Front Cover
 Letters to young friends
 How a street-car came in a...
 Betty Leicester's English...
 A Christmas white elephant
 The story of the year (Illustr...
 John Henry Jones
 The swordmaker's son
 Dream march of the children
 The happy holiday of Master...
 Teddy and carrots
 Our secret society
 The Christmas song of Caedmon
 The little Carltons have their...
 The toll-gate
 The prize cup
 Owney, the post-office dog
 Bombshell; An artillery dog
 A Christmas Eve thought
 That little peanut man
 Editorial notes
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00305
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas
Uniform Title: St. Nicholas (New York, N.Y.)
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: -c1943
Frequency: monthly
Subject: Children's literature -- Periodicals   ( lcsh )
Genre: periodical   ( marcgt )
Dates or Sequential Designation: -v. 67, no. 4 (Feb. 1940) ; v. 70, no. 1 (Mar. 1943)-v. 70, no. 4 (June 1943).
Dates or Sequential Designation: Began with: Vol. 1, no. 1, Nov. 1873.
Numbering Peculiarities: Suspended Mar. 1940-Feb. 1943; vols. 68-69 omitted.
Issuing Body: Published by: Century, Aug. 1881- ; by Educational Pub. Corp. -1940; by St. Nicholas Magazine, 1943.
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00065513
Volume ID: VID00305
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: oclc - 01764817
lccn - 04012675
 Related Items
Preceded by: Our young folks
Preceded by: Children's hour (Philadelphia, Penn.)
Preceded by: Little corporal
Preceded by: Schoolday magazine
Preceded by: Wide awake

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
        Front Cover 3
    Letters to young friends
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
    How a street-car came in a stocking
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
    Betty Leicester's English Christmas
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
    A Christmas white elephant
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
    The story of the year (Illustration)
        Page 119
    John Henry Jones
        Page 120
        Page 121
    The swordmaker's son
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
    Dream march of the children
        Page 128
        Page 129
    The happy holiday of Master Merrivein
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
    Teddy and carrots
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
    Our secret society
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
    The Christmas song of Caedmon
        Page 145
        Page 146
    The little Carltons have their say
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
    The toll-gate
        Page 152
    The prize cup
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
    Owney, the post-office dog
        Page 162
        Page 163
        Page 164
        Page 165
    Bombshell; An artillery dog
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
    A Christmas Eve thought
        Page 169
    That little peanut man
        Page 170
        Page 171
    Editorial notes
        Page 172
    The letter-box
        Page 172
        Page 173
        Page 174
    The riddle-box
        Page 175
        Page 176
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text


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VOL. XXIII. DECEMBER, 1895. No. 2.




I SUPPOSE there are few boys and girls who
have not heard of Robert Louis Stevenson,
the great author. It was Mr. Stevenson's good
fortune that his books should not only be
widely read and admired, but that, as they read
first one and then another, people began to
like the man who wrote them, until he became
not a mere name on the title-page, but the in-
visible member of many households and the
personal friend of those who had never seen
him; so that at last, when death stopped his
pen forever, the light grew dim in many a
pleasant home and the world seemed emptier
to thousands who speak the English tongue.
It is due to this wide-spread feeling that the
Editor of ST. NICHOLAS has obtained for the
magazine, in the belief that they will interest
its young readers, a number of Mr. Steven-
son's letters to his ward, Austin Strong, and
to several little girls in England. These let-
ters were not written for publication, and were
not expected to have more of a circulation than
perhaps among Master Austin's chums, or the
mamas and favorite aunts of the little English

lasses; but now they have been unearthed
from desk and locker, to be read again in a
bigger play-room than their author dreamed
of. And as you read them you will wonder
about this "Vailima" plantation, and the brown
men and black; and how it was that Mr. Ste-
venson came to live in so outlandish a country,
so far from civilization that nobody goes there
except good missionaries, and other white men
(not always so good) who barter cotton-print
and knives and kerosene oil for dried cocoanut
kernels. And you will wonder too, doubtless,
as to this Master Austin- whether he had a
gun or a pony, and whether he had lessons
every day, and did sums, as little boys must
everywhere, even in those far-off isles of the
Pacific Ocean.
Mr. Stevenson knew as little as you do about
Samoa and the remote South Seas when, several
years ago, he came to San Francisco and set
sail in a beautiful schooner yacht, hoping the
Trade Wind would blow him to some pleasant
isle where he might get well and strong again.
The Shining Ship (for that was what the
natives called her) poked her sharp nose into
many a sweet bay and dark-blue lagoon, and

Copyright, 1895, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved.


passed from island to island through calm and
storm, and picked her way through surf-swept
reefs where the sharks played like minnows be-
neath her keel, but she came no nearer the
haven for which she was in search. At last she
reached an island called Oahu, which was so
pleasant to look at, and so agreeable to live in,
that Mr. Stevenson thought his voyage was
over. The King of Oahu was a very agreeable
man, too, and wished Mr. Stevenson never to
go away, but to stay with him all his life and
be his friend. So Mr. Stevenson stayed many
months in Oahu, and would have been very
happy and contented had it not been for the
Trade Wind, who was always telling him about
the fine islands further on, until he was per-
suaded to say good-by to the king and set sail
again. The Trade Wind took him a long road
and through many queer and dangerous places
before he brought him within sight of Upolu in
Samoa, and told him to pack up and go ashore;
which Mr. Stevenson was very glad to do, for he
quite agreed with the Trade Wind that Upolu
was the finest island in the whole ocean. Here
he bought a large tract of land, which he called
"Vailima," and built a big house, and planted
bananas and breadfruit trees and cocoanuts and
mangos and other trees with strange names, in
order to feed the brown people who gathered
about him and made him the head of their
tribe. They called him "Tusitala," or the
" Writer of Tales," for his own name was too
hard for them to say. In a short time Mr.
Story-teller grew well and strong, just as he
hoped he would, and remained grateful all his
days to the Trade Wind for bringing him to
Upolu; and he always made a point of speak-
ing kindly about it in his books.
The first three letters are to some little girls
in a Convalescent Home in England, where a
friend of Mr. Stevenson's had a share in the
management of the institution. This lady
used to hear so frequently of the "boys" in
Vailima, that she wrote and asked Mr. Steven-
son for news of them, as it would so much
interest her little girls. In the tropics, for
some reason or other that it is impossible to
understand, servants and work-people are al-
ways called "boys," though the years of Me-
thuselah may have whitened their heads, and

great-grandchildren prattle about their knees.
Mr. Stevenson was amused to think that his
"boys," who ranged from eighteen years of
age to three score and ten, should be mistaken
for little youngsters; but he was touched to
hear of the sick children his friend tried so
hard to entertain, and gladly wrote a few let-
ters to them. He would have written more
but for the fact that his friend left the home,
being transferred elsewhere.
In Samoa the name "black boy" is used
to distinguish the negroes of the New Hebri-
dean, Solomon, and New Guinea archipelagos
from the Samoan natives, whose color is scarcely
darker than that of a Spaniard or a South
Italian. "Bush" is another South Sea word,
and is applied to the high, dense forest that
covers all but a few square miles of Samoa.


"Please salute your pupils in my name, and
tell them that a long, lean, elderly man who
lives right through on the underside of the
world, so that down in your cellar you are
nearer him than the people in the street, desires
his compliments.
This man lives in an island which is not very
long and is extremely narrow. The sea beats
round it very hard, so that it is difficult to get
to shore. There is only one harbour where
ships come, and even that is very wild and dan-
gerous; four ships of war were broken there a
little while ago, and one of them is still lying on
its side on a rock clean above water, where the
sea threw it as you might throw your fiddle-bow
upon the table. All round the harbour the town
is strung out: it is nothing but wooden houses,
only there are some churches built of stone.
They are not very large, but the people have
never seen such fine buildings. Almost all the
houses are of one story. Away at one end of
the village lives the king of the whole country.
His palace has a thatched roof which rests upon
posts; there are no walls, but when it blows
and rains, they have Venetian blinds which
they let down between the posts, making all
very snug. There is no furniture, and the king



and the queen and the courtiers sit and eat on
the floor, which is of gravel: the lamp stands
there, too, and every now and then it is upset.
"These good folk wear nothing but a kilt
about their waists, unless to go to church or for
a dance on the New Year, or some great occa-
sion. The children play marbles all along the
street; and though they are generally very jolly,
yet they get awfully cross over their marbles,
and cry and fight just as boys and girls do at
home. Another amusement in country places
is to shoot fish with a little bow and arrow. All
round the beach there is bright shallow water,
where the fishes can be seen darting or lying
in shoals. The child trots round the shore, and
whenever he sees a fish, lets fly an arrow, and
misses, and then wades in after his arrow. It
is great fun (I have tried it) for the child, and I
never heard of it doing any harm to the fishes:
so what could be more jolly ?
The road to this lean man's house is uphill
all the way and through forests; the trees are
not so much unlike those at home, only here
and there some very queer ones are mixed with
them-cocoanut palms, and great trees that are
covered with bloom like red hawthorn but not
near so bright; and from them all thick creepers
hang down like ropes, and ugly-looking weeds
that they call orchids grow in the forks of the
branches; and on the ground many prickly
things are dotted, which they call pineapples.
I suppose everyone has eaten pineapple drops.
"On the way up to the lean man's house,
you pass a little village, all of houses like the
king's house, so that as you ride by you can see

everybody sitting at dinner, or, if it is night, lying
in their beds by lamplight; because all the people
are terribly afraid of ghosts and would not lie in
the dark for anything. After the village, there
is only one more house, and that is the lean
man's. For the people are not very many and
live all by the sea, and the whole inside of
the island is desert woods and mountains.
When the lean man goes into the forest, he
is very much ashamed to own it, but he is al-
ways in a terrible fright. The wood is so great,
and empty, and hot, and it is always filled with
curious noises: birds cry like children, and bark
like dogs; and he can hear people laughing
and felling trees; and the other day (when he
was far in the woods) he heard a sound like the
biggest mill-wheel possible, going with a kind
of dot-and-carry-one movement like a dance.
That was the noise of an earthquake away
down below him in the bowels of the earth; and
that is the same thing as to say away up toward
you in your cellar in Kilburn. All these noises
make him feel lonely and scared, and he does n't
quite know what he is scared of. Once when
he was just about to cross a river, a blow struck
him on the top of his head, and knocked him
head-foremost down the bank and splash into
the water. It was a nut, I fancy, that had fallen
from a tree, by which accident people are some-
times killed. But at the time he thought it was
a Black Boy.
"'Aha,' say you, 'and what is a Black Boy? '"
Well, there are here a lot of poor people who
are brought to Samoa from distant islands to
labor for the Germans. They are not at all



like the king and his people, who are brown
and very pretty; for these are black as ne-
groes and as ugly as sin, poor souls, and in
their own land they live all the time at war,
and cook and eat men's flesh. The Germans
make them work; and every now and then some
run away into the Bush, as the forest is called,
and build little sheds of leaves, and eat nuts and
roots and fruits, and dwell there by themselves.
Sometimes they are bad, and wild, and people
whisper to each other that some of them have
gone back to their horrid old habits, and
catch men and women in order to eat them.
But it is very likely not true; and the most of
them are poor, half-starved, pitiful creatures,
like frightened dogs. Their life is all very well
when the sun shines, as it does eight or nine
months in the year. But it is very different
the rest of the time. The wind rages then most
violently. The great trees thrash about like
whips; the air is filled with leaves and branches
flying like birds; and the sound of the trees
falling shakes the earth. It rains, too, as it
never rains at home. You can hear a shower
while it is yet half a mile away, hissing like a
shower-bath in the forest; and when it comes
to you, the water blinds your eyes, and the cold
drenching takes your breath away as though
some one had struck you. In that kind of
weather it must be dreadful indeed to live in
the woods, one man alone by himself. And
you must know that if the lean man feels afraid
to be in the forest, the people of the island and
the Black Boys are much more afraid than he;
for they believe the woods to be quite filled
with spirits; some like pigs, and some like flying
things; but others (and these are thought the
most dangerous) in the shape of beautiful young
women and young men, beautifully dressed in
the island manner, with fine kilts and fine neck-
laces, and crosses of scarlet seeds and flow-
ers. Woe betide him or her who gets to speak
with one of these! They will be charmed out
of their wits, and come home again quite silly,
and go mad and die. So that the poor runa-
way Black Boy must be always trembling, and
looking about for the coming of the demons.
Sometimes the women-demons go down
out of the woods into the villages, and here is
a tale the lean man heard last year : One

of the islanders was sitting in his house, and
he had cooked fish. There came along the
road two beautiful young women, dressed as
I told you, who came into his house, and asked
for some of his fish. It is the fashion in
the islands always to give what is asked, and
never to ask folks' names. So the man gave
them fish, and talked to them in the island
jesting way. Presently he asked one of the
women for her red necklace; which is good
manners and their way: he had given the fish,
and he had a right to ask for something back.
'I will give it you by and by,' said the wo-
man, and she and her companion went away;
but he thought they were gone very suddenly,
and the truth is they had vanished. The night
was nearly come, when the man heard the voice
of the woman crying that he should come to
her, and she would give the necklace. He
looked out, and behold! she was standing call-
ing him from the top of the sea, on which she
stood as you might stand on the table. At that,
fear came on the man; he fell on his knees and
prayed, and the woman disappeared.
It was said afterward that this was once a
woman, indeed, but she should have died a thou-
sand years ago, and has lived all that while as
an evil spirit in the woods beside the spring of
a river. Sau-mai-afe* is her name, in case you
want to write to her.
Ever your friend (for whom I thank the
stars), "TUSITALA (Tale-writer)."

[Austin Strong, who is mentioned in the fol-
lowing letter, and whose portrait is printed on
page 96, was a ward of Mr. Stevenson's. His fate
was a sad one; for though his fort" was stout,
the palisade high, and his trusty air-gun and
wooden sword lay ever within his reach, he was
inopportunely captured and sent to Monterey
in California, to labor like a black boy in the
mental plantations of school.-L. O.]


"... .The lean man is exceedingly ashamed
of himself, and offers his apologies to the little
girls in the cellar just above. If they will be
so good as to knock three times upon the floor,

"* Come-a-thousand."


he will hear it on the other side of his floor, on legs, made of logs of wood. Sometimes it
and will understand that he is forgiven, has a flag flying on it, made of rags of old
I left you and the children still on the road clothes. It is a fort (as I am told) built by the
to the lean man's house, where a great part of the person here who would be much the most in-
forest has now been cleared away. It comes teresting to the girls in the cellar. This is a
back again pretty quick, though not quite so young gentleman of eleven years of age, an-
high; but everywhere, except where the weeders swering to the name of Austin. It was after
have been kept busy, young trees have sprouted reading a book about the Red Indians that he
up, and the cattle and the horses cannot be seen thought it more prudent to create this place
as they feed. In this clearing there are two or of strength. As the Red Indians are in North
three houses scattered about, and between the America, and this fort seems to me a very use-
two biggest I think the little girls in the cellar less kind of building, I anxiously hope that the
would first notice a sort of thing like a gridiron two may never be brought together. When
The above portrait is enlarged from a small photograph, never before published.


., -. "**,**-







h.-- ,

I Z 71


.. --.... .
Austin is not engaged in building forts, nor on
his lessons, which are just as annoying to him
as other children's lessons are to them, he
walks sometimes in the Bush, and if anybody is
with him, talks all the time. When he is alone
I don't think he says anything, and I dare say
he feels very lonely and frightened, just as the
Samoan does, at the queer noises and the end-
less lines of the trees.
He finds the strangest kinds of seeds, some
of them bright-colored like lollipops, or really
like precious stones; some of them in odd cases
like tobacco-pouches. He finds and collects all
kinds of little shells with which the whole
ground is scattered, and that, though they are
the shells of land creatures like our snails, are
of nearly as many shapes and colours as the
shells on our sea-beaches. In the streams that
come running down out of our mountains, all
as clear and bright as mirror-glass, he sees
eels and little bright fish that sometimes jump
together out of the surface of the brook
in a spray of silver, and fresh-water prawns
which lie close under the stones, looking up at

him through the water with eyes the colour of
a jewel. He sees all kinds of beautiful birds,
some of them blue and white, and some of
them colored like our pigeons at home; and
these last, the little girls in the cellar may like to
know, live almost entirely on wild nutmegs as
they fall ripe off the trees.. Another little bird
he may sometimes see, as the lean man saw him
only this morning: a little fellow not so big as
a man's hand, exquisitely neat, of a pretty
bronzy black like ladies' shoes, who sticks up
behind him (much as a peacock does) his little
tail, shaped and fluted like a scallop-shell.
Here there are a lot of curious and interest-
ing things that Austin sees all round him every
day; and when I was a child at home in the
old country I used to play and pretend to my-
self that I saw things of the same kind that
the rooms were full of orange and nutmeg
trees, and the cold town gardens outside the
windows were alive with parrots and with lions.
What do the little girls in the cellar think that
Austin does ? He makes believe just the other
way: he pretends that the strange great trees
with their broad leaves and slab-sided roots
are European oaks; and the places on the road
up (where you and I and the little girls in the
cellar have already gone) he calls old-fashioned,
far-away European names, just as if you were
to call the cellar-stair and the corner of the next
street if you could only manage to pronounce
their names- Upolu and Savaii. And so it is
with all of us, with Austin, and the lean man,
and the little girls in the cellar: wherever we
are, it is but a stage on the way to somewhere
else, and whatever we do, however well we do
it, it is only a preparation to do something else
that shall be different.
But you must not suppose that Austin does
nothing but build forts, and walk among the
woods, and swim in the rivers. On the con-
trary, he is sometimes a very busy and useful
fellow; and I think the little girls in the cellar
would have admired him very nearly as much
as he admired himself, if they had seen him
setting off on horseback, with his hand on his
hip, and his pocket full of letters and orders, at
the head of quite a procession of huge white
cart-horses with pack-saddles, and big, brown
native men with nothing on but gaudy kilts.


Mighty well he managed all his commissions;
and those who saw him ordering and eating his
single-handed luncheon in the queer little Chi-
nese restaurant on the beach, declare he looked
as if the place, and the town, and the whole ar-
chipelago belonged to him.
But I am not going to let you suppose that
this great gentleman at the head of all his horses
and his men, like the King of France in the old
rhyme, would be thought much of a dandy on

in my last) would be thought rather a poor
place of residence by a Surrey gipsy. And if
you come to that, even the lean man himself,
who is no end of an important person, if he
were picked up from the chair where he is now
sitting, and slung down, feet-foremost, in the
neighborhood of Charing Cross, would probably
have to escape into the nearest shop, or take
the risk of being mobbed. And the ladies of
his family, who are very pretty ladies, and think


the streets of London. On the contrary, if he
could be seen with his dirty white cap and his
faded purple shirt, and his little brown breeks
that do not reach his knees, and the bare shanks
below, and the bare feet stuck in the stirrup-
leathers-for he is not quite long enough to
reach the irons I am afraid the little girls and
boys in your part of the town might be very
much inclined to give him a penny in charity.
So you see that a very big man in one place
might seem very small potatoes in another, just
as the king's palace here (of which I told you

themselves uncommon well-dressed for Samoa,
would (if the same thing were to be done to
them) be extremely glad to get into a cab. ..

[The German Company, from which we got
our black boy Arick, owns and cultivates many
thousands of acres in Samoa, and keeps at least
a thousand black people to work on its plan-
tations. Two schooners are always busy in
bringing fresh batches to Samoa, and in taking
home to their own islands the men who have


worked out their three years' term of labor.
This traffic in human beings is called the "la-
bor trade," and is the life's blood, not only
of the great German Company, but of all the
planters in Fiji, Queensland, New Caledonia,
German New Guinea, the Solomon Islands,
and the New Hebrides. The difference be-
tween the labor trade, as it is now carried
on under government supervision, and the
slave trade is a great one, but not great
enough to please sensitive people. In Samoa
the missionaries are not allowed by the Com-
pany to teach these poor savages religion, or
to do anything to civilize them and raise them
from their monkey-like ignorance. But in other
respects the Company is not a bad master, and
treats its people pretty well. The system, how-
ever, is one that cannot be defended and must
sooner or later be suppressed.-L. 0.]

"VAILIMA, 4th Sept., 1892.
you before something of the Black Boys who
come here to work on the plantations, and some
of whom run away and live a wild life in the
forests of the island. Now I want to tell you
of one who lived in the house of the lean man.
Like the rest of them here, he is a little fellow,
and when he goes about in old battered cheap
European clothes, looks very small and shabby.
When first he came he was as lean as a to-
bacco-pipe, and his smile (like that of almost
all the others) was the sort that half makes you
wish to smile yourself, and half wish to cry.
However, the boys in the kitchen took him in
hand and fed him up. They would set him
down alone to table, and wait upon him till
he had his fill, which was a good long time
to wait. The first thing we noticed was that
his little stomach began to stick out like a
pigeon's breast; and then the food got a little
wider spread, and he started little calves to his
legs; and last of all, he began to get quite
saucy and impudent. He is really what you
ought to call a young man, though I suppose
nobody in the whole wide world has any idea
of his age; and as far as his behaviour goes, you
can only think of him as a big little child with
a good deal of sense.

When Austin built his fort against the Indi-
ans, Arick (for that is the Black Boy's name)
liked nothing so much as to help him. And
this is very funny, when you think that of all
the dangerous savages in this island Arick is one
of the most dangerous. The other day, besides,
he made Austin a musical instrument of the
sort they use in his own country a harp with
only one string. He took a stick about three
feet long and perhaps four inches round. The
under side he hollowed out in a deep trench to
serve as sounding-box; the two ends of the
upper side he made to curve upward like the
ends of a canoe, and between these he stretched
the single string. He plays upon it with a
match or a little piece of stick, and sings to
it songs of his own country, of which no per-
son here can understand a single word, and
which are, very likely, all about fighting with
his enemies in battle, and killing them, and, I
am sorry to say, cooking them in a ground-
oven, and eating them for supper when the
fight is over.
For Arick is really what you call a savage,
though a savage is a very different sort of
a person, and very much nicer than he is
made to appear in little books. He is the
kind of person that everybody smiles to, or
makes faces at, or gives a smack as he goes
by; the sort of person that all the girls on
the plantation give the best seat to and help
first, and love to decorate with flowers and rib-
bons, and yet all the while are laughing at him;
the sort of person who likes best to play with
Austin, and whom Austin, perhaps (when he is
allowed), likes best to play with. He is all grins
and giggles and little steps out of dances, and
little droll ways to attract people's attention
and set them laughing. And yet, when you
come to look at him closely, you will find that
his body is all covered with scars / This hap-
pened when he was a child. There was war, as
is the way in these wild islands, between his vil-
lage and the next, much as if there were war in
London between one street and another; and
all the children ran about playing in the middle
of the trouble, and, I dare say, took no more
notice of the war than you children in London
do of a general election. But sometimes, at
general elections, English children may get run


over by processions in the street; and it chanced
that as little Arick was running about in the
Bush, and very busy about his playing, he ran
into the midst of the warriors on the other side.
These speared him with a poisoned spear; and
his own people, when they had found him, in or-


der to cure him of the poison scored him with
knives that were probably made of fish-bone.
This is a very savage piece of child-life;
and Arick, for all his good nature, is still a very
savage person. I have told you how the Black
Boys sometimes run away from the plantations,
and live alone in the forest, building little
sheds to protect them from the rain, and some-
times planting little gardens for food; but for
the most part living the best they can upon
the nuts of the trees and the yams that they
dig with their hands out of the earth. I do
not think there can be anywhere in the world
people more wretched than these runaways.
They cannot return, for they would only return
to be punished; they can never hope to see
again their own people-indeed, I do not
know what they can hope, but just to find
enough yams every day to keep them from
starvation. And in the wet season of the year,
which is our summer and your winter, when
the rain falls day after day far harder and
louder than the loudest thunder-plump that

ever fell in England, and the room is so dark
that the lean man is sometimes glad to light
his lamp to write by, I can think of nothing
so dreary as the state of these poor runaways
in the houseless bush. You are to remember,
besides, that the people of the island hate and
fear them because they are cannibals; sit and
tell tales of them about their lamps at night
in their own comfortable houses, and are some-
times afraid to lie down to sleep if they think
there is a lurking Black Boy in the neighbor-
hood. Well, now, Arick is of their own race
and language, only he is a little more lucky be-
cause he has not run away; and how do you
think that he proposed to help them? He
asked if he might not have a gun. What
do you want with a gun, Arick ? was asked.
He answered quite simply, and with his nice,
good-natured smile, that if he had a gun he
would go up into the High Bush and shoot
Black Boys as men shoot pigeons. He said
nothing about eating them, nor do I think he
really meant to; I think all he wanted was to
clear the plantation of vermin, as gamekeepers
at home kill weasels or rats.
"The other day he was sent on an errand
to the German Company where many of the
Black Boys live. It was very late when he
came home. He had a white bandage round
his head, his eyes shone, and he could scarcely
speak for excitement. It seems some of the
Black Boys who were his enemies at home
had attacked him, one with a knife. By his
own account, he had fought very well; but the
odds were heavy. The man with the knife had
cut him both in the head and back; he had
been struck down; and if some Black Boys of
his own side had not come to the rescue, he
must certainly have been killed. I am sure no
Christmas box could make any of you children
so happy as this fight made Arick. A great part
of the next day he neglected his work to play
upon the one-stringed harp and sing songs
about his great victory. To-day, when he
is gone upon his holiday, he has announced
that he is going back to the German Firm to
have another battle and another triumph. I
do not think he will go, all the same, or I
should be uneasy; for I do not want to have
my Arick killed; and there is no doubt that




if he begin this fight again, he will be likely
to go on with it very far. For I have seen
him once when he saw, or thought he saw, an
It was one of those dreadful days of rain,
the sound of it like a great waterfall, or like a
tempest of wind blowing in the forest; and
there came to our door two runaway Black
Boys seeking refuge. In such weather as that
my enemy's dog (as Shakspere says) should
have had a right to shelter. But when Arick
saw the two poor rogues coming with their
empty stomachs and drenched clothes, one of
them with a stolen cutlass in his hand, through
that world of falling water, he had no thought
of any pity in his heart. Crouching behind
one of the pillars of the veranda, to which
he clung with his two hands, his mouth drew
back into a strange sort of smile, his eyes
grew bigger and bigger, and his whole face
was just like the one word MURDER in big
But I have told you a great deal too much
about poor Arick's savage nature, and now I
must tell you of a great amusement he had
the other day. There came an English ship-of-
war into the harbor, and the officers good-
naturedly gave an entertainment of songs and
dances and a magic lantern, to which Arick
and Austin were allowed to go. At the door
of the hall there were crowds of Black Boys
waiting and trying to peep in, as children
at home lie about and peep under the tent of
a circus; and you may be sure Arick was a
very proud person when he passed them all
by, and entered the hall with his ticket.
I wish I knew what he thought of the whole
performance; but a friend of the lean man,
who sat just in front of Arick tells me what
seemed to startle him most. The first thing
was when two of the officers came out with
blackened faces, like minstrels, and began to
dance. Arick was sure that they were really
black and his own people, and he was won-
derfully surprised to see them dance in this
new European style.

But the great affair was the magic lantern.
The hall was made quite dark, which was very
little to Arick's taste. He sat there behind my
friend, nothing to be seen of him but eyes
and teeth, and his heart was beating finely in
his little scarred breast. And presently there
came out on the white sheet that great bright
eye of light that I am sure all you children
must have often seen. It was quite new to
Arick; he had no idea what would happen
next, and in his fear and excitement he laid
hold with his little slim black fingers like a
bird's claw on the neck of the friend in front
of him. All through the rest of the show,
as one picture followed another on the white
sheet, he sat there grasping and clutching, and
goodness knows whether he were more pleased
or frightened.
Doubtless it was a very fine thing to see all
those bright pictures coming out and dying
away again, one after another; but doubtless it
was rather alarming also, for how was it done?
At last when there appeared upon the screen
the head of a black woman (as it might be his
own mother or sister), and this black woman
of a sudden began to roll her eyes, the fear or
the excitement, whichever it was, wrung out of
him a loud, shuddering sob. I think we all
ought to admire his courage when, after an
evening spent in looking at such wonderful
miracles, he and Austin set out alone through
the forest to the lean man's house. It was
late at night and pitch dark when some of
the party overtook the little white boy and
the big black boy, marching among the trees
with their lantern. I have told you this wood
has an ill name, and all the people of the isl-
and believe it to be full of evil spirits; it is a
pretty dreadful place to walk in by the moving
light of a lantern, with nothing about you but
a curious whirl of shadows, and the black night
above and beyond. But Arick kept his cour-
age up, and I dare say Austin's, too, with a
perpetual chatter, so that the people coming
after heard his voice long before they saw
the shining of the lantern. "TUSITALA."

(To be continued.)




3 F




DAVID DOUGLAS wanted to be a street-
driver. That did not interfere in the least w
his ambition to be a plumber with a bag of to
or a doctor with a pocket-thermometer and
stop-watch. David was almost seven years o
He had been in love with the street-car prof
sion for at least a year; and there was nothi
he could n't tell you about that business wh
can be told to an outsider whose heart is
in it.
Yet there was nothing remarkable abc
David. He could read and write as well
other boys of his age, and he spelled with I
originality perhaps than most. He could r
as fast, jump as far, and spin tops with the be
Although David had neither brother nor sis

to play with, and no nursery full of toys, he
managed to have a good deal of fun, and he
had a rather manly sort of character. As to
playfellows-nobody could excel his mother.
She rode in his express-train, and had her
ticket punched till there was nothing left of it;
and when the engineer struck a broken rail,
she was a passenger in the wreck, and he
bandaged her up with handkerchiefs and old
string until you would n't have known her.
Then, too, she had that rare faculty of know-
ing, from a boy's point of view, a funny thing
when she saw it and sometimes they laughed
together till the tears rolled down their cheeks.
Then there was Jack." I nearly forgot him.
He was David's beloved dog. Jack was a
short-haired yellow dog without pedigree or
family connections- what might be called a
self-made dog. He owed his present home
and success in the world to self-respecting en-
terprise and a kind heart. He was cheerful, fond
of exercise and excitement, and always on hand.
Now, David's father had a habit of reading
aloud to David's mother before breakfast, from
the morning paper.
One morning, about three weeks before
car Christmas, David was transfixed by hearing his
ith father read the following announcement:



An Offer of the Street-Car Company.
General Manager Miller, of the Citizens' Street-
Railroad Company, said to-day that he had on hand
thirty or forty old box street-cars which he would
like to give away. The company has no further use
for the cars. Mr. Miller suggests that the cars would
make good play-houses for children.

Do you wonder that such a notice sent Da-
vid's appetite flying ?
Oh, papa," he cried, let us get one of
those cars!" whereupon his father made big
eyes of astonishment at David, and pretended
to be absolutely upset by the mere suggestion



of such an idea, and was in such wild haste to
get out of reach of little boys who wanted to
have full-grown, real street-cars for their very
own, that David was unable to get in a se-
rious word before he was gone. But David's
eyes were shining and his fancy was building

(SEE PAGE 105.)

David's face flushed; he certainly had hoped
so; he had spent the morning thinking about
it. "I did n't know," he faltered, with a sense
of bereavement tugging at his heart.
That's too bad! I do wish you could have
one to play in, David! "
"Why can't I, mama ?"
It ..uLld cost too much, dear."
S-":,-i. too much ? Why, mama," he said,
[liri.lit.-iiig up, "did n't you hear? The paper
:.ni. thl. would give them away."
),. rl..y will-but even a present is some-
ti.. expensive. You see, it would cost
:I -1ieat deal to bring a street-car all the
o.:i, over here and set it up in our
V ird."
"" Why, mama? and his lip trembled,
S- he did so want that car,- and it
had looked so easy.
S "Because a street-car
is so large and so
heavy, it would take
strong horses, and a
great big truck, and
ever so many men to
/ move it, and all that
costs money-a great
deal of money."
Very gently she con-
vinced him that it was
out of the question. If
you could n't afford
a thing- there you
were! Yet it seemed a
thousand pities thirty
or forty cars to be given
away! It was very
comforting at this point
S MUST DISAPPOINT THEM.'" to have his mother
thump him confidingly

the most beautiful castles. He took his cap on the back, as she sa
and disappeared with Jack. little man in all the w
Some hours later he came in glowing from he expected Santa Cl
the cold air, and saying enthusiastically, "Mama, their he meant to har
I know where we can put that car, if we should David had a good
get it-- in our side yard You can just come a bob-sled for one th:
to the window and see! There 's plenty of to shoot a dart; and
room I 've marked it out on the snow." ladder wagon, or, fai
My dear little boy! Did you really think with a real gong on
we could ask for one of those cars ? impossible to choose,

lid that he was the bravest
world; and to be asked what
aus to bring him, and whe-
ig up Jack's stocking, too.
Many Christmas wishes;
ing, and skates, and a gun
he longed for a hook-and-
ling that, a police-patrol
the front. It was quite
so he had sent the entire

\9 -^


list to Santa Claus in a letter just to see what
would happen.
But that night, as his mother tucked him
into bed, he held her back by the hand and
said hesitatingly: Mama, why could n't they
bring the car around here on the track that
runs in front of our house ? "
"Because those cars have no wheels."
"No wheels! "
Not a wheel, sir! It would just be a help-
less old car all the rest of its life," and she
shook her hand free, gave him a little pat-a
good-night kiss-and was gone.

NOT far from David there lived a little
boy whose name was Harold Wolfing; he was
not quite five years old. He was a sturdy little
fellow, with dark hair and eyes, and a fine
red in his cheeks; and he carried his head

is a matter I never heard discussed; but cer-
tainly they loved and petted him, and he had
four aunties and three uncles-all of whom
seemed really to lie awake nights thinking
what they could give him next.
Harold was very fond of having David come
to play, and, it is needless to say, David was very
fond of going. David liked nothing better than
to ride the high-headed hobby-horse, and to
work the fire-engine that squirted real water
through a rubber hose.
One day, not long before Christmas, David
went to spend the afternoon with Harold.
He found the chubby little man bending over
his nursery table, busy with pencil and paper.
Do you know what I 'm doin', David?
I 'm writing' a letter!" A moment was allowed
for this fact to impress the smiling David, then
-" Who do you think I 'm writing' to? "
David said promptly that he could n't guess.

I -
L ii.



L ..-- _--
(SEE PAGE 107.)
and shoulders in quite a military fashion. He
was fortunate enough to live in the same house
with his grandmama and grandpapa. Whether
they were equally fortunate in this arrangement

I I ,ig-I 'i ..'. Ii i 1,

such a baby, who could not even print; bui
Harold relieved him. "Can't you read, David ?"
he said pityingly. "Here, I '11 read it to
you." And he took the letter back into his
fat little hand with an important air. After
studying it very hard for a moment, he fixed
David with his eye, saying: It 's very long,
David-but never mind, I '11 tell you what it
says. It 's all about a street-car. You see,


5W, -
". iS-S ,

,* l .

/ -'",

- 7


--""*"-"*%VANN --a ,



V "


I 'm goin' to have Santa Claus bring me a
street-car for Christmas." He spoke of the
arrangement with such assurance that David
suddenly felt very young and inexperienced.
"Yes," he went on, highly pleased with the
impression he was making -" Yes, I 'm goin'
to have a street-car. Perhaps you think it 's
goin' to be little, like that? "-pointing to a
toy car. David did n't know.
Well, it is n't. It is a realcar, and as large
- oh, almost as large as this house! You can
come and play in it, David; and I '11 take you
to ride, all the way out to the park, and clear
out clear out to the end of the world and
I '11 drive as fast- oh, so you can hardly hold
on! Only,"- and he pulled in his fancy a
little, lest David's go too far,-"you '11 be in-
side, you know, and I '11 ring the bell when
you pay me." Exciting as this picture was,
David's mind flew back at once to the forty
cars to be given away. Was Harold's car one
of these? Hardly, he thought; since Harold
looked to Santa Claus for his, and those cars
belonged to the Street-Railroad Company. He
decided to settle the doubt. "Where will
Santa Claus get a street-car ? he asked. Har-
old gave him a look of astonished reproach.
Why, don't you know Santa Claus can get
anything he wants, and he '11 bring it to you
if you ask him, and if you 're good ? "
David did know something very like this,
and now on a sudden an idea flashed into
his mind that made his heart jump and sent
the color flushing up to his short yellow curls;
it was this: You see, if Santa Claus was giv-
ing street-cars away, there was nothing to
pay for hauling. No need of money at all!
You just wrote the right kind of a letter-and
Santa Claus did the rest! In that case he
could have a car as well as Harold.
That night when his early bed-time came, he
handed his mother this letter to read:

DEAR SANTA CLAUS Harold says you are going to
bring him a Street-car. Wont you please bring me one
to. Not a little one but a Real one. I am trying hard
to be a good boy, and I want one very much.

"Why, David," his mother said, "I thought
you had given up the idea of having a street-car."

"Yes, mama, I had; but you see this is
Different ?"
"Of course! Don't you see ? he explained
joyously -" if Santa Claus brings it, it won't cost
us any money at all-not even a cent! What
makes you look so sad ? Don't you want me to
have a car-even if Santa Claus brings it ? "
"Yes, dear, of course I would like to see
you have one, but-"
"But what, mama ?"
You know, David, if children ask too much,
Santa Claus must disappoint them."
"Why ? "
Oh, for many reasons. You know mama
has to say 'no' sometimes, much as she dis-
likes it." He began to look troubled; then,
suddenly recalling Harold's assurance, he took
heart and said: "Harold's grandpapa told him
if he wrote and asked Santa Claus for a car,
he would get it-if he was a good boy; and
I 'm sure if he brings Harold one, he will
give me one too; please let me ask him!"
"Will you promise not to be unhappy if
it does n't come after all?" Oh, yes! He
could promise that with a light heart. And
next day the letter, laboriously copied in ink
with high-headed "h's" and short-tailed g's,"
was posted at "Harold's house" in a funny
little Dutch house on the library-table. "Santa
Claus comes down the chimbly and gets them,"
Harold explained. After that David's hopes
ran sometimes high-sometimes low. In the
latter state of mind he put the matter before
Santa Claus again and again with such en-
treaties and promises as desperate longing sug-
gested. Here are some of the letters Santa
Claus found in the little Dutch house:

DEAR SANTA CLAUS Mama says a Street-car is too
much, but I do want it so much, and I '11 be better than
I ever was if you will please bring me one.' DAVID.

DEAR SANTA CLAUS You need n't bring me a Bob-
sled if you will only give me a Car. I can use my old
sled till next Christmas. DAVID DOUGLAS.
P S I will do without the Fireman's Helmet.
D. D.
DEAR SANTA CLAUS Please do bring me a Street-
car. If I had a Car I would n't need a book and Lad-
der wagon. I will be very careful of it. Mama says
I am a good boy. DAVID DOUGLAS.


DEAR SANTA CLAUS Mama says I must n't expect a
street-car. But I want it more than Skates or Anything.
If it is to much to ask for -please do bring it anyway
- and I will give up the Skates, and the Police-patrol,
and everything. You can keep the gun to.
Your loving DAVID DOUGLAS.
P S Even if it was a little broken in some places it
would do. I could mend it. I 've got a hammer and
some nails. I pounded them out state. I hope you
will. Please leave it in our side yard. Good by.


CHRISTMAS morning David woke early;
every one else was fast asleep. His windows
looked out on the side-yard; if he had a car it
was there now. That thought was too much
for him. He slid out of bed and ran to the
window; he had but to raise the shade; his
heart was beating so hard he could fairly hear
it, and he almost made a little petition with his
lips as he put out his hand. One touch--it
was up He looked out upon a smooth, shin-
ing surface of snow. There was no car! The
disappointment was too terribly desolating; he
drew down the shade and crept back into bed,
and there, since it was dark and no one would
know, he shed a few hot, unhappy tears, fight-
ing all the time against them, and never made a
sound, although he could have sobbed aloud;
he remembered his mother and his promise.
Then, at last, he wondered if Harold had been
disappointed too. The more he thought of
it the more likely it appeared. He wished
Harold no ill luck -but if there had been no
distribution of cars whatever, it would alter
the case considerably: it would be as though
he had reached for the moon. He began
to make the best of it, and to wonder what
Santa Claus had left in his stocking, so that
later, when he came down-stairs, and his fa-
ther swung him up to kiss him good-morning,
saying, Santa Claus slipped up on that car
business, David,--must be he had no cars this
year,-but your stocking looks pretty lumpy,
and tight," David was able to smile quite
cheerfully. A Christmas stocking is a Christ-
mas stocking, after all- mysterious and excit-
ing whatever your joys or sorrows. To Jack
the queer shape was matter for suspicion, to be
defied and barked at, as it divulged one secret

after another; and when David tried on a fire-
man's helmet and new skates, with a lot of
lesser treasures scattered all about, Christmas
seemed pretty cheery.
Breakfast over, he and Jack set out, accor-
ding to previous agreement, to see what Har-
old had in his Christmas stocking. They went
in by the carriage-way. Just as they took the
first turn in the drive, David's heart gave a
great jump and then stood still. Through the
leafless lilac bushes he could see a great yellow
and white street-car in the midst of a sea of
snow. It was a beautiful, heart-breaking vi-
sion; and there was Harold in brown reefer,
leather cap, and leggings, leaning out of the car
shouting, Hello, David Hurry up this car
is just ready to start-hurry! You see," he
cried triumphantly, as David waded through
the snow, I told you Santa Claus was goin'
to bring me this car- why don't you get in ? "
David stood mute beside the step, stroking
Jack's head. Then for the first time the little
boy remembered that David had had hopes too.
Did you get a car ?" he asked.
David's eyes filled; he tried to smile, but he
could not speak, and he only shook his head as
he looked from Harold to Ellen. It was sel-
dom Harold had to think of any one but him-
self, but he had a kind heart, and now he be-
stirred himself to make David happy. He let
him work the change-slide and the doors, and
gave him all coveted privileges. Then they
went indoors to see the Christmas tree; the can-
dles were lighted and all the wonderful new toys
displayed for David's benefit. There was some-
thing on the tree for David, too. He flushed
with pleasure and wonder when Harold's
grandpapa handed down books, candy, and a
dark-lantern, saying, with a twinkle in his eye,
" Queer, these things were left here by mistake,
David! Santa Claus must walk in his sleep."
But an hour or two later, as David went
home, he was thinking that the ways of Santa
Claus were very strange. His whole soul had
been set upon a street-car; he was ready to
give up everything else to have that one joy.
Now Harold merely asked for that along with
a lot of other new pleasures. Yet Santa Claus
brought a car to Harold, and to David, none.
It was matter to try the stoutest heart, yet he


was not envious. He had pluck and good
sense and he felt somehow that he ought to be
Sas happy as he could; he tried to think about
his skates and fireman's helmet. After all, a
street-car was a tremendous gift to ask, even of
Santa Claus. He had realized when he stood
beside that dear car that it was a good deal
even for Harold, and Harold had so many
treasures it was not easy to surpass them. The
dark-lantern swung in his hand; it was a com-
fort, and he felt dimly that in a day or two he
would play burglar and policeman with great
effect; but it could n't keep away a very chok-
ing feeling in his throat when he remembered
Harold winding up the brake. As he came
around the corner near home with eyes fixed
upon the slippery, trodden path, he had almost
reached the house before he noticed that a part
of the fence was down and wagon wheels had
cut the frozen crust of snow going through this
opening into their yard. Before he could be
surprised at this he came in full view of-
what do you think?-a broad strong truck,
two strong gray horses with heads down, look-
ing at him from their soft eyes, and blowing
a little at the snow; four or five men standing
about, and-well, of course you 've guessed it!
There stood a street-car large as life; a beauti-
ful yellow and white car with No. ii in gold
figures on the side. A misty feeling swam before
his eyes, through which the car seemed a beau-
tiful dream, that somehow had men in rough
overcoats, gray horses, all strangely woven in
it as well as his mother smiling and holding
her hands tight together, watching him. Then
somebody said, "Well, sir, how do you like
it?" and David went forward with feet that
hurried and yet seemed slow,--exactly like feet
in a dream,-and somebody swung him up
over the dashboard to the front platform and
said, "Let me off at Ir6th street, please,
driver." And he found a big white placard
hanging to the front brake, very neatly printed
in black. David could spell out the words.
They said, For David Douglas from Santa
Claus." And then David really came back to
earth. He laughed and kissed his mother and
held his father's hand in both his own; he

walked back and forth in the car, and took
note of the familiar signs about no smoking
and beware of pickpockets, and to use none
but Quigley's Baking Powder. There was the
cash-box and the brass slide for change in the
front door. The brake worked and the bell-
strap rang a real bell when his father held him
up to reach it. "We '11 have to let that strap
out a little, driver, till you get a taller con-
ductor." Well, it was perfect! -surpassing all
dreams of joy and Christmas. Indeed, a bit
of Christmas cheer had fallen to those rough-
coated men who worked on Christmas day, for
they were drinking coffee and eating ginger-
bread, and had cigars to smoke; even the
horses, David noticed through his joy, had
each an apple to eat. And Jack-Jack lost
his head completely, and barked, and jumped
on everybody with his snowy feet, and finally
just tore round and round in a circle like mad.
Suddenly David's mother said, Where is the
letter, Tom?--did n't he give you a letter?"
"To be sure! I almost forgot the letter-
let me see-here it is in this pocket"; and his
father tore it open and began to read:

MY DEAR DOUGLAS: I have taken the liberty of ask-
ing Santa Claus to deliver one of our old cars on your
premises. I was growing rusty, but Santa Claus has
waked me up by showing me a one-sided correspondence
he 's been having with a young man by the name of
David. I suddenly realized what a world of fun there
was in Christmas, if you only knew how to get hold of
it by the handle, as my grandfather used to say. I hope
you and Mrs. Douglas will forgive me for getting my
pleasure first and asking permission afterward. But
when a man takes a holiday I suppose he may be allowed
to take it in his own way. So please put this street-car
into David's stocking! And I think this may not be
a bad occasion for saying I 've never forgotten the time
your mother made Christmas in my heart when I was
a poor youngster with scarcely a stocking to hang. God
bless you! You have a fine boy.
Very truly yours, JOHN MILLER.
P. S. That correspondence is a confidential matter be-
tween Santa Claus and me. No questions answered at
this office. J. M.

David wondered why his mother, who had
been reading the letter over his father's arm,
turned suddenly, while she was smiling, and
cried on his father's shoulder.

;" aKLA...
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THERE was once a girl named Betty Leices-
ter, who was known first to the readers of St.
Nicholas, and who afterward lived in a small
square book bound in scarlet and white. I,
who know her better than any one else does,
and who know my way about Tideshead, the
story-book town, as well as she did, and who
have not only made many a call upon her
Aunt Barbara and Aunt Mary in their charm-
ing old house, but have even seen the house
in London where she spent the winter: I, who
confess to loving Betty a good deal, wish to
write a little more about her in this Christmas
story. The truth is that ever since I wrote the
first story I have been seeing girls who re-
minded me of Betty Leicester of Tideshead.
Either they were about the same age or the
same height, or they skipped gaily by me in a
little gown like hers, or I saw a pleased look or

e L

a puzzled look in their eyes which seemed to

preface will be much more interesting than if
anybody has not. Yet, if I say to all new ac-

all her heart, and did not feel pleased when
'i ' *

leaving the easiest place in the world; but
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preface vii, be much more interesting than if

anybody has not. Yet, if I say to all new ac-

quaintances that Betty was just in the middle

of girlhood; that she hated some things as
much. as she could, and liked other things ,with

all her heart, and did not feel pleased when

older people kept saying don't! perhaps these
new acquaintances will take the risk of being
friends. Certain things had become easy just
as Betty was leaving Tideshead, where she had
been spending the summer with her old aunts,
so that, having got used to all the Tideshead
liberties and restrictions, she thought she was
leaving the easiest place in the world; but


when she got back to London with her father,
somehow or other life was very difficult indeed.
She used to wish for London and for her cro-
nies, the Duncans, when she was first in Tides-
head; but when she was in England again she
found that, being a little nearer to the awful
responsibilities of a grown person, she was not
only a new Betty, but London-great, busy,
roaring, delightful London-was a new Lon-
don altogether. To say that she felt lonely,
and cried one night because she wished to go
back to Tideshead and be a village person
again, and was homesick for her four-posted
bed with the mandarins parading on the cur-
tains, is only to tell the honest truth.
In Tideshead that summer Betty Leicester
learned two things which she could not under-
stand quite well enough to believe at first, but
which always seem more and more sensible to
one as time goes on. The first is that you
must be careful what you wish for, because if
you wish hard enough you are pretty sure to
get it; and the second is, that no two people
can be placed anywhere where one will not
be host and the other guest. One will be in a
position to give and to help and to show; the
other must be the one who depends and re-
Now, this subject may not seem any clearer
to you at first than it did to Betty; but life sud-
denly became a great deal more interesting, and
she felt herself a great deal more important to
the rest of the world when she got a little light
from these rules. For everybody knows that
two of the hardest things in the world are to
know what to do and how to behave; to know
what one's own duty is in the world and how
to get on with other people. What to be and
how to behave-these are the questions that
every girl has to face, and if somebody an-
swers, "Be good and be polite," it is such a
general kind of answer that one throws it away
and feels uncomfortable.
I do not remember that I happened to say
anywhere in the story that there was a pretty
fashion in Tideshead, as summer went on, of
calling our friend Sister Betty." Whether it
came from her lamenting that she had no
sister, and being kindly adopted by certain
friends, or whether there was something in her

friendly, affectionate way of treating people,
one cannot tell.

Betty Leicester, in a new winter gown which
had just been sent home from Liberty's, with
all desirable qualities of color, and a fine ex-
panse of smocking at the yoke, and some
sprigs of embroidery for ornament in proper
places, was yet an unhappy Betty. In spite
of being not only fine, but snug and warm
as one always feels when cold weather first
comes and one gets into a winter dress, every-
thing seemed disappointing. The weather was
shivery and dark, the street into which she was
looking was narrow and gloomy, and there was
a moment when Betty thought wistfully of
Tideshead as if there were no December there,
and only the high, clear September sky that
she had left. Somehow, all out-of-door life
appeared to have come to an end, and she
felt as if she were shut into a dark and wintry
prison. Not long before this she had come
from Whitby, the charming red-roofed York-
shire fishing-town that forever climbs the hill
to its gray abbey. There were flocks of young
people at Whitby that autumn, and Betty had
lived out-of-doors in pleasant company to her
heart's content, and tramped about the moors
and along the cliffs with gay parties, and
played golf and cricket, and helped to plan
some great excitement or lively excursion for
almost every day. There is a funny, dancing-
step sort of walk, set to the tune of Humpty-
Dumpty," which seems to belong with the
Whitby walking-sticks which everybody car-
ries; you lock arms in lines across the road,
and keep step to the gay chant of the dismal
nursery lines, and the faster you go, especially
when you are tired, the more it seems to rest
you (or that 's what some people think) in the
long walks home. Whitby was almost as good
as Tideshead, to which lovely town Betty now
compared every other, even London itself.
Betty and her father had not yet gone to house-
keeping by themselves (which made them very
happy later on), but they were living in some
familiar old Clarges Street lodgings convenient
to the Green Park, where Betty could go for
a consoling scamper with a new dog called
"Toby" because he looked so exactly like the


beloved Toby on the cover of Punch. Betty
had spent a whole morning's work upon a
proper belled ruff for Toby, who gravely sat
up and wore it as if he were conscious of lit-
erary responsibilities.
Papa had gone to the British Museum that
rainy morning, and was not likely to reappear
before the close of day. For a wonder, he was
going to dine at home that night. Something
very interesting to the scientific world had
happened to him during his summer visit to
Alaska, and it seemed as if every one of his
scientific friends had also made some discovery,
or something had happened to each, which
made many talks and dinners and club meet-
ings delightfully important. But most of the
London people were in the country; for in
England they stay in the hot town until July
or August, when all Americans scatter among
green fields or seashore places; and then spend
the gloomy months of the year in their country-
houses, when we fly back to the shelter and
music and pictures and companionship of town
life. This all depends upon the meeting of
Parliament and other great reasons; but even
Betty Leicester felt quite left out and lonely in
town that dark day. Her best friends, the
Duncans, were at their great house in War-
wickshire. She was going to stay with them for
a month, but not just yet; while papa himself
was soon going to pay a short visit to a very
great lady indeed at Danesly Castle, just this
side the Border.
This very great lady indeed was perfectly
charming to our friend; a smile or a bow from
her was just then more than anything else to
Betty. We all know how perfectly delightful
it is to love somebody so much that we keep
dreaming of her a little all the time, and what
happiness it gives when the least thing one has
to do with her is a perfectly golden joy. Betty
loved Mrs. Duncan fondly and constantly, and
she loved Aunt Barbara with a spark of true
enchantment and eager desire to please her;
but for this new friend-for Lady Mary
Danesly (who was Mrs. Duncan's cousin)-
there was something quite different in her heart.
As she stood by the window in Clarges street
she was thinking of this lovely friend, and wish-
ing for once that she herself was older, so that

perhaps she might have been asked to come
with papa for a week's visit at Christmas.
But Lady Mary would be busy enough with
her great house-party of distinguished people.
Once she had been so delightful as to say that
Betty must come some day to Danesly with
her father, but of course this could not be the
time. Miss Day, Betty's old governess, who
now lived with her mother in one of the suburbs
of London, was always ready to come to spend
a week or two if Betty were to be left alone,
and it was every year pleasanter to try to make
Miss Day have a good time as well as to have
one one's self; but, somehow, a feeling of hav-
ing outgrown Miss Day was hard to bear.
They had not much to talk about except the
past, and what they used to do; and when
friendship comes to this alone, it may be dear,
but is never the best sort.
The fog was blowing out of the street, and
the window against which Betty leaned was
suddenly flecked with raindrops. A telegraph
boy came round the corner as if the gust of
wind had brought him, and ran up the steps;
presently the maid brought a telegram in to
Betty, who hastened to open it, as she was al-
ways commissioned to do in her father's ab-
sence. To her surprise it was meant for her-
self. She looked at the envelope to make sure.
It was from Lady Mary:
Can you come to me with yourfather next week,
dear? I wish for you very much.
"There 's no answer-at least there 's no
answer now," said Betty, quite trembling with
excitement and pleasure; I must see papa
first, but I can't think that he will say no. He
meant to come home for Christmas day with
me, and now we can both stay on." She
hopped about, dancing and skipping, after the
door was shut. What a thing it is to have
one's wishes come true before one's eyes! And
then she asked to have a hansom cab called
and for the company of Pagot, who was her
maid and helper now; a very nice woman
whom Mrs. Duncan had recommended, inas-
much as Betty was older and had thoughts of
going to housekeeping in the winter. Pagot's
sister also was engaged as housemaid, and,
strange as it may appear, our Tideshead Betty


was about to engage a cook and buttons.
Pagot herself looked sedate and responsible,
but she dearly liked a little change and was
finding the day dull. So presently they started
off together toward the British Museum in all
the rain, with the shutters of the cab down and
the horse trotting along the shining streets as if
he liked it.

Mr. Leicester was in the Department of North
American Prehistoric Remains, and had a jar
of earth before him which he was examin-
ing with closest interest. Here 's a bit of
charred bone," he was saying eagerly to a wise-
looking old gentleman, and here 's a funeral
bead-just as I expected. This proves my
theory of the sacrificial- Why, Betty, what 's
the matter ? and he looked startled for a mo-
ment. "A telegram? Oh,-"
It was so very important, you see, papa,"
said Betty.
I thought it was bad news from Tideshead,"
said Mr. Leicester, looking up at her with a
smile after he had read it. "Well, my dear,
that 's very nice, and very important too," he
added, with a fine twinkle in his eyes. "I
shall be going out for a bit of luncheon pres-
ently, and I '11 send the answer with great
Betty's cheeks were brighter than ever, as
if a rosy cloud of joy were shining through.
" Now that I 'm here, I '11 look at the arrow-
heads; may n't I, papa?" she asked, with
great self-possession. "I should like to see if
I can find one like mine I mean my best
white one that I found on the river-bank last
Papa nodded, and turned to his jar again.
"You may let Pagot go home at one o'clock,"
he said, and come back to find me here, and
we '11 go and have luncheon together. I was
thinking of coming home early to get you.
We 've a house to look at, and it's dull weather
for what I wish to do here at the museum.
Clear sunshine is the only possible light for
this sort of work," he added, turning to the old

gentleman, who nodded; and Betty nodded
sagely, and skipped away with Pagot, to search
among the arrowheads.
She found many hundreds of the white quartz
arrowpoints and spearheads like her own trea-
sure. Pagot thought them very dull, and was
made rather uncomfortable by the Indian
medicine-masks and war-bonnets and evil-
looking war-clubs, and openly called it a
waste of time for any one to have taken trou-
ble to get all that heathen rubbish together.
Such savages and their horrid ways were best
forgotten by decent folks, if Pagot might be so
bold as to say so. But presently it was lunch-
eon-time; and the good soul cheerfully de-
parted, while Betty joined her father, and
waited for him as still as a mouse for half an
hour, while he and the scientific old gentleman
reluctantly said their last words and separated.
She had listened to a good deal of their talk
about altar-fires, and the ceremonies that could
be certainly traced in a handful of earth from
the site of a temple in a crumbled city; but all
her thoughts were of Lady Mary and the plea-
sures of the next week. She looked again at
the telegram, which was much nicer than most
telegrams. It was so nice of Lady Mary to have
said dearin it-just as if she were talking; peo-
ple did not often say dear in a message. Per-
haps some of her guests can't come; but then,
everybody likes to be asked to Danesly," Betty
thought. "And I wonder if I shall ever dine
at table with the guests; I never have. At
any rate, I shall see Lady Mary often and be
with papa. It is perfectly lovely! I can give
her the Indian basket I brought her now,
before the sweet grass is all dry." It was a
great delight to be asked to the holiday party;
many a grown person would be thankful to
take Betty's place. For was not Lady Mary
a very great lady indeed, and one of the most
charming women in England?-a famous
hostess and assembler of really delightful
people ?
I am asked to Danesly on the seventeenth,"
said Betty to herself, with satisfaction.

(To be continued.)



FRED was in a sad quandary. There were
certain things in the house which managed
themselves, that is, were attended to by Agnes,
his wife. There were others which required
careful and judicious treatment, he said. These
were left to him, of course. He found them,
usually, more or less disagreeable. This case,
however, was particularly difficult to deal with;
the more so as it was plain to him that not only
his own feelings, but those of Cecie, his little five-
year-old daughter, had become involved. Now,
he was much attached to his only child, and, what-
ever might happen to his own feelings, he ob-
jected to hers being wounded in any way. The
situation, therefore, became more and more per-
plexing. As a natural consequence, he put off,
from day to day, deciding what was to be done.
Agnes had expressed herself with her cus-
tomary decision. We simply cannot keep it
in the house," she said, one evening when Fred
went into the matter once for all.
"That is true," admitted her husband.
"Very well, then; we may as well get rid of
it at once," she concluded.
Yes, but how ? asked Fred, with an air of
clinching the matter with a question she would
find it difficult to answer.
"How? Thatis simple enough, surely."
Don't see it."
"Why, open the door and put it out."
"Wh-a-at 1" cried Fred, "and let it die in
the yard? "
Why, yes. You don't need to be so silly
about it."
Silly about it! Silly about it!! It 's all
very well to say silly' about it, but I could n't
do it. I could n't sleep at nights. It's a good
thing Cecie is not here to hear her mother."
Really, Fred, it seems to me that you are
driving matters a little too far," remarked Ag-
nes, in a tone of great severity.

"Driving! That 's not bad. I am not driv-
ing. I am being driven," said Fred, pleased
however that he seemed to have the better of
the argument.
Well, I don't know," she said. You agree
that it cannot stay, and yet you object to let-
ting it go."
I do nothing of the kind," said Fred, help-
lessly. I only said it was n't feasible. It sim-
ply cannot be put out to die. It does n't cost
much to feed it, you must admit."
"That is true," said Agnes; but that has
nothing to do with it. Surely there is no use
going over all the reasons again."
Then," said Fred, in desperation, "let us
get a man to take it out into the country
somewhere and leave it to its fate. Perhaps
some one would take a fancy to it," he added,
That would cost more than it is worth. Be-
sides, it is a good thing Cecie is not here to
hear her father," laughed Agnes, and the sub-
ject was allowed to drop once more.
Fred felt that the matter was becoming se-
rious. If Agnes were so unreasonable, what
would Cecie say to a proposal to turn her newly
found friend out of doors ? If it had only not
been so very large!

Cecie had become quite a personage of im-
portance in the household. Her father was re-
minded so often of himself by things she said
and did, that he strove in every way to protect
her from being, as he called it, badly used:
that is, from being misconstrued and misunder-
stood. A strong feeling had, consequently,
grown up between them. This case, this Green
White Elephant of a Christmas-tree, was a
characteristic instance. Only Cecie could have
caused such a fuss about such a trifle. The
more he thought about it the more ridiculous



it seemed. Yet, as he said, it was easier to
laugh than to say what was to be done.
Toward the end of the previous month,
Robin, a friend, having sent a present consist-
ing of a large Christmas-tree growing in an
earthen pot, Fred went into town- unknown, of
course, to Cecie to purchase decorations for
it. The same evening that young lady, hav-
ing danced about the house all day and
feeling tired, beaeed her father to

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on, and Cecie listened. When he had finished
she surprised him by saying nothing. She sat
quite still, and seemed to have become very
thoughtful. After a time she rose and went
quietly into the room where the Christmas-tree
was standing.
Presently a small voice called out: Papa "
Fred, suspecting what had happened,

,',1 .r

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.. o b t important pie
er pinafore out be- '- -- to do.

fore her, as she was
wont to do on great
occasions: for no occa-
sion was so great to Cecie
as the first reading of a
think. It did not occur to him precisely what exactly, yo
the result of reading that particular story at ",What
that particular time would most likely be. "The ju
Otherwise, he would probably have kept it for the air of
another day. But he did not; he read innocently why we m
VOL. XXIII.- 15-16.

11 ii) Agnes
I.- had an
ece of sewing

Papa," asked Cecie, whose
blond curls scarcely reached
the lowest branches of the
tree, "it never moves, does it ? "
No, dear."
And it is alive just like us ? "
"Yes. That is-well, yes; not
u know, but it is quite alive."
does it feed on all the time, then ? "
lices of the earth," said Fred, with
an experienced gardener. "That is
ust give it water. It requires air,


too, for it sucks moisture in with these, as well."
And he pinched the branch nearest him, and a
few needles came off between his fingers.
Does n't that hurt the tree ? cried Cecie.
Oh, no; it won't mind that."
"Would n't it like some juices just now,
papa ? "
"I think not. The earth is moist enough."
Oh, let me! I 'll go and get some water,"
said Cecie, starting toward the door.
No, no; it has sufficient."
But perhaps it would like a long drink. I
do, sometimes," pleaded the little girl, in tones
which usually had the desired effect.
No!" said the head of the family, to sat-
isfy himself that he could be firm occasionally.
There was a pause. Cecie stood still, look-
ing up at the handsome stranger as if she had
never seen a tree before. "Do you think it
hears us talking about it, papa ? she said after
a moment.
Perhaps it is asleep," she suggested, mov-
ing closer to her father and putting her little
hand in his.
Perhaps it is," said Fred, feeling that, after
all, the tree might as well have had some water.
But how does it sleep when it has no eyes ?"
"Oh, it just sleeps in its own way."
"Standing up like that always ?"
"Yes, just as, just as-let me see-as horses
do, for example."
Oh, but horses don't always," retorted Ce-
cie; because the baker had told her, the other
day, that his horse lay down on the straw and
went to sleep whenever it got home at night.
They sometimes do," observed Fred, in the
interests of parental authority, meaning at the
first opportunity to get reliable information on
the subject of the private life of horses.
Then will it like to live with us ? "
Fred thought it would, if they were kind to it.
And we will be kind to it, won't we ? "
Of course we will," Fred promised in the
innocence of his heart, for he was a child of
nature himself, fond of flowers and trees and
everything that lived a free and healthy life.
Then Cecie said good-night to her tree, and
pleasant dreams"; and when she had closed
the door for the night and left her new friend

alone, she went contentedly away with her
nurse; and Fred sat down, blissfully uncon-
scious that he had committed himself in any

The following forenoon, after struggling for
an hour to get into his work, Fred had just
got fairly settled when he was startled by a
fall, a crash of crockery, and a loud wail in the
room adjoining his studio. Laying down his
drawing-board and pen, with a sigh, he went to
the folding doors and opened them.
Cecie had already been picked up. She was
standing like a little model for a statuette,
holding out her limp and dripping hands. Her
pinafore and dress were soaked with water, and
there was a pond on the bright waxed floor,
dotted with islands of broken stoneware jug.
The cat in the center of the further room was
excitedly licking its back. Cecie's lips were
puckered up in great distress, and her eyes
were lost in a spasm of tears, for she had star-
tled no one more than she had herself.
Fred could not help smiling. He bent down
and comforted her, and, after the tears had
ceased, said that to prevent confusion in future,
either he or mama, or at all events nurse, would
see that the tree got sufficient water. Cecie
was to give herself no concern whatever. There
was no need to trouble herself about it. Would
she be good and not do so any more ?
"Y-y-yes," promised Cecie, feeling, however,
that she was promising away her entire interest
in life.
Oh, I will tell you," said Fred. Every
evening at tea-time remind me that the tree is
thirsty. Nurse can fetch us water, and we can
give it some."
Cecie was led away for a change of clothes
with an expression on her face like sunshine
breaking through the clouds on an April day.
Fred, with a reflection of it glistening in his
eyes, went back to his room and took up his
That evening he was busy decorating the tree
for some time after Cecie had gone to sleep.

The next evening was Christmas eve; but
when the happy moment arrived, and the doors
were flung open, disclosing the tree in a blaze


of light, Cecie did not seem to rise to the occa-
sion quite so enthusiastically as her parents had
expected; and yet this was not only the largest
but the finest tree she had ever had. Cecie,
however, was not one who could be gay to or-
der; and with her the unexpected usually hap-
pened. This time it was not that she did not
think her prot6g6 beautiful. She was divided
between admiration and another feeling. She
was wondering if it would care to be lighted
up with candles within an inch of its life like
that, and covered with glittering ornaments till
it could scarcely breathe; whether it liked to
have molten wax run all over its fresh green
branches; and whether it were being treated
with proper respect in being made to hold up
such a load of things.
Fred laughed heartily when she confided her
anxieties to him, and said, Oh, that won't mat-
ter. Don't mind that, little woman."
"But don't you remember that the story
said when trees had barkache it was as bad as
headache is to us ? "
Oh, but it is strong," said her father. It
does n't feel such little things."
"Well, I would have barkache -headache,
I mean," said Cecie, laughing at her slip, if I
had to carry all these burning candles."
Later, when the little party had broken up
and Fred was left alone, he sat down in an easy-
chair. A question had occurred to him while
Cecie was speaking. This tree of hers what
was to be done with it when its time came ?
He and mama had no means of disposing of
it, living in the city as they did, and it could
not be kept in the house. Moreover, Cecie
would require to know what had been done
with it. Previous Christmas-trees had had
their death-blows dealt them in the forest.
With this one it was different. It was not only
still living, but, thanks to Cecie, was becoming
from day to day more and more a personality
in the house.
Parents, he reflected, really ought to remem-
ber to tell their children, when talking of the
duty of kindness to all dumb creatures, that
there are exceptions to every rule that is to
say, if they wish to avoid drifting into ridicu-
lous situations. To think of the father of a
family hesitating about such a paltry thing as

this! He looked up at the moment, and his
eyes fell upon the tree. How beautiful it cer-
tainly was, in spite of all the finery and tinsel!
Cecie was an odd child! However, when
Christmas was over, other things would distract
her attention, he hoped, and then it would be
time enough to--well, that could be deter-
mined when the time came. Perhaps some-
thing would turn up before then. Perhaps the
thing would decide itself in some way.

The next day, being Christmas, was a holi-
day. Fred sat reading in his easy-chair before
the studio fire. Cecie, not far away, lay upon
the floor, propping her head up with her arms,
deeply engrossed in an illustrated spelling-book.
For a few moments there was no sound but the
grave beat of the old timepiece hanging on the
wall and the nervous ticking of two modern
clocks in the adjoining room. A thin fall of
snow had slid down the studio windows and
collected at the bottom of the panes.
Presently Fred laid down his book, and said,
over his shoulder: Where is Dolly to-day ? "
She 's asleep just now," she said, rising and
going to her father's side. She 's been mak-
ing plum-pudding." Taking the watch from her
father's pocket, and holding it sideways, she
"What time is it ? "
"A quarter past three."
"But you said it was twelve when the hands
were together."
"Yes; but when they are together at the
Cecie gave it up. Replacing the watch, she
said, in an altered tone of voice: "Papa! "
"Well, dear ? "
"Trees don't care for anything but growing,
do they ? "
"Well, I don't know that they care much
even for that. They have to grow just as you,
just as I, must do."
Must you grow, papa?"
I ? Well, I suppose I am done growing
now," said Fred.
Will you never grow, never any more?"
asked Cecie, so seriously that her father turned
around and looked at her, and smiled.
Well, dear," he said, stroking her hair, "it


would n't do, you know, if we never stopped.
Think how big we should get to be!"
Cecie burst into a gay laugh. We could n't
get in by the door, unless we bent down and
crept in on our hands and knees, could we ? "
"Of course we could n't," laughed Fred.
But it is funny, too, that we have to stop
growing. Tell me, papa," she continued, look-
ing earnestly at him, "are you very old ? "
"Who ? I ? said Fred, aghast. No-of
course not. I am quite young."
How old is old, then ? "
"Old? Let me see. Fifty is old, or sixty--
thereabouts," said Fred.
After a silence Cecie began again:
"Will I ever be old, papa? "
"Why, certainly, my dear," said Fred, cheer-
fully; that is," he added, as if feeling guilty of
some vague ungallantry, I hope so."
"And never grow any more, like you ?"
"But would n't you like to keep growing al-
ways ? "
I don't know. I feel pretty comfortable as
I am. If I were a little girl like you it might
be different."
Do people only want to grow when they
are young ? "
Fred shifted in his chair, and then, drawing
her closer to him, said: "Why do you ask
about the tree caring to grow?"
Because you read in the story that the tree
said to itself: Let me grow, only let me grow;
there is nothing so beautiful in all the world.' "
"I don't remember."
SWait, and I will get the book," said Cecie.
She returned with the volume, which she had
opened at the proper place, and declared that
it was at the very beginning.
"How did you know that that is the place ?"
"Because the picture of the tree is there,"
replied the child, simply.
Fred patted her on the cheek, and ran his
eye rapidly down the page. At length he said:
Oh, yes, you are right. Here it is:

"'Be happy,' said the Sunshine, 'that you are young.
Rejoice in your growth, and in the young life that is
within you.' And the Wind kissed the tree by day, and
the Dew wept over it by night: but the Fir-tree did not

"What did n't it understand ?" asked Cecie.
"Oh, I don't know," said her father care-
"I know."
What, then? "
"That some day it would stop growing, like
you, and might want to grow some more, and
could n't," cried Cecie, breaking into a dance
of joy; for she had a great belief that her father
knew nearly everything, and it was a great treat
to her to be able to tell him something he did
not know.
Finally, as if by way of further relieving her
feelings, she caught up one foot, and hopped
round the studio, and out at the open door.
As she did so, Fred's book slipped from his
knee and fell. He picked it up again, but laid
it on the table. Resuming his chair, he sat for
some time with his head resting on his hand,
looking absently at the fire.

Cecie sometimes had fits of not knowing
what to do with her limbs; or it might, per-
haps, be more correct to say that her limbs had
fits of not knowing what to do with themselves
and her. At one moment she would be seen
lounging about like a marionette, hanging on
her father or mother or whoever happened to
be near. The next minute she had gone. She
was likely, however, to reappear at any mo-
ment, like a kitten, the innocent victim of some
strange galvanic power.
These moods had the additional peculiarity
of usually occurring when every one else was
disposed to be quiet. This occasion being no
exception, Fred was soon startled from his rev-
erie by warm lips sending a sudden Boo-o-o! "
near his ear.
What 's the matter ? he cried out, twitch-
ing as if from an electric shock.
Cecie applied her lips to his ear again.
I don't know," he said, laughing, and rub-
bing that organ energetically.
Guess! "
Can't. There is n't anything forgotten."
Oh, yes, there is," said Cecie, and whisper-
ing a second time.
Oh, not just now, I think," said Fred, smil-
ing, as she retreated a pace to watch the ef-
fect of the joyful communication.




-/ J r I ..
~.r V


"But you said you would."
It won't require any water to-day."
"Oh, yes. You know it has all the candles
and things to hold."
Fred rose resignedly, and went into the
room, and the tree was ceremoniously and most

delicately watered, to the complete satisfaction
of its patroness.
It was large enough, certainly (its top just
touched the ceiling of the room in which it
stood), but it was very kind of Robin, Fred re-
flected, to have sent such a handsome tree. If,


therefore, this newly born enthusiasm of Cecie's
for growing were to be encouraged, it might
soon be necessary to take her friend into the
studio. But that was entirely out of the ques-
tion. He could not afford the space. Sooner
or later he must come to a decision. There
seemed to be no resource but to break it up for
fire-wood. Cecie could be sent for a walk
while that was being done. Who was to do it,
however? It was not work for his wife, and
he- well, he did not care to do it. He was
not accustomed to use an ax, for one thing; be-
sides, work of that sort was bad for an artist's
Nurse would do it. Why not? She was a
great, strong woman.

It was not until the first week of the New
Year, when the mistletoe and holly and other
relics of Christmas were being cleared away,
that the subject of their silent visitor came up
If Cecie would only tire of it, he would say
to himself at times, or if it would only die!
Of the latter, unfortunately, there seemed to be
very little prospect, unless, indeed, it died by
drowning. Thanks to Cecie's watchfulness,
there seemed a distant possibility of that.
Once he pulled himself together, and, without
daring to address himself directly to his daugh.
ter, spoke about the matter, in a seemingly
casual manner, in her presence.
What shall we do when the tree is away ?"
he said to mama.
"It is n't going away, is it, papa ?" asked
Cecie, looking up in great surprise. "You said
it was to be allowed to stay."
C-certainly, my dear. I mean, what would
we have done if it had been going away ? "
Cecie's calmness had quite disarmed him.
Where could it have gone, poor thing ? "
asked Cecie, tenderly.
I-don't-know," said Fred, hopelessly.
Again he and Agnes were talking obscurely
about it, so that the child might not understand.
Presently Cecie said in a low whisper:
"S-sh, mama, s-sh! Don't talk like that.
The tree might hear you, and think you were
talking about it."
"But, my dear," said her mother, seizing the

opportunity, we are talking about it." Sud-
denly lowering her voice, in response to an ex-
pression in Cecie's face, she added:
"Something must be done, you know. It
cannot stay here always."
Then," said Cecie in a hoarse whisper to
her father, who had begun to crumble bread
upon the table-cloth, why did you let it hear
you say it could, Papa ? "
Me, dear? I did n't."
"Yes, you did, the first night it came," per-
sisted Cecie, her eyes filling suddenly.
Did I ? Well, but we don't need to chop
it up, you know," said Fred, soothingly.
Chop it up cried Cecie, horrified. Who
said we would chop it up ? "
"Why, why,--nobody. Did nurse say so? "
Nurse? Why, no. She loves it as much as
I do now, ever since I told her," said Cecie.
"Oh! I did n't know," said the victim,
feeling that the toils were closing around him,
and beginning to wonder if Hunding found it
inconvenient to have a tree growing through
the roof of his abode. It might look pictur-
esque at least, if the worst came to the worst.
"Poor thing! said Cecie, turning to their
helpless charge; "we promised to be kind to
you, and we will, won't we ? "
Neither Fred nor Agnes said a word. They
felt that their best course was to wait.
Cecie, however, made it difficult for them at
the outset by saying good-night to her tree
that evening with even more kindliness in her
voice than usual.
Fred complained to Agnes afterward, as they
sat alone together, that it was impossible to
work when one was constantly distracted by
the small things of life. Agnes said, Stuff
and nonsense Moreover, she added, laugh-
ing, it was absurd to call Cecie's tree a small
thing of life. It was already too large, and,
what was worse, seemed to be growing larger.

It was no wonder, therefore, that Fred was
in a great quandary.
Whenever he chanced to see the tree, stand-
ing on its stool, so submissive or so indifferent,
he could not quite make out which, but cer-
tainly so undeniably fresh and healthy-looking,
his conscience gave a twinge. He began to



avoid the "prison," as Agnes jestingly called the
room in which it stood; for when he met the
tree face to face, he always thought of the
Good Robber, and how he must have felt when
he took the Babes by the hand and led them
to the Wood; and when he heard nurse wa-
tering it and spraying its branches twice a day,
he winced, for he had delegated the work to
her in the steadfast hope that she would for-
get to do it.
Once, with a bitter remembrance of this,
he said to Agnes, who had complained of her
neglect: Yes, she does nothing she is told to
-do, that girl."
Oh, papa," broke in Cecie, who happened
to be in a corner of the room, you can't say
that. Look at the way she keeps the tree.
Why, there are buds upon it already!"
At another time, Agnes, who had just de-
cided to take the law into her own hands
and give orders for the execution, without say-

ing anything either to Cecie or her husband,
was busy arranging her bookcase, when Fred
looked up from the letter he was writing and
said: S-sh Who is that in the next room ? "
It is only Cecie."
But she is talking to some one."
Agnes laid down the book she was dusting,
and, going softly to the door, stood still and
listened. As she did so, a curious look, that
was half smile and half something else, crossed
her face.
"They are having a great time in there," she
said in a lowered tone, coming away from the
door. Cecie is telling it a long story about
a walk she had in the park with nurse."
Agnes resumed her work amongst the books,
and decided that in the mean time there was no
hurry. The tree could remain where it was for
a day or two longer.
At last, at the eleventh hour, quite unex-
pectedly, a solution of the difficulty arrived.

(To be concluded.)

Tm M Th.f

~ ~~mw2
CA s0Maxt~ eelo

(4~' /







You never heard John Henry Jones ?
Well, I '11 not fix the blame -
But it is sad you never heard
John Henry Jones declaim.

Up in the old Society
We often made it roar,
But all of us grew mute as mice
When "Jonesey" took the floor.

It did n't matter what he spoke,
The common or the rare,
When Jones referred to things, it seemed
Those very things were there!

He made us see Phil Sheridan-
We saw that bounding steed;



We heard the guns, the clang of hoofs;
We felt the army's need. r

Down Balaklava's war-scorched
slope, iN "
Amid the iron rain, I
We saw six hundred heroes dash-- .
A few come back again.

We never hated any one
So much, it seemed to me,
As that crank Jones was storming at
In Woodman, spare that tree! "

I 've heard a hundred preachers VI
But none seemed half so grand
As Jones did when he made us
Bozzaris cheer his band.

Jones always was just Henry Jones
Each time that he began;
But sometimes in the second verse
N He seemed another man;

And once we heard the clank of chains;
We thrilled; we held our breath;
And Patrick Henry shouted, "Give
Me Liberty or Death! "

2There 's many a treat in store for you
(I hope), and joy and fame;
But still 't is sad you never heard
John Henry Jones declaim.




(A Story of the Year 30 A. D.)


[Begun in Ite November number.]

CYRIL was now well out upon the battle-
plain of Esdraelon. Too many people were
coming and going upon the highways. They
were not soldiers, nor pursuing him, but the
young fugitive preferred the broad stubble-
fields, from which the wheat had long since
been reaped, and where now the tall growths
of weeds concealed him very well. There were
stone walls to climb and villages to go around,
and the need for keeping under cover made the
distances to be traveled longer. On he went,
with a springing, elastic step, and he did not
seem to feel at all the heat of the sun. It was
his native climate and did not oppress him.
The many orchards and vineyards to which
he came were those of his friends, for he did
not seem to mind the husbandmen at work in
them. As he made his way between the long
rows of a luxuriant vineyard, he thought:
It cannot be far now to the Kishon. Fa-
ther says that there is always a Roman patrol
up and down the bank, so that no one can
cross, except under the eyes of the guards at
the bridges. I shall have to keep watch for the
patrol. Once across the Kishon, and no man
in heavy armor can overtake me."
Ezra had said of him, "as fleet of foot as
Asahel, the brother of Joab," and Cyril had
already shown himself a very rapid traveler;
but he might meet mounted men. He went
forward more cautiously, among the sheltering
vines, and as he paused, listening, there came a
sound that startled him. It was faint and far,
but he exclaimed:
"A trumpet ? That must be a signal. Those
camel-drivers on the road saw me, and they

must have reported me to the guard at the
bridge. It is life or death, now! "
In a minute more, he was peering out from
the northerly border of the vineyard.
"There is the Kishon he said. "There is
a patrol, too; he is a legionary."
On the bank of the deep and swift river
stood a fully armed soldier of that terrible power
which overshadowed all the known world. To
Cyril, that solitary legionary, stationed there to
prevent such as he from crossing the Kishon,
was an embodiment of all the enemies of Israel
and Judah. The soldier stood erect, with his
pilum, or broad-bladed spear, in his right hand.
The vizor of his bronze helmet was open. He
seemed to have understood the trumpet-note of
warning, and was looking in all directions. His
sword hung at the left side, ready for use, and
on his left arm was a large round shield, now
raised a little as he scanned the vineyards and
the river-bank, as if he wondered from which of
them an enemy could come upon him at that
time and place. After a few moments, he
turned away and strode slowly, vigilantly, along
the river-bank, while Cyril watched him.
Good!" exclaimed Cyril, at last. "He is
far enough, now. I can reach the river."
Out he darted and sprang away toward the
Kishon. Of course he was at once seen by the
quick-eyed patrol, and hoarse and loud came the
Latin summons to halt. To disobey was sure and
instant death, if Cyril should be overtaken, and
he would be followed with relentless persistence
if he should escape; but he bounded steadily
forward while the soldier ran toward him. The
soldier ran well, too, considering the weight of
arms and armor he carried, for all Roman legion-
aries were trained athletes; but he could not get
between the armorer's son and the Kishon.
Not broad, but very deep and swift, was the


torrent that came rushing down from its sources
among the Gilboa hills. A spring, a splash,
and Cyril was swimming vigorously, though
swept along down-stream by the strong cur-
rent, while his left hand held his rolled-up robe
high and dry above the water.
Fierce, indeed, were the threatening com-
mands of the legionary, but on the brink of the
Kishon he was compelled to halt and consider.
No doubt he could swim, but not well with his
heavy armor, his shield, and his sword.
Lightly and rapidly swam Cyril, and in a
few moments more he was out on the northerly
bank of the Kishon, sending back a shout of
triumph and defiance. But he meant to send
back something more. His eyes were swiftly
searching the ground around him, while he drew
out something which had been hidden among
the folds of his robe.
It was a square of leather, as broad as
his two hands, with corner-straps as long as
his arm- a sling, such as David used of old.
In that older day, all the tribe of Benjamin, to
which the house of Ezra the Swordmaker be-
longed, were noted slingers; and here was their
young representative, stooping to pick up
smooth, rounded pebbles, as David had picked
up his pebbles from the brook in the valley of
Elah. In an instant he was erect again, sling
in hand, while yet the soldier stood considering
the risk of swimming the Kishon.
Whirl went the sling, with such a swiftness
that it could hardly be seen, and away hissed
the stone. No doubt the Roman had faced
slingers, many a time; but the distance was
more than fifty yards, and he may not have
expected so true an aim. Up went his shield,
indeed, a second too late, and well for him that
he bowed his head, for Cyril's first pebble struck
him full upon the crest. It did not knock him
down, only because, in the heat of the day, he
had loosened the fastenings of his helmet, so
that the blow of the stone struck it from his
head, and sent it rolling away in the grass.
No crossing of the Kishon now, with that
slinger to practise upon his bare head all the
way! Expert warrior though he was, he had
enough to do for the next two minutes in
warding off with his shield the well-aimed
pebbles which rapidly followed the first.

Fast they came, and loudly they rang, one
of them glancing from the shield to batter the
brazen greave on his right leg.
I must not delay," thought Cyril. Other
Romans may be coming. One more !"
Away flew the stone, but the blow on his leg
had warned the soldier to kneel and guard
now, and the missile made only a deep dent
in the face of the shield.
When the bearer of it looked out again from
behind the target of bull's-hide and metal which
had served him so well, the slinger had disap-
peared; and there was nothing for the beaten
Roman patrol to do but to go and report
to his officer that one of the best slingers he
had ever met had escaped from him. He
could not have guessed how one Jewish boy's
heart was dancing with delight and pride as he
pushed along northward, thinking, dreaming,
and even exclaiming enthusiastically:
Oh, that the King would come to lead us
against the Romans "
No hunted wolf could have gone forward
more cautiously than did Cyril. There were
other streams to cross, and some of them were
deep; but there were no patrols in his way, and
the waters were no impediment. They were more
like cooling baths provided for a wayfarer who
was fond of them. If nothing worse should
block his path, he would have no difficulty in
getting to Cana some time during the next day.
The sun went down, and a cloudless night
came on. The sky seemed to blaze with stars,
and the young traveler could still find his way,
somewhat more slowly, along the lanes which
led from house to house and from hamlet to
hamlet. It was toilsome journeying, and there
was now added the danger of being taken by
anybody and everybody for a prowling robber.
"They would make short work of me," he
said, or I might be sold for a slave. They
would not crucify me, but they would surely
scourge me."
It seemed as if Cyril gave hardly a thought
to the fact that he had- gone without any
supper. Perhaps he was used to privation.
At all events, he at last lay down under the
shadow of a wide-branching olive-tree, and
went to sleep as peacefully as if he had no
enemies in the world. His last thought was:


FP-X- -


4.. .. 1. -

r ..*, .' .. .* I



"Father will escape them I know that
he will. To-morrow will be the fifth day of
the week, and I shall see Lois before sunset."



ABOUT an hour after Cyril lay down at the foot
of the olive-tree, that Wednesday evening, Lois
was one of a joyous procession which set out

from the house of Rabbi Isaac, as soon as
word arrived that the bridegroom was coming.
Already, at the house of the bride's father, all
the wedding formalities and ceremonials re-
quired by the Law or by Galilean custom had
been fully performed, and the bridal procession
from that place was winding its somewhat noisy
way through the narrow and crooked streets of
Cana. The bridal pair were escorted by all who
had any right or will to accompany them. When
the procession from Ben Nassur's house met


them, it faced about, forming one company,
which increased as they went along.
The bride herself, closely attended by the
bridegroom and his near friends, was the cen-
tral figure; but of her nothing could be seen
excepting the tresses of flowing hair which es-
caped from under her veil. Her robes, however,
were glittering with all the jewels of her family
for which a place could anywhere be found.
There were many musicians,--flute-players,
beaters of cymbals, and others,- and there
were a number of fine singers among the girls
who came dancing along in front of the bride
and groom, singing the songs that befitted the
occasion. Most of these were in praise of
the beauty and good qualities of the bride.
Among all the singers there was no voice
sweeter than that of Lois. She was accom-
panied by her friends and neighbors; and each
young girl carried in her hand a lighted lamp,
and all were exceedingly careful lest it should
go out, for an idea of evil fortune attached to
such a happening. The lights of the little
lamps carried by the dancing, singing maidens,
however, were as nothing compared with that
of the blazing torches borne by the young men
who went before or at the sides of the proces-
sion. This was evidently no ordinary wedding,
in the estimation of the people of Cana.
When the house of Ben Nassur was reached,
most of the merrymakers were at liberty to re-
turn to their own homes; but a chosen few
walked in with the bride and groom, and
thereupon the outer door of the house was
The fifth day of the week, Thursday, would
be counted as the first day of the feast, and
during seven days Ben Nassur would keep open
house in honor of his son's wedding.
The fifth day of the week dawned brilliantly
over Judea. Ezra the Swordmaker was just
then cautiously emerging from an opening
which, at a little distance, looked like a crack
or furrow in the steep side of a hill. His place
of refuge for the night had been one of the
numberless caves, partly natural and partly ar-
tificial, with which all that region abounds.
They form very safe hiding-places both for
hunted men and for wild beasts.
Ezra stood still for a moment in the doorway

of his cave, and drew a long breath, glad to see
the light and to breathe the fresh morning air.
Cyril is safe by this time," he said. He
must have passed the border. So am I safe,
but--of what use am I now?" He groaned
as he lifted his right hand. I can hardly call
myself a man," he said. I must go and hide
in the wilderness of Judea. My days of service
are done. There is no power on earth that can
restore a withered hand! "
For withered it was: shriveled and crooked
and gnarled. He could neither grasp with
the nerveless fingers nor straighten them, and
he let his arm fall loosely at his side, and, turn-'
ing, speedily disappeared in the forest.
There were a great many people coming and
going that day at the house of the wise rabbi
Isaac Ben Nassur. They were not all Cana
people, by any means. The bridal feast was
spread in the large front room opening upon the
porch, and all who had a right to enter were
welcomed heartily. Food was plentifully pro-
vided, but the merriest hour of each day would
be after sunset, when, the day's work being done,
all the invited guests would come.
The bridegroom was continually present, to
receive congratulations and good wishes. With
him were several young men of his more inti-
mate friends; but decidedly the most important
figure in that room was Isaac himself. As mas-
ter of the house and as ruler of the feast, he sat
at the head of the long table provided for the
occasion. His dress was as simple as ever,
but it seemed to have undergone a change, he
wore it with so grand an air. He appeared to
be happy, and he received great respect from
the throng of people who came to congratulate
him upon the marriage of his son.
So the marriage-feast went on until the mid-
day was past and the shadows began to lengthen
in the streets of Cana. In the shade of Ben
Nassur's house, hours before sunset, on the east-
erly side, stood two young people, half hidden
by the vines and shrubbery, who seemed to
have forgotten all about the wedding. Their
talk was subdued but exceedingly animated, for
Cyril had arrived and he was telling Lois of all
that had happened since they had parted at
Samaria so many months before. She was as
earnestly patriotic as Cyril himself, and her



face said more than her words while she lis-
tened to Cyril's account of the doings of Samar-
itans and Romans, and of the deeds of her
father and his friends. Then he told her of
his own feat at the Kishon, and her bright
black eyes flashed with exulting admiration of
a brother who had actually struck off the hel-
met of a Roman legionary.
Oh, Cyril! what a soldier thou wilt be! "
If the King were here to lead us! broke
in Cyril. Oh, for the Messiah, the Captain!
I could fight under him."
Cyril," replied Lois, I have somewhat to
tell thee. Nathanael, Isaac's friend, was at
the Jordan where John the Baptizer is preach-
ing. That was several weeks ago. He came
back with a report about Jesus of Nazareth,
and how John had said of him that he was
the Lamb of God. It is so strange!"
"Herod has imprisoned John in the Black
Castle," said Cyril, not far from the Dead Sea."
"But he is a prophet," said Lois; Natha-
nael believes it. The carpenter's son is of the
royal house of David. He will be here to-day
with some of his friends from Capernaum and
Bethsaida, and thou wilt see him."
Cyril listened in silence, for the tidings deeply
interested him. He had dreamed and hoped
and talked, as had all other Jews young or
old, about a Prince of the house of David, an
Anointed Deliverer; but it was quite another
thing to be told that the man he longed for
had already been found, and that he was to
meet him at the house of Ben Nassur.
Come," said Lois, "I will show thee his
mother. She is there by the well, waiting for
him. She is Hannah's near kinswoman, and
we love her greatly."
He is only a carpenter now," said Cyril.
Rabbi Isaac said to Nathanael that Jesus
is indeed a lineal descendant of David, but he
is not a soldier. He reads in the synagogues,
and he has been preaching much of late. Still,
Isaac says he is not learned like a rabbi."
"I wish I could see him," exclaimed Cyril.
Come," said Lois, again; and they went
slowly, talking almost in whispers. Lois had
not yet seen the son of the carpenter of
Nazareth, and her eagerness to do so was
quickly communicated to her enthusiastic bro-

their. He felt his heart beat more quickly, and
his breath came faster, as she told him of the
various marvels that had been crowned at last
by the testimony of John at the Jordan.
"Even while he was in the water," she said,
"a beautiful white dove came down and alighted
on his head, and there was heard a voice from
the heavens."
I wish I had been there! exclaimed Cyril.
"But is that Mary, his mother ? "
Yes; she stands there- there by the well,"
said Lois. "Is she not a noble-looking woman ?
And she says her son has never seemed just
like other men."
But such was not the opinion of Isaac Ben
Nassur and other leading residents of Cana
and of Nazareth. They knew the young Jesus
(or Joshua, as they more frequently called him),
the son of Joseph. They had seen him from
boyhood. They thought no less of him be-
cause he worked for a living: the wisest and
greatest rabbis did so. Moreover, it was an
important matter that he was of the royal line
of David, now so nearly extinct; every Jew
was ready to acknowledge so rare a distinction;
but there their reverence ended, for otherwise
he had neither rank nor power. The older
and wiser they thought themselves, the less
they were concerned about Nathanael's talk of
the marvelous occurrences at Bethabara.
Cyril and Lois were young, and were neither
wise nor learned. They, therefore, were more
and more excited as they drew nearer the noble-
looking matron who stood by the well, gazing
expectantly down the street. Her face had
just been lighted by an expression of pleasure;
but now it suddenly clouded again, as if some-
thing whispered to her by a woman who came
from the house might be unpleasant tidings.
At that moment, also, the bridegroom himself
appeared in the doorway, accompanied by his
mother, Hannah; and his face, like her own,
wore an anxious look.
Such a disgrace, Raphael!" exclaimed Han-
nah, in a half-frightened tone-"to have the
supply of wine fail on the first day of the feast!"
"The tax-gatherers are to blame!" he re-
sponded, in angry mortification. "They had
secured almost every wine-skin that was for
sale in Cana. So I sent all the way to Chora-



zin, and I provided abundance; but the tax-
gatherers have stopped it on the way. They
declared that it had not paid its full duty; but I
know that is untrue. They have taken it they
are robbers!"
Raphael was sorely mortified. Anybody

the face of Mary. "The publicans took it,"
whispered Lois; but her brother was gazing
earnestly at the mother of Jesus of Nazareth
and so did not reply. He could not explain
to himself what it was that was so different in
her manner from any of the other women


might have sympathized with him. Such a around her. Her face was so pure, so good,
scarcity would be considered a disgrace to his he thought; so full of light as she now turned
whole family and to that of his bride, again to look down the street. Then she ex-
"Do not tell your father, yet," said Hannah. claimed: "Hannah! He is coming! He will
"But what are we to do ? be here quickly."
Cyril and Lois, out by the well, had now Cyril," said Lois, pointing, "look! There
heard this news, the same which had so clouded is Jesus of Nazareth! He is come! "
(To be continued.)

AS N'T it a funny dream ? -perfectly bew ild'rin' -

Last night, and night before, and night before t/ha,
Seemed like I saw the march o' regiments o' children,.
Marching to the robin's fife and cricket's rat-ta-tat! !-
Lily-banners overhead, with the dew upon 'em, '
On flashed the little army, as with sword and flame;
--,y.Like the buzz o' bumble-wings with the honey on 'em,
Sr Came an eerie, cheery chant, chiming as it came:

>-- K- /

S ere go the children? Travelin, Traveling \ /
V -- ere go the children, traveling ahead?
S' -." e go to kindergarten, some go o day-school ,
'i .' ', I_'- 'i Some go to night-school; and some go to bed!

Smooth roads or rough roads, warm or wini..r .rr -
On go the children, tow-head and browr.
Brave boys and brave girls, rank and file t...
Marching out of Babyland, over dale an(i .[.'
Some go a-gipsying out in country places -
Out through the orchards, with blossoms on the boughs'

Marching out of abyland, over dale anl ,I. -
Wild, sweet, and pink and white as their own glad faces;
And some go, at evening, calling home the cows.

.- ,-. -- .-- . --..I-,'


C;Y)~-- a ~ i

C '.~

.sI ., -..

. i; n *
ii I t. i i i i r .. r e i i 1

_. ^ -, *: *'. .. _r. I. i . 1. __l l:
I L_. I .. I I, : I I 1 I .e I i I. r ,

1,re .1 .. I r, v rl r..
S i'. I i urmn g never home again only im heir dreams.

JI, -. >
W Where go the children? Traveling!
\- Where go the children, traveling a

S- \Some go to conquer things;- some go
Some go to dream them; and some

i -

-^^ l9, (I
i^^^,/'^ t m4

Traveling /
head ?
to try them;
go to bed!

--^, , A


VOL. XXIII.- 17.


*f. b I



s~t~- _
I'e ;-

blithesome Master Merrivein, all in his Sun-
day best,
Started straightway for Durley Fair, with energy
and zest;
His stick upon his shoulder, most joyfully he

But suddenly
"- a voice ,
I I I J I l!
from a -
:.:te,.ay said:-


i,, .
v I


"' H, Master, Mas .r 7,'
As you go Lu the i~ fr,
Will you take my tumbler-pigeons to the
pigeon fakir there?"
So, kindly Master Merrivein, he slung -
them on his back,
The pigeons and the pigeon-cage.
(They made a goodly pack !)

22 iD T --- V.i9 .


'LL hie me up to Durley Fair," quoth Master Merrivein;
"A day of rest and jollity, then hie me home again.
With shillings in my pocket, and the harvest work all done,
I 'Il spend a happy holiday, then back by set o' sun!"


"'T OLD! hold, there, Master Merrivein! As you go through the town,
WI J ill you leave this little donkey with brother Billy Brown ?
1 ,Ir i sl ,i' r. '1 J o ,.'t :.".
.,l r, if ,..,, ..l ,N .-., I, !in, h i .. i-, r. .r ,:.i [,l./ i ,t' .

S ... i,, i,,, ,* r .r f ,. ...; ,, ,,r ..i .:.I ,:. ,i : i -. .r, r I. ,

ii, ,/'H __^I

,. )* ,I,' L rv F '" "
Y,.'.i .;r r J( 7

:"- .: .: :u -l I-i Lr. r, i r.I I I5
T' 1,.r r

This bonnet, in the bonnet-box, I'11 add, if you don't mind,
And these few little trifles I will just tie on behind!

"' h ,.', 'I f r t -,.- r A-l tl : l I .. :ir in ,

i: J. thl r.::n ul la i I ul c:

.,; a- s ,e' fe ii[fi, ".

*" -7 I ,., I,1 B

S:.. kind!r NM t,- r M !:Irrt ,; .: t ,:...! Tl m .r I ,i,
For fear the bonnet and the eggs might straightway ,.' 7/
come to harm.



-- -. 7

', ,, -" _-
" -l, ," ': '
.- _. ". ..- ,,t '.*" (- ..% "
^, *,' .. .

..- ,, .I i
^i. ^


H, Master, Master Merrivein! just step around this way!
If only you will drive a cow along with you to-day!
She 's the gentlest, kindest animal that ever yet
Vi 9Q Cppfn
.\r.n.lI i ',*- .-.-. I.I !,," t,, ,-,,., i r, .- M i rr, '!,..|,, *,vh o

.,. i-1iill M j: -ter [.r ,:1i,, !II!e i Ic inin I ir. ,: ing,
A nd. i III, ,: .- .. I .. r tItI .I l:,.:,.i t .nJ tr gh t-

, H, wait-wait, Master Merrivein! Please stop a moment where
The cross-roads meet the school-house, well-nigh to Durley Fair,
And give this keg of butter and bag of tarts so nice,
And this shawl and woolen comforter, to good old Granny Gryce!"
So, kindly M aster '..1 ri i. .iii .n rr .iJ
with care,
4a ., Got all these -.i ii. ,:. n nr.- i,, ''
n irter how l:re .

- -* w- ,', i r
S. '



s that good Master Merrivein ? Three squaw'
ing geese have I;
I '1I hang them on your shoulder, and the
feet I '11 tightly tie.
Just leave them with Dame Blodgett, anea
the crooked stile,
The other side of Durley Green, about a ha
a mile !"
," H, "stop sto
SMaster Men
... vein Go yc
..to Durley Fair

ir -


p, -.- -
ri- ', ." .

)u l l,- i;
Then I beg you take this finery for my
daughter Meg to wear,
This flowered hat and tippet, the mitts and
She 's at Aunt Elsie's cottage, and will wel-
come you with joy "

" AIT, there, good Master Merrivein! If to
the fair you go,
Please take my fiddle and my flute to
Uncle Jerrygo!



I -' -

".. :--2 --- -: "=-= -= -

ihe tuning-fork and music-rack, accordion
and horn,
Are for his son, who leads the band at Durley
Fair each morn! "


S lI- iri- I i \, u ['3N n .
I 'l :. r r.:,.,. J: ,ttl[ :i 't' -I: "' \ iIr Li, : -
gl..13 lik

While the pigeons and the squawking geese,
I really am afraid,
That one small picture could not hold the
havoc that they made!


o, straightway, Master Merrivein, so good and true and kind,
Started him off to Durley Fair a day of rest to find.
But did he find it? Oh, dear me! Go ascertain, I pray,
Of all the curious country-folk who passed him on the way!

17. r


HE cow (that gentle animal!)-to-morrow, at the fair,
Young Mistress Finch may try to sell; I warn you, then
S / For Master Merrivein found out, to his own great surprise,
'[ Thnft c-hp hil -n iune-:pectrd ".'- of tilinc exprcice.

I '. I '

", hk .rr t.- r.r -t Di rltz F ir!
rl '. i-17 fi l 1 11 '" '*11 1 .ii' .' !- ; 1 1 .:i



[Begwn in the M.ay number.]



DURING the remainder of the day neither
Carrots nor Teddy saw Skip.
It appeared very much as if Master Jellison
had grown alarmed after seeing his intended
victim conversing with the policeman.
The other merchants in the newspaper and
the bootblacking business, neglecting everything
else, discussed the very remarkable state of af-
fairs brought about by the boy from Saranac,
until the partners had succeeded in rolling up
profits that made Carrots's eyes open wide with
Then their brother merchants began to real-
ize that, while effecting nothing so far as the
controversy between Skip and Teddy was con-
cerned, they were losing an opportunity of
earning money; and so they at once resumed
their labors, and Carrots soon was aware of a
depression in his department of the bootblack-
ing industry which caused him no slight amount
of sorrow.
If Skip Jellison had hung 'round here the
rest of the day, so 's to give the other fellows
more chance to talk, we 'd have come nigh
to earnin' enough to pay for the stand before
night," he said, as Teddy returned from pur-
chasing his fourth supply of papers.
That shows how much a fellow can lose
unless he keeps his eyes open," Teddy replied.
"That's a fact," said Carrots. It did n't
seem much to loaf 'round a little while; but it
counts up when you come to look at it."
You can jest bet it does; an' if you '11 keep
watch of yourself for another week, we '11 be in
mighty good shape to set ourselves up in busi-

ness. There 's plenty of money to be earned
'round here, an' if a fellow does n't spend it as
fast as he gets it, it won't be long before he 's
on his feet."
Ever since he began to follow the occupa-
tion of a bootblack, Carrots had desired to own
such an outfit as was in the possession of a cer-
tain Italian on Centre street. In his eyes it
was simply magnificent. A chair, upholstered
in red velvet, stood on a platform covered with
sheet brass and studded plentifully with large-
headed nails of the same metal. As foot-rests
there were two deformed camels in bronzed
iron, each bearing on its back a piece of iron
fashioned in the shape of the sole of a boot.
Even in his wildest dreams, however, he had
never allowed himself to believe it was possible
for him to become the owner of such a gorgeous
establishment; for he had learned from a reli-
able source that the Italian's outfit had cost
not less than twenty dollars an amount which,
in Carrots's eyes, was so large as to be within
reach of only the very wealthy.
Now, however, he began to think such a
thing might be possible, for he had realized
what could be accomplished by industry. In
his mind's eye he saw the firm's news-stand, in
one corner of which could be placed a small
stove during the cold weather, with a space
under the counter sufficiently large for the two
boys to sleep in, and the outside of the estab-
lishment painted a vivid green. Carrots was
very particular as to the color. He had de-
cided, as soon as the matter was broached by
Teddy, that if they ever did succeed in buying
a stand, it must be painted green; and this was
because a friend of his in Jersey City had told
him, in the strictest secrecy, that such a color
was very lucky."
How industriously he labored during the


remainder of the afternoon! So eager vx
reach the packing-case home in order t
the money on hand, that he proposed
work for the night an hour before the
for bootblacks' services had wholly cease
We '11 have to wait a while longer,'
said decidedly. "It won't do to knock
'cause we ought to make enough to
our suppers between
now an' dark. S'pos-
in' you take some of .
these papers? You -
can sell 'em when
there 's no show for
Carrots obeyed with-
out a murmur, for the
green news-stand and
the brass-studded plat-
form and chair still re-
mained beforehis eyes;
and not until eight
o'clock was it decided
that they could afford -T&.^
to close up shop by
going home.
On gaining the pack-
ing-cases the proceeds
of the day's work were
thrown into one pile,
and then began the
very pleasing occupa-
tion of counting their
Carrots was well
aware that they had
done a good business;
but he was really as-
tonished on learning that the firm" hac
two dollars and eleven cents, or, in othe
a trifle more than one tenth the estima
of the stand.
"There!" said Teddy, in a tone
faction. That is what I call hump
selves! It won't take a great many (
this before we '11 be on our feet in fine
"That is, if Skip don't bother us."
"Well, this time his botherin' did i
'cause while the other fellows were talk
it we were jest shovelin' the money in
VOL. XXIII.-18-I9.

we'll put the two dollars away, an' use the
'leven cents for a supper. I reckon we can
get enough bologna an' crackers for that."
"Ain't there anything on hand ?"
"Not a crumb. Will you go and get the
supper, or shall I ? "
I '11 go while you put the money away,"
and Carrots was out of the dwelling like a

II j ~
.II I, ..1
U *.. K4

d earned flash; but he did not return as soon as Teddy
r words, expected from his hurried departure.
.ted cost More than once Teddy went to the gate to
listen for him; and at last it seemed certain
of satis- Carrots must have met with an accident.
in' our- I ought to have gone with him," Teddy
lays like muttered to himself, "'cause the chances are
shape." that Skip has turned up, an' is thumpin' him."
After waiting ten minutes more, Teddy de-
is good, cided that it would be necessary to go in search
in' 'bout of his partner, who might be hurt and unable
.Now to get home; but just as he was about to climb


the fence, the sound of hurried footsteps in the
alleyway told that Carrots was returning.
Did you think I was never coming' back? "
the young gentleman asked, as he arrived.
Well, it did begin to look that way. What
kept you so long ? "
"Wait till I get in the box, an' I '11 tell you
all about it," Carrots replied breathlessly; and,
when they were once more inside the impro-
vised dwelling, he began his story, even before
unrolling the packages he had brought.
"Say, do you know Ikey Cain, the fellow
I bought that box and brushes of?"
"Well, he 's a little fellow not much bigger 'n
Teenie Massey, an' I met him out here by the
grocery-store. I tell you he 's been in awful
hard luck, an' he 's all banged up."
"What 's the matter with him? Some more
of Skip Jellison's work ? "
No, it ain't that; but he got hurt a while
ago down to Pier io, where they was unloadin'
bananas, and he was layin' for a chance to get
some. Now there 's a sore on his leg, so he
can't hardly walk, an' he has n't been able to
do any work for more 'n three weeks."
"Where does he live ? Teddy asked.
"He stayed at the Newsboys' Lodgin' House
till his money gave out, an' since then he 's
been stopping' anywhere. Say, Teddy, he ain't
had a thing to eat to-day."
"Why did n't you give him some of that
'leven cents ? "
"That 's what I wanted to do; but I was
afraidd you would n't like it."
"You ought to know better 'n that. I 've
been hungry myself too many times since I left
Saranac, not to understand how a fellow feels."
I'11 tell you what I was thinking' of; but
of course I don't want you to go into the plan
'less you 're willing It struck me as how it
would n't be any bother if Ikey stayed here
with us till he gets better. An' jest as soon 's
lie 's well he '11 be willing' to pay us back what
it '11 cost for his grub. He is n't much of an
eater, anyway. I could put down three times
more stuff than he, an' not half try. Why, he
thinks he 's filled 'way up to the chin if he gets
one bowl of soup," said Carrots, scornfully.
"There was n't any need of your askin' me,

Carrots, if he could come here," said Teddy,
smiling. This is your shanty."
It 's as much yours as mine, since we went
inter partnership."
It does n't make any difference who owns
it. I think we 'd better let him in, if he 's a decent
kind of a boy, an' has been havin' hard luck."
"Then s'pose I go after him? He 's down
by the grocery-store, an' when I left was looking'
at a smoked herrin' 's if he 'd draw the back-
bone right out of it."
"Shall I go with you? Teddy asked.
No; I can get him up here alone if you 'll
stand by the gate so 's to catch him when I
h'ist him over," said Carrots, "'cause he's lame
an' can't do much shinnin' himself."
Carrots, not waiting to make further explana-
tion, ran out from the nest of boxes, clambered
over the fence, and soon the sound of footsteps
told that he was running down the alley.
Five minutes later an unusual noise warned
Teddy that the invalid was approaching, and
he took up his stand on the inside of the fence,
ready to assist.
"Are you there, Teddy ? Carrots asked in
a hoarse whisper.
"Yes; let him come "
"I '11 give him a boost, an' you catch hold
of his hands," was Carrots's reply.
By moving one of the cases nearer the gate,
Teddy was able to reach sufficiently high to
grasp the hand of the lame boy; and then, by
the aid of Carrots's boost," the new member
of the family was soon inside.
Teddy assisted the stranger to the box which
served as a home, and when Carrots had lighted
both candles he had an opportunity to see the
boy thus introduced to the household.
Ikey could never have been called a prepos-
sessing lad, and his recent hardships had in no
wise tended to improve his appearance.
A pair of large black eyes seemed even larger
than nature had made them, by contrast with
his pallid face and the closely cropped hair,
which literally stood on end in every direction,
giving him an expression such as one fancies
would be proper for some bloodthirsty revo-
lutionist. But, although he looked so thor-
oughly ferocious, Ikey was by no means a dan-
gerous character. As Carrots had said, he was


shorter than Teenie Massey, and the pallor
of his thin face was emphasized by the many
streaks and spots of dirt, and the ill-fitting,
ragged garments gave him the appearance of
being several sizes smaller than he really was.
Jiminy! you 've got it swell here," Ikey
said in a tone of admiration, as he gazed around
at the snug quarters, and especially at the bottles
used as candlesticks. It seemed to him that if
they could afford double the necessary amount
of light, their manner. of living must certainly
border on extravagance.
Well, it is pretty fair," Carrots replied, with
the air of one who thinks it modest to belittle
his own property. "We manage to get along
here somehow, an' are goin' to squeeze you in.
You're so thin, Ikey, that a sardine-box would
make a first-rate bed for you."
"You 're awful good to help me, fellows.
Jest before Carrots came along I was trying' to
make out what I was goin' to do," said Ikey.
"Well, take hold, an' fill yourself up with
what we 've got here. P'rhaps we '11 find some
way to fix you so 's you can walk better 'n you
do now," Teddy said, as he unrolled the pack-
ages of provisions Carrots had brought; but
finding there was not sufficient for three very
hungry boys, he excused himself long enough to
purchase a few additions to the collection.
His sympathies were thoroughly roused, and
he determined Ikey should have, as he after-
ward explained, "one square, out-and-out feed,"
if no more. Three smoked herring, three seed-
S cakes, and a five-cent pie comprised the list
of provisions Teddy brought back. That he
was guilty of extravagance in purchasing these
articles shows how deeply he felt for Ikey's
"This is what you call livin' high," Carrots
said, as he arranged the feast in the most favor-
able light. I reckon you '11 get well if you
stay here very long, Ikey."
"If I don't I ought ter be choked! Master
Cain replied emphatically, as he proceeded to
devour one of the herring first breaking off the
head and stripping, with the touch of an artist,
each side of the fish from the back-bone.
"There 's one bad thing 'bout it," Carrots
said, as he suddenly thought of what might be
an awkward predicament for himself. "You

know, the folks what keep the store don't have
any idea I 'm livin' here, 'cause if they did
I 'd be fired mighty quick. Of course you
can't go 'round town while you 've got that
thing on your leg, an' you 're bound to stay
till it gets well; but, you see, Ikey, it won't do
to make the least little mite of a noise. Do
you think you can manage it all day, with
never so much as a squeak?"
"I reckon it would n't be very hard work,"
Master Cain replied. "I 'd be thinking' how
much better this was than loafin' 'round the
streets, an' then I could n't 'yip' if I wanted
to, when I 'd know I might lose the snap."
And don't show your nose outside this box,
'cause that would be jest as bad as hollerin'."
"Don't you worry 'bout me! I '11 get
along all right, an' won't make any fuss for
you," the invalid replied decidedly, as he made
a pleasing combination of the dried fish and
pie, by way of a finishing touch to the meal.
When their guest's hunger had been satisfied,
the hosts made arrangements for the night by
giving to the crippled boy the entire pile of
straw on which to lie, while they slept upon
the bare boards of the adjoining box.
On the following morning Carrots was
awake unusually early, for he thought of the
necessity of finding something in which to
bring water, that Ikey might be able to satisfy
his thirst during the day; and, without arous-
ing either of his companions, he attended to
this important business.
After a short absence he returned with a
clean tomato-can as a drinking-vessel, and this
he filled from the hydrant.
Teddy was awake when this task was fin-
ished. There were provisions enough for the
invalid's meals, and the two boys set out, in-
tending to prepare for the day by purchasing
two bowls of Mose Pearson's slate-colored soup.
"You won't have anything to do but eat,
Ikey, an' there 's grub enough for that," Car-
rots said as he left the dwelling. "Take hold
an' enjoy yourself. We sha'n't be back till
pretty nigh dark, so don't worry 'bout us, an'
be sure to keep your mouth shut."
I '11 get along all right, an' nobody shall
know I 'm here," Ikey replied; and an instant
later the two merchants vaulted the fence.

(To be continued.)

IT was near Gallows Lane, and the Judge
of Probate was playing leap-frog with the Spe-
cialist in Diseases of the Eye, in front of our
little Hidden Hut, while the Bank Director
and the President of the Gas Company were
off scouting in the dense woods to guard against
surprise from imaginary Indians.
The woods were really very dense and dark,
even on that midsummer day, but the danger
from Indians was not at all real. Neverthe-
less, we regretted the absence of our valued
colleague, the prosperous Hardware Merchant,
who, we were confident, would effectually have
defended our rear. Unfortunately the Hard-
ware Merchant was unable to be with us, hav-
ing been "kept in" after school because of
unruly conduct and of gross failure in his arith-
metic lessons. (He rarely makes any mistake
in his arithmetic, now; or, if he does, his cus-
tomers exact no penalty.)
Of course we did not know him as a hard-
ware merchant, then. Neither was the Judge
of Probate a judge, at that time. He was sim-
ply Bob Hanks; a sprightly, wiry lad of thir-

teen, full of fun and very larky. Nor had the
Specialist in Diseases of the Eye chosen his
profession as yet, being known, to a limited
youthful public only, as Rat" Burnham, his
complete first name being Ratcliffe. We were
boys, and did not know enough to call each
other by the titles of our future occupations or
business pursuits. But our situation as boys
was, in our opinion, deep, dark, and murky;
for a crisis impended and the Hidden Hut
stood in peril.
The whole thing began with the President
of the Gas Company-I mean Lorenzo Paul.
Such was his romantic name, and his ideas
were romantic enough to match it. He it was
who first, incited by Cooper's novels which we
had all been reading, drew for us ideal pictures
and diagrams of cave-shelters, something like
that which Deerslayer made use of at Glen's
Falls, and then of more elaborate and fantastic
underground dwellings. He drew careful de-
signs of these abodes on his slate.
All these plans conformed to one general
model. An opening in the earth was con-


cealed by a solid, but loose and tottering, gran-
ite boulder, which turned easily on its base and
could be moved aside at a touch by one who
knew just how. Under this stone a shaft plunged
blackly down into the darkness. Access to the
foot of the shaft could be had only by an up-
right log in which rude steps were notched.
But, once at the bottom, you found ample ex-
cavated apartments, dimly lighted with candles,
at your disposal. In one room, too, there was
a fireplace for warmth and cooking, with a flue
leading up through the solid rock, so tortuously
crooked that no enemy could ever come down
through the chimney-and probably no smoke
could ever have gone up by it. Had we ac-
tually been able to construct that ideal cavern,
we would have been stifled with smoke of our
own making, the fumes of our own hearth-fire.
The realization of that sooty dream was be-
yond our power. And so we contented our-
selves with building a hidden hut in the woods,
near a rocky cliff.
In this way Our Secret Society came into ex-
istence. Having a retreat of this very evasive
character, it became necessary that we our-
selves should be extremely devious and furtive.
We resolved to steep ourselves in a profound
mystery; and we succeeded. No one, beyond
the limits of our small and exclusive brother-


hood, ever gained knowledge of the damp and
earthy lair we had established, because, when
we went to the afternoon session of school, we
always provided ourselves with an extra lunch-
eon in our inside coat pockets, and so were able

to make the three-mile run to our hut in the
woods, when the classes were dismissed, with-
out any fear of starvation at the end of the
route. Therefore we were never reduced by

n o i .. i I ,' ,_ 1 ..
th .- L -.... A:! ..i 1.1111.,-

A real paymaster of the
navy had given us an old MERCHANT IS
tin box from the United KET IN.
States war-ship Sabine," duly marked with
Uncle Sam's initials in white paint; and we
filled it with remarkable mementos such as
tops, balls, twine, battered coins which we had
found by experience could not be passed "
even upon the most indigent tradesman in town,
and almanacs of the period. Then we buried
it in the soil. This box we exhumed at inter-
vals, with solemn rites; and no one among out-
siders was aware either that we had buried or
had exhumed it-a fact which we viewed as
an extraordinary triumph of mysteriousness.
But, on this particular day, there was dan-
ger! We feared that our parents had "struck
the trail," and might discover and destroy our
secluded cabin. That was why our Bank Di-
rector and our President of the Gas Company


were scouting through the shadowy woods, to
ward off Indians. The Bank Director was do-
ing wonderful work in the way of detecting
invisible moccasin footprints on the moss or the
brown, fallen leaves; and ever and anon the
Gas President would pat the earth with his jag-
ged wooden sword, then lift the blade to his
nostrils, smell of it attentively, and- with a
glare of wild intelligence dart away through
the underbrush in pursuit of some ferocious
beast or other foe, whose scent he had discov-
ered by this simple yet astounding process.
Both these gallant warriors, likewise, gave token
of their sagacity by raising their right hands,
arched, to their right ears and listening intently
to an incredible number of unheard but alarm-
ing noises.
Suddenly a wild whoop resounded through
the dark arches of the forest. It came, evi-
dently, from the side toward town, in our rear.
Surprise and massacre seemed inevitable; and
we doubted whether history had ever shown
a more somber page than that which was about
to be turned down over us. The Judge of
Probate and the Specialist in Diseases of the
Eye abruptly desisted from their peaceful exer-
cise of leap-frog, and assumed the defensive.
The President of the Gas Company and the
Bank Director, quite as promptly, abandoned
their scouting, and fell back upon the main-
line. We were a unit; we were concentrated;
but we were in abject terror.
The whoop turned out to be only the Hard-
ware Merchant,- that is, Willard Jones,- who,
having worked out his term of enforced con-
finement after school hours, had decided to
give us a practical illustration of the ease with
which we might be taken unawares and sur-
rounded by an enemy of one, and perhaps
conquered. We did not let the lesson pass un-
heeded. Thenceforth, each member of the
society was subjected to severe tests of fitness.
We also, for further discipline and profit, set
up a winter lodge in one of the back yards of
the city itself-a wigwam constructed of planks,
under the mystic shadow of which we read our
novels, and burned slow fires of smoky coal
picked up from the winter supply of various
houses belonging to our relatives, and to citi-
zens generally. Here we instituted new and

special forms of initiation. One of them de-
pended on a rude scrawl of what the society
called its "patron saint" : the blurry outline of
a human figure, painted on a hanging screen
at one end of the awesome wigwam. This
curtain-picture was smeared with grease or tar,
or whatever other compound the society in its
wisdom might deem especially unpleasant to
the novice; and every candidate for admission
was required to kiss it. As he did so, an art-
ful member, concealed behind the curtain,
pushed it forward, and enwrapped the candi-
date's face, so as to daub him thoroughly with
the tar or grease. But when he had been
once inducted, the new member enjoyed the
priceless happiness of smoking with the rest
of us a Pipe of Peace, filled with that fragrant
herb which the "Sweet Fern Committee" was
particularly empowered and commanded to
gather all through the summer for winter use.
And here in the wigwam we kept the bones
of a pet hen that had inconsiderately died on
our hands. For some reason we named this
departed fowl Mrs. Sill"; and we often went
through certain dismal ceremonies of honoring
her remains, with one of our chief officers act-
ing as master of ritual, in a long gown and a
volunteer fireman's huge water-proof hat.
These chief officers were called willers,"
and whatsoever they willed us to do, that we
were obliged to perform. Many were the feats
of bravado or humility they forced us to ac-
complish. But alas for the power and vanity
of human "willers"!--the pride of absolute
rule led them, finally, to make decree that the
winter lodge and all its relics should be de-
stroyed by fire. We met sadly, for that pur-
pose, but obeyed; and the precious little shanty
rolled upward to the sky in a brief, black smoke.
The Hidden Hut by the cliff in the woods, near
Gallows Lane,- actually so named, because a
witch had been hanged there in colonial times,
- was suffered by our young despots to re-
main in existence. But as we grew older, and
drifted apart into business or college, its uses
lapsed and we left it untenanted.
Even so long as ten years afterward, the
Judge, the Director, and I went out to visit
the sequestered spot, and found a considerable
part of our little structure still holding together


in good trim. Yet not through all the period
of its prime, nor through those following years,
did the parents of the members of our order-nor
did those airy Indians whom we had dreaded -
ascertain the fact of its existence. The whole
affair was like a dusky charcoal drawing on a
stray, forgotten sheet laid away in the recesses
of our minds. What endless galleries of such

I met Bob Hanks, the Judge of Probate,
only the other day: a dry, methodical man,
with a forehead full of patient wrinkles. "Rat"
Burnham, too, I have seen frequently. He is
making a fortune by his curative facility in
treating diseases of the eye, and never refers
to that dark episode of our immaturity. The
President of the Gas Company, once so full of


twilight pictures are stored up in the brains of
boys and men! And, unknown though it be
to the rest of the world, it is all still as intense
and clear as possible to the rest of us. That
terrible moment when Willard Jones's whoop
rang upon our ears in the vaulted darkness
of the woods, and the fearful secrecy of our in-
nocent gloom, and the deep shadow of our
entirely inane proceedings altogether, linger
with us now, and form a sober background
to the recollections of our boyhood.

frolic and fancy, is now one of the most pre-
occupied and even mournful-looking men in
town; and the Bank Director has fallen a prey
to dividends and coupons.
Can it be that the solemn remembrance of
our juvenile recklessness weighs upon them
all, and makes them look so sad and careworn ?
As I say, we rarely speak of Our Secret Society,
in these days. But the organization was never
dissolved; and I am wondering whether we still
belong to it.


C- ; lib~ B:
V- -S-WM'& ___



V.- -







*- '- t

pl)L wb~P;.:~:,
.;~ ;:i
: `.'-;'%'.~d~ I;'


i----r~-- -- ~

PI~` ~---~"


In the rough, glad days of yore,

They passed the harp around the board, ,
---And every one must sing--
=- ..... .. _



THEY gathered round the tables,
In the rough, glad days of yore,
And heir boisteros ous suts made the
arches ring
At the sight of the smoking boar.

They passed the harp around the board,
And every one must singave the sh
For the honor of his lady-love,
Or the glory of his king. ,

The page he lilted a tender lay
As he lightly touched the string;
The yeoman shouted a jocund catch
As he thumped the sounding thing.
But the herdsman looked at his knotted
grI should rend the harp in twain!
And never a song know I, save the shout i
That calls the cattle again." ,

Then loud they mocked at the clumsy
churl, :
Till he rose with ...
stride-'- '
-;" ~- ---
And made his '. ''
way to the -.
cattle-sheds, : '
His shame and ..... "" ..- '' '
grief to hide.


But lo! as he slept on the straw, he caught
The glint of an angel's wing:
God's angel placed in his hand a harp,
And bade the herdsman sing.

"I cannot, Lord, for my clumsy hands,
And my voice so harsh and loud,
And I have no words."
"I will give thee words."
And Caedmon obedient bowed.

The herdsman stood in his laborer's smock,
Nor questioned, but ere long
Like a child at the voice of his mother,
He opened his lips in song.

The lilting page and the mocking knight
And the yeoman went their way;
Their deeds are done, their songs forgot,
But the herdsman sings for aye.



IN a house that was certainly comfortable,
and according to some standards might have
been called luxurious, two boys and a girl were
engaged in animated protest against the decree
of their mother, who had banished one of them
from the luncheon-table because he had persis-
tently grumbled against the food.
"I don't see why mama is so strict," said the
offender, Hal, aged fourteen, to whom the sym-
pathy of his younger brother and sister, Claude
and Kathleen, was the more grateful because,
for half an hour past, he had been swelling in
solitary majesty in the play-room, trying to
nurse his wrath, and secretly regretting the
good plateful he had been compelled to aban-
don. I don't see why a fellow has n't a right
to prefer to eat one kind of thing more than
another. All I said was, that compared to Jock
Clayton's, where I lunched yesterday, we live
like a boarding-house. Why, the Claytons had
enltres in silver dishes, and fruit and flowers
and candies on the table for everybody, exactly
as if it were a dinner-party."
I wish Jock would ask me sometimes," said
Claude, enviously. "But I suppose I 'm too
young for him. I agree with you, Hal, it 's
pretty tiresome to have fare like ours week in
and week out- plain roast, plainer potatoes,
and plainest pudding I "
So it is," chimed in Kathleen. "I 'm al-
most ashamed to bring one of the girls home to
lunch. And I 'm sure our father could afford
to have things a little more swell. We 're not
poor, so it must be we are stingy."
"I don't think that," said Hal, who was a
fair-minded boy, if a trifle inclined to self-indul-
gence. My father is one of the most gener-
ous men that ever lived; you know how ready
he is to give us whatever we ask for. I suppose
it was n't very polite of me to speak so to
mama, about her table."
It is n't really a bit like a boarding-house,"

added Kathleen. We have the nicest linen
and silver, and the daintiest-looking table ser-
vice I know anywhere. But it does seem to
me ridiculous to make such a point of trying to
bring us up with simple tastes, as mama does.
One thing is certain, she '11 never do it."
No, she '11 never do it," said Claude, who
was rather an echo of his clever sister.
A girl at school," went on Kathleen, im-
portantly, told me she heard a lady say to her
mother that our mother was so overstocked
with fads, she pitied her children."
"She did, eh? put in Hal, wrathfully.
"Well, I 'd like to tell that woman to keep her
pity for herself. Our mother is just the-"
What is our mother ? asked a lady, enter-
ing at that moment.
The dearest, sweetest, preciousest little
mammy in the world! exclaimed Hal, his
short-lived anger past, seizing her in a rough
embrace. I beg your pardon for the way I
behaved at table, mother, and you did perfectly
right to send me kiting out of the room."
And do Claude and Kathleen also think I
did perfectly right ? said Mrs. Carlton, archly,
for it was never her way to follow up a victory
by a lecture. Ah you dear children, though
I did not hear one word you were saying, I see
by your faces you were holding a little indigna-
tion meeting against the powers that be. And
I think I can guess the subject."
It was more than Claude and Kathleen could
do, then, to conceal their sense of shame at hav-
ing been disloyal to one whom they in truth
loved and admired heartily-who was the cor-
ner-stone of their lives and home. So Mrs.
Carlton's answer was an onslaught of fervent
embraces, Kathleen crying a little when their
mother kissed her in token of amity renewed.
Now I am going to see if I can get you
all to understand a little bit of my reason for
trying to make you share my own simple tastes.


And to do so, I shall have to go back to
those days of my early youth you generally
like to hear about: the days of that dreadful
war of ours between North and South."
"When you were still a little unrecon-
structed rebel, mother, and papa was fighting
in the Federal army, and neither of you had
any idea the other was in existence," said
Hal, drawing his mother to a seat on the

was the funniest kind of living. I had a little
hall-bedroom on the fourth floor, and the front
basement was my father's sleeping-apartment
by night, and our eating- and sitting-room by
day. Imagine that-after our great airy, spa-
cious country home, with all the comforts and
all the servants! Our only domestic, by the
way, was a share of our own old black Esther,
who had been my faithful nurse. She had


couch beside him, with his arm around her
"Yes," said the lady, smiling brightly. "You
know we had been living in Richmond dur-
ing all the latter part of the siege, and as
my poor dear trustful father had put his whole
fortune into Confederate government bonds
early in the struggle, the winter before the
surrender of Richmond found us with little
more money than enough for the bare neces-
saries of life. We-your grandfather and I,
his fourteen-year-old daughter-were inhabit-
ing two rooms of a lodging-house crowded
to the roof with refugees like ourselves. It

hired herself to do cooking and cleaning for
the lodgers, in order to pay for her own sup-
port, and at the same time take care of us.
Dear old black Esther sleeps under a little
green mound in the forsaken burying-ground
of our former home in Virginia, and I never
again expect to find a truer, tenderer heart."
Now, mother, none of the doleful part of
war. We can't stand seeing it make you sad,"
said Kathleen. "Tell about grandpapa's bed
hidden behind the screen, and the nice hot
Maryland biscuits old Esther used to make you."
"She made them when we had nothing left
but a little flour and salt; for lard in those


latter days was twenty-five dollars a pound,
and butter likewise; and when the day came
when flour was not, Esther was reduced to
trying her skill upon all varieties of corn-meal
cakes-dodgers, scratchbacks, hoe-cakes."
What names !" said Claude, laughing.
"Those were the names given by the negroes
to dainties none but a negro hand can make in
perfection. Day after day, week after week, my
father, who had never recovered from his
wound received early in the war, and was very
delicate, and I, who was hearty and healthy
and wildly hungry most of the time, sat down
to the following bills of fare. Breakfast: corn-
dodgers, with a little fat of fried bacon for but-
ter; coffee, made of pulverized peanuts, with
no sugar and no cream. Dinner: a bit of ba-
con twice a week; rice; and, as a great treat
once in a while, a sweet potato. Supper: corn-
dodgers, with sorghum molasses. No tea, no
milk, no butter. Once, that winter, we tasted
turkey; once, corned beef. A quart of dried
apples was an elaborate treat, after Esther had
introduced them into turnovers, sweetened with
the inevitable sorghum syrup that, I must say,
was very poor and sickly stuff. I remember a
gentleman calling upon papa once brought me
an orange; and I looked at it a whole day, un-
able to make up my mind to part with it to a
soldier lying wounded in one of the hospitals.
I did want that orange, children, ..-. j
There is no use in pretending I did not. In-
side of me there was a little digestion-mill, for-
ever at work, forever demanding, like poor
Oliver Twist, 'more.' If I went out to walk,
it grew more noisy. Going to bed was really
the only way to stop its clamoring."
"You poor little starved dear! cried Kath-
leen. "Tell us the final fate of the orange."
"A lady brought papa two fresh eggs, and
when he told me to take those to the hospital, of
course my orange went too. But really, when
everybody we knew was living pretty much the
same way, and no one thought of pitying him-
self or herself because of scant rations and poor
fare, it did not occur to me to feel really de-
pressed over mere hard times. Only, one day,
I remember coming nearer to despair than
ever before or since. My midshipman brother,
on duty on one of the gunboats in the James

River, below the city, came up, on leave, to
spend a day with us. (My two soldier bro-
thers were with Lee, as you know, and when-
ever we thought of them half frozen and half
starved during that long and hard winter, we
never wanted to complain of anything.) How-
ever, Jimmie arrived, very proud of the gifts
borne in his hand a little paper bag of coffee,
and another of brown sugar, that he had saved
from his rations, as an offering to his father. To
cap the climax, a maiden lady from the third
story of a lodging-house volunteered to lend
us a bare ham-bone to boil in our pea-soup, on
condition that Esther, who cooked also for her,
should put Miss Clark's portion of peas in the
same pot, and divide the results equally."
"Ha, ha! laughed the children.
Old Esther, when she had done hugging
her beloved Marse Jimmie,' and admiring his
looks and growth, had hustled off to make an
especial effort in behalf of her darling's dinner.
Jimmie and I and "Aschenputtel," the pet kitten
that kept me company when papa was off at
work as a clerk in one of the government
offices, then had a regular old-fashioned romp,
just as noisy, just as ear-splitting as those that
go on in this room every day; and at the end
of it Jimmie had a bright idea."
I '11 tell you what, Kate," he said. If you
think you could hook a saucepan of molasses
from old Esther, let 's have a candy stew upon
the grate here. I did n't mean to tell you yet,
but I 've got a lot of peanuts in my pocket."
Nut-candy ? oh, Jimmie! I exclaimed,
my mouth watering. It was so many months
since I had so much as dreamed of candy.
With joyous hearts we set about our prepara-
tions. Esther, who at ordinary times would have
pursed up her mouth and frowned over this de-
mand upon her precious sorghum bottle, yielded
it to us without a moment's demur.. To please
Marse Jimmie, I think the old woman would
have cheerfully deprived everybody else in the
family of needfuls. Refusing her invitation to
let her boil the syrup in the little cuddy of
a kitchen she possessed in the back yard, we
set the saucepan upon the coal fire in the sit-
ting-room. Aschenputtel, her tail curled over
her back, looked on approvingly. Jimmie -
you 'd never have thought our dear youngster a


hero of battles, blockade-runnings, and bombard-
ments, to see him then -was chief cook."
It is such fun to hear Uncle Jimmie and
papa talk over the time when they were fighting
on opposite sides, is n't it ? asked Claude.
No, not that," answered the mother, a look
of pain crossing her face; that part of it I
want to forget. We have done with it for-
ever. God grant my children's lives may never
be clouded by such a war as mine was. But
the struggles, the ups and downs, the hardships
that tried our souls and proved the stuff that
was in us, are what we ought not to forget."
"The story, please, mama," urged Kathleen.
"I suppose I may have had as intense in-
terest in the development of events that came
later in my life," returned Mrs. Carlton, mer-
rily, "but I recall none more absorbing than
the progress of that nut-candy. When we had
shelled the peanuts and added them to the
boiling syrup, I found a tin plate, and Jimmie
poured into it the contents of the saucepan.
Then, scorning the juvenile indulgence of tast-
ing the edges of our tempting mess, we went out
to walk, leaving the plate in the open window,
and it and the room in charge of the cat."
"I know what's coming!" exclaimed Claude.
"No, Claude, you must n't tell," pleaded
Kathleen earnestly.
"It was a brisk winter's day, and our walk
out Franklin street added to the insistence of
youthful appetites. Jimmie declared if old
Esther did n't hurry up the dinner when we
got back, he should have to read the cookery-
book to stay his hunger. But, secretly, we were
dwelling in imagination upon the rich treat that
was soon to come; and, on reaching home, both
of us abandoned ceremony to rush pell-mell down
the basement stairs. Jimmie opened the door
with a sort of mild Indian war-whoop of delight.
I responded in the same fashion, and then -
there, on the window-sill, was indeed our plate
of nut-candy as we had left it; but sitting in
the middle of it, her little red tongue indus-
triously traveling over every portion within
her reach, was also Aschenputtel! Two cats,
friends of hers, on their hind legs upon a barrel
in the yard, their heads upon a level with the
plate, were engaged in licking what the selfish
hostess had left accessible to their attack!"

"That mean little Aschenputtel! cried
Claude, indignantly.
"Poor little Uncle Jimmie, and poor little
disappointed mother!" commented Hal, giv-
ing his mother's waist a loving squeeze.
Mama, what did you do?" asked Kathleen.
"I 'm afraid I cried-just a little bit.
Jimmie, very red in the face, drove away the
cats, and, taking up the plate, was just prepar-
ing to throw the whole thing into the yard,
when a couple of small darky children came
running down the street, looking so longingly
at the dish that he changed his mind. Look
here, you youngsters,' he said, 'the cats have
been licking this; but if you choose to take it
and pump on it, you 're welcome to the lot.'
With grins and bobs, the little negroes took
plate and all, and scampered away. A moment
later, my dear father came in from his office.
As he shook hands with Jimmie and kissed me,
we saw by his shining eyes that he had good
news in store. First we thought it was a victory
of our army; but it turned out to be a little pot
of strawberry jam which a clerk for whom he
had done a kindness had sent as a present to
'his little girl.'"
I am so glad," said Claude, with emphasis.
"So were we," answered his mother. "I
laid the cloth, and when presently old Esther
brought in the dinner, what should she do but
set before her Marse Jimmie' a dish contain-
ing three hot sausages! Where they came
from, we could not induce her to reveal. It
has always been my idea that out of the old
creature's little store of coins laid by for a
'rainy day,' she purchased the dainties to re-
gale her pet. And so, that day at least, we
feasted like kings; every morsel put upon the
table was eaten with hearty relish, and to this
hour I love the memory of our poor little
pinched 'refugee' banquet, where so much
affection and gratitude and self-sacrifice went
to furnish the meager board. One thing, es-
pecially, I remember of it. My father, pausing
with a morsel of sausage upon his fork, sighed
deeply and seemed to be looking at something
we could not see. Jimmie and I knew he was
thinking about his other children: the two boys
who, upon hardtack and raw bacon, were then
wearing out the end of a bitter and hard-fought



struggle,-the sons whom never again he was
to welcome under his roof."
"Don't, mother!" pleaded Kathleen, her blue
eyes suffused.
Besides, you have Uncle Jimmie, and father,
and us, and lots of things now," said Claude.


For a moment Hal said nothing. Then he
spoke gently: I understand, mammy dear, why
it seems to you a pretty feeble thing for us to
row about trifles the way we sometimes do.
But it really does n't mean anything. It's only
the way of the world, in these days. I believe
if we had to stand what you and my father
did in your youth, we 'd come out all right,
and show we are fit to be your children."

"I believe so, too," cried his mother, with
the bright flame of love and trust in her eyes,
that always made Hal feel he could not be
unworthy of it if he tried.
Mother," said Claude, after one of his med-
itations, "we 're Northerners, Hal and Kath-
leen and I. You 're
sure you forgive us
for all the trouble
you went through in
those days ?"
"I think so, dear,"
she answered softly,
while the others
laughed. Then they
saw her eyes drop to
the little gold ring
she wore upon the
fourth finger of her
left hand, and Hal
thought he under-
stood what he con-
sidered his brother
and sister too young
and too heedless to

And after that, you
think,the Carlton chil-
dren were models of
good behavior and
of contentment with
their lot? Well, they
certainly improved;
but, as Hal had re-
marked, the way of
the world was against
them; and, as every-
body knows, it is hard
to swim against a cur-
rent. Still, there are
many such talks as the one given, to be heard
in the Carltons' play-room. And now, when-
ever Hal wants a reminder of more heroic days,
he slips into his father's library, and looks
up at the wall above the mantelpiece. There,
in a glass case, hang together the sword and
cap worn by his father in the Union service,
and the cap and sword worn in the Confeder-
ate service by the uncle he never saw.



THERE is a toll-gate hidden away,
Half in the fields, and half in the trees,
Where the children, the elves, and the fair-
ies stray,
With footsteps facing the twilight breeze.

The fairies and elves can pass through free,
But a child must pay for the toll with
a song,

Before the fairy land it can see,
And this must be said, or it all goes

"I believe in the Three Little Bears,
And the Prince that climbed the Moun-
tain of Glass,
And I know how the Wild Swan's sister fares,-
So open the gate and let me pass."




[Beguz in the November numlhber.]
"THIS is Fred's room, I '11 bet ten thousand
dollars, or half I 'm worth Osk exclaimed, as
they entered a chamber that particularly struck
his fancy. "Does he fence ? or are those foils
crossed over the mantelpiece just for ornament?
Now, say, Gid, "- without waiting for a reply
-"is it here ? "
"You mean the cup? No; it is n't," said
Gideon, as he pulled down a curtain. Come
along, and I '11 show you a den that beats this
-just a dandy, you '11 say yourself."
Osk Ordway, bending his brows and peering
closely at everything, left the room reluctantly.
Gid waited to close the door after him, and
then ushered him into a smaller chamber
across the entry.
"This is Frank's," said Gideon, proudly;
"just a little tumbled up, for he left it in a hurry,
I guess, the morning they went off, and his
mother did n't have time to follow him around.
These bronze horses take my eye -and these
pictures of horses Ain't they fine ? "

"Y-e-s," Osk drawled, scrutinizing every-
thing; "nice knickknacks in this room. Does
he use the boxing-gloves? "
Of course he does, and he '11 box you if you
don't keep your hands off! Gid declared, see-
ing that Osk seemed inclined to handle every-
What am I hurting ?" cried the visitor.
"You 're a fussy kind of a watch-dog. Don't
you know a friend from a stranger ? "
"Yes; but I don't want a thing moved out
of its place," Gid replied, as he put his head
out of a window to reach a blind.
Osk laughed quietly, and took up with his
thumb and finger an embroidered silk hand-
kerchief that lay in a rumpled heap on Frank
Melverton's dressing-table. He had no inten-
tion of keeping it, but was actuated by idle
curiosity, quickened, perhaps, by a reckless de-
termination to do as he pleased in spite of
Gid's warnings.
But the lifted handkerchief exposed an
object that instantly and to a violent degree
excited his cupidity. It was all he could do to
keep from grasping it, as he would certainly
have done if Gid had n't at that moment


closed the blind with a sharp click, and
drawn in his head. Osk dropped the hand-
kerchief again over the glittering temptation,
and had a few seconds to reflect upon what
he was about to do before Gid went to an-
other window.
When at last Gid turned to his companion,
he found him standing a little way from the
dressing-table, with his hands behind him, in a
most innocent attitude, puckering his brows in
the subdued light, and whistling softly.
Gid noticed, as he led the way through the
lower rooms, that his friend appeared strangely
absent-minded by fits, and then again unduly
hilarious; and finally said to him:
"What 's the matter with you, Osk, any-
way ?"
Osk was ready with an excuse for his moodi-
That prize cup," he replied. "You said it
was n't in Fred's room; now, where is it?"
They had reached the dining-room; he stood
before Gideon, laughing maliciously. "You
don't get me out of this house until you show
me that cup."
I can't. I don't know where it is," said
Gideon, defending himself, for Osk grasped his
neck with rough playfulness. "Let me alone,
Osk Ordway! "
You know where it is well enough," said Osk,
pressing in his thumb over Gid's collar-bone,
with a grim consciousness of his superior
strength. No use, Gid. I don't go out of this
house, and I don't let you go, till I 've seen
that prize cup."
I '11 scream! You hurt!" Gid cried, trying
in vain to shake off the ruthless clutch.
I '1 hurt more yet, and you won't scream
twice," replied Osk. He loosened his hold,
however. See here, Gid, it 's all in fun! "
Pretty mean kind of fun, I say! Gid mut-
tered sulkily-" choking a fellow that way!
Will you go now? "
No, I won't," said Osk. I 'm in earnest
about that. Oh, come now, Gid! Just give me
a peep. I won't touch it, and I won't tell. I '11
choke you again!" He laughed, but with a
keen menace in his eyes.
You 'd no business to force yourself into the
house the way you did, anyway," said Gideon.

"I made it my business; and here I am,"
replied Osk, with smiling arrogance. "I gen-
erally have my way about things, don't I?
And I stand by the fellows that stand by me.
I don't care that for the cup,"- snapping his
fingers. "Only I 've said I '11 see it, and I
Gid expostulated; Osk wheedled, threatened,
coaxed. And before long the weaker character
At the end of the dining-room was the hand-
some sideboard, with a few pieces of china on
the upper shelf, and closed drawers beneath.
Gid reached his hand under the large shelf,
found a key somewhere at the back, and with
it unlocked the drawer.
Osk uttered an exclamation of surprise as
Gid opened the drawer and exposed the gold-
lined silver prize, on a red napkin. He reached
to grasp it, but Gid held him back.
"What you afraidd of? I won't hurt it," he
said. "A regular old glory, ain't it ? Open a
blind, Gid, so we can see it better."
"Pshaw! There 's light enough," said Gid,
hesitating, yet pleased and proud to be able to
excite his friend's admiration.
The room was indeed rather gloomy. Over
the sideboard was a high window of stained
glass, which subdued the light that came
through it to a deep crimson tone. All the
other windows had closed blinds. Two, on the
side of the piazza, reached almost to the floor.
Gid had just closed one of these; he now
raised the sash again, a little way, and, reach-
ing out, partly opened a blind, letting in a streak
of brighter light, by which Osk reexamined the
"I ain't touching it," he said, in answer to
Gid's remonstrance, as he took the prize up on
the napkin. "There's a pile of silver in it,
Gid. Do you suppose it 's solid ? "
Of course it 's solid," replied Gid. Fred
Melverton would n't have anything to do with
it if it was n't."
"Just heft it," said Osk.
"I have," said Gid, with a scared sort of
smile. I know just how heavy it is."
He has n't got his name on it yet," Osk
observed. "But there 's the rest of the in-
scription; so it would have to be melted up."


"What do you mean?" cried Gideon,
I was thinking. Suppose somebody not
quite so honest as you and I should have the
handling of it! Oscar laughed.
Come, put it back!" Gid whispered anx-
"That 's just what I 'm going to do; and
you see your showing it to me has n't hurt
it in the least. But I 'm glad I 've seen it,".
said Osk, replacing the cup in the drawer, with
the napkin spread out under it. Now, shall
I tell you the fault I find with that cup ? "
That you did n't win it yourself, I suppose,"
replied Gideon, beginning to feel relieved.
"That it was n't made to drink out of-
that 's its chief fault," said Osk, closing the
drawer. That ain't my idea of a cup. Splen-
did as it is, it would n't make your drink taste
any better. Makes me thirsty, though, think-
ing of it. Gid," he continued, "my throat is
dry as an ash-barrel. There must be some-
thing in this house to treat your friends with."
"I don't know anything about that," Gid
"It 's time you did know. Come, I '11 help
you make discoveries. The expressmen used
to bring out cases of bottled cider to the Mel-
vertons. I bet we can find a pint or two left
over. I 'm going to explore the cellar."
"No, you 're not!" And, as Osk started
off, Gid hastened after him.
There was another dispute--a scuffle; and
again the weaker character yielded to the
stronger. We will not follow them to see what
they found in the lower regions of the house.
Osk was smacking his lips and looking com-
placent when they returned to the dining-
Here, don't forget this key!" he said,
taking it from the drawer and handing it to
I guess not! Gid exclaimed, startled to
think how near he had come to leaving it
in the lock; and he carefully returned it to
its place under the shelf.
He looked around to see that he had left
the dining-room in good order, and then ac-
companied Osk to the door by which they
had entered.

"You must n't be seen going out of the
house if you can help it," he said; "and I
must n't be seen with you. Get over into the
ravine, and I will follow, and maybe find you
down by the river."
"I 'm going to look at that phoebe's nest
under the bridge," Osk replied. "It 's time
for the birds to be starting a second brood:"
"There are eggs in it now," said Gid. "I 've
seen 'em. But don't you touch one of 'em.
Little Midget is there, looking into the nest,
every day, and if it 's disturbed there '11 be a
Who 's going to disturb it? Osk replied.
Leaving Gid to watch him from the doorway,
he retired over the bank, and disappeared in
the ravine.



AFTER a little delay Gid passed out through
the front yard, crossed the street, stepped down
over a bank-wall near the bridge, and took a
well trodden brookside path leading to the
river-a path frequented by fishermen and
rambling boys, from immemorial time.
On his right was the brook, which gurgled
over its stones and pebbles. On his left, clumps
of sumacs and barberries grew. Passing near
.a mass of these, Gid shied suddenly, like a
frightened colt, and stepped off, splashing, into
the water.
What are you down there for? said a
mocking voice from the bushes.
Osk Ordway !" Gid exclaimed, scrambling
back to the path. You scare a fellow! See-
ing your head poked out from the bushes that
way,- without your hat,- I did n't know you
from a wildcat."
I must have been a pretty tame wildcat to
sit still while you passed near enough to brush
my cat's whiskers, if I had had any," said Osk,
peering up at him with his keen, curious eyes.
"I 've got something to show you."
He was sitting on a rock, with his hat be-
tween his knees, and his hands spread over it
with an air of mystery. Gid turned pale.
Ever since parting with Osk, he had been so


troubled with misgivings in regard to his own
weak conduct in showing him the cup, that he
was ready to imagine the most absurd conse-
quences of his indiscretion. He firmly believed
that if that daring and unscrupulous youth
wished to get possession of so much solid silver,
he would find sure means of doing so, since he
knew where it could be obtained. And now
for an instant the wild thought thrilled him,
that, before his very eyes in the dining-room, or
perhaps when his back was turned for a mo-
ment, Osk had by some puzzling feat got the
goblet into his hat, and that he had it there,
covered with his hands, in the bushes.
Of course, it was preposterous. Osk was n't
a fool; and if he had succeeded, by any such
hocus-pocus, in conveying the cup from the
house, it was extremely improbable that he
would have sat there, waiting to show it to any-
That was the conclusion Gid came to, after a
moment's reflection. What is it? he de-
manded, with fluttering eagerness.
And Osk smilingly removed his hands. It
was, after all, a relief to Gideon to see that what
they had covered was not the cup. Yet what
he saw roused his resentment.
Oh, Osk he exclaimed, how could you
do that? You promised me you would n't! "
"No," replied Osk, coolly; "I said, 'Who
is going to disturb it?' I put the question. I
did n't answer it; if I had, I should have said
I was going to. Who killed Cock Robin ? I,
said the sparrow, with my bow and arrow, I
killed Cock Robin.' Ain't it a daisy ? "
"Yes -but-" Gid bent over the hat with
looks of mingled envy and admiration, pity and
reproach. "Why did you, Osk ? "
What he saw was something more wonderful,
rightly considered, than any gold or silver goblet
the hand of man ever wrought. It was a nest of
the common pewee, or phoebe-bird, containing
three of those delicate, white-walled, orbic cells
of life whose mystery the utmost ingenuity of
man cannot even comprehend; each a minia-
ture world in itself, a pearly drop of beauty in-
closing a new creation, possibilities of life and
joy, of song and wings-little marvels we call
Did you ever see a phcebe's nest ? I will try

to describe to you this one, which is not at all
a thing of the imagination,- but an actual nest
that I have just taken from a case where it is
kept, and placed upon the table before me,
where I write. It was first shown to me by the
little deaf-mute himself, when I was visiting at
the parsonage that summer; for it was Mid-
get's delight to lead his friends, young or old,
down the brookside to the bridge, and let
them take one peep at the small tower-shaped
structure under it, built against a beam, over
the abutting wall. There, in the cool, cavern-
like gloom, the phoebes had fixed their home,
undismayed by the hoofs and wheels of the
highway, clattering and thundering close above
their heads. A single egg was in the nest,
when I saw it dimly undoubtedly one of the
three Osk afterward carried away.
Midget would allow me to take only one little
peep, for fear of worrying the parent birds;
though they knew him so well as their small
friend that they did n't appear to be much
afraid. I can look at the nest all I wish to
The whole structure is a little more than three
inches high, and four or five inches across from
side to side; flat at the back, where it was
plastered with dabs of mud to the beam, and
flat also on the bottom, where it rested on the
abutment wall. It is made of moss, hair, fine
stems of grass, and twigs or roots almost as
fine, with here and there a bit of string or fleck
of wool, all woven together in a firm and com-
pact mass, with a cup-shaped hollow at the
top. This hollow is the nest proper, measuring
about three inches across, and softly lined with
the fibers and down of plants. When Midget
climbed up on the stones to point it out to me,
it looked like a bunch of moss growing on the
side of the timber, the moss still green with
the dampness of the place. But the moss
is now faded, and the nest shows signs of rough
In this nest there were, when Osk carried
it off, three eggs, as I have said; they were
of a delicate creamy tint, with a few scattered
reddish spots, chiefly about the larger end.
These markings were unusually pretty, as Gid
noticed. Kneeling down and looking into Osk's
hat, he again exclaimed:

"What made you do it ? Say! "
"I am going to start a collection," Osk
"Your collection never '11 amount to any-
thing; none of the boys' collections ever do,"
said Gid. They get tired of seeing the nests
knocking around; some of the shells get
broken; then they kick the rubbish outdoors,
or their mothers do. See here, Osk, take it
back to the bridge, won't you ? "
"What '11 I take it back to the bridge for,
after I 've been to the trouble of bringing it
away?" Osk retorted. "I thought the old
birds would peck my eyes out. Did n't they
make a fuss and flirt their tails! "
Oh, take it back, Osk, before it is missed! "
Gid pleaded, moved partly by compassion, but
quite as much by his fear of disagreeable con-
sequences to himself. "It won't be long be-
fore Midget will notice the trouble with the
birds, and find out what has happened.
There '11 be an inquiry, and I 'm afraid I '11 be
brought into it. You know the law on birds
and nests."
"Bah! said Osk, contemptuously. Why,
the fellows around here are always getting birds
and nests, and we never hear of one being com-
plained of."
"We never have yet, but it 's going to be
different now," Gid replied. "I don't dare
to be seen here with you."
He looked anxiously up and down the brook
and over the tops of the bushes to see if any-
body was in sight. Osk demanded what he
Fred Melverton and four or five others have
agreed together that this robbing nests and
killing birds must be stopped; so Fred himself
told me. They 're going to see that the first
one caught doing it is prosecuted. There 's a
ten-dollar fine, you know."
"But how am I going to be found out or
complained of?" Osk replied. Nobody saw
me; nobody '11 know it but you; and you ain't
going back on a friend, Gid. 'T will be all
your neck 's worth, if you do."
"No," said Gid; I sha'n't give you away.
But I know Fred is in earnest; and his folks
and the Lisles thought everything of this nest.
I know I shall be hauled up and questioned."


Confound it, yes! Osk exclaimed. And
you 're one of the kind they can worm any-
thing out of, whether you want them to or not.
Why did n't you let on about this agreement
when I told you at the door I was going for
the nest ?"
I had no idea you would take it; you said
as much. You won't dare to start a collection;
there '11 be no fun in it if you can't show it; and
if you show it you 'll get found out, sure."
I don't know what I touched the thing for,"
said Osk, looking down with disgust at the
contents of his hat. Here, you may take it
back to the bridge! "
I don't dare touch it! Gid exclaimed, re-
coiling with affright.
"Then I suppose I must," said Osk; "though
I don't see how I am going to make it stay in
place. It won't rest on the stone unless it 's
made fast to the string-piece."
Can't you stick it on with something ? Gid
"I don't know. I can set it on the stone;
then if it tumbles off it will look as if it was an
accident. I '11 manage somehow. And see
here, Gid!" Osk laughed recklessly, ashamed
of having betrayed such weakness. If you
tell on me -you understand!"
Gid promised solemnly. "I must go now,"
he said, and hurried away.



GIDEON did not see Osk again for two or
three days, and he did not venture to look un-
der the bridge to learn the fate of the phcebe's
nest. He was only too thankful that Osk kept
away from him, and he endeavored to forget
the incidents of that single, compromising visit
by giving stricter attention to his duties.
One morning, three days after that memora-
ble Tuesday, he was running a light lawn-
mower in front of the house, when two young
men in trim bicycle suits, mounted on hand-
some wheels, whirled rapidly into the driveway,
and dismounted at the piazza steps.
Gid stopped to lift his hat as they went hum-
ming past him, muttering to himself, I 'm aw-



ful glad he happened to ketch me at work!"
while his guilty breast swelled with anxious
The two riders turned their machines over
on the turf; and when they stood erect, side by
side, you could see that one was a full head
taller than the other. The taller one was Fred
Melverton. He wore his dark gray cap and
suit, while his friend, a stranger to Gid, was
clad in a suit of lighter gray.
The friend was no such young Apollo as
Fred appeared. His shorter limbs, however,
showed a rugged strength; he had a sandy
complexion, and an expression full of a certain
bright mirthfulness, which gave a peculiar al-
lurement to features otherwise rather plain.
Do you see him in your mind's eye, laughingly
lifting his cap to pass a handkerchief over his
face, showing a white forehead crowned by
carelessly tossed locks of deep-red hair ? Then
let me introduce him: Mr. Canton Quimby, of
Canton is an odd name for a boy, you
think. I remember once hearing him tell how
he came by it. His father, during the early
years of his married life, served his country
abroad in various capacities, and his mother
had named her children after the places in
which they happened to be born. So the old-
est girl was called Florence-a very pretty
name. The second child (also a girl) saw the
light when the father was secretary of legation
at Vienna. The parents hesitated a little at
the name; but Mrs. Quimby saw no good rea-
son for objecting to it, and Vienna" Quimby
grew up so charming a girl that everybody
wondered why no girl had ever been so chris-
tened before.
Then my father was sent to Constantinople,
and there my eldest brother was born. Con-
stantinople was a poser! My father would n't
hear of it, and my mother was staggered. But
they finally compromised on Constant, which
is a very good name for a good fellow. You
will readily understand that I was born in Can-
ton,- not quite so good a name, but good
enough for the bearer. So far," young Quimby
rattled merrily on, "the rule had worked very
well, and my mother was triumphant. She has
always been exceedingly tenacious of her ideas;

but when she had two children born, one in
Copenhagen and one in Amsterdam, she ac-
knowledged that the fates were against her.
They are called Capen and Amy-quite a break-
down, you see, of her scheme. She could n't
forgive the government for not sending my fa-
ther to Paris, and afterward giving him the
consul-generalship at Rome, when he asked for
it; for Paris' and Roma' would have been
very good names; and a little obligingness on
the part of each administration would have
saved her system. But administrations don't
always consider! he concluded, with a laugh.
But we are rambling from our story, which
has nothing to do with the Quimby family,
except that vivacious member of it, the Yale
junior, who passed his babyhood and got his
name in China.
Gid Ketterell, seeing the young master
beckon to him, left his lawn-mower and has-
tened toward the house.
"How are you getting along, Gideon ? "
Fred inquired.
"All right, I guess," Gid replied.
"Any callers since we 've been away ? "
Not when I 've been here; I guess about
everybody knows the house is shut up."
Have you kept it well aired ? "
I've had some of the windows open four or
five hours every good day."
"Are they open this morning ? "
No; it seemed so cool this morning," Gid
said, growing more and more confident, as he
found himself able to answer these simple ques-
tions, as he believed, satisfactorily.
So cool? Fred Melverton smiled, but not
altogether in approval of Gid's judgment. It
is cool, and that is all the better for airing the
house, as I thought I explained to you. A sim-
ple fact "- addressing his companion, without
noticing Gid's blank face which it is very
hard for some people to comprehend. A warm
south wind let into a cool house, especially into
a cellar, will often deposit more moisture than
it takes away. The cold walls condense it;
and the owners, who choose such days for ven-
tilation on the theory that warm air must al-
ways be a drying air, wonder why their houses
continue damp, and why the hard-wood floors
hump, in summer weather."


The young man again addressed Gideon,
who stood staring rather stupidly.
Don't you remember, I cautioned you
against opening the windows in muggy wea-
ther, even if the sun should be shining ? But a
cool dry air, like this to-day,- wind northwest,
-admitted once or twice a week, will keep
even a cellar in good condition. I tried to
make the reason clear to you: that ordinary
warm air let into a cool apartment shrinks, and,
like a moist sponge when you squeeze it, tends
to part with its humidity; while a cold current,
passing through a warm space, expands, and
tends to suck up any particles of moisture that
come in its way."
"But you said it might be necessary to have
a fire in the furnace, just to dry off the house
- and that makes hot air," Gid murmured
For a moment Fred Melverton appeared
slightly discomfited. The young man who
was named for a Chinese city looked as if he
enjoyed Gid's answer, as he did everything
that could be turned into a joke.
Your philosophy has got a poke under the
fifth rib, Melf!-if philosophy can be said
to have a fifth rib," he remarked dryly, while
his eyes danced with suppressed fun.
A hopeful smile dawned, struggled, and
finally spread all over Gid's face, as for a
moment he was made to imagine that he had
really advanced an argument that had perhaps
floored a Melverton.
But Fred was not entirely prostrate, as Can-
ton Quimby was pleased to observe; he was
pausing to think how he should shape an ex-
planation that would enter even the dullest
comprehension. Not so complimentary to
Gid's wit as Gid supposed.
You say I spoke of a furnace fire. I did;
and I said I would send word to you if I
thought it necessary to build one. Now, what
does a furnace fire do ? It takes the air from
out-of-doors, even humid air, and expands it
so that it becomes a volume of comparatively
dry air when it is poured through the registers.
Then all of the air in the house that is n't
driven out by it warms and expands also, and
becomes thirsty to absorb moisture. Do I
make myself understood? "

Seeing the blank expression come again into
Gid's face, Fred Melverton turned once more
to his friend.
"A little common sense is a good thing to
use on occasions!" he remarked, with an air
that implied a conscious possession on his part
of more than an average share of the quality
in question.
"I '11 go in now and open the windows,"
Gid volunteered.
Never mind," said Fred; I am going to
take my friend in, and I will attend to them.
Come, Quimby!" producing a key from his
pocket, turning it in the lock, and throwing the
broad front door wide open.
Gid was n't greatly disturbed by the little
lecture upon ventilation; any uneasiness that
might have been caused by Fred's faultfinding
being lost in a deeper anxiety. With a scared
smile he watched the two young men as they
passed on into the house, and then he returned
slowly to his lawn-mower.



AH, I like hard-wood floors!" said Can-
ton Quimby, as he was ushered into the ample
hallway of the Melverton mansion. "And
these are fine ones!"
If there 's anything my mother particularly
prides herself upon," Fred Melverton replied,
it is her oak floors. They 're neat, but they
require a vast deal of attention. They must
be skilfully laid, and scraped, and dressed, in the
first place. Then they have to be kept waxed,
polished, and dusted every hair or speck
of lint shows; but all that is very well. The
great trouble is that they shrink, and the seams
open, when you have hot furnace fires in
winter; and, on the other hand, they swell and
bulge if the house gathers dampness in sum-
mer. Hence the need of careful management
of your fires, and of a rational system of ven-
tilation. I explained everything to that boy the
first day he was here, and you see the result."
"We must n't expect too much of the aver-
age human biped's intelligence," said Quimby,


as the two passed on into the dining-room.
"What a floor for a roller-skating rink!" he
exclaimed, laughing.
My mother would be horrified if she should
hear you say that," replied his friend. "Sit
down, old fellow, and I '11 see if I can scare
up a little refreshment. I think it will be ac-
ceptable after our eighteen-mile run, and with
another eighteen miles before us."
He started to open a window on the side
of the piazza.
Look at that 1" he exclaimed. This sash
is n't fastened. Nothing to prevent a person
outside from pushing it up and walking right
in Pretty careless, I say, if it 's true that boy
has n't been in and unfastened it this morn-
ing. I rather think it 's a good thing I took
a run up here to look after matters."
"It 's a magnif' old dining-room!" Canton
Quimby remarked, casting an admiring eye
over the walls and ceiling. Then, seating him-
self with a smile of content near the table of
polished antique oak, he went on to praise the
stained glass over the sideboard, the fireplace,
and the carved mantel, in a way that made his
friend pause and regard him with quiet satis-
"Say all that to my mother if you wish to
please her. This dining-room is her favorite
room. Now sit and admire it, while I see
what I can find. I can't promise much. I fore-
warn you that we 've come to a poverty-stricken
"'Beggars all, beggars all, Sir John!'"
quoted his friend, with a laugh.
You '11 find, to your sorrow, there 's more
truth in that, in our case, than there was in
Master Shallow's," replied Fred.
From an adjoining china-closet he brought
out a dish of crackers and a jar of olives that
had been left behind by the family in its flight;
and, putting a plate before his friend, bade him
"nibble" while he went in search of some-
thing moist "; at the same time winking sug-
gestively, and making with his mouth a sound
as of a popping cork.
I 'm glad I came," said Quimby, winking
in return, and proceeding to harpoon an olive
with the long-handled jar-fork. Do you
know," he called after Fred, who was departing

for the cellar, "in the six months we spent in
Italy and France, we never saw such olives as
these ? "
"That 's another observation that will please
my worthy mama," Fred replied, pausing with
his hand on the door-knob. But that may not
be saying very much; one never seems to see
any first-class olives in Italy."
He went off in high spirits, was gone an un-
conscionable while," his friend thought, and
finally returned with a frown on his brow, and
a solitary pint bottle in his hand.
"You '11 think I 'm a jolly fraud!" he de-
clared. "I could have sworn there were at
least three or four bottles of cider in the case.
But the bottles of cider have been reduced to
mere cider-bottles all empty but this "
"Well, that will be empty pretty soon; so
don't worry," the guest replied gaily.
"But I 'm astonished-I 'm mortified!"
Fred exclaimed. It's like the fox inviting the
crane to supper- though in this instance the
fox is as badly off as the crane."
You don't imagine that lubber outside -? "
Quimby suggested. I noticed he smole a
smile, when he saw us coming in, not quite
healthy; like a smile raised under glass--rather
forced; not the smile of an easy-conscienced
"I did n't notice it." Fred opened the bot-
tle, darkly musing. "I '11 have him in here,
and start an inquisition."
"There, there! Hold your horses! cried
the guest, as Melverton was filling his glass.
"Don't give me more than my share, or I '11
swap glasses with you. Good sparkle, hey?
I 'm glad he had the considerashe to leave us
even one bottle "
"I really can't think he has taken any,"
Fred remarked, seating himself opposite his
friend. "He is n't that kind of a boy."
"There are always fewer bottles in a case
than you think there are," the red-haired one
suggested, as he nibbled and sipped. To be
quite confidensh with you, Melf, your little lunch
is n't half bad It goes to the right spot -if
I 've got a right spot, and know where to locate
it. The cider 's splendid; just the right age.
And enough of it. I never take anything
stronger. I 'm a tee-tote, myself."


So am I," said Fred; though I think we
might stand another bottle, without breaking a
pledge. Now,"-he put a fragment of cracker
into his mouth, and rose, leaving his glass un-
finished,-" I 've told you what my mother is
proud of; what I 'm proud of, is here."

So saying, he pulled the drawer open, and
then stood looking down into it with dumb
What's the troub'? cried the guest, also ris-
ing from the table, with an olive in his fingers.
"The cup!" ejaculated the dazed young


Oh, your prize I had n't forgotten that,"
replied the guest; that being, indeed, one thing
he had made the morning's ride to see.
Melverton turned to the sideboard, reached
under the shelf, found the key, fitted it in the
lock, and uttered an exclamation. The key
would n't turn!
But it turns the other way," he said imme-
diately. Do you see ?-the drawer was n't
locked! Strange things happen in this house,
in our absence! "

man, pulling the drawer well out, and staring
into it. "The cup is gone!"
With hurry and trepidation Fred opened in
turn all the drawers, then backed away from
the sideboard, regarding it with brows con-
tracted and lips compressed, in utter amaze-
ment and incredulity.
Then he turned to his companion.
You '11 think I 'm a bigger fraud than ever "
he exclaimed. "But, by George! wherever it's
gone, there was a cup!"


~t b it "It-




ST. NICHOLAS has already told you about
" Owney" (in the number for March, 1894),
and you all know that he is the queer travel-
ing dog, who likes nothing so well as going
on the trains with the mail-bags North and
South and East and West.
He has traveled from Alaska to Texas, from
Nova Scotia to Florida, from Pennsylvania to
Missouri-making side journeys and "stop-
overs as pleased him, either for rest or feeding.
As you have been told, he first joined the
Post-Office Department at Albany, New York.
He either wandered in or was left there by
some boy who came on an errand. Not being
a letter, he was never advertised, and never
called for.
Owney's pedigree is not worth bragging
about; he is mainly what is known as a mon-

grel, but he has signs of some purer blood.
Neither is he a handsome dog, but he has ex-
cellent qualities, and is kindly and intelligent.
When Owney found himself an uncalled-for
package, he did not begin to whine, or bark,
or fear he was unwelcome, but sought to
make himself agreeable, and to win friends.
Finding that Uncle Sam was willing to keep
him in comfortable quarters, Owney gladly ac-
cepted the situation. And now, no matter how
far away he may travel, he is known as
"Owney, the Albany Post-Office Dog," and is
everywhere considered as a popular member of
the department.
How do you know when Owney has gone
on a trip ?" I asked the man who especially
looks after Owney's interests.
Why, when the cat comes in the office, we


know that Owney is away," he replied. "And
the dog is away from home so much, that the
cat is seldom obliged to move out."
"Tell me how he begins a journey. Does
he know which is the postal-car? "
Know? Of course he does. He knows a
postal-car as well as any postal-clerk. When
the mail is sent to the station, Owney jumps on
the wagon, and stays there until the last bag
is thrown into the car. If he feels like taking
a journey, he then jumps aboard the car, barks
good-by, and away he goes. Once on the train,
he is the guest of the clerks at the offices along
the road."
He wears a fine silver collar, marked "Owney,
Albany P. 0., Albany, N. Y.," and with him is
often forwarded a book in which is kept a rec-
ord of places he visits; and a very interesting
story the book tells.
The first entry is New Westminster, British
Columbia." Then comes "Seattle, Washington
Territory." Next, Owney was the guest of the

While he was at Bozeman, Montana, and, I
fancy, a little homesick, this letter was written
for him to his good friends at Albany:

DEAR FOLKS: I arrived here last night safe and sound
from Spokane. I go to Helena, Montana, to-morrow.
I have twenty medals on my collar, am fat, and feel well.
I start east on the 4th. I will be glad to see you all.
Your friend, OWNEY.
Detroit, Michigan, contributed this short bit of
Owney is a tramp, as you can plainly see.
Only treat him kindly, and take him 'long wid ye.

Baltimore joins in with this:

Once there was a dog that took it in his head
Never to stay at home, ever to roam instead.
You have him now: send him on ahead.

At Seattle Owney was so well treated that he
stayed a long time-for him. In fact, he
jumped from the postal-car and returned there
for another good time. A blue ribbon was
attached to his collar by an admiring friend.

iA --


post-office at Portland, Oregon, after which he A letter from the Railway Clerks' Association
is found at Hardacre, Minnesota, under which at Atlanta, Georgia, says:
name occur these lines: ........ .1 ..t;m., ir Afior cnncontin, to
u itr decc ti.. .. heeA-rco -nigt

On'y one Owney,
And this is he;
The dog is alone,
So let him be.

Owney recervt anll ovt l o n v ......> ..ov..-... --
sit for his photograph, and answering several questions,
he was decorated with a medal bearing the inscription,
" Compliments of the R. R. Club," and was carried by
members to the postal-car.


,', :..

- .: -


Among Owney's chiefest trophies is a dupli-
cate of the seal of the Postmaster-General. A
tag made of California tin was given to him in
San Francisco.
Postal-clerks everywhere are loud in their
praises of the dog. One of them writes:

Owney is excellent company. When we arrive at
stations where the train stops twenty minutes for re-
freshments," the dog walks into the station and barks
for bones. When the bell rings "All aboard! he is
the first one on the train.
He can tell the difference between a whistle for a
crossing, and that for a station; while he ignores the
first, he is up and ready when the station whistle blows.
He takes his place on the platform, and waits until the
mail is thrown off, and then goes back to bed on the

There was some talk of sending Owney to
the World's Fair at Chicago, with all his medals,

and I am sure that, on his merits, he would
have taken first prize.
At a San Francisco kennel exhibition, Owney
received a very handsome silver medal as the
" Greatest Dog-Traveler in the World."
But the little dog is more than a mere curi-
osity. He is a faithful friend and companion.
It is said that several times a sleepy and
worn-out postal-clerk, who had fallen asleep,
forgetful of the stations, has been wakened by
Owney's barking, and has thus been reminded
to throw off the mail-bag.
Owney has never been "held up" by train-
robbers, but he has been in more than one
wreck. Except for the loss of the sight of one
eye, however, the dog is still in good trim.
You have heard of his wanderings-now
you shall hear of his home-coming.
When he reaches the Albany Post-Office, he


walks in with wagging tail, and beaming with
joy to be at home again. Going up to the
good friend who looks after him, Owney rubs
against him and licks his hands. Thus he bids
all the clerks good-morning, wags his tail for a
"how-d'-ye-do ? and, returning to the spot he
left months ago, Owney lies down and sleeps
for hours. But after this first greeting there is
no familiarity.
While in Albany, Owney goes to a certain
restaurant near the post-office, and then care-
fully selects, from the food offered, just the
bones he prefers. He
arrives there every day
at the same hour. If'
the restaurant fails to
supply the food that
Owney is seeking, he
goes to a hotel across
the street, where he is
sure to find a meal. i
From Mr. George
H. Leck, of Lawrence, .'
who took Owney's pic- -.
ture, comes a letter to -
the editor of ST. NICHO-
LAS telling how the
famous dog behaved
when he sat for his
portrait. At first Ow-
ney ran about the stu-
dio, and seemed anxious
to find a way out; but
when the dog saw that
a mail-pouch had been
placed for him to sit
upon, he at once lost
his restlessness and
made an excellent sitter.
"I had no trouble in
taking all the views I
wanted, as long as he
was on the pouch," OWNEY'S HA
says the photographer.
Mr. Leck repeats a story that tells how the
letter-carriers of Lawrence, Massachusetts, kept
Owney as an attraction for their picnic, which
was to be held two weeks after Owney's arrival.
The dog was very interesting to the visitors,

but though his hosts treated him well, he be-
came ugly before the end of his stay because
he was kept from taking the trains.
Owney does not like to be interfered with,
and makes a fuss unless he is allowed to take
the first train that leaves a station. Of course
the dog does n't care where he goes, but the
post-office clerks like to send him where their
friends will see him, when he happens to get
off the through lines.
Mr. Leck relates also that before the Boston
Union Station was built Owney would cross


the city at midnight or any other hour, and
would take little trips for himself, returning
just before train time.
When Owney's picture was taken his tags
were few -he had been unloaded. The dog's


collar is full, and his original harness is full.
Owney values his collar, and knows that it in-
troduces him to strangers in the postal service.
It is easily slipped off, and he allows it to be
taken off and examined; but after he has given
his friends a reasonable time for study of the
tags, checks, and other attachments, the dog
shows very plainly that he would like to have
the collar put on again.

Once while the clerks were looking over the
recent tags a mail-train arrived, and they put
down the collar to go to work on the mail.
But the dog was not willing to leave his collar,
and, putting his nose through it, he slipped it
on for himself. After the clerks had learned of
this accomplishment they often used to make
Owney exhibit his cleverness by repeating the
performance before their friends.


7L; I

'V- "
.i I


(A True Story.)

IT was a new gun and a big one-big enough
for most boys to crawl through, though they
would have had to crawl forty feet before reach-
ing the other end.
One boy did try it, but when he was half-way
through he became tired, and then got fright-
ened at his cramped position and began to cry.
Some workmen heard him, and, looking in to
see which way he was heading, they put a long
rammer-staff against his feet, and shoved him
out as they would a shot.
We were testing this big gun to see that it

was sound and strong. We always tested every
gun before it went into service.
We" consisted of the captain who super-
intended the tests, of the men who loaded and
worked the gun, of the lookout who scanned
the water with a telescope to see that the range
was clear, of myself who aimed and fired the
gun, and, last but not least, of my dog, Bomb-
shell." I called him Bombshell because he
was so fond of the shooting. He was always
on hand when we tested a gun, and I cannot
recall a single trial that he missed.

domm @.W. g aJII~mgB




Bombshell was a handsome Irish setter, and
had more sense than most people. There were
few things that he did not understand. He
might not see through them at first, but if he
did not he would think about them, and reason
over them until he did understand them.
I know that he did think and reason, for
I had seen him do it many times.
No one who knew Bombshell ever doubted
that he reasoned and thought, but occasionally
I would find a stranger who was not inclined to
believe it, and then I would tell him the follow-
ing story: My parlor was a front casemate
which opened by an arch into my bedroom, a
back casemate. A casemate may be described
as a room in the wall of a fort, generally in-
tended, in war time, to hold a gun or powder,


while in time of peace many of them, like mine,
are fitted up for use as quarters for officers
and soldiers.
Bombshell had his own bed in the back case-
mate; but he preferred my bed, and would use
it whenever he could. I had tried to break
him of the habit, but had not been successful.
One day he came in wet and muddy, and, as
usual, he curled up on my white counterpane.
The result was awful! As much as I hated to
do so, I felt obliged to give him a thrashing.
I never caught him on my bed again. He
would still get on it; but, no matter how
quietly I came in, I would always find him on
the floor, though I could see from the rumpled
condition of the bed that he had been on it,
and often the spot where he had slept would
still be warm.


One evening I went out, leaving Bombshell
lying by the parlor stove.
Out of curiosity I peeked through the half-
turned slats of my shutters and watched him.
From my position I was able to see the whole
of both of my rooms.
For a while Bombshell did not move; then
he raised his head and looked at the door;
finally he got up, stretched himself, yawned
sleepily, walked to the bed, jumped up, and put
his fore paws on it. Standing in this position, a
thought struck him, and he said to himself:
Suppose that my master has n't gone ? He
will catch me, and then I will get a licking.
I '11 go and make certain that he is not coming
I know that he said this because he took his
paws off the bed, walked cautiously back to
the front door, and, with his ear close to the
crack, he listened. At last, satisfied that I had

l ".-.-..--'---

1 U n .. .. _._
j u:A,





really gone, he trotted back to the bed; jumped
on it, curled up, and went to sleep.
After such a clever act I thought that he
had earned his sleep, so I went away and
left him.
Bombshell, I was sure, had reasoned out
everything connected with the firing of a gun.
He knew that the powder made the noise,
that the shot did the damage, that the lookout
saw that the range was clear, and that the
bomb-proof was to shelter us in case the gun
should prove weak and burst.

that to him had been intrusted the duty of see-
ing that the range was clear.
But when we started for the bomb-proof, in-
stead of following us, as was his custom, Bomb-
shell remained on the parapet, looking out to
sea and sniffing the air. In a moment he
dashed off through the bushes which covered
the narrow beach between the parapet and the
Though thinking his actions peculiar, I was
sure that he would not remain in front of the
gun, because he had done so once, when quite


While a gun was being loaded, Bombshell
would sit on the parapet and watch the opera-
tion. That finished, he would jump up and
look out to sea over the range, and then
scamper down from the parapet and follow us
into the bomb-proof.
As usual, Bombshell was on hand to see the
test of the new big gun.
He superintended the loading, and, while I
was aiming the gun, he looked over the range
as carefully as did the lookout; and from his
air of responsibility one might have supposed

young and inexperienced, and the burning
grains of powder-which are always thrown
out by the blast of a gun-had buried them-
selves in his skin, burning him badly. He had
never forgotten this.
Certain that he would take care of himself,
I paid no further attention to him, but went
with the others into the bomb-proof, and took
my place by the electric key, ready to fire at
the command of the captain.
Just as the command Fire! was about to
be given, Bombshell reappeared on the parapet


and began to bark furiously into the very muz-
zle of the gun.
I called to him, but he would not come.
Annoyed at the delay of the test, I tried to
catch him, but could not do so. As I ap-
proached he retreated, still barking and appar-
ently urging me to follow him.
Finally, convinced from the dog's actions
that something was wrong, the electric wire
was disconnected from the gun, and I followed
Bombshell. Wagging his tail with joy at hav-
ing accomplished his object, he led me through
the underbrush to the beach.
There, concealed behind a clump of bushes,
were two little children quietly digging in the
sand and entirely unconscious of the danger in
which they had been.
I knew then that when Bombshell had been

standing on the parapet sniffing the air he had
been saying to himself:
"Some people are in front of the gun. I can
smell them. If they are there when the gun is
fired they will be burnt, as I was, and perhaps
deafened besides by the blast of the discharge.
I must find out for certain and prevent the gun
from being fired."
Bombshell received great praise for his saga-
city, and the men declared that he deserved a
medal, so they had one made and presented it
to me. Bombshell wears it on his collar now,
and on it is engraved:
"Presented to Bombshell as a reward for
having saved two little children from serious
injury by the discharge of a large gun."
Bombshell is very proud of his medal, and I
believe that he knows its meaning.



IF Santa Claus should stumble,
As he climbs the chimney tall
With all this ice upon it,
I 'm 'fraid he 'd get a fall
And smash himself to pieces-
To say nothing of the toys!
Dear me, what sorrow that would bring
To all the girls and boys!
So I am going to write a note
And pin it to the gate,-
I '11 write it large, so he can see,
No matter if it 's late,-
And say, Dear Santa Claus, don't try
To climb the roof to-night,
But walk right in, the door 's unlocked,
The nursery 's on the right!"


'Tht Litte


DID you ever hear the story of that little peanut
That funny little man, that cunning little man?
Who wore a fancy costume made on a novel plan,
Whose eyes were made of ink-strokes, whose
nose was all a-whack,
Whose mouth was nothing else than a crooked
little crack,




-* / ,- ?' ,, ,,,':,
,,"' \." -,',e ii, ', '

Whose legs were made of matches, whose clothes
were made of patches?
Oh, that funny little, cunning little peanut man!

With arms both set akimbo-oh, he was a funny
sight I
That funny little man, that cunning little man!
He had whiskers made of worsted, all striped in
black and white;
is head hewore a comical and high-peaked paper hat,
Sa feather in the rim of it. What do you think
.:.i that?
S'i : r.:: was he ? Now you ask it, I think 't was
i, a basket.
i, that funny little, cunning little peanut
ii in !

i--. "And the basket? In the parlor un-
derneath a great arm-chair,
''.'i. .- That funny little man, that cunning
little man !
For it was Ethel's birthday, and the
cousins all were there,
And they had a peanut party, which,
.. you know, is lots of fun,
SAnd all the peanuts had been found,
except this slyest one;
When something Nellie spied, and
,. this is what she cried:
"Oh, that funny little, cunning little
peanut man!"



THE LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM asks us to say that the
unprecedented number of answers received to the puz-
zle-poem, Marian's Adventure," has upset all calcula-
tions, and made it impossible to reach a decision in time
for this number of ST. NICHOLAS.
To give some idea of the deluge of letters, it need only
be said that fully five thousand came in during the first
ten days.
The answers are being examined as rapidly as is prac-
ticable, and the awards of prizes will surely be ready for
the January ST. NICHOLAS.

OUR young readers may like to hear more about
Cdedmon than is told in the poem on page 145 of this
Caedmon lived in the seventh century, and was a ser-
vant in Hild's monastery, that stood on a high cliff over-
looking the German Ocean, at Whitby in Yorkshire
(the same town mentioned in the story Betty Leices-
ter's English Christmas "). The gift of song, or poetry,
came to Cedmon in a dream, after he was a mature man.
He wrote a poem, telling, in the English of his day, the

events recorded in the Old and New Testaments, most
copies of which were then, of course, in Latin, and not
read by the common people.
Cedmon's poem was considered a masterpiece in his
own day, and portions of it have been preserved to this
time: one quotation, it is believed, was recorded by
Good King Alfred himself.
As the earliest specimen of English verse, and an at-
tempt to tell the Bible stories for the people, Cedmon's
lines are now sure of preservation, and may therefore
truly be said to sing for aye."
It is not certain what form of harp was played upon by
Cadmon, but probably it was a smaller harp than the
illustrator of the poem has chosen. Still, tall harps were
known in the earliest times, and may have been used
occasionally in England.

ALL readers of ST. NICHOLAS will be glad to learn
that with the January number we shall begin a new
serial by the author of" Chris and the Wonderful Lamp."
The new story is called Sindbad, Smith & Co."


THE readers of the interesting article, in this num-
ber, about Owney will be glad to see the following
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been taking you for
two years, and always look forward to your coming.
The great "Cotton States and International Exposi-
tion" is in full blast now, and there are many things to
be seen; but what I want to tell you about is an exhibit
in the United States Government Building, which will
interest all who read the story of" Owney, of the Mail-
I send you an exact copy of the letter.

RAILWAY MAIL SERVICE. Office of Superintendent.
NEW YORK, N. Y., May I9th, 1894.
HON. JAMES E. WHITE, Gen. Supt R. S.
Enclosed herewith I send you a package of medals
taken from the dog "Ownie" for the Postal Museum,
as you request. R. C. JACKSON.

There were puzzles, souvenir spoons, key-rings,
name-plates, railroad checks, hotel checks, medals, tags,
etc. Your devoted reader,

IT appears that the United States has not a monopoly
of railroad-traveling canines. A correspondent of the
"Spectator" sends from South Australia the following
story of a dog who is never happy except when traveling
by railway: His name is Railway Bob,' and he passes
his existence on the train, his favorite seat being on top
of the coal-box. In this way he has traveled many thou-

sands of miles, going over all the lines in South Austra-
lia. He is well known in Victoria, is frequently seen in
Sydney, and has been up as far as Brisbane! The most
curious part of his conduct is that he has no master, but
every engine-driver is his friend. At night he follows
home his engine-driver of the day, never leaving him or
letting him out of his sight until they are back in the
railway-station in the morning, when he starts off on an-
other of his ceaseless journeyings."
As the last report from Owney says that he was
"coaxed on board of the Northern Pacific steamer at
San Francisco," it may be that Bob and Owney will
some day be fellow-passengers on an Australian train.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: This is the third year we have
taken your delightful magazine.
This summer we camped on Mt. Breckinridge, which
belongs to the Sierra Nevada range, and is seven thou-
sand feet above the sea-level. In coming the forty-three
miles from Bakersfield we rise sixty-five hundred feet.
On top of the mountain there is a saw-mill which is
busily sawing the pine-trees into lumber.
My brothers have a burro and cart, and my older sister
and myself have a saddle-horse.
There is a bear-trap about two miles from our camp,
and they have caught eight bears in it this season. Twice
they have caught cubs, and the mother bear has helped
her cubs out.
Many wild flowers were in bloom when we came in
June, and among the prettiest was the Mariposa lily,


THE LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM asks us to say that the
unprecedented number of answers received to the puz-
zle-poem, Marian's Adventure," has upset all calcula-
tions, and made it impossible to reach a decision in time
for this number of ST. NICHOLAS.
To give some idea of the deluge of letters, it need only
be said that fully five thousand came in during the first
ten days.
The answers are being examined as rapidly as is prac-
ticable, and the awards of prizes will surely be ready for
the January ST. NICHOLAS.

OUR young readers may like to hear more about
Cdedmon than is told in the poem on page 145 of this
Caedmon lived in the seventh century, and was a ser-
vant in Hild's monastery, that stood on a high cliff over-
looking the German Ocean, at Whitby in Yorkshire
(the same town mentioned in the story Betty Leices-
ter's English Christmas "). The gift of song, or poetry,
came to Cedmon in a dream, after he was a mature man.
He wrote a poem, telling, in the English of his day, the

events recorded in the Old and New Testaments, most
copies of which were then, of course, in Latin, and not
read by the common people.
Cedmon's poem was considered a masterpiece in his
own day, and portions of it have been preserved to this
time: one quotation, it is believed, was recorded by
Good King Alfred himself.
As the earliest specimen of English verse, and an at-
tempt to tell the Bible stories for the people, Cedmon's
lines are now sure of preservation, and may therefore
truly be said to sing for aye."
It is not certain what form of harp was played upon by
Cadmon, but probably it was a smaller harp than the
illustrator of the poem has chosen. Still, tall harps were
known in the earliest times, and may have been used
occasionally in England.

ALL readers of ST. NICHOLAS will be glad to learn
that with the January number we shall begin a new
serial by the author of" Chris and the Wonderful Lamp."
The new story is called Sindbad, Smith & Co."


THE readers of the interesting article, in this num-
ber, about Owney will be glad to see the following
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been taking you for
two years, and always look forward to your coming.
The great "Cotton States and International Exposi-
tion" is in full blast now, and there are many things to
be seen; but what I want to tell you about is an exhibit
in the United States Government Building, which will
interest all who read the story of" Owney, of the Mail-
I send you an exact copy of the letter.

RAILWAY MAIL SERVICE. Office of Superintendent.
NEW YORK, N. Y., May I9th, 1894.
HON. JAMES E. WHITE, Gen. Supt R. S.
Enclosed herewith I send you a package of medals
taken from the dog "Ownie" for the Postal Museum,
as you request. R. C. JACKSON.

There were puzzles, souvenir spoons, key-rings,
name-plates, railroad checks, hotel checks, medals, tags,
etc. Your devoted reader,

IT appears that the United States has not a monopoly
of railroad-traveling canines. A correspondent of the
"Spectator" sends from South Australia the following
story of a dog who is never happy except when traveling
by railway: His name is Railway Bob,' and he passes
his existence on the train, his favorite seat being on top
of the coal-box. In this way he has traveled many thou-

sands of miles, going over all the lines in South Austra-
lia. He is well known in Victoria, is frequently seen in
Sydney, and has been up as far as Brisbane! The most
curious part of his conduct is that he has no master, but
every engine-driver is his friend. At night he follows
home his engine-driver of the day, never leaving him or
letting him out of his sight until they are back in the
railway-station in the morning, when he starts off on an-
other of his ceaseless journeyings."
As the last report from Owney says that he was
"coaxed on board of the Northern Pacific steamer at
San Francisco," it may be that Bob and Owney will
some day be fellow-passengers on an Australian train.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: This is the third year we have
taken your delightful magazine.
This summer we camped on Mt. Breckinridge, which
belongs to the Sierra Nevada range, and is seven thou-
sand feet above the sea-level. In coming the forty-three
miles from Bakersfield we rise sixty-five hundred feet.
On top of the mountain there is a saw-mill which is
busily sawing the pine-trees into lumber.
My brothers have a burro and cart, and my older sister
and myself have a saddle-horse.
There is a bear-trap about two miles from our camp,
and they have caught eight bears in it this season. Twice
they have caught cubs, and the mother bear has helped
her cubs out.
Many wild flowers were in bloom when we came in
June, and among the prettiest was the Mariposa lily,


which is found in so many different shades that it is often
hard to find two exactly alike. It was a question be-
tween that and the eschscholtzia (or California poppy),
when the latter was chosen for the State flower.
Your devoted reader, HARRIET R. W--.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a Hawaiian-born Ameri-
can girl, twelve years old. My father is the Chief Jus-
tice of the Hawaiian Republic. I have one sister and
seven brothers, the two eldest being Juniors in Yale
There are many kinds of fruit here: alligator-pears,
guavas, bananas, mangos, 'papayas, mountain-apples,
oranges, limes, tamarinds, and many other kinds.
My father has fifteen riding-horses, and about three
carriage-horses. I have a horse, Mexican saddle, side-
saddle, bridles, and blanket of my own.
Every summer, all of our family spend a month in the
country at my cousin's horse- and cattle-ranch.
We all ride over there on horseback, except my father
and mother. After our visit there, we ride around the
island. It is sixty miles. We ride forty miles, a day;
but I never get tired.
I think the Hawaiian Islands a very nice place to live
in. We have the sun all the time except when it rains,
and in our winter the nights are only a little cooler than
the summer nights.
There are eight islands in this group. Honolulu is
on the island of Oahu.
Your sincere reader, SOPHIE B. J- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Although I have taken your
paper for five years, I have never before written to you.
I have enjoyed ST. NICHOLAS ever so much, and all
my friends that take it pronounce it "a corker," "a
dandy," "a brick." Perhaps these expressions are
very bad and slangy, but I am sure they are the most
expressive of good opinion.
When I was a little girl, as indeed I am now, I used
to be very fond of making bits of poetry.
My first piece I wrote some three years ago, and called
it "Mayflowers." The family all thought it "perfectly
lovely," but of course it was something too funny to
read, it was so full of mistakes, and lines that did n't
rhyme. Then another silly piece was entitled Lady
Moon," and another "The Seasons." I tried to make
them all just as poetic as possible, and sometimes would
lie awake at night trying to think of rhymes.
The enclosed is one written two years ago, when I
was twelve.
Yours very sincerely, "BLUNDERBUSS."


'T Is Christmas day; goodwill to all,
And unto all be peace!
Let all the world be as one man,
And let all sorrow cease.

The youthful choir in the old gray church
Are singing with joy and mirth,
While the snow piles high upon the walls,
Of the dear old Mother Earth.

The holly-wreath and mistletoe
Are heaped in every hall,
And a fire burns on every hearth,
As the snowflakes gently fall.

Along the road at every bend,
The sleigh-bells' ring is heard.
The snow is scattered, here and there,
With crumbs for every bird.

So once a year, when Christmas comes,
Let every sorrow cease;
And let there be for everyone--
Joy, and goodwill, and peace.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been taking you three
years, and am much interested in your stories.
I am a little girl ten years old, and live in a small vil-
lage called Bromley, situated on the banks of the pretty
little Bay Minette creek. Mother and I live with my
aunt, who has ten children. We have great fun in the
summer: fishing, rowing, and bathing in the creek.
My aunt has a horse, and as I have no sisters or bro-
thers, I and my cousins go horseback-riding very often.
I have a pet cat named Romeo," and a calf named
"Monte Cristo." They are almost as dear as sister or
brother to me. I love them so, as I have no brothers or
sisters. Your constant admirer and reader,

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Although we have taken
you for four years, I have never written to you before.
When we took you before we used to live at a place
called St. Michael's, much farther north and much colder
than in Wood Island.
Years ago St. Michael's used to be a Russian fort.
There were Russian troops there, and the fort had a
square building like a tower at each corner.
Once the Russians had a fight with the natives, and
you can find old arrow- and spear-heads anywhere around
the fort.
The one guard-house which is standing is full of shot
and bullets.
We have lived in Alaska nearly all our lives.
Your sincere friend and reader, MARY M. G- .

DEAREST ST. NICHOLAS: I have been taking you for
four or five years; you came to us with the snow one
Christmas morning. There are six of us in the family,
four boys and two girls. We live on a large farm of
4000 acres on the Rappahannock River near a pretty
little village named Warsaw. Our house is an old co-
lonial one of much beauty, I think, with lovely grounds.
The house is over one hundred and sixty-two years old,
and has come down directly from old Landon Carter,
one of King Carter's sons, for whom the house was
built. We have great, big rooms and high pitched walls
with tremendous halls. In the hall hangs a large por-
trait of King Carter, and in the dining-room one of Lan-
don Carter. We have eight other portraits in our hall.
We have jolly times dancing in the summer; the hall is
just fine for it. I am very fond of dancing. I like all
your stories. We have Hans Brinker," Sarah Crewe,"
and several of your stories in book form, and I think they
are all jolly. Why, brother and I have to take turns
which shall have ST. NICHOLAS first, or there will be
a fuss My little sister just pores over you. She is a
great little reader, and reads all the time. We have
loads of fun going bathing, crabbing, fishing, and on big
sails. We have lots of fruit in summer, and we drive a
lot, and I ride horseback whenever I like; but I am
sorry to say I am not very fond of it. My brother has


a riding-horse. We have a cunning little pony, too, that
we drive and ride whenever we wish. Good-by, dear
ST. NICHOLAS, hoping you may always prosper.
Your loving and admiring reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I wish I could describe our
beautiful Mt. Rainier to the many readers of your maga-
zine who have never seen it. It lies about ninety-five
miles from the city of Seattle.
Although I have lived in sight of Mt. Rainier for four
years, I have never seen it look twice the same.
This is the Indian legend of Mt. Rainier:
Long, long ago there were twin mountains dwelling
side by side. But they quarreled and had a dreadful
battle. At the end of the conflict a mighty convulsion
threw the mighty brothers together, and formed the beau-
tiful Mt. Rainier, which lies peacefully looking down
upon our "Queen City of Puget Sound."
A small piece of one of the mountains was left by the
side of Mt. Rainier, which is known as Mt. Tacoma.
The mountain is an extinct volcano, and I should feel
sorry to have its loveliness spoiled by fire and lava; so
I do hope that the demon who sleeps beneath Rainier's
peaceful crest will never awake to violence.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Oberlin is a college town in the
northern part of Ohio, sixteen miles south of Lake Erie.
It is a very pleasant place, the streets being lined with
elm, oak, and maple trees, and having large green lawns.
There are a great many wheels in town; 'most everybody
has one; in term time there are from five hundred to six
I have one, and enjoy riding to the neighboring towns
not far from here.
Along the roads there are small paths about a foot in
width, covered with cinders, which make a very nice cycle
path as there is no dust.
Last summer I went to Washington, D. C., and after
seeing the capitol, museum, art gallery, and zoo, we went
to Mount Vernon, George Washington's old home. It
is situated on the Potomac River in a very large grove.
The house is painted white and is two stories high; there
are about twelve rooms in it, and they are furnished in old-
fashioned furniture which is very curious. He and his
Wife are buried in a large brick vault, and the key was
thrown in the river as he wished. An old negro guards
the vault. I must close now.
From your constant reader, D. H. P-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken your magazine
ever since I was four years old, and as I am a little invalid
boy, you can see what pleasure you have afforded me.
I have just come from the Black Hills of Dakota, near
an Indian reservation, and have seen several of the chiefs
we read of so often in the papers.. They were not nearly
so alarming to look at as I had imagined. In fact I be-
came fast friends with one of them, who gave me many
curious Indian trophies, among them a pipe which he said

Sitting Bull had once smoked at a council of the Sioux
Good-by, dear ST. NICHOLAS, with lots of love from
your little friend, WALDO T- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little boy seven years
old; but I can't write very well, as I have only been to
school one winter, so my sister Edith is writing this for
me. We live in Sloatsburg, and the town is very pretty,
though it 's very small. It is very near the Ramapo
River. The railroad track runs very near the road, and
when I was out driving with my papa last August the
horse ran away with us. He was frightened at a freight-
train that was going by, the road was bad, and he went
so fast he threw us both out, and my papa broke his left
I have a black dog named "Jumbo." I call him that
because he is so big. I have taught him how to bring
back a ball, how to speak, and to find a handkerchief.
Your loving little reader, HAROLD J--

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am thirteen years old and live
in the Cape Peninsula. I get two bound volumes of
you nearly every year for my birthday. I think you are
a lovely magazine. I would like to see North America
very much, as I have read so much about it.
I have a dear old dog called "Bruce," and two cats,
"Murray" and "White-nez." Murray is small, black,
and thin, and White-nez is a tabby. They are both dear
cats and are very fond of Bruce. Sometimes Murray goes
up to Bruce and rubs under his nose, and he bites her
gently. She enjoys it.
One girl who goes to school here and who has been to
Scotland, tells me that people have asked her if she was
not afraid lions would eat her in the night. They seemed
to think we lived in huts like Kaffirs.
I know three very nice American girls, Inanda, Elsie,
and Marjorie. Inanda is called after a mission station
her grandfather had up in the northeast of Africa some-
Some girls from Indiana wrote to us at All Saints last
year. Their letters were very interesting, and each of
us in my class took a letter and answered it.
I remain your interested reader,

WE thank the young friends whose names follow for
pleasant letters received from them: Florence Francis,
Dorothy E. and Nathalie A., Nellie P. Q., Suzanne
Gutherz, Bessie B., Mary and Elizabeth T., Solange N.
Jungerich, Helen May Kirkman, Helen Salisbury, Wil-
fred S., Mary E. Benson, Maggie Hudson, Daisy D.
Batr6, Alden and Camilla, Ethel McGinnis, Nellie C. W.,
F. T. P., Helen Leslie P., Marjorie Grant Cook, W. D.
C., Leslie Rand, Mary R. Bucknell, Augusta E. Murray,
Eleanor Wallace, Gladys Salis-Schwabe, "Dee" and
"Jay," Marion L. D., Mamie Irwin McDearmon, St.
John Whitney, Ethel G., Elsie F. and Marjorie P., E.
L. R., Catherine L. J., Gertrude Kellogg, S. Robbins B.,
Edith Mac., Florence C. Muller and Florence C. White,
Olive Scanlen, Helen Louise Morris, Blanche G. S., Al-
bert Willard Chester, Jennet D. B., and Marguerite

-' vi 9
,1 r,

aL '... h iA

S'II t, .

A POETICAL PICNIC. I. The Cry of the Children. 2. In the
Woods. 3. Dora. 4. Maud. 5. Ruth. 6. Genevieve. 7. Bertha
in the Lane. 8. Evelyn Hope. 9. The Miller's Daughter. xo.
We are Seven. nx. The Children's Hour. 12. The Brook. 13.
The Death of the Flowers. 14. The Spanish Gypsy. 15. A Bare-
foot Boy. 16. Tam o' Shant.er. 17. The Vagabonds. 18. A
Maiden with a Milking Pail. r9. Driving Home the Cows. 20.
Divided. 21. A Summer Storm. 22. Resignation. 23. March.
24. The Excursion.
RIDDLE. Aspirate, spirate, pirate, irate, rate, Ate.
MYTHOLOGICAL CUBE. From I to 2, Leprea; I to 3, Latona;
2 to 4, Apollo; 3 to 4, Alecto; 5 to 6, Aurora; 5 to 7, Abaris; 6 to
8, arenas; 7 to 8, sirens; i to 5, Luna; 2 to 6, Asia; 4 to 8, oats; 3
to 7, Acis.
m. Hare. SRornion. a. Pelican.

WORD-SQUARE. i. Satin. 2. Arena. 3. Tenet. 4. Inert. 5-
CHARADE. Goldsmith.
A HANDFUL OF PEAS. i. P-anther. 2. P-article. 3. P-alms.
4. P-earl. 5. P-russia. 6. P-lover. 7. P-ear. 8. P-artisan. 9.
P-robe. to. P-arson. n. P-alter. 12. P-arable. 13. P-arched.
14. P-astern.
RHOMBOID. Across: I. Shame. 2. Erode. 3. Epics. 4. Strap.
5. Sugar.
OCTAGONS. I. 1. Tot. 2. Tiara. 3. Oasis. 4. Trips. 5. Ass.
II. i. Map. 2. Manor. 3. Anile. 4. Poled. 5. Red. III. i.
Ram. 2. Rapid. 3. Apple. 4. Milan. 5. Den.
AN OBLIQUE RECTANGLE. i. N. 2. Bog. 3. Nomad. 4. Ga-
mut. 5. Ducat. 6. Tabor. 7. Token. 8. Rebel. 9. Newel.
io. Legal. I. Latin. 12. Libel. 13. Net. 14. L.

To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and should
be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE SEPTEMBER NUMBER were received, before September i5th, from G. B. Dyer-" Jersey Quar-
tette "--Josephine Sherwood--Helen C. Bennett-Paul Reese-Arthur Gride--Nip and Tuck--Helen Koerper--" Alexine" -
Helen C. McCleary Clive George Bancroft Fernald Emily B. Dunning-" Crawford Trio "-Marjory Gane-" Bessie Chandler"
-L. O. E.-Charles Dwight Reid -" Edgewater Two" -Effie K. Talboys--" Four Weeks of Kane" -Jack and George A.-
Blanche and Fred-" Sand Crabs"- "Count Ersign D."- Clara A. Anthony Marian E. Hamilton "The Butterflies "- Flor-
ence and Flossie-G. A. H.-Ida Carleton Thallon- "Dee and Co."-E. G. L.-" Trenton Trio"-Sigourney Fay Nininger--No
name, Kansas City, Mo.- Addison Neil Clark- Jo and I-" Chiddingstone"- Donald L. and Isabel H. Noble-Kate S. Doty-- Two
Little Brothers Mary Lester and Harry Tod and Yam" -Unsigned.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE SEPTEMBER NUMBER were received, before September i5th, from Helen M. Kirkman, i--Helen L.
Sopoer, I-- Henry Lincoln, 2--No name, i-Florence Harris, I-J. O'Donohoe R., 3--Elsie Tibbetts, i-Betty and Etta, 2- Millie
Campau, 2-- M. Laughlin, in-D. D. V. S. Stuart, i-Mary H. Ricketts, 2-Edythe M. St. Clayre, 4--R. M. Plummer, i--"Smart,
Girl," Io-"The Dr.'s Daughters," 8-Bertha A. Nesmith, i-Sarah Clark, i-Alice C. Baals, 2-Wm. Parker Bonbright, 2-
Willie K, --"Kearsarge," 3-Henry H. Miller, 2-"Duck," 6-G. A. Hallock, 2-Albert Smith Faught. 7-Herbie J. Rose, 2
-Louise C. Brigden, Marie L. Abbott, 2- Leila C., i Gertrude Lucerne, 2-" Knott Innit," to- Jack Miller, 2-J. E. Lehman, 2
- Mary Duther, i Page Powell, I Eleanor H. Dean, I Theo. G. Sisson, 2- Emma Giles, I Ralph W. Kiefer, 2 Mary K. Raise,
--K. B. S., 7-"Goyeneche," ix-C. F. Barrows, 3- Frederica Yeager, 4- Marie Pearce, 2 Gertrude S. Kearny, 2- Bessie Burr,
- -"Jimmie Semicircle," 5-K. T. Comstock, -o -Ethelberta, lo-Chas. J. M., --Clarette 2-- Camp Lake," 9--Adel T. L.
--Franklyn Farnsworth, 1o-" Rose Red," z- "Two Romans," to-- Mildred Guild 8-- Leandcr G. Bowers and Marguerite Sturdy,
no Laura M. Zinser, 8S- No name, Cleveland, 9- Saml. G. Friedman, i- Mary Gabrielle C., 6 --Charles Travis, 6--W. Y. Webbe,
8 -E. and B., 9--K. D. Parmly, 8- Merry and Co.," o--Adelaide M. Gaither, 3--Mt. J. Philin, 7 R. S. B. and A. N. I., 8-
Ethel Wright, I--K. 0. E. G. R. J., 2.


I. IN diamond. 2. An epic poem which celebrates
the exploits of a Spanish hero. 3. A feminine name.
4. A kind of puzzle. 5. To perish in water. 6. A femi-
nine name. 7. In diamond. HORTON C. FORCE.


My primals spell the name of one of the United States;
and my finals, the name of its capital.
CROSS-WORDS: I. Fretful. 2. One of the letters of
the Greek alphabet. 3. Pertaining to a lyre or harp.
4. To bury. 5. The goddess of flowers. 6. Hatred.
7. To elevate. 8. A month of the Jewish year. 9. In-
active. 10. A prefix signifying English. L. Ml. z.


I AM old and cold, I am stern and gray,
But I 'm coining money, day by day.
I hoard and hoard; though much I give,
I shall make money while I live.
And when I die, as die I must,
My brothers will keep my wealth, I trust.
In kitchen-gardens oft I stay;
Sometimes to the fields I stray away;

I hide by the hedge or the fence-rail low,
Or up the hillside creeping go.
Though all must me at their board receive,
Folks love me best just when I leave.
No student, but sharp enough I am
To be wrapped up in Bacon, and pore over Lamb.
And my fiery spirit-like Truth--'t is plain,
Though crushed to earth will rise again."


ALL of the words described contain the same num-
ber of letters. When these are rightly guessed and
placed one below another, in the order here given, the
zigzag, beginning at the upper left-hand letter, will spell a
name popularly given to an important city of the United
CROSS-WORDS: I. A fresh-water fish. 2. Close at
hand. 3. A very small quantity or degree. 4. A low
cart used for heavy burdens. 5. Destiny. 6. At a dis-
tance. 7. A famous city of ancient times. 8. Not dense
or thick. 9. 9. Mimics. Io. In a smaller or lower degree.
II. To be foolishly fond. 12. The god of love. 13. A
carpenter's tool used for chipping or slicing wood. 14.
Measure ofdistance. 15. A.ceremony. 16. The god
of war. L. M. Z.

' '- '7


WHEN the words have been rightly guessed, and
written one below the other, the diagonal (beginning at
the upper left-hand letter, and ending with the lower
right-hand letter) will spell the name of a famous en-
CROSS-WORDS: I. Highly pleasing to the taste. 2.
Misleading. 3. Agreeable to the ear. 4. A chronom-
eter. 5. Indispensable. 6. Abundance. 7. Things
that are unusual or unaccountable. 8. In the middle of
a ship. 9. A state of exhaustion. w. s. F.

inue or company of attendants. My 62-13-53-60-47 is
to pain acutely. My 1-28-38-51-32 is in advance. My
44-34-8-22-56 is lacking strength. My 33-17-48-12-
39-42 are shallow places. My 14-18-2-4-55-61 is frank.
My 24-15-10-52-58-30 is a famous mountain peak in
California. My 20-7-40-37-27-5-49 is to contend.

EXAMPLE: Remove a blood-vessel from a layer of
rock, and leave a farm implement. Answer, Rake-vein.
The part to be removed is sometimes at the beginning,
sometimes in the middle or at the end, of a word.
I. Remove a limb from lawfully, and leave a supporter.
2. Remove a bone from a Roman magistrate, and leave
a melody.
3. Remove a large joint from wooing in love, and leave
4. Remove a limb from a famous fleet, and leave a
feminine name.
5. Remove a joint from a devotional posture, and
leave a large fish.
6. Remove an epidermis from warming in the sun, and
leave a sack.
7. Remove the organ of hearing from pertaining to
this world, and leave a pronoun.
8. Remove the lower part of the face from confirming,
and leave to adhere closely.
9. Remove part of the mouth from a geometrical
name for an oval figure, and leave otherwise.


WHEN the five objects in the above illustration have
been rightly guessed, and the names (which are of equal
length) written one below the other, the central letters
will spell the name of an English general and statesman.

MY hunter is a graceful -
With ears alert at every -,
And eyes that keenly glance
And feet that scarcely touch the -
O'er lofty mount and lowly ,
And field, he runs with fleetest -
Wherever bird or hare is --
His worth, untold by pence or -,
If lost to me, how deep the -- !
(The nine omitted words all rhyme.)
G. L. W.
I AM composed of sixty-two letters, and form a couplet
by Cowper.
My 54-21-9-46 is rapid. My 29-26-41-I6 is one who
entertains. My 43-25-3-35 is a large wading bird. My
11-59-31-19-50 is desires. My 57-36-45-23-6 is a ret-

I. UPPER DIAMOND: I. In trade. 2. A beverage.
3. A European fresh-water fish. 4. Signified. 5. A
stage-player. 6. A pronoun. 7. In trade.
II. LEFT-HAND DIAMOND: I. In trade.. 2. Man-
kind. 3. A fruit. 4. Described. 5. Observed. 6. A
masculine nickname. 7. In trade.
III. CENTRAL SQUARE: I. Assisted. 2. A feminine
name. 3. A first appearance before the public. 4. To
discipline. 5. To be withheld by fear.
small quadruped. 3. To refund. 4. Became gradually
smaller. 5. Weeds. 6. A word which expresses con-
sent. 7. In trade.
V. LOWER DIAMOND: I. In trade. 2. A popular
fancy. 3. A member of a religious order. 4. Infected.
5. Fixed the time of. 6. A color. 7. In trade.
R. H., JR.


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