Front Cover
 How Jack came to Jamestown
 A Christmas white elephant
 Christmas in the Middle Ages...
 Letters to a boy
 Sindbad, Smith and Co.
 When the New Year comes
 Johnny's observations on Christmas...
 The prize cup
 The archer
 By hook or by crook
 The magic turquoise
 A good method
 At the Christmas party (Illust...
 Portrait of the artist's son...
 Betty Leicester's English...
 A nursery song
 The swordmaker's son
 A postal-card race around the world,...
 Teddy and carrots
 How Denise and "Ned Toddles" became...
 The story of a life-saving...
 A Nnew Year's meeting
 The tardy Santa Claus
 "Marion's adventures"
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00306
 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: VID00306
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
    How Jack came to Jamestown
        Page 179
        Page 180
        Page 181
        Page 182
        Page 183
    A Christmas white elephant
        Page 184
        Page 185
        Page 186
        Page 187
    Christmas in the Middle Ages (Illustration)
        Page 188
    Letters to a boy
        Page 189
        Page 190
        Page 191
        Page 192
        Page 193
        Page 194
        Page 195
    Sindbad, Smith and Co.
        Page 196
        Page 197
        Page 198
        Page 199
        Page 200
        Page 201
        Page 202
    When the New Year comes
        Page 203
    Johnny's observations on Christmas Eve
        Page 204
    The prize cup
        Page 205
        Page 206
        Page 207
        Page 208
        Page 209
        Page 210
        Page 211
    The archer
        Page 212
        Page 213
    By hook or by crook
        Page 214
        Page 215
    The magic turquoise
        Page 216
        Page 217
        Page 218
        Page 219
        Page 220
        Page 221
    A good method
        Page 222
    At the Christmas party (Illustration)
        Page 223
    Portrait of the artist's son (Illustration)
        Page 224
    Betty Leicester's English Christmas
        Page 225
        Page 226
        Page 227
        Page 228
        Page 229
        Page 230
        Page 231
    A nursery song
        Page 232
    The swordmaker's son
        Page 233
        Page 234
        Page 235
        Page 236
        Page 237
    A postal-card race around the world, and its remarkable ending
        Page 238
    Teddy and carrots
        Page 239
        Page 240
        Page 241
        Page 242
        Page 243
    How Denise and "Ned Toddles" became acquainted
        Page 244
        Page 245
        Page 246
        Page 247
    The story of a life-saving station
        Page 248
        Page 249
        Page 250
        Page 251
        Page 252
        Page 253
        Page 254
    A Nnew Year's meeting
        Page 255
    The tardy Santa Claus
        Page 255
        Page 256
    "Marion's adventures"
        Page 257
        Page 258
        Page 259
        Page 260
        Page 261
        Page 262
    The riddle-box
        Page 263
        Page 264
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text





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unawn uy F, _EU.HIC;K DUILMAN.



JANUARY, 1896.



" LOOK, mother, look," cried Dorothy Thorne,
At the redbreast robin in yonder tree!"
The good dame came to the cabin door.
"Ay, ay, my child, I see."

" And thinks thou not he sings as sweet
As those in England ? cried the child.
The good dame brushed away the tear
that started as she smiled.

" Look, mother, look! Neighbor Rugg goes by,
And Jonathan Howard, with sacks of
corn -
So many men with heavy sacks have hurried
by this morn."

The good dame stirred the steaming broth
With an even sweep of her wooden spoon.
" Ay, ay, my child; Lord Delaware sets sail
to-morrow noon."

There were groups of women along the shore,
Knitting and watching the busy men.
The boats rowed laden out to the ships,-
rowed empty in again.

Good Mistress Thorne, when dinner was done,
And the pewter dishes back on the shelf,
Combed Dorothy's locks of shimmering gold,
and tidied her buxom self.

"We '11 down to the shore with the rest,"
said she;
I '11 knit some rows on thy father's socks,
And talk with the dames, and thou canst play
with the children on the rocks."

Oh, blue were the skies and green the shores!
And merry the laughter of children that
As they flung their scraps of bark to the
waves and watched them whirl away!

But Dorothy stayed at her mother's side,
For she saw, at sight of the loading ships,
How her mother's eyes grew dim with tears
and a sigh rose up to her lips.

"Ah, Mistress Thorne," cries Mistress Rugg-
And a mournful shaking of heads prevails --
"'T is a woful wind for the Colony
that fills his Lordship's sails!"

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


No. 3.


.. .. .... -- .. .; !-- . J

1 ..4 IT


I -

'. 4 ,A

And they talked of how, before he
With his three stanch vessels from over
the sea,
There was dearth of hope and famine of
bread in Jamestown Colony.

Lord Delaware, on the beach near the boats,
Felt a touch on his gold-embroidered coat;
He turned; it was a fair-haired child,
with a kerchief crossed at her throat.

" Why dost thou go ?" said Dorothy Thorne.
"For the good folk all, they wish thou
wouldst stay.


Their hearts are fearful of hunger and strife.
Why dost thou go away?"

He looked on the serious upturned face.
"I go because I am ill," he said;
" But they need not fear, for General Gates
will serve them in my stead."

"And wilt thou come back when thou art
well ? "
He laid his hand on her golden hair.
Ay, child, God willing, I will come back,"
he said with a thoughtful air.


"And when I come, I shall bring to thee-"
His lips were smiling now as he spoke,
" Shall it be a gown, as brown as thine eyes,
or a beautiful scarlet cloak?"

The brown eyes shone. My lord," she cried,
Oh, wouldst thou bring me, when thou
com'st back,
Not a gown, nor a beautiful scarlet cloak,
but my dog- my Shepherd, 'Jack'?"

- 'I

"Thy dog? thy dog?" Lord Delaware smiled,
And where shall I find him, my little lass? "
"We left him at the King's Crown Inn, in care
of Mistress Cass."

"Thy father is Roger Thore, is he not ?
And thou com'st from Warwickshire ?"
asked he.
' Lord Delaware shall do thy will. Thy dog
shall come to thee."


Prosperity's blessings did not fly
With the flight of those ships--as they
sailed away;
The Colony's wealth, and peace, and strength
grew with each passing day.

,i II


The good Lord Delaware never came back;
-'" But the very next spring, when the shores
were gay
'i 1 With bursting buds, an English ship sailed
into Chesapeake Bay.

-' ', I._- TiThe Goodman Sautern saw it first,
'; '- He sped the news through the quiet town.
,.iij The neighbors left their half-felled trees,
-' i or flung their shovels down.

.",,Wife! wife! an English ship comes in!"
. They'd shout as they passed the cabin door,
S.--.,, 1 And dames forgot their
S..half-baked loaves as
They hurried down
-" to the shore.

-_ ?-w- 7 ,




They thronged the rocks, those hardy men
And brave Virginia dames;
They shouted "Welcome to our shores !" and
Long live good King James "

And Dorothy Thorne ? Yes, she was there.
On her father's shoulder she sat like a queen,
Her brown eyes bright, and her sunny hair
blown out in a golden sheen.

I 'I -' -

I --

Hark! What is that? the bark of a dog?
Look! What is that, like a tassel of corn,

Look, little Dorothy Thorne
Tht aesa te .r..ft.. fr.otbot
Look ,ittle Dorth ....n ,,

"Jack! Jack !" she cries. A splash! A cheer
From those on the shore and those in the
He swims he clambers up the rocks!
Another cheer from a hundred throats.

* II, .

'T was thus Jack came to the Colony,
And from that moment, everywhere
That the colonists saw his shaggy coat,
They looked for the child with the golden hair.



ONE windy night toward the end of January,
Fred was awakened by the slamming of the
folding windows in a room down-stairs.
He lay, reluctant to rise, for some moments,
but on the noise being repeated, sprang out of
bed, and put on his slippers.
Passing the staircase window like I ghost,
he reached the hall, and moved toward the
parlor door. The shutters were closed, and
the room was dark. After feeling about and
upsetting a vase of water filled with flowers,
and a few glasses and ornaments on a table, he
succeeded in finding the matches and struck
a light.
He opened the door of the room whence
the noise was coming; but, as he did so,
the window was blown wide open, his lamp
was extinguished, and he found himself in an
almost forgotten presence.
Majestic and calm, within a few paces of
him, stood the tree, in the great flood of moon-
light which streamed in past the fluttering cur-
Fifteen seconds later, Fred had shuffled up
the staircase, and was coiled up in his bed
He told Cecie in the morning.
The tree's old friends had missed it, she said,
and had come to pay it a visit to see how it was
getting on.
"What friends ? asked Frederick-of-the-
"The Moonlight and the Wind," said Cecie.
Oh," said Fred.
That this little episode impressed Cecie was
evident; but it was not until the following Sat-
urday that she said anything of an idea which
it seemed to have suggested to her. It was the
first time since New Year's that Fred had found
time to run out beyond the city, which he was
in the habit of doing as often as he could, to
spend a few hours in the pure, fresh air of his

favorite woods. Agnes usually accompanied
him, and, for the first time, they yielded to
Cecie's entreaties, and took her also with
These snatches of health-giving air, these
walks, short though they were, on the country
soil, were everything to Fred. Two hours of
freedom amongst the trees, in the silence of the
forest, he used to say, were enough to clear a
week's cobwebs from the brain. They did
more for him that day they solved the prob-
lem of the tree.
To reach their favorite walk it was necessary
to go by steamboat to a station down the river,
and thence climb a short, steep hill to a wood
which stretched for miles beyond. It was apt
to be dusty and less attractive in the summer
months, but in late autumn and winter and
early spring, when deserted by the picnicking
crowd, it was a beautiful and peaceful spot.
The favorite corner of Fred's was a small pond
which lay in the midst of a thicket of young
elms and oaks. When Cecie saw this for the
first time she remained very quiet for some mo-
ments. Two fir-trees growing together at a
corner of the pond seemed to have attracted
her attention.
"What are you thinking about? asked her
"I am thinking why not send our tree out
here and let it grow beside the others ? Look
at these two poor trees standing over there, all
alone. It would be happier too, I think. It
would like to be beside them."
Do you think it would ? asked Fred, mus-
"I am sure of it! cried Cecie, excitedly.
"It would get the dew, and the wind, and the
rain, and the sun, and could grow and grow
all the' time. I am afraid it won't grow much
with us."
An hour afterward they stood on the pier


he is willing.". :-
"Willing what to do ? "
into the woods to live, instead of
keeping it ourselves," said Fred, quite gravely. The snow and ice had disappeared from the
Oh, he will," said Cecie, confidently. I streets and avenues, and in the mild skies of the
will go and ask him. Nurse can take me early days of February there was a glad respite
to-morrow morning -before breakfast-time." from the cold, and a welcome promise of the
"I think I would n't go quite so soon," said coming spring.
her father, with an amused look. Robin The sun no longer hid behind banks of fog;
does n't -I mean Robin is very busy in the but rose from day to .day with clear and lus-
early mornings." trous face. The mists had gathered up their




trains and fled, and the skies were filled with
armies of fleecy clouds. The grass in the parks
seemed already to feel the breath of April, the
crocuses peeped out from their beds of earth
and hurried on their yellow garments, while the
trees donned a livery of tiny buds and stood in
sleepy readiness for the festival. The busy
steamers plying up and down the river became
suddenly gay with color; for the passengers no
longer huddled together in heated cabins, but
crowded out upon the deck that they might
breathe the fresh air.
Beyond the city, nature seemed less eager to
listen to fair promises, for her landscapes lay
still as they had been left by the marauding
winds of winter. The country roads were bleak
and bare, the shrubs and hedges stripped of
their leaves and left stifled with snow and mud,
and the deserted footpaths wandered listlessly
through the maze of trunks and branches and
lawless thorns. Yet when the sun shone into
the thickets and down upon the inert ground,
everything seemed to quicken: the ice re-
treated into the shady corners of the ponds,
the drowsy trees lazily stretched themselves,
and here and there in the recesses a bird took
courage and began piping feeble snatches of
almost forgotten song.
On the afternoon of one of these early Feb-
ruary days the deserted woods seemed quieter
even than they had been in the dead of win-
ter. There was not a breath of wind to ruffle
the surface of the pond beside which a young
fir-tree had recently been planted. Far in the
distance a dog's bark or a cockcrow might be
heard; still farther, perhaps, along, faint whistle
from a train winding along the river's bank; or,
nearer at hand, the rustle of a falling leaf: but
these only served to make the silence more
Close beside two other firs, standing in
friendly reserve somewhat aloof from the at-
tendant herd of young oaks and elms, the new
member of the mute community depended its
lustrous green reflection into the somber mirror
at its feet. Behind it rose the slender stems of
two silver birches. In a corner near at hand
a marsh-willow had burst into a mist of downy
buds; and, still nearer, an old oak, as if to show
an example to the younger members of its

family, who still clung to their tattered cover-
ing of leaves, stretched its bare and rugged
limbs far up above its neighbors, and stood,
stern and weather-beaten, on its carpet of grass
and fallen acorns.
The mossy footpath which skirted the pond
led to a clearing in the wood where it joined
a broader way. This crossed a more open
tract of ground covered with bushes and
clogged with heather and dark-leaved bram-
bles, until at one corner the country road ap-
peared from behind a clump of trees. Be-
tween this corner and the point, some distance
further on, where the road descended the
wooded hill leading to the river, a gardener's
cottage was situated.
At the gate of this cottage, toward sunset on
a February afternoon, three figures were stand-
ing. The one, in colored shirt-sleeves and
ample corduroys, wore a gardener's blue apron;
the others were clad in the more conventional
clothing of the city.
One of them wore a dark hat and cloak, and
beside him stood a little figure dressed in a
quaint gown of blue trimmed with sable. From
beneath the felt and feathers of her hat one of
her blonde curls escaped and lay gracefully
upon her shoulder.
A fourth figure, that of the gardener's wife,
a motherly-looking woman in a faded cotton
dress, presently disappeared into a small green-
house near the cottage, and closed the door
behind her.
Well," said the owner of the blue apron, in
an affable tone, to his visitors, when at length
they prepared to leave, I suppose Missy will
be satisfied now."
"I think so," said the figure in the cloak,
looking down to Missy," who smiled a shy
assent. "I certainly am very well satisfied,"
he added, with a quizzical look, while button-
ing his cloak.
When they set out, a few minutes later, the
sun was glittering behind the trees, the earth
was strong and deep in color, and the sky was
filled with light.
They had reached the point where the road
dipped suddenly in the direction of the steamer
pier, when the door of the greenhouse opened,
and the woman with the faded gown reappeared,


gone, she threw her scissors down upon
a table, ran past her husband, who
-- w-e lingering 9t thle _ate. rnd
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tying up a bouquet as she walked slowly into the middle of the empty road, bareheaded, and
the garden. with cheeks hot and flushed, watching a waving
She did not look up at first, but when cloak and a little dot of blue gradually dis-
she did so and found that the strangers had appearing down the avenue.

~i~T-~--. frr?.i~L~n r d'~;j~WIP l*~m~-.i- 4~~ 'ClS i-hi'tPJ

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"''-~71-4~~a~s~ ~ ~jt-P- r






[WHEN Arick left us and went back to the
German company, he had grown so fat and
strong and intelligent that they deemed he was
made for better things than cotton-picking or
plantation work, and handed him over to their
surveyor, who needed a man to help him. I
used often to meet him after this, tripping at
his master's heels with the theodolite, or scam-
pering about with tapes and chains like a kitten
with a spool of thread. He did not look then
as though he was destined to die of a broken
heart, though that was his end not so many
months afterward. The plantation manager
told me that Arick and a New Ireland boy
went crazy with homesickness, and died in
the hospital together.-L. 0.]


VAILIMA, November 2, 1892.
MY DEAR AUSTIN: First and foremost I think
you will be sorry to hear that our poor friend
Arick has gone back to the German Firm. He
had not been working very well and we had
talked of sending him off before; but remem-
bering how thin he was when he came here,
and seeing what fat little legs and what a com-
fortable little stomach he had laid on in the
meanwhile, we found we had not the heart.
The other day, however, he set up chat to
Henry, the Samoan overseer, asking him who
he was and where he came from, and refusing
to obey his orders. I was in bed in the work-
man's house, having a fever. Uncle Lloyd
came over to me, told me of it, and I had
Arick sent up. I told him I would give him
another chance. He was taken out and asked
to apologize to Henry, but he would do no
such thing. He preferred to go back to the
German Firm. So we hired a couple of Sa-

moans who were up here on a visit to the boys
and packed him off in their charge to the Firm,
where he arrived safely, and a receipt was given
for him like a parcel.
Sunday last the "Alameda" returned. Your
mother was off bright and early with Palema,
for it is a very curious thing, but is certainly the
case, that she was very impatient to get news
of a young person by the name of Austin.
Mr. Gurr lent a horse for the Captain -it was
a pretty big horse, but our handsome Captain, as
you know, is a very big Captain indeed. Now,
do you remember Misi Folo a tall, thin
Hovea boy that came shortly before you left?
He had been riding up this same horse of
Gurr's just the day before, and the horse threw
him off at Motootua corner and cut his hip.
So Misi Folo called out to the Captain as he
rode by that that was a very bad horse, that it
ran away and threw people off, and that he had
best be careful; and the funny thing is, that
the Captain did not like it at all. The foal
might as well have tried to run away with Vai-
lima as that horse with Captain Morse, which
is poetry, as you see, into the bargain; but the
Captain was not at all in that way of thinking,
and was never really happy until he had got
his foot on ground again. It was just then
that the horse began to be happy too, so they
parted in one mind. But the horse is still won-
dering what kind of piece of- artillery he had
brought up to Vailima last Sunday morning.
So far it was all right. The Captain was got
safe off the wicked horse, but how was he to
get back again to Apia and the Alameda?
Happy thought -there was Donald, the big
pack-horse! The last time Donald was ridden
he had upon him a hairpin and a pea-by
which I mean (once again to drop into poetry)
you and me. Now he was to have a rider


more suited to his size. He was brought up
to the door -he looked a mountain. A step-
ladder was put
alongside of him.
The Captain ap-
proached the

-'- l^" f "-'**6'- -

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step-ladder, and he looked an Alp. I was n't
as much afraid for the horse as I was for the
step-ladder, but it bore the strain, and with a
kind of sickening smash that you might have
heard at Monterey, the Captain descended to
the saddle. Now don't think that I am exag-
gerating, but at the moment when that enormous
Captain settled down upon Donald, the horse's
hind legs gave visibly under the strain. What
the couple looked like, one on top of t' other, no
words can tell you, and your mother must here
draw a picture.

[" Bullamacow," which occurs in the follow-
ing letter, is a word that always amuses the
visitor to Samoa. When the first pair of cattle
was brought to the islands, and the natives
asked the missionaries what they must call
these strange creatures, they were told that
the English name was "a bull and a cow."
But the Samoans thought that "a bull and
a cow" was the name of each of the animals,
and they soon corrupted the English words
into "bullamacow," which has remained the
name for beef or cattle ever since.
To the Black Boys, of course, Samoan is a
foreign language; and as their own dialects are

so different that sometimes six men from the
same island cannot understand one another,
they are driven to use a queer sort of Eng-
lish called "Beach-de-Mar." This Beach-
de-Mar is the language of trade and barter
throughout the western islands, and every white
man who wishes to speak with the
black people must learn it. The Ger-
mans in Samoa, the French in New
A Caledonia and the New Hebrides,
have to use it on their plantations,
and sometimes it is amusing to meet
a man of one of these nationalities
who can speak Beach-de-Mar per-
tld,.. fectly, and yet does not know real
English at all. "White fellow lie
come cocoanut belong him no grass
hes top" is how a Black Boy says,
A baldheaded white man is ap-
proaching." "This white fellow belong me"
is what he calls his master.-L. 0.]


VAILIMA, November 15, 1892.
MY DEAR AUSTIN: The new house is begun.
It stands out nearly halfway over towards Pine-
apple Cottage the lower floor is laid and the
uprights of the wall are set up; so that the big
lower room wants nothing but a roof over its
head. When it rains (as it does mostly all the
time) you never saw anything look so sorry for
itself as that room left outside. Beyond the
house there is a work-shed roofed with sheets of
iron, and in front, over about half the lawn, the
lumber for the house lies piled. It is about the
bringing up of this lumber that I want to tell you.
For about a fortnight there were at work
upon the job two German overseers, about a
hundred Black Boys, and from twelve to twenty-
four draught-oxen. It rained about half the
time, and the road was, like lather for shaving.
The Black Boys seemed to have had a new
rig-out. They had almost all shirts of scarlet
flannel, and lavalavas, the Samoan kilt, either
of scarlet or light blue. As the day got warm
they took off the shirts; and it was a very
curious thing, as you went down to Apia on
a bright day, to come upon one tree after
another in the empty forest with these shirts
stuck among the branches like vermilion birds.


I observed that many of the boys had a very
queer substitute for a pocket. This was nothing
more than a string which some of them tied
about their upper arms and some about their
necks, and in which they stuck their clay pipes;
and as I don't suppose they had anything else
to carry, it did very well. Some had feathers
in their hair, and some long stalks of grass
through the holes in their noses. I suppose
this was intended to make them look pretty,
poor dears; but you know what a Black Boy
looks like, and these Black Boys, for all their
blue, and their scarlet, and their grass, looked
just as shabby and small, and sad, and sorry
for themselves, and like sick monkeys as any of
the rest.
As you went down the road you came
upon them first working in squads of two.
Each squad shouldered a couple of planks and
carried them up about two hundred feet, gave
them to two others,
:,!i.1 -1 back
r i i -l I.,,,l r: the
N.l.:e- ,ili rlart-








they di
ut it at


but of course, when it rained, and the mud
was deep, the poor fellows were unhappy
enough. This was in the upper part about
Trood's. Below, all the way down to Tanu-
.'" gamanono, you met the bullock-carts coming
S and going, each with ten or twenty men to
attend upon it, and often enough with one
S of the overseers near. Quite a far way off
through the forest you could hear the noise
of one of these carts approaching. The road
was like a bog, and though a good deal
wider than it was when you knew it, so nar-
row that the bullocks reached quite across it
with the span of their big horns. To pass by,
it was necessary to get into the Bush on one
side or the other. The bullocks seemed to take
no interest in their business; they looked angry
and stupid, and sullen beyond belief; and when
it came to a heavy bit of the road, as often as
not they would stop.
As long as they were going, the Black Boys
from. It walked in the margin of the Bush on each side,
n't very pushing the cart-wheels with hands and shoul-
work, ders, and raising the most extraordinary outcry.
id n't go It was strangely like some very big kind of
all lively; bird. Perhaps the great flying creatures that


lived upon the earth long before man came,
if we could have come near one of their meet-
ing-places, would have given us just such a
When one of the bullamacows stopped alto-
gether the fun was highest. The bullamacow
stood on the road, his head fixed fast in the
yoke, chewing a little, breathing very hard, and
showing in his red eye that if he could get rid
of the yoke he would show them what a circus

While this was going on, I had to go down
to Apia five or six different times, and each time
there were a hundred Black Boys to say Good
morning" to. This was rather a tedious busi-
ness; and, as very few of them answered at all,
and those who did, only with a grunt like a
pig's, it was several times in my mind to give
up this piece of politeness. The last time I
went down, I was almost decided; but when I
came to the first pair of Black Boys and saw


was. All the Black Boys tailed on to the wheels
and the back of the cart, stood there getting
their spirits up, and then of a sudden set to
shooing and singing out. It was these outbursts
of shrill cries that it was so curious to hear in
the distance. One such stuck cart I came up
to and asked what was the worry. Old fool
bullamacow stop same place," was the reply.
I never saw any of the overseers near any of the
stuck carts; you were a very much better over-
seer than either of these.

them looking so comic and so melancholy, I
began the business over again. This time I
thought more of them seemed to answer, and
when I got down to the tail-end where the carts
were running, I received a very pleasant sur-
prise, for one of the boys, who was pushing at
the back of a cart, lifted up his head, and called
out to me in wonderfully good English, "You
good man- always say 'good morning."' It
was sad to think that these poor creatures should
think so much of so small a piece of civility,


and strange that (thinking so) they should be
so dull as not to return it. UNCLE Louis.

[In the letters that were sent to Austin Strong
you will be surprised to see his name change
from Austin to Hoskyns, and from Hopkins
to Hutchinson. It was the penalty Master
Austin had to pay for being the particular and
bosom friend of each of the one hundred and
eighty blue-jackets that made up the crew of
the British man-of-war Curagoa"; for, whether
it was due to some bitter memories of the Rev-
olutionary war, or to some rankling reminis-
cences of 1812, that even friendship could not
altogether stifle (for Austin was a true Amer-
ican boy), they annoyed him by giving him,
each one of them, a separate name.-L. 0.]

June 18, 1893.
RESPECTED HOPKINS: This is to inform you
that the Jersey cow had an elegant little cow-
calf Sunday last. There was a great deal of
rejoicing, of course; but I don't know whether
or not you remember the Jersey cow. What-
ever else she is, the Jersey cow is not good-na-
tured, and Dines, who was up here on some
other business, went down to the paddock to
get a hood and to milk her. The hood is a
little wooden board with two holes in it, by
which it is hung from her horns. I don't know
how he got it on, and I don't believe le does.
Anyway, in the middle of the operation, in
came Bull Bazett, with his head down, and
roaring like the last trumpet. Dines and all
his merry men hid behind trees in the paddock,
and skipped. Dines then got upon a horse,
plied his spurs, and cleared for Apia. The
next time he is asked to meddle with our cows,
he will probably want to know the reason why.
Meanwhile, there was the cow, with the board
over her eyes, left tied by a pretty long rope to
a small tree in the paddock, and who was to
milk her? She roared,- I was going to say
like a bull, but it was Bazett who did that,
walking up and down, switching his tail, and
the noise of the pair of them was perfectly
Palema went up to the Bush to call Lloyd;
and Lloyd came down in one of his know-all-

about-it moods. "It was perfectly simple,"
he said. The cow was hooded; anybody
could milk her. All you had to do was to
draw her up to the tree, and get a hitch about
it." So he untied the cow and drew her up
close to the tree, and got a hitch about it right
enough. And then the cow brought her intel-
lect to bear on the subject, and proceeded to
walk round the tree to get the hitch off.
Now, this is geometry, which you '11 have to
learn some day. The tree is the center of two
circles. The cow had a "radius" of about two
feet, and went leisurely round a small circle;
the man had a "radius" of
C444 j about thirty feet, and either
he must let the cow get the
hitch unwound, or else he
must take up his two feet
to about the height of his

eyes, and race round a big circle. This was
racing and chasing.
The cow walked quietly round and round the
tree to unwind herself; and first Lloyd and
then Palema, and then Lloyd again, scampered
round the big circle, and fell, and got up again,
and bounded like a deer, to keep.her hitched.
It was funny to see, but we could n't laugh
with a good heart; for every now and then
(when the man who was running tumbled
down) the cow would get a bit ahead; and I
promise you there was then no sound of any
laughter, but we rather edged away toward the
gate, looking to see the crazy beast loose, and
charging us. To add to her attractions, the
board had fallen partly off, and only covered


one eye, giving her the look of a crazy old
woman in a Sydney slum. Meanwhile, the
calf stood looking on, a little perplexed, and
seemed to be saying: "Well, now, is this life ?
It does n't seem as if it was all it was cracked
up to be. And is this my mamma? What a
very impulsive lady "
All the time, from the lower paddock, we
could hear Bazett roaring like the deep seas,
and if we cast our eye that way, we could
see him switching his tail, as a very angry
gentleman may sometimes switch his cane.
And the Jersey would every now and then put
up her head, and low like the pu* for dinner.
And take it all for all in all, it was a very striking
scene. Poor Uncle Lloyd had plenty of time
to regret having been in such a hurry; so had
poor Palema, who was let into the business, and
ran until he was nearly dead. Afterward Pa-
lema went and sat on a gate where your mother
sketched him, and she is going to send you the
sketch. And the end of it? Well, we got her tied
again, I really don't know how; and came
stringing back to the house with our tails be-
tween our legs. That night at dinner, the Ta-
maitai t bid us tell the boys to be very careful
"not to frighten the cow." It was too much;
the cow had frightened us in such fine style
that we all broke down and laughed like mad.
General Hoskyns, there is no further news,
your excellency, that I am aware of. But it
may interest you to know that Mr. Christian
held his 25th birthday yesterday-a quarter of a
living century old; think of it, drink of it, inno-
cent youth! and asked down Lloyd and Dap-
lyn to a feast at one o'clock, and Daplyn went
at seven, and got nothing to eat at all. Whether
they had anything to drink, I know not no,
not I; but it 's to be hoped so. Also, your
Uncle Lloyd has stopped smoking, and he
does n't like it much. Also, that your mother
is most beautifully gotten up to-day, in a pink
gown with a topaz stone in front of it; and is
really looking like an angel, only that she is n't
like an angel at all-only like your mother
Also that the Tamaitai has been waxing the
floor of the big room, so that it shines in the

most ravishing manner; and then we insisted
on coming in, and she would n't let us, and
we came anyway, and have made the vilest
mess of it--but still it shines.
Also, that I am, Your Excellency's obedient
servant, UNCLE LouIs.

[While Austin was in Vailima many little du-
ties about the plantation fell to his share, so
that he was often called the "overseer"; and,
small as he was, he sometimes took charge of a
couple of big men, and went into town with the
pack-horses. It was not all play, either; for he
had to see that the barrels and boxes did not
chafe the horses' backs, and that they weie not
allowed to come home too fast up the steep
There are so many strange names in the fol-
lowing letters, that the Editor asks me to explain
who all the Samoans are. Talolo was the Vai-
lima cook, a fine young chief, whose picture
is given on page 191. Sina is his wife; Tauilo,
his mother; Mitaele and Sosimo, his bro-
thers. Lafaele, who was married to Faauma,
was a middle-aged Futuna Islander, and had
spent many years of his life on a whale-ship
the captain of which had kidnapped him when
a boy. Misi Folo was one of the "house-
maids." Iopu and Tali, man and wife, had
long been in our service, but had left it after
they had been married some time; but, accord-
ing to Samoan ideas, they were none the less
members of Tusitala's family, because, though
they were no longer working for him, they still
owed him allegiance. "Aunt Maggie" is Mr.
Stevenson's mother.-L. 0.]


MY DEAR HUTCHINSON: This is not going
to be much of a letter, so don't expect what
can't be had. Uncle Lloyd and Palema made
a malanga: to go over the island to Siumu, and
Talolo was anxious to go also; but how could
we get along without him? Well, Misifolo,
the Maypole, set off on Saturday, and walked
all that day down the island to beyond Fa-

leasiu with a letter for Iopu; and Iopu and

* The big conch-shell that was blown at certain hours every day. t A visiting party. Q A Samoan village.
t Mrs. R. L. S., as she is called in Samoan, "the lady."


Tali and Misifolo rose very early on the Sun-
day morning, and walked all that day up the
island, and came by seven at night-all pretty
tired, and Misifolo most of all-to Tanu-
gamanono. We at Vailima knew nothing at
all about the marching of the Saturday and
Sunday, but Uncle Lloyd got his boys and
things together, and we went to bed.
A little after five in the morning I woke and
took the lantern, and went out of the front door
and round the verandas. There was never a
spark of dawn in the east, only the stars looked
a little pale; and I expected to find them all
asleep in the workhouse. But no! the stove
was roaring, and Talolo and Fono, who was
to lead the party, were standing together talk-
ing by the stove, and one of Fono's young
men was lying asleep on the sofa in the smok-
ing-room, wrapped in his lavalava. I had
my breakfast at half-past five that morning,
and the bell rang before six, when it was just
the gray of dawn. But by seven the feast
was spread-there was Iopu coming up, with
Tali at his heels, and Misipolo bringing up
the rear-and Talolo could go the malanga.
Off they set, with two guns and three porters,
and Fono and Lloyd and Palema, and Talolo
himself with his best Sunday-go-to-meeting la-
valava rolled up under his arm, and a very sore
foot; but much he cared-he was smiling from
ear to ear, and would have gone to Siumu
over red-hot coals. Off they set round the
corner of the cook-house, and into the Bush
beside the chicken-house, and so good-bye to
But you should see how Iopu has taken pos-
session Never saw a place in such a state! "

is written on his face. In my time," says he,
" we did n't let things go ragging along like this,
and I 'm going to show you fellows." The first
thing he did was to apply for a bar of soap,
and then he set to work washing everything
(that had all been washed last Friday in the
regular course). Then he had the grass cut
all round the cook-house, and I tell you but-
he found scraps, and odds and ends, and
grew more angry and indignant at each fresh
If a white chief came up here and smelt this,
how would you feel ? he asked your mother.
"It is enough to breed a sickness!"
And I dare say you remember this was just
what your mother had often said to himself;
and did say the day she went out and cried on
the kitchen steps in order to make Talolo
ashamed. But Iopu gave it all out as little
new discoveries of his own. The last thing was
the cows, and I tell you he was solemn about
the cows. They were all destroyed, he said,
nobody knew how to milk except himself-
where he is about right. Then came dinner
and a delightful little surprise. Perhaps you re-
member that long ago I used not to eat mashed
potatoes, but had always two or three boiled
in a plate. This has not been done for months,
because Talolo makes such admirable mashed
potatoes that I have caved in. But here came
dinner, mashed potatoes for your mother and
the Tamaitai, and then boiled potatoes in a
plate for me!
And there is the end of the Tale of the re-
turn of Iopu, up to date. What more there
may be is in the lap of the gods, and
Sir, I am yours considerably,

(To be continued.)


Mmlrl_4' i

F/11 INA, __Z




ONE cool September afternoon, a shabbily
dressed boy sat upon the piazza of the Oakdale
Hotel, reading a book even shabbier than him-
self-a yellow-leaved, torn, battered, dog's-
eared volume with only one cover. But, dis-
reputable as it looked, the lad seemed to find it
good company; for, as he read and read, the
color on his freckled cheeks came and went, and
he would sometimes nervously hold his breath
throughout an entire paragraph, to emit it at
last in a prolonged sigh.
At the other end of the piazza, leaning negli-
gently against the railing, was a man whose
eyes had for some time been intently fixed upon
the lad, whom he presently approached, saying:
"You seem much interested in that book,
my boy."
The youth looked up with a start, reddened
slightly, and replied:

I am, sir."
Then he fell to studying his companion, who
was really a rather strange-looking individual.
He was a man of middle age, medium height,
and very dark complexion; his hair was black
and curly, and he wore a short, bristling beard.
But what arrested and held the boy's atten-
tion was the fact that, while one of the stran-
ger's eyes was black, piercing, and defiant, the
other, strange to say, was of a tender, languish-
ing blue.
His costume, like his eyes, was odd. He
wore a dark frock-coat cut in the latest style,
snowy linen, a silk hat of the most recent pat-
tern, perfect-fitting shoes, and very little jewelry,
but that little of the best. Nothing very odd
in this, you think; but I have not yet described
his trousers. They were so soiled and patched
that it was difficult to tell what the original ma-
terial had looked like. There was an inch or
more of fringe at the bottom of each leg, and,
as the boy thought, the most dilapidated and
disreputable tramp that had ever passed through

N .', 3
L^^ u~nn iflh):
g : > :: :, .:.: .

l- .---


Oakdale would have scorned to accept them as
a gift.
It 's the 'Arabian Nights' you 're reading,
is n't it ? went on the stranger. "Yes, I see
it is. You have the 1804 London edition;
where did you get it? "
It was in Professor Adams's library, and-"
"Who's Professor Adams? But never mind
- what do I care about Professor Adams?
Now what particular story of the collection are
you reading, may I ask ? "
"The History of Sindbad the Sailor,'" re-
plied the boy, his eyes glistening. "I 've read
it six times before."
You have, eh ? said the stranger. "Well,
you ought to be ashamed to acknowledge it.
But there, there! you don't know any better.
I 'd like to see your parents about it, though;
do they live in this place ? "
No, they don't," snapped the boy, flushing
angrily; then, with his book under his arm, he
bolted into the house.
Not over polite, that lad !" soliloquized the
gentleman; "but he does n't understand me.
I rather like him; there 's an'atmosphere of
mystery about him that my trained instincts
recognized at once. I wonder who he is."
At this moment Mr. Pettibone, the landlord,
stepped out upon the piazza.
"Wa' n't that a ten-dollar gold-piece yeou
give me when yeou paid yeour bill 'baout quar-
ter of an haour ago ? "
It was, sir," replied the stranger.
"Wa-al, I wonder what in time hez become
don't! I put it intew the drawer an' locked it
up, an' when I went tew git it jest naow
't wa' n't there. Ef there 's thieves in this
house "
I don't believe you have any thieves here,
sir," interrupted the gentleman. Perhaps we
were both mistaken as to the denomination of
the coin I gave you. Permit me to n!ake your
loss good"; and he thrust his hand into one
of the pockets of the old trousers and produced
a shining gold eagle.
"Wa-al, I dunno 's I ought ter-" began
the landlord; but his guest interrupted him
"Nonsense, my dear fellow! Take it; there
are more where that came from."

"Wa-al, I '11 take it then; but ef I find the
other "
You can return it if you find it," said the
gentleman, with a peculiar smile which Mr.
Pettibone did not understand. "And now,
landlord," he added, "I want to ask you a
question: Who 's the lad that just went into
the house ? He has a rather interesting face."
Him ?" sniffed Mr. Pettibone. Oh, that's
only Tom Smith."
Only ? queried the stranger. Why the
adverb? "
Hey ?"
I mean, why do you say only Tom Smith ?"
Oh, 'cause he ain't much account. Fact
is, he 's a kind of an elephant on my hands."
"How is that? "
"It 's a ruther long story, an' I don't s'pose
't would interest you much," said Mr. Petti-
bone, evidently eager to tell it.
Oh, yes, it would; let's have it," said the
gentleman, seating himself and lighting a cigar.
Wa-al, jest ez yeou say "; and the landlord
deposited his lanky frame upon a chair near
that occupied by his guest. Yeou see," he
went on, that there Tom Smith is a kind of a
myst'ry in these parts."
"I said so! I knew it!" exclaimed the
Go on, go on! said the gentleman impa-
tiently. "You have interested me deeply."
Mr. Pettibone, who had always prided him-
self on his ability as a story-teller, was plainly
gratified. Tilting his chair back, and resting
his cowhide boots upon the piazza railing, he
'T wuz nine years ago this month that that
there youngster was took up tew Perfesser
Adams's academy- that big brick building' yeou
see up on the hill yonder an' left there tew
be eddicated. He wa' n't mote than five or six
years old then, but he wuz ez smart ez a steel
trap, an' the old perfesser an' his wife took a
fancy tew him. Them awful smart children
never amounts tew much when they grow up
-I s'pose yeou 've noticed that."
"Who brought the boy to Oakdale ? asked
the stranger.
I wuz jest a-goin' tew tell yeou. He wuz a


kind o' queer-lookin' feller, they say dressed
tew kill, but sort o' nervous an' cranky. He
paid fer a year's schoolin' in advance, an' went
away 'thout givin' his name or address; he
did n't even wait fer a receipt fer his money.
The youngster cried fit tew raise the roof when
he left. Arter a while they got him kind o'
quieted down, an' then they tried tew find
aout his name. But all he could tell 'em wuz
that 't wuz Tommy; he 'd either never heerd
his last name, or he 'd fergot it, fer ter this day
he nor nobody else don't know what 't is. The
perfesser called him Smith, 'cause-wa-al, I
s'pose 'cause he had tew call him something an'
Smith 's 'baout ez handy an all-raound name ez
there is."
"And the fellow who left the boy there
never came back ? interrupted the evidently
interested listener.
"Wait a minute! said Mr. Pettibone se-
verely, not pleased at having the point to
which he was trying to work up anticipated in
this rough-and-ready manner; wait a minute,
I 'm gittin' tew that. Days passed, an' weeks,
an' months, an' years; Mis' Adams, she in-
quired roundd among the neighbors, an' at last
the perfesser, he hired detectives, an' they dew
say he paid ez much ez a hunderd dollars tew
them. They hunted roundd the best they
knew haow leastways they told the perfesser
they did. They s'arched in Boston, an' in New
York, an' in -"
"And in other localities, but they did not
find the man; is n't that what you were going
to say ? "
"Wa-al, I s'pose 't is; but-"
"Pardon me for interrupting you," said the
stranger very politely, yet with a twinkle in his
right eye the black one, "but my time is
precious. The man was never found, and the
professor and his good wife kept the boy at the
academy from year to year, hoping that some
time the mystery surrounding him would be
cleared up; is n't that right ? "
Wa-al, sence yeou know all about it, I
don't see why yeou got me tew tell the story,"
said Mr. Pettibone sulkily.
My good friend," laughed the gentleman,
I am gifted with a little imagination, as you
would be aware if you knew me better. Well,

how much longer do the professor and his wife
intend to keep the lad ? "
Don't yeou remember I told yeou he wuz
an elephant on my hands ? said the landlord.
" The perfesser's wife died four years ago, the
perfesser died last month, the academy 's shet
up, an' all the scholars is gone home 'xcept
Tom Smith, an' he 's been kind o' loafin'
roundn, waiting' fer something' ter turn up."
So he does n't belong anywhere in particu-
lar ? the stranger said.
No; an' he ain't good fer nothing' in pertick-
'ler, ez fur ez I kin find aout," returned mine
host, laboriously rising to his feet. I did think
some o' givin' him a job here, but he don't
seem tew take no interest in nothing' but them
fool stories he 's allers a-readin'."
"He was reading the absurd and utterly un-
reliable account of the voyages of Sindbad the
Sailor, just before he went into the house," said
the guest with considerable warmth.
I dunno the name o' the piece," said Mr.
Pettibone, "but I don't believe it's fit reading'
fer a youngster like him; I know I would n't
let my children read it ef I had enny."
You are a man of intelligence, sir," said the
gentleman warmly, his black eye softening and
his blue eye positively melting as he turned
them on his companion. "Those garbled ac-
counts of the doings of Sindbad are calculated
to do--have done--inestimable harm to the
- er the memory of that famous explorer."
Mr. Pettibone did not, apparently, see the
force of this statement, for he looked rather be-
wildered; but as he entered the house he as-
serted uncompromisingly:
None o' my children would n't read it, not
ef I had a baker's dozen of 'em."
Kindly send the boy out to me, landlord,"
the stranger called after him. "I 'd like to
have a little talk with him."
Five minutes later Tom Smith came shuf-
fling out of the hotel, his book under his arm.
Standing in the doorway, and eying the gentle-
man somewhat resentfully, he said:
Mr. Pettibone says you want to see me."
"I do, my lad. Come and sit down here."
Instead of taking the chair designated by the
stranger, Tom perched himself on the piazza
railing, saying:


"Well, here I am."
"Yes, and there your book is," said his com-
panion, ."- your 1804 copy of the 'Arabian
Nights,' containing that absurd account of the
adventures of Sindbad the Sailor. I seem fated
to run across that volume wherever I go";
and the gentleman's brows contracted, his face
flushed, and his right eye blazed ominously.
If you don't like the book you don't have
to read it," suggested Tom, rather impudently.
I don't like it, and I don't read it that is,
not very often; once in a while I do, just to
keep myself as mad as I know I ought to be to
maintain my self-respect. Boy," -with an
abrupt change of tone,- I 've a great mind
to confide in you. I will. Just step into the
office and look at my name on the register;
it's the entry right across the large grease-spot,
and you may not be able to make it out."
Tom looked a little apprehensive as he
sidled past his companion; perhaps he was
afraid that the gentleman with the assorted
eyes was crazy. In a few moments he returned.
Did you find the entry ? queried the gen-
Yes, sir."
And what was it ?"
George W. Sindbad, Bagdad."
"That 's right. My lad, I am Sindbad the



TOM stared at his companion a few mo-
ments with a half-frightened look; then, his
sense of humor overcoming his fear, he burst
into a loud laugh, and said:
Why, you can't be! "
"Why can't I?" asked the gentleman, calmly
lighting a fresh cigar.
"Why, because because you can't. The
'Arabian Nights' was written ever so many
hundred years ago."
I know that."
"Well, you can't be seven or eight hundred
years old."
"Why can't I ? inquired Mr. Sindbad pla-
Because -because you don't look it."

"You should never judge by appearances,
my lad."
"But people don't live to be so old as that."
"Most people don't, but there are exceptions
to every rule, and I am an exception to that
one. I am several hundred years old, though
I don't suppose I look more than forty-five or
"No, you don't," replied Tom, now con-
vinced that the gentleman with the variegated
eyes was stark, staring mad. Well, I guess I
must be going," he added, his nervous fear re-
"No, you must n't; stay right where you
are. I have business with you."
As he spoke Mr. Sindbad fastened his black
eye upon the boy, and Tom felt as if he were
fixed to the spot.
What sort of business ? he faltered.
"Several sorts. In the first place, I want to
convince you that I am really Sindbad the
Sailor. You have heard of Ponce de Leon and
his search for the Fountain of Youth ?"
"Yes, sir."
Well, do you know why he did n't find it ?
Because I got there several centuries before he
was born on my sixteenth voyage, in fact.
The fountain was nearly dried up then, but I
got a drink from it. I was then forty-seven
years of age, and I have stuck there ever since.
I don't suppose I shall everbe any older. Men
come up and go down, kingdoms spring into
life, and decay, and are forgotten, but I remain
forty-seven just the same."
"You must be very tired of life by this
time," said the incredulous Tom, with a faint
giggle, as he tried to get a little nearer the door
while Mr. Sindbad's magnetic right eye was cast
Oh, I might be if I 'd let myself," replied
the sailor; "but I make it a rule never to worry
about what I can't help. I see plainly that
you don't believe me yet"; and once more
the black eye seemed to be reading Tom's very
"I- I think maybe you 're mistaken," fal-
tered the boy.
"Mistaken! exclaimed Mr. Sindbad. "Now,
that suggestion is almost an insult. But there!
I must not lose my temper. Let us argue the


matter, my lad. Why do you think I am mis-
taken ? "
Well, in the first place," said Tom, Sind-
bad's name was not George W."
How do you know it was n't ? asked the
gentleman sharply.
"The 'Arabian Nights' does n't say it was."
"There are a good many true things that
you don't find in the 'Arabian Nights.' But, as
a matter of fact, my name is not George W.,
except in this country. When I am in France,
I am Anatole Sindbad; in Germany I am
known as Fritz Sindbad. I find that in the
United States George Washington is a very
popular name, so here I am George Washing-
ton Sindbad. There 's one of your arguments
knocked over; now let 's hear another."
You spoke just now of your sixteenth voy-
age; Sindbad made only seven voyages."
"How do you know that. But you need not
answer-you read it in the 'Arabian Nights.'
Well, now, let me tell you it is a base falsehood,
designed to injure me in the eyes of posterity-
though, come to think of it, I don't suppose
there will be such a thing for me as posterity.
That seven-voyage yarn was an invention of
that fellow Hindbad."
"The porter? "
Yes. Oh, I wish I 'd lodged a complaint
against the scoundrel at the nearest pasha's,
and had him thoroughly bastinadoed "
But," said Tom, beginning to think that
there might be something, after all, in the
stranger's queer story, I thought you and he
were great friends."
So we were for a while, but our friendship
lasted only a week."
"You used to give him a hundred sequins
every time he called -the book says so, any-
For the first time since the interview began
Sindbad seemed embarrassed. He hesitated,
coughed rather nervously, then said:
I '11 tell you how that was. Like all ex-
plorers, I am rather fond of narrating my ad-
ventures. It always interests me to hear my-
self talk, especially on the subject of the dangers
I have passed. But some of my old Bagdad
friends used to feel differently, and when I be-
gan the story of one of my voyages they would

interrupt me, and try to change the subject.
It actually got to the point where I had to give
a ten-course dinner to get any one to listen to
me. Just then, this fellow Hindbad happened
along, and I secured him as a listener by giv-
ing him one hundred sequins per voyage; and
with each instalment of cash he got a purse
worth at least five sequins. It was a reckless
waste, I acknowledge, but I always was liberal
and easy-going."
"What is a sequin worth in United States
money? asked Tom.
Oh, something like a dollar eighty-five, I
believe," replied Mr. Sindbad impatiently.
Then you gave Hindbad nearly two hun-
dred dollars just for listening to your account
of one voyage ? "
Yes; to say nothing of the purse and a big
dinner--and how that man could eat! But
don't keep interrupting me. All went well
enough until the eighth day. My eighth voy-
age was- well, it was a hummer! and I was
feeling in good spirits at the prospect of having
a chance to tell it. But Hindbad came strag-
gling in with such a long face, that one glance
at it put me out of sorts. What's the mat-
ter?' I asked him. Matter enough,' he re-
plied surlily. Can I see you alone a minute? '
I granted him a private interview, and he at
once started in on a long prose poem begin-
ning: 'Lo, how wretched am I!' This was
in accordance with one of our Arabian customs,
but as it was a custom that I never thought
much of anyway, and as the dinner was getting
cold, I interrupted him at the end of the first
line, saying: Cut it short, Hindbad, and get
down to business. What can I do for you?'
Sindbad,' he said, taken aback by my abrupt-
ness, has it never struck you that a hundred
sequins is a pretty slim fee for listening to the
story of one of your voyages ? Well, my boy,
I was never so astonished in my life. What
do you mean?' I gasped. I mean just this,'
he replied: I must have a hundred and fifty
sequins after this, and the yarns must be cut
down one half. Does that go ?' Now," said
Sindbad, relighting his cigar, which in his ex-
citement he had allowed to go out, did you
ever hear of anything like that ? "
Tom murmured that he never had, and asked



his companion what reply he made to the un-
grateful Hindbad.
I simply told him," replied Sindbad, that
I could not for a moment entertain his proposal;
that I considered a hundred sequins a fair
price, and that I could get dozens of the best
people in Bagdad to listen to my story of
my voyages for half the nr.-e., --1I '.1
better get 'em, then,' was i .- .. AI .-!I
right; I will,' I said. Then .. I ...
weaken. Well,' he said, i!i- ,I
can come to terms, Sindbad. i I- i
that I don't like your stor' I..-
cause I do '- this notwithst I- .
ing the fact that he had g'-.:
to sleep on the previous ev'..i ''
ing at the most interest.lL ., ,
place in my seventh voyage -.
where the elephant tore ur. i i (
by the roots the tree upon ---
which I was roosted; youl.
remember that?"
Yes, indeed! said i, -.*Ti, --
Tom, breathlessly. "
"Well, that 's just
the point at which that-
clod fell asleep, and it
took me five minutes to
awaken him. But, as I
was saying, he insisted ,i
he was so fond of my ,- 1--
stories that if he could
have his way he'd give ._-
up his business as por-
ter and listen to my
account of my voyages all day, at the
uniform rate of one hundred sequins
per voyage. I must, however, think
of my family,' he said; and for their I,
sake I am compelled to insist upon
a hundred and fifty. You see how "'I WI
I am placed, don't you?' Well, I
absolutely refused to pay him more than my
regular rate. Then he said: We won't quar-
rel about a trifle, Sindbad, old man. Make it
a hundred and thirty sequins, and I'1l be here
regularly every evening. I don't feel as if I
could get along without your deeply interesting
stories.' This might have melted me if I had n't
happened to catch him in the act of winking at

a black slave of mine who was standing at the
other end of the room. That settled it; I had
him ejected from the house at once, and I 've
never been able to bear the sight of a porter
Did he ever come back, sir? asked Tom.


Oh, yes, several times; but I would n't see
him. The last time he called he sent up a note,
in which he stated that on account of the hard
times and the fierce competition against which
he had to contend, he was willing to give me
three evenings a week for fifty sequins; or the
whole seven, and a matinee if I insisted, for a
hundred. But I paid no attention to his coin-


munication, and that was the last I heard of
him for a number of years; in fact, I had for-
gotten all about him when the Arabian Nights'
came out, and, to my amazement, I found my
first seven voyages among the contents. The
book was edited, compiled, and partly written
by an enterprising though unscrupulous young
journalist of Bagdad,- at least, we 'd call him
a journalist in these days,- and he had bought
Hindbad's garbled story of my voyages for five
sequins. Think of that! Now do you wonder
that the very mention of that man Hindbad's
name enrages me ? "
Tom said he did n't, and inquired if Hind-
bad's account of the voyages was really so very
Oh, in the main it 's pretty nearly right,"
replied Sindbad; but he omits some interesting
facts and introduces several incidents that never
occurred at all. Then he makes himself alto-
gether too prominent. And look at his descrip-
tion of me! He says I am a grave and vener-
able personage whose long white beard hung
down to his breast.' Now that's simply malice;
for, as you see, there is n't a white hair in my
Tom was still only half convinced that it was
really the original Sindbad who sat opposite
him telling this most extraordinary story.
You speak first-rate English," he said, rather
suspiciously; I should never have thought
that you were a foreigner."
I acquired the faculty of speaking all lan-
guages during my nineteenth voyage," returned
Sindbad. I '11 tell you about it some time.
But I see you are still skeptical as to the genu-
ineness of my claim. Now, as I am anxious to
remove the last lingering doubt from your mind,
I will prove to you that I am, to say the least,
no ordinary man, and you will inferentially con-
clude that I am the one and only Sindbad."
Tom muttered something about being con-
vinced already; but Mr. Sindbad interrupted
him with a grim smile, saying:
No, you 're not; but you will be in a minute
or two. During my twenty-fifth voyage I was
held a prisoner by a fairy several months, during
which time she changed me into a number of dif-
ferent animals. I was always very observant, and
I watched her closely and found out how she did

it; and I can transform myself into any animal
you like to mention. Just name three or four
while you are about it, and I'11 change myself into
all of them with a rapidity that will astonish you."
Well, he is crazy, and no mistake," thought
Tom, "but I 'd better humor him." So he
said, "Well, change yourself into a horse, a
kangaroo, and an elephant."
"That 's easy," laughed Sindbad. Now
watch me closely. By the way, you 'd better
step over to the other end of the piazza if you
don't want to get kicked by the animals."
Tom obeyed this suggestion with alacrity,
only too glad to increase the distance between
himself and his strange companion.
"Now, then," said Sindbad, "are you ready ?"
"I 'm ready if you are," replied Tom, who
had made up his mind to jump off the piazza
and run if his new acquaintance became violent.
The next moment there was a whizz and a
whirr, Sindbad vanished like a puff of smoke,
and in his place appeared in astonishingly rapid
succession the three animals Tom had named.
With such amazing swiftness did they material-
ize and disappear that it seemed to the boy as
if he had seen them all at once.
One of them- Tom suspected the elephant
-kicked the chair upon which Sindbad had
been sitting into the middle of the road; it had
scarcely touched the ground when the explorer
reappeared, smiling triumphantly, but a little
out of breath.
"Well, are you convinced ? he asked.
"I should say so! gasped Tom. I never
saw anything like that."
It 's easy enough when you know how,"
responded Sindbad lightly.
But what made you do it so fast ? asked
"You seem to forget," replied Sindbad,
"that this is a public place. If any one had
happened along and seen me standing there as
an elephant, it would have been very awkward
for me. I should have been obliged to re-
transform myself into a man before his eyes,
and my secret would have been out; and I 'm
not letting the general public into this. So
you see I had to rush things. Do you mind
getting that chair for me? I forgot to put it
out of my way."


Tom had just returned the chair to its place
on the piazza, when Mr. Pettibone again
emerged from the house. He was scratching
his head as if greatly puzzled, and his face
wore a troubled look.
This beats anything ever I see," he said.
"I 've lost the second gold eagle yeou give
Indeed ?" said Sindbad. You seem to
be rather careless with your money."
I ain't gin'ally. I can't make about what 's
become on 't. Yeou see me put it intew my
pocket, did n't yeou ? "
"I did. Perhaps there is a hole in your
"No, there ain't; but the gold piece is gone.
I 'm sure o' that," said the landlord.
I 'm really very sorry. I 'd offer you an-
other, if I could afford it."
"Oh, I don't expect nothing' o' that sort," Mr.
Pettibone assured his guest. Yeou 've paid
me twice already. But I would like tew know
what 's become o' that there money."
I wish I could find it for you, my friend;

but I 'm afraid I can't," said Sindbad. By
the way, can you give me change for another
gold eagle ? "
Cal'late I kin"; and Mr. Pettibone pro-
duced a roll of bills from his pocket, saying:
Yeou see, the rest o' my money 's all right.
It 's only that there gold piece that 's gone
Here you be, Mr. Sindbad-five, seven, nine,
ten; cal'late yeou '11 find that all right."
"Thank you, sir, and here is your gold
You don't carry nuthin' but gold, dew
you ?" said Mr. Pettibone.
"Very little else."
"Wa-al, I ain't goin' tew let this piece slip
through my fingers. I '11 take it an' lock it up
in the safe right naow."
As the landlord reentered the house, Sindbad
turned abruptly to Tom, saying:
"I 've got to leave this place by the next
train. Now then, my boy, I have a business
proposition to make you. What do you say to
goinginto partnership with me under the firm
name of Sindbad, Smith & Co. ? "
continued )



WHEN January breezes blow,
The New Year comes across the snow,
So pure and young, so straight and slender,
His eyes alight, his cheeks aglow;
And round him, shifting to and fro,
The whitened world of drifted splendor.

Within the yard the children play,
Attacking in a cruel way
A tall snow-man, who stares about him,
And, smiling coldly, seems to say
No icy cannonading may
Suffice ingloriously to rout him.

The frozen pond is smooth and wide;
The skaters swing from side to side,
And little boys, pursuing after,
Arrayed in furs and filled with pride,
Upon the glassy surface slide,
And fall in heaps with shouts of laughter.

Within the house the fire glows,
And ruddy apples, ranged in rows
Before the blaze, are blithely peeling.
The sun to bed discreetly goes,
And then the doors of daylight close,
And clear and cold the night comes stealing.




.?_ ' %. '-. ,.-,."^ 6^^

-, '- ... .

N ...
d -. .. ',

': '.i.
.S "'- /

SOMEHOW I can't understand
What the teacher said to-day,
About the seasons and the way
That the earth is tilted, and
How the days keep getting short,-
Short and shorter in the fall,-
Till (she said) the winter brought
Us the shortest days of all.

That stumps me--that 's what it does!
The shortest days I ever saw
Came this summer, when I was
Camping out at Colton's. Pshaw!

Talk about those days being long,
Why, they went by like a streak!
Forty of 'em (or I 'm wrong)
Would n't really make a week.

And now, she says, the days are short;
She made a diagram to show
Just how it was. I s'pose I ought
To understand But all I know,
To-morrow holidays begin;
To-morrow Christmas '11 be here;
But I 'm sure to-day has been
The longest day in all the year!

V '-:7-= _-= =_ ,: = : - A- - -
r --= -- -= = .A :---.



[Begun in the November number. ]



ITr was ten minutes after this that the winner
of the prize cup stepped out from the open
door, put up a beckoning hand, and called in
a very gentle voice, as if he had been addressing
the Babes in the Wood:
Gideon, if you please! Here, a minute!"
There was nothing in his look or tone to in-
dicate the slightest inquietude of mind; so that
Gid experienced a sense of relief to his ever-
growing apprehensions.
Fred had had time to discuss the situation
with his friend, and to prepare for a calm, judi-
cial inquiry. As he stepped back into the
house, Gid followed, with a countenance al-
most too open and candid. It was, however,
startled a little out of its childlike innocence
of expression by the aspect of the solitary
bottle on the table.
"The house seems to be in pretty good con-
dition," Melverton remarked, standing with his
hand on the back of his friend's chair; Quimby
meanwhile playing with his empty glass, and
smiling upon Gideon.
"I 'm glad you find it so," said Gideon,
After we are gone," Fred proceeded, you
can take the empty bottle to the cellar. You
know where the case is ? "
Gid gave a little gasp, but answered promptly,
I guess I can find it."
He felt the eyes of both young men upon
him, and his face, which was slightly pale at
first, began to flush.
"When were you in the house last ?" in-
quired the young proprietor.
"When I shut it up yesterday afternoon."
Oh! I remember! You had n't opened the
windows to-day."

No," said Gid; I was just going to, when
you came."
You had n't been in the house, then, since
yesterday ? "
The inquiries were taking a direction that
did n't seem at all alarming; yet Gid felt that
he was on the brink of some danger. As he
really had not been in the house since the day
before, he thought he might as well stick to
the truth and stuck to it.
How happens it, then, that this window
was unclasped ? "
"Was it? Gid exclaimed,in genuine surprise.
"I found it so," Fred Melverton replied.
"Any rogue could have have got in."
Gid looked hot and troubled. But he said
I don't know how it happened. 1 thought
I clasped it. I can't understand! "
He began to tremble, remembering that he
had not opened that window since the after-
noon when he left the room in such haste to
follow Osk Ordway to the cellar. He had, in-
deed, avoided that part of the house ever since,
on account of the disagreeable associations his
conscience connected with it.
When did you have it open last ?" Fred
I can't remember," Gid replied, fear-
ful of committing himself.
You have n't had any of your friends in the
house since you have been in charge ? Fred
smilingly queried.
For a moment Gid felt the dreadful necessity
of telling the simple truth, and gaining some
sort of foothold in the mire of deception in
which he felt himself sinking. But the spirit
of Osk Ordway seemed to control him, and he
answered stoutly:
No; of course not."
"And--you said you guessed you could
find the case of cider-bottles; you had n't
found it already ?"


And Gid repeated, even more emphatically,
" No; of course not."
He had drunk but little of the two bottles he
had permitted Osk to open; and Osk had per-
suaded him that the Melvertons were not a
family that counted their bottles very closely.
Still he had been troubled with a dread of
these questions, and he
had made up his mind
beforehand how he
would answer them.
A good, rousing false-
hood, he hoped, would
carry him through his
present difficulties.
I did n't suppose
you would," said the
young man, pleasantly.
"Don't consider me
too inquisitive, but I
would like to ask -
who unlocked this
drawer? "
Gid was stunned for
a moment. Seeing the
drawer closed, and the
key in it, and being -I
sure he had not left
it so, he wondered how
Fred could have found
out that it had been
"That drawer!" he sao,. ..ill! -i ...iL _-
tation. "Unlocked? I ,i-.n't l.... iii, rlii,
about it!"
"Did you know whar i i-:
Y-yes," Gid faltered I i I. ,.
put your prize cup in i- II, ..1 ... !'!.
in charge."
You saw that, did you ? Fred queried,
looking sharply at him.
Gid was afraid he was admitting too much;
but he answered:
I could n't help seeing you put the cup
in the drawer. I happened to look back just
as I was leaving the room, that day you left
for the sea-shore."
"There is no mistake, then, about my lock-
ing the cup in the drawer? I was beginning

to think there might be," Fred remarked, so
unsuspiciously and quietly that Gid was quite
sure he had admitted too much.
I ain't quite positive," he said. I thought
you put it in one of the drawers."
The questioner did -.. not seem to no-
tice this qualification, but added:

"And you 've been the only one in the
house since ? "
Fur as I know," replied the culprit, aghast
at what he felt sure was coming.
Well, there 's the drawer," said Fred, open-
ing it. But it 's empty -like the bottles"-
with a smile of gleaming sarcasm. Gideon
Ketterell! -where 's that cup ? "





GID stepped to the drawer, and saw for him-
self that the prize cup was gone. Only the red
napkin remained as it had been left when he
replaced the cup after showing it to Osk.
Hain't you took it out ?" he asked, as he
turned an appealing look on Fred Melverton.
Fred replied, imperturbably:
"I have n't taken it, nor seen it, since you
were witness to my locking it in that drawer."
"Must have been stole!" Gid murmured.
"Looks as though the house had been broke
into! "
"It certainly has been stolen," the young
master replied frankly. And the house has
been broken into, unless your key let the rob-
ber in."
"But I hain't took it!" Gid protested,
with the utmost earnestness. I don't know
nothing about it!" In times of unusual ex-
citement he was apt to relapse into double
negatives, an early habit, of which he was
supposed to have been cured at school. "I
wish I did!"
He was almost ready to cry. Better than
that, he was almost ready to tell the truth.
Why had he not done so before? Why had
he not explained at once how Osk forced his
way into the house, actually compelled him to
show the cup, and then opened two bottles of
the cider drinking the most of it himself in
spite of him? Instead of that, he had gone
on with denial after denial, winding himself up
in this terrible entanglement, from which even
confession itself might not clear him.
Fred Melverton put to him a few more
searching questions, without obtaining satisfac-
tory replies, then said quietly:
I don't see that you will help me much in
clearing up the mystery. You can go, Gideon,
and await further orders."
Again Gideon turned toward him with red,
appealing eyes.
"I hope you don't think I-" he uttered,
with a lump in his throat.
I am not prepared to say what I think,"
the young man replied, with a resolute calm-

ness more terrifying to poor Gid than violent
threats or accusations would have been. Go,
Gid hesitated, struggled with the lump in
his throat, trying to speak, and finally with-
drew without another word; but paused again
at the door, with half a mind to go back and
confess his own share in the transaction which
he felt sure must at least have opened the way
to the robbery. But that simple step required
more courage than he possessed; and every
moment was making it more difficult for him to
take it. He slowly went down the steps, and
presently the merry clatter of the lawn-mower
was heard once more. But it was not a merry
sound to Gid's ear.
Then Fred Melverton turned to his guest,
who had all the while sat a silent spectator of
the scene, and exclaimed:
Old fellow, speak a word!"
And the guest replied, "It's a funny con-
glom'! meaning conglomeration, as we may
as well interpret for the benefit of those who
have n't heard young people spice their speech
with these peculiar abbreviations.
What do you make of that boy ? Melver-
ton asked, walking nervously to and fro.
"Want my opin'? Let me tell you first,
Melf," the guest answered, what I make of
you. I 've thought the Tech" (Institute of
Technology) "was your right place, and I was
confirmed in that when I saw you befog that
boy's brain (if he has one) with your jargon
about ventilation, condensation, evaporation,
and all the other actions But now I 'm under
the impresh' that you should have chosen the
How do you make that out ? Melverton
"Why, the way you cross-exam'd that un-
willing witness was worthy of a first-class petti-
fogger. You tangled him up like a dog-fish in
a square rod of gill-netting."
Was n't it his own fault ? Fred demanded,
with some irritation.
No doubt of it! said Quimby. It was
not the bald-headed truth he was giving you.
But it seemed to me you began at the wrong
end of the string in trying to get the snarl


"I don't see, Canton! Fred replied.
"What are you driving at?"
Suppose," said Canton Quimby, with a
smile that would have sugar-coated his bitter-
est criticism -" suppose you had shown him
the empty drawer in the first place and given
him time to think what a serious business it
was, before you tried your corkscrew ? "

rueful laugh. Instead of opening his mouth
I was ingeniously shutting it."
Something like that," Quimby smilingly
How much does he know about the rob-
bery ? Fred demanded.
Something; not everything," replied the

- ._4


I was only trying to loosen the wires from
the cork, before opening the bottle," Fred said,
tossing back the figure of speech.
Instead of that you were all the while
twisting them tighter. You let him commit
himself to one denial after another, in minor
matters which involved tracks that led directly
to the trap you had ready to spring upon
him-tracks he could n't retrace. Do I make
my meaning clear? "
I should say so Fred exclaimed, with a

That 's the way I read him," said Melver-
ton. I can't think he stole the cup himself,
but I'm inclined to believe he knows who did.
He 's mixed up in it."
Canton Quimby nodded approvingly, and
said: Of course he is."
The cider I care nothing about; some not
very bad boys might fall into a temptation of
that sort. And I could pardon his careless-
ness -if that 's the name for it in leaving
the window unclasped. But he is so evidently


concealing something I 'm at a loss to know
what to do."
"Want my opin' ? "
"I should like it very much."
"Tell that youthful prevaricator he can put
on his coat and go home. In short, fire him!
That is," said the guest, unless he will tell you
where the cup is, or who has it."
"That's the logic of it, of course," said Fred,
again walking to and fro in troubled thought.
" But I don't want to injure him. His mother
is really a very worthy woman, and I hate a
Naturally," replied the guest. But, Melf,
it is n't generally thought wise to keep a per-
son in a place of trust after he has shown him-
self unfaithful."
"You're right every time," Fred said, hastily
clearing the table; which done, the two went
out and walked about the place.
"The house will be all right for a few days,"
remarked the young proprietor, musingly; "so
will the lawn and the flower-beds. But I must
get somebody to feed the cat and the poultry.
I think I can manage that."

THE lawn had been trimmed, and Gid Ket-
terell was running the inverted mower toward
the barn, when Melverton intercepted him.
Well, Gideon, you 've had a little time to
think about it. You see how it is. Can you
give me any idea how that cup has got hocus-
pocused out of the house while you have been
in charge ? That 's what we 've got to find
out, you know."
I know it," replied Gid. "And I 'd tell if
I had the slightest notion what 's become of it,
-but I hain't."
In the interim of reflection he had fully re-
solved to stick to his original story, and admit
nothing that would reflect blame upon himself.
You can't think of anybody who may have
known about it, and got into the house and
taken it? For I can't find that anything else
has been touched," Fred continued. "Seems
to me you must be able to tell us something."
Would if I could," Gid muttered, with a

dogged, down look, tipping his hat-brim so as
to hide his conscious face; but I can't."
Sorry! replied Fred, exchanging glances
with Canton Quimby, who stood by, twirling
a flower in his fingers, but never losing a word
of the dialogue. "I'm afraid I shall have to
dispense with your services, Gideon."
"All right! said Gideon, surlily. That was
evidently what he had expected.
"The house has been entered," the young
master continued, I rather think, more than
once. Cider-bottles have been emptied; I find
a sash unfastened, and a prize no money can re-
place has disappeared. Mind, I don't accuse
you of anything. But look at it yourself,-
does n't it seem as if the place might have been
better taken care of? "
Maybe it might; don't know," Gid mum-
bled. He wanted to say more, but the lump
was in his throat again; and, indeed, what
could he say, unless he began by retracting his
previous denials, the falsity of which he felt
was certain some day to appear ?
Fred waited a minute for him to speak, then
said gently:
"I '11 take your key of the house, if you
please." Gid produced it from his pocket.
"Thank you, Gideon."
"Sha'n't I carry that bottle to the cellar ?"
Gid inquired, looking up with a sullen despair
in his eyes.
No, I won't trouble you. The bottles will
do very well without your attention," Fred re-
plied, with a shade of sarcasm in his tones.
" Let's see, you've been here-not quite so
long as you might have stayed under other cir-
cumstances." He was opening his pocket-book,
while Gid, his eyes once more cast down,
kicked the graveled walk with his toes. It
was to be five dollars a week, was n't it ? "
Gid's features worked, and a tear slid down
his cheek. He had been so proud of his
"snap," as he called it; and the money, to be so
easily earned, had seemed so much to him! I
regret to say, he had considered far less what
it would be to his hard-working mother. It
was as a hard-hitting mother that he thought
of her now.
"We '11 call it seven dollars," said Melverton,
"if that strikes you favorably."



I don't want your money," Gid muttered,
sniffing away his tears. "I won't take it!"
He was turning away, convulsed with grief,
or anger, or remorse, or dread of his mother,
or all these together, when Fred laid a hand
kindly on his shoulder, and with the other ex-
tended the bank-notes.
Oh, yes, you will, Gideon!" he said, his
voice trembling a little with sympathetic emo-
tion. "Take it to your mother; she can't af-
ford to miss anything you may have the luck
to earn. I hoped you would earn a good deal
for her and yourself during the summer. I am
as much disappointed as you are, Gideon."
He thrust the bills under the boy's suspen-
ders. Then, after a pause: "In parting with
you, may I give you a bit of advice ?-with the
kindest feelings toward you, Gideon, under-
stand. If another chance offers, be faithful,
- and truthful, and-" His voice broke.
" Gideon," he added, with an effort at self-
control, "I am as sorry as you are; and-
I-I wish you well!"
This was more than Gid could stand. He
was prepared to encounter harsh and threaten-
ing words; but kindness was too much for him.
He started to speak, but found he could n't
without sobbing. If Fred had given him time,
and asked him again to tell the truth, he might
have told all. But Fred merely said, Leave
the barn key in the door, after you have put away
the mower," and walked off with his friend.
Gid cast a lowering look after them, as they
passed through the rhododendron clumps, and
down the bank; then glanced at the money,
as he put it into his pocket, muttering revenge-
fully : It was Osk,- I know it was, as well as
if I 'd seen him do it! It's all up with me !
I '11 just about kill him, when I ketch him, if
ma don't kill me first! "

WHAT do you think now?" Fred asked
his friend, as he led the way down the bank
toward the brooklet.
"Want my opin'? "
I always want it."
In the first place," said Canton Quimby,

"I find I was mistaken, after all, about your
proper sphere. It 's neither science nor the
law; it 's the ministry."
How do you cipher that out ?"
Why, you talked to that scapegrace like
a regular old parson. Almost made me cry!"
I hope I have n't wronged him! Or, ra-
ther, I hope I have! I shall be very glad to
know that my suspicion is unfounded. I 'm
wondering what my mother will say," Fred
added dubiously.
"Your suspish' is all right; founded on a
rock," replied Quimby, confidently. Did n't
you see ? He was on the very point of break-
ing down. Your old clergyman's talk went
deep,--plowed a tremendous subsoil furrow,-
really got down to his conscience, if you call it
that, when it 's the fear of exposure chiefly that
makes a poor sinner anxious to confess a fault,
and sorry he committed it. Not a first-class
conscience,- hardly the genuine, fast-color,
warranted-not-to-fade article,- but 'jes' better
than none at all,' as the old negro woman said
of her husband. He '11 own up yet."
"I hope he will! Fred exclaimed fervently.
But I say, Melf!" cried Quimby, looking
around upon the little glen into which they
had descended. You did n't tell me you kept
a small private paradise here A miniature Gar-
den of Eden This brook, these wooded banks
and overarching boughs, the sunshine flickering
through,- it 's perfectly exquiz'! "
Glad you like it," said the young proprietor,
well pleased.
Like it! echoed the guest. That's no
word for it. Where 's Adam? Seems to me
he should be around somewhere. There 's the
infant Cain now,--or is it Abel ? "
It 's the little deaf-mute I told you about,"
said Melverton. "Over there is the parsonage
side of the brook."
Quimby was regarding the child with intense
"What an elf! he exclaimed.
"I '11 show him to you," said Melverton,
leading the way along the streamlet's edge.
At a spot where it gushed between two rocks,
the child was stooping over a tiny water-wheel
which the current kept whirling, while he
dropped twigs and small sticks upon it, to see



them flung off with the flying drops. He was
unconscious of the voices and the feet ap-
proaching behind him, until the young men
were quite near; then he turned with quick
surprise and a bright laugh, as Fred crossed
the brook and caught him up in his arms.
He's the preciousest little old man that ever
was!" cried Fred, tossing him. He knows
his best friend!" as the child put out a tiny
hand and smoothed the young man's cheek.
"But think of it, Quimby! He can't hear a
word, and never will in all his life! "
"'The pity of it! The pity of it!'" Quimby
quoted, with a sincerity of feeling that betrayed
a tender heart under all his gaiety. "Born so? "
"No. Scarlet fever. A terrible calamity.
He 's the only one who does n't realize it.
You never saw a happier sprite. Curious,
what compensations nature sometimes provides
for our worst ills. Blessed himself, he 's a
blessing to all around him. Keeps the little
trickling springs of affection open in their
hearts, you know. I believe he 's a source of
deeper happiness to his mother than if he had
all his five senses, like her other children."
There were bright tears in the young man's
fine eyes as he held the child on his shoulder,
clasping with one hand the little wet feet, and
with the other arm hugging him close to his
handsome head and manly neck.
"He must be a great care, though," said
Quimby, looking into the child's laughing eyes,
and studying their expression. Mischievous,
I fancy."
He 's in everything Fred replied. Of
course it's impossible to discipline him as you
would another child. Conscientious -very -
in his own way; but his notions of right and
wrong are sometimes strangely inverted, judged
by our standards. If he wants a thing, he '11
have it, if he can get it; the desire is justifica-
tion enough, to his unsophisticated conscience.
There 's no use keeping shoes and stockings on
him; he 's in the brook a dozen times a day."
"Have they ever tried to teach him to
speak by the modern methods of deaf-mute
instruction ? "
Yes, but without much success. He won't
even learn the printed or sign alphabet. The

trouble is," said Fred, "he communicates too
easily in a sign-language of his own. He is
trying to tell us something now. What is it,
Midget ? That's the name we can't help giving
him, it fits him so exactly."
The child, carried in his arms along the
brookside, looked back up the stream, making
earnest gestures, a quick, whirling movement
of his little hand being one of them.
"Something about his water-wheel," Quimby
observed, making a similar motion in return.
Midget nodded with pleasure, and, slipping
from Fred's arms, ran back to the spot where
he had left his wheel. This he removed from
its support of two stakes, held it up laughingly,
and made signs that were easy to interpret.
He is afraid some accident may happen to
it if he leaves it there," Fred remarked; "and
he is going to take it to the house. Let 's see
if I can make him do an errand for me."
As Midget came running back to him, Fred
secured his attention, and, looking down into
his bright little face, began to communicate
with him in a way that surprised and amused
Canton Quimby, who stood observing them,
and endeavoring to read their language.
He understands," Melverton said, as the
child, with a final affirmative response, started
to run up the bank toward the old parsonage.
"I understand, too,- some of your gestures,
anyway," replied Quimby. "When you put
up your hand,-like this,-you meant to ask
for somebody as high as your necktie; but when
you put it behind your ears, with a motion of
cutting your head off, that bothered yours truly."
I meant a person about that height, as you
say, and with short hair. His mother is near
Tracy's height, and his sister is almost as tall;
but they have long hair. There 's a young
minister boarding in the house; but he is taller
than Tracy. Midget told me his brother was
at home; then I said,' Find him, and bring
him down here to see me.'
"That 's nothing to the conversations his
family can carry on with him," Fred went on,
as they seated themselves on the bench by
the brook. It 's a very interesting family, as
you will see; for I am going to introduce you
to them sometime, though not to-day."

(To be continued.)



:i'II M ..1 '2- /6


^' ,

A PRINCE of Persia had three sons,
And each of them had planned
To be the greatest archer known
In all that goodly land.

The prince one day called unto him
The eldest of the three.
"Behold, my son! Canst shoot the bird
Tethered to yonder tree? "

"Ay, sire." Aladdin drew his bow
With fiercely kindling eye,
But paused before the arrow sped,
Checked by his father's cry:


"Stop! stop! my son. One moment wait!
Tell me, what dost thou see ?"
I see tall rocks, the river wide,
A vulture, and a tree-"

Go to!" the father cried in scorn-
Thou seest too much, by far.
Dost think that, gazing on the moon,
Thou canst bring down a star ?

Go, seek thy brother Ahmed now;
Bid him come here in haste."
In Ahmed's willing hands, ere long,
The royal bow was placed.


"Bring down for me yon kingly bird,
My son," the father said.
"I will," the boy replied, and drew
The arrow to its head.

"Tell me, what dost thou see, my boy? "
Went forth the father's cry.
"I see the palms, the purple hills,
The forest, and the sky-"

"Enough! enough! Thou seest too much.
Bid Selim meet me here."
And soon the youngest of his sons
With hurrying steps drew near.

"Selim, take thou these weapons here;
Kill yonder bird for me:
But ere thine arrow leaves its bow,
Tell me what thou dost see."

I see, my sire, a gleaming eye
Burn in a vulture's head."

Shoot! shoot the enraptured father cried.
"Shoot! shoot!" The arrow sped.
A messenger rode forth in haste,
And brought the vulture-dead!




,' i ~: ,""1~ h

-: .. c o -- n -

,I "'r s' c s ;u" "th I"
7 V

',: ,. ., ,'


It was a lonely Fiermn, i who drif lonely Shepherd
I J 'd, wlho lolled upon
', ]..-a,-
A"Alk! this life is nhi. how many fishes
There 's plenty woh te .lig fr if Iswimming in the

But here the world 'up of water,-l a i__. company were

SE;LI But i,, re -,r,. r:Ilig sheep,or else

"The sun comes up, the sun goes down, alike day after day;
I come and go with my slow sheep in just the selfsame way.
I am tired of the hilltop, I am tired of the lea,
And I would I were yon Fisherman a-skimming o'er the sea!"
It was a lonely Fisherman, who drifted with his boat,-
"Alack! this life is nothing more than fish, and row, and float;
There 's plenty worth the living for if I were on the land,
But here the world is all made up of water, salt, and sand.

"There might be more variety if things were turned around,
And sheep went scampering in the sea and fishes on dry ground;
I am tired of the fishes, I am tired of the sea,
And I would I were yon Shepherd lad, a-lolling on the lea!"


- ----=---==---- .- I

Then the Fisherman he shouldered his basket, rod, and hook,
While the Shepherd sauntered surlily, a-slinging of his crook;
They nodded to each other,--a nod unreconciled,-
And the great sun gave a parting look, then smiled, and smiled, and smiled!


a. r;


f i .- '
.r t .
''" t d,

HONANI sat on the furthest point of V '
the mesa, looking over to the southwest. "
Behind him the pueblo rose in terraces
of age-worn stone, small-windowed and many-
stepped, glaring in the sunlight of an Arizona
noon. Hundreds of feet below was the plain,
dotted near by with fields of corn and melons
shrunken for the want of water. Beyond, it
stretched away in endless tawny waves of barren-
ness until, a hundred miles away, it met the sky
at the base of the mighty Nu-vat'-ikyan-obi, the
"houses of the snows." Beyond this his sight
could not go unless turned to the far-distant cloud
specks in the pale blue sky-that sky which in the
summer heat seemed to tremble in laughter and
mock him; but he knew that far beyond, on the
other side of those snow-capped peaks, in a
strange country, lay hidden the great sacred tur-
quoise ring-blue like the sky which trembled
above, and with hints in its depths of the great
green waters the grandfathers" sometimes
whispered of. A man's handbreadth it was,
fashioned cunningly from one perfect mass torn
from the heavens, it was said, by the great Pa-
wa'-quas, or wizards, in the old time, and he
who could but touch it would have his wish ;
and to him who wore it on his breast the future
was as one long dream of pleasure, or of great
deeds, if so he willed.
This had been told him by old Masi, his
great-uncle, before he died from that cruel fall
down the dizzy cliff, while Honani brought him
water and held his head upon his lap,- for
they were fast friends, the old man and the
young boy. There, far away in the south coun-
try, the magic turquoise waited for its master,
and Honani, the young Ho'-pi boy, alone knew

j of its hiding-place. But the great dis-
tance; the strange country to be traveled
over; the danger from burning thirst
amid the countless miles of fierce, hot sands;
the gnawing hunger when in the endless pine
forest,-not to speak of terrible bears and
lions, "Honan" and "'To-ho'-a,"-were obstacles
which loomed higher than the towering peaks
of the "houses of the snows."
And still Honani looked and longed. If he
could only come to this great talisman, how
quickly would all those hardships which seemed
to fill his life vanish into thin air! Then would
his old mother be well again, his father recover
the flocks stolen by the wicked Navajos. Re-
cover? Why, he should have countless ponies
and sheep and cattle, and he--Honani-
would become a great captain, and would smite
the Navajo, the Pah-ute, and the Apache, and
all other enemies of his people, until his name
would become a power and a blessing in his
own land, and a sound of terror to his foes.
Then would the grateful rains come in fullness,
and where was now a desolation of famine would
be a land of plenty. Again would the Ho'pi-
tuh give thanks to Those above," and the
name of Ma'-sau-w&h would be strange in the
houses of the peaceful people."
How many times he had dreamed these
dreams he could not count; and he might have
gone on so dreaming had not chance sent Ne-
vat'-i of the Eagle clan to taunt him.
Since how long, my brother, has the badger
(honani) taken to the cliff tops, the eagle's
rightful place ? Yours is down there, or over
yonder"; and he pointed by chance toward
the snow peaks.


'I, ~




- ~,
*- .-F

-,-- "-

- E -^ -
*'..^ ? '-

oP ^-


VOL. XXIII.-28. 217

! I;. ;,' ''II -1
.,., I:" ..i -,.
, ih,,],,, .^, ,,
l'J, ,1...:



Honani wakened from his dream of conquest,
and, stung into loss of temper by the contemp-
tuous tone of Ne-vat'-i, the pueblo bully, an-
swered hotly: "Though I be but a badger,
have a care lest I undermine the eagle's cliff,
and put a ring around his leg!"
Small as was this pebble'of thought, it started
there and then an avalanche in Honani's mind
to defeat and properly humiliate Ne-vat'-i, who,
although skilful in all accomplishments of the
Indian lad, was boastful and arrogant beyond
Now, too, after the small stock of corn was
gathered, would come those fiercely waged con-
tests of skill and endurance so dear to the heart
of the savage boy, making or marring him in
the eyes of the people; and this year, Honani
knew full well, in all the matches it was really
Ne-vat'-i he would be pitted against; and Ne-
vat'-i was not of pure Tusayan blood,-in truth,
but half Navajo,- and everybody knew all the
Navajos were wizards. Here was a new incen-
tive: he would match magic against magic,
and do it with the turquoise ring.
That night he slept but little. Plan after plan
came and went, but all of them required his
telling his secret, and old Masi had warned him
not to. His first plan of waiting until he was
older and stronger seemed the only one, after
all,--in two or three years,- but what might
not happen in that time ? He might be dead
- the magic ring be found by another! No!
There was but one thing to do -to go, and
to go at once.
With the first light of dawn he was about,
looking cautiously for food to hide until he was
ready to start. All day he hung about the
" grandfathers," asking as carelessly as he could
questions about the way to the south country,
his heart sinking many times at the stories they
told of its terrors of thirst, hunger, and evil spir-
its. Still he resolved to go on and reach the
hiding-place; after that, with the magic ring,
he would have no fear.
Slowly the sun sank behind the western mesas
and was gone. Then all the land was bathed
in the wondrous afterglow, more beautiful than
any bright sunshine; the flocks were driven up
from the purple-shadowed plain to the corrals
nestling on the cliff-side; the twilight deepened
SUnderground temple

and then was checked by the great full moon
mounting the clear, still sky, and there was
peace upon the land.
Honani's plans (if plans they could be called)
were to wait until the pueblo was asleep, for
they were early people there, and then to steal
away, making no noise. The dogs would bark,
of course, but that was the way of Indian dogs
to sleep all day and bark all night. Slipping
cautiously from his blanket-bed, and half whis-
pering a good-by to his little sister lying near
the door, he worked his way along in the deep
shadows of the houses, past the openings of
the ki-vas* of the snake and antelope priests,
through a little open court, until he stood on
the top of the way of the high place," a dizzy
trail or stone ladder, going down, down, almost
straight into the black shadow cast by a huge
pillar of rock which had separated from the
mesa, standing like a giant sentinel guarding the
ladder of stone between it and the parent cliff.
It was enough to cause a white boy to grow sick
with dizzy terror, but to Honani, living all his
life upon the mesa, as he hung there between
heaven and earth, the greatest fear was the
dark shadow, because it was strange, and it
seemed like going down in S/zi'-pa-pu the en-
trance to the under-world. But down he went,
and, coming from the shadow, stood on the ter-
race beneath a flood of moonlight which turned
the walls of the cliff to silver.
When he reached the plain, six hundred feet
below, he took from a clump of Rocio his bow
and quiver, his throwing-stick shaped like a
boomerang, the bag of food, and his earthen
canteen. Then, having placed his prayer-sticks
carefully, and addressing a fervent petition to
"Those above," he turned his face to the
"snow houses."
Behind him the mesa, crowned by the pue-
blo, towered against the sky like a huge dis-
masted ship, and over all hung the wonder
of the moon.
All that night he walked on, steadily yet
fearfully, until the highest peaks of Nu-vat'-
ikyan-obi began to reflect palely the first faint
flush of the approaching day, growing more
and more splendid in glowing rose-tinted snow
and deep-blue cafions, as Ta'-wa, the great day-
god, waked from his repose in the Ta-wa'-ki
es. t Sun-house.



and stepped forward to carry the shield of
light to his western house.
Who can tell the story of Honani's journey,
and tell it truly ? Only he can know of the
weary way over that riot of color and desola-
tion, volcano-rent and lava-ribbed; that hideous
waterless waste of scarred and cinder-strewn
grave--the "painted desert." And when he
lost himself in the shadows of the mighty
"houses of the snows," drinking of their icy
springs, there still stretched before him for many
a day's journey a trackless forest of giant pines,
to that strange "jumping-off" place where the
world sinks into a snarled mass of distorted
mountains and catons, heaped and piled in
titanic confusion two thousand feet sheer below
the pine-trees on the brink.
Through the mysterious and misleading re-
cesses of the forest he passed, hungry unto
death at times, almost overwhelmed by the la-
bor to be done, while the pine branches against
the sky waved him ever on and southward. At
length he came to where it seemed he could
almost look down to the very spot where lay
the treasure, if old Masi had not been wrong
in his many directions. The shape of certain
mountains and caions convinced him he was
right, and that the stream hundreds of feet
below him ran past the hiding-place. Down
past endless misshapen cedars, gnarled in the
most fantastic distortion, plowing through the
heavy soil, half tumbling the last fifty feet, until,
utterly worn out, he reached the stream-bed.
Then he went on, looking ever to his right, for
on that side was the hiding-place of the great
turquoise ring. So suddenly did he come to
the very place told of by Masi, that he shrank
back with surprise and superstitious fear.
He had expected to find a ruined house or
two, but before his startled eyes stretched a
dead city. In a great bend of the stream, and
forming a huge amphitheater, the cliffs rose
glittering and dazzling white a hundred feet or
more, when the stone changed to a soft gray-
brown, and went up as high again. Just where
the white and brown rock met at the deepest
part of the bend, a colossal bite had been taken
out of the face of the cliff, forming a great cave.
In this space a people, now gone, leaving no
record but these silent ruins, had built a most

curious and remarkable structure, over five
stories high, receding one above the other,
until the upper story was far within the sha-
dow of the cave. This was plainly the citadel,
or great communal house; for on both sides,
following the curve of the white cliff, were the
windows and doorways of innumerable cave-
dwellings, hollowed from the soft tufa of which
it was composed. The central building might
have been made only a few years ago by some
of Honani's own people, so fresh and new it
seemed; but both its position and the caves
told of a time long ago, when, without doubt,
this was the home of a numerous and prosperous
people. In the great bend of the stream had
been their fields, and high up, secure from dan-
gers, they had lived, loved, and died.
Now all was dead. The fortress frowned
down from its recess, sphinx-like, in the hot,
vibrating air; the doors and windows looked,
from the face of the white cliff, like eyes from
out a skull; and over all brooded a stillness as of
death. Over Honani, crouching below, there
came a feeling of awe born of fear nameless,
but very real. He was not old enough to have
all the fear of a full-grown Indian in the pres-
ence of anything connected with death; but
the thought that up into the great house hung
against the cliff he must go, or forever re-
nounce the turquoise ring, left him so weak
and unnerved that the rustle of a lizard in
the grass made him start and tremble. How
long he remained gazing at that blinding city
in the air, he did not know; but the heat
forced him to movement. Drawn on, yet
afraid, he slowly, with many halts and starts,
began to climb the sloping talus, or rubbish, at
the foot of the cliff.
To reach the great central mass of buildings
he found, on examination, that even to him,
rock-bred though he was, the face of the cliff
just below the fortress was too hard to climb,
and he was forced to approach it by picking his
way along the terraces in front of the cave-
buildings. It took him a long time to gain a
point nearly below the great house; but at last,
with torn hands and feet, exhausted in strength,
and panting, he drew himself up to the ledge at
the base of the wall, and lay there trembling.
Nearly at his hand was a very small door,


opening into the lower story of the building.
This door, he knew by his own home, did not
mean the people who had used it were very small
themselves, but made it harder for an enemy
to get through in the face of resistance. The
room into which he crawled was small and low-
ceiled, having a hatchway into the room above,
through which the rough ladder still projected.
Old Masi had told, him to go to the very
topmost room. In this he would find a small
stream of water falling into a little basin-like
cavity in the floor next to the back wall, and
there disappearing into a fissure of the rock.
This was the water-supply in case of siege, and
Honani thought how lucky that was, instead of
having to carry water up hundreds of feet, as
at home. In that pool, Masi said, lay the great
turquoise. Scrambling up through successive
hatchways, he passed rooms with all their con-
tents for living, as when the builders used them.
Why they had gone in such an evident hurry,
Honani did not question: the magic ring was
just beyond. In the dim light of the room up
in the funnel of the cave it was hard to see,
and he listened for the sound of water; but not
the faintest murmur came to his ear. Groping
along the entire back wall, he came to a small
basin in the rock; but it was dry, and lined with
dust. Then his heart stood still, for the cavity
was empty. Some one had been before him,
and now the ring was lost to him beyond all
He lay down on the floor, his head hot and
swirling, his heart heavy as lead. One expla-
nation after another chased through his excited
brain. Then he felt angry. Could the story of
the magic ring be a dream the vaporings of a
weak old man ? And had he come so far, and
suffered so much, to find a handful of dust shut
in a cell built no one knows how long ago ?
Masi must, of course, have been there. His
description of the route and place was too
vivid for any dream; but the turquoise!-that
he must have imagined. Perhaps the fierce
heat he, too, had just come through, had turned
the old man's head. That was possible; but
he could not tell.
Worn out and heavy with disappointment,
Honani lay down where he was, not daring to
eat of the morsel of dried beef he had left, and

slept. It was so dark in the little room, and
he had been so tired, he did not awaken until
a ray of light, coming through the only window
opening to the east, fell upon his face. His
toilet was simply to put his hair from out his
eyes and stand up, and he was "dressed." He
lingeringly turned to leave the place of his great
disappointment, and as he did so the nearly
level beam of light fell full upon the little dry
pool, and catching the surface of a mass of rock
projecting from the side, caused it to shine and
sparkle like a thousand fireflies. It was so
pretty, Honani decided to take the crystal along
for his little sister Ta-la-on'-ci, in far-off Tusayan,
whose eyes were nearly as bright. After a great
deal of work, and by good use of his throw-
ing-stick" as a lever, it came away, a mass half
as large as his head, pure white, and sparkling.
Down the ladders, and through the same
rooms, he went, his spirits very low, and when
he crawled again through the little door he was
blinded by the glitter and glare from the cliffs on
both sides. The way back to the stream as he
had come seemed so long, he decided to return
more directly. Tying the white rock by a deer-
skin thong about his neck, he cautiously let him-
self down backward from the upper platform,
feeling with his toes along the wall for a foothold.
He had gone two thirds down when the
treacherous tufa gave way beneath his weight,
and down he fell, face to the wall, clutching at
everything to save himself, until, bruised and
cut, he lay at the bottom of the cliff, with no
breath, and, for the moment, very little life left
in him. Had he been other than an Indian boy,
his fall would have cost him dear. As it was,
he was sore and shaken, but not seriously hurt.
The sun was very hot, and he started for the
shade of the bushes along the stream. Then
he noticed the white rock was gone from about
his neck; the thong was broken or cut by his
fall. Not wishing to leave it, he went back, and
easily found it by the buckskin thong still tied
around it. Lifting it up with a jerk, fully half
of it broke away. He could have cried with
vexation had he not been an Indian. It was
hardly worth carrying away now; the white, glit-
tering crystals were only a shell around a dirty,
brown, greasy-feeling bundle, which he idly pulled
apart, and then sat down in the glaring sun-


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light, staring speechless, but open-mouthed, for
there in his hand, like a circlet carved from the
sky, lay the Great Magic Turquoise Ring!
Honani could not understand. This was no
dream. The old-time tradition of the wonder-
ful magic ring was true. So Masi was vindi-
cated, and -how cunningly had the old peo-
ple hidden it, wrapping it in greased deerskin,
then placing it in the pool where they knew
this particular water would soon cover it with
a coating of lime crystals; and the process had
continued until it had become like a stony mass
completely inclosing the deerskin. Then,
through some calamity to the people, the secret
was lost to all but a few.. Masi had tried, no
doubt, to get it; but, with less luck than Honani,
had not been attracted by what was to all ap-
pearance only a lump of rock. Now he, Ho-
nani the Ho'-pi, had it, and he would -
He looked over his shoulder-there in the
heat and light glared the dead city, the eye-
like windows and doors still gazing at him
darkly. Clutching his treasure to his breast, he
ran from the haunted place, and did not stop
until far on his way to the north. Of his
journey back to Tusayan, how he advanced
with the rains, how game came to his bow and
throwing-stick, of his bathing in a spring in
which he could not sink, how he crossed the
swollen Red Water," Pa-la'-bai-ya, and gained
his mesa home, is a long story, and Honani

said few words. It is told, however, that the
harvest that year was plenty through the rains
which came with Honani, and that in the
games and contests which followed he de-
feated all comers, even grown men skilled in
bow-shooting, running, and jumping.
Ne-vat'-i, the boaster, suffered such an igno-
minious defeat in two trials that he was dressed
like a girl until he could by some new exploit
redeem himself.
Then, afterward, when the land was rich in
cattle and crops, a fair prize, the fierce Pah-ute
came down from the north, like To-ho'-a, the
lion, to ravage and kill; and all the fighting men
went out against them. Honani led the young
men, and stood side by side with the old war-
captain. Then when the Pah-ute were driven
to bay, and all killed but two, whom Honani
had saved, he sent them back to their own
country to tell his message: how he had
"eaten up" all their fighting men, and would
do the like to any others coming in war against
the Ho-pi'-tuh the peaceful people."
These things are to be heard if one or two
of the oldest grandfathers, once the compan-
ions of Honani, can be made to talk to those
who, having had their "heads washed," and
being their brothers, can be trusted. But the
grandfathers are old and wise, and words are
like wild birds, which fly beyond your reach,
and breed many more.

*That is, who have received tribal baptism.



THERE was a little schoolma'am
Who had this curious way
Of drilling in subtraction
On every stormy day.

" Let 's all subtract unpleasant things
Like doleful dumps and pain,
And then," said she, "you '11 gladly see
That pleasant things remain."


V ~



TLI. I.i

Il .





[Begun int ite December number. ]
ETTY and her fa-
their had taken
a long journey
from London.
r- ., nearly all day
in the train,
,( after a break-
fast by candle-
light; and it
except for the
light of the full moon in a misty sky, as they
drove up the long avenue at Danesly. Pagot
was in great spirits; she was to go everywhere
with Betty now, being used to the care of young
ladies, and more being expected of this young
lady than in the past. Pagot had been at
Danesly before with the Duncans, and had
many friends in the household.
Mr. Leicester was walking across the fields
by a path he well knew from the little station,
with a friend and fellow guest whom they had
met at Durham. This path was much shorter
than the road, so that papa was sure of reach-
ing the house first; but Betty felt a little lonely,
being tired and shy of meeting a great, bright
houseful of people quite by herself, in case
papa should loiter. But suddenly the carriage
stopped, and the footman jumped down and
opened the door. My lady is walking down
to meet you, miss," he said; she 's just ahead
of us, coming down the avenue." And Betty
flew like a pigeon to meet her dear friend.
The carriage drove on and left them together
under the great trees, walking along together
over the beautiful tracery of shadows. Sud-
denly Lady Mary felt the warmth of Betty's
love for her and her speechless happiness as
she had not felt it before, and she stopped,
looking so tall and charming, and put her

two arms round Betty, and hugged her to her
My dear little girl! she said for the second
time; and then they walked on, and still Betty
could not say anything for sheer joy. Now
I 'm going to tell you something quite in confi-
dence," said the hostess of the great house,
which showed its dim towers and scattered
lights beyond the leafless trees. I had been
wishing to have you come to me, but I should
not have thought this the best time for a visit;
later on, when the days will be longer, I shall
be able to have much more time to myself.
But an American friend of mine, Mr. Banfield,
who is a friend of your papa's, I believe, wrote
to ask if he might bring his young daughter,
whom he had taken from school in New York,
for a holiday. It seemed a difficult problem
for the first moment," and Lady Mary gave a
funny little laugh. "I did not know quite
what to do with her just now, as I should with
a grown person. And then I remembered that
I might ask you to help me, Betty dear. You
know that the Duncans always go for a Christ-
mas visit to their cousins in Devon."
I was so glad to come," said Betty warmly;
"it was nicer than anything else."
"I am a little afraid of young American
girls, you understand," said Lady Mary gaily;
and then, taking a solemn tone: "Yes, you
need n't laugh, Miss Betty! But you know
all about what they like, don't you ? and so I
am sure we can make a bit, of pleasure to-
gether, and we '11 be fellow-hostesses, won't
we ? We must find some time every day for a
little talking over of things quite by ourselves.
I 've put you next your father's rooms, and to-
morrow Miss Banfield will be near by, and
you 're to dine in my little morning-room to-
night. I 'm so glad good old Pagot is with
you; she knows the house perfectly well. I
hope you will soon feel at home. Why, this is


almost like having a girl of my very own," said
Lady Mary, wistfully, as they began to go up
the great steps and into the hall, where the
butler and other splendid personages of the
household stood waiting. Lady Mary was a
tall, slender figure in black, with a beautiful
head; and she carried herself with great spirit
and grace. She had wrapped some black lace
about her head and shoulders, and held it
gathered with one hand at her throat.
"I must fly to the drawing-room now, and
then go to dress for dinner; so good night,
darling," said this dear lady, whom Betty had
always longed to be nearer to and to know
better. "To-morrow you must tell me all
about your summer in New England," she
said, looking over her shoulder as she went one
way and Betty another, with Pagot and a foot-
man who carried the small luggage from the
carriage. How good and sweet she had been
to come to meet a young stranger who might
feel lonely, and as if there were no place for
her in the great strange house in the first min-
ute of her arrival. And Betty Leicester quite
longed to see Miss Banfield and to help her to a
thousand pleasures at once for Lady Mary's sake.

Somebody has said that there are only a
very few kinds of people in the world, but that
they are put into all sorts of places and condi-
tions. The minute Betty Leicester looked at
Edith Banfield next day she saw that she was
a little like Mary Beck, her own friend and
Tideshead neighbor. The first thought was
one of pleasure, and the second was a fear that
the new Becky would not have a good time at
Danesly. It was the next morning after Betty's
own arrival. That first evening she had her
dinner alone, and then was reading and resting
after her journey in Lady Mary's own little
sitting-room, which was next her own room.
When Pagot came up from her own hasty sup-
per and crack with her friends to look after
Betty, and to unpack, she had great tales to
tell of the large and noble company assembled
at Danesly House. "They 're dining in the
great banquet hall itself," she said with pride.
" Lady Mary looks a queen at the head of the
table, with the French prince beside her and
the great Earl of Seacliff at the other side,"

said Pagot, proudly. I took a look from the
old musicians' gallery, miss, as I came along,
and it was a fine sight, indeed. Lady Mary's
own maid, as I have known well these many
years, was telling me the names of the strangers."
Pagot was very proud of her own knowledge
of fine people.
Betty asked if it was far to the gallery; and,
finding that it was quite near the part of the
house where they were, she went out with
Pagot along the corridors with their long rows
of doors, and into the musicians' gallery, where
they found themselves at a delightful point of
view. Danesly Castle had been built at dif-
ferent times; the banquet-hall itself was very
old and stately, with a high, arched roof.
There were beautiful old hangings and banners
where the walls and roof met, and lower down
were spread great tapestries. There was a
huge fire blazing in the deep fire-place at the
end, and screens before it; the long table
twinkled with candle-light, and the gay com-
pany sat about it. Betty looked first for papa,
and saw him sitting beside Lady Dimdale, who
was a great friend of his; then she looked for
Lady Mary, who was at the end between the
two gentlemen of whom Pagot had spoken.
She was still dressed in black lace, but with
many diamonds sparkling at her throat, and
she looked as sweet and spirited and self-pos-
sessed as if there were no great entertainment
at all. The men-servants in their handsome
livery moved quickly to and fro, as if they were
actors in a play. The people at the table were
talking and laughing, and the whole scene was
so pleasant, so gay and friendly, that Betty
wished, for almost the first time, that she were
grown up and dining late, to hear all the de-
lightful talk. She and Pagot were like swal-
lows high under the eaves of the great room.
Papa looked really boyish, so many of the men
were older than he. There were twenty at
table; and Pagot said, as Betty counted, that
many others were expected the next day. You
could imagine the great festivals of an older
time as you looked down from the gallery. In
the gallery itself there were quaint little heavy
wooden stools for the musicians: the harpers
and fiddlers and pipers who had played for so
many generations of gay dancers, for whom


the same lights had flickered, and over whose
heads the old hangings had waved. You felt.
as if you were looking down at the past. Betty
and Pagot closed the narrow door of the gallery
softly behind them, and our friend went back
to her own bedroom, where there was a nice
fire, and nearly fell asleep before it, while Pagot
was getting the last things unpacked and ready
for the night.
The next day at about nine o'clock Lady
Mary came through her morning-room and
tapped at the door. Betty was just ready and
very glad to say good morning. The sun was
shining, and she had been leaning out upon the
great stone window-sill looking down the long
slopes of the country into the wintry mists.
Lady Mary looked out too, and took a long
breath of the fresh, keen air. It's a good day
for hunting," she said, and for walking. I 'm
going down to breakfast, because I planned
for an idle day. I thought we might go down
together if you were ready."
Betty's heart was filled with gratitude; it
was so very kind of her hostess to remember
that it would be difficult for the only girl in the
great house-party to come to breakfast for the
first time. They went along the corridor and
down the great staircase, past the portraits and
the marble busts and figures on the landings.
There were two or three ladies in the great hall
at the foot, with an air of being very early, and
some gentlemen who were going fox-hunting;
and after Betty had spoken with Lady Dim-
dale, whom she knew, they sauntered into the
breakfast-room, where they found some other
people; and papa and Betty had a word to-
gether and then sat down side by side to their
muffins and their eggs and toast and marma-
lade. It was not a bit like a Tideshead com-
pany breakfast. Everybody jumped up if he
wished for a plate, or for more jam, or a cut of
cold game, which was on the sideboard with
many other things. The company of servants
had disappeared, and it was all as unceremo-
nious as if the breakfasters were lunching out
of doors. There was not a great tableful like
that of the night before; many of the guests
were taking their tea and coffee in their own
By the time breakfast was done, Betty had

begun to forget herself as if she were quite at
home. She stole an affectionate glance now
and then at Lady Mary, and had fine bits of
talk with her father, who had spent a charming
evening and now told Betty something about
it, and how glad he was to have her see their
fellow-guests. When he went hurrying away
to join the hunt, Betty was sure that she knew
what to do with herself. It would take her a
long time to see the huge old house and the
picture-gallery, where there were some very fa-
mous paintings, and the library, about which
papa was always so enthusiastic. Lady Mary
was to her more interesting than anybody else,
and she wished especially to do something for
Lady Mary. Aunt Barbara had helped her
niece very much one day in Tideshead when
she talked about her own experience in making
visits and going much into company. "The
best thing you can do," she said, "is to do
everything you can to help your hostess.
Don't wait to see what is going to be done for
you, but try to help entertain your fellow-guests
and to make the occasion pleasant, and you
will be sure to enjoy yourself and to find your
hostess wishing you to come again. Always
do the things that will help your hostess." Our
friend thought of this sage advice now, but it
was at a moment when every one else was
busy talking, and they were all going on to the
great library except two or three late breakfast-
ers who were still at the table. Aunt Barbara
had also said that when there was nothing else
to do, your plain duty was to entertain your-
self; and, having a natural gift for this, Betty
wandered off into a comer and found a new
"Punch" and some of the American maga-
zines on a little table close by the window-seat.
After a while she happened to hear some one
ask : What time is Mr. Banfield coming? "
"By the eleven o'clock train," said Lady
Mary. "I am just watching for the carriage
that is to fetch him. Look; you can see it
first between the two oaks there to the left. It
is an awkward time to get to a strange house,
poor man; but they were in the South and
took a night train that is very slow. Mr. Ban-
field's daughter is with him, and my dear friend
Betty, who knows what American girls best
like, is kindly going to help me entertain her."



Oh, really said one of the ladies, looking
up and smiling as if she had been wondering
just what Betty was for, all alone in the grown-
up house-party. Really, that 's very nice.
But I might have seen that you are Mr. Leices-
ter's daughter. It was very stupid of me, my
dear; you 're quite like him -..i. .!uir..- '
I have seen you with the L.in... ii.. : I
not ? asked some one else, n;l i1. i t t..:.:r
"Why, fancy !" said this frienil, i. i :...n, hi,
was named the Honorable Mr- N,...! i, .lii.i--:I-
land, a small, eager little lad, i :i.e,: .:. l-.:r
solemn great name,-" fanc,! '.. 1n iir.ir be
an American too. I should b. i r i.:. i iJ -.:u .
quite an English girl.'
Oh, no, indeed," said Bett ii-.J -j.
I 'm quite American, except f .r il.;' __ ;,,
England a very great deal." Sic
ready to go on and say much in .:.t
but she had been taught to sa. a-
little about herself as she possiL.., illlj"
could, since general society cr-, 'I r
little for knowledge that is g:.,:i
it too easily, especially about
strangers and one's self!
"There 's the carriage
now," said Lady Mary,
as she went away to I
welcome the guests. '
"Poor souls! they will ,i.l
like to get to their rooms i'
as soon as possible," she 'li
said hospitably; but al-
though the elder ladies "---;
did not stir, Betty deeply -- .;
considered the situation, ''-/
and then, with a hap- ii f
py impulse, hurried after i li,
her hostess. It was a i
long way about, through
two or three rooms and
the great hall to the en-
trance; but Betty over-
took Lady Mary just as "THEY W AG T
she reached the great
door, going forward in the most hospitable,
charming way to meet the new-comers. She
did not seem to have seen Betty at all.
The famous lawyer and wit, Mr. Banfield,
came quickly up the steps, and after him, more

slowly, came his daughter, whom he seemed
quite to forget.
A footman was trying to take her wraps and
traveling-bag, but she clung fast to them, and
looked up apprehensively toward Lady Mary.


Betty was very sympathetic, and was sure
that it was a trying moment, and she ran down
to meet Miss Banfield, and happened to be so
fortunate as to catch her just as she was trip-
ping over her dress upon the high stone step.


Mr. Banfield himself was well known in London,
and was a great favorite in society; but at first
sight his daughter's manners struck one as be-
ing less interesting. She was a pretty girl, but
she wore a pretentious look which was further
borne out by very noticeable clothes -not at
all the right things to travel in at that hour;
but, as has long ago been said, Betty saw at
once the likeness to her Tideshead friend and
comrade, Mary Beck, and opened her heart to
take the stranger in. It was impossible not
to be reminded of the day when Mary Beck
came to call in Tideshead, with her best hat
and bird-of-paradise feather, and they both felt
so awkward and miserable.
"Did you have a very tiresome journey ?"
Betty was asking as they reached the top of
the steps at last; but Edith Banfield's reply
was indistinct, and the next moment Lady
Mary turned to greet her young guest cor-
dially. Betty felt that she was a little dis-
mayed, and was all the more eager to have
the young compatriot's way made easy.
Did you have a tiresome journey ? asked
Lady Mary, in her turn; but the reply was
quite audible now.
Oh, yes," said Edith. It was awfully
cold oh, awfully! and so smoky and hor-
rid and dirty! I thought we never should get
here, with changing cars in horrid stations, and
everything," she said, telling all about it.
Oh, that was too bad," said Betty, rushing
to the rescue, while Lady Mary walked on
with Mr. Banfield. Edith Banfield talked on
in an excited, persistent way to Betty, after
having finally yielded up her bag to the foot-
man, and looking after him somewhat anxiously.
" It 's a splendid big house, is n't it ? she
whispered; but awfully old-fashioned. I sup-
pose there 's a new part where they live, is n't
there ? Have you been here before? Are
you English? "
"I 'm Betty Leicester," said Betty, in an un-
dertone. No, I have n't been here before;
but I have known Lady Mary for a long time
in London. I 'm an American, too."
You are n't, really! exclaimed Edith.
"Why, you must have been over here a good
many times, or something--" She cast a
glance at Betty's plain woolen gear, and recog-

nized the general comfortable appearance of
the English school-girl. Edith herself was
very fine in silk attire, with much fur trimming
and a most expensive hat. "Well, I 'm aw-
fully glad you 're here," she said, with a satis-
fied sigh; "you know all about it better than I
do, and can tell me what to put on."
"Oh, yes, indeed," said Betty, cheerfully;
"and there are lots of nice things to do. We
can see the people, and then there are all the
pictures and the great conservatories, and the
stables and dogs and everything. I 've been
waiting to see them with you; and we can ride
every day, if you like; and papa says it 's a
perfectly delightful country for walking."
I hate to walk," said Edith, frankly.
Oh, what a pity," lamented Betty, a good
deal dashed. She was striving against a very
present disappointment, but still the fact could
not be overlooked that Edith Banfield looked
like Mary Beck. Now, Mary also was apt
to distrust all strangers and to take suspi-
cious views of life, and she had little enthu-
siasm; but Betty knew and loved her loyalty
and really good heart. She felt sometimes as
if she tried to walk in tight shoes when
" Becky's opinions had to be considered, but
Becky's world had grown wider month by
month, and she loved her very much. Edith
Banfield was very pretty; that was a comfort,
and though Betty might never like her as she
did Mary Beck, she meant more than ever to
help her to have a good time.
Lady Mary appeared again, having given
Mr. Banfield into the young footman's charge.
She looked at Sister Betty for an instant with
an affectionate, amused little smile, and laid
one hand on her shoulder as she talked for a
minute pleasantly with the new guest.
A maid appeared to take Edith to her room,
and Lady Mary patted Betty's shoulder as
they parted. They did not happen to have
time for a word together again all day.
By luncheon-time the two girls were very
good friends, and Betty knew all about the
new-comer; and in spite of a succession of
minor disappointments, the acquaintance prom-
ised to be very pleasant. Poor Edith Banfield,
like poor Betty, had no mother, and Edith had
spent several years already at a large boarding-



school. She was taking this journey by way
of vacation, and was going back after the
Christmas holidays. She was a New-Yorker,
and she hated the country, and loved to stay in
foreign hotels. This was the first time she had
ever paid a visit in England, except to some
American friends who had a villa on the
Thames, which Edith had found quite dull.
She had not been taught either to admire or to
enjoy very much, which seemed to make her
schooling count for but little so far; but she
adored her father and his brilliant wit in a most
lovely way, and with this affection and pride
Betty could warmly sympathize. Edith longed
to please her father in every possible manner,
and secretly confessed that she did not always
succeed, in a way that touched Betty's heart.
It was hard to know exactly how to please the
busy man; he was apt to show very mild in-
terest in the new clothes which at present were
her chief joy: perhaps she was always making
the mistake of not so much trying to please
him as to make him pleased with herself, which
is quite a different thing.
There was an anxious moment on Betty's
part when Edith Banfield summoned her to
decide upon what dress should be worn for the
evening. Pagot, whom Betty had asked to go
and help her new friend, was looking a little
disapprovingly, and two or three fine French
dresses were spread out for inspection.
Why, are n't you going to dress ? asked
Edith. I was afraid you were all ready to go
down, but I could n't think what to put on."
I 'm all dressed," said Betty, with surprise.
" Oh, what lovely gowns! But we" she sud-
denly foresaw a great disappointment -" we
need n't go down yet, you know, Edith; we
are not out, and dinner is n't like luncheon
here in England. We can go down afterward,
if we like, and hear the songs, but we never go
to dinner when it 's a great dinner like this. I
think it is much better fun to stay away; at
least, I always have thought so until last night,
and then it did really look very pleasant," she
frankly added. "Why, I 'm not sixteen, and
you 're only a little past, you know." But
there lay a grown-up young lady's evening
gowns as if to confute all Betty's arguments.
"How awfully stupid!" said Edith, with

great scorn. Nursery tea for anybody like
us and she turned to look at Betty's dress,
which was charming enough in its way, and
made in very pretty girlish fashion. I should
think they 'd make you wear a white pinafore,"
said Edith, ungraciously; but Betty, who had
been getting a little angry, thought this so
funny that she laughed and felt much better.
I wear muslins for very best," she said se-
renely. "Why, of course we '11 go down after
dinner and stay a while before we say good-
night; they '11 be out before half-past nine,- I
mean the ladies,- and we '11 be there in the
drawing-room. Oh, is n't that blue gown a
beauty I wish I had put on my best muslin,
You look very suitable, Miss Betty," said
Pagot, stiffly. Pagot was very old-fashioned,
and Edith made a funny little face at Betty
behind her back.
The two girls had a delightful dinner to-
gether in the morning-room next Betty's own,
and Edith's good humor was quite restored.
She had had a good day, on the whole, and
the picture-galleries and conservatories had
not failed to please by their splendors and de-
lights. After they had finished their dessert,
Betty, as a great surprise, offered the hospitali-
ties of the musicians' gallery, and they sped
along the corridors and up the stairs in great
spirits, Betty leading the way. Now, don't
upset the little benches," she whispered, as she
opened the narrow door out of the dark pas-
sage, and presently their two heads were over
the edge of the gallery. They leaned boldly
out, for nobody would think of looking up.
The great hall was even gayer and brighter
than it had looked the night before. The
lights and colors shone, there were new people
at table, and much talk was going on. The
butler and his men were more military than
ever; it was altogether a famous, much-dia-
monded dinner company, and Lady Mary
looked quite magnificent at the head.
"It looks pretty," whispered Edith; "but
how dull it sounds! I don't believe that they
are having a bit of a good time. At home,
you know, there 's such a noise at a party.
What a splendid big room!"
"People never talk loud when they get to-



gether in England," said Betty. They never
make that awful chatter that we do at home.
Just four or five people who come to tea in
Tideshead can make one another's ears ache. I
could n't get used to it last summer; Aunt
Barbara was almost the only tea-party person
in Tideshead who did n't get screaming."
Oh, I do think it's splendid! said Edith,
wistfully. I wish we were down there. I
wish there was a little gallery lower down.
There 's Lord Dunwater, who sat next me at
luncheon. Who 's that next your father? "
There was a little noise behind the eager
girls, and they turned quickly. A tall boy had
joined them, who seemed much disturbed at
finding any one in the gallery, which seldom
had a visitor. Edith stood up, and seemed an
alarmingly tall and elegant young lady in the
dim light. Betty, who was as tall, was nothing
like so imposing to behold at that moment; but
the new-comer turned to make his escape.
Don't go away," Betty begged, seeing his
alarm, and wondering who he could be.
"There 's plenty of room to look. Don't go."
And thereupon the stranger came forward.
He was a handsome fellow, dressed in Eton
clothes. He was much confused, and said no-
thing; and, after a look at the company below,
during which the situation became more em-
barrassing to all three, he was going away.
Are you staying in the house, too ? asked
Betty, timidly; it was so very awkward.
I just came," said the boy, who now ap-
peared to be a very nice fellow indeed. They
had left the musicians' gallery,- nobody knew
why,- and now stood outside in the corridor.
I just came," he repeated. I walked over
from the station across the fields. I 'm Lady
Mary's nephew, you know. She 's not expect-
ing me. I had my supper in the housekeep-
er's room. I was going on a week's tramp in
France with my old tutor, just to get rid of
Christmas parties and things; but he strained a
knee at foot-ball, and we had to give it up, and
so I came here for the holidays. There was
nothing else to do," he explained ruefully.
"What a lot of people my aunt 's got this year!"
It's very nice," said Betty, cordially.
It 's beastly slow, I think," said the boy.
"I like it much better when my aunt and I

have the place to ourselves. Oh, no; that 's
not what I mean!" he said, blushing crimson as
both the girls laughed. "Only we have jolly
good times by ourselves, you know; no end
of walks and rides; and we fish if the water 's
right. You ought to see my aunt cast a fly."
"She 's perfectly lovely, is n't she ? said
Betty, in a tone which made them firm friends
at once. "We 're going down to the draw-
ing-room soon; would n't you like to come ? "
Yes," said the boy, slowly. It 'll be fun
to surprise her. And I saw Lady Dimdale at
dinner. I like Lady Dimdale awfully."
"So does papa," said Betty; "oh, so very
much! -next to Lady Mary and Mrs. Duncan."
You 're Betty Leicester, are n't you ? Oh,
I know you now," said the boy, turning toward
her with real friendliness. I danced with
you at the Duncans', at a party, just before I
first went to Eton, oh, ever so long ago! -you
won't remember it; and I 've seen you once
besides, at their place in Warwickshire, you
know. I 'm Warford, you know."
"Why, of course," said Betty, with great
pleasure. "It puzzled me; I could n't think
at first, but you 've quite grown up since then.
How we used to dance when we were little
things! Do you like it now?"
No, I hate it," said Warford, coldly, and
they all three laughed. Edith was walking
alongside, feeling much left out of the conver-
sation, though Warford had been stealing
glances at her.
Oh, I am so sorry I did n't think," Betty
exclaimed in her politest manner. Miss
Edith Banfield, this is Lord Warford. I did n't
mean to be rude, but you were a great surprise,
were n't you, Warford ? and they all laughed
again, as young people will. Just then they
reached the door of Lady Mary's morning-
room; the girls' dessert was still on the table,
and, being properly invited, Warford began to
eat the rest of the fruit. One never gets
quite enough grapes," said Warford, who was
evidently suffering the constant hunger of a
rapidly growing person.
Edith Banfield certainly looked very pretty,
both her companions thought so; but they felt
much more at home with each other. It
seemed as if she were a great deal older than


they, in her fine evening dress. At last they
all started down the great staircase, and had
just settled themselves in the drawing-room
when the ladies began to come in.
Why, Warford, my dear!" said Lady Mary,
with great delight, as he met her and kissed
her twice, as if they were quite by themselves;
then he turned and spoke to Lady Dimdale,
who was just behind, still keeping Lady Mary's
left hand in his own. Warford looked taller
and more manly than ever in the bright light,
and he was recognized warmly by nearly all
the ladies, being not only a fine fellow, but the
heir of Danesly and great possessions besides,
so that he stood for much that was interesting,
even if he had not been interesting himself.
Betty and Edith looked on with pleasure, and
presently Lady Mary came toward them.
I am so glad that you came down," she
said; "and how nice of you to bring Warford !
He usually objects so much that I believe you
have found some new way to make it easy. I
suppose it is dull when he is by himself. Mr.
Frame is here, and has promised to sing by and
by. He and Lady Dimdale have practised a
duet; their voices are charming together. I
hope that you will not go up until afterward."
Betty, who had been sitting when Lady
Mary came toward her, had risen at once to
meet her, without thinking about it; but Edith

Banfield still sat in her low chair, feeling stiff
and uncomfortable, while Lady Mary did not
find it easy to talk down at her or to think of
anything to say. All at once it came to Edith's
mind to follow Betty's example, and they all
three stood together talking cheerfully until
Lady Mary had to go to her other guests.
Is n't she lovely said Edith, with all the
ardor that Betty could wish. "I don't feel
a bit afraid of her, as I thought I should."
"She takes such dear trouble," said Betty,
herself. "She never forgets anybody. Some
grown persons behave as if you ought to be
ashamed of not being older, and as if you were
going to bore them if they did n't look out."
At this moment Warford came back most loy-
ally from the other side of the room, and pres-
ently some gentlemen made their appearance,
and the delightful singing began. Betty, who
loved music, sat and listened like a quiet young
robin in her red dress, and her father, who
looked at her happy, dreaming face, was sure
that there never had been a dearer girl in
the world. Lady Mary looked at her too, and
was really full of wonder, because in some way
Betty had managed with simple friendliness to
make her shy nephew quite forget himself, and
to give some feeling of belongingness to Edith
Banfield, who would have felt astray by herself
in a strange English house.

(To be concluded.)



OH, Peterkin Pout and Gregory Grout,
Are two little goblins black !
Full oft from my house I 've driven them out,
But somehow they still come back.
,They clamber up to the Baby's mouth,
And pull the corners down;
They perch aloft on the Baby's brow,
And twist it into a frown.
And one says" Shall! and t' other says Sha'n't!"
And one says Must!" and t' other says
Can't! "
Oh, Peterkin Pout and Gregory Grout,
I pray you now, from my house keep out!

But Samuel Smile and Lemuel Laugh
Are two little fairies light:
They 're always ready for fun and chaff,
And sunshine is their delight.
And when they creep into Baby's eyes,
Why, there the sunbeams are:
And when they peep through her rosy lips,
Her laughter rings near and far.
And one says "Please!" and t' other says
"Do! "
And both together say I love you!"
So, Lemuel Laugh and Samuel Smile,
Come in, my dears, and tarry a while!


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


[Begun in the November number.]



THERE were half a dozen men in the fore-
most group of the new-comers, and others were
not far behind them. All were in their best
array, in honor of the wedding. They were
strongly made, brawny, resolute-looking men,
of the somewhat peculiar Galilean type, with
faces bronzed by the sun and hands hardened
by toil. There was no need for Lois to point
out to Cyril the one of whom she had been
Somewhat in advance of the rest walked one
who was speaking to a vigorous, fiery-eyed
man, who strode along at his side. Could this
really be the heir of David and of Solomon, this
simply dressed and quiet Galilean ?
Whether or not Cyril had begun to form ex-
pectations of a different kind, this was the man
of whom Nathanael had spoken to Ben Nassur.
He wore no crown, no sword, no jewels; and
Cyril had not supposed that he would. But
there was about him no sign of soldiership, or
leadership, or of authority.
"He is no captain," thought Cyril, sadly;
"he is no warrior; he seems no greater than
other men!"
The boy had a sense of disappointment, so
little cause for enthusiasm or hope did this man
from Capernaum seem to bring with him. He
should have been very different, if he were
indeed to be a king.
Nevertheless, Cyril could not turn his eyes
away, although they failed to keep an accurate
picture which he could afterward remember.
He was sure, indeed, that this man, while no
VOL. XXIII.-30. 23

taller than others, was of at least full height,
broad-shouldered, muscular, with the firm, easy
step and movement which belong to men of
perfect form and unimpaired strength. He was
as erect as a pine, and his sashed tunic and
flowing robe, not different from others around
him, befitted him well. Cyril took note of even
his hair and beard; but if the boy also tried to
tell the color of the eyes, he could not do so,
for his own sank before them, and he had a cu-
rious sensation of being looked through rather
than looked at; and yet his heart beat high and
fast for a moment.
Lois," he whispered.
"Hush! she answered softly. Mary is
about to speak to him."
The party from Capernaum had halted at
the well, and Mary stood in front of her son,
looking up at him with an expression that
seemed to be partly doubt and partly expecta-
tion. Before a word was said by either of
them, Lois whispered to Cyril:
"Look! just see how he loves her! "
Hush! listen," said Cyril for at that
moment the lips of Mary parted.
Her heart was full of the grave disaster which
threatened the wedding-feast, and behind her
stood Hannah, the bridegroom's mother and
Mary's friend and kinswoman.
"They have no wine! said Mary.
Why does she tell him ? whispered Lois;
and something of the same idea was expressed
in the answer of Jesus. A different spirit,
nevertheless, was manifest in the kindly manner
and smile with which he replied. Woman,
what have I to do with thee? Mine hour is
not yet come."
Mary must have understood her son's mean-
ing better than others did or could, for she at


once turned to those who stood by the well.
Among them were servants of Ben Nassur, and
she said to these:
"Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it."
"Will he send them for wine ? thought Lois.
"I heard Raphael say there was none to be
had in Cana. He may send even to Nazareth."
And Cyril exclaimed aloud: I '11 go with them."


But at that moment the man Cyril felt so
ready to obey pointed to the great jars by the
well and said:
Fill the water-pots with water."
There had been many ceremonial washings
that day, as the guests of the wedding came and
went, for not one had gone in without pausing
by the well. The water-pots were therefore

nearly empty, and it would require much draw-
ing to fill them.
This must be done before he sends for the
wine," said Lois. His mother knows he has
"Or she certainly would not have asked him
to provide some for the feast," said Cyril, lean-
ing over to lift his full bucket from the well.
There was even
some haste and a
kind of excitement
-" among those whose
ready hands were
drawing and pouring;
and in a few minutes
More the sunshine
Sparkled upon brim-
ming fullness in the
last of the six jars.
"Now we are to
go for the wine," said
"They can't drink
water at a wedding-
S'- feast," thought Lois.
There was a startled
look upon every face
around her, as she
glanced from one to
another, for the next
S command was:
"Draw out, now,
and bear to the gov-
ernor of the feast."
Cyril could not ac-
count for the tremor
he felt as he dipped
a pitcher into a water-
pot, filled it, and lifted
it, and stepped away
Toward the house.
"Water, for the gov-
ernor of the feast? he thought. Water, to
Ben Nassur himself? Does he mean to mock
the rabbi, because there is no wine ?"
Still, he could hardly help looking into the
pitcher in his hands. Just behind him was
Lois. Suddenly she heard her brother ex-
claim: "It is wine! Lois, my pitcher is full
of wine! Let me see yours."


Down came her pitcher, and the two were
placed side by side.
"Oh, Cyril!" said Lois, "it is wine! Was
that what Jesus meant ?"
"It must be," said Cyril, in a low voice. Then,
after a pause, "We must carry it in. Come!"
Behind them followed the line of servants.
In a moment more the two tall, slender pitch-
ers were deposited before Isaac Ben Nassur,
at the head of the table. It was his duty, as
ruler of the feast, to critically taste each new
supply of refreshments provided, and now he
quickly filled a drinking-vessel, for a hint of the
threatened scarcity had reached him.
Cyril and Lois, and behind them the ser-
vants of the house, with Mary and Hannah
and several others, gazed expectantly upon the
face of the rabbi, waiting for his opinion. A
little distance from him, at his right, pale and
red by turns with anxiety, stood his son, the
bridegroom. To him Ben Nassur turned, well
pleased and radiant, but still somewhat judicial,
as became the ruler of the feast, and remarked:
"Every man, at the beginning, doth set
forth good wine, and when they have well
drunk, then that which is worse; but thou hast
kept the good wine until now."
So it was said by all. It was as if it had
been recently pressed from the best grapes of
the vintage.
"Cyril!" exclaimed Lois, as they hurried
out, so awed that they were almost frightened,
" it was water, and it became wine "
What will the people say ? said Cyril. I
wish I dared to ask him if he is to be our
OW great was the won-
der of the guests who
drank the good wine
at the marriage-feast
when they learned that
the pitchers must have
been filled from the well
in front of Ben N assur's
The rabbi himself had not been among
those who stood at the well. He had only

seen the wine brought to him in pitchers.
But Mary and Hannah, the men who came
with Jesus, the house-servants, and a few
others, well knew the water had been changed
into wine.
Cyril and Lois had no opportunity to discuss
the matter until late that evening.
A sleeping-place, even for Lois, had to be
found at the house of a neighbor; and the best
that could be done for Cyril was to give him
the freedom of the flat roof of Isaac's own
It was no hardship to sleep there, during a
warm night. Cyril and his sister went up to
the roof while yet the sounds of merriment,
the music, and the singing, came up from the
marriage-festival below.
It was a beautiful night, and the roof was
cool and quiet.
Cyril came up first, and he stood at a cor-
ner leaning over the stone parapet, when Lois
joined him.
I cannot be mistaken," said Cyril, as if
thinking aloud. I poured the water into that
jar, and I saw it was wine when I took it out
in my pitcher, and carried it into the house to
Ben Nassur. All the servants saw that there
was water in the pitchers first, and afterward
there was wine."
"It is true. So it was in mine," said Lois,
who had come to his side. "They all go to
Capernaum to-morrow. Jesus of Nazareth
means to live there. His mother will, too, for
a while. Then she returns to her own house,
at Nazareth. I wish I could live with her."
I would like to know what sort of work I
can find to do while I am there," exclaimed
I know what I am going to do, I think,"
said Lois. "There is a woman named Abigail
the tallith-maker, who lives there. Some of
the women at the wedding told me she wants
a girl who knows something of the trade to
work for her. I learned needle-work while I
was staying in Samaria."
"Thou didst very good work," said Cyril.
"There is more to do in Capernaum than there
is here. I '11 find some work."
Most of the people are fishing-folk," said
Lois. The lake is full of fish."


Sometimes little is taken, they say," replied
Cyril. But I must try it. I long to see
Jesus of Nazareth, and he will be there. What
did he mean by the words he said to his mother
-' Mine hour is not yet come' ? "
I do not know; I did not understand them.
I mean to be with her, part of the time,
while she remains there," replied Lois. I go
to Capernaum, to-morrow, with her and her
I am glad," said Cyril, I will go, too.
Jesus is to stay in Cana, for a day or two, but
I '11 come."
Lois bade her brother good-night, and Cyril
was alone upon the roof.
"I wish father could see this man, Jesus of
Nazareth," the boy said to himself. Father
is an experienced old soldier, and has been a
captain. He would know what the people
might expect of him."
Ezra the Swordmaker had studied carefully,
and had talked with his son aboutthe ways
and means for collecting, equipping, and arm-
ing a force of patriotic Jews such as might, at
some future day, drive out the Romans and de-
stroy the power of Herod.
At last Cyril went to sleep, but when he
awoke, in the morning, his head was still full of
the arrangements for his proposed journey from
Cana to Capernaum.
Lois also was making ready, and both Rabbi
Isaac and his wife were entirely satisfied with
the plans of their young relatives. There
would be more room in the somewhat over-
crowded house in Cana. As for the transfer
of Mary's residence from Nazareth to Caper-
naum, for a season, such temporary removals
were not at all uncommon among the Jewish
Only two days later, and while yet the wed-
ding festivities continued in the house of Isaac,
Cyril and Lois reached Capernaum. Their little
baggage was carried by one donkey, while Lois
rode another, and the hire of these animals
made the first large draft upon the money Cyril
had received from his father.
The direct distance from Cana was only
about twelve miles, but the road so wound
among hills as to make it longer. Both brother
and sister felt they had never before seen so

beautiful a country, and when at last they came
out in sight of Chinnereth, or the Sea of Gali-
lee, they understood why the rabbis declared:
" God made seven seas in the land of Canaan,
but chose for himself only one the Sea of
The lake itself was beautiful, and the shores
were lined with cities, larger or smaller, or with
palaces whose grounds and gardens came down
to the water's edge. Capernaum was a well-
built and prosperous place at some distance
from the shore, but there were no buildings
along the beach near it; only boat-wharves,
here and there, little more than mere landing-
places in the little bays which indented the
long, curving shore-line.
The region was a kind of fisherman's paradise;
and around it was also a rich farming country,
with a climate so mild that even figs and grapes
ripened during ten months of the year, and the
fruits of temperate and tropical regions grew
luxuriantly, side by side. The population was
dense, and it was a continual marvel that the
lake was not fished out, so numerous were the
fishermen and so heavy were the catches. All
the country around furnished them a market, and
Cyril was assured that he would find enough
to do, but that his wages would barely support
him; so that he was glad when Lois was
kindly welcomed by Abigail the tallith-maker.
This woman made other garments worn by the
people among whom she lived, and it was of
importance to her that the brother of her new
assistant was a youth whose training under so
good a smith as Ezra enabled him to mend
her needles of all sizes. No doubt even
the very smallest of them would seem both
coarse and.clumsy to the eyes of a modern
Cyril, from the hour of his coming, was full of
the idea which had brought him to Capernaum;
and it may have been his eagerness to see and
hear Jesus of Nazareth which brought him into
acquaintance with Simon and Andrew, and
several other men. Soon after his arrival he
told Lois:
"The people around the lake know more
about Jesus than is known at Nazareth. He
teaches and preaches here and all come to
hear him. They believe about the turning of



water into wine more readily than some of
those who saw the water drawn and carried
into the house."
Lois could hardly have told how happy she
was. She was not conscious that she had ever
been at all afraid of so wise and learned a man

would think of them whenever she saw Jesus or
heard him teach.
Cyril had thoughts and dreams of his own
very different from hers, for his spirit was be-
coming more and more warlike. He saw that
Jesus had been making himself well known in


as Rabbi Ben Nassur, but she felt more at ease
now she was not near him. Besides, during
several weeks she was often with Mary and
her son. She sat at her work in the quiet
house dreaming over the stories that were told
her of the carpenter's son. Some of them went
back to the very cradle of Jesus, and this, as
Lois now knew, had been a manger in a cattle-
stable, in Bethlehem of Judea.
None of these stories had been written down,
but Lois learned them all by heart, and she

many places, and would soon be widely talked
of. It was the right thing to do, if he was ever
to raise an army among the Galileans. So
Cyril considered it his own duty to seize upon
every opportunity for studying, as his father
had bidden him, the fortifications of the towns
and cities near the lake, and for witnessing mil-
itary parades and marches, and for examining
weapons of all sorts and whatever else could be
made use of in war-in the war of Jews against
Romans, in which he hoped to be a soldier.

(To be continued.)


", ''*




SOME years ago, Mr. Norman F. Chase, for-
merly postmaster at Montrose, New York, des-
patched two postal cards on a race around the
world, one eastward and the other westward.
The first, mailed to San Francisco, Califor-
nia, thence embarked for Yokohama, Japan,
crossed to Hong Kong, China, and then, by
Bombay and the Suez Canal, proceeded to
Paris and London, where it took steamer for
New York.
The other, going directly to London, Paris,
and, by the Suez Canal, to Bombay, visited H.- '-u
Kong and Yokohama, was carried to San Fran-'
cisco, and thence came overland to Montrose.
These long journeys were interesting, but a
remarkable coincidence made the cards' race
Both were mailed October 4, 1880; both
were received back on t/e same day--January
17, 1881. They each went around the world
in exactly one hundred and five days.
The postmarks upon the east-going read as

follows: Montrose, October 4; London, Octo-
ber 18; Paris, October 19; Alexandria, Octo-
ber 27; Suez, October 27, 28; Sea Post Office,
October 28; Bombay, November 9 ; Calcutta,
November 12; Hong Kong, December 8; Yo-
kohama, December 15; San Francisco, January
9; Montrose, January 17. In a few cases dou-
ble post-marks show times of arrival and depart-
ure. Thus the card was in Yokohama from the
I5th to the 24th of December.
- The westward card traveled on the following
schedule: Montrose, October 4; San Francisco
S(illegible), probably October 11; Yokohama,
November Io, I ; Hong Kong, November 18;
Bombay, December 13; Suez, December 30;
Sea Post Office, December 30; Alexandria,
December 30; Paris, January 5 ; London, Jan-
uary 6; New York, January I5; Montrose,
January 17.
Young students of geography and astronomy
will find it an interesting problem to compare
the journeys of these two cards- remembering


A' ;d .1.

Nir. i .r hr L~

d 238

r-- --------- -----r ---- --


I -.I < ,,.s\."S -*",.. -. ....~ -- -,

Io .- 4 .4

..-. .. a 'ci

S. '.- \

S ..; -,, ..... ........- .ON. c W, t *.
"'-."r",,,,N . , ' ".' "' A" "-.P-....---'.,"l


that, as one went westward and the, other east-
ward, and each card "crossed the line" one
gained a day in dating, and the other lost it.

But no calculations are required to convince
any reader that the return of the two cards on
the same day was a truly remarkable result.



[Begun in ite iMay number.,



THIS unexpected addition to their family had
a good effect on Carrots, because it made him
more careful of his money, almost uncomfort-
ably so, Teddy thought, when, having reached
Mose Pearson's, the junior member of the firm
questioned whether it would not be better to
have no breakfast, in order to save time.
You see now we 've got Ikey on hand we '11
have to be careful of the money; else we sha'n't
get that stand very soon."
We 're bound to eat, Carrots. If you

want to be so awful careful of your money,
you might give up smoking cigarettes," Teddy
Oh, I swore off buyin' any, yesterday. I
don't smoke now 'less some fellow gives me one.
Of course, you can't reckon I 'd refuse it; but
this soup will be ten cents gone, an' we 'd be
jest as hungry by noon. Besides, we 've got to
buy something for supper, 'cause we 're feedin'
three now, you know."
We '11 get the breakfast, an' work enough
harder to pay for it," Teddy replied, as he led
the way into the restaurant; and again did Car-
rots's new ideas of economy appear, as he swal-
lowed the soup almost at the risk of choking
himself, in order to save a few moments.



He was the first boy on the street prepared
to black boots, that morning, and no fellow
ever worked more industriously, until nearly
twelve o'clock, when he approached his part-
ner in a mysterious manner, beckoning him to
follow where they could converse without fear
of being overheard.
"Say, did you know lamb was awful good
for sick people ? Carrots asked with an air of
great importance.
No; I did n't know that. Who told you ?"
"When old Miss Car-
ter was sick, she said a
little bit of lamb would
do her a power of good,
an' the boys chipped in
an' bought some."
"But it'll come pretty
high now, Carrots. You
see it 's kinder out er
"Pretty high, eh ?
Well, what would you
say if I got a bang-up
good mess of lamb for
five cerits ?"
"Why, I 'd say it
either was n't lamb, or
else the man what sold
it did n't know what he
was about."
"Well, it 's lamb, an'
I paid the regular price i. Ae ;t'"'":,
for it, Teddy," Carrots i.i
said triumphantly, as he
drew from his pocket a
small package wrapped
in brown paper, and,
opening it, displayed
to the astonished gaze 'l. '"
of his companion two
pickled lamb's tongues.
"There, what do you think of that ? Talk
'bout lamb for sick folks If it does any good
I 'm goin' to have Ikey well as ever by to-
morrow. I '11 make him eat all this before he
goes to bed. You see it 's jest as cheap as
anything we can get," he added. He could
n't stuff down more 'n six in a day to save his
life, an' I reckon we can spend that much."

Teddy was not positive whether lamb was
good for the invalid, neither did he think the
tongue Carrots had purchased would be bene-
ficial; but, as the latter had said, it would
serve as food, and certainly was not a waste of
money, and therefore he replied:
I don't know as it '11 do him any good, old
man, but it 'll.keep him from bein' hungry,
Are you goin' down there this noon ?"
No; I would n't dare to in the daytime.


We shall have to wait till night. Have you
seen anything of Skip ? "
Not a smitch. I reckon he got scared when
he saw you talking' to that policeman yesterday,
an' I think he will give us a wide berth for a
I don't think you 're right. He has n't
stopped trying' to drive us out er town jest 'cause

s.-.,, -

~L1. r_--


I told the officer; but is waiting' till he can
catch us where we don't know anybody. Keep
your eye peeled for him."
"I '11 be careful enough, you can be sure
of that," Carrots replied. I never'd gone to
the market for this lamb, if it had n't been that
a couple of fellows I know were goin' down, an'
they would n't let Skip pitch inter me."
This day's business was not so large as the
previous one, owing to the fact that both in the
boot-blackening and news-selling departments
of the concern there was active competition;
but both considered they had earned very good
wages, and were in the best of humor when
they started home with a sufficient addition to
their larder to provide a generous meal for all
"I '11 tell you what I 've been thinking' of,
Carrots,"; Teddy said as they walked sl.:',l\
along. Ikeyl is in a pretty bad way, an' it
seems to me we ought ter do something' more 'n
jest feed him up, on .lamb, if he ever expects
to get out."
"Want t.:. rr the bread an' milk ?"
No, I lon't know anything 'bout that busi-
ness; but this is what I was kind er figgerin' on.
It costs terrible to get a doctor, of course; but
don't you s'pose we might make the same trade
with one that we did with the lawyer ? If
we 'd 'gree to give him a paper, an' black his
boots, till the bill was paid, I don't reckon it
would take long to fix Ikey in great shape."
"That 's a good idee !" Carrots replied en-
thusiastically. "Why I '11 bet you could get
any quantity of 'em at that rate. Say, there 's
one up on Rivington street. I used to black
his boots last year, when I worked 'round that
way; but have n't seen him since. He 's awful
nice; ain't so very old either, an' a good many
times give me something extra when I got
through with my job."
Suppose we go there to-night ? "
"All right; I 'm with you! We '11 fill Ikey
up with this lamb, get him to bed, an' then
take a sneak. We can be back in half an
hour. Say, how would it do to carry him
along with us ?"
I would n't like to do that, 'cause you see
perhaps the doctor might not be willing an'
we 'd have dragged the poor feller 'round for

nothing Besides, if we should happen to meet
Skip while he was along, it would be kind er
hard lines to take care of a lame boy an' fight
at the same time."
I never thought of that. I reckon I 'd bet-
ter let you 'tend to things anyhow. You seem
to know more 'n I do."
The invalid welcomed them very cordially,
as might have been expected from one who
had been forced not only to remain inactive,
but absolutely silent, during the many hours of
their absence.
In reply to Carrots's questions, he represented
himself as being 'comparatively comfortable,
and stated that, although the time had seemed
l:.rnigi, l s. nl.m,r: than glad to be there, rather
thann r treats enduring such suffering as
mu.TiE iil -be his while moving around.
,Thwe 't .duOt --,f the evening was to count
the inoiny, andn it was learned that they had
earned one dollar and twenty-six cents, exclu-
sive of the amount spent for food procured on
their way home.
S"That makes us pretty nigh five dollars,"
Teddy said as je placed these profits with the
others. If nothing' happens it won't be so very
long before we '11 be in great shape for doing'
Again Carrots had visions of the green news-
stand and brass-covered boot-blacking outfit,
and from this revery he was awakened when
Teddy prepared the evening meal by unwrap-
ping the papers in which the food had been
This reminded Carrots of the scheme formed
for the benefit of the invalid, and he handed the
sheep's tongues to Ikey, as he said:
"There, old man, I want you to fill )o:111,r I
right up on that, 'cause Miss Carter said they
was awful good for sick people, an' I 'low they '11
straighten you out in pretty nigh less 'n no
time! "
Then Carrots explained what they intended
to do in regard to securing a doctor, and Ikey's
eyes glistened as he thought of getting relief
from his sufferings, which must have been great,
judging from the expression he constantly wore.
I 'm afraidd you can't do much," he said with
a sigh.
It won't do any harm to try," Carrots re-


plied, as he began to satisfy his own hunger;
and when the meal was brought to a close,
owing to the fact that neither of the partners
could eat any more, Teddy led the way to the
street again, the invalid expressing his earnest
hope that the doctor might accede to their
Fortunately for their purpose, upon arriving
at the doctor's office, they found him at home
and not busy.
Singular as it may seem, he did not recognize
Carrots until he had been told of the previous
business connection, and even then appeared
almost indifferent in regard to seeing his friend
Teddy had supposed Master Carrots was to
attend to this portion of the task, owing to his
acquaintance with the physician; but instead
of doing so, his young partner, after entering
the office, stood first on one foot and then on
the other, staring at the medical gentleman in a
manner well calculated to make a nervous per-
son uncomfortable.
Well, what can I do for you ? the doctor
Carrots looked around at Teddy as he said
in a hoarse whisper:
"You tell him, old man. You can fix things
up better 'n I can."
Master Thurston opened negotiations by pro-
ceeding at once to the heart of the matter.
"We want ter hire a doctor," he said. "You
see, Ikey Cain's got a lame leg, an' we have n't
done anything for it yet except to give him
some lamb, which I don't 'low is goin' to make
him better very soon. Now what we thought
'bout doin' was to get you to look out for him,
an' let us pay in trade. I sell papers, an' Car-
rots blacks boots. If you 'll 'gree to fix Ikey
up as he ought ter be, we '11 come here every
morning' till the bill 's paid."
Where is the boy ? the doctor asked, look-
ing amused rather than grave.
Down where we live."
Give me the address, and I will call there
to-morrow morning."
Oh, you must n't do that!" Carrots cried
in alarm. If you should go there in broad
daylight and shin over that fence the folks in
the shop would know jest where we live! "

The doctor was at a loss to understand the
meaning of this remark, and Teddy explained
by saying:
You see, we've got a couple of boxes down
here back of a store, an' the folks who own 'em
don't know anything 'bout our livin' there. We
can't go in till after dark, when the shop 's
shut up, an' have to come out in the morning'
before it's open."
"I understand," the gentleman replied, with
a smile. "Then it will be necessary to bring
the boy here."
Could n't you fix him to-night ? Carrots
"I fancy so, unless there should be a call
from some patient."
"I s'pose we can get him over the fence;
but it '11 hurt him a good bit," Teddy said,
"We can rig that all right," Carrots replied,
carelessly. "If he 's goin' to have his leg
done up, he 's got to come out, an' we can't
help it if it does hurt him"; and then turning
to the doctor, he asked eagerly, Say, how
much you goin' to charge for d:in' that ? "
"What should you think i- .-uldi be worth,
or, in other words, how many .shines I.._-.ild you
give me? We won't say anything about the
newspapers, because I already have a young
man who serves me with them."
We '11 try to come to your terms if we can,"
Carrots replied; "an' you 're the one that
ought ter set the bigger."
"What should you think would be a good
price, if you were going to pay the money? "
Carrots hesitated, looked around at Teddy,
then again at the doctor, and finally said:
I reckon I 'd be willing' to go as high as
twenty-five cents if he was fixed up in good
shape, 'cause I know he '11 pay it back jest as
soon as he gets to work. Course he can't do
anything now."
Very well, bring your friend here whenever
you please, and when I chance to be where
you are working, I will call on you for one of
the shines."
Then the gentleman took up the book he
had been reading, as a sign that there was no
need to prolong the interview, and the boys
went at full speed after the invalid.


On being told that he would receive atten-
tion from a regular doctor, Ikey announced
his willingness to climb over the fence a dozen
times if it should be necessary, and without de-
lay the journey was begun.
Fortunately the physician was still at home
when they returned.
He examined the injured member, took some-
thing from his pocket which the others could
not see at first, and, before the invalid was
aware of his purpose, had passed the keen
blade of a lancet through the swelling.
Ikey felt faint with pain for an instant, and
then looked wonderfully relieved, as the doctor
said, soothingly:
There, my boy, you will be all right in a
few days. I will bandage it, and you must be
careful not to catch cold."
Carrots watched the operation intently, and
when the physician intimated that his services
were at an end, he drew a long breath of re-
lief as he said:
"By jiminy If I could earn twenty-five
cents as quick as that, it would n't take Teddy
an' me lo-., to bu) that stand! "
"You see, my boy, that medical men have
to charge a very large amount of money for
their services because it takes them so long to
learn the business. Of course you would think
I should get rich very rapidly if I had many
such customers at twenty-five cents; but you
can see that they are scarce to-night."
"That 's a fact," Carrots replied thought-
fully, as if this phase of the case was something
which he had not previously understood, and,
after gravely assuring the gentleman that "his
face was good for a shine any time," Master
Williams led the way out of the house.
'"How do you feel, old man?" Teddy
asked, when they were on the sidewalk.
He hurt me a good bit with his knife; but
jest as soon 's that was over, it seemed like as if
the pain had all gone. I reckon I '11 get well
now, el ?"
If you don't, there won't be any sense in
putting' out twenty-five cents ag'in on you,"
Carrots said, as if he should consider a contin-
uation of Ikey's illness as a personal affront.
The three arrived at home without having

seen anything of their enemies, and in a short
time were busily engaged discussing their future.
"I '11 tell you what it is, Teddy, Ikey 'll
make an awful good clerk for us when we buy
our stand, an' after we get him mended. He
can sell papers or shine boots with the best
of 'em, for I 've seen him work."
Teddy suggested that they might not have a
sufficient amount of business to warrant their
hiring a clerk; but Carrots had his own ideas
on the subject, and could not easily be per-
suaded that an assistant would not be an abso-
lute necessity when the green-painted establish-
ment with its boot-blacking outfit was opened.
The idea that he was to have an opportunity
for working without being forced to run around
the -treer, Il.k .d Master Cain wonderfully,
and lus, in ai..lii:.n to the relief from pain,
.served:to put him in the best possible humor.
He promised to repay the boys, not only the
twenty-five cents which was to be given the
doctor in the form of boot-polishing, but also
for such provisions as he might eat while one
of their household; and agreed, in case Teddy
finally concluded it would be desirable to hire
him as clerk, to do his work faithfully and
"We '11 have the stand before two weeks go
by, an' I reckon you '11 be right there helping'
us with it," Carrots said enthusiastically, as he
once more prepared the bed for the invalid,
and saw to it that there was food enough on
hand to satisfy his wants during the coming
It was later than their usual time for retiring
when the boys finally lay down to sleep; but,
despite this fact, they were awake next morn-
ing as early as on any previous occasion, and,
before leaving, Carrots again cautioned Ikey
against allowing his presence in the box to be
"You need n't be worried," the invalid re-
plied. "Now my leg does n't ache so bad, I can
keep mighty still, no matter what happens.
Yesterday I had to turn over pretty often to
rest it, an' was afraidd sometimes the folks would
hear me."
Then the boys clambered over the fence
once more, and another day's work was begun.

(To be continued.)

..- .-

z;~~ -'~-.


MANY years ago (so many that the writer's
little daughter, when told how many, asked,
" Mama, are you a hundred years old yet ? "),
there lived in a pretty town on the banks of the
Hudson River, not many miles from New
York, a little girl named -well, we will call
her Denise. That was not her real name, but
some one who is very closely related to her
now bears it, and so we will give it to her.
She had neither brother nor sister, and was
sometimes a little bit lonely, even though she
had no end of pets, including dogs, kittens, rab-
bits, birds, and a beautiful big goat named
" Tan to drive about in a little carriage. Tan
loved her dearly, and, when not harnessed to
his carriage, would follow her about like her
big Newfoundland dog, "Sailor." No matter
where Denise went, the goat "was sure to go,"
until people used to laugh and say, "Here
come Tan and Denise," instead of "-Denise
and Tan."
The little girl loved her pets as dearly as
they loved her, but the dream and desire of her
life was to have a dear little pony to ride and


I 5l


drive, and-last but by no means least-to
love; for her fondness ilor horses amounted to
a passion, and with them she was absolutely
fearless. They, in turn, seemed to love and
comprehend her to a wonderful degree; re-
sponding to her voice and submitting to her
caresses when they were often fractious and
quite unruly with others.
So it seemed a very gratifying ending to the
long cherished wish, when, on her tenth birth-
day, one bright October morning, her father
said to her, Many happy returns of the day,
my pet Run to mama, and ask her to dress
you for a walk. I 've a surprise at the end of
it, for both you and her."
"Another surprise!" exclaimed Denise. "Why,
I thought I 'd seen all the surprises before break-
fast! "
"No, dear; I 've another. It 's a little
thing, and if you don't like it you may tell it
to just run away, as you 've no place for it."
Now, whatever can it be ?" thought De-
nise, as she hurried up-stairs and, bursting into
mama's room, cried, Oh, mama, dress me


quickly, please; for papa has a walk at the end
of a surprise and you 're not to know a thing
about it, either! "
Never were curls made tidy so quickly, or
clothes scrabbled on in such a hurry. Before
papa had time to find hat, gloves, or cane, a
very excited little girl stood before him crying:
"If you don't start quickly, I just know my
head will fly off like a bottle of soda-water
that's all fizz! "
About thirty minutes' walk along the
shore of the beautiful river, whose waters
seemed to dance and spaildk, n m is\mi.tir
with Denise as she prance. andl ,kippeie
along, brought them to the \tilla,-, i here
papa turned down a side Itreer ii:ch led
to a livery and boarding st.il:. Derd.ic'
heart began to beat so
loudly that she felt sure
it could be heard, and her'
brown eyes to sparkle as .*
though some one had ','...
dropped a little diamond
into each. ~..,
"Oh me!''-she whis- I- .
pered to herself. "I just
know it 's a ine carriage .
and set of harness for
Tan; and papa has asked
Mr. Andrews to get it for
me, because he heard me
say that the old ones were
getting very shabby for
such a handsome goat."
Tan, by the way, was
an unusually large speci-
men of his kind, measur-
ing quite thirty-two inches
at the shoulders, and /
boasting a head and pair
of horns that were the
admiration of all who saw
them. He was named
Tan because of the color
of his hair, which was
a bright tan and shone like satin when well
brushed by Timothy, the coachman. So the
prospect of a new harness and carriage for Tan
was quite enough to set Denise's heart dancing.
At last the stable was reached, and the first

thing her eyes fell upon was a beautiful little
phaeton with bright yellow wheels, and a shin-
ing top that could be raised and lowered, "just
like big folks's."
In the bottom, for her feet to rest upon, was a
little yellow Angora-wool rug, to match the color
of the wheels. On the seat was a soft, white
wool blanket, bound with yellow silk, and in one
corer was fastened a big blanket-pin that was
certainly intended to pin that blanket snugly

_. ._-. _

.. ". .-?^ ^-.

r -

.' '
.- .: ,
."',"I ~ ~ ~ ~ 3"!c ,:...: '. ::a:


around something's throat. Over the shining
dashboard was folded a handsome fur robe,
made of a leopard's skin, and trimmed all round
the edges with wildcat's fur.
The leopard's head looked very fierce, as it



stared at Denise with big' glass eyes; but I
hardly think that a live leopard would have
made much impression upon her, so speechless
and dumb this fascinating sight had turned her.
But when she went closer, and took out the
exquisite little whip which stood in the whip-
socket, and read her own initials on the gold
band which held the dainty ivory handle to the
snake-wood stick, her joy began to pour
forth in a torrent of words whi-'lh nite
drowned the remark of old Timo.r i. .. ..
stood by, enjoying it all as thoc'.I.I Ir-h
whole thing had been planned 1f:.i -.in-
of his own little Timothys at hc.',,,.
"Whist, darlint! while I roon ai n. !er. :h
up the little hoorse that fits insoi.i.. : I;:l
he, as he disappeared through a sl i,_ d:,:r.
Presently Denise's ears heard
a patter, patter! patter, patter!
Looking behind her,
she beheld the dearest,
darlingest little pony .
that anyone ever saw!
He was black as a ,
crow from the tip of ,
his saucy little nose to / '
the end of the long ---
silky tail that dragged -
on the ground behind -
him, excepting one lit- --
tle white moon just ..
back of his right eye, -
which seemed to have -- "
been put there on pur- --
pose to kiss, it was so
soft and round.
For a moment De- THE LITT
nise did not move nor speak, and then, with a
cry of delight which amply repaid her father for
his long weeks of searching and planning for this
perfect little turnout, she flung her arms around
the pony's neck and laughed and cried and
kissed until the poor little fellow was quite be-
wildered, and did not know whether his new
mistress was one to be desired or avoided.
Presently, however, he decided that it was
all right, and, with a happy little neigh, he
thrust his soft nose into her hands, pressed his
face close to hers, searched her pockets for
sugar, and tried to say as plainly as a horse could:

"This is my new little mistress, and as she
seems to love me already, I 'm going to show
her how much I can love her."
Then Timothy produced the harness that
fitted the "little hoorse" which "fitted in-
soide," and pony was harnessed to the phaeton
that had been made to his measure.
No words can express the rapture of that

I -~

..- 4- \


drive. To hold the pretty reins and feel the
prompt response given by the well-trained little
animal; to watch his pranks and antics as he
dashed along, apparently trying to show how
graceful he could be in order to convince his
new mistress that he left nothing to be de-
sired-it really seemed too good to be true,
and Denise feared it might all be a dream from
which she would waken and find that pony and
all had vanished !
The little feet fairly flew over the ground,
and the drive home was quite the shortest she
had ever-known.


Mama stood on the piazza, watching for the
surprise to come; and when she saw the hand-
some pony and the carriage with her husband
and her own little daughter sitting in it come
dashing up the driveway, she was as much
pleased as mothers usually are when they know
that their little girls' dearest wishes are realized.
The entire household had to be summoned
to see and admire this pony, which was surely
more wonderful than any pony that had ever
lived; and the charming little fellow was
talked to and caressed and petted and fed with
apples and sugar until he was in a very fair
way to be made ill.
And now," said Denise, "what shall we
name him, mama? "
"You must name him yourself, darling," an-

swered mamma, for he is all your very own,
to love and care for."
Well," said Denise, in a tone which settled
the matter beyond all question, I 'm going
to call him Ned Toodles': Ned because he
is as black as old darky Ned who comes for
the ashes, and Toodles because he is so little
and round and roly-poly."
So Ned Toodles" was the name given to
the dear little pony, who thenceforth figured
very conspicuously in the life and pranks of his
mistress, and caused no end of jealousy among
the other pets.
At last Denise was persuaded to let Ned be
led away to his new quarters, Timothy exclaim-
ing as he marched off with his small charge in
tow, Faith! however am I to clane sooch a
,,',:. .

i, i --. E


I -C



schrap of a thing as this? I '11 have to be
hoontin' up a big box to stand him on "
And, sure enough, that was exactly what he
had to do, and it took but a short time for the
intelligent little animal to learn just what the
box was for; as soon as his stall door was
opened, he would march out, get upon the box,
stand very still while he was curried, and then
lift first one foot and then the other to have
it cleaned and washed.
Nothing gave Timothy greater satisfaction
than to brush the beautiful coat until it shone
like moleskin, and to comb the silky mane
and tail until each particular hair seemed to
stand out for very pride.
Ned soon grew to love his little mistress very
dearly, and to answer with a loud neigh the
queer, piping whistle by which she always
called to him.
No pen can describe the delightful drives
of the charming autumn days. Jack Frost

seemed particularly gracious that year, and
painted the trees more gorgeously than ever
before. At least, it seemed so to Denise; but
perhaps, seeing it all from her own little car-
riage as she drove along in the golden sunshine,
singing to Ned the little song of which he
never seemed to tire, gave an added charm to
This song was all about a "poor little robin"
whose name was "Toodle-de-too," and Ned
seemed to think that it had been composed es-
pecially for him, and would invariably go very
slowly as soon as Denise began to sing it, and
would turn back one ear, as though to hear
When the song ended he would give a funny
little jump of approval, and then trot on again.
And so the happy autumn days sped by, and
Denise felt that there neyer had been so happy
an introduction before as that which made her
acquainted with Ned Toodles.



WHILE we are listening to the wild storms of
winter howling around our comfortable homes,
let us take a look at the home and life of the
brave life-savers, who are guarding life and
property along our coasts.
Few people realize what these men have to
endure, or how many heroic deeds could be
gathered from the records of even one of
these little stations.
During the year ending in 1895 the disasters
on our ocean and lake coasts numbered 675,
with a passenger list of 5823; of these 5797
were saved by the gallant keeper and his brave
men; over ioo other persons were rescued from
drowning at the different stations.
We can judge from this report how efficient
must be the corps of officers in this important
department of the Government; millions of dol-

lars worth of property, in the shape of valuable
cargoes, are yearly saved from the greedy ocean
by the crews of the Life Saving Service.
There are now on the American coasts 230
stations properly equipped, and the cost to the
Government is made good by the value of
lives and money saved; indeed, under the pre-
sent system, there are fewer lives lost yearly on
the whole coast-line than were formerly sacri-
ficed on the Jersey coast alone in that time.
The general superintendent of the Life Saving
Service resides at Washington; there are dis-
trict superintendents who have charge of all
stations in their district, which they must visit
once in three months. Each district super-
intendent must inspect the public property, and
drill the various crews in all exercises, on the
occasion of his visit of inspection.


A journal of the daily doings at each station
is forwarded weekly to the Department at
Washington; where wrecks occur, and lives or
vessels are lost, a rigid investigation is made
by the Department, with a view to detecting
any possible neglect or carelessness on the part
of the life-savers.
The station itself is a two-story house built
securely and solidly upon some good site along
the beach; it is comfortable and roomy, fur-

with Old Ocean as their master; they must be
able to handle a boat in the roughest weather,
and to face all the dangers of the deep.
Each man must undergo a strict medical ex-
amination, and must bring to the station his
certificate of good health; and he is also
obliged to sign an agreement to faithfully per-
form all duties.
The keeper receives a salary of $900 a year
(up to 1892 it was but $700); he must be at


nished by the Government, and has the boat-
room and kitchen on the lower floor; a large
bedroom for the keeper, another for the surf-
men, and a store-room occupy the second story.
The boat-room is large, and opens by great
double doors upon the beach. It contains the
life-boat and all the life-saving apparatus-
always in perfect order and readiness.
The crew consists of a keeper and six surf-
men, though some stations number seven surf-
men; these men are graduates from no naval
college, but have served their apprenticeship

the station all the year round, but is allowed a
month's leave of absence in summer if he gives
up his pay. A surfman receives.$65 a month,
is at the station during eight months of the
year, and has the privilege of leaving the sta-
tion for twenty-four hours every two weeks,-
but in lonely stations they generally remain
for the active season, which begins September
i, ending May r; when a man leaves in May,
he goes where he pleases, and if he does not
return in September the keeper gets another
man in his place for the next winter season.




The keeper is held responsible for the condi-
tion of everything connected with the station;
he must drill the men in their duties, divide the
work evenly, and see that the men are orderly.
No liquor is allowed on the premises; drunk-
enness or neglect of duty is punished by instant
dismissal from the service; the man who is de-
tailed to cook must keep the kitchen in perfect
order; and each has his share of the house-
work to perform, for no women live at the
The crew are numbered by the keeper from
one to six, and at midnight preceding Septem-
ber i the station goes into commission; at that
hour the keeper gives patrol equipment to two
of the surfmen, and they start out on the first
patrol, and the active season has fairly begun;
everything runs like clockwork after that, and
as strict a discipline is maintained as on board
a man-of-war.
The patrol from sunset to sunrise is one of
the most important duties in the service, and
the most careful rules are laid down in regard
to its performance. When stations are near
together, as on dangerous coasts, the two
patrolmen from Station B," starting along
the beach in opposite directions, walk until
they meet patrolmen from "C" and D," with
whom they exchange checks, and return to
their own station. At the end of a week the
checks are returned to their proper stations,
and this is kept up during the season, week
after week.
The keepers of lonely stations provide the
surfmen with time-detectors. A time-detector is
similar to a clock with a hinged cover, fastened
by a lock-the key to which is retained by
the keeper; beneath the cover a revolving plate
supporting a paper dial is placed, and a die so
arranged that when a patrol-key is inserted and
turned in the clock a mark is made upon the
paper dial recording the hour of striking. At
the end of the beat" is a post to which a key
is affixed; when the patrolman reaches this he
winds the clock,-the dial-plate is marked;
failure to be at the clock, without good and
sufficient reason, is punished by dismissal.
At midnight, at such a station, the keeper
gives to the two patrolmen a clock contain-
ing fresh dial-plates, and these two men going

in opposite directions patrol the beach till four
in the morning. When these return to the station,
two other men take their places till sunrise.
The next night, at sunset, two new men keep
guard until eight in the evening, and at that hour
their places are taken by two others, until mid-
night. Then, returning to the station, the keeper
is called, new dial-plates are inserted in the
clocks, they are locked and given to two new
patrolmen, who walk till four in the morning.
So from sunset till sunrise our American coasts
are patroled by solitary watchmen, on the look-
out for vessels in danger.
No weather is severe enough to daunt these
brave men, and they trudge all night in rain,
hail, wind, or snow, while we are comfortably
The patrol duty at a station is so arranged
that those men who have the long patrol one
month are put on the short patrol the next; the
night-watches are divided into three watches
of four hours each.
On the discovery of a wreck by night, the
patrolman burns a red signal light (with which
he is always supplied) to notify those on the
wreck that they have been seen, and that assist-
ance will be rendered.
He then hastens to the station, and the whole
crew turns out; the boat is run out on its car-
riage, all apparatus is collected, and they pro-
ceed to the part of the beach nearest the wreck.
If practicable, the life-boat is launched, each
man wearing a life-belt. They pull off to the
wreck, and under the keeper's orders, which are
promptly obeyed, the passengers are taken off
to the beach, and the boat returns until all
have been rescued.
If the boat cannot be used on account of
the surf and the weather, they proceed to
rig the breeches-buoy line between the wreck
and the shore.
Coming abreast of the wreck, preparations
are made to get a line to the vessel. Each man
has his part of the work to do: the keeper, as-
sisted by man No. i, has been loading the gun;
he puts in it a projectile to which is fastened
a strong braided line, six hundred yards long,
and so coiled in a box that it may follow the
shot without getting entangled. If their aim is
well taken, the shot will pass over the wreck



and the shot-line will fall across some part of
the vessel.
The crew on the wreck haul in this line, to
which the life-savers have attached a pulley
with a heavier rope through it; both ends of
this rope are kept on shore.
Fastened to this pulley, or tail-block, is a
tally-board with directions in French and Eng-
lish, instructing the wrecked men.how and where
to make it fast.
When it is fast on board the vessel, the
life-savers fasten a hawser to one side of the


whip-line and haul on the other, and the hawser
is pulled out to the wreck; this hawser also
bears a tally-board, directing that it be made
fast two feet above the whip-line.
Now there is one endless small rope, and a
large one three and a half inches in circum-
ference, connecting the wreck with the shore.

To this large rope is fastened the breeches-
buoy (whose form is well known) by a snatch-
block; this block can be opened at one side
and closed securely after it has been slipped
over the hawser.
Meantime, the surfmen have buried the sand-
anchor deep in the sand, and tackles are hooked
to this anchor and the hawser, which has been
made taut. Then a crotch is set under it upon
the beach, which raises it over eight feet from
the ground. The breeches-buoy now hangs
from the hawser by the snatch-block; to the
slings by which the buoy is attached to the
block, one side of the whip-line has been made
fast, and the buoy is hauled off to the wreck;
a man gets in, putting a leg into each opening,
and is hauled to shore through surf that often
covers him; he is taken out, and the breeches-
buoy travels to and fro over this aerial railway
till all are rescued.
Then the apparatus is recovered as far as
Ipo'l.-.ile, the beach-cart is drawn back to the
stati.,,. the boat and gear are put in order, and
the i'-ecued ones are attended to.
Ti e daily routine of station life is broken
only by this wrecking duty.
S On Mondays, flags and bedding must
be aired, weather permitting, and all
S the regular household duties per-
;-.'" formed. On Tuesdays there is
;' boat practice; this consists in haul-
ing the boat-carriage to the beach,
unloading, launching her, and pull-
ing out through the surf-backing,
turning, or doing just what the
keeper commands, he steering the
PR.- boat. After practice, the boat is put
on the carriage, hauled back to the boat
louse, cleaned, and left in perfect order.
\\ wednesday is signal-drill day. There is
.n international code of signals, composed
of flags representing the different letters of the
alphabet. Each surfmanhas a set of miniature
flags, and he signals to the keeper, who answers
them with his flags-so any man at the station
can read a message from a wrecked ship. All
the principal maritime nations have adopted
this code, and as vessels are provided with flags,
and books containing the key to different sig-
nals, printed in many languages, communication


L1 '. ii 3.1


between vessels and stations can be easily car-
ried on, whatever the ship's nationality.
Thursday is the day for drilling with beach
apparatus. A pole planted in the sand repre-
sents the mast of the wrecked ship. The beach
apparatus, beach-cart, hawsers, guns, lines,
blocks, and buoy are all run out in short time
and all the manceuvers gone through with, as
if in actually rescuing a crew; from the time



the word action is spoken by the keeper till
the supposed rescued man is brought to the
supposed beach, only six minutes have passed!
It seems almost incredible, but their training has

made all the men models of promptness and
obedience. After this drill the crew returns
the beach apparatus to the station, leaving
everything, as usual, in order.
On Friday, the entire crew is drilled in the
resuscitation of apparently drowned persons.
The crew recites the formula laid down for
treatment of such cases, and then each man
takes his turn in operating on another as though
at work upon a pa-
tient. If the method
adopted by them were
practised in every case
ofsupposed drowning,
no doubt lives would
be oftener saved.
The rescued man's
clothing is loosened,
his mouth and nostrils
wiped thoroughly dry,
and he is turned upon
his face, with a tightly
S rolled wad of cloth-
ing placed beneath
the stomach, and the
-.. operator firmly presses
Sthe parts above that
organ for a minute or
so until all the water
flows from the mouth.
Then he is laid on his
back, the wad being
so placed under his
back as to raise the
pit of the stomach
above the generallevel
of the body. The
-Mh operator then kneels
-. or sits astride of the
patient's hips, grasp-
.-z. ing with his hand the
small ribs, pressing
with the balls of the
thumbs on the pit of
the stomach, and fi-
ECHES-BUOY. nallyletting go his hold

after a last push which forces the air out of the
body; the ribs resume their normal position,
which creates a partial vacuum in the lungs, air
enters the empty space through the mouth and

I .' '-**
I.' .. '



nostrils to fill it; this process is repeated from
four or five to fifteen times a minute, and often
is kept up for four or five hours-until the pa-
tient breathes naturally or all hope is given up.
The clenching of hands and jaws, formerly
considered signs of death, are now looked upon
as evidence that some life remains; in many cases
at these stations the jaws have had to be pried
open with the aid of some sort of lever.

I,,- i i mL,',i ,' ir,_ r I', i | r .I lo 1 .. ,_: 11, .

I i; r

,.,"I.,i ,, th, f ltt,-l. I ,, nii.A I t.ri -

shore is cut away by violent storms
and the men have to walk through
the icy water, which is often up to their arm-
pits; their health is constantly endangered, and
now and then one loses his life.
Several times there has been a bill before
Congress to increase the pay of the surfmen,
and it is to be hoped that such a bill will be
passed; both keepers and surfmen earn their
paltry salaries by faithful and heroic service
amid peril and hardship.


* *-


J c

v-e< TKhNrer +fill --




.. '

k-w 141



"Do you know how to get to grandpa's?-
I went on New Year's day-
You climb the hill where the pine-trees grow,
And grandpa comes half-way.

" He waits in the road for mama and me,
And plays he 's a robber bold.

Then, when I can't help laughing,
How grandpa pretends to scold!

" He threatens me with his cane, and says:
'A kiss or your life, my dear!'
And then with a regular bear-hug
I wish him a Happy New Year! "



, -. n.7

-:! .1'- ej^BuI

a" h

v- a~-2 *

I AM a little Santa Claus
Who somehow got belated;
My reindeer did n't come in time,
And so of course I waited.
I found your chimneys plastered tight,
Your stockings put away,

I heard you talking of the gifts
You had on Christmas Day;
So will you please to take me in
And keep me till November?
I 'd rather start Thanksgiving Day
Than miss you next December!

; pfl
-- FY

": j~--~i~tdt~b~ et:

~~t~ ..




"Do you know how to get to grandpa's?-
I went on New Year's day-
You climb the hill where the pine-trees grow,
And grandpa comes half-way.

" He waits in the road for mama and me,
And plays he 's a robber bold.

Then, when I can't help laughing,
How grandpa pretends to scold!

" He threatens me with his cane, and says:
'A kiss or your life, my dear!'
And then with a regular bear-hug
I wish him a Happy New Year! "



, -. n.7

-:! .1'- ej^BuI

a" h

v- a~-2 *

I AM a little Santa Claus
Who somehow got belated;
My reindeer did n't come in time,
And so of course I waited.
I found your chimneys plastered tight,
Your stockings put away,

I heard you talking of the gifts
You had on Christmas Day;
So will you please to take me in
And keep me till November?
I 'd rather start Thanksgiving Day
Than miss you next December!

; pfl
-- FY

": j~--~i~tdt~b~ et:

~~t~ ..



I '--.I ', I B ,

,.. :, ,"-

J .- IN-T I I-F PUL 1-'I T.

AT this bright turn o' the year, my hearers, the
heart of your Jack holds two great wishes for you
-his short wish (that 's for a joyful Christmas);
and his long wish (that 's for a prosperous, happy
New Year) !
By the way, this new year, 1896, begins on
Wednesday; and Wednesday, you know,-or
perhaps you ought to know,-is named after Wo-
den, a Saxon of old, famed for valor and might.
The name means mighty warrior," and Woden
was the Saxon name of the Norse god of victory.
Now, victory does not mean that somebody must
wish you happiness, and all the good things that
bring it about and keep it. You must try for it--
win it, the fruit of victory.
There is a splendid sermon for you, my friends,
in that one word, Victory; but I shall not preach
it. I understand too well your bright faces, your
hearty, sympathetic nods, your fresh young valor,
and the joy and work before you in 1896.
Bless me Here comes a letter as full of cheer
and summer-time as these days are of cheer and
winter. You shall hear it:
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: My grandmother says
that when she was a little girl she was especially fond of
a certain little poem about elves or brownies. To this
day she remembers the first stanza,-a copy of which I
now send you,-but she has forgotten the rest, and also
the author's name, if, indeed, she ever knew it. Now it
seems to me, dear Mr. JACK, that you can help us. It
is only natural that you should know all about it. In
shady woods down among the grasses and mosses and
wild flowers, JACK-IN-THE-PUILPIT must hear a great
deal of gossip of the elves and fairies. So do please tell
me the rest of this song, that a bumble-bee may have
hummed to you long ago.
Here is the opening stanza:
Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,

We dare n't go a-hunting
For fear of little men:
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl's feather--

Yours truly, EYRE POWELL.

YES, indeed, the bees do hum many a song to
your Jack, my friend, but they have not happened
to hum the lines you mention. They are apt, ra-
ther, to drone in the laziest way a recital of busy
deeds to come, and to top off with a confused, buz-
zing account of sweet flowers and hidden blossoms
that have helped them make their stores of honey.
But that dear Little Schoolma'am of the Red School-
house -she knew the pretty rhymes; and she sang
that first stanza to every listening thing in my
meadow, as soon as it came to this pulpit.
Oh, yes," said she; tell your friend and her
grandmama that the lovely lines were written by
one William Allingham. He was born at Bally-
shannon in Ireland nearly seventy years ago, and
he died in 1889. His poem, 'The Fairies,' opens
with this stanza, and there are five more verses
just as pretty."
Dear me What a memory that wonderful little
woman possesses! She could repeat every one of
those six stanzas right off! But perhaps many
of you, my hearers, know them too. At all events,
Eyre Powell and that good grandmother can now
readily find the whole song, and enjoy it to their
hearts' content.


AND here is another letter-this time an answer
to the question: "Who knows where corks come
DEAR JACK: Since you asked about cork I have been
looking up the subject and have found some very inter-
esting facts. That traveled bird of yours who said it
came from a kind of oak-tree was right: it is an ever-
green oak that botanists call Quercus suber. The tree
is only about thirty feet high, and is principally culti-
vated in Spain, although it also grows in Africa and in
other parts of Southern Europe. When it is fifteen or
twenty years old the first stripping of bark is made; only
the outer layer is taken, the workers being very careful
to leave the inner bark uninjured. This first layer is
rough and woody, of no use save in tanning; but ten years
later another has been formed of finer quality, and the
quality continues to improve after each stripping.
The bark is taken in midsummer; two cuts are made
around the trunk, one near the ground, the other just
under the branches; then, after making three or four long
slits down the tree, the layer of cork is loosened by a
wedge-shaped instrument and taken off in strips. These
are scraped and cleaned on the outside and then heated
and pressed flat.
Until quite recently great difficulty was found in cut-
ting out the corks, as most of the work was done by hand,
and the knives were so quickly dulled; but now a ma-
chine is in use which saves a great deal of that trouble.
If any of your congregation will look at the rough bark
of some of our native oaks, and try to cut in through the
tough outer layer of corky wood, sometimes nearly two
October, 1894, page 1048.


inches thick, it will be easy enough for them to under-
stand how another tree of the same genus can produce
the thickest coating--the cork of commerce.
DEAR JACK: I want to tell you about something that
I saw on the street the other day. There was a cart with
two horses standing in front of a store and the driver was
inside. The wind was blowing very hard indeed, and it
blew the blanket partly off one of the horses. The horse,
I suppose,began to feel cold, so he reached his head around,
and catching the corner between his teeth pulled the
blanket over himself again, and when the wind blew the
cover back the horse cleverly pulled it up until the driver
came and fixed it; but the driver, I am sorry to say, gave
the horse a hard hit in the nose for biting at his cover. He
did not know how clever his animal had been.
OF all surprised good folk that ever were seen,
it really seems that the dear Little Schoolma'am
and her Committee are just now the most thor-
oughly surprised. Have you heard about it? Surely
you boys and girls of the Red Schoolhouse must
have caught news of it now and then. How the

dear Little Schoolma'am had a committee of judges
all ready, placidly awaiting orders. They are four
sound-minded, high-principled individuals, who
have not forgotten their own happy youth in the
days when young folk were not, as now, the hard-
est workers in the community; and when they saw
Mrs. Corbett's clever rhyme, "Marion's Adven-
tures," with its preposterous spelling (at least the
Little Schoolma'am said it was preposterous), and
learned that the young folk were asked to send
corrected versions, they smiled calmly, and re-
marked, in effect:
'"We understand that you wish us to examine
the versions sent, select the best according to the
conditions given, and award the prizes. Well,
the task set these young ST. NICHOLAS readers
is interesting, demands cautious painstaking, and
a little patience, yet certainly is not difficult in it-
self. The rewards offered are moderate and sensi-
ble, and if only the juvenile public take interest
in a contest so temperately proposed, why, you '11
find us at your service on almost any fine morning,
ready to deal out our critical judgment, and those
fifty brand-new dollar-bills, with much pleasure."
Now mark you how the matter turned out!


THE Little Schoolma'am's Committee, headed
by the little lady herself, report as follows :
More than ten thousand corrected copies of Mrs.
Corbett's verses, Marion's Adventures," printed
in the October ST. NICHOLAS, have been received.
It has been an exceedingly difficult task, as you
may imagine, to select from so huge a mass of copies
the twenty-four that are best entitled to the prizes
offered. As the copies came pouring in by dozens, by
scores, by hundreds, the committee, day after day,
read and re-read, sifted and sorted-only to find, at
last, that the twenty-four prizes could not possibly
be made to "go round." In fact, there were far
more than twenty-four versions that, in spelling,
were absolutely correct. But, it will be remem-
bered, there were other considerations that, by the
terms of the contest, had to be taken into account,
-the age of the sender, the neatness of the copy,
penmanship, date of sending, etc. So, when at last
the committee had placed together all the manu-
scripts that were correct in spelling, they went over
these carefully and repeatedly, noting and compar-
ing with painstaking zeal, to find the twenty-four
that seemed most worthy of prizes under all the
conditions of the contest. And here is the award:
FIRST PRIZE: Ten dollars.
Marion Buck (age 16), Waterbury, Conn.
THREE SECOND PRIZES: Five dollars each.
Laura IIickox (12), Toledo, Ohio.
Josiah Dwight Whitney (16), Beloit, Wis.
Sophie Moeller (13), New York City.

FIVE THIRD PRIZES: Two Dollars each.
T. B. Stevenson, Jr. (ii), Evansville, Ind.
Alice Goddard Waldo (12), Dresden, Germany.
Eleanor Walter Thomas (I5), Columbia, S. C.
Alice Lovett Carson (14), Brooklyn, N. Y.
Caroline Louise Prichard (15), Tacoma, 'Wash.
Faith A. Davis (II) Mt. Vernon, N. Y.
Mabel Edith Gross (12), St. Paul, Minn.
Marion Reid Fenno (II), East Boston, Mass.
Emily A. Dinwiddie (16), Greenwood Depot, Va.
Lydia Ballou Almy (13), Norwich, Conn.
Mary Stanley Hoague (15), Boston, Mass.
Sadie Felker (I5), Oshkosh, Wis.
Jessie E. Gould (15), Everett, Mass.
Sara F. Richards (14), Plainfield, N. J.
Beatrice Sells (13), Salt Lake City, Utah.
Marjory Morton Dexter (13), New Bedford, Mass.
Helen Gore (13), Auburndale, Mass.
Katherine Fleming Worcester (13), Burlington, Vt.
Robert Vermilye Butler (13), Utica, N. Y.
Walter Thompson Karcher (14), Philadelphia, Pa.

But when this award was ratified by a final and
unanimous vote, still there remained fifteen an-
swers that were correct in spelling, and equal in
all respects to several of those that had won fourth
prizes. And then there were the English boys and
girls! How could the Little Schoolma'am have
overlooked the fact that hundreds and hundreds of


the young folk of Great Britain would enter into
this competition with heartiest zest,-and, more-
over, would prove very formidable competitors !
Some of the most beautiful and correct copies
received came from across the ocean and would
not Uncle Sam's brand-new greenbacks be of ques-
tionable value to the young folk who reckon their
gains in pounds, shillings, and pence?
Here was a quandary; not enough prizes for the
American winners, and in addition to them were
a number of English lads and lassies equally de-
serving of prizes! What was to be done?
Well, just here the publishers of ST. NICHOLAS
generously came to the rescue of the dear Little
Schoolma'am and her distracted Committee.
Increase the number of fourth prizes," said they;
"and award also a set of prizes in English money
for the English boys and girls."
No sooner said than done; and the happy but
tired Committee could rest from its labors.
So, in addition to those named in the list already
given, fourth prizes (of one dollar each) are
awarded also to the following:

Josephine Mairson (15), Hartford, Conn.
Alice Louise Small (14), Saginaw, Mich.
Laura Ben6t (II), Bethlehem, Pa.
Marjorie M. Howard (14), West Newton, Mass.
Bertha Moss (I3), Elmira, N. Y.
Maude A. Marshall (14), Minneapolis, Minn.
M. Bell Dunnington (12), University of Virginia.

Rose Fanny Michaels (Io), Montreal, Canada.
Nora Maynard (14), Stratford, Ontario.
Louie G. Woodruff (3), Montreal, Canada.
Gordon Howe Blackader (Io), Montreal, Canada.
Muriel L. Tatum (12), Montreal, Canada.
Bess L. Campbell (Io), Ottawa, Canada.
Kenneth Miller (Io), Montreal, Canada.
Marie Parkes (15), Toronto, Canada.

Also, in simple justice, there was awarded to our
English cousins a set of prizes scaled to an equal
value in pounds and shillings with those offered to
American boys and girls in dollar bills.

FIRST PRIZE: Two Pounds Sterling.
Mary Clarke (I5), Birmingham, England.
Two SECOND PRIZES: One Pound Sterling each.
Olive Underhill (II), Oxford, England.
Beatrice Mildred Barlow (15), London, England.
THREE THIRD PRIZES: Eight Shillings each.
Olwen Marian Lloyd (14), Cheshire, England.
Hilda De Angelis Johnson (15), Manchester, England.
Frances Cornwallis (I5), Eastbourne, England.
TWELVE FOURTH PRIZES: Four shillings each.
Daisy Weekley (14), London, England.
Margaret K. Bradley (14), London, England.

Louise Kathleen Simonds (12), Reading, England.
Hilda Leonard Cook (12), Essex, England.
Marion Evelyn Densham (I5), Croydon, England.
Edith Ellen Cantelo (15) Nottingham, England.
Margery Darbyshire (15), Kantsford, Cheshire, Eng-
Sylvia Heath (16), Birmingham, England.
Dorothy Hewett (15), Ross, Herefordshire, England.
Isabelle Hastings (13), Piccadilly, London.
Margaret Muriel Gray (16), Helensburgh, Scotland.
Evelyn Eleanor Smith (13), Dromahaire, Ireland.

And now here are the verses themselves, in cor-
rect form:


A LITTLE maid wanted to go to a ball.
Said mamma: "You 're too young;" but she
cried: "Not at all-
I '11 wear my white frock, with red gloves, I
My blue shoes will be sweet with rose-colored bows,
And there 's my new ring-'t is all that I
I '11 be dressed in great style, and seem lovely

To the garden she flew, saying:" No time to spare;
I must choose a nice flower to put in my hair."
But the garden was bare, and Marion sighed.
Neither berry nor bud in the borders could hide.
She stood on the path for a minute, I ween,
But a beet and a boulder alone could be seen.
A scent from some leeks was borne on the gale.
"I '11 go," she exclaimed; "to the wood and the

So she went on her way, but she went forth in
She caught a bad cold, she was hoarse and in
She would climb on a bough: when it broke
with her weight,
She regretted the feat, for she could n't walk
She uttered a wail- Oh my heel and my toe!
I 've injured my gait -I 've done it, I know!"
A wry face she made, and great tears did she
shed -
Then homeward she limped, heart heavy as lead.

As she hied to her room the clock pealed out
And Marion fain would have dressed for the fete,
But she fell in a faint. When her father was
The sad tale, he turned pale: "If our horse
was n't sold,
And the weather so foul- ere an hour it will
rain --
I 'd call for the doctor to lessen her pain."
So Marion wept--she had missed the gay ball,
And she gave a deep groan that was heard in the


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c Cfu& mansmJC ltew Itur, -/vn:o t ;4 a t /ifwM^
o7 d w ,P *
a n -,t dhajsvv aj mruw UWauM t kuu i /x uu, f-
&a r & f a&I} aI,./62WuA4,CnP(AneLgt
~takut t vA &d, zadoti, &'d," euyux
Avituu A&& te, &LoV 'tw #d "tnU C Swi ,ldge/.
s'*u: /itCraL trn c, hlr at / Suvau d/ nwim^, g /OKJWU
Qwtw a, &,t amL a, tM&6du^ aimi ca.l& MA & nv.

a Cirx P","/ i "-tw J-oOAw {xis -JIM& w Cn e/ 4"s, MV ja

4Po 6msu urWef on/ twl Aw &wunt^ ot&n/ &1WarA:
V ak w tb t, at L/ wwu t"6&n awvnd jn;


There is not room to reproduce the prize copies
in full, but a facsimile reproduction of a portion
of the three copies that won the first and sec-
ond American prizes is given on page 259, and
on this page you will find also a facsimile of a
part of the best English copy, the work of Mary
Clarke, who won the prize of two pounds sterling.
Beautiful, indeed, are these copies; and, to the
credit of all concerned, let it be added that there
were several others that pressed closely upon these
for the honor of first place in their respective lists.
And how many of you must be disappointed!
Of those who failed to win there is such a host who

have deserved praise that it is not possible to give
them all honorable mention. The Little School-
ma'am prints with pride the following Roll of Honor,
containing a partial list of the names of the boys
and girls whose copies most nearly approached those
that won the prizes. Many of those named below
spelled as correctly as the winners, though they did
not so well fulfil all the conditions of the contest.
If space allowed, she would gladly add many other
names to this list. Indeed, while heartily congrat-
ulating the winners, the Little Schoolma'am and
the committee can warmly commend also a great
majority of the losers.


Elsie C. Hartshorne, Emily Mansfield Ferry, Alice L.
Davison, Christine Barker, Katherine S. Sewall, E. Mar-
ion Grant, M. Esther Gill, Fredericka Loew, Florence
Smith, Betsey Harnden, Horace P. Austin, Anna Knowl-

ton, Mary Le Conte, Florence E. Turner, Abbie M.
O'Neill, Miriam Berry Wood, Elizabeth Newton, Louise
Ashley Billings, Alice G. White, Cherry Wood, Annie
lola Williams, Georgie A. Bowes, Lucetta G. Bechdolt,

hiMahux 'b COAdit ".n".lw


Julian Willard Helburn, Margaret Doane Gardiner,
Alice E. Underwood, Pauline E. Durfee, Vernon D.
Cook, Robin Moffatt MacRay, Anna B. Shank, Sue
Leonard, Augusta Leonard, Winifred Eells Newberry,
Ida C. Bailey, Fanny S. Gibson, Nelson G. Morton, Nora
Maynard, Annie Lothrop Crawford, Sophia Margaret
Hagarty, Clara E. Schauffler, Ethel L. Osgood, Prudence
M. Holbrook, Emily De Wilt Gould, Neely Trowbridge,
Warren Hale Horton, Lulie H. Stevenson, Arthur E.
Hill, Janie W. Hewlett, Nellie E. Bastress, Clara P.
Briggs, Herbert Merryweather, Ivy S. Wright, Rosa-
mond Allen, Dorothy Cogswell Manning, Charles Rich-
ard Selkirk, Lily Idler, May Idler, Helen Fruth Harlan,
Margaret Adam, Katherine Gray Church, Henry Sey-
mour Church, Mary S. Weston, Nellie Nevitt, Mary
Cushing Dame, Lawrence A. Holmes, Virginia Beach,
May Davis, Helen Seymour, Alan H. Lloyd, Edwin H.
Van Etten, Robert M. Falkenau, Josephine Walsh,
Marion W. Clark, Eleanor E. F. Servoss, Margaret
Hincks, Gladys Painter, Thaddeus Joy, Margaret Waldo
Higginson, Ethel Van S. Hogeboom, Caroline V. Scott,
Rachel S. Haines, Helen Disbrow Moore, Laetitia N.
Herr, Esther G. Mills, Sylvia K. Lee, Charlotte G. Tour-
tellot, Mary Patterson Durham, Laura M. Hill, J.
Warren T. Mason, Bertha Dean Royce, George Ro-
berts, Jr., Percy Winans Bristol, Nurab McLoughlin,
Mary Carolyn Smith, Agnes Louise Plant, Edith W.
Davenport, Bessie May Fulmore, Pauline Wirt, Fred L.
Pomeroy, Dorothy Hollick Narr, Everetta Kirkbride,
Gertrude Rutherford, James L. Whitney, Edith Poor,
Matie K. Griffith, Margaretta Moore Henszey, John
Randall Dunn, George W. Kelley, Catherine Farley
Wardwell, Isabel Georgina Bartlett, Susie M. Him-
melwright, Arthur S. Williams, Hannah M. Fairlee,
Isabel P. Rankin, Margaret Williams, Robert Rain Daw-
son, Sadie A. Woolson, William H. Cook, Gertrude
Schultz, Carrie L. McClune, Anita G. Clark, Paul C.
Wild, Myra R. McLeod, Norman George Conner, Charles
B. Finch, Althea A. Rowland, Anna G. Howard, Eliza-
beth Coffin, Harold Day Foster, Helen Grace Thorburn,
Margaret Josephine McGinnis, Luther Pflueger, Jessie

Now about the words oftenest misspelled. One
was fete. It came as fate, fete, feat, feet, feate,
feite, fait, faite, fiat, fat, fetd, fete, and in several
other forms. Other stumbling-blocks were ween,
borne, leeks, gale, regretted, and fain. Also ere,
and you 're.
The Little Schoolma'am expected a number of
inquiries as to the spelling of the name "Marion,"
and many came. Both the spellings, Marion and
Marian, were allowed, as both forms seem to be
used for the feminine name. On this point, how-
ever, a nice little note from one of the Canadian
winners is worth quoting:

I beg to add that I am not entirely settled in my mind
as to the propriety of changing the "o" in the proper
name to "a."
But as all my girl-friends whose names are Marion "

Kellogg Henry, Grace D. Phillips, Maria Malvina Went-
worth, Mary Waddill, Laura B. Shoemaker, Saidee Cor-
nell Bartlett, Alice T. Olin, Margaret Elizabeth Richard-
son, Charlotte Helen Lovell, Geoffrey Monk, Agnes Bell
Austin, Lewis C. Hinkel, Gertrude Blatch, Beatrice Char-
lotte Mead, Helen Wheeler, Edward W. Rothman, Mar-
gery Whiting, Agatha Cassels, Alexandra Carrington,
Catherine Leitch, Carita B. Archibald, Edith Winifred Ar-
nold, Anna Blakeman Lewis, Cordelia Place, Hazel S.
Day, Katherine Creekmore, Helen E. Royce, Helen Pool
Richmond, Marjorie Beddington, Laura E. Crozer, Mar-
garet Ivie Dunlap, Margaret Warner Bright, Helen Louise
Sargent, Mary Beardsley, Ruth Whittemore, Marion
Stevenson, Ruth W. Price, George Melcher, Henry G.
Tomlinson, Margaret Goddard, E. Helena Kriegsmann,
Ella C. Davey, Arthur W. Combs, Marguerite Fiske,
Dorothy Whiting, Henrietta Whitney, Mary Noel Mac-
donald, Katie Marguerite Cantello, Alexander George
Berry, Florence Holbrooke, Emilie O. Merrick, Ruth
Martin, Elsie B. Towell, Charlotte Bryson Taylor, Jessie
Gibson,Jennie Spalding, Edwin I. Abbot, Muriel Beatrice
Gerrard, Cecil B. Johnson, Harold Auchmuty, Winifred
Sutcliffe, Alice A. Dodds, Frederick Butler Thurber,
Eva I. Whittier, William F. Oakley, Margaret Wins-
low, Annie Carlisle, Archibald Craigmile Duff, Fred L.
Humphrey, Beatrice Pickett, Ethel Dodd, Jennie A.
Walker, May F. Waldo, Julia Maria Bourland, Mabel
Rainsford Haines, Helen Sandison, Mortimer Y. Ferris,
John Neal Hodges, Clara D. Lauer, Katherine Arm-
strong, Dorothy Ferriman, Henry Stanley Hillyer, Wal-
ter J. Glenney, David U. Cory, C. W. Fisher, Jr., Lilian
J. F. Barker, Narcia Callvert, Arthur Stanley Pease,
Alice Birney Blackwell, Catherine Prindle, Margaret
B. Mendell, Frederick Prime, Jr., Ruth W. Miller,
Violet Mary Vernon, Lucy Ethel Cook, Margaret
Fitzhugh Browne, Arthur Boulden, Henry Herbert
Armstrong, Marie M. Buchanan, Thomas Ybarra, Mar-
guerite De V. Mills, Mary Chandler Draper, Euphemia
Van R. Waddington, Jessie G. Rathbun, Olive C. Lupton,
Gordon Morse, Winifred C. Smith, Clara G. Nitchie,
Wyllie Hart, Elinor Purser.

spell theirs with an "a"; and as F. Marion Crawford
spells his with the other letter, I decided that one form
was purely masculine and the other feminine; so, for
safety's sake, I made the change.
With most sincere sympathy for the reopening of
school, I remain, Yours hopefully,

And, by the way, it is a curious coincidence that
the winner of the First American Prize was named
Marion, and that the name appeared once more
upon the American list and once on the English
list of winners, besides several times upon the Roll
of Honor in each case spelled Marion.
Many letters asked concerning the use of the
dictionary and spelling-book, but, as announced
in the October number, the Committee could not
answer inquiries. All that need be said now is
that no objection to the use of the dictionary or



similar works of reference by a boy or girl, unaided
otherwise, has caused the rejection of any answer.
And now there is an admission to make-one
that the Little Schoolma'am (who celebrates the
Fourth of July patriotically) does not make joy-
fully. American school-folk, please pay attention:
So far as penmanship goes, the English and Cana-
dian children excel Uncle Sam's boys and girls.
So, young Americans, look to your penmanship !
The age-limit has been insisted upon, and no
answer has been counted from any competitor less
than ten or over sixteen years old. The oldest
sender gallantly ruled herself out by admitting
that she was thirty-three, and the youngest, who
did not fail to confess he was only seven years old,
sent a creditable answer.
Next, you shall see extracts from some of the
letters that have come with the answers. Little
"Beth," from Alabama, beseeches the Little
Schoolma'am in this wise:
"Please say that it does n't count as having re-
ceived assistance if your father just hints that there
is a mistake. Mine did, but I sat down and puz-
zled until I found it all by myself, and it was so
little too. I've used up fifteen cents' worth of fools-
cap paper, and tried just as hard as I could to get
it right, but I don't want to cheat."
A boy from Iowa says :" I think I can spell first-
rate, but I can't write worth a cent. I have to
hunt eggs and carry in wood, so you couldn't ex-
pect me to write very nice." But his writing is far
above the average for his age.
One girl writes: I almost know there will be no
one younger than I who will try. I was ten a few
days ago, and had to wait to write it till I was ten."
A few letters -very few, fortunately speak of
disadvantages under which little puzzlers labored.
One poor child is partially paralyzed; another
would like to win a prize to help pay a doctor's bill
poor little chap! One little girl "has not walked
for three years" ; two are blind, and another two
almost blind; one plucky little fellow writes from
the hospital, where he has been for five months, and
has had his leg amputated; and another writes
propped up in bed recovering from a serious illness.
How hard all these little folk have tried! At
times one can fairly hear the scratching of the pen,
and see the little fist clutching the holder!
More cheerful letters are, happily, more plentiful.
"I have enjoyed this poem, and Mama and I
have had many laughs over poor Marion! says
little Mabel. "I have to thank you heartily for
providing such an instructive as well as amusing
study," a Boston mother writes; and this pleasing
sentiment is shared by a brisk ten-year-old, who
says : I do despise spelling and have worked hard
on this. Anyway, I am glad I did it, for it is better
than ever so many spelling lessons "
Very creditable pieces of work come from an In-
dian girl; a little Swiss girl, who says: "I take
your magazine, though I am not a compatriot ";
a Dutch girl who writes from Haarlem; a bright

twelve-year-old, whose well-spelled answer has trav-
eled all the way from Trebizond, Turkey; an almost
equally accurate boy of the same age, whose answer
started from Assioot, Egypt.
The copies came, indeed, from many countries.
There were hundreds from Canada and Great
Britain, and fair numbers from France, Holland,
Germany, Austria, Italy, Switzerland, and Mexico.
Of all the boys and girls in Spain one little maid
had the fortitude to enter the lists.
The first envelope opened was posted in New
York on September 25; another was posted in
Trebizond, Turkey, early in October; and the last
came from Brazil, dated October 19th.
Several copies were illustrated-some excel-
lently, considering the ages of the young artists.
One of the versions was written on paper sprinkled
with violets in water-colors. Two others enclosed
four-leaved clovers as an earnest of good-luck-
which will doubtless come to the senders next
time. Two, again, came from Jamaica from the
grandchildren of Nathaniel Hawthorne, and two
were from Concord from the grandchildren of
Emerson. A bright little countess wrote from
Vienna, and a countess mother signed a certifica-
tion under the republican flag of France. An
earl's crest sealed an envelope from Ireland, but,
best of all, the great majority may be said to re-
present nature's little noblemen and noblewomen
of the world in general.
So the copies came from far and near, North and
South, East and West, and hardly one but deserved
One bright young contributor sent this clever bit
of verse, with its rather reckless rhyming:

Long life and good health to the Little Schoolma'am,
Whose kind heart suggested the beautiful plan
By which your young readers are given a chance
Their purses to fill, and their wits to enhance.
As the Schoolma'am herself was a little girl once,
I am sure she remembers how quickly the month's
Allowance is spent. And as Christmas draws nigh
How "close" we must be, and how hard we must try
To save up enough to buy Grandpa a cane,
Little Brother a ball, and Papa a watch-chain.
Though I may not receive any prize, it is true,
I '11 rejoice with the bright lads and lassies that do.
Your constant reader, GEORG1A KENDALL.

The Committee is confident that Georgia Ken-
dall's closing lines express the sentiments of all the
In conclusion, the Little Schoolma'am thanks
you all most heartily for your painstaking efforts;
and she hopes that now you will, after the manner
of the boys who lose a match-game, give three
hearty cheers for the winners !

4 .-. L IDDL, (

DIAMOND. I. D. 2. Cid. 3. Clara. 4. Diamond. 5. Drown.
6. Ann. 7. D.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Primals, California; Finals, Sacramento.
Cross-words: x. Cross. 2. Alpha. 3. Lyric. 4. Inter. 5. Flora.
6. Odium. 7. Raise. 8. Nisan. 9. Inert. xo. Anglo.
ZIGZAG. City of the Straits. Cross-words: i. Carp. 2. Nigh.
3. Iota. 4. Dray. 5. Doom. 6. Afar. 7. Troy. 8. Thin. 9.
Apes. o1. Less. ix. Dote. 12. Eros. 13. Adze. 14. Mile.
15. Rite. 16. Mars.
DIAGONAL. De Lesseps. Crosswords: i. Delicious. 2. Decep-
tive. 3. Melodious. 4. Timepiece. 5. Necessary. 6. Profusion.
7. Phenomena. 8. Amidships. 9. Weariness.
L-ot. 3. Sn-I-pe. 4. Ra-V-en. 5. Sh-E-11.

RHYMING BLANKS. Hound, sound, around, ground, mound,
bound, found, pound, wound.
An idler is a watch that wants both hands;
As useless if it goes as if it stands.
DELICATE SURGERY. I. Leg-ally. 2. T-rib-une. 3. Courts-hip.
4. Arm-ada. 5. Knee-ling. 6. Ba-skin-g. 7. Ear-thy. 8. Clin-
chin-g. 9. El-lip-se.
Tench. 4. Denoted. 5. Actor. 6. Her. 7. D. II. R. 2.
Men. 3. Melon. 4. Related. 5. Noted. 6. Ned. 7. D. III.
i. Aided. 2. Irene. 3. Debut. 4. Enure. 5. Deter. IV. I. T.
2. Rat. 3. Repay. 4. Tapered. 5. Tares. 6. Yes. 7. D. V.
i. T. 2. Fad. 3. Friar. 4. Tainted. 5. Dated. 6. Red. 7. D.

To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the i5th of each month, and
should be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY CO., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE OCTOBER NUMBER were received, before October i5th, from M. McG.-Paul Reese-
Florence and Flossie-G. B. Dyer-Clive-W. L.-Paul Rowley-"Tod and Yam"-Mabel and Henri-"Jersey Quartette"-
"Shrimp"-" Edgewater Two L. 0. E.- "Two Little Brothers" Josephine Sherwood Knott Innit"- Helen C. McCleary-
H. G. E. and A. E.- Ella and Co.- Sand Crabs "-Dee and Co.- "The Proud Pair "-Donald L. and Isabel H. Noble- Nessie and
Freddie Effie K. Talboys "Four Weeks of Kane" Jack and George Alden Charles Travis-" The Spencers "- Embla -
" Brownie Band "- Sigourney Fay Nininger- Blanche and Fred-John Walker and Co.- Kathlyn B. Stryker Mary Lester and
Harry Midwood W. Y. Webbe Ethelberta "The Butterflies "- Merry and Co." Harry and Helene.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE OCTOBER NUMBER were received, before October i5th, from W. H. McGee, i Elizabeth M. Watson
i- Laurence Loring, I Roberta C. Whitelock, 2- Wisdom," I Mary Rake, Stupid," 2 Gertrude Moras, I Elizabeth
Ladd, 2--Jennie C. Hopper, a- Rose and Helen Hartley, 6-Jo and I, 8- F. Goyenecke, I- B. Finley, Maxwell F. Lawton,
2- Rose Red," 2 Helen S. Chapman, I E. F. B., 8 Solon," 2 Alfred T. Carton, i Ernest Freeman, i Houltonites,"
4 -Frederica Yeager, 7- Anna M. Paul, i Dr. Wm. Rear, Lucy and Eddie H., 7- Ralph W. Kiefer, 3 Laura M. Zinser, 7 -
Marguerite Sturdy, 7-Mary L. Taylor, i--Alice Mildred Blanke and Co., 7-" Willmat and Co.," 7-" Trilby Hearts," 7-Hubert
L. Bingay, 8 -A. I. H., 5 "Constant Reader," i Georgia Bugbee, 7 Helen Rogers, 8 -Clara A. Anthony, 8 Helen D. Queen, I
- Mai E. Hackstaff, 4- Uncle Will and Ed, 3- Uncle Will, Mama, and I, 5 Gladys Johnson, i -Josie Tryon, 8 "Two Romans,"
6- Betty K. Reilly, 2 Lucille E. Rosenberg, r Little Willie, i Philip A.Elmer, i Julia Callender, I No name, Fairfield, Conn.,
8-" Three Brownies," 8 Edna A. Bailey, 3-- Lend-a-Hand Club," 2 Harvey S. Cheney, x Ida Brake, I E. Moore, Mary
F. Cloyes, I--Gertrude Weinberg, i.


WHEN the following words have been rightly guessed,
and placed one below another, the final letters will all be
the same, and the next row will spell musical entertain-
CROSS-WORDS : I. Parts of a circle. 2. The god of
Love. 3. Puts on. 4. Resinous substances. 5. Charges.
6. The god of War. 7. Small things. 8. Persons in
the military service who eat at the same table.

EACH of the objects in the above circle may be de-
scribed by one word. By beginning at the right object,

and then writing the nine words one below another, as
they come, the initial letters will spell the name of a
celebrated American statesman and orator.


THE 1-2 of 2-3-4 and 2-3-4-5
Was a most apprehensive 1-2-3-4-5.
She forbade 2-3-4
To go near the shore,
And told 2-3-4-5
Not to swim or to dive.
For she said, when you are near the 3-4-5
It is quite 1-2-3 that I 4-5."
But all she could do
Would not check 4-3-2,
Nor her unruly son,
Her 4-3-2-1.
So the patience of 5-4-3-2-1 was gone.

This riddle will read as well one way as t' other,
Of this disobedient sister and brother,
And their apprehensive and fidgety mother.

L. I N. G S L F A L O R D S O F R
O S A T 0 H T E T F B 0 H E F H
A 0 M 0 S S A N N 0 N K T 0 G E

By starting at a certain letter, and following a certain
regular path, three familiar proverbs may be spelled.


Mv first was uttered by my second; myfirst is not as
-good as a knife to cut my second; myfirst tells what my
second did to my second; my first is used in the prepara-
tion of my whole; my second flavors my whole; my
second may eat my whole. ALICE I. HAZELTINE.


ALL the words pictured contain the same number of
letters; when rightly guessed and placed one below the
other, in the order numbered, the diagonal (from the
upper left-hand letter to the lower right-hand letter) will
spell the name of a celebrated American pioneer and

I. A LETTER. 2. A short sleep. 3. To leap. 4. A
checkered cloth. 5. Wearied. 6. An evil spirit. 7.
Loved to excess. 8. A black man. 9. To draw off by
degrees. 10. Lubricated. II. A snare. 12. A letter.
M. N. M. and M. B. C.


EXAMPLE: Take fifty from a girdle, and leave a wager.
Answer, Be-l-t, bet.
I. Subtract five from a frolic, and leave a lively dance.
2. Subtract five from a fictitious story, and leave an
old name for Christmas.

3. Subtract five hundred from a piece of stamped metal,
and leave ground grain.
4. Subtract fifty from a punctuation mark, and leave
an animal.
5. Subtract five from to bend, and leave a remedy.
6. Subtract five from a mechanical power, and leave a
look of malice.
7. Subtract fifty-one from a flowering shrub, and leave
a resinous substance.
8. Subtract five from to exist, and leave a falsehood.
9. Subtract one hundred from peaceful, and leave a
Scottish garment.
10. Subtract five from uncertain, and leave a chill.
II. Subtract five and fifty from to slope the edge or
surface, and leave an industrious insect.


I. A BIRD. 2. Infrequent. 3. Globes. 4. A point
of the compass. "JERSEY QUARTETTE."

EIGHTEEN boys are here concealed, of every age and size;
One in each line hiding,-just for a surprise.

I can reach to upper C: I value much my voice.
With renewed avidity he pursues his choice.
They two went together to the music-room,
Where he sang a song, "When rye-fields are in bloom."
Oh, no, 't is this, I think, "When the bloom is on the
A most delightful song; I '11 sing it bye and bye.
I advise you to stop, a trick or two 's enough.
It 's better not to go too far, when the play is rough.
A tale I have to tell; I one listener would crave.
Try to live right, and be very good and brave.
Place a wreath of amaranth on your hero's bier.
A moral philanthropist was he when here.
Yes, I like the chromos, especially the rose.
If elixir 's what I need, I '11 take some, I suppose.
Put by a tenth, or a certain part, if wise.
Hurrah for the bicycle! men, take exercise.
I hear them in fancy, rills and rippling streams.
The rain from off the roof ran cisterns full, it seems,

TWENTY little maids are here,
One in each line-a pretty dear.

How much is a franc, estimated by a cent?
Don't let that rebel in, or you will repent.
They 're going to convict, or I am much misled.
"Why do you let errors mar your work? she said.
I shed or cast away a garment when it 's patched.
Pray help to succor a child, from danger lately snatched.
She made linen cuffs and collars for the boy.
Don't you think that barb a rather dangerous toy?
Oh, I think the camel is safe enough to ride.
Have you the flag at hand? We 've won it for our
See the latest fashion. What enormous sleeves!
That he is a Trojan, everyone believes.
Out of here! Scat! Her in every room I find.
Have the vest and sleeves with silk of that shade lined.
Here 's a man that has important news to tell.
That 's so! Phial is spelled vial as well.
Is that hussar a hero? What will be his rank?
Speaking of Mont Blanc, Blancc" he pronounced as
Gold and enamel in dainty trifles seen.
I have just returned from audience with the queen.



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