• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Frontispiece
 The boy who wouldn't be stumpe...
 The lonely lighthouse
 A story of old Spain
 A visit from Helen Keller
 Two girls and a boy
 A rainy day
 The first American Traveler
 Tom Paulding
 A tale of piracy
 Rangoon as a nurse
 That's the way!
 Dick's dive
 When I was your age
 Kenniboy's problems
 The vireo's nest
 Compensation
 A lawn dance for little people
 Red and black
 A year with dolly
 The mean little bear
 Jack-in-the-pulpit
 In memory of Roswell Smith
 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/UF00065513/00256
 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: VID00256
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 Matter
        Front Matter
    Frontispiece
        Page 562
    The boy who wouldn't be stumped
        Page 563
        Page 564
        Page 565
        Page 566
    The lonely lighthouse
        Page 567
        Page 568
        Page 569
    A story of old Spain
        Page 570
        Page 571
        Page 572
    A visit from Helen Keller
        Page 573
        Page 574
        Page 575
        Page 576
        Page 577
    Two girls and a boy
        Page 578
        Page 579
        Page 580
        Page 581
        Page 582
        Page 583
        Page 584
        Page 585
    A rainy day
        Page 586
    The first American Traveler
        Page 587
        Page 588
        Page 589
        Page 590
        Page 591
        Page 592
    Tom Paulding
        Page 593
        Page 594
        Page 595
        Page 596
        Page 597
        Page 598
        Page 599
    A tale of piracy
        Page 600
        Page 601
        Page 602
        Page 603
    Rangoon as a nurse
        Page 604
        Page 605
        Page 606
        Page 607
    That's the way!
        Page 608
    Dick's dive
        Page 608
        Page 609
        Page 610
    When I was your age
        Page 611
        Page 612
        Page 613
        Page 614
        Page 615
        Page 616
    Kenniboy's problems
        Page 617
    The vireo's nest
        Page 618
        Page 619
        Page 620
        Page 621
        Page 622
    Compensation
        Page 623
    A lawn dance for little people
        Page 624
        Page 625
        Page 626
        Page 627
    Red and black
        Page 628
        Page 629
        Page 630
    A year with dolly
        Page 631
    The mean little bear
        Page 632
        Page 633
    Jack-in-the-pulpit
        Page 634
        Page 635
    In memory of Roswell Smith
        Page 636
        Page 637
    The letter box
        Page 638
    The riddle box
        Page 639
        Page 640
    Back Matter
        Page 642
    Back Cover
        Page 643
        Page 644
    Spine
        Page 645
Full Text




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ST. NICHOLAS.


JUNE, 1892.


No. 8.


THE BOY WHO WOULD N'T BE STUMPED.

BY BESSIE CHANDLER.


BOBBY CAMERON came into the dining-room
shyly, and sat down. His nose was swollen,
and there was a raw, bruised place, about as big
as a ten-cent piece, between his eyes. He did n't
seem anxious to draw attention to these defects,
and was unusually quiet. Presently his father
put down his newspaper, and his glance fell
upon hapless Bobby.
Robert," he said sternly, "what is the
matter?"
I got hurt," muttered Bobby, with his
mouth full of oatmeal.
Got hurt! I should say so! I can see that
for myself. How did you get hurt? "
"I jumped off the oat-bin and struck my
head against the pole of the carriage."
"What possessed you to do that ? "
"Well, a boy stumped me, and so-"
"A boy did what?" interrupted his father.
"Stumped me," repeated Bobby, growing
more and more embarrassed.
Mr. Cameron looked at his wife.
"What is he talking about, Jane? he said
helplessly.
"What do you mean, Bobby?" asked his


mother gently. "What is it to be stumped by a
person?"
Why, it's when a fellow says you can't do a
thing and you say you can; and then you've
got to do it, or else you 're stumped, and all
the other fellows jeer at you. I 'm never
stumped,- never!"
But, Bobby, if it is something perfectly im-
possible ?"
"Ah, if you think it's like that, why, you can
ask the fellow that stumps you to do it himself;
and if he can't do it that lets you out. But if
he does it, you 're bound to do it too. That's
a lead stump, when he does it first; and it's a
dare stump when he says you can't do it, and
you say you can. I never take a lead stump,
and I have n't taken a dare stump this year."
His father looked at him severely.
"Well, I want you to understand, sir," he said,
"that I'm not going to have you jumping off
from oat-bins, and breaking your nose against
carriage-poles. I don't want to hear any more
of stumps, or such ridiculous performances!"
Bobby did n't answer. He looked much de-
pressed.


Copyright, 1892, by THE CENTURY Co. Allrights reserved.
563


VOL. XIX.






THE BOY WHO WOULD N'T BE STUMPED.


After his father had left the table, his mother
turned to him and said:
"Now, Bobby, did you hear what papa said? "
"Yes," he answered impetuously, "but, Mama,
I can't. I can't be stumped. I have n't been
stumped this year."
His mother looked at him thoughtfully.
We can't have you running such risks, dear,


'1


i, I I l 1 ', 1 P '"1 11 ,1 P
w.. ., II T



'I GOT HURT,' MUTTERED BOBBY."
and hurting yourself, perhaps for life. Come up-
stairs with me now, and I '11 put some plaster
on your nose; and you must try to be more
careful."
Mr. Cameron was at his office, and Mrs.
Cameron was in her own room, sewing, about
the middle of the forenoon, when a little boy
rushed in, breathless and excited.
He was a neighbor's child and Bobby's
dearest friend. He was so frightened that he
was quite pale, and his freckles stood out in
bold relief, like spatters of mud.
"Oh, Mrs. Cameron!" he gasped, "come
quick! Bobby's got the door-knob in his mouth,
and he can't get it out! "
"The what ? she said, rising hurriedly.
"The door-knob of the play-room. George
Nelson stumped him to put it in his mouth, and
Bobby tried and tried, and at last he did, and
now he can't get his mouth off! "
Mrs. Cameron hurried to the scene of the dis-


aster. There stood poor Bobby, fastened to
the door, his jaws opened to their utmost capa-
city and clinched around the knob. They had
just slipped over the smooth porcelain surface,
and closed upon it. The knob seemed as firmly
fastened in his mouth as one of his own teeth.
It was nearly choking him, and the tears were
streaming down his face.
Several boys stood
near, offering advice and
sympathy.
S"I say, Bobby," said
-''i one, "I 'm awful sorry I
1. laughed at first, 'cause
I I you looked so funny. I
AIL wish I 'd never stumped
you now."
His mother came near
S him. He cried afresh at
the sight of her. He
would have bawled, but
f the door-knob in his
S mouth prevented.
Can't you get it out,
Bobby ? she asked anx-
iously.
He tried to shake his
head, but being fastened
immovably, he could only
roll his eyes at her. It looked a little as if he
must spend the rest of his life fastened on to
that door.
"Can't we unscrew the knob ?" suggested
one of the boys.
"What '11 he have to pull against then ?"
objected another with scorn.
This was true. Bobby with a door-knob in
his mouth and nothing to pull it out by would
certainly be in a worse fix than Bobby fastened
to an entire door.
His mother said nothing, but seemed to be
considering.
Go up to the desk in my room, Georgie,"
she said, "and bring me down that big ivory
paper-cutter. Not the little one, but that big,
flat, white one. Now, Bobby," she added, kiss-
ing his forehead, as his mouth was otherwise
engaged, you must n't be frightened. If your
mouth opened wide enough to get it in, we can
get it out. Don't cry, and keep cool. One


[JuNE,






THE BOY WHO WOULD N'T BE STUMPED.


reason why you can't get it out is because
are nervous and frightened."
When Georgie brought her the paper-ci
she put it in the corner of Bobby's mout
that she could pry with it against his t
and then, taking his chin in her other hanc
told him to open his mouth as wide as he
bly could, and she would help him.
After one or two unsuccessful trials, the :
slipped out, and Bobby was free.
The first words he said were: "There, G(
Nelson, I did it after all."
He spoke thickly, for his
tongue was swollen and his
jaws stiff.
"Bobby," said his mother,
you must come into the
house with me now "; and
they went in together, while
the little group of boys
disappeared, after examin-
ing the door-knob carefully,
as if it were full of unusual
interest.
Half an hour afterward,
Bobby was lying on the
sofa in his mother's room.
There was a handkerchief,
wet with some arnica, I
under his chin, and he
looked somewhat pale and
subdued.
His mother had some
books in her lap. She
looked at him lovingly,
and passed her hand over
his head once or twice be-
fore she spoke.
Bobby," she said finally,
" I 've been thinking about
this stumping business of
yours, and I 've concluded
it 's one of the greatest
things in the world."
He looked at her in
amazement. He had n't expected this.
"Yes," she said, "I don't think the
would ever have amounted to much, if it hi
been for the men who would n't be stumpc
Why, Mama! he said.


"It 's true, Bobby. All the great generals
were just men who would n't let their enemies
stump them. Christopher Columbus would n't
be stumped, when he started to discover Amer-
ica; no, not by poverty nor by the jeers of all
Spain,- not even when his sailors mutinied
and wanted to kill him. George Washington
would n't be stumped, nor General Grant, nor
Napoleon, nor any of those men that you like
to have me read to you about. All the Arctic
explorers, and the people who have gone into


"THERE STOOD BOBBY, FASTENED TO THE DOOR.

Africa, were men who would n't be stumped.
vorld Sometimes, Bobby, it is your life, and not ano-
id n't their person, that stumps you. You want to
ed." do something, and it seems as if your life said
to you, You can't.' But all the famous men,


565






THE BOY WHO WOULD N'T BE STUMPED.


all the men who have succeeded, were men
who turned around to their lives and faced
them, and said, 'I can.'"
There was a little silence. Bobby was alert
and interested.
"I am going to read to you about two men
who would n't be stumped. One was Win-
stanley, who built the Eddystone lighthouse,
and the other was our own Sheridan, who won
the battle of Winchester. And then I want to
read to you about the sinking of the 'Cumber-
land,' and how she fired that last broadside,
just as she was going down; I think that was so
splendid."
Bobby nestled contentedly on the sofa. He
loved to hear his mother read poetry. He told
her once it was "just like the dribbling rain on
the garret roof." It seemed a queer compli-
ment, but she understood it, and thanked him.
He was very much interested that day, and
his eyes were bright and shining when she had
finished.
"Were those really all stumps, Mama? he
asked eagerly.
Yes, dear," she said, smiling, I think they
were; and I want to read to you about some
more -listen."
She took up some newspaper cuttings, and
began:
"' Mose Putnam yesterday jumped off the
Brooklyn Bridge. He had wagered one thou-
sand dollars that he could do it. The jump was
made at 3.30 P. M. Putnam was knocked
senseless on striking the water, and instantly
sank. His friends were beneath the bridge in a
boat, and one of them promptly jumped in
after him and succeeded in bringing him to the
surface, and he was taken at once to the hos-
pital. He is still unconscious, and it is not
thought that he will recover.'"
Bobby looked a little uncomfortable as his
mother read this. It did not strike him as a
very noble deed.
She read another:
"'There was a strange spectacle yesterday
on Broadway, between Tenth and Twentieth
streets. Mr. Harvey Johnson had laid a wager
that he would wheel Mr. Sam Skeehan ten
blocks on Broadway in a wheelbarrow, if Har-
rison were elected; and yesterday he fulfilled


his promise. Quite a crowd followed him.
Mr. Skeehan is reported as enjoying his ride
exceedingly.'"
"Oh, Mama, don't!" said Bobby softly.
She smiled, but read on.
"'The contest between Mike Stevens and
Paddy Hennessy as to who' could eat the most
oysters in a given time came off yesterday; and
Hennessy, having disposed of three hundred
and forty-five oysters in five minutes, was de-
clared the winner.' "
"Oh, Mama!" said Bobby again, "don't
read any more like that. They seem so silly
after those others."
Bobby," she said slowly, "nobody could
have looked sillier than you looked this morn-
ing, fastened to that door-knob."
Then they both laughed, but Bobby looked
very much ashamed.
"It is n't always brave not to be stumped, is
it? he said, after a pause.
"No," she answered thoughtfully, "you see
for yourself that it is n't."
"But, Mama, how can you tell? How can
I tell,-with the boys, you know?"
"I was thinking of that," she said. "I don't
quite know, dear. It will be hard to decide,
but it seems to me that I would n't do a foolish
thing just because I was stumped into it. It 's
good to be strong and quick and fleet. It 's
good to aim straight and to throw far. All
stumps that make you run or jump or climb
better I should say were worth taking, but not
the foolish ones that only make you seem
reckless and silly. Sam Patch, the jumper,
was reckless, you know; do you think he was
brave ? "
Bobby did n't answer; he seemed to be
thinking hard.
"Do you think it would be silly," he said,
"to climb up on top of the cupola of the Gil-
mans' barn?"
"Certainly I do," she answered promptly.
"Why?"
"'Cause Joe Gilman stumped me to do it,
and I was going to do that after the door-knob,
you know; but I won't now."
His mother leaned over and kissed him, and
wisely left to his own reflections the boy who
would n't be stumped.



























THE LONELY LIGHTHOUSE.

By WILLIAM ABBATT.


How many of you have been inside a light-
house? Some, of course, who live in seaports
or in towns on the Great Lakes; but how about
the boys and girls who live where there is no
navigable water, and so ships and steamboats
never come? Perhaps there are some people,
too, who live near lighthouses but have never
been inside of them; just as a young man from
Philadelphia told me, this past summer, that
though he had traveled a good deal in our own
country, he 'had never been inside of either
Girard College or the Mint in his own city!
Lighthouses, the dictionary says, are "towers
or buildings with a powerful light at top, erected
to serve as a guide to sailors." The earliest
were built long, long ago. The oldest, probably,
about which we know anything, was the P/haros
(which is Greek for lighthouse) of Alexandria, in
Egypt. It was one of the "seven wonders of
the world." It was built about 285 B. c. As
the world grew older and men grew wiser,
more and better lighthouses were built, until
now there are eight hundred in use in the
United States alone. The first was erected on
Little Brewster Island, at the entrance to Bos-
ton harbor, in 1716. Some are very large, some
quite small, being a mere framework of heavy
posts just big enough to hold the lantern. Such


are generally placed close to the water's edge,
beside narrow channels, such as the entrance
to Long Island Sound (the passage commonly
called Hell Gate) at New York City.
Perhaps in size most of them are like that
I visited last summer on Long Island Sound.
It was built of brick, painted white outside and
inside (as they usually are), and sixty feet high.
Its shape was the first thing about it that looked
queer, but you know the bees make the honey-
cells six-sided, and scientific men tell us six-
sided things have less waste room in them than
square or round ones. So probably the Gov-
ernment Lighthouse Board was right in build-
ing it so, though to be sure many lighthouses
are round. Most round ones are of iron.
The keeper lived in a nice brick house close
to the tower, and also painted white. Unlock-
ing the tower door, we began to climb the iron
stair which winds round and round inside until
your head swims. It was very dark (I don't
remember any windows there). Up and up we
went, quite slowly, the keeper leading. I saw
him limp, and, when we stopped a moment for
breath, I had a talk with him and found he was
a Union veteran, one of the Eighth Connecticut,
and had been wounded at Antietam. Up we
went until the stairs seemed to run right up


L^.'\ >,






THE LONELY LIGHTHOUSE.


against the ceiling; but the keeper pushed a bolt
aside, stepped up one more step, and a flood of
light came down upon us. He had opened an
iron trap-door, and we went up through the
opening. It was a tight fit, I tell you. I don't
think it could have been more than eighteen
inches square, and I could just squeeze through.
I guess no ladies ever go up that lighthouse !
There we were at last, on the top, close to
the lantern. I can't describe it scientifically,
but it was a beauty. All of brass and thick
plate glass, both wonderfully polished. In the
center was the lamp, which holds two quarts
of kerosene oil; but the light uses nearly four
quarts every night, between sunset and sunrise.
So, each night, at about midnight, the second
lamp full of oil has to be set in place. Think
of that, boys! Every night in the year, at mid-
night, that keeper has to get out of a warm bed,
climb the long stairs, and change the lamp. It
may be a cold winter night, the thermometer
below zero, with a furious gale shaking the
tower and driving the spray clear over the top.
No matter; the lamp must be changed. Many
lives on some passing vessel may depend upon
that light's shining brightly at that particular
time, and duty must be done at all times, if this
world of ours is to be worth living in at all. I
asked if he had any family to help him. "Yes,
I have a son and daughter, and either will go
up at night if I wish, but I like to do things my-
self generally, then I know they're well done."
And just then I remembered the words that
Longfellow makes Miles Standish use, "If you
wish a thing well' done, you must do it your-
self, you must not leave it to others."
The lantern stands about two and a half feet
high, on an iron pedestal as high, and has a
clock-work attachment, run by a heavy weight,
which hangs half-way down the tower, in a
groove in the wall. The keeper puts in a big
key and turns it once or twice. "Now watch,"
he says; and then slowly, very slowly, the whole
lantern begins to move. "It turns around once
in three minutes," he says, and shows a flash
each side for a quarter of a minute, once every
half-minute. At that point to the southeast it
shows red through that red pane there. That's
what we call the red sector."
"Why does it?"


There's a dangerous shoal in that direction."
So now you will know what a "sector" is in
a lighthouse.
There is room to walk around the lantern,
but a man six feet high would have only two
inches space above his tall hat! The sides of
the tower here are thick panes of beautifully
clear glass, almost half an inch thick; yet some-
times they are broken. By what, do you think?
Why, by wild ducks and geese flying against
them, dazzled by the light! Think of opening
your back door in the early morning and find-
ing a nice fat wild duck or two lying there
dead (for the' shock always kills them), ready
for your breakfast. How extremely conve-
nient,-if only one did not have to live in a
lighthouse in order to get the duck! Most of
us, I think, would prefer going to market for
ducks, just as ordinary people must.
"One night last spring," says the keeper, "I
saw a big white thing come bang against the
glass and fall on the gallery." I forgot to say
that a narrow gallery, with a railing, extends
round the tower top, outside. "I opened this
door," showing a little low iron door which I
had not noticed, and got it. It was quite dead;
a sort of bird I had never seen before, very
handsome. I thought it might be a rare one,
so I just wrapped it up and sent it by express
to the Smithsonian Institution at Washington for
their collection. A while afterward I got a very
nice letter about it, saying it was an Arctic owl
and very rare so far south as this; in fact, only
seen once before in fifty years. I 'd like to go
to Washington and see it there, stuffed; but I
have n't been to Washington since I left the
hospital there, about Christmas of 1862, and
came back home, disabled."
The little room in which we are is very hot;
the big panes of glass around it cannot be
opened, and though there is a thick yellow
shade to each one, I am almost faint with the
heat.
So we go down again, through the little trap-
door, into the dark tube of the tower, where our
footfalls and voices ring hollow on the iron
stairs and the cold white walls. How cool and
refreshing it is after the stifling little top room!
Down and around we go, till once more the
bottom is reached and we step outside on the


[JUNE,






THE LONELY LIGHTHOUSE.


grass again. To the
west, north, and south
is the broad expanse of i
Long Island Sound,
dotted with sailing ves-
sels of all sorts and sizes,
and from the south is
coming up a big white
steamboat. The sun
will set in half an hour, '
and then the lantern
must be lighted. The
rules of the Lighthouse
Board at Washington
are very clear on this
point. "Light it at
sunset, put it out at sun-
rise," they say, in effect.
No matter what the -
weather,-hot or cold,
rain, wind, snow, sleet,
ice all over, or the ther-
mometer hot enough to
scorch you,- the light
must be lighted and be
extinguished regularly.
" How many years have
you been here? I
ask the keeper. "I was
appointed in 1863." So
for twenty-nine years this
man has kept the light
burning in this tower-
a lonely spot in winter, seven miles from the
railroad on one side, two miles and a half of
water in front of him on the other side, north
and south nothing but water as far as the eye
can reach. How many lives during those long
years may have depended on his faithful doing
of his duty, day by day! Does he have any-
thing to read? Yes, he shows me a box of
books, twenty-five or so, and says twice a year
he gets a change, when the Government steamer
brings a box and takes away the old one, to be
sent to some other lighthouse.
I shake hands with him, and go away. Reach-
ing the road, I turn and look back. As I do
so, a light shines out from the tower, and by
that I know my friend has once more lighted


CHANGING THE LAMP AT MIDNIGHT.


the lantern, one more time in the twenty-nine
years of work. How many more like him there
are at this moment, tending their lanterns all
along the coast from Maine to Florida, each
a plain man, unknown to fame, just doing his
duty in a quiet, monotonous existence! But do
you know, boys and girls, I often think of them,
and particularly of this one I met, with a great
deal of respect ? They are not distinguished or
learned men, but they are men who are faith-
ful to their trust, men on whom a great deal
depends, and who are doing well their duty.
And, as Mr. Whittier has said of steadfast
Abraham Davenport:


Simple duty hath no place for fear.











0 4, __ _


By TUDOR JENKS.


WITHIN Fort Xalabania
Played Yusef, the throne's heir,
At chess with the Alcayde,
Who held him prisoner there.
They leaned on silken cushions
Broidered with golden thread,
And warred in mimic battle,
While not a word was said;
Until the flushed Alcayde
A moment scanned the board,
Then cried, "Your king 's beleaguered;
The game is mine, my lord!"
But Yusef, shrewdly smiling,
Declared, "'T is not yet won-
The game is never over
Until the play is done."


"But see, there 's no escaping,"
Replied the Alcayde then;
"You 've lost a rook, a knight, a pawn,
And now a rook again!"
Low laughed the shrewd Alcayde,
And moved his valiant queen.
"A mate," he cried, "in three more moves,
Whate'er may intervene! "
Just then a messenger arrived
In haste, and from the King.
"Read, read, my lord Alcayde,
For tidings sore I bring!"
He seized the royal mandate,
And broke the scarlet seal.
He read and paled with horror,
Nor could his grief conceal.


;i


I
r.

'J
iii
.JSi






A STORY OF OLD SPAIN.


" Oh, well-belov6d Yusef,"
He gasped, "put by thy chess!
For here are cruel words indeed,
Of deepest bitterness! "!
"Nay, nay! spake kindly Yusef,
"Let me thy trouble share.


It ran: "High-born Alcayde,
When this thy warrant 's read,
Slay me my brother Yusef.
And send the traitor's head."
Then turning to the messenger,
Said Yusef: "I must die.


S4


"FOR HERE ARE CRUEL WORDS INDEED, OF DEEPEST BITTERNESS."


The things that never happen
The hardest are to bear!
The King has sent his warrant
To slay me? Be it so.
Come, let me see the letter,
That I the worst may know."


I ask but proper respite
To bid my friends good-by."
"Delay," the messenger replied,
"Lies not within my power.
I can but do the King's command:
You die within the hour! "






A STORY OF OLD SPAIN.


" 'T is well," said tranquil Yusef.
"Until the hour is done
The time is mine. On with the game,
Till it be lost or won."
But now the poor Alcayde
In vain his skill he tries.
He cannot see the pieces,
For tears so dim his eyes.
"Checkmate! at last cries Yusef.


And when before the headsman
The youthful Prince was placed,
Behold! another messenger
Came riding in hot haste.
"Put by the sword! and harken
Unto the news I bring:
The King Muhammad is no more!-
Long live Yusef, our King!"
Up sprang the smiling Yusef,


-~-


"Although 't was well begun,
The game is never over
Until the play is done!"

"Alas sighed the Alcayde,
"I fear our games are o'er!"
"Hope on," said Yusef calmly,
"There are five minutes more."


"BEHOLD! ANOTHER MESSENGER CAME RIDING IN HOT HASTE."

While all' his courtiers bow.
"And am I king? he gravely asks.
"What says the Alcayde now?
Alcayde! night ne'er cometh
Before the set of sun:
The game is never over
Until the play is done!"


[JUNE,


,- '
,. .. 2 '






a*2J A iTORY OF OLD SPAIN. 573












-_4

,e'" 2 4 17













"--:





"THEN RODE THEY TO GRENADA."
Then rode they to Grenada, "Ah! said the sly Alcayde,
O'er ways all flower-spread,- "Your reign has well begun;
A cavalcade of banners, But still-the game 's not over
King Yusef at its head. Until the play is done!"


A VISIT FROM HELEN KELLER.

By ADELINE G. PERRY.

I SHOULD like to tell you about a visit we parents were horrified to find that she had be-
have just received from Helen Keller, the lit- come perfectly deaf and also blind. For nearly
tie blind girl and deaf-mute. You, doubtless, seven years these poor parents had no means
know something of her story*-how, when she of communication with their little girl or she
was eighteen months old, she was very, very ill, with them. When Helen was seven, five years
and when at last the slow recovery came, her ago, Mr. Keller wrote to the Perkins Institute
See ST. NICHOLAS for September, 1889.


80 "


__^___ __





A VISIT FROM HELEN KELLER.


for the Blind, in Boston, asking that a teacher
might be sent to them in northern Alabama.
Miss Sullivan, who at one time had been per-
fectly blind, and who had taken the course at
the Institute, was sent to the Kellers, and re-
mained for two years, teaching Helen and her
family how to communicate with one another
by means of the manual for the deaf and dumb.
It was then deemed best for Helen to go to
the Institute, since she could advance more
rapidly there. She has now been there three
years, under the charge of Miss Sullivan the
entire time.
Once a year she goes home to Alabama for
a visit, always accompanied by her dear friend
and teacher.
When our principal informed us of Helen's
prospective visit, we all were pleased; but still
the thought came that it would be very difficult
to talk with her, and also a pitiful and rather
trying experience to see a person in such a sad
condition. We are now very thankful that the
opportunity was given us to meet this wonder-
ful child.
Helen came one afternoon with Miss Sulli-
van and Miss Marrett, another teacher in the
school, and also one of our graduates.
In the evening the students were all invited
into the drawing-room to meet the visitors and
to see what wonders have been done for this
once helpless child. She stood with her arm
about Miss Sullivan's neck, a tall child for her
age, with a very bright and smiling face.
As the different girls came up to meet her,
Miss Sullivan repeated their names to Helen
by means of the deaf-and-dumb alphabet, and
Helen spoke to them.
You ask how can that be?
One of the most marvelous things of all is,
that she has learned to articulate. Think of it!
She has never heard a human voice in her life.
Of course, her articulation is very imperfect;
but when she speaks slowly, one can under-
stand quite well what she says. Her teachers
think that in a year or two her utterance will
be perfectly distinct. Her voice is necessarily
peculiar, and listening to its monotonous tones,
one can better appreciate how important hear-
ing is to modulation and expression.
About thirty girls were introduced to her,


for each of whom she had a pleasant word. I
think in no one case did she forget a name.
She felt of the faces, hair, and dress, learning
each feature, while every personal peculiarity
seemed firmly fixed in her mind.
Some of the girls told her they had recently
been to Concord and Lexington, whereupon
Helen began to describe her visit there. She
spoke of the hills about Concord looking like
"beautiful clouds "; and said that the bending
trees were there, the folding ferns among the
grass, and the fairies and wood-elves whispering
among the violets."
She said she visited the Alcotts' house, and
could well imagine Jo, sitting by the window,
writing; Amy, near by, drawing; and sweet
Beth sewing; while Meg and Mr. Brooke were
merrily chatting together."
Some one mentioned The Minute-Man,"
Mr. French's statue, marking the famous battle-
ground at Concord; and Helen cried eagerly,
"Yes! and 'fired the shot heard round the
world!'" quoting from Emerson's beautiful
ode, the first lines of which have been inscribed
upon the pedestal of the statue:

By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood,
And fired the shot heard round the world!

Soon she added, "Is n't it dreadful for men
to kill each other ? But I think it is good not
to be afraid of death, and to be ready to fight
for one's country. My father would n't be
afraid to die; he fought in the Rebellion."
Helen is a rather pretty child, and has perfect
manners. She is very affectionate, and seems
devotedly attached to Miss Sullivan. Every
few minutes she would caress her, with a loving
smile; and she seems to have a similar affection
for all her friends. She has great tact, and has
that innate refinement of word and action which
it is so delightful to see.
She has been doing a beautiful work of char-
ity. She owned a fine mastiff last winter, which
died, and the loss made her quite sad. Some
friends raised three hundred dollars, and sent it
to her as a gift with which to buy another dog.
In the mean time Helen heard of a boy, five
years old, Tommy Strenger, who also was blind


[JUNE,






A VISIT FROM HELEN KELLER.


and deaf. Her tender sympathy was aroused,
and she immediately decided to use her money
for Tommy's needs. But the yearly expense
for one person at the Institute is more than
twice as much money as Helen had. Quite
confident of success, the little girl wrote letters
to nine newspapers, each differently expressed,
stating Tommy's needs. As a consequence many
subscriptions were sent to Helen, and Tommy
has now been an inmate of the asylum for a
year or more.
In telling us of Tommy, she said, When he
was a little baby, his dear mama died and then
he was sick, and the light went out of his eyes,
and the hearing from his ears. Now he has
come to be educated. And by and by," she
added, "when he knows more words, he will
understand what a wonderful thing language is,
and how education brings music and love to
body and soul." It is difficult to realize that
such words are from the lips of a child not then
twelve years old.
The next morning Helen was taken up into
the cast-room. She was led first to the cast of
Niobe, and allowed to pass her fingers over the
face. She knows a few pieces of sculpture, but
this was quite new to her, and she had never
heard the pitiful story of the poor mother
robbed of her little ones.
Passing her hands softly over the features,
she said, "She is a woman"; and then, quite
low, "She looks sad." The young Nero's bust
was shown, and she said, "He is young and
pretty."
Do you know anything about Nero? asked
one of the girls. Oh, yes," she replied quickly.
"He was a king of Rome." After this the head
of Nero as an old man was shown her. She
looked grave while touching his face, and said
slowly, "He is changed. The nose is the same,
but he is so proud," and she pursed up her lips
in imitation of his.
A little baby's image pleased her very much,
and she murmured softly to herself while ca-
ressing the round face and chubby limbs; then,
looking up with a sweet smile, repeated some
verses describing a child.
Dante's cast interested her exceedingly. She
did not know anything about him, except that
he was a poet. When she was told that he was


a patriot, exiled from home and a wanderer for
many years, she said thoughtfully, He loved
Italy." We next took her into the art-room, and
showed her some of the articles used for studies
in still-life.
She was especially pleased with an old spin-
ning-wheel; and the instant her fingers touched
the flax, she cried, "Flax! It is blue! Her
teacher hastened to tell her that it is only the
flower that is blue, and that flax itself is white.
Helen quickly began:

Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax,
Her cheeks like the dawn of day.

"Yes," said Miss Sullivan; "the poet referred
to the flowers."
She was delighted with a tambourine, and
wished to know how it was used. She was sorry
to lay it aside. Of course she cannot hear a
sound from musical instruments, but the vibra-
tions please her wonderfully, and she is very
fond of music. One of the girls played to her
upon the piano, and it was a pretty sight to
watch the changes of light in her face. She
could scarcely keep quiet to listen; and when
the "Skirt Dance" was played her hands and
feet kept time constantly to the music. She af-
terward sat down herself and played a simple
exercise which she.had learned.
She held quite a little reception later in the
day, and many people from town came in to
see her-professors and their wives, and many
children of her own age. Helen asked the latter
such pointed questions that they were often at a
loss to reply, and appealed to their mothers for
help. To one little boy she said, What is your
favorite city ?" The little boy looked perplexed,
and finally, anxious to make a reply, said, "Bos-
ton." Mine are Venice and Florence," said
Helen, "among those I have read of. My own
home I love best of all." When Professor Coy
was introduced, she remarked naively, I have
heard of coy maidens, but not of men." With
a French gentleman she spoke a few words in
French, and then added, "I think Paris is one
of the most beautiful cities in the world. The
French are very gay, are they not?" "Yes,
too gay sometimes," he replied. "Oh," she
said, "some day I want to know French." "We
will speak it together the next time we meet,"






A VISIT FROM HELEN KELLER.


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he answered as he shook hands
with her, and she smiled a
bright reply.
Thus, for each one she had
some cordial word of greeting.
My favorite study is geo-
graphy," she remarked, "be-
cause then I can learn all
about the world and its dif-
ferent countries."
Some one gave her a Jack-
in-the-pulpit," and inquired,
"Does he preach ? Oh,
yes," she answered. He
preaches to all the other
flowers, but he is not so large
as dear Dr. Brooks "-refer-
ring to Phillips Brooks, who
is one of her stanch friends.
" Yes, I love to play," she
replied to a question from a
little girl; "but I like best
to study; and I love poetry.
Who is your favorite poet?
Mine is Holmes." Mr. Holmes
is a personal friend of hers,
and she also knows Mr.
Whittier and has visited him.
Helen's is a poetical nature,
and with her strong imagi-
nation and quick mind her
language is often beautiful
and full of pretty metaphors
and similes.
A purse was made up for
Tommy, which delighted her
very much.
In the afternoon we all
gathered in the chapel, and
heard from Miss Marrett
something about the system
of teaching in the asylum.
In speaking of the library, she
alluded to Dickens's works.
Helen, reading the words by
the medium of Miss Sullivan's
fingers, bent forward eagerly
and asked, "How does
Dickens write ? "
None of us could say, and


576


[JUNE,






A VISIT FROM HELEN KELLER.


after a few moments' waiting she told us, her
face aglow with fun, All of er Twist "
When Miss Marrett finished, Helen told Miss
Sullivan, I would like to speak to the young
ladies." She was led to the desk, and spoke
with self-possession somewhat like this :


beautiful world, and his goodness is written all
over the walls of nature. I hope, when-you
come to Boston, you will come to our school
and see us there, and meet Tommy. We shall
be very glad to see you. Good-by."
It was inexpressibly touching to see the little


HELEN KELLER.


"Dear friends of Andover, I want to thank
you for my pleasant visit here, which I shall
never forget; and my mother will be so very
happy when she hears how kind you have been
to me. Thank you, too, so much, for your kind
gift to Tommy; he will be so glad. I think
our kind Heavenly Father has given us a
VOL. XIX.-37.


blind girl, to hear her simple words. She had
never seen this beautiful world," and yet found
so much in it to love and to enjoy.
Though we had always thought of little Helen
with the greatest pity, we shall ever remember
her as one of the happiest and most blessed
of children.











TWO GIRLS AND A BOY.

BY LIEUT. R. H. FLETCHER.


(Begun in the January number.]
CHAPTER XIII.
MILDRED, are you ready, dear?" said her
mother, coming into her room with her bon-
net on.
The night of the party had arrived, and Mil-
dred, attended by Eliza, stood in front of the
mirror, looking at herself.
Come now, little Miss Vanity," continued
her mother, smiling, as she turned Mildred away
from the glass,."let me see."
And Mildred, drawing back a little, laughed
and blushed, and said, "Am I all right,
Mama ?"
"Yes," said her mother, putting her hand
under Mildred's chin to raise the bright little
face; "I think that you will do."
"She looks real cute, Mis' Fairleigh, don't
she ?" said Eliza, standing back to get a good
view of the result of her work.
And indeed Mildred did look "cute." She
wore a gown made of some soft, flowered ma-
terial, very short-waisted and falling straight to
her feet; short, puffed sleeves on the shoulders
showed her dimpled arms, while a snowy lawn
kerchief was folded across her breast. On her
feet were red-heeled sandal slippers with the
silk ties crisscrossed over her gold-clocked
stockings, and on her head was a cap of white
muslin with an edge of dainty lace framing her
dark curly hair and pretty face. While her
mother and Eliza were looking at her, a slow,
heavy step was heard on the stairs, and a
familiar voice said, Can I come in, honey ?"
Yes, come in," cried Mildred.
Then Amanda appeared, very much out of
breath from having climbed the stairs to see her
favorite dressed for "play-actin'." "G'way f'om
yere, chile!" she exclaimed, settling her spec-
tacles as she looked at Mildred's quaint little
figure. And throwing out her hands, she con-


tinued, Um, um! Ef you ain' de livin' im-
age o' dat picture' down-sta'rs, I 's a sinner!
How come you make yo'self look like dat?
I don' know, though; you look a heap like yo'
ma, too, when she was a li'l' gell. Ain' dat so,
Miss Mary? "
"Do I, Mama? said Mildred.
"Yes, perhaps you do, a little bit," said her
mother, with a sweet, grave smile that some-
times came into her face, as if her thoughts
were half pleasant and half sad, and altogether
far away.
I 'm so glad," said Mildred.
"Are you, dear ? "replied her mother. "Come,
now, it is time for us to go."
And, followed by the admiring servants, Mil-
dred accompanied her mother down-stairs to the
library, where her father was reading.
Major Fairleigh was not going with them, be-
cause he was not well enough to go out at night.
In fact, Mildred's papa had been ill more than
usual lately, and was looking far from well these
days. His closely cut brown hair was turning
gray at the temples, as was his curling brown
mustache and pointed beard. His face was thin
and pale; and whenever he arose from his chair
he had to be assisted, and his crutches must be
handed to him. In spite of all this, however,
Major Fairleigh was still a distinguished-looking
gentleman.
Before she entered the parlor Mildred whis-
pered playfully to her mother, Let me knock
at the door." And when in answer to the knock
her father replied, Come in! Mildred went in
very softly until she got in front of him, and
then as he looked up she took her dress in each
hand and made him a very deep, old-fashioned
courtesy.
"Well, upon my word! said her father, put-
ting a paper-knife in his book and laying it
upon the table beside him. So it is you, is it,
little Grandmama?"






TWO GIRLS AND A BOY.


And Mildred laughed, and came and stood
at his knees to be inspected.
"I wish you were going with us, Papa," she
said.
I wish so too," said her father; "I should
like to see the play. But as I can't, you will
have to tell me all about it when you come
home."
Then Eliza came to the door to say that the
carriage was waiting. This was a hired vehicle,
the driver of which was Eliza's husband. And
as he stood there in the light of his own flash-
ing lamps, it was evident that Eliza's husband
had put on his best hat with a cockade on it, and
his coachman's overcoat with its half dozen
capes, to do honor to the occasion. As the
door banged to, and they started off in fine
style, Mildred wished that Leslie's house might
have been farther away, it was so pleasant to be
rumbling along the streets at night in a carriage.
But in a few moments they had stopped, the
door was opened, there was a little run up the
steps, a glare of light, a rush of warm, perfumed
air, the sound of many young voices, and then,
following a servant through the hallway, Mildred
presently found herself in an up-stairs room
where they were to leave their wraps.
Here Leslie instantly joined them, in great
excitement. Oh, Dreddy," she exclaimed,
I 'm so glad you 've come. I was so afraid
you might be late!" And then, as the maid
removed Mildred's cloak, she cried, Oh, my!
How lovely you look! How do you think I
look? "
You look lovely, too," said Mildred.
And Leslie's old-fashioned frock, made like
Mildred's, except that it was plain blue, was
really very becoming to her. But, scarcely
pausing to hear Mildred's opinion of her cos-
tume, Leslie rattled on: Oh, say,-would you
believe it?-pa 's sent a real drummer to the
house, with a regular army drum. He knows
the commanding officer over at Fort Meyer,
and he let him come. And he 's going to
drum at that part where you hear the soldiers
coming-don't you remember? Won't that
be nice! And-and the ice-cream has n't
come, and ma! she 's just worried to death
about it. Did you see Carrie Wilkins when
you came up ?"


"No," said Mildred, "I came right up-stairs.
I did n't see anybody."
"Well," said Leslie, "Carrie Wilkins has got
on a white silk dress and real pearl ear-rings;
her father gave them to her on her birthday.
And Mabel Jones-"
But then there was a rapping on the door,
and Charlie's voice was heard calling out,
"Leslie "
"What is it?" said Leslie, dancing over to
the door.
"Is Mildred in there?" said Charlie.
"Yes," said Leslie.
"Tell her to hurry," said Charlie; we 're all
ready."
"All right," said Mildred, speaking for her-
self, I '11 be there in a minute. Come, Mama,
they are all ready to begin."
And the color in Mildred's cheeks deepened,
and her eyes sparkled. She felt a little afraid
again at the thought of facing that roomful of
children and grown people, whose voices could
be heard in a subdued murmur as they went
down-stairs.
Of course Mildred and Leslie and the others
who took part in the play were not to show
themselves until they appeared upon the stage.
But the desire of the children in the parlor to
see their costumes, and the desire of the actors
to display them, had resulted in many little
private exhibitions. But Mildred, entering into
the spirit of the theatricals, insisted upon going
down the back stairs, so as to take no chances
of being discovered.
The play was to be given in the back parlor,
which was shut off from the front parlor by fold-
ing doors. The hall also was curtained off.
The back parlor had two doors, one opening
into the screened hall, and another into a rear
room, which Charlie called the greenroom. It
was here that Mildred, accompanied by her
mother, took refuge. When they opened the
door there was a babel of voices all talking at\
once. There was Will Baily, with his face
blacked, cutting up like everything," as Leslie
expressed it. There was the boy who played
old Mr. Smith," dressed in a snuff-colored
suit of small-clothes, a white wig and spectacles,
and an ebony cane swinging from his wrist by
a cord. He was standing up very straight for


579






TWO GIRLS AND A BOY.


an old man, and seemed to be rather at a loss
what to do with his hands. There was his son,
" Captain Smith, of the British army," disguised
in a red wig and beard, and rough clothes; a
costume which, as the other boys thought it
was comical, he helped out by talking in Irish
brogue, and trying to be as funny as Will Baily,
These two were "showing off" for the benefit
of several other boys who had no business be-
hind the scenes, but who had slipped in to
see what was going on. Then there were the
"Continental Major" and the two soldiers.
"General Washington" had stepped. out
somewhere to see about some detail.
Leslie took Mildred through this rabble into
the back parlor to show her the stage"; and
while Mildred was looking around at the ar-
rangements, Leslie opened a crack in the fold-
ing doors and peeped through. Then, as a child
on the other side cried out, I see somebody "
she hastily shut them again. Screens had been
placed in front of the hall door and greenroom
door, leading on to the stage, so as to hide these
exits from the view of the audience. The old-
fashioned furniture and the spinning-wheel were
there; and the real drummer was in the hall in
charge of the thunder and lightning. In fact,
everything seemed to be ready, and the audience
on the other side of the folding doors began to
show signs of impatience. Mildred, very much
excited, went back into the greenroom to look
for Charlie and to ask him if they ought not to
begin. She found both Charlie and his father
there, the Captain having come in on the same
errand as Mildred.
Come, now, Charlie," he said; "every one
is tired of waiting. It is time that you were
showing us what you can do."
All right, sir," said Charlie; "we are going
to begin right now." And he clapped his
hands, and called out, "Stop talking, every-
body, and listen to me! All of you who are
not going to act must go out! Come, Dick,
Arthur, hurry up! That's right. Thank you.
Now, then," he said to the others, as he closed
and locked the door on the last lingering in-
truder, "remember that there must be no more
laughing and talking in the greenroom, because
when the stage is open they can hear you out
front. You must listen to what is going on on


the stage, so as to get your cues. And under-
stand," he continued, looking at Will Baily and
the boy in the red wig, this is business. We
are not doing this for our own fun, but to show
the audience that we can act. So, now, don't
let 's have any more of this foolishness, but let
everybody try to do their best."
Mildred was greatly pleased by this little dis-
play of authority on Charlie's part. From the
behavior of the others she had begun to fear
that the theatricals would be a silly failure, and
the actors a laughing-stock for the audience.
As Mildred had a great deal of personal dignity,
she did not like to be laughed at, and she was
growing indignant with the others, especially
Master Baily and the British Captain, for their
frivolous conduct. But this little speech of
Charlie's immediately had a good effect. They
all became quiet, and some began to read over
their parts for the last time. Mildred was still
further delighted when Charlie, suddenly snap-
ping his fingers, exclaimed, "My goodness!
I 'd forgotten the prompter! and, turning to
her mother, said, Mrs. Fairleigh, won't you
help a fellow out? You '11 be just the one if
you '11 only do it. I '11 put a chair there inside
the screen by the hall door, where you can see
everything, and here 's the whole play written
out for you to prompt from."
"Oh, yes, Mama, do!" cried Mildred.
Certainly I will, Charlie, if you want me
to," said Mrs. Fairleigh. "Where shall I sit ?
Here? "
"Yes 'm, if you please," said Charlie.
And Mildred felt completely satisfied now
that the play could not be a failure. Armed
with the silver bell from the dinner-table to give
the signal for opening and closing the doors
(which work was performed by two boys who
were instructed to keep out of sight), Mrs. Fair-
leigh took her seat.
"Now, then, we 're all ready !" said Charlie.
" Frances" (this was Mildred), take your seat
at the wheel. Mr. Smith, take your place in the
chair, please, and open that book on the table.
Now, then-"
Here there was a knock on the greenroom
door, and Mrs. Morton's voice was heard in-
quiring, "Are n't you nearly ready, Charlie? "
"Yes, Ma, yes," cried Charlie.


580


[JUNE,






TWO GIRLS AND A BOY.


Then came a little stamping of feet and
clapping of hands-from the impatient audience
in the parlor.
"Now, then," cried Charlie, hurriedly,
"Sarah" (this to Leslie), "stand here, looking
out of the window." The window had been
made in the screen that stood in the front of
the door leading into the hall, where the thun-
der and lightning were stationed. Clear the
stage!" cried Charlie. "All ready! Strike
one bell, please, Mrs. Fairleigh. That 's for
pa to turn down the gas in the parlor," he ex-
plained in a whisper as he joined the prompter,
behind the screen. And as soon as the bell
was rung the noise in front stopped instantly.
A second bell was rung, and the folding doors
rolled back.
Mildred felt herself grow pale with alarm.
She would have liked to have run away. She
dared not lift her eyes to meet the gaze of all
those other eyes fastened upon her. With her
foot upon the treadle, she kept the spinning-
wheel revolving rapidly, and bent her head over
the flax upon her distaff. The audience ap-
plauded and then became silent and attentive.
Leslie had to make the first speech, and Mil-
dred thought that she was a very long time
making it. Yes, she certainly was a long time
saying it. Was anything the matter? The next
moment Mildred heard her mother's voice from
behind the screen, very low but very distinct,
telling Leslie her words. Still no sound from
Leslie. The audience began to whisper and
move, and some one tittered. Mildred was
growing very nervous. At last she gained cour-
age enough to raise her head and steal a glance
at her companion. To her dismay she found
that Leslie still kept her back to the audience,
while her shoulders were shaking very suspi-
ciously. Then in an instant Mildred understood
it all. The unfortunate Sarah was laughing
-laughing so that she could not say her lines.
Something had to be done, and in sudden des-
peration, not knowing whether she was doing
right or wrong, Mildred herself began speaking
Leslie's words,
"How dark it is to-night! It looks as if a
storm was brewing." And then, continuing, she
uttered her own speech, Oh, I hope not. Just
think of the poor soldiers who have to sleep


upon the ground without a roof to shelter
them!"
Frightened at the sound of her voice, at first
Mildred had faltered; but as she proceeded
she gained confidence, and when at last she
had finished, old "Mr. Smith took up the
conversation quite naturally: "Alas! yes, my
daughter. Think of your poor brother Henry,
who is fighting for his king by the side of the
British soldiers. Pray heaven, he may be safe in
camp to-night!" Then Mildred all at once felt
a perfect ease and self-possession coming over
her, as pleasant as it was unexpected.
It seemed to her that she really was "Frances
Smith," and that it was her father sitting over
there, and this their home; and anxiety for her
soldier brother became the uppermost emotion
in her breast. She forgot about the audience,
and was only dimly aware of Charlie's whisper-
ing from behind the screen to Leslie, "Don't
make a goose of yourself, Miss, and spoil it all!"
But by this time Leslie was facing the audi-
ence, no longer laughing, but with a rosy color
in her cheeks and a very determined look in her
eyes. She made her next speech without a
falter. Evidently the worst was over. The dia-
logue went on without ahitch. Mildred, busying
herself with her spinning, had quite forgotten
about the calcium lightning; and when it sud-
denly flared through the window she was really
startled and half arose from her seat. Then fol-
lowed the crash of the thunder on'the gong, and
the swish of the rain as the peas rattled down
into the box. At all of which the audience ap-
plauded enthusiastically. When, in reply to the
knocking at the door, black Casar" made his
appearance, every one laughed-he looked so
comical. Butwhen "Mr. Harper" came in, with
his military cloak and three-cornered hat drip-
ping with rain, he received round after round
of applause.
Mildred herself would have liked to have ap-
plauded Charlie,--he looked so stately and dig-
nified. Handing his wet garments to Casar,"
he made a bow to the ladies that would have
warmed old Amanda's heart if she could have
seen it. Surely a tea-tray could have been set
upon his back! And Mildred and Leslie per-
formed their courtesies in return in a way that
Mistress Barbara herself might have envied.





TWO GIRLS AND A BOY.


At last Mr. Harper retired and Captain
Smith" threw off his disguise. This produced
a sensation, and the doors were closed upon the
first act in a storm of applause.

CHAPTER XIV.
BEHIND the scenes all was excitement.
Charlie appeared jubilant. He declared that
they had won a great success. And then, to
Mildred's surprise, he said, "We 've got Mil-
dred to thank for that! -I thought for a mo-
ment, when Les got to laughing, that the whole
business was gone up! You did splendidly,
Mildred! But I knew you would," he added.
Mildred blushed with pleasure at this praise,
and began to explain earnestly, I did n't
know whether I ought to say Leslie's part then
or not. But I thought that somebody ought
to do something, right away; and so I just
did it."
I 'm mighty glad you did," said Charlie; "it
saved the play. And the way you jumped
when the lightning went off was fine."
Mildred was going to explain how this had
happened also, when she felt her mother's hand
laid gently upon her shoulder. "I think," said
Mrs. Fairleigh, "that every one did remarkably
well. Leslie's self-control in overcoming her
desire to laugh and going on with her part
was excellent. Indeed, my dear," she contin-
ued to Leslie, who was standing behind Charlie
a little distance away, "I think you ought to
be very proud of yourself."
Oh! exclaimed Mildred eagerly, with a
sudden feeling of self-reproach, "did n't she do
well, Mama.? She did better than I did, a great
deal better."
"I think she did mighty well, too," said
Charlie, hurriedly, turning around to Leslie.
But Leslie did not seem very happy at this
praise. She looked at her brother a moment,
and said, "You need not have been so cross
with me! And then went away with some of
her girl friends who had slipped behind the
scenes to talk over the play.
Indeed, the room was fast filling up with the
audience and actors, all talking at once. "Say,
how did I do ? Was n't Mildred splendid! "
" How did I look?" "Was n't the lightning
good!" He 's a real soldier." Yes, I saw


his drum. He 's going to play on it in the
next act." Then Charlie, having by this time
somewhat recovered from his excitement,
clapped his hands to attract attention and
called out: Everybody please go back into
the parlor now; we 're going to begin." And
the room was cleared.
Mildred had been looking for Leslie. She
wanted to say something pleasant to her, and
have Leslie tell her that she did not mind about
her having said her lines. But Leslie did not
come back until the folding doors were ready
to be opened.
The furniture had been moved out into the
hall, and the clothes-horse representing the
brick wall had been set up, and the plants
placed around for the garden scene. General
Washington" and Frances" were the first to
appear, and began the act very smoothly. In
fact, all went well until that point was reached
where the drums of the advancing American
troops were heard, at first very soft and seem-
ingly at a great distance, and then growing
louder and louder. This effect the audience ap-
plauded with great delight. "Sarah" now picks
up her brother's wig and beard, which he has
cast aside, and begs him to fly; while "Casar,"
with popping eyes, rushes in and exclaims,
"Golly! Massa Henry, you better run away.
De sojers is a-comin'!" Then the young Captain
says: "My good fellow, you know not what
you are talking about. A British officer never
runs away." At least that is what he should
have said. But, unfortunately, in the excitement
of the moment the gallant Captain forgot his
lines. He got as far as "my good fellow," and
there he stuck fast. Twice he repeated this,
looking anxiously around. Mrs. Fairleigh from
behind the screen prompted him once, but the
Captain, being confused, did not hear her, and
only looked helplessly in her direction. Again
she repeated the lines, a little louder, and the
audience began to smile. A third time the
prompter spoke them, so loud that every one
heard them, whereupon a mischievous boy in
the back part of the parlor put his hand to his
mouth and called out in a very loud whisper,
"A-Bitis/ officer- never- runs-- away /"
At which there was a shout of laughter. And
when the unhappy Captain obediently repeated


582


[JUNE,






TWO GIRLS AND A BOY.


the words, there was another peal. This was
hardly subdued when, at the close of the act,
the Captain, disappearing, reappears a prisoner
in the hands of the "Continental Major"; and
" Sarah," having to go down on her knees before
him in a wild appeal, found that she was quite
unable to keep her face straight. Whereupon
the stage-manager hurried the signal for closing
the doors, while the applause which followed
was mixed with a good deal of merriment.
For a few minutes Charlie was bitterly vexed,
but remembering a hint that his father had
given him in the early part of the evening,
about not losing his temper over such mishaps,
he not only controlled himself and listened
good-naturedly to the mortified Captain's eager
explanation of how it had all happened, but
laughed with the others, and declared that
after all it did not matter. For which little
display of manliness he was rewarded by an
approving look from Mrs. Fairleigh and by
afterward overhearing the poor Captain say,
" Charlie is a regular brick not to get mad."
The only slip that occurred in the last act
was that the drummer, forgetting that he was
in a private parlor, drummed so loudly when
the American reinforcements were arriving that
the voices of the actors could not be heard.
This, however, could scarcely be called a mis-
fortune, because the boys in the audience
thought the rat-a-plan-plan so fine that they
cheered the drummer. Then when Mr. Har-
per" came on and, casting aside his old cloak,
declared himself to be General Washington,
there was another round of applause. And
finally, when Frances" threw herself at the Gen-
eral's feet and begged for her brother's life, the
audience was excited to a high pitch of enthu-
siasm. So much so, indeed, that when the doors
closed on the final tableau, they had to be re-
opened to allow the actors to acknowledge the
continued applause. And thus the theatricals
came to an end with great success.
A little later the stage was cleared away, and
those who had taken part in the play joined
their friends in the parlor and received praise
enough to satisfy them all. It was somewhat
bewildering to Mildred to leave the last cen-
tury, as it were, and come back to the present;
especially when she was surrounded by so many


people complimenting her for her acting. She
scarcely knew what to say or do. She never
had been praised so much before. She found it
very delightful to be told how pretty she had
looked and how well she had performed her
part. The only drawback to her gratification
was the thought that perhaps Leslie was of-
fended with her. But when the dancing began,
and Charlie, quite gallant in his uniform, came
to lead her out, she soon ceased to think about
the possibility of this. Then, too, all the boys,
one after another, came up and wanted to dance
with her, which was very pleasant. In fact, when
late in the evening Charlie once more appeared
to claim the last dance before supper, Mildred
was as happy as she could possibly be.
Nw it so happened that in this dance,
which was a quadrille, Mildred stood at the
end of the room near a little group of girls
talking among themselves. And in one of the
figures where her partner had to advance alone,
Leaving her standing in her place, Mildred
heard her name mentioned. She could not
help hearing what followed. Did you ever
see anything like the way she is carrying
on ?" said one of the girls. "She won't give
them a chance to dance with any of the other
girls." Oh, but that 's not anything," said
Carrie Wilkins, ." to what she did in the play! "
"What did she do ?" chorused the others.
" Well, you know," said Carrie, "in the first
scene, when it was Leslie's turn to speak, Mil-
dred was so afraid that people would n't notice
her that she took Leslie's words right away
from her and said them herself." Did you
ever!" exclaimed the others, in various tones
of surprise and blame. Then one of the girls
said, Hush! She '11 hear you, she's standing
right there." I don't care," said Carrie; "lis-
teners never hear good of themselves, anyway."
Now, at the very first remark Mildred felt
the blood rush into her face hotly and then
recede, leaving her quite pale. At first she
thought such things could not be said of her in
earnest, that the girls were only trying to tease
her; but the next moment she could no longer
doubt their seriousness. Then she was about
to turn on her accuser and deny the unkind
statement. But as quickly she shrank from
the rude scene that this was likely to create.






TWO GIRLS AND A BOY.


When, however, the last remark was uttered,
Mildred felt that she could no longer stand
there and listen, so turning around she said, as
quietly as her trembling voice would allow, I
did hear what you said; and it is not true."
As she spoke the other girls immediately
became embarrassed; but Carrie giggled, and
then tossing her head said, "Well, Leslie said
you did, at any rate."
This unexpected statement overwhelmed poor
Mildred, who simply stared at Carrie, unable to
reply. Had Leslie really said this of her!
Then she heard Charlie's voice at her ear, say-
ing, What's the matter ?" and turning around
she found that she was delaying the dance.
"What's the matter? repeated Charlie, look-
ing at her curiously. "What makes you so.
pale?"
Mildred, striving to keep the tears from her
eyes, said, Oh, nothing; I don't feel very
well." -She would'like to have gone directly to
her mother, but some spirit within her prompted
her not to let Carrie Wilkins and the others see
how much she was hurt, and she finished the
rest of the dance, holding her.head up proudly.
And when the music changed into a march,
and every one moved into the supper-room,
Mildred accompanied Charlie, trying to talk
and be like herself in order that he might not
know what had happened. She made a pre-
tense of eating, just to satisfy him; but as soon
as she could she made her escape and sought
her mother.
You are tired, dear," said Mrs. Fairleigh,
looking anxiously into Mildred's face.
"Yes, Mama," said Mildred; "I am ready
to go home, if you like."
"That is a sensible little girl," said her
mother. "There is Mrs. Morton over there,
now, with Leslie. We will go and wish them
good night."
Mrs. Morton protested against their going
so early, and then had a great deal to say about
Mildred's success in the play, and how much
they thanked her for helping them; to all of
which Mildred could think of nothing that she
could truthfully reply, and so she kept silent
and let her mother answer for her. Only once,
when Mrs. Morton was saying how greatly
obliged Leslie and Charlie were to her for


helping them, Mildred looked Leslie in the
eyes. To her surprise, Leslie not only met her
gaze but responded to it with a little laugh; to
be sure, the color came into her cheeks, but
that was the only guilty sign. And Mildred
wondered indignantly, as she turned away, how
any one could be so double-faced. She was
glad to leave the house, she was glad to get
back to her own home, and it was not until
she was safe in the shelter of her room and had
exchanged for her wrapper her player's cos-
tume, which had suddenly become an object
of dislike, that she unburdened her heart to her
mother.
Whatever Mrs. Fairleigh may have thought
on hearing Mildred's story, she said nothing,
but sitting down before the fire, she took the
weeping girl in her arms and rocked her and
soothed her, and whispered words of com-
fort to her until the storm of tears had passed
away.
"Mama," said Mildred, finally, after the last
sob had subsided, and she had sat silent for a
little while, her arms around her mother's neck,
her head on her shoulder, and her eyes gazing
into the fire-" Mama, I don't think I want
ever to act in theatricals again."
"Don't you, dear? said her mother.
No," said Mildred, shaking her head and
winking away a lingering tear that made darts
and arrows of the firelight. If I had known
that people were going to think dreadful things
of me, like that, I would n't have acted at all."
"Don't you think that you are exaggerating
this a little, Mildred," said her mother. It is
quite natural that you should, of course. At the
same time, I don't think that any one thought
unkind things' of you. Certainly none of the
ladies did, and the boys showed that they
did n't. And as for Carrie Wilkins, I don't
think that even she really believed what she
said of you."
But why did she say it, then, Mama ? said
Mildred, suddenly sitting up and opening her
eyes at her mother.
"Well," said Mrs. Fairleigh, "when two or
three little girls get talking together at a party,
they very often say silly things that they don't
mean. And if it happens that they don't
receive as much attention as they expect, they


[JUNE,






TWO GIRLS AND A BOY.


sometimes say spiteful things of other little
girls-things that they know are not true."
"Well, but, Mama," said Mildred, I think
that is very wicked."
"So do I, dear," said her mother. "At the


the unkind thing Carrie said of you ?" asked
Mrs. Fairleigh.
Of course I should n't, Mama," said Mildred,
indignantly.
Then why are you so ready to believe what


i^.^


"'MR. HARPER' CAME IN DRIPPING WITH RAIN."


same time there are such people in the world, and
all that we can do is to keep away from them
and try very hard not to become like them."
"I don't think I ever could be like that,"
said Mildred, very decidedly.
"I hope not, dear," said her mother.
Then, after looking dreamily at the fire a little
while, Mildred said, I did n't think that Leslie
was so deceitful; did you, Mama? "
"What makes you think she is deceitful,
Mildred? said her mother.
Why, because," said Mildred, in surprise,
"did n't Carrie Wilkins say that Leslie had de-
clared that I said her words in the play just to
make people look at me ? And Leslie knows
that I did n't."
"Would you like friends of yours to believe


she said of Leslie, and charge your little friend
with being deceitful ? "
But it is very different," began Mildred,
eagerly, "because-because-"
Then, as she faltered and stopped, her mother
said, It is not so different, sweetheart, but
that it will show you how easy it is to speak ill
of others and how hard it is to keep only fair
and gentle feelings in our hearts."
Mildred made no answer to this. She let her
head sink down once more upon her mother's
shoulder, while her mother, with her cheek
pressed against Mildred's curly hair, and her
arms folded close about her, gazed silently at
the fire. For a long time neither of them moved,
until finally Mrs. Fairleigh, arousing herself,
found that Mildred had fallen asleep.


(To be continued.)










A RAINY DAY.

BY E. L. SYLVESTER.

"Rain, rain, go away;
Come again another day."


RAIN, rain, go away;
Phoebe 's in despair.
Come again another day
When the trees are bare;
When the skies are gloomy,
When the birds have flown,
When there 's not a blossom
The bee can call his own;


When the leaves are flying
All about the lawn,
When the wind is sighing
For the summer gone,-
That's the time for raining,
No matter how it pours.
And Phoebe then is quite content
To play all day indoors.












THE FIRST AMERICAN TRAVELER.

BY CHARLES F. LUMMIS.


THE achievements of the explorer are among
the most important, as they are among the most
fascinating, of human heroisms. The qualities
of mind and body necessary to his task are rare
and admirable. He should have many sides
and be strong in each -the rounded man that
nature meant man to be. His body need not
be as strong as Samson's, nor his mind Napo-
leon's, nor his heart the most fully developed
heart on earth; but mind, heart, and body he
needs, and each in the measure of a strong man.
There is hardly another calling in which every
muscle, so to speak, of his threefold nature will
be more constantly or more evenly called into
play.
It is a curious fact that some of the very
greatest of'human achievements have been by
chance. Many among the most important dis-
coveries in the history of mankind have been
made by men who were not seeking the great
truth they found. Science is the result not
only of study, but of precious accidents; and
this is as true of history. It is an interesting
study in itself,-the influence which happy blun-
ders and unintended happenings have had upon
civilization.
In exploration, as in invention, accident has
played its important part. Some of the most
valuable explorations have been made by men
who had no more idea of being explorers than
they had of inventing a railroad to the moon;
and it is a striking fact that the first inland
exploration of America, and the two most won-
derful journeys in it, were not only accidents,
but the crowning misfortunes and disappoint-
ments of the men who had hoped for very
different things.
Exploration, intended or involuntary, has
achieved not only great results to civilization,
but in the doing has scored some of the high-
est feats of human heroism. America in par-
ticular, perhaps, has been the field of great and


remarkable journeys; but the two men who
made the most astounding journeys in Amer-
ica and probably in all history are still
almost unheard of among us. They are heroes
whose names are as Greek to the vast majority
of Americans, albeit they are men in whom
Americans particularly should take deep and
admiring interest. They were Alvar Nufiez
Cabeza de Vaca, the first American traveler;
and Andr6s Docampo, the man who walked
farther than any one.
In a world so big and old and full of great
deeds as this, it is extremely difficult to say of
any one man, He was the greatest this or that;
and even in the matter of journeys there have
been bewilderingly many great ones-of the
most wonderful of which we hear least. As ex-
plorers we cannot give Vaca and Docampo
great rank; though the latter's explorations were
not contemptible, and Vaca's were of great im-
portance. But as 'physical achievements the
journeys of these neglected heroes can safely
be said to be without parallel. They were the
most wonderful walks ever made by man.
Both men made their records in America, and
each made most of his journey in what is now
the United States.
Cabeza de Vaca was the first European really
to penetrate the then "Dark Continent" of
North America; by centuries the first to cross
the continent. His nine years of wandering on
foot, unarmed, naked, starving, among wild
beasts and wilder men, with no more company
than three as ill-fated comrades, gave the world
its first glimpse of the United States inland, and
led to some of the most stirring and important
achievements connected with its early history.
Nearly a century before the Pilgrim Fathers
planted their noble commonwealth on the edge
of Massachusetts; seventy-five years before the
first English settlement was made in the New
World; and more than a generation before there






THE FIRST AMERICAN TRAVELER.


was a single Caucasian settler of any blood
within our area, Vaca and his gaunt followers
had trudged across this unknown land.
It is a long way back to those days. Henry
VIII. was then king of England, and sixteen
rulers have since occupied that throne. Eliza-
beth, the Virgin Queen, was not born when Vaca
started on his appalling journey, and did not
begin to reign until twenty years after he had
ended it. It was fifty years before the birth of
Captain John Smith, the founder of Virginia; a
generation before the birth of Shakspere, and
two and a half generations before Milton. Henry
Hudson, the famous explorer for whom one of
our chief rivers is named, was not yet born.
Columbus himself had been dead less than
twenty-five years; and the conqueror of Mexico
had seventeen yet to live. It was sixty years
before the world had ever heard of such a thing
as a newspaper; and the best geographers still
thought it possible to sail through America to
Asia. There was not a white man in North'
America above the middle of Mexico; nor had
one ever gone two hundred miles inland in this
continental wilderness, of which the world knew
almost less than we know now of the moon.
The name of Cabeza de Vaca may seem to
us a curious one. It means Head of a Cow."
But this quaint family name was an honorable
one in Spain, and had a brave winning; it was
earned at the battle of Naves de Tolosa in the
thirteenth century, one of the decisive engage-
ments of all those centuries of war with the
Moors. Alvar's grandfather was also a man
of some note, and conqueror of the Canary
Islands.
Alvar was born in Xeres de la Frontera,
Spain, toward the last of the fifteenth century.
Of his early life we know little, except that he
had already won some consideration when, in
1527, a mature man, he came to the New World.
In that year we find him sailing from Spain as
treasurer and sheriff of the expedition of six
hundred men with which Pamfilo de Narvaez
intended to conquer and colonize the Flowery
Land, discovered a decade before by Ponce de
Leon.
They reached Santo Domingo, and thence
sailed to Cuba. On Good Friday, 1528, ten
months after leaving Spain, they reached Florida,


and landed at what is now named Tampa Bay.
Taking formal possession of the country for
Spain, they set out to explore and conquer the
unguessed wilderness. At Santo Domingo, ship-
wreck and desertion had already cost them hea-
vily, and of the original six hundred men there
were but three hundred and forty-five left. No
sooner had they reached Florida than the most
fearful misfortunes began, and with every day
grew worse. Food there was almost none;
hostile Indians beset them on every hand; and
the countless rivers, lakes, and swamps made
progress difficult and dangerous. The little
army was fast thinning out under war and star-
vation, and plots were rife among the survivors.
They were so enfeebled that they could not even
get back to their vessels. Struggling through at
last to the nearest point on the coast, far west
of Tampa Bay, they decided that their only
hope was to build boats and try to coast to
the Spanish settlements in Mexico. Five rude
boats were made with great toil; and the poor
wretches turned westward along the coast of the
Gulf. Storms scattered the boats and wrecked
one after the other. Scores of the haggard ad-
venturers were drowned, Narvaez among them;
and scores, dashed upon an inhospitable shore,
perished by exposure and starvation. Of the
five boats, three had gone down with all on
board; of the eighty men who escaped the
wreck but fifteen were still alive. All their
arms and clothing were at the bottom of the
Gulf.
The survivors were now on Mal Hado, "the
Isle of Misfortune." We know no more of its
location than that it was west of the mouth of
the Mississippi. Their boats had crossed that
mighty current where it plunges out into the
Gulf; and theirs were the first European eyes to
see even this much of the Father of Waters.
The Indians of the island, who had no better
larder than roots, berries, and fish, treated their
unfortunate guests as generously as was in their
power; and Vaca has written gratefully of them.
In the spring, his thirteen surviving com-
panions determined to escape. Vaca was too
sick to walk, and they abandoned him to his
fate. Two other sick men, Oviedo and Alaniz,
were also left behind; and the latter soon per-
ished. It was a pitiable plight in which Vaca


[JUNE,






THE FIRST AMERICAN TRAVELER.


now found himself. A naked skeleton, scarce
able to move, deserted by his friends and at the
mercy of savages, it is small wonder that, as he
tells us, his heart sank within him. But he was
one of the men who never "let go." A con-
stant soul held up the poor, worn body; and
as the weather grew less rigorous, Vaca slowly
recovered from his sickness.
For six years, about, he lived an incomparably


vaguely of one another, and made vain at-
tempts to come together. It was not until Sep-
tember, 1534,-nearly seven years later,-that
Dorantes, Castillo, Est6vanico, and Vaca were
reunited; and the spot where they found this
happiness was somewhere in Texas, west of the
Sabine River.
But Vaca's six years of loneliness and suffer-
ing unspeakable had not been in vain. For he


THE SPANIARDS NEARING THE COAST OF FLORIDA.


lonely life, bandied about from tribe to tribe of
Indians, sometimes as a slave, and sometimes
only a despised outcast. Oviedo fled from some
danger, and he was never heard of afterward;
Vaca faced it and lived. That his sufferings were
almost beyond endurance cannot be doubted.
Even when he was not the victim of brutal
treatment, he was the worthless incumbrance,
the useless interloper, among poor savages who
lived the most miserable and precarious lives.
That they did not kill him speaks well for their
humane kindness.
The deserters had fared even worse. They
had fallen into. cruel hands, and all had been
slain except three who were reserved for the
harder fate of slaves. These three were Andr6s
Dorantes, a native of Bejar; Alonzo del Castillo
Maldonado, a native of Salamanca; and the
. negro, Est6vanico, who was born in Azamor,
Africa. These three and Vaca were all that
were left of the gallant four hundred and fifty
men (among whom we do not count the de-
serters at Santo Domingo) who had sailed with
such high hopes from Spain, in 1527, to con-
quer a corner of the New World four naked,
tortured, shivering shadows; and even they
were separated, though they occasionally heard


had acquired, unknowingly, the key to safety;
and amid all those horrors, and without dream-
ing of its significance, he had stumbled upon the
very strange and interesting, clue which was to
save them all. Without it, all four would have
perished in the wilderness, and the world would
never have known their end.
While they were still on the Isle of Mis-
fortune, a proposition had been made which
seemed the height of the ridiculous. In that
isle," says Vaca, they wished to make us doc-
tors, without examining us or asking our titles;
for they themselves cure sickness by blowing
upon the sick one. With that blowing, and
with their hands, they remove from him the
disease; and they bade us do the same, so as to
be of some use to them. We laughed at this,
saying that they were making fun, and that we
knew not how to heal; and for that they took
away our food till we should do that which they
said. And seeing our stubbornness, an Indian
said to me that I did not understand, for that
it did no good for one to know how, because
the very stones and other things of the field
have power to heal, . and that we, who
were men, must certainly have greater power."
This was a characteristic thing which the old


589






THE FIRST AMERICAN TRAVELER.


Indian said, and a key to the remarkable su-
perstitions of his race. But the Spaniards, of
course, could not yet understand.
Presently the savages removed to the main-
land. They were always in abject poverty, and
many of them perished from starvation and from
the exposures of their wretched existence. For
three months in the year they had nothing but
shell-fish and very bad water"; and at other
times only poor berries and the like; and their
year was a series of wanderings hither and yon
in quest of these scant and unsatisfactory foods.
It was an important fact that Vaca was ut-
terly useless to the Indians. He could not
serve them as a warrior; for in his wasted con-
dition the bow was more than he could master.
As a hunter he was equally unavailable; for, as
he himself says, "it was impossible for him to
trail animals." Assistance in carrying water or
fuel or anything of the sort was impossible, for
he was a man, and his Indian neighbors could
not let a man do woman's work. So, among
these starveling nomads, this man who could
not help but must be fed was a real burden;
and the only wonder is that they did not kill
him.
Under these circumstances, Vaca began to
wander about. His indifferent captors paid
little attention, and by degrees he got to making
long trips north, and up and down the coast.
In time he began to see a chance for trading,
in which the Indians encouraged him, glad to
find their white elephant" of some use at last.
From the northern tribes he brought down skins
and almagre (the red clay so indispensable to
the savages for face-paint), flakes of flint to
make arrow-heads, hard reeds for the shafts,
and tassels of deer-hair dyed red. These things
he readily exchanged among the coast tribes for
shells and shell-beads, and the like-which, in
turn, were in demand among his northern cus-
tomers.
On account of their constant wars, the In-
dians could not venture outside their own
range; so this safe go-between trader was a
convenience which they encouraged. So far as
he was concerned, though the life was still one
of great suffering, he was constantly gaining
knowledge which would be useful to him in
his never-forgotten plan of getting back to the


world. These lonely trading expeditions of his
covered thousands of miles on foot through
the trackless wildernesses; and through them
his aggregate wanderings were much greater
than those of either of the others.
It was during these long and awful tramps
that Cabeza de Vaca had one particularly
interesting experience. He was the first Euro-
pean who saw the great American bison, the
buffalo,- which has become practically extinct
in the last decade, but once roamed the plains
in vast hordes,-and first by many years. He
saw them and ate their meat in the Red River
country of Texas, and has left us a description
of the "hunchback cows." None of his com-
panions ever saw one, for in their subsequent
journey together the four Spaniards passed
south of the buffalo-country.
Meanwhile, as I have noted, the forlorn and
naked trader had had the duties of a doctor
forced upon him. He did not understand what
this involuntary profession might do for him-
he was simply pushed into it at first, and fol-
lowed it not from choice, but to keep from hav-
ing trouble. He was "good for nothing but to
be a medicine-man." He had learned the pecul-
iar treatment of the aboriginal wizards, though
not their fundamental ideas. The Indians still
look upon sickness as a "being possessed";
and their idea of doctoring is not so much to
cure as to exorcise the bad spirits which cause
it.
This is done by a sleight-of-hand rigmarole,
even to this day. The medicine-man would
suck the sore spot, and pretend thus to extract
a stone or thorn which was supposed to have
been the cause of trouble; and the patient was
cured." Cabeza de Vaca began to practise
medicine" after the Indian fashion. He says
himself, I have tried these things, and they
were very successful."
When the four wanderers at last came toge-
ther after their long separation,-in which all
had suffered untold horrors,-Vaca had then,
though still unguessed, the key of hope. Their
first plan was to escape from their present cap-
tors. It took ten months to effect it, and mean-
time their distress was great-as it had been
constantly for so many years. At times they
lived on a daily ration of two handfuls of wild


JUNE,


590






THE FIRST AMERICAN TRAVELER.


peas and a little water. Vaca relates what a
godsend it seemed when he was allowed to
scrape hides for the Indians; he carefully
saved the scrapings, which served him as food
for days. They had no clothing, and there
was no shelter; and constant exposure to heat
and cold and the myriad thorns of that country
caused them to "shed their skin like snakes."
At last, in August, 1535, the four sufferers
escaped to a tribe called the Avavares. But
now a new career began to open to them. That
his companions might not be as useless as he
had been, Cabeza de Vaca had instructed them
in the arts of Indian medicine-men; and all
four began to put their new and strange profes-
sion into practice. To the ordinary Indian
charms and incantations these humble Chris-
tians added fervent prayers to the true God. It
was a sort of sixteenth century faith-cure "; and
naturally enough, among such superstitious pa-
tients, was very effective. Their multitudinous
cures the amateur, but sincere, doctors, with
touching humility, attributed entirely to God;
but what great results these might have upon
their own fortunes now began to dawn upon
them. From wandering, naked, starving, de-
spised beggars, and slaves to brutal savages, they
suddenly became personages of note -still pau-
pers and sufferers, as were all their patients, but
paupers of mighty power. There is no fairy tale
more romantic than the career thenceforth of
these poor, brave men walking painfully across
a continent as masters and benefactors of all
that host of wild peoples.
Trudging on from tribe to tribe, painfully and
slowly, the white medicine-men crossed Texas
and came close to our present New Mexico. It
has long been reiterated by the closet historians
that they entered New Mexico and got even as
far north as where Santa F6 now is. But mod-
ern scientific research has absolutely proved
that they went on from Texas through Chi-
huahua and Sonora and never saw an inch of
New Mexico.
With each new tribe the Spaniards paused
awhile to heal the sick. Everywhere they were
treated with the greatest kindness their poor
hosts could give, and with religious awe. Their
progress is a very valuable object-lesson, show-
ing just how some Indian myths are formed -


first, the successful medicine-man, who at his
death or departure is remembered as hero, -then
as demigod, then as divinity.
In the Mexican States they found agricultural
Indians who dwelt in houses of sod and boughs,
and had beans and pumpkins. These were the
Jovas, a branch of the Pimas. Of the scores of
tribes they had passed through in our present
Southern States not one has been fully identified.
They were poor, wandering creatures, and long
ago disappeared from the earth. But in the
Sierra Madre of Mexico they found superior
Indians, whom we can recognize still. Here
they found the men unclad, but the women
"very honest in their dress "-with cotton
tunics of their own weaving, with half-sleeves,
and a skirt to the knee; and over it a skirt of
dressed deerskin reaching to the ground and
fastened in front with straps. They washed
their clothing with a soapy root -the amole,
now similarly used by Indians and Mexicans
throughout the Southwest. These people gave
Cabeza de Vaca some turquoises, and five ar-
rowheads each chipped from a single emerald.
In this village in southwestern Sonora the
Spaniards stayed three days, living on split deer-
hearts -whence they named it the "Town of
Hearts."
A day's march beyond they met an Indian
wearing upon his necklace the buckle of a
sword-belt and a horseshoe nail; and their
hearts beat high at this first sign, in all their
eight years' wandering, of the nearness of Euro-
peans. The Indian told them that men with
beards like their own had come from the sky
and made war upon his people.
The Spaniards were now entering Sinaloa,
and found themselves in a fertile land of flow-
ing streams. The Indians were in mortal fear,
for two brutes of a class who were very rare
among the Spanish conquerors (they were, I am
glad to say, punished for their violation of the
strict laws of Spain) were then trying to catch
slaves. The soldiers had just left; but Cabeza
de Vaca and Estevanico, with eleven Indians,
hurried forward on their trail, and next day
overtook four Spaniards, who led them to their
rascally captain, Diego de Alcarkz. It was
long before that officer could believe the won-
drous story told by the naked, torn, shaggy,





THE FIRST AMERICAN TRAVELER.


wild man; but at last his coldness was thawed,
and he gave a certificate of the date, and of the
condition in which Vaca had come to him, and
then sent back for Dorantes and Castillo. Five
days later these arrived, accompanied by several
hundred Indians.
Alcarkz and his partner in crime, Cebreros,


It-,



k


CABEZA DE VACA ON THE MARCH.


before they could accustom themselves to
eating the food and wearing the clothing of
civilized people.
The negro remained in Mexico. On the ioth
of April, 1537, Cabeza de Vaca, Castillo, and
Dorantes sailed for Spain, arriving in August.
The chief hero never came back to North


wished to enslave these aborigines; but Cabeza
de Vaca, regardless of his own danger in taking
such a stand, indignantly opposed the infamous
plan, and finally forced the villains to abandon
it. The Indians were saved; and in all their
joy at getting back to the world the Spanish
wanderers parted with sincere regret from these
simple-hearted friends. After a few days' hard
travel they reached the post of Culiacan about
the first of May, 1536, where they were warmly
welcomed by the ill-fated hero Melchior Diaz.
He led one of the earliest expeditions (in 1539)
to the unknown north; and in 1540, on a
second expedition across part of Arizona and
into California, was accidentally killed.
After a short rest the wanderers left for Com-
postela, then the chief town of the province of
New Galicia--itself a small journey of three
hundred miles through a land swarming with
hostile savages. At last, they reached the city
of Mexico in safety, and were received with
great honor. But they found that it was long


America, but we hear of Dorantes as being there
in the following year. Their report of what they
saw, and of the stranger countries to the north
of which they had heard, had already set on
foot the remarkable expeditions which resulted
in the discovery of Arizona, New Mexico, our
Indian Territory, Kansas, and Colorado, and
brought about the building of the first Euro-
pean towns in the area of the United States.
Est6vanico was engaged with Fray Marcos in
the discovery of New Mexico, and was slain
by the Indians.
Cabeza de Vaca, as a reward for his then un-
paralleled walk of much more than ten thousand
miles in the unknown land, was made Governor
of Paraguay in 1540. He was not qualified for
the place, however, and returned in disgrace.
That circumstances were rather to blame than
he, however, is indicated by the fact that he
was restored to favor and received a pension
of two thousand ducats. He died in Seville at
a good old age.


C) A AP _1A
~C~~' .~%- '24 1; J"F:*Vk

94 ,
-Ir, 0?

"Ai~


[JUNE,











TOM PAULDING.
(A Tale of Treasure Trove in the Streets of New York.)

BY BRANDER MATTHEWS.


[Begum in the November number.]
CHAPTER XIV.
THE BATTLE OF THE CURLS.
R. RAPALLO and
Tom were so in-
7 terested in the fire
that they were
very late in get-
ting to bed. For
the first time in his
life Tom "heard
the chimes at mid-
night," or at least
he heard the bell in the tower of a church near
by strike twelve. It was a clear winter night;
there was not a cloud in the heavens, but there
was no moon, and the sky was dark as if the
freezing wind had blown out the stars, which
twinkled, chill and remote. In this murk mid-
night, black and cold, the mighty bonfire by
the water's edge blazed away, rolling dense
masses of smoke up the river and affording a
delightful spectacle to those who were unthink-
ing enough to forget its cost.
It was after one o'clock when Uncle Dick
and Tom returned home. Everybody had gone
to bed hours before; but Mrs. Paulding's quick
ear recognized her boy's footstep on the stairs
as he went up to his room.
Five minutes after he entered the house he
was in bed and asleep. Indeed, it seemed as
if he was in his first nap when there came a rap
on the door, and Katie's voice was heard.
Get up out o' that bed, Master Tom. Sure
it 's getting' cold the breakfast is, an' it 's the
buckwheat cakes ye like that ye 're mission .
Mr. Richard has been 'atin' away this last half
hour."
Thus aroused and besought, Tom got out of
bed and dressed sleepily. Even when he took
Vol. XIX.-38. s


his seat at the breakfast-table he was not yet
wide awake.
To his great surprise Uncle Dick looked as
fresh as if he had had ten hours' rest.
"Oh, Tom," cried Polly, you are very late!"
Better late than never," Tom replied cheer-
fully but drowsily, as he helped himself to the
buckwheat cakes.
"You've got sleep in your eyes still," said
Uncle Dick.
"I shall be all right in a minute," Tom de-
clared. "I suppose it is the light that makes
my eyes blink."
"I don't know how you would manage if you
were on a long march," Uncle Dick went on,
"when you had to walk twenty hours out of
twenty-four for three or four days together."
"I could n't manage it at all," Tom con-
fessed; "that is, not without training for it. I
suppose that one can train for anything, even
for going without sleep."
Mr. Rapallo laughed. "I should n't like to
make trial of that. I think the result would be
not unlike the experience of the man who be-
lieved that eating was all a matter of habit, and
that a horse could be gradually accustomed to
live on nothing. Unfortunately for the success
of the experiment, just when he was getting the
horse trained down-it died."
"Oh," said Polly," I don't see how people
can ever be so cruel to horses or dogs or cats.
It 's hateful."
"Experiments are rarely pleasant for those
on whom they are tried," Uncle Dick returned.
"They are like practical jokes, in that respect."
When Tom had finished his breakfast, his
mother left the dining-room for a conference
with the Brilliant Conversationalist. Her son
stood for a moment before the fireplace.
I think that you had better go up-stairs
again and take another nap," suggested his






TOM PAULDING.


uncle, noticing how the boy's eyes were closing
involuntarily.
"I 'm not very sleepy," Tom asserted, rous-
ing himself with an effort. Besides, I could n't
go to sleep if I wanted to. Cissy Smith and a
lot more boys are going coasting this morning.
Cissy is coming for me."
There was a lounge on one side of the dining-
room. Tom ivalked over to it with affected
unconcern.
"I've nothing to do to-day," he exclaimed,
"and I think I '11 just lie down here and shut
my eyes till the boys come."
Pauline slipped off her uncle's knees and
drew a shawl over Tom as he lay on the lounge.
"Marmee says," she remarked sagely, as she
did this, that you must never go to sleep with-
out something over you."
But I 'm not going to sleep," Tom declared.
The little girl pulled the shawl up to his
shoulders and tucked it in. Then she stood
for a moment at the head of the lounge, smooth-
ing her brother's hair.
"I wish I had curls like yours, Tom," she
said; "they would be so becoming on a girl,
and they are just wasted on you."
"Pauline," her uncle called to her gently,
"better leave your brother alone and let him
have his nap."
"I don't want a nap," asserted Tom, as. he
turned over; and in less than sixty seconds
the regularity of his breathing was very like a
snore.
Uncle Dick laughed gently. "The boy was
up late last night. No wonder he can't keep
awake."
He parted with Polly at the door.
Good-by, Polly," he said, "I 'm going down-
town-to work."
Have n't you any Christmas holidays ? she
asked sympathetically.
No," her uncle answered. The Christmas
vacation is intended only for boys and girls, be-
cause they have had to work hard over their les-
sons all the fall. Of course grown-up men don't
work so hard, and therefore they don't need it."
Then I 'm glad I 'm not going to be a grown-
up man," returned Pauline.
After her uncle had gone she patted Tom's
curls, trying to smooth them and then disar-


ranging them completely-without in any way
disturbing his sound slumber.
"How they do curl!" she thought. "I won-
der if I could make them curl the other way."
So she got half a dozen little pieces of paper
and began to twist her brother's locks up in
them. He still slept on. She was careful not
to pull the distorted curls. In a few minutes
Tom's head was covered with half a dozen little
twists of paper.
"I do wonder, really," she said to herself,
" whether that will take any of his curls out of
curl, or whether it will make them curl the other
way. It will be most curious to see."
She moved across the room to judge of the
possible effect; and then her mother called to
her and she flitted lightly up-stairs, leaving her
brother fast asleep, all unconscious of the adorn-
ment of his head with little twisted bits of paper.
Tom lay there for nearly an hour, and then he
was awakened by the signal of the Black Band
outside the window.
It was not until Cissy Smith had whistled
twice that Tom was aroused sufficiently to un-
derstand that his friend had come for him.
He sprang from the lounge and rushed into
the hall. He put on his cap and, while he was
getting his overcoat buttoned, he opened the
door and returned the signal.
Is that your new sled? he cried, as he came
out and found Cissy Smith waiting for him.
"It's a beauty I "
It 's my best Christmas present," Cissy de-
clared. "Father had it made for me at the same
place one was made for him when he was a boy.
You can't buy them anywhere; you have to
order them a year ahead."
The sled was worthy of praise. It was a
shapely and a seemly piece of work. It stood
high from the ground on two firm but delicate
runners, shod and braced with steel. Its slen-
der length was not disfigured by paint, but the
tough wood showed clear-grained through the
white varnish.
After the sled had been duly admired, Tom
and Cissy set out for the hillside where they
were to coast.
At the first corner, they met Lott and Harry
Zachary; and other boys joined them as they
went on.


594


[JUNE,






TOM PAULDING.


Lott asked Cissy, How is little Jimmy Wig-
ger this morning ? and he twisted himself into
an interrogation-mark in his anxiety to get all
the details of the sad story.
Cissy reported that the little boy was not im-
proving.
"If his back is hurt," suggested Harry Zp.ch-
ary, gently, I reckon the doctors will have to
cut out his backbone, maybe, or amputate both
his legs."
"Pop says that little Jimmy is going to have
a close call," Cissy Smith declared, conscious
of the advantage he had in being the doctor's
son.
"A call, eh ? Harry Zachary returned.
"Well, I reckon he 's right. We ought to go
over and see how he is this morning."
"Pop says he is n't any better," Cissy Smith
asserted.
We 're not calling to find out how he is, but
just out of manners," explained Harry.
"Then come along," replied Cissy, lurching
ahead in his usual rolling gait.
And when they tell him we 've been there,"
Tom interjected, perhaps it will make him feel
better."
Do you suppose that they will really cut off
his legs ? asked Lott.
Corkscrew would n't like to have his legs
cut off," Tom remarked, at large, "because he
'keeps his brains in his boots.' "
The boys greeted with a hearty laugh this
allusion to a recent remark of one of the school-
teachers about Lott-a remark which was
nearer the truth than the teacher suspected.
Lott's insatiate curiosity did not extend to
his lessons at school. In these he took no in-
terest whatever. He rarely studied. In his
recitations he relied on the help of the boys
who might be next to him and on even less
lawful aids. He had picked up a key to the
arithmetic used in the school; and this illegal
assistant to recitation he used to take into class
with him every day; at least, he took with
him the one or two pages containing the an-
swers needed in the lesson of the day. These
loose leaves he concealed in a secret place feasi-
ble only to himself,-for no one else wore such
tall boots. The tops of these boots projected
above his knees when he sat down; and behind


the shields thus erected Corkscrew placed the
needed pages of the key. The room in which
arithmetic was taught was overcrowded; and
Corkscrew's recent sudden growth, and his
strange habit of twisting about, and his enor-
mous boots, all made him conspicuous. It was
as if he was taking up more than his share of
the room. The teacher especially disliked the
boots, and various remarks were directed against
them. The last -of these remarks was to the
effect that "there is no use saying anything
more about Lott's boots; he will not part with
them; I believe he keeps his brains in those
boots."
When Tom Paulding recalled this remark of
the teacher's, Lott did not like it. But he could
think of no other retort than to say, You are
ever so smart, you are! "
As Tom failed to reply to this taunt, it seemed
less effective than Corkscrew could have de-
sired.
The boys had now come to the brow of the
hill down which they were to coast.
In default of any more cutting response to
the remark about the boots, Lott seized Tom's
cap and threw it as far as he could down the
hillside.
If Tom Paulding had not made Corkscrew
angry by an unprovoked allusion, he would not
have exposed himself to this sudden exhibition
of his own head with its adornment of little
twists of paper-all unknown to Tom himself.
"Who curled your hair? asked Cissy, when
the cap was plucked from Tom's head.
What do you mean? cried Tom, partly to
Lott and partly to Cissy.
By this time Lott, who had been watching the
cap as it circled through the air and then slid
along the glassy surface of the slide, had caught
sight of the half-dozen bits of paper which be-
decked Tom's head.
Ah, ha! he cried, "I told you Tom put his
hair up in paper!"
"I don't," said Tom.
"Don't you?" shouted Lott forcibly. "You
tell that to a blind man. We can see for our-
selves."
"I never curled my hair in my life!" Tom
declared.
"Then who put it up in paper for you this


595






TOM PAULDING.


morning, Tom ?" was Corkscrew's triumphant
question.
Involuntarily Tom raised his hand to his
head, and he felt the little twists of paper. The
boys laughed,-even Cissy Smith, Tom's best
friend, and not an admirer of Lott's, joined in
the merriment. Tom felt his face burning red
as he pulled out the papers.
Then he turned to Lott.


after it ends in an appeal to arms-and fists.
The battle between Tom Paulding and Cork-
screw Lott began promptly, and, for a while, its
issue was in doubt. Lott was older than Tom,
and taller and heavier; but, of late, he had been
growing beyond his strength.
In the end, Tom had the best of it. But
Corkscrew did not go after Tom's cap. This
gage of battle had been brought back by one of


TIII i~ $ T

...4. ......
01il

I '*1-


-x


"INVOLUNTARILY TOM RAISED HIS HAND TO HIS 'HEAD, AND HE FELT THE LITTLE TWISTS OF PAPER."


Go get my cap," he said angrily.
I won't," answered Lott. If you had n't
said anything about my boots, I should n't have
touched your cap. And I 'm glad I did now,
for I 've shown everybody how you get your
pretty curls."
"Will you get that cap?" repeated Tom.
No, I won't," Lott replied.
"Then I '11 make you," said Tom.
"I 'd like to see you do it," was Lott's retort
-although this was exactly what he would not
S like to see.
There is no need to describe a boys' quarrel


the smaller boys during a pause in the fight. So
it happened that Tom's was but a barren vic-
tory-like nearly all those a boy gains except
when he conquers himself.
Lott and several friends of his went away to
coast down another hill. Tom, when he had
recovered his wind and stanched his wounds,
joined in the sport with Cissy and Harry
Zachary.
But when he left the slide and went home to
his dinner, he bore with him the scars of war in
the shape of a swollen face and an unmistaka-
ble black eye.


[JUNE,






TOM PAULDING.


CHAPTER XV.
A NEW-YEAR'S-DAY DEPARTURE.

OM did not quite
know what to do
about his black eye.
He knew that his
lioll, mother would see
it, and then she
would be sure to
ask him about it,
and he would have
to tell her the
whole story. That she would not approve of
the fight Tom felt sure; and he was a little in
doubt whether he himself quite approved of it.
He had often thought that sooner or later he
and Corkscrew would have to have it out";
and if the combat had been really inevitable,
he was glad that it was over and that he had
not come out of it second-best. But even in
the glow of victory, he did not feel altogether
satisfied with the way in which war had been
declared nor with his own conduct in the begin-
ning. His reference to Lott's keeping his brains
in his boots was altogether uncalled for. It is
true that Corkscrew's throwing of the cap down-
hill had slight justification. But, all the same,
Tom had an uneasy consciousness that the real
cause of the anger that had burned so fiercely
in his breast was in great measure the keen
mortification arising from the disclosure of his
hair curled up in paper. And Tom knew that
it was Polly who had bedecked his head with
twists of paper, and not Corkscrew. Still they
would never have been seen had it not been
for Corkscrew. And so, after all-
Tom had gone thus far in the examination
of his conscience when he reached home.
As the Careful Katie opened the door, she
caught sight of the black eye.
"Oh, Master Tom!" she cried, "is it in a
fight ye 've been?"
"Yes," Tom answered. "I 've been in a
fight."
Come into the kitchen, then," she went on
heartily, and I '11 give ye a bit of beefsteak to
put on yer eye. An' ye can tell me all about
the fight the while. Sure, beefsteak is the wan
thing for a black eye. It's many a time me


brothers would have liked a bit, a-comin' back
from a fair in Killaloe, or a wake, or any other
merrymakin'."
Tom was following the Brilliant Conversation-
alist into the kitchen, when Pauline came dan-
cing out into the hall.
Oh, Tom," she cried, what do you think ?
We 've three new kittens, one black, and one
white with a black eye, and one all gray ever
so pretty. And marmee says I may keep the
gray one, and I 'm going to. The one that 's
white with the black eye is smaller and cun-
ninger, but I don't like a white kitten with a
black eye, do you? It looks just as if it had
been fighting, and of course it has n't yet, for
it's only two hours old."
Tom smiled grimly. "I 'd keep the one with
the black eye,". he said, as he followed Katie
into the kitchen, "and you might call it after
me." And with that he turned his head so that
she could see his face.
"Oh, Tom!" Polly exclaimed. "You look
worse than the kitten-ever so much worse! "
"Perhaps," said Tom, dolefully, "when the
kitten gets a little older, you will put its tail up
in curl-papers; and then it will go out, and come
back again with a black eye bigger than mine."
"It would be cruel to twist up a cat's tail!"
she declared.
"Was n't it cruel to let me go out with my
hair in curl-papers ?" he rejoined.
"Did you ?" she cried penitently. "Oh, Tom,
I 'm so sorry! I did n't mean to. I never
thought. I '11 never do it again; I '11 be so good
next time. I don't see how I ever came to do
it. Won't you forgive me this time? "
Tom made haste to forgive her when he saw
how sorrowful she looked.
Then the Brilliant Conversationalist came
with a bit of raw beef and placed this to the in-
jured eye and tied it tight with Tom's handker-
chief bound about his head.
"There," she said, "that'll draw out the
poison for you. Now tell us about the fight.
Did ye bate the head off the villain ? "
Then Tom, half pleased and half ashamed,
told his sister and Katie all about the combat
with Corkscrew Lott.
Oh, Tom! Pauline cried suddenly, "what
will marmee say?"






TOM PAULDING.


"I don't know," replied Tom, doubtfully.
"She won't like it."
Shall I go and break the news to her gently,
as they do in the story-books?" suggested his
sister.
"No," Tom answered; "I 'd better tell her
myself."
"I '1 go with you," Pauline persisted; "and
I '11 tell her it was all my fault."
"No," Tom replied again, "I 'd better go
alone."
So he took heart of grace, and went up to
his mother's room and placed before her the
whole story; not trying to shield himself, but as
well as he could telling the truth, the whole
truth, and nothing but the truth.
Mrs. Paulding was a wise mother. She saw
that her son had been punished; she did not re-
proach him, but she spoke to him gently, and
when she had ceased speaking Tom had made
up his mind never to get into another fight.
Then she kissed him, and they went down to-
gether to their early dinner.
That evening, when Uncle Dick returned, the
whole story had to be gone over once more. It
is to be recorded with regret that Mr. Rapallo
laughed heartily when he heard about the curls
which Polly put up in paper and which Cork-
screw revealed accidentally.
"Best keep out of a fight if you can," he said
when he had heard the full details; but if you
must fight, go in to win."
"I don't think I shall go in again," Tom de-
clared, looking up at his mother with an affec-
tionate glance, which would have been more
effective if the black eye had not been still
covered by the bit of beefsteak and the hand-
kerchief.
Sure if he goes to a wake, any dacent boy
may have to swing his shillalah about a bit,"
the Careful Katie remarked, as she left the room
for the preserves.
The Brilliant Conversationalist is in favor
of a free fight," Uncle Dick declared. "But I '11
give you a Spanish proverb better than her
Hibernian advice -and there is no more hon-
orable race than the Spanish, and no one is more
punctilious than a Spaniard. Yet they have a
saying, It is the man who returns the first blow
who begins the.quarrel.' "


After supper, Mrs. Paulding and Pauline
went up-stairs, leaving Mr. Rapallo and Tom
alone together.
"I've been looking up the ownership of that
property where you think your guineas are,"
said Uncle Dick.
"Did you find out? Tom asked eagerly.
"I found that the land is in dispute," his
uncle replied. "The title to it is doubtful, and
there has been a lawsuit about it in the courts
now for nearly ten years."
"But it must belong to some one," Tom
insisted.
"It 's likely to belong to the lawyers, if
this litigation does n't stop soon," Uncle Dick
answered. Then he explained how it was:
"The case seems to be complicated; there
was an assignment of some sort made by the
original owner fifty years ago; and now there
are two mortgages and two wills, and half a
dozen codicils. And all the parties are angry,
and there is 'blood on the moon.' So I 'm
afraid that'when we get ready to dig for that
buried treasure, we shall have to do it without
asking anybody's permission. In the first place,
we don't know whom to ask; and in the second
place, whoever we ask would surely suspect us
of coming from one of the other parties, and
would not only refuse but perhaps set a guard
on the property or have detectives watch us."
"Oh!" said Tom, and he was conscious of a
certain swelling pride at the possibility that there
might be a detective "on his track," as he
phrased it.
Of course," Mr. Rapallo continued, as
long as the frost's in the ground there is no
use in our trying to do anything. In the
mean While, you will say nothing."
"Not even to Cissy Smith?" Tom urged,
aware of the delight that he would have in
imparting this real mystery to his friend.
Not even to anybody," Uncle Dick an-
swered. "If Cissy were to tell some one, you
could n't blame him for not keeping the secret
you could n't keep yourself."
Tom felt the force of this reasoning, but he
regretted that his uncle thought it best not to
tell Cissy. Tom felt sure of Cissy's discretion,
and he longed to have some one with whom
to talk over the buried treasure. Thus early in


UUNE,






TOM PAULDING.


life Tom was made to see the wisdom in the
saying of the philosopher, that a secret is a
most undesirable property, for "if you tell it,
you have n't got it; and if you don't tell it, you
lose the interest on the investment."
The next afternoon, as Tom was coming back
from asking how little Jimmy Wigger was get-
ting on, he saw Mr. Rapallo standing on the
stoop of Mr. Joshua Hoffmann's house talking
to the old gentleman he had before seen lean-
ing over the wall. Tom supposed that the Old
Gentleman who leaned over the Wall, as he
called him in his own mind, was probably Mr.
Hoffmann himself, but he was not quite sure
of it.
Once again before New Year's Day, Tom
saw his uncle in conference with the Old
Gentleman who leaned over the Wall. Tom
noticed that about this time Mr. Rapallo was a
little more restless than usual; and then again
that he would sink into frequent fits of thought-
ful silence.
On New Year's morning, Mr. Rapallo caught
Tom's eye, after Tom had spoken twice without
bringing him out of his silent abstraction.
I beg your pardon, Tom," he said; I was
thinking. The fact is, I 've got the idea of a
little invention buzzing in my head, and I keep
turning it over and over, and looking at it on all
sides, even when I ought to be doing something
else-eating my breakfast, for example."
They were then at their morning meal; and
just at that moment the shrill whistle of the
postman was heard.
"There does be only one letter-man this
morning I 'm thinking, said the Brilliant Con-
versationalist, as she went out to see what the
postman had for them.
"There may be a letter for me," Uncle Dick
remarked, "that will take me away to-night."
"You are not going to leave us? cried Polly.
"I may have to go," her uncle answered.
"Where?" she asked.
On a journey- to lots of places," he replied.
"How long will you be gone ?" she went on.
"I don't know. Two or three months, per-
haps," he answered. Then, catching Tom's in-
quiring glance, he added, "I shall be back by


the time the frost is out of the ground. I 'm
like a bad penny, I 'm sure to turn up again."
"You are not a bad penny at all," said Polly,
with emphasis. You are as good as gold, and
a penny is only copper. And if you have to
go, we shall all miss you very, very much!"
Then she got up and walked around the table
and kissed her uncle on the cheek.
Katie returned and gave Uncle Dick the only
letter she had in her hand.
"The letter-man says he does n't be coming'
here again to-day, mum, but ye can give him
his New Year's in the morning, she reported.
"Must you go?" asked Mrs. Paulding, who
had watched her brother's face as he read the
note.
"Yes. I must start this afternoon at the
latest," he answered. "It is to see a man about
this little invention of mine. If he likes it, we
shall work it out together. Then, when I come
back in the spring, Mary, I hope to bring you
that Christmas present I owe you."

When Mr. Rapallo left the house, about twelve
o'clock, Tom went with him to the nearest ele-
vated-railroad station. Uncle Dick did not walk
this time, as he had a heavy bag to carry.
After Mr. Rapallo and Tom had stepped
down upon the sidewalk, from the flight of
wooden steps leading from the street up to the
rocky crest on which the house was perched,
they saw Cissy Smith. He was coming eagerly
toward them.
"Have you heard the news about little
Jimmy?" asked Cissy.
"No," Tom replied. "What is it ?"
"He died this morning early," Cissy con-
tinued. "Father was there. Little Jimmy did
not suffer any. And he could n't ever have
been strong again."
"Poor little chap!" said Tom, thinking of
the eagerness of the little fellow as he had fol-
lowed Tom about ready to do his bidding, what-
ever it might be.
"The years bring joy to some and sorrow to
others," Mr. Rapallo remarked gently; "but it
is a sad house to which Death pays a New
Year's call."


(To be continued.)


599






























[The old skifer fairly "thrills" little Ben:]


WAS in '65, my little cove,
As I recollects, the day
We ships our cargo, with nary embargo,
An' sails from Ja-ma-ki-a.

Then it's yo, heave ho! an' it's heave agin!
An' the wind a-blowin' free!
With plenty o' baccyy to last, by craokey,
A sailor's life for me!

Sorghum 'lasses our cargo was;
Our ship the "Sassy Jane";
No rakisher sailin', an' she a-hailin'
From Kennebunk, down in Maine.

3 An' we have n't been more than two days out,
When the duff don't seem to please;
SThere ain't the richness of raisins an' sichness,
So we ups an' we mutinies.
60o





A TALE OF PIRACY. OOI
The cap'n, the fust, an' secun' mate,
The grizzled old bos'n, too
(Fur One-eye Slover, the cook, come over), ,
An' agin 'em the hull ship's crew
An' a terrible, bloodthirsty, willainous crew,
As could n't be possible wuss;
Which the same wore ear-rings to help their hearings,
An' was tattooed promiscuous 1


Then it's pippety-pop, an' bang away,
S An' it's out an' it's come agin,
x/i With balls a-shriekin' an' knives a-reekin',
Till sullen-like they gives in! "A WILLAINOUS CREW.


An' then, a-knowin' they 'd be picked up
If we set the hull lot afloat,
We makes 'em risk it with plain sea-biscuit
In a leaky old jolly-boat.



1 0


Then up the bonny black flag we runs,
A-beginnin' of desp'rit lives,
SAn' the mutiny-breeder we 'lects as leader,
An' kivers oursel's with knives.


"THEN UP THE BONNY BLACK FLAG WE RUNS."







\ Full many a gallant merohantm'n,
A-loaded with shiny gold,
We fights a duel, an' takes most cruel,
An' lightens up of its hold.


But sometimes we gets a-thinkin', nights,

I We ain't of recent been actin' decent,
An' we has what you calls remorse.



"AN' WE HAS WHAT YOU CALLS REMORSE."


An' all of a sudden we quar'ly grows,
A-achin' each other to strike;
There was two begin it, then more comes in it,
An' soon it is gen'ral-like.


A fight as lasted three days an' nights,
An' as bad as ever I see,
Not once a-stoppin', an' men a-droppin',
Till all that was left was me!





An', with all
A tempest
An' I keeps
But the w




ON IT I FLOATS A WEEK." 48%

So with a hen-coop over I jumps,
An' on it I floats a week,
Till I makes an island, an' gets on dry
land,
So hoarse I kin just but speak.


'"'" / / /
"AN' SOON IT IS GEN'RAL-LIKE."
that valible treasure mine,
comes down at last,
on sailin', an' bailin' an' bailin',
essel 's a-fillin' fast.


"I GETS ON DRY LAND."


602


A TALE OF PIRACY.


[JUNE,






A TALE OF PIRACY.


An' there fur eight long years I stays,
A-drinkin' of misery's dregs,
With no one near me to try an' cheer me,
An' nourished on penguins' eggs.

Eight weary, dreary, teary years,
An' biliousy-like an' pale;
Fur company sighin', an' rags a-flyin'
A-tryin' to catch a sail

But, when I'm a-givin' up hope at last,
A wessel it heaves in sight,
An' I cooks up a story that's noways gory,
Explainin' of my sad plight.


"I COOKS UP A STORY THAT IS NOWAYS GORY.
Fur, with what I 've got, my little
At the bottom of the sea,
Your millionaires, with their bonds
Are n't a sarkumstance 'long o'


-~ --



"NOURISHED ON PENGUINS' EGGS."
An' many's an' many 's the time since then
I've sat me down to weep,
- To think of them millions-I may say billions-
A hundred o' fathoms deep i




cove,- .- -- "-,

an' shares,
me!


j


i-

~SM~











RANGOON AS A NURSE.


BY E. VINTON BLAKE.


I 'LL own, boys, it 's funny to consider a
horse in the light of a nurse; I never before
heard of an equine nurse, but in this case I
think "Rangoon" contributed largely to the
recovery of a sick patient.
That patient was myself.
You see, I had been almost used up by the
indiscriminate hugging of a too demonstrative
bear. It was one of the few cases where the
hunter turns out to be the hunted. If I had
been on Rangoon's back, now, instead of lying
in ambush among those rocks but that is
neither here nor there.
After the struggle was over, and my friend
Will- who had come to the rescue had re-
vived me, and I had sat up and discovered that
my hunting shirt and leggings were in strips
and I was covered with scratches from head to
foot, we held a short but serious council.
This is a pretty go said he.
"Just so," said I.
Whatever possessed you to tackle that mon-
ster alone, and you on foot," said he, "passes
my understanding But howsomever, here you
are, and Martin's ranch sixty miles to the
east'ard."
"I was a bit careless, that 's true," said I.
" Nevertheless, Martin's ranch it is. Bring the
horses."
"Like 's not you won't live to get there,"
grumbled Will, who always made a point of
speaking his mind.
"Yes, I shall, too, you old growler," said I.
I did. But when I was fairly got to bed
by horrified Mr. and Mrs. Martin, and all the
household were flying about with bandages,
remedies, and what riot, the strain of excite-
ment and resolve that had upheld me in the
long, painful journey suddenly gave way, and
I went into a dead faint. I suppose I was a very
sick man. Many a day passed thereafter, of
which I took no note. The first things I remem-


ber, when the fever abated, and I began to real-
ize the outer world again, were the golden curls
and tender face of little Millie Martin, the sweet
scent of flowers she brought for my table, the
low songs she sang all by herself on the plat-
form outside my window. Many a day I lay
there, very weak, and watched the glint of sun-
light through the dark chintz curtains, as I lis-
tened to the tuneful childish voice.
The Martins were Eastern people, who settled
there when Millie was a mere baby; and she
was now nearly eight. The house stood on
stilts, as it were, on five-foot logs, and a rough
platform ran around it; there were some out-
buildings; and the whole was inclosed by a high
adobe wall. There was also a corral for the
horses, where they were kept except in severe
weather.
My first thought, when I got my brains once
more in thinking order, was-Rangoon. When
I inquired for him, they sent Will Grant in to
see me. That worthy entered gingerly, as one
who treads on eggs, sat on the edge of a chair,
pushed back his sombrero, and put his hands
on his knees to contemplate me. A broad
smile began to spread over his face.
"What the dickens are you laughing at?"
inquired I. I was a little bit cross.
"When would ye like to hunt another bear? "
said he.
"Will, you 're an old rascal," said I. "I '11
have vengeance on the whole race of bears
by and by. What have you done with my
horse ? "
"Wal," said Will Grant, "there hain't no-
body been able to do nothing' with him far
as I know. He knows you 're in this house
somewhere, and he hangs around, grazin' here
and there on the perarie, and coming' to me for
a feed of corn. He won't let nobody else come
nigh him."
Will sat for a moment, and began to laugh.






RANGOON AS A NURSE.


" He 'n' I had a lively tussle the other day. I
was bound I 'd ride him down to Navarosa-
just a little jaunt for to exercise him, ye know.
So I got him all saddled and bridled peaceable
enough, and was sort o' smilin' to myself as to
how well he was behavin', ye see; and I got
on all right and said good-by to old Martin
and Joe, and started. Wal, he kind o' hesi-
tated, looked all about, and 'parently thought
you were -a-comin', somewhere. Then he went


Joe laughing' and hollerin' fit to die. When
he stopped again I was ready for him, and he
did n't throw me; but I got off then of my own
accord, and concluded he 'n' I would n't get to
Navarosa together."
Weak as I was, I was shaking with laughter
when Will made an end. Never mind," said I;
" I 'm going to get out on the platform in a few
days, and I '11 be right glad to see him again."
Three days therefrom, I sat bolstered up on


"EVERY DAY HE WAITED FOR MY APPEARANCE, AND CAME TO BE PETTED." (SEE PAGE 607.)


about fifty yards, and seemed of a sudden to
get it through him that he 'n' I were on a trip
'long of ourselves. Then he started, and I
never was flown about quite so lively before, in
my born days. He went like a mad streak for
a ways, then brought up as short as a post.
Well, sir, Iwent on, as fur as I could, and when
I landed, it war n't in the best order. I picked
myself up tearin' mad. I went back to him, and
he was looking' the innocentest, with his two ears
pricked forward a-starin' at me, as if 't war n't
his fault at all. He let me get on again, the
sweetest-tempered you ever see, and then he
bolted back again for the corral at the top of
his bent, and in he went, with old Martin and


the platform, enjoying the fresh morning, the
sunny prairie that stretched beyond the wall to
the belt of oaks by the Navarosa River, the
blue beauty of the western mountains on the far
horizon.
Hain't seen Rangoon sence last night," said
Will Grant. He would n't be corraled, and
kicked up his heels so like all possessed that I
told him to clear out; and he cleared."
I drew from my pocket a small silver whistle
that I used when my brave horse strayed to
some distance and I wished to recall him. It
shrilled sweet and clear on the breezy morning,
and I waited. No Rangoon.
Three times I blew, and then began seriously





RANGOON AS A NURSE.


to question whether the patience of my four-
footed friend had not given out during the long
days of waiting, with never a word from the
master he loved; and whether he had not for-
saken hark!
Something' 's a-comin'," said Will, concisely,
with his ear to the ground.
4" There 's more than one," he added, a mo-
ment after, and came up the long, broad flight
of wooden steps to the platform, whence he
could see beyond the wall.
Straight down over the long swell between
the ranch and the river, mane and tail afloat on
the wind, came Rangoon in a wild, headlong
gallop; and behind, urging their agile ponies to
furious speed, lasso in hand ready for a throw,
rode Sakona, a young Apache chief, and three
of his braves. I knew Sakona by sight, and, it
seems, he knew me even better.
Wild fellows are the Apaches; I believe they
have a reservation now; but if they keep upon it
they have changed greatly from what they were
when I knew them.
"There 's some o' them plaguy redskins!"
said Joe Martin. A general, rapid, quiet note of
preparation ran through the large, busy house-
hold. One of the peons drove the inilch-cows
and the horses from the yard to the corral, and


"RANGOON SCRAMBLED UP


THE STEPS." (SEE NEXT PAGE.)


fastened the heavy, solid gate. Every man
looked to his arms, for no one knew how many
Apaches might lurk in that belt of oaks by the
river.
Will Grant bridled his roan in haste. He


muttered angrily, "The Apache rascal knows
that hoss. He knows better'n that! He flung
himself on, bareback, and was off at a gallop
through the gates toward the advancing In-
dians, shouting as he went a perfect torrent of
threats and abuse in the Navajo tongue, which
Sakona must have been deaf not to understand.
The lassos were poised,--the Indians hesi-
tated. Rangoon still held his course at head-
long speed for the gates. I blew my whistle
again; I was excited just then. He saw me and
neighed wildly. I sat down on the edge of the
platform as he came near. He was crazy with
delight, and thrust his head up to me to be
caressed. He even reared, as if meditating a
spring upon the platform. But I restrained him
with a word. I was yet weak. Presently he
detected the change, the weakness in me. He
snuffed curiously at my .hands, my arms, as I
half reclined on the edge of the platform. He
thrust his pink nose into my face with an anxious
whinny, as if to say, "What ails you ?"
"I think he's sorry for you; don't you, Mr.
Ransom? said little Millie.
Sakona and his braves had stopped in a group
on the prairie. Will Grant's gestures, as he
talked to them, were extremely forcible; and it
was plain that he was laying down the law in
emphatic fashion, .about
running off another man's
property.
"They're all coming'
here, anyway," observed
Joe, after a pause. It
was plain Sakona was
.....- .. going to brave it out.
^ He rode into the yard,
dismounted, came up on the
/ platform, and nodded to me.
"Hud d' ye?" said the Apache, laconi-
cally. He could speak English very well.
How are you, Sakona ? I saw you at Fort
Mescaleros six months ago-"
Sakona nodded, and his quick eye ran over
Rangoon, who stood with his head against my
shoulder.
"White man been sick?"
"Pretty sick, Sakona. Too much bear." I
drew my finger lightly over the scars on wrist
and cheek. The Apache smiled grimly.


606


[JUNE,






RANGOON AS A NURSE.


He '11 get well soon," said Grant. He has
a good nurse," with a little gesture toward
Rangoon.
"What you take for him ? said Sakona.
"Money can't buy that horse," I answered,
a trifle shortly; "lassos can't catch him, and
no man can ride him but myself."
Sakona grunted, but said nothing. Presently
the Indians went away. We watched them out
of sight behind the timber.
From that day Rangoon haunted the house.
He grazed about the yard, or careered wildly
in at one gate and out the other; he scrambled
up the steps and promenaded with sounding
hoofs on the platform. Every day he waited for
my appearance, and came to be petted, and to
rub his head on my shoulder; every night he
submitted to be corraled by Will Grant.
Nevertheless, getting well was tedious busi-
ness. My friend Will Grant was determined I
should not forget that: scarce a day passed but
I received sly thrusts concerning bears and am-
bushments; and he expressed great fear lest my
city habits were creeping back upon me-" sich
as goin' ter sleep, nights, with both eyes shut,
which we don't do out here; and goin' bear-
huntin' after grizzlies on yer own feet instead
of yer horse's."
Presently I was able to dispense with pil-
lows, and to walk down the steps by myself. And
then one day Will was scandalized by finding
Rangoon standing like a post close to the plat-
form, while his master, sound asleep, rested his
head and shoulders on Rangoon's back. He
showed his teeth in a vicious snap as Will ap-
proached, but otherwise preserved immovable
rigidity of body, lest he should upset me. Will
had been down to Navarosa after the mail.
His loud accents awoke me.
"Wal-say! Be ye ever goin' to open your
eyes ? I shall have to teach ye hunter's craft
all over again if ye sleep this fashion. I call
that imposin' on a cre'tur's good natur'!-ridin'
him daytimes and likewise usin' him for a bed.
Here 's some letters for ye!"
Then I aroused myself, and sat on the steps
to read them. From Herries, Hexam, and my
old friend the hunter, Simon Casey. The old
hunter's handwriting was cramped and peculiar.
Mr. Ransom,"--thus ran the hunter's let-


ter,-" I here by Bill you are nerely well,
and this is to informed you that Mr. Herries
and Mr. Hexam and me will be at East Gorge
the furst of Septembar, and expect you and
Bill will meet us. I hop to get thare by the
third day at the latest onless we shood eny of
us get clawd by a bare as Bill tells me you did.
Respecfuly
SIMON CASEY.
P. S. We can take that trip into new Mexsico
now as well as not, and throo the lower mountens.
S. C."
My blood quickened as I read. I had been
inactive so long; and the trip was one I had
looked forward to as soon as Casey's leisure
should permit. We should be all together again.
Herries and Hexam, my two New York friends,
who were out for the benefit of their health,
had been overland to Los Angeles with Casey,
while I had preferred to go hunting among the
mountains with Will.
"Wal," said the latter, ye look pleased. Go-
in' to get well straight away, are ye ? What's
the old man write? "
I told him. "It is now the roth of July.
There's plenty of time for me to get in order.
I '11 do it, Will, and I '11 ride Rangoon to-
morrow "
"I've always'heerd," remarked the guide,
beginning to edge cautiously out of the way,
that people had better be slow and sure that
go a-huntin' grizzlies afoot and take no com-
mon sense along with 'em-"
Here a vigorously flung shoe came within an
inch of his head, and he dodged around the
corner, putting his nose back to observe, But
then, as I told that Apache, you 've had a good
nurse!"
I looked up at Rangoon. I remembered that
he had scarcely been outside the wall since the
day I was first brought out on the platform.
He pricked up his ears at Will Grant. I put
my arm over his neck.
My brave old fellow," said I, "I '11 live on
one meal a day before you and I shall part. If
I had stuck to you, instead of leaving you away
back in the bushes, the bear would never have
got a claw on me, eh, Rangoon ? "
He answered by a low whinny. Who will say
he did not understand me ?


607











THAT'S THE WAY!

By ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.


JUST a little every day,
That 's the way
Seeds in darkness swell and grow,
Tiny blades push through the snow.
Never any flower of May
Leaps to blossom in a burst.
Slowly-slowly-at the first.
That's the way!
Just a little every day.


Just a little every day,
That 's the way!
Children learn to read and write,
Bit by bit, and mite by mite.
Never any one, I say,
Leaps to knowledge and its power.
Slowly-slowly-hour by hour.
That 's the way !
Just a little every day.


DICK'S DIVE.

BY HOWARD BUNCH.


"AND mind what I told you about not going
overboard!" said Captain Chandler, as the long
whaleboat left the side of the whaling-schooner
"Crocker," which was anchored under the lee
of a little island in the Caribbean Sea.
"Yes, sir," meekly answered Dick Thorn,
who, as youngest of the crew, generally pulled
stroke-oar-that being the lightest and easiest
to handle-in the captain's boat.
The entire ship's company were going ashore
after fire-wood; but Dick, having a blistered
hand, resulting from a twenty-mile pull on the
previous day, had, to his secret joy, been left
behind.
Like most of the smaller islands in the Carib-
bean Sea, the neighboring islet had no harbor-
age. Vessels come to anchor under the lee of
such places, and lie with mainsail up, ready to
get under way at the first indication of a change
of wind.
Dick sat contentedly watching the boats as
they disappeared around the nearest point,
where there was a sort of inlet or cove, in which
wreck-stuff and driftwood were usually found in
quantities.


"Oh, it seems so good to be alone just for a
little while! said Dick, half aloud, with a great
sigh of relief.
He was utterly wearied of the constant rough
companionship of the past three months; but for
his surroundings he had only himself to blame.
His was the repetition of an old story. A
good home and over-indulgent parents, indis-
criminate, trashy reading, giving false views of
life,- of sea life in particular,- a running away,
a vain quest for work as a "cabin-boy," and,
as a final result, shipping as a 'fore-mast hand
in a Provincetown whaler.
All these scenes came to Dick's mind as he
sat on the after-house, swinging his bare feet to
and fro, and watching the setting sun.
Oh, if I only live to get back to father and
mother!" thought Dick to himself, as a great
sob rose in his throat. He arose abruptly and
walked to the vessel's side.
The gangway had been unshipped for the bet-
ter reception of the driftwood when it should
arrive, and Dick gazed abstractedly outboard.
The sea-breeze was dying away. .Far and
wide the surface of the Caribbean Sea lay re-











THAT'S THE WAY!

By ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.


JUST a little every day,
That 's the way
Seeds in darkness swell and grow,
Tiny blades push through the snow.
Never any flower of May
Leaps to blossom in a burst.
Slowly-slowly-at the first.
That's the way!
Just a little every day.


Just a little every day,
That 's the way!
Children learn to read and write,
Bit by bit, and mite by mite.
Never any one, I say,
Leaps to knowledge and its power.
Slowly-slowly-hour by hour.
That 's the way !
Just a little every day.


DICK'S DIVE.

BY HOWARD BUNCH.


"AND mind what I told you about not going
overboard!" said Captain Chandler, as the long
whaleboat left the side of the whaling-schooner
"Crocker," which was anchored under the lee
of a little island in the Caribbean Sea.
"Yes, sir," meekly answered Dick Thorn,
who, as youngest of the crew, generally pulled
stroke-oar-that being the lightest and easiest
to handle-in the captain's boat.
The entire ship's company were going ashore
after fire-wood; but Dick, having a blistered
hand, resulting from a twenty-mile pull on the
previous day, had, to his secret joy, been left
behind.
Like most of the smaller islands in the Carib-
bean Sea, the neighboring islet had no harbor-
age. Vessels come to anchor under the lee of
such places, and lie with mainsail up, ready to
get under way at the first indication of a change
of wind.
Dick sat contentedly watching the boats as
they disappeared around the nearest point,
where there was a sort of inlet or cove, in which
wreck-stuff and driftwood were usually found in
quantities.


"Oh, it seems so good to be alone just for a
little while! said Dick, half aloud, with a great
sigh of relief.
He was utterly wearied of the constant rough
companionship of the past three months; but for
his surroundings he had only himself to blame.
His was the repetition of an old story. A
good home and over-indulgent parents, indis-
criminate, trashy reading, giving false views of
life,- of sea life in particular,- a running away,
a vain quest for work as a "cabin-boy," and,
as a final result, shipping as a 'fore-mast hand
in a Provincetown whaler.
All these scenes came to Dick's mind as he
sat on the after-house, swinging his bare feet to
and fro, and watching the setting sun.
Oh, if I only live to get back to father and
mother!" thought Dick to himself, as a great
sob rose in his throat. He arose abruptly and
walked to the vessel's side.
The gangway had been unshipped for the bet-
ter reception of the driftwood when it should
arrive, and Dick gazed abstractedly outboard.
The sea-breeze was dying away. .Far and
wide the surface of the Caribbean Sea lay re-






DICK'S DIVE.


fleeting the rays of the setting sun, with hardly
a ripple on its dark, steely-blue surface.
The gnats and sand-flies were enjoying the
heat, as they came in great swarms from the
beach, a cable's-length distant, where there were
tiny breakers which fell
with a cooling sound.
But the insects were en-
joying life far better
than Dick enjoyed them.
There were about
three fathoms and a
half of water under the
Crocker's keel; and as
Dick turned his gaze
downward he saw the
anchor a little way off,
with one of its flukes
partly embedded in
the powdered coral,
than which not even
snow can be whiter.
This, together with
the clearness and re-
fracting power of the
water, made the objects
upon the bottom seem
almost within reach.
Beautifully colored fish
swam to and fro among
the strange forms of
marine growth in this
little garden-spot be-
longing by right to
Father Neptune.
Scattered here and
there were shells, with a.-
their living inmates
making scrawly pat-
terns in the powdered r ---
coral as they slowly -_i -_---'.9
moved from place to SUDDENLY DICK WAS CON
place.
There were tritons, and "spine-cups," pink-
lipped conch, and many tinted ray-shells, mer-
maid's-combs, and sea-fans without number, to
say nothing of others, of whose names Dick had
no idea. But what took his attention most was
a huge sponge, attached to the bottom.
Only the day before, Dick had heard Captain
VOL. XIX. 39.


Chandler wishing that he could run across a
good big sponge, growing within reach of the
boat-hook. And though the captain was some-
times really harsh with him,- especially when
Dick, with his heart in his mouth, was pulling


a--t







-j -
-
-__----_ -___4 L1-- -_-


-


SCIOUS OF A DARK SHADOW OVERHEAD." (SEE NEXT PAGE.)

the best stroke" he knew how, while the light
boat was topping the long seas in eager pursuit
of a "fifty-barrel humpback" whale,-he was
kind to the boy as a rule, and Dick tried to
please him.
I don't believe he'd mind my going over-
board if I could bring up that sponge," said


609





DICK'S DIVE.


Dick, looking longingly into the cool depths.
For Dick was like a young water-spaniel, and
could swim or dive better than any boy in his
native seaboard town.
But since the Crocker had been in this
particular locality Captain Chandler had for-
bidden the men to go in bathing, except when
they could go in from shore; for in the deeper
water about the reefs, the great gray-and-white
man-eating sharks were plentiful.
This was a severe deprivation to Dick, who
would not have hesitated to go overboard in
mid-ocean. Indeed, he had done so more than
once when the schooner was becalmed; and he
inwardly rebelled against the Captain's decree.
If there were sharks around, I could see a
back-fin any distance, in this calm," he thought,
as he looked out over the glassy surface of
the sea.
And without stopping to argue with himself,
off went hat, blue drilling shirt, and overalls,
and in less than ten seconds Dick stood in the
gangway ready for the dive.
Drawing one long breath, Dick took a splen-
did header, and clove the water like a pointed
stone. Down, down, toward the object of his
quest he rapidly swam, but the great transpa-
rency of the water had misled him as to its
depth, and when he touched the sponge's slimy
surface, he was well-nigh spent of breath.
Despite the pressure on his chest and strange
singing in his ears, he seized the sponge at the
base, and, bracing his feet firmly on the bottom,
gave a mighty tug which partially uprooted it.
But even in the act, suddenly he was con-
scious of a dark shadow directly overhead.
"The boat," was his first thought; "a cloud,"
the second. Then he glanced upward, and be-
tween himself and the waning daylight was that
most dreaded of sights -a huge gray shark, at
least seventeen feet long, curving with gently
moving fins directly above him, and about two
feet beneath the water's surface.
Small chance is there to think clearly and
quickly when the heart is already beginning to
beat spasmodically, and one is internally gasping
for air in eighteen feet of water. But as Dick
gave a final mechanical tug and uprooted the


sponge, the schooner swung slowly over him,
and the shark as slowly moved aside.
Shoving with his feet against the bottom,
Dick arose like a flash to the surface on the
side of the vessel's keel opposite to that on which
the shark lay; and, grasping the main channels
with a convulsive clutch, he managed somehow
to drag himself up, still retaining his hold on the
sponge. But he was not a second too soon;
the great monster had followed him beneath
the keel with a swiftness peculiar to the spe-
cies when in pursuit of prey; and the vicious
snap of its jaws was plainly heard by Dick, as
he scrambled over the schooner's edge, and
dropped in a half-fainting condition upon the
deck.
Half an hour later the boats pulled along-
side, and Dick humbly laid his trophy at his
captain's feet, telling him at the same time of
his narrow escape.
Did Captain Chandler thank him with a
kindly smile, or gravely reprove him for fool-
hardy disobedience ?
He did neither. He looked over the quarter
where the shark's back-fin was circling about
the stem, and measured him with his eye. Then
he looked at the sponge, from which the water
had been pressed, as it lay in a deck-tub to
undergo a certain process of curing. And at
length, addressing himself to Dick, he said
curtly:
"If I hear of your going overboard again
on this cruise, young man, I '11 trice you up by
the two thumbs in the main rigging and give
you a sound rope's-ending!"
But, nevertheless, when the Crocker returned
to Provincetown, after an eleven-months' cruise
from which -no one but the owners profited, and
every man of the crew, being as a matter of
course brought in debt to the vessel, was left
penniless in that not over-hospitable town, Cap-
tain Chandler paid out of his own pocket
Dick Thorn's fare to his home in Maine.
"Don't you ever let me see you aboard a
Provincetown whaler again," he said roughly.
And, thanking him kindly, Dick said that the
captain need n't be alarmed-he never would.
And he never did.


6io












WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE.

BY LAURA E. RICHARDS.


[Begun in tie January number.]
CHAPTER VII.

OUR MOTHER, MRS. JULIA WARD HOWE.
OUR mother's story should be sung, rather
than said, so much has music to do with it. My
earliest recollection of my mother is of her
standing by the piano in the great dining-room,
dressed in black velvet, with her beautiful neck
and arms bare, and singing to us. Her voice
was a very rare and perfect one, we have since
learned; we knew then only that we did not care
to hear any one else sing when we might hear her.
The time for singing was at twilight, when the
dancing was over, and we gathered breathless
and exhausted about the piano for the last and
greatest treat. Then the beautiful voice would
break out, and flood the room with melody, and
fill our childish hearts with almost painful rap-
ture. Our mother knew all the songs in the
world; that was our firm belief. Certainly we
never found an end to her repertory.
There were German student songs, which she
had learned from her brother when he came
back from Heidelberg: merry, jovial ditties, with
choruses of Juvevallera! and Za hi! Za he !
Za ho-o-o-o-o-oh!" in which we joined with
boundless enthusiasm. There were gay little
French songs, all ripple and sparkle and trill,
and soft, melting Italian serenades and barca-
roles, which we thought must be like the notes
of the nightingale. And when we called to
have our favorites repeated again and again, she
would sing them over and over with never-fail-
ing patience: and not one of us ever guessed,
as we listened with all our souls, that the cunning
mother was giving us a French lesson, or a
German or Italian lesson, as the case might be,
and that what was learned in that way would
neverbe forgotten all our lives long.
Besides the foreign songs, there were many
songs of our mother's own making, which we


were never weary of hearing. Sometimes she
composed a melody for some old ballad, but
more often words and music both were hers.
Where were such nonsense-songs as hers ?
Little old dog sits under the chair,
Twenty-five grasshoppers snarled in his hair.
Little old dog 's beginning to snore,
Mother forbids him to do so no more.
Or again:
Hush, my darling, don't you cry!
Your sweetheart will come by and by.
When he comes, he '11 come in green,-
That 's a sign that you 're his queen.
Hush, my darling, don't you cry!
Your sweetheart will come by and by.
When he comes, he '11 come in blue,-
That 's a sign that he '11 be true.
And so on through all the colors of the rainbow,
till finally expectation was wrought up to the
highest pitch by the concluding lines,
When he comes, he '11 come in gray,-
That 's a sign he '11 come to-day!
Then it was a pleasant thing that each child
could have his or her own particular song
merely for the asking. Laura. well remembers
her good-night song, which was sung to the
very prettiest tune in the world.
Sleep, my little child,
So gentle, sweet, and mild!
The little lamb is gone to rest,
The little bird is in its nest,-
"Put in the donkey! cried Laura, at this
point of the first singing. Please put in the
donkey !" So the mother went on -
The little donkey in the stable
Sleeps as sound as he is able-
All things now their rest pursue,
You are sleepy too.
It was with this song sounding softly in her
ears and with the beautiful hand, like soft warm
ivory, stroking her hair, that Laura used to fall
asleep. Do you not envy the child ?
6ix






WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE.


Maud's songs were perhaps the loveliest of
all, though they could not be dearer than my
donkey-song. Here is one of them:
Baby with the hat and plume,
And the scarlet cloak so fine,
Come where thou hast rest and room,
Little baby mine!
Whence those eyes so crystal clear?
Whence those curls so silky soft?
Thou art Mother's darling dear,
I have told thee oft.
I have told thee many times,
And repeat it yet again,
Wreathing thee about with rhymes,
Like a flowery chain:
Rhymes that sever and unite
As the blossom fetters do,
As the mother's weary night
Happy days renew.

But it was not all singing, of course. Our
mother read to us a great deal, too, and told
us stories, from the Trojan War down to Puss
in Boots." It was under her care, I think, that
we used to look over the Shakspere book."
This was a huge folio, bound in rusty-brown
leather, and containing the famous Boydell
prints illustrating the plays of Shakspere. The
frontispiece represented Shakspere nursed by
Tragedy and Comedy the prettiest, chubbiest
of babies, seated on the ground with his little
toes curled up under him, while a lovely laugh-
ing lady bent down to whisper in his ear, and
another one, grave but no less beautiful, gazed
earnestly upon him. Then came the "Tem-
pest"-oh, most lovely! The first picture
showed Ariel dancing along the "yellow
sands," while Prospero waved him on with a
commanding gesture; in the second, Miranda,
all white and lovely, was coming out of the
darksome cavern, and smiling with tender com-
passion on Ferdinand, who was trying to lift
an impossible log. Then there was the deli-
cious terror of the Macbeth pictures with
the witches and Banquo's ghost. But soon our
mother would turn the page and show us the
exquisite figure of Puck, sitting on a toadstool,
and make us shout with laughter over Nick
Bottom and his rustic mates. From these magic
pages we learned to hate Richard III. duly, and
to love the little princes, whom Northcote's


lovely picture showed in white satin doublet
and hose, embracing each other, while the
wicked uncle glowered at them from behind;
and we wept over the second picture, where
they lay asleep, unconscious of the fierce faces
bending over them. Yes, we loved the Shaks-
pere book very much.
Sometimes our mother would give us a
party,-a delightful affair, with charades, or
magic lantern, or something of the kind. Here
is an account of one, written by our mother
herself, in a letter to her sister:
"I have written a play for our doll thea-
ter, and performed it yesterday afternoon, with
great success. It occupied nearly an hour. I
had alternately to grunt and squeak the parts,
while Chev played the puppets." (" Chev"
was the name by which she always called our
father; it was an abbreviation of Chevalier,"
for he was always to her the "knight without
reproach or fear.") The effect was really
extremely good. The spectators were in a dark
room, and the little theater, lighted by a lamp
from the top, looked very pretty."
This may have been the play of "Beauty
and the Beast," of which the manuscript is
unhappily lost. I can recall but one passage:
But he thought on "Beauty's" flower,
And he popped into a bower,
And he plucked the fairest rose
That grew beneath his nose.
I remember the theater well, and the pup-
pets. They 'were quite unearthly in their
beauty, all except the Beast," a strange fur-
covered monstrosity. The Prince" was gilded
in a most enchanting manner, and his mustache
curled with an expression of royal pride. I
have seen no other prince like him.
All this was at Green Peace; but many as
are the associations with her beloved presence
there, it is at the Valley that I most constant-
ly picture our mother. She loved the Valley
more than any other place on earth, I think, so
it is always pleasant to fancy her there. Study
formed always an important part of her life.
It was her delight and recreation, when wearied
with household cares, to plunge into German
metaphysics, or into the works of the Latin
poets, whom she greatly loved.
Our mother's books alas, that we should


612


[JUNE,







WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE.


have been so familiar with the outside of
them, and have known so little of the inside!
There was Tacitus, who was high-shouldered,
and pleasant to handle, being bound in smooth
brown calf. There was Kant, who could not
spell his own name (we thought it ought to
begin with a C!). There was Spinoza, whom
we fancied a hunchback with a long, thin, vi-
brating nose.
Very, very much our mother loved her
books. Yet how quickly were they laid aside
when any head was bumped, any knee
scratched, any finger cut. When we tumbled
down and hurt ourselves, our father always
cried, Jump up and take another and that
was very good for us, but our mother's kiss
made it easier to jump up.
The Latin books could be brought out under
the apple-trees: even Kant and Spinoza some-
times came there, though I doubt whether they
enjoyed the fresh air; but our mother had other
work besides study, and many of her most
precious hours were spent each day at the little
black table in her own room, where papers lay
heaped like snowdrifts. Here she wrote the
beautiful poems, the brilliant essays, the earnest
and thoughtful addresses, which have given
pleasure and help and comfort to so many
people throughout the length and breadth of
the land. Many of her words have become
household sayings which we could not spare;
but there is one poem which every child knows,
at whose opening line every heart, from youth
to age, must thrill- The Battle Hymn of the
Republic." Thirty years have passed since this
noble poem was written. It came in that first
year of the war, like the sound of a silver trumpet,
like the flash of a lifted sword; and all men felt
that this was the word for which they had been
waiting. You shall hear, in our mother's own
words, how it came to be written.

In the late autumn of the year 186I I visited
the national capital in company with my hus-
band, Dr. Howe, and a party of friends, among
whom were Governor and Mrs. Andrew, Mr.
and Mrs. E. P. Whipple, and my dear pastor,
Rev. James Freeman Clarke.
"The journey was one of vivid, even romantic
interest. We were about to see the grim Demon


of War face to face; and long before we reached
the city his presence made itself felt in the blaze
of fires along the road where sat or stood our
pickets, guarding the road on which we traveled.
One day we drove out to attend a review of
troops, appointed to take place some distance
from the city. In the carriage with me were
James Freeman Clarke and Mr. and Mrs. Whip-


;JULIA WARD HOWE.'
JULIA WARD HOWE.


pie. The day was fine, and everything promised
well, but a sudden surprise on the part of the
enemy interrupted the proceedings before they
were well begun. A small body of our men had
been surrounded and cut off from their com-
panions; reinforcements were sent to their assist-
ance, and the expected pageant was necessarily
given up. The troops who were to have taken
part in it were ordered back to their quarters,
and we also turned our horses' heads home-
ward.
For a long distance the foot-soldiers nearly
filled the road. They were before and behind,
and we were obliged to drive very slowly. We
presently began to sing some of the well-known
songs of the war, and among them,
John Brown's body lies a-mouldering in the grave.


613






WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE.


This seemed to please the soldiers, who cried,
' Good for you!' and themselves took up the
strain. Mr. Clarke said to me, 'You ought to
write some new words to that tune.' I replied
that I had often wished to do so.
In spite of the excitement of the day, I went
to bed and slept as usual; but awoke next morn-
ing in the gray of the early dawn, and to my
astonishment found that the wished-for lines
were arranging themselves in my brain. I lay
quite still until the last verse had completed
itself in my thoughts, then hastily rose, saying
to myself, I shall lose this if I don't write it
down immediately.' I searched for a sheet of
paper and an old stump of a pen which I had
had the night before, and began to scrawl the
lines almost without looking, as I had learned
to do by often scratching down verses in the
darkened room where my little children were
sleeping. Having completed this, I lay down
again and fell asleep, but not without feeling
that something of importance had happened
to me.
"The poem was published soon after this
time in the Atlantic Monthly. It first came
prominently into notice when Chaplain Mc-
Cabe, newly released from Libby Prison, gave
a lecture in Washington, and in the course of it
told how he and his fellow-prisoners, having
somehow become possessed of a copy of the
Battle Hymn,' sang it with a will in their
prison, on receiving surreptitious tidings of a
Union victory."

Our mother's genius might soar as high as
heaven on the wings of such a song as this; but
we always considered that she was tied to our
little string, and we never doubted (alas!) our
perfect right to pull her down to earth whenever
a matter of importance, such as a doll's funeral
or a sick kitten, was at hand.
To her our confidences were made, for she
had a rare understanding of the child-mind.
We were always sure that mama knew "just
how it was."
To her did Julia, at the age of five, or it
may have been six, impart the first utterances
of her infant Muse. Mama," said the child,
trembling with delight and awe, "I have made
a poem, and set it to music! Of course our


mother was deeply interested, and begged to
hear the composition; whereupon, encouraged
by her voice and smile, Julia sang as follows:

"I had a little boy, he died when he was young,
As soon as he was dead, he walked upon his tongue."

Our mother's ear for music was exquisitely
fine: so fine, that when she was in her own
room, and a child, practising below-stairs, played
a false note, she would open her door and cry,
" B flat, dear! not B natural! This being so,
it was grievous to her when one day, during
her precious study hour, Harry came and
chanted outside her door:
"Hong-kong! hong-kong! hong-kong!"

"Harry!" she cried, "do stop that dreadful
noise! But when the little lad showed a pite-
ous face, and said reproachfully, "Why, Mama,
I was singing to you!" who so ready as our
mother to listen to the funny song and thank
the child for it?
When ten-year-old Laura wrote, in a certain
precious little volume bound in Scotch plaid,
"Whence these longings after the infinite ? "
(I cannot remember any more!) be sure that
if any eyes were suffered to rest upon the sacred
lines, they were those kind, clear, understanding
gray eyes of our mother.
Through all, and round all, like a laughing
river, flowed the current of her wit and fun.
No child could be sad in her company. If we
were cold, there was a merry bout of fisticuffs"
to warm us; if we were too warm, there was a
song or story while we sat still and "cooled off."
We all had nicknames, our own names being
often too sober to suit her laughing mood. We
were Petotty," "Jehu," Wolly," and "Bunks
of Bunktown."
On one occasion our mother's presence of
mind saved the life of the child Laura, then a
baby of two years old. We were all staying at
the Institution for some reason, and the nursery
was in the fourth story of the lofty building.
One day our mother came into the room, and to
her horror saw little Laura rolling about on the
broad window-sill, the window being wide open;
only a few inches space between her and the
edge, and then-the street, fifty feet below! The
nurse was-I know not where; anywhere save


614


[JUNE,






WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE.


where she ought to have been. Our mother
stepped quickly and quietly back out of sight,
and called gently, "Laura, come here, dear!
Come to me! I have something to show you."
A moment's agonized pause and then she
heard the little feet patter on the floor, and in
another instant held the child clasped in her
arms. If she had screamed, or rushed forward,
the child would have started, and probably
would have fallen and been dashed to pieces.
It was very strange to us to find other chil-
dren holding their revels without their father
and mother. "Papa and Mamma" were always
the life and soul of ours.
Our mother's letters to her sister are delight-
ful, and abound in allusion to the children. In
one of them she playfully upbraids her sister for
want of attention to the needs of the baby of the
day, in what she calls Family Trochaics":

Send along that other pink shoe
You have been so long in knitting!
Are you not ashamed to think that
Wool was paid for at Miss Carman's
With explicit understanding
You should knit it for my baby,
And that baby 's now a-barefoot,
While your own, no doubt, has choice of
Pink, blue, yellow- every color,
For its little drawn-up toe-toes,
For its toe-toes, small as green peas,
Counted daily by the mother,
To be sure that none is missing?

Our mother could find amusement in almost
anything. Even a winter day of pouring rain,
which made other housewives groan and shake
their heads at thought of the washing, could
draw from her the following lines:

THE RAINY DAY.
(After Longfellow.)
The morn was dark, the weather low,
The household fed by gaslight show,
When from the street a shriek arose:
The milkman, bellowing through his nose,
Expluvior!
The butcher came, a walking flood,
Drenching the kitchen where he stood,
"Deucalion is your name, I pray?"
"Moses! he choked and slid away.
Expluvior!
The neighbor had a coach and pair,
To struggle out and take the air,


Slip-slop, the loose galoshes went,
I watched his paddling with content.
Expluvior!

A wretch came floundering up the ice
(The rain had washed it smooth and nice),
Two ribs stove in above his head,
As, turning inside out, he said,
Expluvior!

No doubt, alas! we often imposed upon the
tenderness of this dear mother. She was always
absent-minded, and of this quality advantage
was sometimes taken. One day, when guests
were dining with her, Harry came and asked if
he might do something that happened to be
against the rules. No, dear !" said our mother,
and went on with the conversation. In a few
moments Harry was at her elbow again with the
same question, and received the same answer.
This was repeated an indefinite number of
times; at length our mother awoke suddenly
to the absurdity of it, and, turning to the child,
said, Harry, what do you mean by asking me
this question over and over again, when I have
said 'no,' each time ? Because," was the reply,
"Flossy said that if I asked often enough, you
would say yes!"
I am glad to say that our mother did not
"say yes" on this occasion.
It was worthwhile to have measles and
things of that sort: not because one had stewed
prunes and cream-toast oh, no but because
our mother sat by us, and sang Lord Thomas
and Fair Elinor," or some mystic ballad.
The walks with her are never to be forgotten.
Twilight walks round the hill behind the house,
with the wonderful sunset deepening over the
bay, turning all the world to gold and jewels;
or through the Valley itself, the lovely wild
glen, with its waterfall and its murmuring
stream, and the solemn Norway firs, with their
warning fingers. The stream was clear as crys-
tal, its rocky banks fringed with jewel-weed
and rushes; the level sward was smooth and
green as emerald. By the waterfall stood an
old mill, whose black walls looked down on a
deep brown pool, into which the foaming cas-
cade fell with a musical, rushing sound. I have
described the Valley very fully elsewhere, but
cannot resist dwelling on its beauty again, in
connection with our mother, who loved so to


* In the book Queen Hildegarde."


615






WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE.


wander through it, or to sit with her work under
the huge ash-tree in the middle, where our
father had placed seats and a rustic table.
Here, and in the lovely, lonely fields, as we
walked, our mother talked with us, and we
might share the rich treasures of her thought.
And oh! the words that fell from her month
Were words of wonder and words of truth.

One such word, dropped in the course of con-
versation, as the maiden in the fairy-story
dropped diamonds and pearls, comes now to
my mind, and I shall write it here, because it
is good to think of and to say over to one's self.
I gave my son a palace
And a kingdom to control:
The palace of his body,
The kingdom of his soul.
In the Valley, too, many famous parties and
picnics were given. The latter are to be re-
membered with especial delight. A picnic
with our mother, and one without her, are two
very different things. I never knew that a
picnic could be dull, till I grew up and went
to one where that brilliant, gracious presence
was lacking. The games we played! the
songs we sang the garlands of oak and maple-
leaves that we wove, listening to the gay talk
if we were little, joining in it when we were
older. The simple feast, and then the impro-
vised charades or tableaux, always merry, often
graceful and .lovely! Ah! these are things
to remember!
Our mother's hospitality was boundless. She
loved to fill the little house to overflowing in
summer days, when every one was glad to get
out into the fresh green country. Often the
beds were all filled, and we children had to
take to sofas and cots; once, I remember,
Harry slept on a mattress laid on top of the
piano, there being no other vacant spot.
Sometimes strangers as well as friends shared
this kindly hospitality. I well remember one
wild stormy night, when two men knocked at
the door and begged for a night's lodging.
They were walking to the town, they said, five
miles distant, but had been overtaken by the
storm. The people at -the farm-house near by
had refused to take them in; there was no
other shelter near. Our mother hesitated a


moment. Our father was away; the old
coachman slept in the barn, at some distance
from the house. She was alone with the chil-
dren and the two maids, and Julia was ill with
a fever. These men might be vagabonds, or
worse. Should she let them in? Then, per-
haps, she may have heard, amid the howling
of the storm, a voice which she has followed all
her life, saying, "I was a stranger, and ye took
me in!" She bade the men enter, in God's
name, and gave them food, and then led them
to an upper bedroom, cautioning them to tread
softly as they passed the door of the sick child's
room.
Well, that is all. Nothing happened. The
men proved to be quiet, respectable persons,
who departed, thankful, the next morning.
The music of our mother's life is still sound-
ing on, noble, helpful, and beautiful. Many
people may still look into her serene face, and
hear her silver voice; and no one will look or
hear without being the better for it. I cannot
close this chapter better than with some of her
own words: a poem which I wish every child-
and every grown person, too--who reads this
might learn by heart.

A PARABLE.
"I sent a child of mine to-day;
I hope you used him well."
Now, Lord, no visitor of yours
Has waited at my bell.
"The children of the millionaire
Run up and down our street;
I glory in their well-combed hair,
Their dress and trim complete.
But yours would in a chariot come
With thoroughbreds so gay,
And little merry maids and men
To cheer him on his way."
"Stood, then, no child before your door?"
The Lord, persistent, said.
"Only a ragged beggar-boy,
With rough and frowzy head.
"The dirt was crusted on his skin,
His muddy feet were bare;
The cook gave victuals from within.
I cursed his coming there."
What sorrow, silvered with a smile,
Glides o'er the face divine?
What tenderest whisper thrills rebuke?
"The beggar-boy was mine !"


(To be continued.)


616















g time

ky does milk and water spill?

h/ky does good things make me ill?
Wky does cracks come in my cup?
Vk&t's inside of lima beans?
Wly does little boys kave'names?
Wky ain't Pap&s ever Queens?
/ky does fire come in lames?
\ky does apples grow on trees I
VW at' the use of hired men
Why don't tAle legs Khve
Why don't six come Lknees?
after ten?
K -i


- =: : L .












THE VIREO'S NEST.

By ERNEST INGERSOLL.


SOLLY was sitting snugly be-
tween the roots of a big
sycamore that grew on the
edge of the river- a small,
deep, quiet river that ran
through the forest with many
a delightful curve, closely
shaded by overhanging
trees. It was mid-after-
noon, and warm out in
the sunshine, though
June had just come in, and the air was alive
with the winging and singing of countless
insects and birds--all so active that Molly's
idleness seemed almost a reproach to her.
Not that she was altogether idle. She had
her sewing, though the stitches were few, if
not far between; and she had been watching
attentively the curious behavior of some large
black ants that had their home in a hollow
of the old tree. Just now, however, these
were forgotten, and the girl was doing a little
thinking.
Suddenly this was interrupted by the rhyth-
mic rattle of oar-locks, and she glanced up to
see Jack Deane come swinging round the bend
below, with strong strokes. Already he was
almost within hailing distance. The lad was a
great chum of hers, and the girl's reverie van-
ished like a broken bubble.
Oh, Jack! she called out, where are you
going ?"
The rower lifted his blades and turned his
head at the cheery summons.
Hallo, Molly! I 'm only taking a little spin
up the creek to see how my birds are getting
on. Want to come along ?"
"Of course I do. Just let me run up the
garden and tell mama"; and, darting away, she
was back again almost as soon as Jack could
get the boat ready for his passenger at the foot
of the tree.


"Jack," Molly declared impressively, as she
settled herself in the stern-sheets and gathered
up the tiller-ropes-" Jack, I 'm in deep, deep
trouble."
Dreadful !" and as the lad leaned forward
for a new stroke he glanced at her inquiringly
from under the brim of his straw hat. How
deep? Profound as that hole over there by
the white-thorn where the big bass lies ?"
Ah,- is n'the a sly oldfish ? But I '11 catch
him yet! Yes, my troubles are deeper than
that; so there 's no use trying to drown them
in that- hole."
"No? What 's the nature of your com-
plaint? "
"I 'm dying for a pair of slippers."
"Bless me! Why, I 've an old pair I '11 gladly
give you to save your life. Jolly girls are too
scarce to let one go without an effort."
"Quit teasing, and let me tell you. You
know Nettie Gray is going to give a party next
week--a very fine party, indeed, for that friend
of hers from Chicago; and I 'm invited. Are
you listening ?"
"With all my ears. Go ahead! "
"Well, I 've got a pretty dress and other
fixings that will do, except nice shoes. I can't
wear these, you know, at an evening party";
and she pointed with hopeless dismay to a
pair of boots which, however serviceable and
shapely, were never designed, certainly, for
party wear. And it happens to be my birth-
day, too, and Nettie said she chose that day on
purpose, and so I really ought to go, and yet
how can I?"
Deane knew better than to propose buying
a new pair. He understood well enough that
Molly's widowed mother could n't afford this
bit of finery,-that, at any rate, Molly thought
she could n't and would n't ask her,- or no-
thing would have been said about it. So he
had nothing to reply, except that it was an






THE VIREO'S NEST.


awful. shame, or something equally wise and ones. Oh, stop a minute! What sort of nest
comforting, and steadily forced the boat along is that? "
the winding lane of water, which was flecked The oarsman checked his headway, and gazed
with dancing patches of the spring sunshine where the girl pointed to a lovely basket of
that came. down between the leaves, as if to thin bark and spider's web suspended under-
show them how, a few months later, they them- neath a fork in the limb of a hazel-bush that
selves would be bobbing and whirling down stretched over the water, where a rivulet strug-
the current. gled out through a tangle of lily-pads.
I wish," sighed Molly, after a bit of silence, "That's a vireo's nest," he answered, as he
"that we girls had some way of earning a dol- caught sight of it. "A redeye's, I guess yes,
lar, now and then, for such odds and ends of there 's the owner"; and he pointed to a small,
sleek, greenish bird, which Molly rec-
ognized as one she had often seen in
the garden; as for the red eyes, she
I took those for granted, knowing that
Jack was a trained ornithologist.
"Are there other kinds of vireos?"
Molly asked as they glided on, wav-
ing her hand at the same mo-
ment to a couple of young friends
who were lazily fishing from the
Z bank.
"Oh, yes, a good many, and
one I am especially on the look-
"JACK STEADILY FORCED THE BOAT ALONG THE WINDING LANE OF WATER." out for just now. Professor
Frankenstein wants its nest 'and


uses." And then, as if well aware that the lad
had no method of money-making to propose,
she dismissed the subject, and went to talking
about the ants she had been watching on the
sycamore.
They were as busy as they could be -
dozens of 'em in carrying out little white
bundles, cocoons, I suppose, twice as big as
themselves, and throwing them down to other
ants at the foot of the tree."
"Probably they were the cocoons of some
intruder, like a carpenter-bee, which they were
turning out of doors," said Jack.
So I thought; but they were cute about it,
for though once in a while they would bring
out a small cocoon and simply throw it on the
ground and leave it, they never failed to carry
all of the big kind to the edge.of the water and
toss them into it, sometimes having to go down
a second time and shove them off when they
fell a little short. Was n't that sharp ? Now,
those ants must have known that it was neces-
sary to drown those big nuisances, but that
they need n't take the trouble with the little


eggs for the National Museum."
"Is it rare ? "
"The birds are not so very uncommon; but
most of them go on to Hudson's Bay or some
other place away north to pass the summer, and
consequently their nests and eggs are almost
unobtainable. That 's the way with lots of birds
that pass through here in large numbers on
their migrations in spring and fall. But some-
times two or three are wounded, or hurt so that
they can't travel well, or stay behind their fel-
lows for some other reason, and so, once in a
while, they pair and build a home down here
where we can get a look at it.
"In fact, the only nest of this bird that is
known is said to have been taken on this very
river, and we have been looking for another
straggler ever since. So you see it's rare enough
to make Frankenstein quite willing to give a
big exchange or a good price in cash; and the
finding of it would be a feather in my cap
besides."
By this time the boat had come to a place,
about a mile above the starting-point, where


619






THE VIREO'S NEST.


another stream came in, and the banks were
low, swampy, and covered with a jungle of trees
and tangled brush.
"There are some painted-cups," cried Molly.
"See how they flame in the shadows, like candles
set out among the weeds! Let's get some of
them and then go back."
"All right," said lack, as he turned the boat

THE VIREO.







shoreward;
S "only give me
a minute or two
to look round in the
swamp a bit."
Stepping out where a piece of dry land was
raised around the roots of a great beech, he held
the prow firm until Molly had leaped from the
gunwale to the bank.
Securing the boat, Jack jumped from root to
tussock and from tussock to root, peering about
among the foliage, and exploring the shadowy
swamp for nests. But none met his eye, except
a robin's that had been abandoned, and pres-
ently he returned, with his hands full of the
painted-cups and some lovely pink orchids to
add to the few the girl had been able to reach
without wetting her feet.
Jack was loosening the chain, and Molly was
just stepping into the boat again, when she
happened to glance up, and by one of those
curious accidents" which often come to good
observers and rarely to careless eyes, she caught
sight of another bird-home, high up on the
pliant tip of a branch which reached out over
the river.
"There's another redeye's nest," she an-
nounced, and Jack snapped shut again the
lock of the chain and looked upward.
I guess not," he replied, after studying it a
minute.
It's some kind of vireo's, anyhow," the
girl persisted, a trifle piqued by her mistake.
"Oh, of course -wait, there 's the bird."


Drawing from his pocket the opera-glass
which he always carried, the young naturalist
scanned intently the restless little creature flit-
ting about the nest, now and then alighting
upon its rim as if uncertain whether it dare
enter in the presence of these spectators.
Great Jupiter! he exclaimed, when at last
he got a good look at it. I believe it is-
I 'm sure of it! Ginger! Yes, there 's the pale
sulphur and white underneath, and the white
line over the eye, and the size is all right. It's
it, sure!"
"What do you mean by 'it'?" Molly de-
manded with some indignation.
To see this excited young man, with an opera-
glass glued to. his eyes, dancing up and down
and uttering riddles was exasperating.
"It? Why, the golden-vested vireo, of course."
Indeed! What of that ?"
This patronizing young enthusiast was be-
coming insufferable.
"Why, Molly, that 's the rarity Professor
Frankenstein wants! "
Now it -was the girl's turn to give a little
scream and seize the glass, which showed her
that both the bird and the nest, while in gen-
eral resembling the redeye and its home, were
in many particulars very distinct.












-r
C o-'



-,Q







"'THERE 'S ANOTHER REDEYE'S NEST,' MOLLY ANNOUNCED."

"And will he give you five dollars for that
nest ? "
"If there are eggs in it; maybe more."
Let 's get it right away ? "
"Bright girl! Go and bring it down. I only
wish I could."


[JUNE,






892g.] THE VIREO'S NEST. 621
The nest was far out, rocking gently at the Oh, to within a dozen feet or so, maybe."
extremity of a limb which would scarcely bear "As near as that? Then go and cut a
the weight of a kitten, and to climb there was straight, light, and pretty stiff pole."
out of the question; nor was any other limb "What's that for ?"
near enough to furnish a stronger means of "Never you mind, Jack Deane. Just run
approach. and do as I tell you."
"We don't even know whether it contains Here you are," he reported, a few minutes
any eggs," said Molly. later. "What next?"
No; but I reckon I can settle that point." Putting her hand up to her head, the girl
Throwing off his coat, he put his opera-glass drew out a long hair-pin, and began to pull
in his vest pocket, and began to climb the tree. its points apart until she held a nearly straight
Molly forgot her flowers and watched him piece of wire.
eagerly, as he scrambled like a sailor up to Then, while her companion watched her cu-
a crotch some distance above the nest-limb, riously, she bent this around the butt of the
where a large branch bent outward from the pole until she had shaped it into a loop; and
trunk. Making his way cautiously out upon this done she called for cord.
this, he tried here and there to look down There 's a stout fish-line in the boat," Jack
through the leaves and get a glimpse of the informed her. "Will a piece of that do ? "
interior of the cradle, but found it very difficult. The very thing. Get it for me, please, and
That 's a keen bird," he called down. She then split the end of that pole just a little bit."
not only goes out to the tip of a limb so thin When this had been done, she put the ends
that no coon or other egg-stealer would dare of the wire into the crevice, and, while Jack
trust his weight to it, but she chooses a place held the pole firm, bound the wire tightly in
under leaves so thick that any prowling crow place.
would pass by it nine times out of ten." The boy had n't the slightest notion of what
It's plain enough from here," said Molly. all this meant, and was still more mystified
No doubt; but tree-building
birds have n't much to fear from
enemies on the ground, and don't
seem to care whether the bottom
of the nest can be seen or not."
At last Jack shouted that he '
had found a chink, and could /
count four eggs; but that he could
not see any way to get within
reach of them. Then he came
down, and the two sat on the 2
edge of the boat and beat their,
brains for some plan by which to
obtain the prize.
"Could n't you saw off the
limb ? Mollie asked. .
"No-' -not in that place. The c
eggs would surely be smashed." r
Silence again. "JACK POKED THE POLE DOWN THROUGH A SPACE IN THE TWIGS." (SEE NEXT PAGE.)
"I 've an idea," said the girl, suddenly. when Molly drew from her pocket a handker-
Hang on to it, tight her companion ex- chief--" Fortunately it's an old one, about used
horted her. up," she explained, with a laugh--and began to
How near can you get to the nest by creep- bind it on to the wire loop, so that it formed a
ing out on that big limb above it ? small bag.





THE VIREO'S NEST.


"Now," the girl exclaimed, her eyes spark-
ling, "here 's a nice little scoop. If you can
reach down from that upper limb and roll the
eggs into it, one by one, you can dip them all
out and hand them down to me. Then you
can come back to-morrow, saw off the limb,
and save the nest. Is n't that a good plan ? "
It 's worth trying, anyhow," Jack agreed,
and started up the tree again. Molly handed
him the scoop when he paused on the lowest
limbs, and watched him
make his way as far as he
dared out over the nest,
where the poor bird, whose '
treasures were to be sacri- .t
ficed, as such treasures must
be now and then, to human
science, was flying about
in great excitement.
Twisting his legs firmly
around the yielding branch,
Jack poked the pole down
through a space in the
twigs, and satisfied him-
self, to Molly's delight, that
it was long enough. Then,
with the extremest steadi-
ness and gentleness of hand, ,
he insinuated the small
scoop into the nest, and
little by little moved the
instrument until at last he
saw one of the delicate,
pink-dotted eggs roll into _'
the folds of the soft hand-
kerchief. "'LOOK AT MY N
Carefully withdrawing the scoop, he made
his way slowly down the trunk, until he could
hand the pearly freight to his companion, who
had made a safe receptacle for it in a small box
which she found in the boat.
It took a long time, and all of that patience
and delicate touch which a student of nature
must cultivate, to secure, one by one, the pre-
cious eggs; but at last all four were safe in the
box, and the two friends were spinning home-
ward in gay mood.
Molly," said Jack abruptly, stopping his
oars as the old sycamore came into sight
again. I 'm going to give you your half now.


You know I don't need it for anything at
present."
"My half of what, pray tell ? "
Of the five dollars this nest and eggs will
bring."
"Why, that 's all yours! "
No, not all. Did n't you see the nest first ?
Besides, I never could have got it if it had n't
been for your ingenuity. I think really you
are entitled to the whole figure; but I 'm going


EW SHOES,' MOLLY SAID


SOFTLY." (SEE NEXT PAGE.)


to give you half, anyway. I '11 get paid in a
day or two."
Molly stoutly declined, but Jack insisted, and
when he tossed two dollars and a half into her
lap she kept it, because she saw he really wished
her to.

When the right evening came, a few days
afterward, Jack presented himself, a little late,
at Nettie Gray's party. He had shaken hands
with his hostess, and chatted a moment with
the young lady from Chicago, and was elbow-
ing his way through the crowded hall, when he
felt a hand on his coat-sleeve and bent over the


622


[JUNE,






THE VIREO'S NEST.


newel-post to find Molly sitting on the stairs and
smiling up at him, her eyes brimful of mischief.
"Look at my new shoes," she said softly,
exposing the dainty toes for his inspection.
"They are beautiful he declared ecstati-
cally. "How do you feel ? "


"I feel as if I were walking on eggs," she
laughed back.
"And look at your new hair-pin, until your
next birthday," he answered gaily, slipping a
golden trifle into her braids to replace the one
destroyed in emptying the vireo's nest.


COMPENSATION.

BY VICTOR MAPES.


A POOR old farmer's only son,
A little laddie, strong and plucky,
It happened, as the fates were spun,
Was born what people dub as "lucky."

That is to say, from mom till night
He plowed, or hoed, or did the churning;
And thumbed at eve, by candle-light,
Old books, to get a little learning.

And by his "luck" it came about
That to the town he thought he 'd hie him;
And some old merchant sought he out,
Who, as a kindness, said he 'd try him.

And there his "luck" stayed by him still -
He toiled, and toiled, and kept on thrifty,
And millions left he in his will
When sudden death said, Come! at fifty.

This wealthy townsman left one heir
He 'd brought up as became his station,
Free from struggle, toil, and care,
His only pest his education.

This easy-going, cultured youth,
Like other scions, now a many,


Got all the millions, though forsooth
The rascal never 'd earned a penny.

And when he learned how much he had,
This young man thought, and he reflected,
And pondered, till ,he grew most sad,
How piles of gold were best directed.

He did n't think to make it more,
Nor thought he how 't was best to lend it;
The problem he kept pondering o'er
Was-how, the happiest way, to spend it?

The rich youth's friends, He 's daft," they said,
For, after pondering very slowly,
He left th' ambitious life he 'd led,
And lived and gave among the lowly.

And thus the cranky, rich man's son
Could do no better than keep giving;
And when his sands of life were run
He left naught but a moderate living.

Yet, when this spendthrift's summons came,
A glorious statue was erected; -
The thrifty, "lucky" father's name,
Who made the fortune, was neglected.












A LAWN DANCE FOR LITTLE PEOPLE.


BY L. A. BRADBURY.


[FOUR boys dance in, one behind another, their hands
on their hips, and go to places at one side, while a group
of singers sing as follows:]

(AIR: Sur e font d'Avignon.)


See the fun just be gun, They are






danc-ing, they are danc-ing! See the fun just be-






gun, They are dano ing, ev 'ry one!




(All the boysr bow to the company.)


Gen tie men all do like this;-
: _


(Boys bow to each other, two and two.)


And then they do like this.
____________________- -


A GROUP OF SINGERS.








A LAWN DANCE FOR LITTLE PEOPLE.


[The boys balance, or mark time, in their places, while
four girls dance in and take places opposite the boys, at
some distance; the singers singing as follows, to the
same music as was sung for the entrance of the boys:]

In the shade, in the sun,
They are dancing, they are dancing!
In the shade, in the sun,
They are dancing, every one!

All the ladies do like this,-
[The girls courtesy to the company, and the boys
bow again.]
And then they do like this.

[Girls courtesy to each other, two and two; boys bow
in the same way. During the singing of the next stanza,
the boys take hands, the girls do the same, and the two
lines dance toward each other, meeting in the middle,
where they take partners and form a square (quadrille).]

Oh, what joy! Oh, what fun!
They are dancing, they are dancing!
Oh, what joy! Oh, what fun!
They are dancing, every one!


All the dancers do like this,-
[All bow and courtesy to partners.]
And then they do like this.
[All bow and courtesy to corners. The music then
changes. During the singing of the next stanza all join
hands and go round to the left.]


(1)Here they go a -round, round,


(2) Here in hand a round, round,


Here they go tp -geth er, Here they go a -
OR-

Hand in hand to geth er, Here they go a -


round, round, Round y round they go!


round, round, Round y round they go!


VOL. XIX. -40.







A LAWN DANCE FOR LITTLE PEOPLE.


[On the repetition of the music (2), partners cross
hands and promenade, going to the right. ]
[All face partners, give right hand, and pass by, giving
left hand to the next person, and so ons round to places
again (grand right and left), while the singers sing as
follows :]



1) Right hand and left hand and right hand a -


(2) Right hand to la dy, and gai ly they



gain, Right hand and left hand, this and the



go, Turn with the left hand, nim ble and


4 g P- q 7g !!1
oth er, Righthandand left hand and right hand a -


read y, Righthand to la dy, and gai ly they




gain, Danc-ing a mer ry Eng lish chain.



go, Mer ry go round and turn me, oh!


[On the repetition of the music (2), girls cross right
hands in the middle, swing half round, give left hand to
opposite boy, and turn; girls cross right hands again,
swing half round, and turn partners.]


626


[JUNE,







A LAWN DANCE FOR LITTLE PEOPLE.


[Music as at first. During the singing of the first part
of the music (i), all balance and turn partners, then form
a line, facing the company.]


dano-ing, they are danc-ing, Rath er tired, al-most



la la la la la la, La la la, La, la


FINE.


done, They are dan ing ev 'ry one!



la, La, la la la Ia la la!




All the dane ers do like this,-




D. c. above.


And then they do like this.




[All bow and courtesy to partners, and then to the
company.]
[After making their bows and courtesies, the children
dance off in single file,'while the singers sing La la la,"
etc., to the first part of the music.]
NOTE.-The costume for the children may be as elabo-
rate as one pleases. A court dress of the last century-
satin and velvet embroidered, brocades, silk stockings,
white wigs and patches would be quaint and handsome;
dress of clown and columbine would be striking; but the
simplest change from ordinary wear is here represented :
broad neck-ruffs and sleeve-ruffles for the boys, mob-caps
for the girls. The ruffs may be of mosquito-netting, and
the mob-caps can be of a simple pattern.


627












hw A


CHASED BY A SNAKE-A STARTLING OPTICAL ILLUSION.


RED AND BLACK.
(A Story of the Hampton school.)

By FRANCES C. SPARHAWK.


TEN little heads much closer together than
the position of the ten chairs which held the
owners of these same heads would warrant,
showed that the discussion going on was most
interesting and animated. And what black little
heads! How came it that they all were of the
same color? This is not usual when a group
of little girls come together in the comradeship
of work or of play, or even when they count
themselves "Ten Times One."
One of the heads was lifted suddenly.
Ah! Here was one mystery explained. For
this little face was not that of a white child, but
of an Indian. But the others? One by one
(not at all to display of what race they were, for
they were not thinking of themselves), all the
faces came into view. Yes, they were all Indian.
Some were plain, some were fairly good-looking,
some were pretty, just as white children happen
to be when taken haphazard.
But although they might not be chosen for
beauty, evidently, there was a plan in their


meeting. Where were they?-out upon the
reservation, in some tepee or some little log
house there ? What! With those pretty dresses,
that nicely combed hair,-for it did not count
that they had rumpled this somewhat in their
close consultation,-hands so well kept, and
faces shining with pleasure and cleanliness ? Can-
not children be happy out on the reservations ?
They are made to be happy anywhere, if they
have ever so little chance. But on the reserva-
tion they could not have been happy in the way
that they were at that moment. They all sat in
a large room with pictures on the walls, books
in a bookcase and on the table, and all about
them evidences of taste and care. From the
windows they could see a beautiful river which
grew wider and wider as it went on, until in the
distance lay the broad ocean. Between 'them
and the water was the lawn where they liked so
well to play croquet and other games. No, they
were not upon the reservations; they were ten
little Indian girls at the Hampton school.






RED AND BLACK.


What were they saying?
Yes, we must do it," said Bessie. But I
don't see how," she added.
"Everybody likes something to eat," sug-
gested Elva. "Anyway, Indians do. P'rhaps
we can get it that way."
"P'rhaps the cooking-class will show us how
to make chocolate-creams," cried Chu-chu.
Edna Tiaokasin's eyes sparkled. She seemed.
fond of chocolate-creams.
But we ourselves must n't eat any; we must
sell them all, or else we should n't belong to the
Ten Times One," said Jeannette Huhana.
Edna's head drooped for an instant; but she
said, "No," bravely, and she meant it, too.
"But we can't make a whole dollar's worth,
can we?" asked Cassie.
"Well, we can make some other kinds of
candy and then sell them at the 'Holly Tree';
perhaps some of the boys would like it," ven-
tured Annie.
I know," and Lora nodded her head with a
world of meaning,-" I know one of the teach-
ers will buy some if we tell her what it's for."
At this there was a chorus of dissent. "We
are not going to tell what the money is for-we
all promised," said Bessie, the Secretary.
"No, we won't tell," said they all. "We '11
see if we can do it first."
"Well," said Lora, "I think she will buy
some of it, anyway."
The children laughed. This experience of
the teacher's interest in their affairs was not
new to them.
"Who '11 make the creams?" asked Lora, in
the tone of one asking, Who ']1 bell the cat? "
"I," answered Annie. "We '11 begin with
these and see how they do; and Bessie will keep
telling us how much money she has collected.
Oh, dear! it will be so long before we get a
whole dollar! "
Ten cents apiece," replied Esther, the oldest
of the ten, and herself only eleven.
Ten busier little maidens, red, white, or black,
or brown, there could not have been anywhere
than were these for the next two weeks. And
there hung about their proceedings the delight
of a mystery. But what was this mystery that
was to be so carefully kept? These little Indian
girls belonged to a "Ten Times One are Ten "


club; they had a work to do by their combined
efforts. For at Hampton all the pupils, Indian
and colored alike, are taught that to do things
for others is the very best of life. The little girls
must earn the money to do what they wanted
to do as their work that summer. They did not
talk about it except among themselves, but they
were so important, and so happy, and so con-
fidential, that everybody watched them. And,
then, they were the first among the smaller
children who had made any such attempt.
What were they going to do?
Ah, but they had not earned the money yet.
The creams proved as popular as the chil-
dren, and everybody praised them. At the end
of a fortnight the funds were coming up well,
but the dollar was not yet reached. "It seems
as if everybody had an errand for us to do,"
said Cassie one day; is n't it nice ? I mended
Miss M- 's gloves yesterday, and she said
they looked so neat she 'd be glad to wear
them." And a pretty glow came over the little
dark face.
But all these things were done out of school
and out of study hours, for the children's les-
sons were all the time going on.

In a cabin beyond the grounds of the great
Hampton school sat a little girl crying. It was
a beautiful morning early in April. The birds,
the trees, were rejoicing in the sunshine-the
flowers were as tempting as ever; but nothing
could make Dessa forget that the new term
of her school, the Whittier school, began that
day, and that she could not go. She loved
her teachers. She loved her lessons. But at
that time the "Whittier" was a free school for
only six months in the year; and in the spring,
partly to give the parents a sense of indepen-
dence and to teach them that knowledge was
worth paying for, partly to lighten the ex-
penses which the Hampton Institute assumed
for those months, a small tuition was charged.
And sometimes when the children were bright
and anxious to learn, and had no money- what
happened? There was Dessa crying in her
grief. The reason her mother gave her for
her staying at home-that she had no money
to pay for her--she was too young to under-
stand; all that it meant to her was that she


629






RED AND BLACK.


must stay at home and never learn anything
more. Her hair, as she buried her face in her
apron, showed itself as black as the other chil-
dren's, but it was kinky; and, when she lifted
her face, this was as black as it was possible for
a face to be. Yet she was just a child like the
rest, and was as full of grief as the little Indians
had been of pleasure. Her mother was wash-
ing, and seemed to pay little attention to the
child. Really, she was sorry for Dessa, but
could do nothing to help her, and she did not
like to see her grief. She had parted her lips
for a sharp reproof that would stop the tears,
when the gate of her small front yard opened
and a procession so strange filed through it
that the soap-suds dropped unheeded from her
hands, and the water from the clothes left hang-
ing over the edge of the tub dripped unnoticed
upon the floor. Here was a lady, not a stranger
to her nor to the inmates of the other humble
cabins, and with her came ten Indian girls of
about the age of Dessa. What did they want ?
Here they were coming straight into her cabin,
and she had no chairs to give them!
Miss R- greeted her, and stated that the
little pupils had come upon an errand which
they would explain for themselves.
Dessa had stopped crying, and now sat open-
mouthed. There was a silence in the cabin.
The visitors looked at one another with a shy-
ness which perhaps is possible only to an In-
dian, and then into Miss R- 's face.
And Miss R- with the gentlest of smiles,
answered, Oh, but you know you were to tell
about this yourselves! You have done all the
work, and it will spoil the pleasure if I tell for
you. Come, Bessie, don't you remember that
you promised to speak for your little club?
You want to do it, when you promised,-don't
you, Bessie?"
This question, put with an indescribable gen-
tleness of accent, was one which the little girl
found unanswerable, unless she were willing to
lower her standard of truthfulness. She made
a step forward, and, stationing herself before
Dessa, said, "We belong to the 'Ten Times
One.' We are King's Daughters'-that means
we have to meet all together and choose some-
thing we will do, and then earn the money to do
it. And we choose to send you to the Whittier


school this summer, and we have got the money,
and we will send you. Will you go ? "
With a shout that took the Indians by sur-
prise the little Dessa sprang up.
Mammy, mammy! she cried, "I's a-goin'
to school! Hooray! hooray! "
Can't you 'member your manners ter thank
the little ladies, yer good-fur-nothin' Dess ? "
cried the mother, with the happy tears streaming
down her face.
The ten children stood in Indian silence,
but feeling themselves somehow like fairy god-
mothers (though if those beings had been so
much as named to them they would have found
it impossible to tell what was meant).
It was when they were going home, and Miss
R- was a little in advance with Bessie, that
the talking began.
"That was just right to do. Miss G-
told us so," said Lora.
"It's real nice to see anybody so glad as
Dessa was," announced Edna.
Yes, and we must tell her to be a very good
girl." And Chu-chu, who was the monitor of
the club, put on her most serious air.
"She called us little ladies," said Annie, who
seemed to have grown an inch taller since hear-
ing this.
"Well, so we are," returned Esther. I 've
heard them talking. about it, and the ladies who
give money to send the children to school are
called 'scholarship ladies'; that 's what we
are scholarship ladies."
As the other children demurred, afraid to
claim so great an honor, Esther ran on:
Miss R- ," she asked, are n't we schol-
arship ladies now ? "
The fun in Miss R-'s face only deepened
its sweet expression. She turned about to the
eager group. Why, yes," she said; of course
you are, now that you have given a scholarship
to Dessa. Dear little Dessa, was n't she happy?
Was n't it nice you could do it ? "
"Yes 'm," they answered in a joyful chorus.
"What shall we do next time? asked Elva.
"I shall not know until you 've decided,
shall I ?" said the teacher. Don't you think
that makes it better ? "
"I s'pose it makes us more scholarship la-
dies," returned Bessie, meditatively.


630






A Year with D)oly

B3j eudora S. Bumstead,
The air was warm and the clouds were few, lf t U-
The birds were chirping and hopping; '
And everything was pretty and new
When Dolly and I went shopping .
Our money-banK was yellow ant sweet
With its dandelion dollars,
So we hurried away to garden Street
To look for some cuffs and collars

II <>













For a cap I boht her a Sreat red rose,
S li certain it saveher Pleasure
S1 .And for lady-slippers to fit her toes
/ I was careful to leave her measure;
S/ And I told the spiders to spin ome lace
/ As strong as other folks make it,
*-'













S And to sew the beads of dew in pace,
SAnd then we'd be glad to take it
631
I"' ] ii'; ,;,,7 ,: :"w "' ed fde nPa
,,~ ~ ~ ~ ~n ;-e we' b.. ",; ? to ..t t,,,., ,.,:.
< .. '. #. -- ,





FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS.


THE MEAN LITTLE BEAR.

IN big cities there are parks where children go to get fresh air and to
see green fields and trees. In some parks there are animals. The monkeys
and birds and lions are in cages,
but the bears are kept in pits
built of stone.
In one such place lived four
bears: two big ones and two lit-
tle ones. In the middle of the
pit was a pole with steps nailed
to it. The bears would climb
up to the top of the pole, and
then boys and girls would take
buns or bits of cake and hand
them to the bears at the end of
a stick or a cane.
One of the little bears was
named "Martin," and he was a
greedy little fellow. He always
tried to keep near the pole, so
that he could climb up before
any of the others when there was
cake to be had. But the boys
and girls soon saw that he took
more than his share, and so they
would wait until he was tired of
sitting on the pole and had to go
down, and then they would give
their cake to one of the other "
bears. -
One day a boy came to the
side of the pit and leaned over to MARTIN
look at the bears. One of the big
bears, named Bruin," was near the pole, and tried to climb up. But Martin
ran against him very rudely, and knocked Bruin over. Poor Bruin sat down
for a moment to recover his breath, and, before he could get up again, Martin
was at the top of the pole. The boy put the bun on the end of a stick, and





FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS. 633
held it out to Martin. But just as Martin opened his mouth for it, a little girl,
who was standing near by, said: Harry, that little bear was mean. He
pushed the big one over, and climbed up the pole in his place. I would
give the bun to the other bear."
"Well, I will," said Harry; and he took the bun from the stick and
threw it down to the big bear, who caught it in his mouth, just as a boy
catches a ball, and swallowed it.
Martin growled a little crossly, but the boy and girls only laughed at
him. So, after waiting until he was tired, he climbed down the pole,
without having had anything to eat.
After a long while, Martin saw that the children would not give their
cakes to him if he was mean, and so he learned to let the other bears go up
the pole in their turn. At first he did this because he was lazy, and did not
care to climb the pole for nothing; but, before long, Martin found that he
was better liked by the other bears when he let them have a fair share, and
that they took care to give him a fair share, too. And he also found that
he was no longer called the "mean little bear," but was fed as often as
Bruin or any of the others.


'S


lo






JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.


JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.


THE bloom of the summer to you, my merry
friends, and all the sunshine you can stand! Now
that flowering-time is come again, the world is out
of doors; life is full of air, sweetness, and joy, and
the sky seems bending to catch earth's softest
whisper.
Now you shall have

SOME SIMPLE GARDEN QUESTIONS.
YOUR Jack asked his congregation these ques-
tions-not conundrums-many years ago. They
are repeated now by special request:
i. What very common and well-known leaf bears the
letter V plainly marked in lighter green on its surface?
2. What leaf bears a mark resembling a horseshoe?
3. What flower carries a well-formed lyre which can
be discovered by gently pulling the flower apart ?
4. What blue flower bears well-imitated bumblebees?
5. What double flower seems formed of tiny dove-like
things with their bills meeting?
6. What graceful plant grows its seed on the under
surface of its leaves ?
7. Can any one find two blades of ribbon-grass exactly
alike in size, markings, and colors ?

A NATURAL PEA-SHOOTER.

JACK'S botanical friend, Mr. Ernest Ingersoll,
sends him a bit of news about one of the Wista-
rias-those large-leaved, climbing shrubs that in
June hang their purplish-blue blossoms in great
clusters upon frames or over doorways, or high up
on the front of houses and cottages. He says it is
a natural pea-shooter. He found it out in this
way: Wishing to keep some seeds of the Chinese
wistaria, he picked a few of the pods that follow
the fall of the flowers in autumn, and laid them
upon a mantelpiece in his warm study. Midwin-
ter came, and one day the gentleman was aston-
ished to hear a sharp crack, like a tiny pistol-shot,


and to see one of the seeds fly clear across the
room, from its bursting pod on the mantel. It
struck against the wall as if trying to pass through
it. He laid the other pods away in paper, and a
day or two later heard the sharp little reports made
by their snapping open. This vine, then, is not
content that its seeds shall simply fall to the ground
at its root, and there spring up into growth, but
the pods wait until they have become so tense,
with drying and shrinking, that they can hold
their edges together at the seam no longer. Then
they fly apart with a spring that hurls the seeds
many yards, so that new vines may spring up far
from the old one. As this goes on year after year,
you can easily see how rapidly these wistarias, if
allowed to grow, would in time spread themselves
over almost any extent of country.

By the way, even the old owl in my elm-tree
hoots at the way some folk pronounce the name of
this plant. They call it wisteria, when in fact its
correct name is wistaria. The dear Little School-
ma'am says "wistaria," always. The plant, she
tells me, was named in honor of Caspar Wistar,
an eminent anatomist, who died over seventy years
ago.

WHO is A. E. A.? I do not know. But a verse
found upon my pulpit this morning makes me
strongly suspect that either he is the man who did n't
make The Century Dictionary," or else he is the
foreigner who said the English language struck
him as being not always consistent in its spelling.
Here is the verse. It is entitled

WHUY NOTP
THERE was a small urchin named Guy,
Who had eaten too much apple-puy.
He'd groan and he 'd suy,
And out loud he would cruy,
goodness, I know I shall duy!"
A. E. A-.

MRS. ELIZABETH W. LATIMER sends you this
pretty story in verse, my young friends, and hopes
you may easily discover Bessy's enigma:
DEAR little Bessy wandered away,
And where do you think they spied her?
Down by the brook, all alone at play,
With four letter-blocks beside her.

With those four letters she spelled out me,
Though indeed I was all about her-
In insects and fishes, in bird and tree,
And within her as well as without her.

I came from God to that sweet little maid,
And oh, may the gift prove eternal!
Bessy picked off my first and last letters and said,
"Now I 've peeled the word down to its kernel! "

Still a word was left. On it Bessy's fate
May hinge for this world and another.
Just two little letters--their power is great;
Pray-pray for your darling, fond mother !


[JUNE,







JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.


Then Bessy put back my last and my first,
But she laid aside my third,
And there stood of all children's sins the worst -
A hateful, horrible word.

A thing that when told breeds more of its race,
Though itself is the child of fear.
Bessy knocked off its head, and then put in its place
My third, which was lying near.

And then might be seen the mildest word
Could be uttered in shame and haste
By a mother who had from her children heard
What Bessy had just effaced.

She took two thirds of that word away,
Yet a little word stood there still-
A word that a baby will seldom say,
But grown folks too often will.

My third and my first she proceeded to set
Where my first and third should be,
And she saw what a captive would like to get
If he hoped to set himself free;

A word, too, a soldier hears at drill
In his sergeant's accents gruff,
And what Uncle Sam puts his papers on, till
One would think he had more than enough.

Here Bessy heard steps coming down the glade.
"Mama! 0 Mama! she cried,
"I had only four letters,-six words I 've made,
And one has three meanings, beside! "

A LIVE HORSE FOR FIVE DOLLARS.
BoYS, I know where you can buy a good, sound,
live horse for five dollars.
Where ?
I '11 tell you next month.

A CAT WHO ATE EGGS.
FREMONT, NEB.
DEAR JACK: I used to work in a grocery-store on
Saturday. This store possessed a cat which had a
strange way of getting a living. He had given up his
lawful food,--rats and mice,-and had taken up the
more easily obtained and perhaps more palatable diet of
eggs. The eggs were kept in large baskets which were
on the floor in an out-of-the-way place; and whenever the
cat was hungry he would go and reach into a basket with
his front feet, and roll an egg over the edge. In falling,
the egg would of course break, and the cat would begin
his meal, though quite often it took three eggs to satisfy
him. I have seen him balance an egg on the side of a bushel
basket and roll it over the edge when the basket was less
than half full, but this was rather difficult for our plun-
derer, and he would often have to make many attempts
before succeeding. I have heard of a pet crow indulging
in a trick similar to this, but with a cat it seems some-
thing new. Is it not?
Your constant reader,

A CHANGE OF UNITED STATES PRESIDENTS.

VERY few Americans, as the Deacon lately re-
marked, are aware that during the past year the
United States has had a change of Presidents -
on its postal cards. The new cards, of both sizes,
display the head of President Grant, while those


formerly issued bear the head of Thomas Jefferson,
the third President of the United States.

YOUR friend I. W. W. sends you this capital
ALPHABET STORY.
A BIG Cat Drove Eight Fat Goslings Hurriedly
Into Jane's Kitchen--Lame, Muddy, Not Over
Pretty, Quacking Right Saucily, Their Ugly
Voices Were Xylophonely Youthfully Zealous.

YOUR good friend, Mr. Meredith Nugent, has
sent you a very strange picture of a tree, and a
most interesting account of how it was made to
grow so queerly. As a rule, I do not approve of
twisting live things out of their natural shape; but
for all that, we will now allow Mr. Nugent to tell

HOW FIVE LITTLE ASH-TREES WERE TURNED
INTO ONE.
DEAR JACK: One of the greatest attractions in the
Jardin d'Acclimatation, in Paris, is a curiously shaped
tree, leaning for support against a
light iron framework.
Five little ash-trees growing
S within a few inches of one
another were grafted into

a foot from the ground.
". ..t^SSMSt i one hick stem when about

The trees took kindly to
the companionship, and
S grew up together for more
than ten inches, when the
partnership was dissolved, and
the stem separated into two
parts. Each part was forced to travel
for a short distance in opposite direc-
tions and at right angles to the main
stem, when the course was changed to
a perpendicular one. Then each stem
turned three times around, forming
three beautiful spirals, and when both
had mounted a little higher they were
turned inward and united. Again
they were parted, and again met,
after having formed a triangle. Up
they grew in close companion-
ship for quite a distance, when
another evolution had to be
performed, this time in the
shape of graceful loop.
Meeting again, the
trees took a longer
journey together,
but their trainer

again. This time
they were trained
into a new shape,
as you can see in
the picture I send
you, and the five
S-" little ash-trees were
\QUEER TEE. once more united.
ASH-TREE Then, as if in cele-
bration of this last grand union, the trees threw out
numerous leafy branches, surmounting the whole with
a globe of beautiful green foliage. I rather suspect they
had eventually to perform more contortions, for on visit-
ing them one cold day, when the leaves were gone, I
noticed that the upper branches were bent inward at the
top as if some other change might yet be made.


1892.]


635











IN MEMORY OF ROSWELL SMITH.

DIED APRIL 19, 1892.


MANY a boy and girl who has had "St.
Nicholas" to read ever since he or she
could read at all, hardly can imagine a time
when there was no St. Nicholas to make
its cheerful monthly visits. Yet the maga-
zine is really only nineteen years old, and
it never would have had an existence but
for the faith, enterprise, and foresight of its
founder, Mr. Roswell Smith, whose death at
the age of sixty-three years we now sorrow-
fully record. After a long and trying illness,
borne by him with the courage which char-
acterized his whole life, he passed away on
the 19th of April,-just as this June number
of" St. Nicholas was ready to be printed.
Roswell Smith was a New England boy,
born in Lebanon, Connecticut, and lived, in
his early youth, in the old Trumbull man-
sion. It was in this house that good Gov-
ernor Jonathan Trumbull with his soldier
sons planned aid and comfort to the Revo-
lution, and there he entertained the great
men of the day, among them George Wash-
ington, Henry Knox, Elbridge Gerry, and
Samuel Adams. Perhaps it was living in
this historic house, filled with illustrious
memories, that gave the boy his deep in-
terest in American history and American
literature. Perhaps it was because in his
uncle's home he heard a good deal about
books-or it may have been because this
same uncle, Roswell C. Smith, was a com-
piler of valuable school-books-that the
boy found himself at fourteen in the em-
ploy of his uncle's publishers, gaining his
first knowledge of the business. Later, he
went through the English and scientific
course at Brown University, and afterward
entered upon the study of law.
In his twenty-fourth year he married Miss
Annie Ellsworth--the young lady who is
known to have sent over Professor Morse's


trial line between Baltimore and Washington
the famous first telegraphic message, "What
hath God wrought."
The survivors of Mr. Roswell Smith's im-
mediate family are his widow, and a daughter,
the wife of George Inness, Jr., the well-known
painter, with whose works many of our readers
are familiar.
Forty years ago the West was much far-
ther off than it is to-day; and when Roswell
Smith, the young lawyer and business man,
had left the quiet old Connecticut village,
and settled in Lafayette, Indiana, to begin
life for himself, it was felt that he had done
a very bold and enterprising thing.
His success justified his course. Before
he was forty he had acquired an independent
fortune. But to him that was a good reason
for undertaking new work. He could now
carry out a cherished wish: First, he would
become a publisher; he would help the world
to good books-the best books of the best
kind; and, secondly, he would make them
pay.
In company with his friend Dr. J. G. Hol-
land, arid the firm of Charles Scribner & Co.,
he had already founded "Scribner's Monthly,"
now The Century Magazine," when his de-
sire to establish an ideal juvenile periodi-
cal resulted in their starting "St. Nicholas."
From the issue of its first number, in 1873, un-
til the time of his late illness, his zealous inter-
est and liberal encouragement never flagged.
The children, he insisted should have the
very best magazine that could be made."
But The Century and St. Nicholas"
did not exhaust his abounding energy. As
President of The Century Company, he pro-
jected and carried through, besides other very
important publications, the new Century
Dictionary." This dictionary he resolved
should be more complete, more accurate,


_ I ___










and more interesting than any dictionary
ever compiled; and though the undertak-
ing required far more time and very much
more money than was at first thought pos-
sible, its liberal projector counted no cost too
great for the carrying out of his plan. He
lived to see the work successfully completed,
and to know that already it was recognized
by scholars as the standard general diction-
ary of the English language.
Throughout Mr. Smith's career, he was am-
bitious for the work in hand rather than for
himself. His successes were those of a brave,
able, honorable, and just-minded Christian,
who did with his might whatever he found it
right to do. The very titles of the two little
stories that he wrote for St. Nicholas seem
now to have a special significance: The
Boy who Worked," and "Little Holdfast."
In his business Mr. Roswell Smith mani-
fested a love of equity and fair play, quick re-
cognition of the rights of others, and a readi-


ness to afford his co-workers opportunities of
advancement. It has been well said that his
best years were given to his work as busi-
ness manager and president of The Century
Company, and the history of its success is
the story of his life.
Every lad who reads these lines may find
encouragement in his example. This boy, in
starting out in life, had no essential help from
others. His far-seeing mind and willing hands
enabled him to make his way to places of
honor and usefulness; and, above all, the
world is the better for his having lived in it.
The Century Magazine," "St. Nicholas,"
and the great Century Dictionary" have
brought pleasure and knowledge and beauty
into a million homes. Through these their
founder still abides:

Alike in life and death,
When life in death survives,
And the uninterrupted breath
Inspires a thousand lives.


THE GRANDCHILDREN OF ROSWELL SMITH.









THE LETTER-BOX.


I AM very glad to learn, through a little correspondent of
ST. NICHOLAS, where the Story of Red Cap," to which
I alluded in the last chapter of "When I was Your 'Age,"
may be found. It is in "Malleville," one of the Fran-
conia stories, by Jacob Abbott; and I advise all boys and
girls to read it, as I mean to do. L. E. R.


"THE COLUMBIA" is a twelve-page, amateur maga-
zine, edited and printed by Edward Stone, of Charles-
town, New Hampshire, a boy nine years old. We have
enjoyed reading the three copies sent us, and find the con-
tents varied and interesting. Mr. Stone's use of capitals
is particularly bold and original.

KANSAS CITY, MO.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have taken you almost as
long as I remember, and we like you better every month.
I have two sisters and a brother. We used to have
a beautiful St. Bernard dog; he would do nearly every-
thing you told him; but we moved to Missouri and had
to leave him behind.
Your devoted reader, EDWARD A. B-- .

PIEDMONT, MO.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am fourteen years old, and
have a rifle, thirty-two caliber, with which I go hunting
nearly every Saturday.
I have been taking the ST. NICHOLAS ever since I was
large enough to read, and before I was, my mother used
to take me on her lap and read to me. I like to take it,
and shall continue to do so as long as I can. I '11 close
for this time.


Yours respectfully,


C. R. Y-


WEST BAY CITY, MICH.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl ten years old,
and have long wanted to write to you. I do not know
how many letters I have commenced, but have never had
the courage to send one. We live in the country; I have
a sister fifteen years old who attends school in the city.
She spends Saturday and Sunday at home. I was very
lonely without her at first, but am getting used to having
her away now. We have good times when she is home.
Our school-house is just across the road from our house.
I often wish it was farther away, so I could carry my
dinner as the other children do; but mama says she is
glad I do not have any farther to go when it storms, and
I am glad of that too. The country is level here, so we
cannot slide down-hill as papa and mama did when they
were young. We draw each other on sleds instead.
We have taken you since my sister has been old enough
to read, and are always glad when you come.
Your loving friend, FLORENCE D- .

CAMBRIDGE, MASS.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I shall tell you about a sleigh-
ride we had. It was a bright and windy morning that
we started for Lexington. We were about twenty in
all, and we went in a furniture pang which had some


benches in it. It was very cold, but we were well
wrapped up. Most of us, instead of sitting in the seats,
climbed on the sides or ran beside it. Sometimes one
would lose his hat or tumble off, so we frequently had
to stop.
For refreshments we had doughnuts and oranges.
When we got to Lexington we stopped at every histori-
cal house. Every house that was standing during the
revolution is marked, so we knew which they were. We
also saw the battle-ground and the monument.
On our way home we went into a half-finished house.
One of my friends went into the cellar and had very hard
work to get out, for the snow was so deep his rubber
boots came off and he ran in his stocking feet to the pung.
He looked very funny.
Yours, RICHARD D-


NANANGO, QUEENSLAND, AUSTRALIA.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We, Constance and Edythe
S- like your stories very much, especially "Crowded
Out o' Crofield." We do not go to school, but we are
taught at home by a governess. We get two volumes
of ST. NICHOLAS every Christmas for a present from our
uncle, who lives in Brisbane. We have never been to
England yet, but we hope to go to Yorkshire some day,
as I have an aunt who lives at Ripon. We have a horse
named "Miss Lincoln." My brother Helbyis very fond
of riding; so are we. We also have two very nice dogs
named Jack" and Girlie." Father has lots of horses.
One is so tame it will eat bread out of our hands. We
have two very pretty parrots called "Blue Mountaineers,"
and we had three green "leeks (they are parrots), but
my brother left the cage door open and they flew away.
We remain your great friends,
CONSTANCE AND EDYTHE S


FREIBURG, GERMANY.
DAER ST. NICHOLAS: My Uucle Ernest sent me your
two volumes of 1891, and I like to read them very much,
I am nine years old, and was born in New York. We are
staying at Freiburg now, and like being here very much,
One walk I particularly enjoyed, called the Schauins-
land," rather a high hill to climb. Other walks are
called" Waldsea," Schlossberg," Rosskopf," and "St.
Ottilien." We could not enjoy sleigh-driving much this
year, for there was not enough of snow.
Your little reader, FREDDIE M. H -.

DEDHAM, ENGLAND.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little English boy, and
live in Dedham. I have a friend staying with me now.
The coasting has gone, but it was good when we had
it. I have a little brother who is four years old, and his
name is Howell. He is a nice little boy. One day he
was out playing, and Jessie saw him looking up at the
sky, and he said: I think I hear a scare-crow!
H. M -, JR.

MANY young friends whose letters are not acknowl-
edged this month will hear from us in the July number.


CONTRIBUTORS are respectfully informed that, between the ist of June and the 15th of September, manuscript cannot 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.


















ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE MAY NUMBER.
WORD-SQUARE. i. Quasi. 2. Urban. 3. Abate. 4. Satyr. DIAGONAL PUZZLE. Dickens. Cross-words: I. Defeats. 2. Fic-
5. Inert. tion. 3. Enchant. 4. Packing. 5. Conveys. 6. Cunning. 7. En-
DOUBLE ACROSTICS. I. Initials, Venus; finals, Earth. Cross- gages.-- ENIGMA. Codicil. C, IO, CI, DL.
words: i. Verse. 2. Extra. 3. Niter. 4. Upset. 5. South. CENTRAL ACROSTIC. Central letters, Fidus Achates. Cross-
II. Initials, Uranus; finals, Saturn. Cross-words: x. Uranus. words: x. Lifts. 2. Brine. 3. Model. 4. Fluke. 5. Gusto. 6. Slake.
2. Russia. 3. Ararat. 4. Nassau. 5. Usurer. 6. Severn. 7. Vocal. 8. Sahib. 9. Crane. io. Betel. xi. Cleft. 12. Caste.
BEHEADINGS. Moltke. i. M-agnate. 2. O-void. 3. L-anguish. WORD-BUILDING. A, an, nag, gain, grain, airing, raining, train-
4. T-erse. 5. K-etch. 6. E-quip. ing, straining, restaining, restraining.
DOUBLE SQUARES. I. I. Papaw. 2. Aroma. 3. Power. 4. Amend. SINGLE ACROSTIC. Second row of letters, squilgee. Cross-words:
5. Wards. II. i. Occur. 2. Crane. 3. Calif. 4. Unite. 5. Refer. Astern. 2. Equine. 3. Fugues. 4. Minton. 5. Alkali. 6. Ig-
NUMERICAL ENIGMA. "If thou wouldst profit by thy read- nore. 7. Fealty. 8. Hearth.
ing, read humbly, simply, honestly, and not desiring to win a char- HOUR-GLASS. Centrals, Flageolet. Cross-words: x. Benefices.
acter for learning." 2. Grilled. 3. Flame. 4. Ago. 5. E. 6. Con. 7. Bales. 8. Calends.
PI. One sunbeam shot across a cloudy day 9. Constrain.
Can brighten all the drear expanse of skies; COTTAGE PUZZLE. From 3 to 6, trinomial; 7 to 8, endeavors;
One loving smile can make a weary way to to Ir, tellurium; to to 02, manners; 3 to 7, tome; 7 to 1o, ele-
A path to paradise. gant; 6 to 8, lass ; 8 to sophism; 6 to 9, lean ; 9 to 12, noxious;
RHOMBOID. Across: i. Amende. 2. Areola. 3. Assail. 4. Tet- I to 4, sin; to 2, spy; 2 to 5, yam; 13 to 15, gnu; 13 to 14, guy;
rad. 5. Deemed. 6. Drawee. 14 to 16, yea; 15 to 16, Una; 17 to x9, violin; r7 to 18, vow; x8
ANAGRAM. Rudyard Kipling. to 20, warble.
To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the i5th of each month, and
should be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS "Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY CO., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE MARCH NUMBER were received, before March Isth, from Rosalie Bloomingdale-"The
McG.'s"-Maude E. Palmer-Arthur Gride-A. H. R. and M. G. R.-L. O. E.-Ida Carleton Thallon-Alice Mildred Blanke
and Co.- Paul Reese- Florence A. Cragg-C. M. D.- The Spencers -E. M. G.-Helen C. McCleary- No Name, Chicago-Jose-
phine Sherwood-" Leather-stocking"-" Uncle Mung"-"The Wise Five"-" Suse"-Jo and I-Chester B. S.-No Name,
Minneapolis.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE MARCH NUMBER were received, before March 15th, from Edith A. G. Evans, 2-Lulu, --War and
Ma, --H. C. Murray, --No Name, Orange, N. J., 2-M. M. Butler, 2-A. F. Race, x -SusanWitmer F., 2-W. B. Hat, Jr., r E.
R. Congdon, i H. and H. Stewart, x -" Company Q," I- Beatrice F. M., F. M. Lazonby, --L. F. Estrada, i -A. W. Tate,
and her Mama, 3- W. Jordan, J. D. P., I- M. L. Youngs, r-L. B. Youngs, I--F. H. and E. Barrett, I-Emilie O. M., -
F. S. Noteman, C. J. Ketchum, 2--J. Bush, S. A. Gardner, 2- F. Snow, M. Sprague, 2 E. La Rochelle, 3--C. Ches-
ter, i-" The Twins," Helen and Jimmie, i-B. F. Baer, I -A. L. Wall, i-"Leaf," 2-"Two Huckleberries," i-V. Talbott, i-
A. Reynolds, 2 F. Beecher, 2 W. T. B. and C. W. B., 2 L. Stedman, 2 A. J. Girault, I B. Grefe, i R. W. Grefe, i Lillian
R., 2 A. O. Harris, N. Harris, O. Gale, 3- M. Lang, C. H. Munch, C. F. Hill, Effie K. Talboys, Tottie, I-
M. Stewart, i -J. M. H., 2a- G. B. B., --Ernest and Charley, 2-"Only I," 2-A. Cottrell, I- C. Sidell P., 3-E. S. Schmitt, I -
J. B. French, 2-Jeannie F., x-"Prince Phil," x-L. Griffin, i-C. E. Bates, 2-G. Beecroft, i-Marguerite, Annie, and
Emily, 4-"Daisy Chain," 6-Marie B., 2- M. Hunter, i- J. B. Woodhull, I -Elaine S., 4--L. S. Hopper, F. Wilcox, i-
H. Handy, 3-Willie S. B., 9-N. Hutton, i--J. Childs, 3--Bill and Mary, 8-E. Goldsmith, I--H. V. White, I--A. B. Dough-
ten, I R. Mitchell, 2 B. Hanigan, I- Mama and Ella, i Grandma and Carrie, 2 Emilie B., 3-" Pansy and Violet," 3 W. S.
Cochran, P-R. D. C., 3-M. C. Griffin, i-Helen and Marguerite, 3--G. Burnett, 2-M., -S. E. Steinmeyer, i -" May and
79," 7 -M. E. Evans, x-M. S. B. and Co., 3 U. G. Beath, 2--H. C. Murray, i--S. W. Kaufmann, 2--W. Roberts, i-J. B.
Brinsmaid, 2-M. Hamilton, 2-Bertha M. and Ella F., i- S. Barber, i--Ethel, x- Gugga, a2-Harry and Mama, 6-E. and A.
Sonntag, 2 D. Allen, 2 A M. and A.J. Johnson, 3 D. E. Armstrong. 3 -No Name, Normal Park, 3 Amanda E. T., -" Lyn-
dego," 3- Clara and Hollie A., I-E. Stoiber, ;-W. H. Clarke, 3-L. E. Rosenberg, Theo. Goetze, 3d, 2-" Star,"2-B. C.
Torre, 3 -W. P. Howe, 4-E. K., 4-D. F. Hereford and D. W. W. Wilson, 6-Pinkie, i -Blanche and Fred, o -J. P. Jones, 3-
" Lady Jane," i -" We Girls," 9- H. Mason, 2- J. Chapman, o--Ed and Bradley, 9- Hubert L. Bingay, 9 Mama and Hattie, 2-
G. Stang, 2-G. Peirce, x-N. Archer, 3- "Jack Dandy," o--E. C. Gardner, 2 -Wm. Van and Parents, 3-H. D. Brig-
ham, o- A, C. Leaycraft, N. L. Howes, o--Grace and Nan, 8--McA. Moore, I--H. S. Coats, I-" The Partners," 8-
"3 Blind Mice," -N. K. Sheldon, D. L. Newton, a-G. W. Lyon, L. Don, 2-Grace A. L., Mathilde F. and Sue H., a
J. Bennett, x E. A. Bell, 2.


A LETTER PUZZLE.

BY starting at the right letter in one of the following
words, and then taking every third letter, a couplet may
be formed.
BANJO, INERT, 0, SANDWICH, TEASE, TEAR, OF, AC-
TUAL, ILLUME, TWINE, FLAME, TUSH, STEM, ORE, DIME,
NO, AJAX, UP, UNITE, ON, SWEET, ATOMS, OATH, SHINES,
ACTIONS, RHINE, BISONS, UTE, QUEEN, OWE, UP.
0. B. G.
SY COPATIONS.

EXAMPLE. Syncopate to fasten, and leave part of the
face. Answer, ch-a-in, chin.
I. Syncopate part of a house, and leave a strong cur-
rent of air. 2. Syncopate to report, and leave a small
species of herring. 3. Syncopate prongs, and leave fas-
tenings. 4. Syncopate one who asks, and leave a tribe
mentioned in the Bible. 5. Syncopate a vision, and leave
a liquid measure. 6. Syncopate heals, and leave catch-
words. 7. Syncopate a green fly, and leave the honey-bee.


8. Syncopate a river of France, and leave erudition.
9. Syncopate pertaining to the sun, and leave to ascend.
o1. Syncopate sorrow, and leave an opening.
The ten syncopated letters will spell the name of a
famous battle fought in June, many years ago.
F. S. F.
ANAGRAM.

A DISTINGUISHED man of letters:
A HIT! I CHARM ALL BY ODES.

RHOMBOID.

ACROSS: I. Barrels or casks. 2. A cloth used for
wiping. 3. The principal post of a staircase. 4. To
revive. 5. A masculine name.
DOWNWARD: I. In coward. 2. A preposition. 3. A
Spanish title. 4. A pitcher. 5. A drain. 6. A kind of
cotton fabric. 7. Part of a chair. 8. A pronoun. 9. In
coward. B.
639







THE RIDDLE-BOX.


Nz A BIRD PUZZLE.
WHEN the above birds have been rightly named, the
initial letters will spell a well-loved season.

DOUBLE ZIGZAG.

I II
2 12 .
3 13 .
4 14
5 ... 5 5

7 17 .
8 i8. 8
9 .. 19
S o1 20

CROSS-WORDS: IL.Lees. 2. Half a tone. 3. Over-
coming. 4. Contiguous. 5. Disqualified. 6. A box in
a theater near the stage. 7. To reach beyond. 8. Hav-
ing sharp points. 9. Nuptials. o1. A small dagger.
Zigzags, from I to Io, the name of a city in Russia
which was bombarded on June 6, 1855; from II to 20,
the name of a battle fought on June 9, 18oo. F. s. F.
CHARADE.

MY first each morning greets the ear
With sweetest music, rich and clear;
My second will the rider need
To urge along his lagging steed.
While 'mid old-fashioned flowers, maybe,
The petals of my whole you 'll see.
'MILDRED MENDITH.

DOUBLE ACROSTIC.

MY primals, reading downward, spell the name of a
Scotch naturalist who, in 1848, conducted an expedition
sent to search for Sir John Franklin; my finals, reading
upward, spell the name of a President of the United
States.
CROSS-WORDS (of unequal length): I. A Jew. 2. In-
cidental. 3. A Spanish title. 4. A drug which produces
sleep. 5. Jet black. 6. A letter. 7. Incessant. 8. Cour-
age. 9. An ancient two-handled vessel. Io. Disordered.
II. A goddess. 12. To hasten. 13. A ball. 14. Disease
affecting a nerve. ETHEL SUTTON.

A DICKENS ACROSTIC.

WHEN the following names have been rightly guessed
and placed one below another, the initial letters will spell
the name of a character called Lignum Vita."
CROSS-WORDS: I. The Christian name of a young man
who was bound to be jolly under creditable circumstances.
2. The surname of a young lady who was an acquaintance
of the Veneerings. 3. The surname of the young man
who married "the dearest girl in the world." 4. The
Christian name of an untidy nurse-maid. 5. The sur-


name of a very humble young
man. 6. The Christian name of Little
Dorrit's brother. 7. The surname of a man who warned
his son against widows. 8. The surname of a major
who was "sly." 9. The Christian name of David Copper-
field's second wife. 10. The surname of a professional
nurse. II. The name of Mrs. Jarley's little assistant.
12. The Christian name of a daughter of Wilkins
Micawber. 13. The surname of a woman who kept a
commercial boarding-house. c. McG.

SINGLE ACROSTIC.

WHEN the following words have been rightly guessed,
and placed one below another, in the order here given,
one of the rows of letters, reading downward, will spell
a licensed beggar.
CROSS-WORDS (of equal length): I. A kind of type.
2. The arch-fiend. 3. Fat. 4. The name of several
evergreen trees. 5. Brittle. 6. To flicker. 7. Not
luminous. 8. To invest. 9. Sky-blue. Io. A female
relative. II. Frozen. o. B. G.

DIAMOND.

I. IN January. 2. To sip. 3. Possessing savor. 4. The
father of gods and men. 5. Forceful. 6. An Algerian
dignitary. 7. In January. A. P. C. A.

GREEK CROSS.





4 4 *



.
4 44 *






I. UPPER SQUARE: I. Regularity. 2. A river of
Europe. 3. A small sofa. 4. To decree. 5. Breaks.
II. LEFT-HAND SQUARE: I. Aflower. 2. To climb.
3. Seized. 4. To choose for office. 5. Fissures.
III. CENTRAL SQUARE: I. Fissures. 2. A masculine
name. 3. The point opposite to the zenith. 4. Race.
5. To scatter.
IV. RIGHT-HAND SQUARE: I. To spread abroad.
2. To come in contact with. 3. A Russian coin. 4. Ap-
plause. 5. Stimulates.
V. LOWER SQUARE: I. To disseminate. 2. A form
of head-dress worn by the ancient Persians. 3. A sharp
instrument. 4. To eat away. 5. Merchandise.
M. A. S.


THE DE VINNE PRESS, NEW YORK.


640









































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SI'.








Te-




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