round, he was
startled by the appearance of a shadowy form,
crouched in the stern of the boat.
The harbor rule compelling the crew to re-
main forward, and the recollection that no one
was visible at the stern when the boat started,
passed swiftly through his mind, and he recalled
also the tales he had heard of the experiences
of belated mariners at night in these very boats.
A warning of Old Ben's, When you must shoot,
shoot quickly! also came forcibly to memory.
He saw the figure rise as if to spring upon him.
In a single instant his revolver was drawn,
aimed, and fired. By the light of its flash he
caught a glimpse of a swarthy, sinewy Malay






CHAN OK; A ROMANCE OF THE EASTERN SEAS.


making ready to spring upon him. The next
instant the man fell with a heavy crash at his
feet. So close had the assassin stood that his
clothing was set on fire by the discharge of
the pistol.
Believing his enemy to be disabled, Frank
now turned and covered the two others of the
crew with his weapon, ordering them to keep the
boat on its course. But scarcely were they un-
der way again before the sound of oars reached
him. A voice hailed them:
"Boat ahoy, there! What are you firing for ?"
Just as Frank was about to reply, his boat
gave a sudden lurch almost throwing him off his
feet, and the two members of his crew and the
man whom he had shot darted over the side
and plunged into the water.
Before he recovered his balance, a police-boat
had run alongside; and a tall officer, standing
in the stern, threw the light of a lantern upon
Frank and again demanded the meaning of the
firing. It did riot take long to make the officer
acquainted with what had happened. Stepping
into the pull-away boat, he made a quick search,
and drawing aside a mat disclosed a place in
the planking just large enough to admit the
body of a man lying down.
You 've had a narrow escape, sir," he ex-
claimed, after a few minutes' examination.


A HONG-KONG PULL-AWAY BOAT.
"See, he cut your tiller-ropes first, to deprive
you of the control of the boat, and was then
going to attack you! These fellows are cunning
at their work, and it 's rarely we catch them.
It's a pity you did not kill him. I see that he
jumped overboard with the rest of the crew,
preferring to risk drowning rather than certain


death by hanging if caught. Now, sir, step
into my cutter, and I '11 see you safely to your
ship."
Frank did as requested, and while seating
himself by the officer, noticed that the boat he
had just left was putting about to return to
the city, with two of the police-boat's crew in
charge.
No, we 're not likely to capture them," re-
marked the officer in reply to a question. They
are probably ashore by this time, on that point
of rock yonder; and they will be far back in
the country before morning."
The frigate's dark hull now rose up beside
them, and the cutter ran into its shadow. The
sentry at the gangway hailed, and, after warmly
thanking the police-officer for his services, Frank
mounted the ladder to the frigate's deck. Upon
presenting his card to the officer of the deck,
he was shown below to the ward-room and a
neat-looking colored boy promptly conducted
him to his quarters for the night.

CHAPTER XI.
ON BOARD THE DICTATOR.
IT was nearly morning before Frank fell
asleep; and, even then, the exciting incidents
of the night returned in fantastic dreams. In
his visions, boats, coolies, and threatening Ma-
lays were mixed up with pistol-shots, while
scores of Chinamen plunged into inky waves to
escape from pursuing policemen. At last he
imagined himself one of the captured coolies,
being shaken by a great guardsman who held
him by the collar; and he awoke to find the
polite waiter-boy quietly shaking him and say-
ing, "Breakfast is ready, sir; better get up."
He presently found himself at a long table
where a number of the ship's officers were tak-
ing their breakfast. The first-lieutenant, Mr.
Morris, who sat at the head of the table, intro-
duced Frank to each one in succession, and
after this ceremony he was seated at the
lieutenant's right, next to the chaplain, Mr.
Knox.
At first he was somewhat embarrassed, but
the perfect cordiality with which they received
him soon put him at his ease.
I hear, Mr. Austin, you are detailed to point





CHAN OK; A ROMANCE OF THE EASTERN SEAS.


out to us the hiding-place of that rascally pirate,
Chan Ok," said Mr. Morris.
"Yes, sir," replied Frank; "such are my
orders, but I never heard him called by that
name."
Oh, he has a dozen names," replied Mr.
Morris; "but that makes no difference to us,
so long as we have a brush with him to break
the monotony of ship life out here. We were
quite wishing something exciting might happen
to enliven us; but this news of their capture of
the Serpent' is positively horrible."
What, have you had news of her already ?"
inquired Frank.
"Yes, a trader came in last night, reporting
having sighted an iron steamer wrecked between
two islands, completely dismantled, with a fleet
of junks about her."
"We 'll have to be lively to catch them,"
exclaimed a young officer opposite. "These
fellows are getting entirely too bold of late.
I heard on shore, yesterday, that another river-
boat is over-due up river. I should n't wonder if
they had got her, also! "
"Ay, ay, gentlemen; catch them we must;
and when we do, we '11 make such an example
of this gang that the whole vile pirate brother-
hood will shiver to think of it in days to come! "
Frank started at the stern tones of the
speaker, surprised that one so jolly and amiable-
looking as Mr. Morris should utter such re-
vengeful words. Mr. Knox afterward explained
to Frank, "His feeling against the pirates is
very bitter. One of his brothers was lost on
a ship which was attacked by them two years
ago. It seems to have changed his usual kindly
nature to one of relentless cruelty whenever the
pirates are concerned; but he is a splendid
executive officer and loves his ship as a woman
loves her home. He is a favorite with the men,
too, in spite of the strict discipline he maintains."
One of the cabin-boys now handed Mr. Mor-
ris a note; and that officer, turning to Frank,
said: "Your presence is required at your com-
pany's office immediately, to see some articles
a trader brought in last night. They were
found near the scene of the wreck. My gig is
at your disposal, sir. She will be at the gang-
way in a moment."
A few minutes later Frank was seated in the


stern of the beautiful gig, tiller-ropes in hand.
There were six stalwart man-of-war's men be-
fore him, neatly dressed in white, their brawny
throats bare, with wide blue collars turned
back. They wore regulation blue service-caps
set jauntily on their heads, with Dictator" in
gold letters across the front.
Push off; ready; let fall; give way !" and
off they went, dancing over the sparkling blue
waters. The pleasant breeze dashed tiny jets
of spray over the boat's sharp bows, causing the
bow-oar to duck his head sidewise every now
and then as a swish of water came in board;
but little the jolly tar cared for that. Whether
mountain high on a wave, or sliding deep into
the trough, the practised oars kept time to the
stroke, lifting and dipping together.
The harbor, as usual, was full of shipping,
and Frank had his hands full in steering the
boat. As they sped under the bow of a large
ironclad flying the British flag, his attention
was drawn to his own crew, who had hitherto
kept a good but not fast stroke. Now he noticed
that their feet were braced and their stroke more
lively. Following their significant glances, he
perceived that a boat similar to their own had
shot out from the ironclad's side, and was keep-
ing a course parallel to their own. He took in
the situation at once. The men wanted a race,
and although not a word was said, a look at his
face was enough. It did not mean "no," and
with broad grins of satisfaction they laid them-
selves down to the work of beating the British
boat to land. Under their quickened strokes,
the gig fairly jumped. In and out among the
shipping they went, past huge merchantmen,
or picturesque groups of junks, traders from far
India, and fleets of Spice Island traders.
The sweat rolled down the flushed faces of the
straining tars, and their labored breathing showed
plainly the exertion they were undergoing; but
no sign of weariness was apparent in their stroke.
The Englishmen were worthy antagonists, and
held their own manfully, now nearing, now
keeping away, as their course demanded; while
the crews of the vessels which they passed
jumped into the rigging and cheered the two
boats as they dashed by on their way.
Near the quay a large steamer lay at anchor,
and it was necessary for the boats to divide and


848


[SEPT.





CHAN OK; A ROMANCE OF THE EASTERN SEAS.


pass her on different sides. As the English boat
disappeared from view, the brawny stroke-oar
of the gig, knowing the critical moment had
come, turned to his men and cried in a low but
distinct tone:
Now is our time Lift her, boys! "
Catching a quick half-stroke that almost
unseated Frank, they put all their remaining
strength into the work. The result was de-
cisive; for when their rival reappeared the
English had lost two boat-lengths, and soon
slowed down, acknowledging defeat.
What boat was that ?" inquired Frank of
the panting sailor who rowed stroke-oar.
The Invincible's,' sir. That 's the second
time they 've raced us, and last time they beat
us. But then we had a different man at the
bow-oar."
"You 've a remarkably fine crew."
"Yes, sir; they 're all picked medal-men,
and have never lost a race when pulling
together," responded the sailor proudly.
"Ah, Coffin, you rascal! You 've been at it
again, I see," cried a handsome young midship-
man, descending the stone steps of the quay.
The grins of the crew seemed to say, in answer,
\e don't mind a scolding, so long as we win."
Arrived at the office, Frank was heartily con-
gratulated by Mr. Gray on his narrow escape
in the harbor the night before. The agent then
showed him the articles the trader had brought
in from the lost steamer. They consisted of
fragments of the steamer's boat, marked "Ser-
pent"; a small cask, branded with the same
name; fragments of the steamer's log-book
signed "T. Acron" (the captain's name), and a
few minor objects. But the most interesting
and valuable of all was a long strip of water-
proof crimson paper, on which were numerous
Chinese characters. At the bottom of the rows
of characters appeared in black the impression
of a delicately-shaped thumb, as if it had been
inked with some dark pigment and then pressed
on the paper, leaving all its creases and lines
perfectly imprinted.
"This," explained Mr. Gray, "is a receipt
from the pirate chief, acknowledging a pay-
ment of money to him for stolen goods, from
his agent in Canton. The articles are some of
those you had on your junk; so it is of double


interest to us, and I paid the trader a high price
for it."
So cunning are the forgeries committed in
the East, that this mode of signature is often
adopted; for the Chinese believe that no two
human hands are precisely alike. Neither do
their lines or creases ever change as the style
of handwriting may sometimes do. Therefore
many traders still prefer the thumb imprint to a
signature; especially in cases like this, where
neither party cares to be known by name to
outsiders.
"How is it you know this to be his signa-
ture ?" inquired Frank, with some curiosity.
"Principally by the goods mentioned; but
also by these characters at the bottom, which
the trader, who has had dealings with him
before, recognizes. They stand for one of his
names, 'Chan Ok.' You will take this with
you; and should the necessity ever arise you
may prove his signature to this receipt and
thus bring home to him at least this one
robbery."
When his business was ended, Frank returned
to the quay; and finding that the Dictator's
boat had gone back to the vessel, he hailed a
pull-away boat," and started to sail out to the
frigate. The boat-tender handled the craft
well, and they sped swiftly over the bay. While
passing the British ironclad, Frank could not
but admire her massive strength, and regretfully
contrast the care which England bestows upon
her fleet, with the long indifference of our own
country to her small but gallant navy.
Just as they were passing out from the great
ship's shadow, a stunning crash shook their
boat, and everything was obscured by a thick
cloud of cannon-smoke. Report followed re-
port, with ear-splitting suddenness; and dark,
ragged objects flew overhead, much too near for
comfort. Frank ducked again and again, not
knowing what it all meant.
Presently the firing ceased, the smoke blew
away, and the scared yellow features of the boat-
man appeared from under a pile of mats
wherein he had taken refuge.
Me no like big Englis' war-junk! he re-
marked, as he readjusted the sail. "Too muchee
big row, allee same as thunder-dragon. Too
muchee big wad hit boat, and maybe sink her.


849






CHAN OK; A ROMANCE OF THE EASTERN SEAS.


Such thing not ploper. Me no like, you
savey ?"
Frank saveyed promptly.
"What were they firing for ? he asked.
Oh, sometime one small piece blue manda-
rin" (admiral) go aboard. Then, bang! bang!
Sometime big mandarin-pigeon go aboard; they
make bang! bang! We no do like that.
Chinaman sailor-mandarin go aboard war-junk,
they beat little gong, burn joss-paper. More
ploper and no cost so much!"
The Dictator lay with boats hoisted up, sails
cast loose, and all the necessary preparations
made for instant departure. The anchor hung
under the bows, smoke was pouring from the
funnel, and the tramp of feet on deck could be
heard as the crew moved about making ready.
"Dictator well good s'ip! remarked the
boatman approvingly. Melican man good-
pigeon; no make bang all time, like other
foreign devils! Can fight ploper fashion, too,
all samee."
On the after or poop-deck, Frank found
Captain Wyman and his officers assembled. A
signal-officer stood near, flag in hand, while a
quartermaster watched the city through a glass.
Presently he said, "There goes the flag, sir;
four, six, three, eight, five, one."
The officer turned to the captain, touched
his cap, and said, "Signal from Consulate, sir.
It reads,' Proceed to sea as soon as ready,' sir."
Acknowledge it," replied the captain; and
a few waves of the flag told those ashore that
their message was read.
Get the ship under way, sir," called the
captain to Mr. Morris, who was standing on the
bridge amidships.
"Ay, ay, sir! "
His orders to the men now followed, quick
and sharp, in a voice which was heard by all.
The crew of three hundred men jumped to
their various stations, while the hoarse calls of
the boatswain repeated the orders, and the chir-
ruping of their shrill whistles sounded sharply
over the waters.
The great anchor was run up; the head-sails
filled; the bow paid off against the current;
the gong in the engine-room sounded, and, with
scarcely a tremor, the engines started and the
frigate headed up the harbor.


The beetling mountains on the Cowloon
side were passed; also the beautiful settlement
of Happy Valley," nestling around the foot-
hills of Victoria Peak, with the old line-of-battle-
ship Victoria at anchor; and they stood for
the strait leading to the open China Sea.
The chase of the pirate Chan Ok was begun!

CHAPTER XII.
THE CRUISE OF THE DICTATOR.
THE sun rose on a cloudless sky the next
day, and the lofty head of Victoria Peak was
just visible on the horizon, when Frank came
on deck. What a grand sight it was!--the
broad clear decks, the taut rigging, and the
groups of busy blue-jackets at work here and
there. How orderly and well-conducted every-
thing appeared! What a contrast with the small,
ill-smelling, disorderly coasters to which Frank
had been accustomed! He visited the engine-
room, and the magazine, and the furnaces, where
firemen, stripped to the waist, fed the open
glowing furnace with huge black mouthfuls of
coal. A strong blast of cool air meanwhile was
forced down upon them from the deck above
through the ventilators.
Up on the forecastle, an old gunner, assisted
by Ben Herrick, was polishing the glossy sides
of the ioo-pounder pivot-gun. It had previ-
ously been covered with beeswax and lamp-
black, and the gunner rubbed at it until it
glistened. The two old sea-dogs patted the
gun, and polished away, and exchanged yarns,
apparently oblivious to the younger "boys"
gathered about to hear the words of wisdom
from their lips.
At noon the wind fell calm. The sails had
been taken in, and the only breeze over the
heated decks was that produced by the motion
of the ship urged ahead by the powerful pro-
peller. At three o'clock the sun was almost in-
supportable, and awnings were rigged both fore
and aft. Men were sent aloft on the yards
who rigged a spare topsail from the foreyard to
the mainyard, so that when its inner corners
were drawn taut inboard, and it was filled some
feet deep with sea-water from the hose, it
formed an immense bath-tub, in which squads of
the men and boys took a delicious bath. The


850





CHAN OK; A ROMANCE OF THE EASTERN SEAS.


great ship meanwhile was going steadily on her
way, and the canvas bath-tub was now rising
and now falling as the ship rolled gently.
On the third day, the lookout called Land
ho!" at daylight; and by noon Frank recog-


--t


7 ...abn.
-rl -' --)* **~g~


AN IMPROVISED BATH-TUB.
nized the three islands, and the narrow passage
where the pirates had laid their snare for the
Serpent. An hour later, as the ship followed
the bend of the land under Ben's piloting, they
opened out a little harbor; and there, in plain
sight, lay the wreck of
the ill-fated French ship,
her bow high up on a
narrow reef, her stern
awash with the waves.
The engines slowed
down; a boat was sent
ahead to sound, and, .. '-
with the guns' crews at .
quarters, the cutter, full
of armed men and
under the protection of
the frigate's broadside,
pulled away for the
"THERE
wreck. She was a piti-
able scene of desolation. Her masts, almost
stripped of rigging, pointed like skeleton fingers
to the sky. The night-lanterns, burned out and
blackened, were still swinging slowly to and fro
on their halliards. Every movable thing about the


deck had been carried off. In the pilot-house the
wheel was dinted with bullets; the windows
were smashed; and the doors of most of the
cabins had been hacked to pieces by ax-blows,
or torn from their hinges by pirates seeking to
get at those poor creatures who had sought
refuge within. The engine-room skylights were
also battered in; powder-stains along the edges
showed where the cowardly pirates had stood
to fire on those below.
If any defense of the ship had been made it
must have been from the engine-room, as its
skylights showed the marks of bullets that
had been fired upward. But however they
fought or fell, nothing could be seen of the
defenders, for in the dim light below appeared
only the dark and placid water which covered
all and rose even with the tops of the cylinders.
Upon its surface floated little shining pools of
the oil from the engines.
Silently the men pulled ashore and searched
the beach, hoping some one of the crew might
have escaped. However, nothing but some
valueless wreckage rewarded their search.
The pirates had made a clean sweep of all
on board.
With many a bitter threat against the villains,
the crew hoisted in the boats, and the frigate,
slowly turning her bow to the southward, re-
sumed the quest for the pirate island.
/







....... ~ 3 3 --






LAY THE WRECK OF THE FRENCH SHIP."
It was two days later, at noon, that the island,
as marked on the map by Frank, was sighted.
To lie off the land until nightfall was thought
the best policy by some on board, as their ap-
proach would then be unseen; but others argued






852 CHAN OK; A ROMANCE OF THE EASTERN SEAS. [SEPT.





















that from the island's top the man-of-war must would be impossible to elevate the guns so as
already have been discerned, and hence they to return the fire from the frigate's deck; but
urged that a dash was the only possible way of on they sailed, without a sight or a sound of a
insuring the capture of the band. human being. Sea-birds wheeled about the
The latter plan seemed best. So, without crags in the deepening blue shadows of the cliff;

gate steered for the land, with allo ,-- .
steam and sail on, in order to
have what daylight they could
for passing the inlet. .
At five o'clock, the island .
loomed up grandly before them;



on the headsland, antd s the o h he i po let ea hu a
cliffs could be seen beyond.
Steadily, but with slackened
speed, the frigate headed for
and passed through the gap.
The crew stood at quarters
beside their spotted guns, which
were run out through the ports;
armed boat's-crews filled the cut
ters and vhaleboats, which had -
been lowered to within a few feet
of the water, ready at a moment's
notice to drop and ast off." HE HEADED OND PASSED OUGH E GAP
















The high hills on both sides
were crowned with little forts on which cannon and, as the twilight fell, the frigate slowly rounded
Thcould be dislatter plan seemen, and best. So, without crags into the indeepening bluor opposite the sandy beachliff;
vollate steered for the land, wifrom those heights. It the quiet water reflecting her dark hull and rig-
steam and sail on, in order to
have what daylight they could
for passing the inlet. gap.

loomed up grandly before them;
and, skirting its eastern edge,
they soon found the passage.
aThere stood the tall path-trees
on the headland, and the high

Steadily, but with slackenedet
speed, the frigate headed for a ,
and passed through the gap. o ."
The crew stood at quarters

were run out through the ports ;oi" the fia r








could be distinctly seen, and at every instant a into the inner harbor opposite the sandy beach,
volley was expected from those heights. It the quiet water reflecting her dark hull and rig-





CHAN OK; A ROMANCE OF THE EASTERN SEAS.


going, and the crew peering from the port-holes
beside the grinning guns. The only visible
motion in the harbor was that of the two thin
rippling lines which spread from the frigate's
cutwater, as she smoothly ranged up abreast of
the village. Then the falls were suddenly de-
tached, the boats lowered to the water, and
swiftly pulled to the beach. The men, dropping
their oars, seized their arms, and waded knee-
deep to the shore.
Here, the officers at their head, and Frank
and Ben acting as guides, they began a search
of the settlement. Frank recognized all the
familiar and hated places where they had suf-
fered so much. Their prison-house stood with
its door wide open. The great Council House
was likewise deserted, and the rest of the settle-
ment lay enshrouded in gloom and silence.
The men peered about and poked with their
cutlasses in all possible hiding-places, but no
human being could be found.
They 've cut it and run, that 's clear! said
an old quartermaster; "but where and when is
beyond me!"
"Hello, what 's that ? cried Ben, suddenly;
and all stopped to listen. A dog's faint bark,
ending in a plaintive howl, was heard distinctly


"'CLOSE UP, MENI FORWARD -MARCH!'
ORDERED THE LIEUTENANT."
from a clump of palms further up the beach.
Hurrying toward the sound, they found an
overturned sampan under which was a miser-
ably unhappy dog. The dog seemed to have
been chained up and deserted; and it was so
thin that it must have been left for many days
without food. By a feeble motion of its tail
the poor creature showed the joy it felt at again
seeing human beings.


"It 's Chan Ok's little dog!" exclaimed
Old Ben, as he stooped down to it. Gently
holding the little animal's head, Ben let the
dog drink from his hand some water that he
poured from one of the sailors' canteens.
The dog, reviving somewhat, went slowly
along beside them as they continued the search.

~














Presently the little dog began snuffing in the
-













"Close up, men! Forward -march! or-
dered the lieutenant in charge of the party.
O--




SKETCH MAP OF CHAN OK'S ISLAND.

Presently the little dog began snuffing in the
sand, and then giving a sharp bark started along
the beach at a quicker pace.
"Close up, men! Forward-march! or-
dered the lieutenant in charge of the party.
"That dog is on some trail and we must follow
him! "
The little animal seemed proud of the atten-
tion paid him, and jogged on ahead, wagging
his tail, occasionally sniffing at the sand and
barking feebly. After proceeding thus for a half
mile, a deep and narrow inlet opened from the
main harbor and turned sharply to the left.
It was now dark; but the stars shimmered
on the water. Suddenly they turned a corner
of woodland, and there, outside a coral reef,
they could see the dark horizon of the ocean.
The little dog ran down to the water's edge,
snuffed about a moment or two, and then set
up a mournful howl. By the dim starlight, a
quick examination was made of the place.
Footprints caused by te trampling of many
natives could be seen in the sand. About the
beach they saw some bits of rope, a few empty
boxes and bags, a crate of dried fruit, the ashes
of several fires, and, more significant than all,
the bow-marks of several boats that had been
run up on the beach.
"It's plain enough!" called Frank to the






CHAN OK; A ROMANCE OF THE EASTERN SEAS.


officer. "We were never allowed to see this
outlet to the harbor. And, had the dog not
tracked them here, we should have known
nothing of it. Chan Ok, after wrecking the
Serpent, knowing that we had escaped and
would spread the news of such a terrible out-
rage, came back to the island and ordered all
hands to leave the settlement; then he lay off-
shore with his fleet while those who remained
brought everything they could around by the
way we came just now, and all embarked here
in his boats."
"No doubt you are right, Mr. Austin," re-
plied the officer, and I think our chase for the
villain is just begun!"


DESTRUCTION OF THE PIRATE TOW
"Well now, consider that!" said Ben thought-
fully, as the men started to go back; "just see
how this here little cre'tur that villain left behind
has led us right onto his track It just serves
him right for his heartlessness."
It was almost morning when the party again
boarded the frigate, and all hands were much
disappointed at the pirate's escape; for now
they knew that they must search for him in the
open ocean- a difficult task!
The men had been resting on their arms
beside the guns while the search party was
ashore; and now, just as they expected to be
dismissed without a shot, came the orders to


open fire on the deserted settlement and destroy
it. The men jumped to this work with a will.
The pivot gun on the forecastle broke the silence
first, with its flame and roar; and the broadside
guns followed, one after another, as fast as the
men could sponge and load. Round shot, shell,
grape, and canister hummed and whistled and
rattled through the huts and buildings. Burst-
ing shells lighted up the scene of destruction,
revealing the fractured sides of the houses, and
here and there a roof went leaping into the air
when a shell burst within a house. The balls,
bounding through the sandy streets, sent up
ghostly volumes of sand looking weird and
uncanny in the half-light, and then bounded
into the thick forest
beyond, cutting great
-. -. .. lanes among the trees.
Soon a pall of smoke
:' settled down over the
I scene, hiding both ship
S and shore from view.
SA few minutes more,
Sand the order came to
S "Cease firing."
The great guns at
once were silent, but
the men of the crews
stood beside them in
amazement, for seem-
ingly the bombard-
mentcontinued. From
"- -~-_- -_- each side, above and
'N. below, from all direc-
tions, came down wonderful echoes. The
broad, low, rocky cliffs were sending back the
roar of the guns in a Titanic clamor. Volleys
rattled and rumbled from cliff to cliff. It was
as if the pirates had opened their hill batteries.
Presently the echoes .died away, and only
the sounds made by the falling roofs and splint-
ering beams of the houses were heard. Then,
as the smoke gradually lifted, red tongues
of flame could be seen sifting up through the
shattered roofs set on fire by the shells, and
flocks of wild parrots and other birds, awakened
bythe disturbance, set up their quavering scream-
ing far back in the dense forest.


(To be concluded.)


854


























By ELEANOR SHERMAN THACKARA.


1' .- ID among the
-i ~ en hills of
northern Vermont
is a pretty farm village,
sloping down to the bluest of blue lakes. The
depths of its color gave the summer romancers an
excuse for calling it Sapphire Lake. In the very
center of this lake rose an island gem that might
well have been named after Thomas Moore's
Emerald Isle; but when our story begins it was
nameless.
The birds loved this solitary spot for their
summer sojourn, and made it merry with their
sweet songs; but the practical farmer thought it
an unhandy bit of soil.
The summer was well advanced, and the
farms about had put on their best for the visitors,
who rented the rooms of state, and rusticated
with whatever comforts the Yankees knew how
to afford. In the largest of these farms Mr.
and Mrs. Northcott, and their pretty children,
Dorothy, Babe, and Paul, had filled the quiet
old place with hammocks, carts, ponies, and all
the marks of a jolly summer. Dorothy was
thirteen years old, while Babe was her junior
and Paul some years older. The days were not
long enough for their rambles and sports, and
Paul proudly rowed his sunny-haired, sunny-
hearted sisters over to the tiny isle whenever he
was greatly pleased with them.
A companion in their games, their joys and
very life was now a sorrow their first and very


serious sorrow! Dear, dear old "Silky," Dot's
pet, was a Skye terrier with long, silver, silken
locks-a companion of her whole life, her senior
by three years; and now he was failing inch
by inch from sheer old age.
"Mama," said Dorothy, dear old Silky is
weaker every day. He cries at night, and Babe
and I cannot make him comfortable."
"I fear, Dot, that he has had his day," said
her mother.
"And we can never have another Silky!"
said Dorothy, sadly.
In truth, Silky was a very valuable dog, and
but a few years before, a gentleman during one
of their walks had stopped the group of two little
girls with their nurse, in whose company the
perfect Skye terrier with almost trailing locks
was frisking, and told them he would give one
thousand dollars for the canine beauty.
The offer was duly reported to mama and
papa, with indignant protests against the very
possibility of such a sacrifice, yet with pride at
the value of their little dog. And so Silky had
been the Northcotts' pet, and rested in his pretty
basket by night close to his tender owner's
bed. Now, in his old days, he was moaning out
his grief over failing health and strength.
One day Dorothy, returning from a long
ramble up the hills, burst into tears to find her
silver-haired favorite in agony.
"Paul," she sobbed out, "keep Silky well
wrapped up while I send for the good old doctor."


1






THE ISLE OF SKYE.


She found that her father and mother had
driven to the village near to meet a friend, and
only a stable-boy remained in the barn. The
boy harnessed the pony, but was afraid to drive
it; so, with more directions to her sister and
brother about their patient, Dorothy mounted
the pony-cart. After a drive of several miles,
she brought back the venerable medical adviser


DOT BRINGS THE DOCTOR IN HER PONY-CA
of all the country round. Dr. Starling had for
many years served the stern and economical
people of the hills, who never sent hastily for
this grave man except in very serious cases.
Here he was, brought at breakneck speed to
save the life of a lap-dog!
But beside him was the pitiful, pretty face of
the anxious little lady who had really been the
cause of his leaving his luncheon-table for this


seemingly trifling errand. She talked all the
way home of her dying pet, and the poor pony
had hard thoughts of his driver, who thought-
lessly plied the whip in her impatience.
When they reached the house, Dr. Starling
looked upon the little roll of a dog, in soft,
warm shawls on the best sofa, and said, turning
to the anxious children:
He shall not suffer much,
but we cannot save him,
poor little fellow! "
-5A He drew a small vial
from his pocket, and ad-
Sministered a fatal dose that
-. would shorten the suffering,
and then tried to console his
young friends.
-'i~ Hehasbeen a goodcom-
S panion, I am sure," said he,
"and he has had devoted
friends."
K : ~" We all love him," said
Babe, "as much as Dorothy
does; but we knew he would
die this summer."
Oh, he was the best Skye
in the world!" exclaimed
Dot, bursting into tears.
Come, come, my girl,
-.. you must not worry," said
.the old doctor sympatheti-
cally, and to his relief, Mr.
-:- and Mrs. Northcott returned
.-- 'it, at this moment. The hum-
drum business-friend whom
r ..,_' they brought reserved his
'' thoughts of the present
tragedy, while papa and
mama expressed their full
sympathy with the children's
RT.
sorrow.
So the thousand-dollar dog died, as he had
lived, amid affection and luxury; and tears of
real sorrow were shed over his couch.
But supper now claimed attention, and old
Dr. Starling was invited to stay with the family.
Poor Dorothy, refusing to eat, arranged the dead
Skye for the night in a great, dreary smoke-
house, blackened and deserted.
Paul was up with the dawn, while the girls


856


[SEPT.






THE ISLE OF SKYE.


slept off their weeping-for he had promised
Dorothy that he would find or make a good
strong wooden box for Silky.
He hailed Joe, the stable-boy, and soon
went with Joe to old Farmer Stern's tool-house.
There the two boys began their work with the
usual light-heartedness that the morning brings
to youth. They whistled and talked by turns.
"You think a heap o' that 'ere dog," said Joe.
"Why, we have had him since before Dot
was born, and he knew as much, or"-here
Paul hesitated-"or more than some people."
Where be ye goin' to stow him ?" inquired
the Yankee lad, as he held a fine piece of clean
pine in the groove for the awkward young
carpenter.
"Oh, the girls will choose a place and we
will have only to do the work," said Paul.
And so they continued to hammer and saw
and measure and fit, until by breakfast-time the
pine box was almost made.
Its resting-place was soon chosen, and no


After breakfast Paul manned the rowboat,
while Joe and Babe solemnly carried the pine
box down the bank, and Dorothy, the chief
mourner, followed with dignified sorrow.
"Put it head first," whispered Paul hastily
to the awkward Joe.
"There she be," placidly returned that mat-
ter-of-fact individual, as he placed his burden in
the bottom of the boat. When the girls were
in, he pushed off and sprang into the bow as
the oars splashed in the water. The island
being reached, the little procession was again
formed, the two boys bearing the box, after
securing the boat, the girls bringing up the rear.
Poor old Silky was soon under the dark rooty
earth of the island, and our party of children
rowed home with the comfort of knowing that
all honor had been done their beloved pet.
Several days later, Dorothy said to her
mother with great earnestness:
Mama, you do not care if I use my saved
money for a tombstone, do you ? "


- I I I''


SILKY'S FUNERAL.


other spot was it than the eastern slope of the
islet in Lake Sapphire. There it would be un-
disturbed, and within sight of the farm-house.

SILKY,"
DOT NORTHCOTT'S SKYE,
AGE I6 YEARS.

was carefully printed upon the lid of the box in
Paul's very best printing.
VOL. XVIII.- 60.


"Well, no, my dear," was the reply, "but
what do you expect to do with it?"
I drove to a marble yard yesterday, and a
man said he would make a white slab with this
inscription on it for $3.10 "- and she showed
her mother a scrap of paper on which she had
printed, SILKY, A BEAUTIFUL SKYE." If you
do not mind, I will tell him he can make it."
If I might suggest Skye-terrier,' I think it
would be more explicit," said mama.


857


..,.

~ ---


'I **





THE ISLE OF SKYE.


No! I would rather have just Silky,' then,"
said the solemn little girl; and she added,
" May I tell the man to make it?"
You may indeed, and I will go to the island
when you have completed your work there,"
answered her mother.
Dorothy gave her mother a vigorous hug. She
had feared the response might be that "wood
was more suitable," or that she was a "foolish
child," and had "already done too much for
Silky" !
An hour later Dorothy and Babe sat in their
pony-cart at the entrance of a large marble
quarry. Beside them stood the dust-covered
workman with his chisel in one hand, while the
other rested upon a block of marble.
This is the piece I picked out for your pur-
pose," said he, but I know your mother will not
let you spend three dollars for a dog's grave."
Indeed it was not an ordinary dog, but a
thousand-dollar Skye-terrier, and we had him
for fifteen years!" exclaimed the proud Miss
Dorothy, impressively.
But a terrier's a dog, and one dead dog's
as good as another," said the marble-hearted
son of toil.
Well, I don't like to argue about Silky, and
I do want the slab, and my mother said I could
spend my own money for my pet; so when will
you mark it ?-just Silky,' you know."
"This very day, Miss; but $3.10 is a heap
to spend on a dead dog."
The poor pony again suffered in the cause of
the Skye, and was made to trot briskly up and
down the hills until they had reached the farm
where Dot could pour forth her indignation to
Paul. But the slab came the next day, and was
so beautiful that Dorothy exclaimed:
I do believe Mr. Marbleyard was teasing
me!" and she added to the driver who had
brought it, Please give this $3.10," counting it
out carefully, to your master, and tell him his
work is so well done that I forgive his teasing
about my poor little dog."
The gardener was pressed into service, and
he, with the sturdy driver, managed to row over


to the island in Paul's boat, where they arranged
the slab in their own fashion.
When they returned, the children impatiently
jumped into the boat, and Paul rowed them
to the sunny slope where they could see the
white marble glistening in the sunlight.
But when they reached it, alas! they found the
stone placed upright at doggy's feet! Dorothy
had carefully instructed the men to lay it flat,
and had described the head of the mound so
clearly! Joe had joined them, and as they stood
round the little spot he exclaimed, "Those fel-
lers have put the monument at the critter's
tail!"
His half-suppressed giggles were soon com-
municated to Paul, then to Babe, and even the
solemn Dorothy had to join finally, and with
very cheerful conversation they kneeled down
and worked hard until they had put the slab in
the right place.
Patting the mound down with their hands,
they were proud and satisfied with the result.
"Now," said the ever-practical Joe, "it's
grub-time, so we '11 be off home, if you please."
"You 're right," said Paul; "I feel the hour
myself. Come, girls!"
Paul," interrupted Dorothy, "how do people
name places?"
"Well, they just call them what they like, if
there is no name already, and then the neigh-
bors take it up and it gets to be the fashion."
Now this island is just called the isle.'
Could n't we name it 'The Isle of Skye'? asked
Dorothy, thoughtfully.
That's lovely!" came from the appreciative
Barbara.
Sich a name!" from the practical Joe.
Girl-like, but not bad," condescended the
big brother.
And the inhabitants adopted it gradually, with
the reservation that it was sort of romantic."
In no more remarkable a manner than I have
described was the island named; and the facts
are as true as they are simple, and I can assure
you that the poor little Silky was indeed a thou-
sand-dollar dog !


858









STOCKINGS OR SCALES.


BY O. HERFORD.

IF I were asked of all things what I most would like
to be,
I 'd choose to be a mermaid and live below the sea.
How nice, instead of walking, to swim around like
little whales,
And to wear, instead of stockings, many shiny pairs
of scales,
Which don't need changing every time that nurse
says they are wet,
And then to have no shoes that always come untied!
and yet -


And yet, although it must
be nice to swim around
in scales,
To attend a school
e of porpoises and
S play at tag with whales,
To be on friendly speaking
terms with jellyfish and eels,
And never to be sent to bed or told I 'm late for
meals;
Still, when I think of Christmas eve my
resolution fails,
For what would Santa think if I hung '
up a pair of scales
/


A PRAIRIE HOME.


BY MAURICE THOMPSON.

HAVE you ever seen a western prairie? If rolling or hilly, having somewhat the appearance
not, you might enjoy being there for a month of a sea with heavy waves, and occasionally,
in summer. As on the ocean, so on the prairie, crowning one of these low swells, there is a
there is usually a breeze to partly compensate grove of young trees. Sometimes, however,
for the lack of shade. Most prairies are slightly not even a shrub is visible for many miles.
859


--~--



~i-7~~i

c~
-I \


-C\





~g6 ,






A PRAIRIE HOME.


Children whose parents have homes on the
prairies can call the whole of those vast plains
their playground. When spring has laid her
coaxing hand upon the earth, and called up the
green grass and bright flowers, nowhere in the
world can a brisk run or a gentle stroll be more
delightful than upon the rolling surface of one of
these fertile stretches.
I know one prairie home which is seen for
miles before you come to it, though it is almost
hidden by the trees that cluster round it. Built
on a very high swell, the house with its dormer
windows and sharp gables looks as if it might
have been put there for a lighthouse or look-
out station, to guide on their way the "prairie
schooners," as the canvas-covered mover wag-
ons or emigrant vehicles are called.
A bright boy of twelve and a pretty little girl
of eight years are very happy in this comfortable
home. In winter they play games in one gable
of the large attic room, and read or study
in the cozy library downstairs. In summer,
when their lessons are over (their teacher lives
with them), they run about on the green
prairie, often bare-headed, till the sun toasts
them as brown as buns. The wind blows their
hair about so wildly that it sometimes looks as
if it never could be combed or brushed into
submission, and too often their hands and clothes
become soiled with the prairie dirt, which is as
black as soot. But they are never ill, and are so
happy that a little dirt seems a trifle.
This boy and girl recently had
an adventure which may teach ..~-
a good lesson as well as make -
an interesting story.


I was asking questions one day about birds
and butterflies, nests and eggs, insects and
flowers,- as I always have been in the habit
of doing,-when John and Lucy, both at once,
started to tell me something about a little bird,
and a butterfly, and a big hawk, and I do not
know what else -it was so mixed up together
that I could not keep track of any of them.
They both talked faster and louder as they
became interested in the story. Finally I
had to beg them to stop, which they kindly
did. Then I asked Lucy which she would
prefer, to tell the story or to have a new doll.
After some thought she chose the doll, and the
way being thus cleared for John, he enter-
tained me with a graphic account of their curious
adventure:
On a fine day in the latter part of May they
went out for a long wild run over the grass.
The wind was sweet with bloom-scents, the sun-
shine was delightfully soft and healthful. They
were bare-headed and bare-footed, too, so that
it was no trouble to run. They kept on in their
merry race till they came to the summit of a
distant hillock, where they lay down to rest, gaz-
ing up at the blue sky and fleecy clouds. Soon
they saw a long-winged hawk sail round and
round, high above them. Then a brilliant
butterfly fluttered along, lazily flapping his


gay fans.
"Oh, what a lovely




i ^^..>


one!" cried Lucy, but
hardly had she spoken,
when a bird darted
down and, catching
the butterfly in her
bill, darted off


_3 ARR --~"--- _-~-
_AA.


86o


[SEPT.





A PRAIRIE HOME.


again, and, alighting upon the longest spray of
a neighboring hedge, she proceeded to devour
the gay insect.
"You cruel, ugly bird," said Lucy, "you de-
serve to have your little neck wrung for killing
that pretty butterfly! "
"I wish that big hawk would pounce upon
the savage little fellow and eat him, too! said
John. Turn-about would be fair play."
But the bird sat on the hedge-branch and
preened herself, as birds do to arrange their
feathers. She did not seem a bit repentant for
having killed the butterfly. In truth, she
chirped and twittered gaily, till she chanced to
notice the hawk. Then she turned her head to
one side and ruffled her feathers, seeming much
alarmed. John and Lucy looked on with half-
closed eyes. But the weather was so balmy
and sweet, and they were so tired, that in a little
while both were sound asleep with heads
pillowed on a soft tuft of grass and flowers.
They had not noticed the bird's nest with four
or five brown-speckled eggs in it, hidden in that
very tuft. It was there, however; and when
the bird saw the hawk she wanted to return to
her nest. How could she get there? She
was afraid that John and Lucy might be only
feigning sleep. She fluttered round them
chirping dolefully, not daring to go too near.
Meanwhile the great hawk was circling lower
and lower, occasionally uttering a shrill scream.
Perhaps the bird now began to realize how the
butterfly felt just before it was caught and eaten
up. Life is very sweet to every breathing thing.
It seemed, however, as if nothing could save
that little frightened prairie-bird's life if the
hawk should strike and soon it did strike!
With a rushing sound, as its broad wings cut
the air, it swooped, straight as an arrow, down
at its tiny victim, which with a sharp cry darted
in between the children's heads and cowered
down upon her nest. John awoke just as the
hawk dashed itself against his face in its eager-
ness to capture the bird. Lucy was aroused,
too, by a huge wing brushing her cheek. They
raised their heads and saw the hawk flying
away.
"It is an eagle, and it tried to carry me
off!" cried Lucy, her teeth chattering with
fright.


"Yes, and I do be-
lieve it had me by the J
hair!" added John, his
face quite pale and his ,
eyes very wide open. ..:
"I know it touched ,'
me. I felt it!" said .
Lucy. -
"We had better be
going home," saidJohn. --
"But it will catch us '1 :-.-
before we get there,
I 'm afraid," murmured
Lucy.
They were rising to
gowhenJohnhappened -
to spy the poor fright-
ened bird crouched
upon her nest. The
little creature was so
overpowered with fear
that she dared not move
though John touched
her with his hand.
"It was a hawk, after --- -
all," said he to Lucy.
"See, here is what it
was after!"
Lucy looked, and
seeing the bird, at once
thought of the beautiful
butterfly.
"Maybe now you
know how it feels," she
said to the bird. Next
time you let the poor
butterfly alone. You
deserve to be scared out M
of your senses I hope
it will teach you a les-
son 1"
On their way home
the children met a
man with a gun over
his shoulder. He was
carrying in his hand a
large hawk which he
had just shot. He let
John take the great bird and examine its sharp
talons and strong hooked bill.









STOCKINGS OR SCALES.


BY O. HERFORD.

IF I were asked of all things what I most would like
to be,
I 'd choose to be a mermaid and live below the sea.
How nice, instead of walking, to swim around like
little whales,
And to wear, instead of stockings, many shiny pairs
of scales,
Which don't need changing every time that nurse
says they are wet,
And then to have no shoes that always come untied!
and yet -


And yet, although it must
be nice to swim around
in scales,
To attend a school
e of porpoises and
S play at tag with whales,
To be on friendly speaking
terms with jellyfish and eels,
And never to be sent to bed or told I 'm late for
meals;
Still, when I think of Christmas eve my
resolution fails,
For what would Santa think if I hung '
up a pair of scales
/


A PRAIRIE HOME.


BY MAURICE THOMPSON.

HAVE you ever seen a western prairie? If rolling or hilly, having somewhat the appearance
not, you might enjoy being there for a month of a sea with heavy waves, and occasionally,
in summer. As on the ocean, so on the prairie, crowning one of these low swells, there is a
there is usually a breeze to partly compensate grove of young trees. Sometimes, however,
for the lack of shade. Most prairies are slightly not even a shrub is visible for many miles.
859


--~--



~i-7~~i

c~
-I \


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~g6 ,






A PRAIRIE HOME.


"Oh, dear," said Lucy, "it 's a wonder it
did n't tear our eyes out!"
The man looked at her and laughed. John
then told him what had happened and how the
hawk had awakened them.
"You 're a bad boy to tell such a rousing
whopper as that," said the man, taking the
hawk and trudging on.


"I guess he thought I was telling a big
story," said John, laughing; "but if that hawk
had hit him on the face as it did me he would n't
have been so sure he knew all about it!"
But John undoubtedly told the truth, though
the story does seem strange. But it is no more
wonderful than many incidents that befell John
and Lucy at their prairie home.


THE SWIMMING-HOLE STORIES.

BY WALTER STORRS BIGELOW.


VI. NATHAN DOOLITTLE'S LAWN PARTY.

WHY don't you fellows come up to my
house, sometimes ? said Nathan Doolittle.
Oh, you live so far off, up hill, that we need
a special invitation."
The other boys all laughed. The fact was,
Nathan had asked them to his house a great
many times, and they were tired of making ex-
cuses for not going.
Nathan had just now drawn himself out of the
swimming-hole, by means of the big tree, and
was sitting on the bank below, with his feet over
the edge, dipping them into the current and
watching the water curl around his sharp little
ankle-bones. He was the last to leave the stream,
and the other boys were in all stages of dressing,
from Tommy Toles pulling a flannel shirt down
over his shock of red hair, like an extinguisher
putting out a candle, to Archie Lawrence slip-
ping a neat city necktie under the round edge of
his snowy linen collar. The country boys wore
paper collars; but Archie, who came every
summer from New York to visit his grand-
mother, wore linen ones, regardless of the
trouble of "doing them up."
Nathan Doolittle was one of the kind of boys
that are always hanging on at the edge of the
circle, but never able to become a part of it.
He lived in a great, staring, red brick house,
set far back from the road, and approached


through a semicircular driveway that would
have been inviting if lined with trees, but was
hot and dusty because the only trees in front
of the house were a few small evergreens near
the center of the lawn, which was cut up and
spoiled by stiff flower-beds. Standing about in
the grass were several cast-iron dogs and a cast-
iron deer. Instead of running away, the deer
was trying to stare the dogs out of countenance.
Nathan said no more on the subject then;
but the next afternoon, Wednesday, he appeared
at the swimming-hole with the right pocket of
his jacket bulging, and began at once to relieve
it by handing around some rather soiled and
crumpled sealed envelops, of various shapes
and sizes. In mine I found a half-sheet of
note-paper, with this writing on it:










Each of the others found in his envelop a
like invitation.
"Is Saturday your birthday, Nathan?" asked
Ed Bristol.
"No. Why?"


[SEPT.





THE SWIMMING-HOLE STORIES.


"Oh, nothing; I only thought perhaps it
might be."
It was one thing not to go to Nathan's house
when he asked us offhand, and quite another
to refuse an invitation to a real party. We all
accepted on the spot.
When we left the swimming-hole, we straggled
along through the meadow, which was already
turning brown, past the apple-tree from which the
little red apples were all gone, and along the lane
to the gate between it and the main village road.
As we separated, Will Perkins called out:
Nathan, what time will you expect us,
Saturday ? "
"Oh, about this time," answered Nathan,
with an important air.
Saturday seemed like Sunday in my uncle's
side yard, for none of the boys were there.
They were all getting ready for the party. It
seemed yet more like Sunday when, about a
quarter to five o'clock, Charlie, Bobby, and I,
dressed in our best clothes, started down the
gravel path and went out the front gate. We
turned to the right, and soon met two or three
more boys, dressed up, as we were, and we all
went up the hill toward Nathan's house.
As we entered, and walked along the drive-
way, we saw Nathan, and several early guests,
standing around with their hands in their pockets
on the lawn at the side of the house.
"Hullo,boys! "was Nathan's greeting. Come
over here."
We had expected to be asked into the house
first; but were glad not to be, for Mrs. Doolittle
did n't seem to like boys, and so boys did n't like
Mrs. Doolittle. We had wondered that she al-
lowed Nathan to have a party, anyway.
Before long, Lou Preston, Will Perkins, and
Frank Barnes arrived, and, a few minutes later,
some more boys. They all were asked, as we
had been, to join the group on the side lawn.
The honors of host seemed to sit rather
heavily on Nathan, and in consequence a chill
was on the company. Nathan, we noticed,
had on his every-day clothes; brown trousers,
and a bottle-green jacket with bone buttons.
We wished that we had ours on, too, so that we
might lie around on the grass as usual.
Let's play leapfrog," suggested Nathan
desperately, at last.


As no one could think of an outdoor game
better suited to our best clothes, we played
leapfrog, but so cautiously that no frog would
have recognized our leaps. In trying to vault
Sam Seaver, who was long and awkward, and
did n't bend over far enough, I stumbled head-
long on my hands and knees. The skin was
scraped from the palms of my hands, and in its
place was spread a thin layer of dark-brown
earth, well ground on and streaked with green.
My hands smarted, but were not so sore as
my feelings when I looked down and found
two hopeless grass-stains on my trousers, just
below the knees. They were my white duck
trousers, the pride of summer, made over for
me out of a pair in which bluff Uncle
Harry had often paced the quarter-deck of his
frigate, in fine weather. The sight almost took
away my appetite for supper. By this time,
none of the boys were so spruce as when they
came. Their wristbands were wrinkled and
their hands were grimy; but they were more
than ready for the hot biscuit, cold ham, and
perhaps ice-cream, in prospect, when Nathan
asked:
What time is it, Charlie ? "
Charlie looked at a new silver watch, with
an effort to appear quite used to it.
Ten minutes past six."
"Is that so? Why, it 's after supper-time!
Have you fellows had your grub ? "
For a minute you might have heard a mos-
quito sharpening his bill. Then some one an-
swered faintly, No."
"Well, I must go now, and get mine. You
just make yourselves at home, and I '11 be
back before long."
Hold on, Nathan," drawled Lou Preston.
"I 'd like to understand this. The fact is, we
thought we were invited to take supper with
you."
Oh, no; I did n't mean that. I was afraid
you thought so, when I saw you all dressed up.
But perhaps mother will-"
"You need n't ask her. I guess we '11 go
now-won't we, boys?"
In less than half an hour, fifteen very hungry
boys arrived, unexpected, at their homes, told
their story, and were glad to eat whatever they
could get, instead of a lawn-party supper.


863










THE SAD HISTORY OF WILL O' THE WISP.


BY MARION C. WATERMAN.


THE wind blew high, the wind blew low,
The moon paled in the west;
Small hares came out and danced about
With the birds from the White Owl's nest.

An Elf lay hid in cowslip lid,
At fall of summer even,
When, thro' the dark, like fireflies' spark,
A star fell out from heaven.

He leaped on the back of a cricket black,
His torch was a wisp of hay;
Thro' brush and brier, thro' brook and fire
He followed the star's bright ray

The frogs croaked deep, where grasses sleep;
The mist wreath circled the hill;
But wide and far he sought the star
Thro' the midnight dark and chill.

The Elfin court held rarest sport
And tripped it on the grass,
But must away, at break of day,
Lest mortal footstep pass.


The tiny Queen wore robe of green
And kirtle broideredd fine;
About her feet rang music sweet,
Four silver bells and nine.

S'T is time," saith she, to haste with me;
The dawn comes up the hill,
The hour is late, we may not wait -
But where is Wandering Will? "

The truant Elf, a sorry self,
Came slowly up the lea -
Weary and spent, stained and besprent,
A woful sight was he.

" Why, luckless wight, this fearful plight ?"
Up spake the Elfin Queen;
" The White Owl cries, the darkness flies,
Elves must no more be seen.

"Thy mantle torn, thy vow forsworn,
Thou mayst no more remain
With Elfin Band in Elfin Land,
Till pardon thou obtain.






THE SAD HISTORY OF

"The wisp of hay shall light thy way,
Be Will o' the Wisp thy name--
When sunbeams die and night moths fly,
Thine errand aye the same.

"And this shall be thy penalty -
A mortal, here to stay,
And, near or far, to seek the star
An age long and a day."


WILL O' THE WISP. 865

The Gray Cock crew, the White Owl flew,
The dawn came up the sky;
The small hares creep to covert deep,
The Elfin Ring is dry.

The wind blows east, the wind blows west,
An age long and a day;
Thro' fragrant swamp, thro' meadows damp
Runs Will o' the Wisp his way.


,, --" E-. -. .. *'," .'_.'.: .
S-Al; :
3?


"'BE WILL 0' THE WISP THY NAME-'


The Elf, he heard, with ne'er a word.
But lo! from tree-top still
A waking bird had overheard
And chuckled,-" Whip-poor-Will."

Up rose the Queen with angry mien;
" The word is meet," spake she;
" Thou mocking voice, since 't is thy choice,
Go bear him company "


A wandering light across the night,
He seeks in summer even,
When sunbeams die, and night moths fly,
The star that fell from heaven.

And on his track the wind brings back,
When nights are warm and still,
In notes of fear, from thickets near,
The bird's cry, Whip-poor-Will."
























N`


r-. '1J
.'


t:. 6
-- ,

A
c.*> ill
*-^ ;.


By T. D. WITHERSPOON.


IT was on the bank of the Rowanty, one
of our pleasant little lowland streams, that I
made his acquaintance. I had been sitting for
more than an hour watching the play of the
silver minnow on my hook, waiting in vain for
the enticement of some unwary fish. Mean-
while there had been lying only a few feet from
me, on the hard path which the fishermen's feet
had worn along the stream, a little fresh-water
bream, called by the anglers on the Rowanty
the "red-throat," because of the rich crimson
coloring of its throat and breast. Too small for
the fisherman's basket, and too large to be used
as bait, it had been thrown out on the shore to
die; and there it lay, a chubby, finny little
specimen, four inches in length, its crimson
breast exposed to the hot sun.
Attracted by its beauty, I was watching it,
when I detected a motion of the dead form, so


distinct that it could not be mistaken. Draw-
ing nearer to find the cause, I saw the short
stout antennae of a beetle protruding from be-
neath the body of the red-throat, and two great
goggle-eyes peering at me, as if to say, "This is
my business. Will you let me alone?" So
then I knew what was making the fish stir, and
I determined to watch the little worker.
No sooner had I seated myself than the two
antennae were withdrawn, the goggle-eyes dis-
appeared, and the motion was renewed. Put-
ting my face near to the ground, and looking
under as the fish was lifted from the earth, I saw
the disturber, a bluish-black beetle, an inch or
more in length, with thick short legs, and stout
blunt antennae. He was lying on his back, his
feet braced against the body of the fish above
him, his six stout legs thrusting upward with
quick alternate motions, as he lifted the upper


k,(aT





A MODEL UNDERTAKER.


part of the fish slowly until the head was more
than an inch from the ground, and only the tail
touched the earth.
The bug then stopped as if to take breath,
and I could n't blame him, for he must have
been lifting at least twenty times his own weight.
But the busy feet quickly began to ply again,
and it was evident that he was trying to move
his burden from its place. He edged it around
slowly until its head was at right angles to the
path. Then he made a strong effort to thrust
it forward, in the intensity of his zeal lifting the
lower part of his body entirely from the ground,
so that he stood upon his head. It was in vain,
however. The friction at the other end was too
great. There was not even a hair's breadth of
progress. At length the overstrained muscles
began to relax.. The head of the fish came
slowly down. The effort had failed. Again
and again it was renewed, each time with a
slight change of posture, but all in vain. The
fish did not stir. What should the beetle do ?
Well, like a prudent workman, he took time
to think. Our Atlas, who had failed to carry
the world on his shoulders, came out and walked
around his burden as if to inspect it, and while
he was doing so I had a good opportunity to
inspect him.
One good look, and I knew who he was, for
he has been fully described in Jaeger's Life of
North American Insects." Jaeger says: "A
large black head, with antenna terminating in
orange-colored knobs; a round black thorax,
and orange-colored, truncated wing covers, with
undulating black bands crossing the middle of
both wings."
By this time I knew what he intended to do.
He is a professional undertaker, as his two
scientific names indicate. In the cabinets of
naturalists he is sometimes labeled Necrophorus,
which is compounded of two Greek words, and
means a bearer of the dead, and sometimes
Vespillo, a Latin word, said to mean one who
carried out the poor at evening time for burial.
His office, then, is to bury the dead. He
does not wait to be sent for. He does not work
for hire. Wherever he finds the body of a dead
bird, or mouse, or fish, or frog, or other small
animal, he sets himself to the task of giving it a
decent burial. For this service he has been


noted since the days of Aristotle, who makes
honorable mention of him; and though he has
never attained to the celebrity of his first cousin,
the sacred beetle of Egypt, who was for many
ages an object of worship, he has always main-
tained a good reputation, and been in high re-
spect with the naturalists -which is far more
than can be said of the Dermestide, another set
of beetles, his cousins, who make such havoc
among the preserved insects and stuffed animals
in our museums.
There are some very interesting stories told
of these undertakers, or sexton beetles," as they
are also called.
The author of that very entertaining work,
"Population of an Old Pear Tree," says, One
of these beetles has been known to bury an
animal forty times its own size without any
assistance." Mr. Wood, in his "Illustrated
Natural History," says, "Two of these beetles
have been known to cover up a sparrow within
a few hours, and so unwearied are they that if
several are placed in a vessel filled with earth,
and kept constantly supplied with dead frogs,
mice, etc., they will continue to bury them as
long as the supply is kept up." M. Figuier, in
his Insect World," tells us: In fifty days four
beetles had buried in a small space of earth four
frogs, three small birds, two fishes, one mole,
and two grasshoppers, besides part of a fish and
two morsels of the lungs of an ox."
So you see these grave-diggers are not only
stalwart but industrious. I had reason to expect
great things of my workman.
He was in trouble. The ground in the path
was too hard to dig with such tools as he had.
The fish must be moved at least two feet to find
proper soil. How could it be done? That
evidently was perplexing his little brain, for he
seemed to stop and think. At length a bright
idea struck him. He would do what every
sensible man ought to do when he gets into
business trouble. He would go home and con-
sult his wife. At least I supposed that to be
his conclusion, for he flew away and returned
after a brief interval accompanied by another
beetle, a little smaller and more delicate of
organization than himself. It was certainly good
of her to leave her domestic duties and come to
help him. And, while the old adage, "Two


867





A MODEL UNDERTAKER.


heads are better than one," is always true, it was
especially so in a case like this, where each head
had to serve as a fulcrum.
The two were soon at their post. They first
ran around the body, until they met. Then they
seemed to be conferring for a moment. Next
they passed under the body at opposite sides
and began to lift. The head rose slowly again,
and then both the toilers could be distinctly
seen at work. Our original friend was lying on
his back, as at first, with feet in the air, lifting
the upper part of the fish from the ground.
His mate was just behind him, standing upon
her hind feet, her fore feet, antennae and man-
dibles wedged between the scales of the fish
above her while she was thrusting forward with
all her might to push along the fish as her mate
lifted. All in vain! There was still no advance.
Again there seemed to be a conference. Then
the head rose again, lifted as before; but when
it had reached its utmost height, she reared her-
self upon her hind feet, braced herself so as to
receive upon her head the whole weight, and
thus set free the other beetle, who ran around
behind the fish, turned his back to it, worked
himself backward under the fan of the tail
until he was almost concealed from view, then
buried his orange-colored antennae in the earth,
humped his back, gave one resolute thrust, and
away went red-throat, "little wife, and all."
The movement had been so sudden that his
companion was taken quite unawares, but though
she was thrown some distance with the weight
of the whole fish upon her, she did not seem
at all discomfited, but was out and up on her
feet again, evidently delighted that more than
an inch of progress had been made.
Thus, inch by inch, these two patient toilers
carried their load, sometimes lifting as I have
described, sometimes tugging with their horny
forceps, sometimes pushing and thrusting with
every posture and method. In a half-hour they
had made less than a foot of progress.
Two hours later, when I returned from a
fishing jaunt along the stream, they had reached
the edge of the path, where there is a steep
decline for eighteen inches toward the stream,
and below it a soft bed of sandy loam. As it
was the hour appointed for luncheon, and my


comrades had not yet come, I waited to witness
the burial, or at least the steps toward it.
In a few minutes the edge of the steep de-
clivity had been reached. One beetle was on
his back under the fish, pushing with all his
might. The other was in front tugging with
her teeth. Suddenly, as the verge was reached,
the fish toppled; a miniature avalanche was set in
motion, and down to the bottom went the three,
the fish on top, the two sextons underneath.
Thus they came to the grave, preparation for
which had been made in my absence by clear-
ing away leaves and small sticks, and by probing
to see that there were no roots or large stones.
The body being now in place, excavations
for its burial were immediately begun. Each
of the beetles passing under began to dig away
the soil and to thrust it backward with the feet.
Soon, all around the body, at the distance of an
inch or so from it, reminding one of the hasty
intrenchment about some military camp, rose
a little embankment of finely pulverized earth,
which had been dug with the strong forceps
that served as picks, and thrown back with the
six horny feet that supplied the place of shovels.
The body gradually sank as the embankment
slowly rose, the head lingering longest above
the original level.
I returned from time to time to watch the
progress of the burial. When the shadows of
evening were falling, and I returned for the last
time, a portion of the head was still visible, all
the rest being under the earth. In a few hours
more the little red-throat was lying three or four
inches under the ground, as neatly and carefully
buried as if some man had done the work.
What noble, unselfish fellows they must be! "
I think I hear you say.
Not so unselfish, though, after all; for when the
little fish has finally been laid at rest many small
white eggs will be deposited in the body. In
about a fortnight the eggs will hatch. The larva
proceeding from each egg will find its proper
food in the body of the fish; and after feeding
upon it for a month, until fully grown, will leave
the dead body and go several inches deeper in
the ground, where it will form a cocoon. There
it will sleep for four weeks more, and then
come forth a fully equipped beetle.


868











HOW THE GREAT PLAN WORKED.

By VICTOR MAPES.


How Bobby could do such a thing, I'm sure
I don't know. For Bobby was n't the least bit
of a bad boy; indeed, that very morning, Aunt
Sarah had given him a piece of jelly-cake be-
cause he was such a good boy to find her glasses
for her. Perhaps he did n't think about its
being good or bad at all; but just thought it
would be fun and did it. Of course he had to
be punished; but he seemed so sorry, when he
found out that he ought not to have done it,
that his father made the punishment very easy -
Bobby could n't go roller-skating in the park next
day-that was all. And Aunt Sarah gave him
another piece of cake for acting like a little man;


so, you see, it did n't have any very serious con-
sequences. The way it happened was just this:
Bobby's two big brothers, Frank and Henry,
were both athletes at Harvard College,-one
was a runner, the other a jumper,-and to-
gether they had won a great many prizes. Mrs.
Vane, Bobby's mother, like most other mothers,
thought her sons were the finest athletes and the
finest boys in the world; and she was so proud
of the prizes they had won that she didn't know
how to make enough of them. She bought a
beautiful old "antique" cabinet to put them in,
and had it placed right in the corner of the re-
ception-room, where everybody that came to
the house might see it. And the prizes were all
beautifully arranged in it-the medals in pretty
little plush cases, and the cups and pitchers and
other kinds of silverware all set out in the most
beautiful manner on a velvet cloth of the richest
dark crimson. She kept the key of the cabinet
safely in her jewel-box, and when anybody ad-
mired the prizes very much through the glass
doors of the cabinet, she would send Bobby up
for the key, or run up and get it herself, and
then take out all the different prizes and tell
about them individually-how beautiful they
all were, and how gloriously Frank had run or
Henry had jumped to win them.
Bobby, too, of course was proud of his broth-
ers, and he had long ago made up his mind that
he was going to be a great athlete himself, and
win prizes just like Frank and Henry. Indeed,
he had already run some great races round the
circle in the park with Tommy White and Fred
Vail, and all the other boys he played with. He
had been many times to see his brothers run
and jump, and he knew all about the regular
games-all about the referee (the man who
decided who won the race), and the time-
keepers, and the handicaps (the starts that the
good runners gave the poorer ones, so as to
make the race exciting), and the starter (the





HOW THE GREAT PLAN WORKED.


man who fired the pistol for the race to start),
and the tape at the finish (that the referee looked
along with his eye to tell exactly which runner
won)-and all the different features of real
athletic games.
Well, one day-the day it all happened-a
great idea came into Bobby's head. Why
could n't he and Tom White get up a regular
set of races in the park, just like the real ones ?
He could be referee, and Tom White starter;
and they would have a tape at the finish, and
handicaps, and make the different boys wear
numbers when they ran, and do everything as
in a real race. And they would make each boy
that wanted to run give a "pure agate" as an
entrance-fee.
He told Tommy White about his plan before
school-time, and Tommy White thought it was
magnificent -only what could they have for
prizes to make a boy willing to give up a pure
agate to try for them ? And what do you think
Bobby answered ? Why, All those medals and
things in the cabinet, home." He knew where
the key was, and they would set them out on a
table in the park, just as they did in the real
games. Tommy White fairly jumped for joy
at the idea.
All the morning in school they could n't do
anything else but think about it. They kept
passing notes to each other full of all the differ-
ent particulars about their big plan- how many
races they would have, and how long each was
to be, and how much handicap boys thirteen
years old would have to give boys under thir-
teen, and ever so many other things. And long
before recess came, every boy in the room had
got news of it all; and there was so much ex-
citement in school that poor Miss Love, the
teacher, did n't know what in the world to make
of it. She scolded and fretted and stood Tommy
White up in the corner for talking; but even
then she could n't keep things quiet. And
when recess came, all the boys rushed around
Bobby and Tommy, and there was the greatest
kind of a hubbub till Miss Love made them sit
down and try to eat their luncheons quietly.
Just as soon as school was out, the news
spread like wildfire. In half an hour there was
a perfect swarm of boys in the park, crowding
around a table whereon were all the prizes--


which big Bert Smith had charge of and wouldn't
let anybody touch. Boys came from all over,
boys whom Bobby had never seen in the park
before, nor Tommy White either. Boys from
other schools and other streets all heard about
the races in some marvelous way, and came to
find out if it were true, and to have a chance
at the prizes.
Never before in his life had Bobby felt half so
big. He stood there, up on one of the benches,
feeling like a great man of some sort, holding
in one hand his marble-bag almost full of pure
agates, and telling rules and explaining things



: I'.:f "

..._ -- ',. -i '-- '..---


"HE TOLD TOMMY WHITE ABOUT HIS PLAN BEFORE
SCHOOL-TIME."
to all the boys who were crowding around and
asking questions. Tommy White was sitting on
the bench, right at Bobby's feet, with a book and
pencil in his hand, taking down the names of
the boys who were going to run. As each boy
came up with his pure agate, Bobby examined
it to see if it was a real one and did n't have
too much quartz in it, or too many nicks; and
just as soon as he said it was all right and put it
in his marble-bag, Tommy White spelled down
in the book the boy's name and his age and
address, just like the regular official at the games.
So many boys came up boys of all sizes and
ages-and there were getting to be so many
names in the book, and so much noise and


870


[SEPT.





HOW THE GREAT PLAN WORKED.


excitement to have the races begin, that pretty
soon Bobby announced that he was going to
" close the entries for the first race. That was
the regular expression he had heard his brothers
speak of, and he was almost sure that he knew
what it meant.
"Any other boys," he said, "who want to
run will have to give in their names after the
first race."
Then he got down from the bench, and he
and Tommy White went off to another bench
to decide about the first race. They would n't
let anybody come near them, and all the boys
stood around in a great state of excitement,
looking at the prizes with open mouths, and
talking about them, and looking at Bobby and
Tommy as they deliberated with their heads
together. And each boy who was going to run
kept casting glances at all the others who had
given in pure agates-the little boys saying to
one another how unfair it was that such big
boys were to be allowed to run in the race against
them, and the big boys wondering how much
start the little fellows were likely to get. And
little clumps were whispering together about
which boys were the fastest runners, and whether
they were going to stuff handkerchiefs in their
mouths, or take off their coats -in fact, every-
body was very nervous and excited, and the
boys were doing and saying all sorts of things.
Then Bobby and Tommy came back, and
everybody stopped talking, and, in great sus-
pense, they all crowded around Bobby, as he
got up on the bench again to tell about the first
race. Tommy White, at the same time, ran
over to the table where the medals were and
brought back a fine large gold medal, in a case,
and a great big silver cup. He climbed up on
the bench and stood there, alongside of Bobby,
holding the two prizes in his hands. All the boys
crowded closer and murmured and listened.
The first race," said Bobby, is going to be
once around the circle, and these are the two
prizes for it the medal 's first prize, and the
cup 's second. And only those boys who are
thirteen years old can go in the first race, and
there won't be any handicaps at all. The other
boys who have given me pure agates will have
to wait for the next race."
Some of the big boys were disappointed at


this announcement, because they could n't have
a chance at that particular medal; others were
glad because they thought some of the prizes on
the table were prettier. But the talk lasted for
only a minute; for Bobby and Tommy White
got down and went over to the chalk-line where
the start was going to be, and called for all the
boys thirteen years old who had their names
down, to come and stand on the line. All the
thirteen-year-old boys hurried up and crowded
for places on the line.
Then Tommy White opened the book, just as
the man does at the regular games, and called
out the names, and told the boys to answer
when their names were called. While that was
going on, Bobby took out a ball of red yam
from his trousers pocket, and told two boys to
stand on opposite sides of the path and stretch
it across as a finishing-tape. Then, when the
tape was ready and Bobby had run his eye
along it to see that it was all right, and all the
names had been called, Tommy White took out
his cap-pistol and a box of caps from his pocket,
and got it ready to start the race with. The
crowd of boys and girls all moved back, in or-
der to give the runners full room, and everybody
waited for the start.
Bobby got in position so he could run his eye
along the tape, and Tommy White stood behind
the line of thirteen-year-old boys, all standing
with one foot forward, ready to start.
Now," said Tommy White, "you all under-
stand that I 'm going to say: Are you ready ?
On your marks,' and then, when I fire the
pistol, you go."
None of the boys knew exactly what the
words meant; but they bent farther forward,
and every one understood that the pistol was
the signal to go.
Now," said Tommy White, raising the pistol
up above his head, "is everything right?"
Everything was right. "Are-you-ready? "
The line stood trembling, all bent forward. On
your marks." The line bent a little farther for-
ward, and the suspense was awful. Snap!"
went the pistol, and the runners plunged forward.
"Hey Go on, Billy! Goit, Frank!"
shouted the crowd, as it flooded over the path
behind the runners, eager with excitement.
Hey! Tot! Tot! "Tot! Tot!!"





[SEPT.


HOW THE GREAT PLAN WORKED.


and even Bobby forgot for a moment that he you, Tot! Keep on, Tot! Tot's head was
was referee, and shouted too, as little Tot away up in the air, and the handkerchief was
Leonard, with his handkerchief stuffed in his fluttering out of his mouth, but he would n't let
mouth, his long hair sailing out in the breeze, Harry by him. His legs were tired, and he


and his shirt-sleeves rolled up above _- ._
his elbows, suddenly pushed forward
ahead of the other runners and kept
gaining on them.
"Harry! Harry! Go on, "LITTLE TOT, WITH BIG HARRY RIGHT AT HIS SHOULDER, STRUGGLED
OVER THE LINE A WINNER." (SEE NEXT PAGE.)
Tot! Tot! Oh, he's tired hey! "
" Harry Harry They were half-way round could hardly get his breath, and he thought he
by this time, and big Harry Kane forged ahead should never get to the finish; but he kept his
of the straggling bunch and was racing nip- teeth set on the handkerchief, and he would n't
and-tuck with little Tot for first place. The let Harry by him-not till he dropped, anyway.
crowd, carried away by excitement, ran toward And he pushed along pluckily, looking up to
them, and yelled and jumped for Harry or the sky and feeling a sort of wild agony for the
for Tot. finish.
Harry Harry! Don't let him pass Harry Harry yelled the crowd,


872





HOW THE GREAT PLAN WORKED.


as Harry made a terrible effort at the last curve
to get the lead.
Hey! "Tot !" Look at Tot! "T-o-t!!"
Yes, and little Tot it was, too! He was bound
Harry should n't pass him, and Harry never
did pass him. His big head hung far back
almost on his shoulders, and his eyes were shut,
but he kept the inside track, and he knew the
tape was just ahead. And as the crowd jammed
back, shrieking frantically, little Tot, with big
Harry right at his shoulder, struggled over the
line a winner.
Then he stumbled and pitched down all in a
heap. And when they ran and picked him up
tears were running down his cheeks, and he was
sobbing quietly to himself.
But just at that very minute, while the race
was finishing and the crowd was screaming with
excitement, and Bobby, the referee, was squint-
ing along the tape, a new spectator had appeared
on the scene none other than Muggins, the
butler, whom Mrs. Vane, in alarm, had sent out
to see where Bobby was, and to find out what
awful thing had happened to all her prizes.
And that great, big, mean man of a Muggins
put an end to the whole thing He would n't
let Tot or Harry have the prizes they had won,
but jammed all the medal-boxes into his pockets,
and took the cups on his arm, and made Bobby
walk straight home with him without even giving
the "referee" time to return the pure agates.
And he told two boys to carry along the table.
Then the whole crowd marched, in a sort of
a procession, over to Bobby's house. Muggins
led the way with the cups in his arm, dragging
Bobby by the hand. Tommy White, Lew Vail,
and the table, with two or three other boys
around it, followed next; and then came the
straggling crowd of boys, girls, nurses, and
babies, following along, most of them laughing


at Muggins and Bobby, but every one of them
disappointed that the great races had been
spoiled. And away back, near the rear of the
procession, was poor little Tot, with a few boys
around him, wiping his eyes and hot face, still
trembling a little and somewhat bewildered by
it all.
Bobby's mother from her window saw them
coming and went rushing down to the door.
" Oh, Bobby, how could you ?" was all she said
to her sheepish darling, and Bobby, who now
realized for the first time that he had been a
very bad boy, felt too sorry to say anything.
Have you got them all, Muggins ?"
Yes, they were all there; not one was lost.
Muggins went out and took the table from
Tommy White and Lew Vail, and Tommy
asked Muggins to get the marble-bag from
Bobby.
In a few minutes Muggins brought it out,
and Tommy told all the boys to come over to
the park with him and he'd give them back
their pure agates. And so the crowd moved
back to the park.
Bobby went upstairs with his mother and
tried to tell her how it was; but he soon broke
down and had a good cry. His mother felt
sorry for him and told him not to cry ; she knew
he did n't mean any wrong by it. And when
Bobby's father came home that night, Mrs.
Vane told him all about it; and, as I have
said, he did n't punish Bobby very seriously.
He only told Bobby not to go in the park next
day; which punishment Bobby did n't mind
very much, because, to tell the truth, he was
just a little afraid that the boys would laugh at
him. So he stayed in the house all day Saturday
and read two whole stories from the "Arabian
Nights," and Aunt Sarah gave him a piece of
jelly-cake. And that was the end of it.


VOL. XVIII.-61.


873











CHOOSING A BOAT.

By F. W. PANGBORN.


WHEN a boy has learned to sail a boat and
has discovered how very delightful sailing is, he
is sure to wish for a yacht of his own; nor is
he likely to be content until the desire for
ownership shall have been satisfied by actual
possession. The chief obstacle with
which he has to contend, of course,
is the cost, for yachts are expensive
toys, and not every one can afford to
purchase them. But a careful and
patient person may, nevertheless, pos-
sess himself of a small yacht, if he
will buy with discretion and at the
right season of the year, which is the
autumn. Yachtsmen are droll fel-
lows; they build costly boats, use
them a year or two, and then sell
them for any price they can secure,
often less than a quarter of their
original cost. Therefore I say that
the ownership of a nice little yacht
is not beyond the possibilities, if a
boy loves a boat, and is determined
to own one; for pluck, luck, and
patience accomplish wonders.
You can get an idea of the prices
which second-hand boats bring from
the following table, which I think
you will find interesting:
STYLE OF YACHT. LENGTH. COST. PRICE.
Cat....... ............ 14 .... $250 .... $40
C at.......... ......... 17 .... 300 .. 175
Cutter ................. 22 .... 800 .... 200
Sloop........ ......... 26 .... 9oo .... 200
Yawl .................. 23 .... 450 .... 250
Cat............ ..... 22 .... 700 .... 200
Cat ... .............. 33 ... 750 .... 35
Sloop ............... 23 .... 750 .... 250
Sharpie................ 20 .... 150 ... 25
Cat ................ .. 18 .... 275 .... loo
Cat........... ....... 18 .... 350 .... 175
Sloop........ ........ 31 .... 1600 .... Iooo
C at.. ................ 17 .... 30o .... 75
Cat................... 26 ... 65o .... 225
Sloop ................ 33 .... 2oo .... 450
Cat....... ... ........ 26 .... Iloo .... 500


These figures are given me by owners who
have sold their boats, and should be a fair
indication of what your fathers would call the
state of the market."
You will probably be somewhat perplexed


FIG. I. SLOOP.
when I tell you that, in selecting a small sail-
boat, you have no less than five kinds of boats
from which to choose, and that each may be
better than all the others, in view of the use
which you intend to make of it. The catboat
has already been described in ST. NICHOLAS,
and possibly you have decided that nothing but
a "cat" will suit you; but it is nevertheless a
fact that sloops, cutters, yawls, and sharpies all
have points of superiority over the catboat;
and, when one intends to buy, it is better not
to jump to conclusions but to make a careful
and intelligent selection.
The sloop (Fig. I) differs from the "cat"


-- ------------
-------~---------------





CHOOSING A BOAT.


essentially. A catboat is propelled by driving- of the jib first and work your boat with mainsail
sail only; the sloop has both driving-sail and alone in all emergencies that occur when sailing
pulling-sail, for she carries, in addition to the to windward. In running before a strong wind,
a reefed mainsail and a full jib
give the best results; and sloops
are better than catboats when
running free, because the jib
counteracts the tendency to
luff, to steer hard, and to roll,
all of which traits are ever pres-
ent in the frisky catboat. Ob-
serve one rule at all times when
sailing a sloop: Never fasten
the jib so that it cannot be in-
stantly cast off. Fastened jib-
sheets cause nearly all the
capsizes which occur in sloop-
sailing.
The cutter (Fig. 2) is a sloop
with an extra head-sail. This
is set from the bow to the mast-
head, is cut like a jib, and is
called the stay-foresail. This rig
is generally used with deep keel
.. ...- boats, which has led to a be-
lief that a cutter is a deep,
narrow keel yacht. Such, how-
ever, is not the case; the term
applies only to the rig.
The centerboard sloop is by
FIG. 2. CUTTER. most thought the fastest kind
mainsail of the catboat, a head-sail called the of yacht; and very many successful racers, from
"jib." The mainsail, as you know, tends to the big "Volunteer" to the little twenty-footer
"luff" the boat's nose into the wind, but the winners in yacht-club regattas, have no doubt

bow off and away from the wind. These sails,
if properly proportioned, cause the yacht to keep
a straight course, to steer easily, and to sail with-
out burying her head; for the jib lifts the bow,
and the mainsail, being set back near the mid-
dle of the boat, does not drive her down by
the eyes," as.does the sail of a catboat. In
sailing a sloop, however, great care must be
exercised; for this little jib is a treacherous sail
and will lead you into trouble if you do not
understand its wayward tricks. The rules for
sloop-sailing are, briefly, these: Before going
about," cast off the jib; before coming to anchor
or rounding-up to a mooring, lower the jib; when -
a squall strikes, cast off the jib. In fine, get rid FIG. 3. THE YAWL.






CHOOSING A BOAT.


been sloops. But the sloop-rig is not by any
means the safest and handiest for comfortable
cruising. The yawl and sharpie are much
safer and handier than the catboat and sloop,
as you can see from the drawings.
You will notice that the yawl (Fig. 3) has an
extra sail set at the stern. This is called a
"driver," mizzen," "jigger," or "dandy "; and
it is a veritable friend in -need at all times,
requiring no care, and being always ready to


FIG. 4. A SHARPIE.


save you from a capsize and to help you in every
maneuver. Its position is such that it always
tends to luff the boat. If a squall strikes a
yawl, she may right herself because of the pres-
sure on this little driver; if a severe blow comes
on, you can sail in safety with jib and driver
alone, the mainsail being furled; in fact the
yawl, with her mainsail down, is perfectly man-
ageable, and as safe as safe can be. No reefing
is necessary; just lower the mainsail and your
yawl is "reefed" at once for the worst kind of
weather. There is always plenty of driving-sail
behind, and with the jib in front to balance this
your boat is under full control. No sloop or
catboat possesses such attributes of handiness
and safety.
The sharpie (Fig. 4) is a yawl without a jib,
and with a different cut of canvas. This rig is
common on Long Island Sound, and is generally
used for flat-bottomed boats. A sharpie is the
best boat for very shallow inland waters, but not
well adapted to a rough sea. Some very large
sharpies carry jibs; but they are then really (
yawls, not sharpies; and some yawls are rigged
without jibs, in which case they are called cat-


yawls and are safer than the single-sail catboat.
The flat-bottomed sharpie is the cheapest boat
to build, costing not half so much as a round-
modeled hull.
A word as to centerboard and keel. In buying


MIDSHIP SECTION OF TYPICAL CENTERBOARD SLOOP-YACHT.
a small cruising yacht, first decide whether you
are to use her in deep or in shallow waters. If
your sailing is to be done in shoal places, the
keel is out of the question, because a keel boat
will be aground in such waters half the time;
but if you have plenty of deep water, use a
keel boat. Such a boat is safer than the center-
boarder because she has her ballast lower down.
In fact, a very deep keel boat is uncapsizable;
you can not upset her if you try. And then,
there is more room inside of such a boat, be-
cause she has no centerboard-trunk to take up
valuable space, and because of her depth. If


BODY PLAN OF TYPICAL ENGLISH CUTTER.


876


[SEPT.





CHOOSING A BOAT.


you prefer a light-draft centerboard boat, get
one that is wide, for the stability of a shoal boat
depends very much upon her beam.
In buying a boat, make sure that the bottom
is thoroughly sound. Better a plain rig and


a good hull than a fancy top and a rotten
bottom, is a good motto in boat-buying. Select
your boat with care, do not be in a hurry,
know what you want, examine everything about
her, and you are not likely to make a bad choice.


ROUNDING THE STAKE-BOAT.


TO MALCOLM DOUGLAS.


By AMY S. BRIDGMAN.


A VERY bright man made a droll little rhyme :
Boom boom boom !
I 've wished that he had n't full many a time;
Boom boom boom !
I said, Now, this book may be hidden away,
This rhyme is so funny, I '11 learn it to say,
Some child will be wanting a story some day."
Boom boom boom !

To learn it was only a brief moment's task,
Boom tidera-da boom !
(Now, once to forget it, is all that I ask!)
Boom tidera-da boom !


Then quickly I tried it on two little boys
Who reveled in games that made plenty of
noise,
But this pleased them better than all of their
toys-
Boom tidera-da boom !

And, hearing me say it, the little boys, too,
Boom tidera-da boom!
With very slight practice could say it all
through -
Boom tidera-da boom!
And over and over, and over once more,






TO MALCOLM DOUGLAS.


We'd say it while marching and pounding the
floor,
Till some wicked people -well, really, they
swore
At our boom- tidera-da-boom-a-diddle-
dee -
Boom tidera-da boom!
And ever since then I have lost all my peace;
Boom tidera-da boom!
For, waking or sleeping, it never will cease;
Boom tidera-da boom !
Though the trials of many were grievous to bear,
With that fiendish old jingle of" Punch with care,"
Compared with this torment, they 're simply
nowhere!
Boom tidera-da boom-a-diddle-dee -
Boom tidera-da boom!
It's worn on my nerves till I 'm ready to drop;
Boom tidera-da- boom!


I -
.- _r"'


But, horror of horrors, it never will stop !
Boom tidera-da boom !
'Gainst reading or preaching it still holds its own,
And even when into my parlor were shown
Some strangers, my greeting, in solemnest tone,
Was, "Boom -tidera-da-boom-a-diddle-dee-
Boom tidera-da boom "

It would seem the bright man must be worse off
still;
Boom tidera-da boom!
I should like to inquire if he 's really ill;
Boom tidera-da boom!
But the mischief has gone to my head like wine,
And, just as I 'm going to say something fine,
I can't even get to the end of the line
Without boom tidera-da boom -
Boom iidera-da boom -
Boom tidera-da boom-a-diddle-dee -
Boom -3-boM BOOM !






i .


o

r, 'y ^ .,
fl, ,, ,!
.,! -. ,a ", :L' .4 ,I-


A FORMAL CALL.
(A True Story.)


A KNOCK comes at my door as I sit alone in
my room, sewing; and before I can say, Come
in!" a little voice says warningly, "I 'm not
Barbara, mama; I 'm Mrs. Martin.' "
Whereupon I say, Oh! Well, come in, Mrs.
Martin." And Mrs. Martin" (as little Barbara
often calls herself) enters.


She wears over her night-gown a white blanket
coat with blue stripes, and upon her bare feet
are blue worsted slippers.
She shakes hands with me very demurely,
and, seating herself in her little chair at my feet,
remarks that it is a very rainy day."
I express my fear that she may be wet; but


878






FOR LITTLE FOLK.


she says No," with a shake of her yellow curls
- that she wore her weather coat" !
"Won't you move closer to the fire, Mrs.
Martin, and get warm ? I ask hospitably.
Yes," says Mrs. Martin, with a sudden re-
turn to realism, but I don't see any fire here!"
We '11 pretend my sewing-table is the fire,"
I suggest.
Oh, yes; so we will," answers Mrs. Martin,
holding her feet very near the imaginary blaze.
"Well, Mrs. Mar-
tin," I say briskly,
" what's the news at
your house ?"
"The news is-
is-, I 've been
reading a book."
"Indeed?-and \
what is the name
of the book ?"
"The name is-
'Cloris Chander,'
and it tells about a
man who dances
jig-a-maree for roast
beef! "
This bold stroke of .
fancyis too much for
even Mrs. Martin's -
stilted gravity, and
she laughs merrily. -
"That must be a
very strange story,
Mrs. Martin. Have \
you read any
others ? I ask her.
"No-o; you know I have no time. I have
such hard work to do."
"I 'm sorry for that, Mrs. Martin. How
does it happen? "
"Well, I have no cook; so I have to cook
and cook all day! My cook has gone away."
"I hope she will come back soon, Mrs.
Martin," I say feelingly.
No, she will not come till Thanksgiving. I
make bread too but not the way cook does! "
Oh, indeed, Mrs. Martin. And how do
you make your bread? "
"I put it in a bowl, and roll and roll it
around."


"Yes, but what do you put in it ? "
Well," says Mrs. Martin, "I put some -
some water, and and not sugar; sugar
is not good for my children," she adds severely;
"but I put in spinach-"
This is so unexpected that I cannot help
laughing; and this vexes Mrs. Martin, who sud-
denly changes back into Barbara to reprove me.
"No, mama, you must not laugh. Spinach
makes good bread -very good!"


I hasten to make my peace: Oh, excuse
me, Mrs. Martin; you see I never heard of
that way before, that 's all." Then, changing
the subject, "How hard it rains! I fear the
roads are very bad for walking."
"Yes," said Mrs. Martin; "but I will send
for my horse and carriage to take me home.
I have three strong horses, and they can take
me home as well as not."
Just then a faint clatter of china is heard in
the next room, the nursery tea is announced by
the little sister, and Mrs. Martin" leaves
without the formality of saying good-by to her
hostess.


879





JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.


JACK-IN-THE- PULPIT.
JACK-IN-THE- PULPIT.


THIS month, my dear going-back-to-school
friends, we will lead off with a few striking bits of
information from various quarters, and end with
a very curious American race and one in which a
clerical plant like myself cannot help feeling mildly
interested.
Meantime Deacon Green desires me to an-
nounce that letters to the dear Little Schoolma'am
and himself concerning Our National Hymn are
steadily coming in, but that they would be glad to
receive many more, by way of taking up, so to
speak, a collection of ideas on the subject from this
entire congregation.
And now let us consider the following serious
charge:

TELEGRAPH-POLES FOOLING BEARS AND WOOD-
PECKERS.
NOw you will say that this is a thing that no
well-behaved, self-respecting telegraph-pole ought
to do. But the fact is, they cannot help it. They
simply do the buzzing (as any one can learn by ap-
plying an ear to the poles), and listening bears and
woodpeckers are deceived by their own hasty con-
clusions. At least, so I am told by the dear Little
Schoolma'am, who got the facts straight from na-
ture and a trusty newspaper or two. With the
little lady's permission, I now will submit these
facts to you:
It appears that one Monsieur Pasteur, who is
Inspector of Telegraphic Service at Java, reports
that the woodpeckers in that island, hearing a buzz-
ing sound, apparently coming from the inside of
telegraph-poles, make up their bright little minds
that there are insects gnawing the wood. So they
dig great holes in the poles with their bills in the
hope of securing the insects or grubs. The same
incident has been observed in Norway; and the
journal Nature says that, in some regions, the
large stones piled against telegraph-poles to keep


them in place have been removed by bears. These
creatures evidently take the buzzing sounds for a
sign that bees are about. So Bruin thinks there
must be honey concealed somewhere beneath the
pile of stones.
The birds and animals have not yet learned
much about vibrating wires or electricity, you see.
ENTERPRISING BEGONIAS.
EVERYBODY who raises flowers knows that certain
kinds of begonias may be started by cutting off a leaf
and laying it in the ground; but does everybody know
that they sometimes try to start themselves ? Last win-
ter we had one so anxious to establish its family in the
world that some of its leaves began to sprout while still
fast to the plant. Almost covering the top of these leaves
were little tube-like stems not a half inch in length, on
which were tiny leaves, shaped just like the large ones
below.
Of course as the leaves became old these dried up and
withered too, but there is no doubt that they would have
grown into perfect plants if they had been put in the ground.
Now was this just afreak of nature, or does every one of
that kind of begonias do the same ? Who among the young
botanists can tell ? Yours very truly, L. F.
ABOUT THE FARTHING.
A LADY sends to this pulpit some information
concerning the English penny, ha'penny, and far-
thing, which may interest you. None of these
things grow in my meadow, but the English clover
is quite at home there nowadays, and I like it
exceedingly.
Here is the letter:
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: The ancient English
penny was the first silver coin struck in England, and
the only one current among our Saxon ancestors.
At the time of Ethelred, in 866, it was equal in value
to the present threepence, and until the days of Edward
First, it was so deeply indented that it might easily be
broken and parted, when occasion demanded, into two
parts these were called half-pence; orinto four parts -
these were called four things, or farthings.
The farthing is now a small copper coin of Great Britain
equal to the fourth of a penny in value.
The American cent, though sometimes called a penny,
is of different value from the English penny, and we have
no such coin as the farthing.
The word farthing, as used by the Saxons, was spelled
feorthung. Yours truly, VIRGINIA FARLEY.

QUEENS' NEEDLES.
No doubt many of you have seen "Cleopatra's
Needle," sometimes called the Egyptian obelisk, in
Central Park. It must have been difficult to sew
with it, and in spite of the saying, Kings have
long arms," I doubt whether any queen ever had
hands large enough or strong enough to use such
an enormous needle as that. Besides, there is no
eye in Cleopatra's needle. It would have been
easy to bore an eye through the obelisk, for here
is a letter that tells of an achievement far more
surprising:
DEAR JACK: While reading an old copy of the New
York Tribune recently, I happened upon this item, which
I think will interest your little hearers :
"The Queen of Roumania, during her recent sojourn
in England, say foreign papers, visited a needle factory.


* See ST. NICHOLAS for July, 1891, page 723.


880






JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.


While watching the work one of
the men asked Her Majesty for a
single hair from her head. The
queen granted his request, with a
smile. The man, who was engaged
in cutting the eyes in the needles,
placed the hair under the needle
of his machine, bored a hole in it,
drew a fine silk thread through the
hole, and then presented the
threaded hair to the astonished
queen."
Yours very truly, L. M. *


A TRAVELING PLANT.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: I
was sittingin a passenger-car look-
ing out over a stretch of prairie land
in the great Arkansas valley. The
day was windy; indeed, a ship
captain who sat next me said it '
was "half a gale," though, judg- --
ing from the way the wind shrieked '
past us, I should not have thought
of using a fraction in describing
it. Suddenly a number of elegantly
shaped, slightly built animals ap- ANTE
peared in the distance and rushed
toward the moving train. The wind, the antelopes,-
for such they proved to be,- and the train engaged in a
race, in which the antelopes, for a short time, held their
own; butwhat most astonished me was that the antelopes
were pursued by great gray balls, some of which were
from four to five feet in diameter.
Not one of our party could imagine what these were,
never having heard of anything of the kind. We
watched the curious sight until the locomotive and the
wind left the antelopes
and the pursuing balls far -
behind us. To increase
our interest, however, ,
many more such balls ,...- .
could be seen on the wind-
ward side of the track,
piled up against the wire
fences, and in ravines and
gulleys along our onward /
route.
I afterwards learned ',
that what our party saw 'I- .* '
were known to the plains- .
men as "tumble-weeds,"
and to botanists as the "
Cycloloma plalyphylium. -
It belongs to a genus of '
plants that grow into a
thick, globe-shaped mass
of twigs and small
branches, attached to their '
roots each by a small stem
that in the fall becomes
dry and brittle; and, as
the autumn winds sweep .
over the prairie, these
stems break off, and the
tumble-weeds go bound- '
ing away, scattering their
seeds as they go. ,' --
Antelopes andjack-rab- -
bits, grouse, and prairie- T.: -B
dogs are put to flight, cat-
tle are stampeded, and A TUMB


\ -t --


-. ~--~ "A *l, -d

"I

L' V ci


LOPES FLEEING FROM THE TRAVELING PLANT.
the road-beds clogged by these flying masses of brush-
wood.
I sent you, dear Mr. Jack, a photograph, which I hope
will be copied for your crowd of young folk. It was
taken from life, and by comparing the size of the tumble-
weed ball with that of the man beside it, one can form
a general idea of the proportions often attained by these
traveling wonders. Yours very truly,
J. C. BEARD.


-S.- .
. ".;,, .,_. 72 .^ :


LE-WEED BALL. (FROM A PHOTOGRAPH.)














MAMMY'S BED-TIME SONG.


BY EDWARD A. OLDHAM.


'Y)


WHAT, ernudder story, chilluns? Waal, I neb- Hit's erbout de cur'ous weddin' ob de bull-frawg
ber hyah de beat en de mouse,
Yer pesters me so 'tinually dat I dun't hab time En how he rode de w'ite rabbit ter his sweet
ter eat, jularky's house,
But ef yo' 'll shet dem peepers, den, en go right En erbout de weddin' doin's, en de music -
straight off ter sleep, ebbryting !
I'll sing er little song I knows dat'11 meck yo'laff Now yo' all lay still en listen ter de song dat
er heap. Mammy '11 sing: *
SMammy's song is an old negro bed-time melody in the South and is sung to a tune the notes of which
we print herewith.



De frawg went er courting' en' he did ride, Ugh huh! De frawg went er courtiu' en'


he did ride, Wid sword en' pis tol by his side, Ugh huh!


Er frawg went er-courtin', en he did ride,
Ugh-huh!
Er frawg went er-courtin', en he did ride,
Wid sword en pistol by his side.
Ugh-huh !


He rode twell he cum'd ter de gre't w'ite hall,
Ugh-huh !


He rode twell he cum'd ter de gre't w'ite hall,
En dar he done bof rap en call.
Ugh-huh!

" Oh, purty Miss Mousie, is yo' within?"
Ugh-huh!
" Oh, purty Miss Mousie, is yo' within? "
" Oh, yas, sah. Hyah I sets en spin."
Ugh-huh !


I'


t, l,1.






MAMMY'S BED-TIME SONG.


" Oh, purty Miss Mousie, I's come hyah ter woo,"
Ugh-huh !
" Oh, purty Miss Mousie, I's come hyah ter woo,
Ef yo' '11 wed me, den I '11 wed yo'."
Ugh-huh !
















" As fer marriage, sah, I mus' tell yer nay,"
Ugh-huh !
" As fer marriage, sah, I mus' tell yer nay,
Bekase mer Uncle Rat's erway."
Ugh-huh !

Den de ole Uncle Rat cum'd home dat night,
Ugh-huh!
Den de ole Uncle Rat cum'd home dat night,
En axed whar wuz his damsel bright.
Ugh-huh !

Oh, who 's come er-
courtin' sence I 's
ben gone?"
Ugh-huh!
Oh, who 's come er-
S courting' sence I 's
S ben gone?"
Er handsome lad as
e'er was bawn."
Ugh-huh!

Den teck his w'ite
b' hoss en put 'im
erway,"
Ugh-huh!
Den teck his w'ite hoss en put 'im erway,
En feed him good on cawn en hay."
Ugh-huh !

Den draw de 'simmon beer en fotch de wine,"
Ugh-huh !
Den draw de 'simmon beer en fotch de wine,
So me en him kin set en dine."
Ugh-huh !


Den come er-walkin'
in de mole so
black,
Ugh-huh !
Den come er-walkin'
in de mole so
black,
Wid fiddle tied upon
his back.
Ugh-huh!


Dar come er-friskin'
in de dancin' flea,
Ugh-huh !
Dar come er-friskin'
in de dancin' flea,
En he did dance out-
rageous-lee.
Ugh-huh!


Den de jay-bird come
wid er solemn
look,
Ugh-huh !
Den de jay-bird come wid 'er solemn look,
En fotch de parson wid his book.
Ugh-huh !


Den come er-sneakin'
in er cat so black, /
Ugh-huh!
Den come er-sneakin' .--
in er cat so black,
En grabbed Miss Mousie /
by de back.
Ugh-huh! '


Den ole Uncle Rat he
run up de wall,\ \
Ugh-huh !
Den old Uncle Rat he
run up de wall,
En in er dark hole he
did crawl. -
Ugh-huh!


Young Mister Frawg he jumped in de brook,
Ugh-huh !
Young Mister Frawg he jumped in de brook,
En dar he met er 'scovy duck
Ugh-huh !


883






884 MAMMY'S BEI

En de duck she gobbled him right erlong,
Ugh-huh !
En de duck she gobbled him right erlong,
En dat 's de een' of Mammy's song.
Ugh-huh!

Dar now, chilluns, shet yer eyes, sketyer eyes !
Dey's wider open den dey wuz berfo'. I ain't gwine
ter tell yer nary nudder story, er sing yer ernud-
der song, ef yer dun't go right straight ter sleep."
A voice from below: Mandy, have n't those
children gone to sleep yet? "















,, .,'
*i i I ,


Lor! no, missus, dat dey hain't dey ain't
er-stud'in' sleep, en I's plum wore out wid em! "
At this announcement there is a precipitate div-
ing of little heads beneath the cover, followed by a
period of silence, and a few moments later the
sound of gentle breathing indicates that the young-
sters have at last entered into the land of pleasant
dreams.
Old Mammy, with a chuckle of satisfaction, tiptoes
noiselessly from the chamber, looking cautiously
back as she passes through the door, and disappears
down the stairway.


THE LETTER-BOX.


CONTRIBUTORS are respectfully informed that, between the Ist of June and the 15th of September, manuscripts can-
not conveniently be examined at the office of ST. NICHOLAS. Consequently, those who desire to favor the
magazine with contributions will please postpone sending their MSS. until after the last-named date.


CHAMA, NEW MEXICO.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live in a little town in the
northern part of New Mexico, located in a beautiful
valley, surrounded by the grand old Rocky Mountains,
whose snowy peaks appear, like giant sentinels, to keep
watch over the quiet valley at their feet.
Of these mountains, Chama Peak is the highest, and
its summit is often covered with snow as late as July.
The summers here are cool and delightful, and the
winters are not extremely cold, though we usually have
heavy falls of snow, which blockade the railroads, and
shut us out from the rest of the world, sometimes for
weeks.
The Denver and Rio Grande Railroad, a few miles
above here, passes over the top of the Conejos range
(pronounced Conahos) at a place called Cumb, :s. There
the snow is frequently thirty or forty feet feet deep, and


people walk about on snow-shoes over the roofs of the
houses. They dig tunnels from the street to the door-
ways, to go in and out. The far-famed Toltec gorge is
only about twenty miles from here. The gorge is three
times the height of Trinity Church steeple, in New York.
Fifteen miles south of Chama is the little Mexican
town of Los Ojos (Hot Springs). The carriage drive from
Chama to Los Ojos is a beautiful one; the road is over-
shadowed by magnificent forest trees, and the sparkling
waters of the Chama River dance merrily along beside
it, and finally empty into the Rio Grande. The drive
along this river road -through the moonlight, watching
the flitting shadows that throng the hillsides, listening
to the shrill bark of a coyote that now and then pierces
the silence-is one which possesses a peculiar fascination
for me.
At Los Ojos there is a band of Penitentes, who yearly


3-TIME SONG.


[SEPT.






THE LETTER-BOX.


parade the streets, flogging themselves with the thorny
cactus, carrying heavy wooden crosses, etc. They also
suspend a man upon the cross. Several years ago a
man died upon the cross at that place. There are only
two American families residing at Los Ojos; the rest of
the people are Mexicans. They live in one-story, flat-
roofed adobe houses, most of which have mud floors and
no carpets. The people live chiefly on mutton, with chilli
sauce. Nearly every house is ornamented with a string
of red peppers, thus adding a picturesque bit of color
to the dusty gray tints which prevail in the mud houses
and the treeless plains surrounding them.
The attire of the Mexican ladies may be described
briefly as "a happy family of the most quarrelsome
colors," which is somewhat toned down by the black
reboza which is the universal head-covering.
The Mexicans have many queer customs which I
should like to describe for the benefit of your readers,
but I must not exhaust' your patience at the outset, or
you will never care to hear from me again.
Very sincerely your devoted reader,
KATHRYN W--.


THE WATERFALL.
ALWAYS falling, always falling,
SAlways falling fast.
Are you tired of always falling?
Will you stop at last?

Birds are singing all around you,
And quite near you squirrels play.
Will you stop your constant going,
Just to listen for a day ?

Will you tell me where you came from ?
From some mountain far away,
Or some noisy, distant streamlet,
Where you merrily did play ?

But the water answers nothing,
Only keeps on falling fast,
As it has been ever falling,
From the long, long ages past.
MAMIE G. O.
A young contributor.


FLORENCE, ITALY.
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Perhaps you will enjoy
hearing something of the interesting things I have seen
since I have been in Europe. Last summer mama and
I went up to a little village in the Apennine mountains
called Castagno (chestnut). It was a very picturesque
little place. It is the same village that Andrea del Cas-
tagno (the painter) came from. About six hundred years
ago there was a landslide which swept away the village,
and the inhabitants were obliged to leave their homes
and go to seek shelter in some other village. After some
years they began to sigh for their homes on the mountain-
side; so some of them went back. Those that went back
took the name of Ringressi (returned). The peasants
with whom we stayed were descendants of those that
returned. Near-by the house there was a very lovely
little brook; I liked very much to go out and sit by it
and listen to its babbling as it went rushing down the
mountain-side. The house where we were was very in-
teresting. The kitchen was the most frequented of all
the rooms. In it there was a very large fireplace, where
all the cooking was done. Projecting from the chimney
was a hood made to keep the smoke from coming out
into the room. Up under this hood on one side of the
fire was an armchair and on the other a bench large


enough for three people to sit on. I was very glad on
cold nights to sit up in the armchair by the fire. On the
way up to this village you have to ride donkey-back for
about five miles. I got on a donkey for the first time in
my life, expecting to ride just a little way, but I did not
get off till we got to the peasant's house. Mama rode in
a little cart drawn by a mule. When the mule got to the
first hill he began to back; mama jumped out of the
cart just in time to save herself from being thrown out,
for as soon as she was out one wheel came off and went
rolling down the road. After that mama said she would
not ride any more, so she began to walk; after a while
the men came up to her with the cart all nicely mended
and asked her if she would not get in. So she got in, and
the way they got the mule to go up hills was this : when
he began to back the men would push the cart on to him.
While I was up in the mountains I rode on donkey-back
up the highest mountain in this part of Italy. From the
top I could see water on both sides of Italy, on one the
Mediterranean Sea, and on the other the Adriatic, and I
could also see the city of Venice, which is a hundred and
forty miles away. We took our lunch on the summit of
the mountain, and while my donkey nibbled grass I ate
two slices of black bread and drank two cups of delicious
goat's milk. We were obliged to go in little goat-paths
that went along the mountain-side and were sometimes
hardly big enough for our donkeys to walk in. I felt
sorry when the time came to go away from the quaint
little village. On our way home I rode donkey-back to
San Godenso, and from there we took a mountain coach
to Ponte Sieve; from there we went on the railroad and
back to Florence.
I am eleven years old, and I have taken ST. NICHOLAS
forabout four years. Papa sends you to me everymonth
from Boston, and I am always glad to see you.
Yours affectionately, FLORENCE R. H--


SAN FRANCISCO HARBOR, U. S. S. "MARION."
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am living on board a man-of
war, and I find it very amusing. My papa is the cap-
tain, and we are making him a visit. I enjoy watching
the sailors drill at quarters morning and evening. I like
to see the colors lowered at sundown when the officers
and crew salute the flag by taking off their hats.
There are about twenty apprentice boys, and I often
talk to them and lend them the ST. NICHOLAS. This
ship expects to go to Japan, and mama, my sister, and
a friend of ours, and I think of going by steamer to
Yokahama. I wonder how we shall like living among
the Japanese for a time.
I have a little dog whose name is Fritz; he has been
blind for nearly two years, but I love him all the same.
He crossed the continent with me, and he has been my
constant companion all through our travels. He seemed
to enjoy living on board the Marion" very much; all
the sailors loved and petted him a great deal. My
sister has taken the ST. NICHOLAS since 188o, and I
have always enjoyed reading the shorter stories.
Your affectionate little reader,
ELEANOR B--

KEARSARGE, N. H.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : Some time ago I read a letter
in your magazine from an army girl; soon after there
was one from an army boy, so I feel it is the girls'
turn again, and as I am an army girl, too, I think I
will write one.
My papa is stationed in the far West, but we spent
last summer in a New England village. Soon after
we reached :here, papa and I, with some friends, climbed
Mt. Kearsayge. It is 3200 feet high, very rugged and






THE LETTER-BOX.


difficult to climb. The view from the top is perfectly
magnificent; I counted ten or twelve little lakes nestled
here and there among the trees. One small one particu-
larly attracted my attention; it looked as if some giant in
putting his cane down had made a deep dent and then
Dame Nature had caused one of her numerous little
springs to come gurgling up and form this beautiful little
lake, like a mirror among the dark pines. On the way
down we picked eight quarts of blueberries, and half a
peck of mountain cranberries. I had a lovely time
there. Papa and I went off on long tramps, and always
came home laden with berries, beautiful autumn leaves,
ferns, and many curiosities.'
Where I was staying there was a dear old lady; she was
very old, almost eighty-nine years, and yet was very fond
of children, and though my papa says I am always brim-
ful of fun and mischief, I didn't seem toworry her at all.
She made silk quilts, and was quite as much interested in
the news of the day as many younger people. Right
near our house there was a lovely brook which rushed
and leaped over the rocks, sparkling like a thousand
beautiful gems. I have spent many happy hours there,
reading and playing, but the happiest of all was when
I went in wading. Like most of your readers I have
some pets a lovely black pony, a dog named James
Blaine, and a canary bird; at my papa's last station, I
had four rabbits, three ducks, a donkey, and a pair of
bantam chickens, besides the three already mentioned.
Papa has taken ST. NICHOLAS for me ever since I was
three years old (I am twelve now), and I am sure I
shall never be too old to enjoy ST. NICHOLAS and
everything in it.
From your loving reader,
LOUISE M. S.-

STOCKHOLM.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I wonder if many of your
readers have been in Sweden. Half the year here it is all
gloom and the other half all daylight. I like the Swedes
very much, though I cannot understand all they say. It
looks very funny to see over a caf6 or a hotel door "Bad
Rum "; one would think they were advertising bad rum,
but it means a bath-room; and they call everything affdr
(affair)," hat affair sko affair (shoe affair), which looks
very funny, instead of shoe-shop. They have very queer
things to eat, too. What would you say to slices of
pdti de foie gras with cold raw oysters picked out of
their shells and laid around as ornament? A great
delicacy is grave lax-that is, a salmon buried raw in the
ground with some bay-leaves and then dug up after two
days, served, and eaten Before dinner they pass a tray
about with sardines, bread and butter, radishes, cheese,


and hard eggs to the invites, and a glass of brandy-wine.
It looks so peculiar to see ladies eating all this with their
gloves on just before going in to a big dinner; they call
it smdrgaas. In all the hotels or cafes they have spread
out a" smdrgaas board which I translate as bread andbut-
ter table, where you pay a krone (twenty-seven cents)
and eat your fill of everything on the table, and there are
sometimes twenty different things and no one to look at
what you eat. They had a gymnastic fete that lasted
five days. The women and men from Finland did the
best as gymnasts. Then came the Danes, but the
Englishmen got the prizes for running and jumping. I
wish there had been some Americans; I am sure they
would have won everything. We saw four hundred
soldiers do the gymnastics all at once. It was very
pretty; they do it so regularly that it looked as if they
were moved by machinery. Then some soldiers with
all their traps on, headed by their officers, ran over
ditches, hedges, fences, and walls. When they got to a
great high wall, how do you think they got over ? They
climbed in each other's hands and stood on each other's
shoulders, then jumped down, till there was only one
left, so they let him over a rope and pulled him over.
I have taken ST. NICHOLAS for two years, and I am
always so interested in it; I think it is the nicest book
in the world.

I am your little reader,
FREDERIKKE H. L-


SAN FRANCISCO.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Of course we take you or I
wouldnotwrite. I am an American girl, thirteen years old,
but not very little. Three years ago we went to Arizona.
Some people think Arizona is a dreadful place, but I
like it very much. We were in the Mule Pass Moun-
tains. We lived in an adobe house with four rooms in it
-parlor, kitchen, and two bedrooms. It was mining
town called Bisbee. The principal mine was the Cop-
per Queen." Your reader,
BELLE H-.


WE thank the young friends whose names follow for
the pleasant letters received from them: Lulu S. G.,
S. C. and L. C., Belle S., L. B., A. I. R., Ethel F.,
Alice J., E. M. B., Marian G. B., Alfred F. E., E. W. P.,
Agnes B. B., Agnes G., Thomas F. H., N. L. G., Caro-
line C., Wentworth N. C., Robbie H. L., Zoe S., M. T.
A., Maud, Clara and Bessie, M. P. H., May W., Belle
C., H. C. T., Louise Z. G., Belle H., A. F. G., Muriel
E. M. P., Huntington W. J.


886


Who Would baVe thought the PSyche krot

Qould be trapfsorpned irto ap old tea-pot? '









ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE AUGUST NUMBER.
WORD-SQUARES. I. I. Morass. 2. Orient. 3. Ridder. 4. .Edile. DROPPED LETTERS. I. Shoot folly as it flies. 2. Sfare the rod
5. Snells. 6. Stress. II. I. Turbot. 2. Usurer. 3. Rubini. 4. Briton. and spoil the child. 3. Death comes without calling. 4. Human
5. (Enone. 6. Trines. blood is of one color. 5. It is very hard to share an egg. 6. Haste
PI. The scarlet poppies cluster by the road, makes waste. 7. Lying rides on debt's back. 8. Dependence is a
The sweeping scythes flash in the falling grass, poor trade. 9. Out of pocket is out of style. "LAMMAS DAY."
And lumbering wagons, with their heavy load, DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Primals, Mark Twain; finals, Tom Sawyer.
Along the dusty highway, lingering, pass Cross-words: I. MounT. 2. AtelO. 3. RealM. 4. KillS. 5. TibiA.
In harvest time. 6. WidoW. 7. ApplY. 8. IrenE. 9. NadiR.
STAR PUZZLE. From 7 to 8, niche; 8 to 9, essay; 9 to 1o, yacht:
Oh, bounteous season, rich through every hour o to traps; to 12, swear; 12 to 13, remit; 13 to 14, trace;
.In gifts that make our souls with joy a-tune; 14 to 15, easel; 15 to 16, leper; 16 to 17, rembid; 13 to i, deur;
The fruitful earth is lavish of her dower, I to 7, redan; 7 to i, Nemesis; 2 to 9, alchemy; 3 to i, trowels;
From morning's flush till glows the yellow moon, 4 to 13, upright; 15 to 5, lacquer; 17 to 6, discern; i to 6, Saturn.
In harvest time. DIAMOND. I. A. 2. Art. 3. Antic. 4. Artemis. 5. Timid. 6. Cid.
HALF-SQUARE. i. Curlew. 2. Union. 3. Riot. 4. Lot. 5. En. 7. S.
6. W. CHARADE. I-van-hoe.
GEOGRAPHICAL ACROSTIC. Third row, nightingale. Cross-words: DOUBLE SQUARES. I. i. Tapir. 2. Aware. 3. Pagan 4. Irate.
I. Bangkok. 2. Bridgeport. 3. England. 4. Bahia. 5. Little 5. Renew. II. i. Usage. 2. Sleep 3. Ello. 4. Gehd. 5. Epode.
Rock. 6. China. 7. Nan-Ling. 8. Afghanistan. 9. Black. xo. Kala- A LITERARY NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
hari. ii. Spencer Gulf. If all the year were playing holidays,
BEHEADINGS. I. Milton. Cross-words: i. M-ark. 2. I-deal. To sport would be as tedious as to work.
3. L-ash. 4. T-angle. 5. O-range. 6. N-one. II. Dryden. MYTHOLOGICAL CUBE. From i to 2, Niobe; 2 to 4, Erato; 4 to 7,
Cross-words: I. D-river. 2. R-ear. 3. Y-earn. 4. D-rake. 5. E-vent. Orion; I to 3, Naiad; 3 to 6, Diana; 6 to 7, Aron: 2 to 5, Epeus;
6. N-ought. 3 to 5, Delos; 5 to 7, Siren.
To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the x5th 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 JUNE NUMBER were received, before June i5th, from Paul Reese--Maude E. Palmer-
"The McG.'s"-" Infantry "- Lillie O. Estabrook -Jo and I-" Charles Beaufort"-" Uncle Mung "-"Wee 3"- Alice M. Blanke-
E. M. G.- Hubert L. Bingay -" Hawkeye"- Ida Carleton Thallon -" King Anso IV."-"A Family Affair."
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JUNE NUMBER were received, before June i5th, from Wisteria, Forget-me-not, and Heliotrope," i -
Helen H., I- Carlotta W. Morgan, I- Louise Wells, I- H. G. W., E. L. Derby, 5 Pearl F. Stevens, o- Arthur Adams, I -
No name, New York, --Genevieve P. Mattingly, John J. Lawrence, 7- Clara B. Orwig, 7-Ailie and Lily, I -"Kittens," i-
Nellie L. Howes, g- Florence and Frances Cummings, i-Effie K. Talboys, 7--Elaine S., 3--Bonnie Banks, 5-Lottie Avery. -
Ruth A. Hobby, 3- David W. Jayne, 8-Julia M. Hoyt, I- Elma Smith, I -Madge H. Lyons, i -Agnes C. Leaycraft, --" Ipse
Dixit and Major," 5-" Mr. Toots," 9- Annie Kerr and Grace Harris, i -"May and '79," 8- H. M. C. and Co., 9-J. A. F. and
J. H. C., 7-Wilfred W. Linsley, 3 Ida and Alice, o1-" Nifesca," I Clara and Emma, 2- Carrie K. Thacher, 9- Nellie Archer, I-
C., Estelle, and Clarendon Ions, i--Blanche and Fred, xo--"Five M's," 4-"'Papa and Ed," 8-No name, San Francisco, 8-
Georgina G. Rundle, 7 -" Harry and Mama," 4 -" Nemo," I Mama, Marion, and Adeline, 7 -" Only I," i Freddie Sutro, 4.


BEHEADINGS.

I. BEHEAD the handle of a printing-press, and leave a
carnivorous animal. 2. Behead a mountain nymph, and
leave to peruse. 3. Behead a place where provisions
are kept, and leave certain coins. 4. Behead a South
American rodent, and leave pertaining to an ailment
which attacks epicures. 5. Behead a bracelet, and leave
a corner. 6. Behead elaborate discourses, and leave
allowances. 7. Behead circumscribed, and leave a
weapon. 8. Behead to lift, and leave a newt. 9. Behead
condition, and leave to narrate. Io. Behead one who
joins, and leave saltpeter. II. Behead to twist together,
and leave corrupt.
The beheaded letters will spell the name of a famous
painter. ELDRED JUNGERICH.

WORD-SQUARE.

I. A MASCULINE name. 2. A musical instrument.
3. A tenement. 4. Extremity. B. C. G.
ZIGZAGS.

ALL of the words described contain the same number
of letters. When rightly guessed, and placed one below
the other, the zigzag, beginning at the upper left-hand
letter, will spell the name of a man who was known
as the Father of the Marshalsea."
CROSS-WORDS : I. A small stick. 2. To eat sparingly.
3. To baffle. 4. To select. 5. A beautiful lady of King
Arthur's court. 6. An American arctic explorer. 7. Me-


theglin. 8. To prepare for publication. 9. To push into.
Io. To pass lightly. II. To encircle. 12. A tropical
fruit. 13. A water-fowl. c. H. T.

CONNECTED WVORD-SQUARES.


**
5 5 *
5 .0 '0 a
KX C ^

K # ^ X- "*


S .I i '
X I X( -i


I. UPPER SQUARE: I. A companion. 2. Anticipa-
tion. 3. A tropical tree. 4. A set of officers who eat at
the same table together.
II. LEFT-HAND SQUARE: I. To wander. 2. One
time. 3. The highest point. 4. To converge.
III. RIGHT-HAND SQUARE: I. Auction. 2. A word
meaning "verily." 3. To bestow temporarily. 4. Com-
pletes.
IV. LOWER SQUARE: I. Gentle. 2. To assert.
3. Stables. 4. Formerly. F. L. NORTON.
87


# = t aS






THE RIDDLE-BOX.


... 'i- '-




S)' 1 / NUMERICAL ENIGMA. will spell to own; the third row, to fasten; connected,
L_ L t a garment named after an English general.
[ I AM composed of sixty-three letters, CROSS-WORDS : I. A time devoted to amusement.
ii and am a quotation from Auerbach. 2. Sums. 3. A king's substitute. 4. A river of Ne-
| My 62-12 is a conjunction. My 28- braska. CAROLINE L.
37-48-34 is one of a pair much re-
sembling one another. My 22-57-14- HOUR-GLASS.
44 is custom. My 41-25-59-8 is the fleecy coat of the
sheep. My 4-10-39-19 is a small and harmless animal. CROSS-WORDS: I. Constructed. 2. Rage. 3. A tree
My 6-49-15-32-55 is a mineral substance. My 1-35- valued for its timber. 4. In diamond. 5. A small snake.
30-46-26 is entwined. My 43-52-11-58 is an astringent 6. To conceal. 7. An endowed chapel.
substance which crystallizes easily. My 16-2-27-17-21 Central letters, reading downward, a color.
is complete. My 36-61-23-3-13 is to inflict. My 63- RHOMBOID.
47-5-20-45-56 is an artificer. My 50-38-18-53-33 is
an edible mollusk. My 24-31-9-51-54-42-60-7-40-29 ACROSS: I. An English comedian born in London in
Is slow. c.B. T8 o 2 Mav be fnnnd on every hand. -. A spirit


PI.

Ew mewcodel yam twih lal ehr inchgang siske,
Dan hadlie wiht yoj eht yenquel thomn fo sworfel,
Cointung meso sebsling no ache glefnite yad,
Glenlit hemt no a rasroy fo roush.
Mose lied stare stum allf boave het stap
Rof lal eht twese, dade sayd hatt ew breemrem;
Tub, hwit het rengrade surersate ni rou sparg,
Ew kirdn het lendog wien fo thrigb trepmeseb.
ADDITIONS.

EXAMPLE: Add a small ball to a preposition, and make
a brief statement. Answer: Bullet-in.
I. Add warmth to a domestic fowl, and make a pagan.
2. Add to equip to a feminine name, and make a fleet of
armed ships. 3. Add an instrument of torture to a
hole, and make an annual rental raised to the utmost.
4. Add an official endorsement on a passport to force,
and make face to face. 5. Add existence to a fish, and
make to seel, as a hawk. 6. Add to slide to covered
the feet, and make very careless. 7. Add a sailor to a
color, and make a kind of cloth worn in Scotland. 8. Add
leads to a voter, and make an executioner. 9. Add a
short poem to a preposition, and make an ancient Gre-
cian theater. 10. Add vapor to ancient, and make related
wrongly. II. Add part of the head to a cosy nook, and
make intent.
When rightly added, and placed one below another in
the order here given, the initials of the first row of words
will spell the time of reaping, and the initials of the
second row will spell one of the most beautiful sights of
autumn. GILBERT FORREST.
DIAMOND.

I. IN scandalous. 2. Furious with anger. 3. Souls
of the departed. 4. Things we often make light of.
5. The space between two mouths of a river. 6. A body
of water. 7. In scandalous. s. B. B.
NOVEL ACROSTIC.

ALL of the words described contain the same number
of letters. When rightly guessed, and placed one below
another in the order here given, the first row of letters


distilled from molasses. 4. The third month of the Jewish
year. 5. Appellations.
DOWNWARD: I. Inparts. 2. A preposition. 3. Akind
of grain. 4. A kind of limestone. 5. Relating to elves.
6. A Hindoo divinity. 7. A Dutch measure for liquids.
8. An old word meaning "never." 9. In parts.
"THE WISE FIVE."

DIAGONAL PUZZLE.

CROSS-WORDS : I. Base. 2. To accomplish. 3. The
hero of a play by Shakespeare. 4. Preserved in sugar.
5. A period of a thousand years. 6. A near relative.
7. To flag.
The diagonals beginning at the upper left-hand letter
will spell a royal motto. C. B.

ST. ANDREW'S CROSS OF DIAMONDS.





*







I. UPPER LEFT-HAND DIAMOND: I. In Harrison.
2. To sever. 3. A stream of water. 4. To caress. 5. In
Harrison.
II. UPPER RIGHT-HAND DIAMOND: I. In Harrison.
2. A metal. 3. Drives. 4. A masculine nickname. 5. In
Harrison.
III. CENTRAL DIAMOND: I. In Harrison. 2. A
weight. 3. Certain flowers. 4. A snare. 5. In Har-
rison.
IV. LOWER LEFT-HAND DIAMOND: I. In Harri-
son. 2. A heavenly body. 3. Orders. 4. Fresh. 5. In
Harrison.
V. LOWER RIGHT-HAND DIAMOND: I. In Harrison.
2. A sailor. 3. Auctions. 4. A color. 5. In Harrison.
j. F. S. N.


THE DE VINNE PRESS, NEW YORK.


888





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Apr-on who wilfully tid nilciuusly
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