Front Cover
 The broken pitcher
 The wrong coat
 Ben Bruin
 That sly old woodchuck
 The sphinx
 The story of the field of the cloth...
 A town with a saint
 Kitty's prayers
 A Japanese funny artist
 Where was Villiers?
 Dorothy's spinning-wheel
 A rhyme of the week
 The queen who couldn't bake gingerbread,...
 Ironing song
 Mrs. Peterkin faints on the great...
 The brownies' feast
 The story of Viteau
 Two sides of a laugh
 Work and play for young folk: III,...
 An Indian winter game
 For very little folk: The grateful...
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00126
 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: VID00126
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
    The broken pitcher
        Page 322
        Page 323
    The wrong coat
        Page 324
        Page 325
        Page 326
        Page 327
    Ben Bruin
        Page 328
        Page 329
    That sly old woodchuck
        Page 330
        Page 331
        Page 332
    The sphinx
        Page 333
    The story of the field of the cloth of gold
        Page 334
        Page 335
        Page 336
        Page 337
    A town with a saint
        Page 338
    Kitty's prayers
        Page 339
    A Japanese funny artist
        Page 340
        Page 341
        Page 342
        Page 343
    Where was Villiers?
        Page 344
        Page 345
        Page 346
        Page 347
        Page 348
    Dorothy's spinning-wheel
        Page 349
        Page 350
        Page 351
    A rhyme of the week
        Page 352 (MULTIPLE)
        Page 353
        Page 354
        Page 355
        Page 356
        Page 357
        Page 358
        Page 359
    The queen who couldn't bake gingerbread, and the king who couldn't play on the trombone
        Page 360
        Page 361
        Page 362
        Page 363
    Ironing song
        Page 364
    Mrs. Peterkin faints on the great pyramid
        Page 365
        Page 366
        Page 367
    The brownies' feast
        Page 368
        Page 369
        Page 370
    The story of Viteau
        Page 371
        Page 372
        Page 373
        Page 374
        Page 375
        Page 376
        Page 377
        Page 378
        Page 379
        Page 380
    Two sides of a laugh
        Page 381 (MULTIPLE)
        Page 382
        Page 383
        Page 384
    Work and play for young folk: III, shadow-pictures and silhouettes
        Page 385
        Page 386
        Page 387
        Page 388
        Page 389
    An Indian winter game
        Page 390
    For very little folk: The grateful dog
        Page 391
        Page 392
        Page 393
        Page 394
        Page 395
    The letter-box
        Page 396
        Page 397
        Page 398
    The riddle-box
        Page 399
        Page 400
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

,- ., ,.1 3- '

[After the painting by Greuze.]


MARCH, 1883.

[Copyright, 1883, by THE CENTURY CO.]



IN the saloon devoted to French artists in the
gallery of the Louvre there is one picture which
it is often difficult to approach, so surrounded is
it by copying artists and admiring visitors.
When you do get near enough to see it, you find
that it represents a charming young girl, with a
sweetness and a dewy freshness about her only
equaled by the handful of delicate loose flowers
which she holds gathered up in her white dress.
On her arm hangs a broken pitcher, and it is
from this that the picture is called La Cruche
Cassee (The Broken Pitcher).
It was painted by Jean Baptiste Greuze, a French
artist, born in Tournus, in 1726. In his early
youth his great ambition was to produce large his-
torical works; but having failed in this, he began
to paint domestic scenes, generally from the life
of the poor, and in these he greatly excelled.
He became widely known for his portraits, also.
At that time, a very artificial style of painting pre-
vailed. Every one who intended to have a portrait
wished to be represented in the character of some
god or goddess, Apollo or Venus or Diana. And so
long as their cheeks were very rosy, and their eyes
very large and very beautiful, and there were plenty
of cupids about, sitters did not particularly care
whether the pictures looked like them or not.
But when Greuze began to paint, he thrust aside
all this affectation and painted people as he found
them, making his portraits life-like and yet en-
dowed with a freshness and charm which he alone
could impart.
There are many pictures of his extant, but of

them all none is so popular as "The Broken
Pitcher"; and I am sure you would not wonder at
this if you could see the charming simplicity and
grace and the tender, harmonious coloring of the
"dainty little maiden" in the original painting.
Greuze, although successful as an artist, was
very unfortunate in his private affairs. During his
long life his pictures had brought him a moderate
fortune, but this seemed to slip away from him in
one way and another. Then came the terrible
French Revolution, which put an end to any hopes
he might have had of retrieving his fortunes by his
pencil. It banished the Court and the wealthy
nobles, who were the artist's chief patrons, and the
people who were left were far too busy with public
affairs to care for pictures.
So it happened that his paintings sold for almost
nothing, and were often to be found among the
rubbish of a coppersmith or exposed for sale in the
street stalls.
This must have been very hard for an artist to
bear; but Greuze was a brave man, and took his
misfortunes cheerfully. Nothing seemed to have
power to break down his courage.
He carried his brightness in his face and showed
it in his briskness when, as an old man of seventy,
he took his daily walk, leaning on the arm of his
servant. A curious figure he must have been, too
-a quaint little old man, with his eyes still full of
fire, his white hair powdered and dressed fantas-
tically in pigeon-wings, which stood out stiffly on
either side of his smiling face.
At length, the Government of France decreed



No. 5.


that apartments in the Palace of the Louvre
should be placed at the disposal of artists and
literary men, and one was assigned to Greuze.
Here he died in 1805, with only his daughter and
one friend near him.
On the day of his death the sun shone brightly into
his room, whereupon the cheery old man remarked:
" I shall have fine weather for my journey."
When Napoleon heard that Greuze had died in
great destitution and neglect, he cried: "Why
was I not told of it? I would have given him a

S6vres pitcher full of gold to pay him for all his
broken pitchers."
Greuze spent his last days in painting his own
portrait and that of his daughter. His was con-
sidered the best in the Salon* of 1805.
You can sell it for a hundred francs, Caroline,"
he said to his daughter. It was the only fortune
he could leave her. But his daughter sold her own
portrait and kept her father's.
In 1868, a marble statue was erected to Greuze
in the public square of Tournus, his native place.



"FIRE Fire!"
Jack Parry rubbed his eyes, as he sprang out of
his cot-bed in the loft, and instinctively hurried on
his trousers. His father's head rose above the
ladder, just as he shuffled on his shoes, shouting:
"Hurry up, I tell ye woods afire Comin' this
way quicker 'n scat! "
Jack scrambled down the ladder without stop-
ping for his jacket. He knew what that news meant
-he liad heard about forest fires before.. His father
had always thought that the creek which ran in front
of their house would guard them, but now the air
was dark with smoke, and he could hear the roar
and crash of the forest falling before its mighty
foe, while sharp gusts of wind swept ashes far and
wide over the grain-fields of the farm. But the fire
was still on the other side of that slow, narrow
stream: could it, would it keep the enemy from
their house and barns ?
It would not do to run the risk. Jack, at a word,
went off to harness the horses, and put them to the
big wagon, while his father helped his mother to
gather a few wraps and valuables together, and
dress the frightened, screaming baby.
When the Parrys moved to Michigan, Grandpa
'Dibble, who always objected to everything, said to
his son-in-law:
"But how '11 ye edicate the childern, John ?"
"I don't know, Father," said John Parry. "Sary
'11 teach 'm to read an' write, prob'ly, and I '11
insure they '11 learn to mind an' be honest. I take
it that these two things will have to underlay any
education that 's good for shucks: we must risk the
Obedience and honesty Jack had indeed been
thoroughly taught. He had never harnessed the

horses alone before, but at his father's order he
went to work manfully, and was all ready whenl
the others came to the house-door.
"Oh, Jack! no coat on? said the delicate,
trembling little mother.
Can't stop for it now," said John Parry. "It's
life or death, Sary There goes a big white-wood
smash acrost the crick! Run the critters, Jack-'
the fire 's after us "
In another moment they were beyond the house,
but not an instant too soon, for a burning branch,
whirled on by the fierce wind, swept through the
air and lit on the roof, which blazed like paper
beneath it.
Jack lashed the terrified horses into a run, while
his father, on the back seat, held the sick baby in
one arm, and put the other about his wife to steady
The air grew heavier and hotter; the roads were
rough, the wagon-springs hard. Blinded with
smoke and frightened at the nearing roar of storm
and flame, the horses flew on beyond the power of
any guiding hand. There was a sudden lurch, the
wheels tilted on a log by the wayside, and the back
seat pitched out behind, with all its occupants!
Jack clung to the reins instinctively, but he could
no more stop the horses than he could arrest the
whirlwind and fire behind him. Father, mother,
sister, all were tossed into the track of the fire like
dry leaves, and never again did he see one of
them. Their fate was certain: he could only hope
it had been sudden and sure death.
Carried on by a force he could not control or
resist, Jack whirled along, the flames nearing him
every moment, till, just as he felt their hot breath
on his neck, the maddened horses reached the lake-

*Annial Art Exhibition.



shore, and plunged headlong into its waters. But
he, at least, was safe, for the shock threw him out
on the sand.
Poor Jack! In the morning he was a hearty,
happy boy, asleep in a good home; at night a
homeless, penniless orphan, with scarce clothes to
cover him. Days passed over his head in a sort of
blank misery. A few others, escaped also from the
devouring flames, shared with him their scanty
food; a kindly woman gave him an old woolen
sack she ill knew how to spare to cover his ragged
shirt, and he found a pair of India-rubbers lying
on the shore, which concealed his worn shoes; but
a more desolate, helpless creature than the poor
boy can hardly be imagined.
After a week or two, he begged his way to
Pompo,- a settlement farther up the lake, which
had not been touched by the great fire,- and heard
there that good people at the East had sent on
clothes to be distributed among those who had
lost theirs. He soon got a chance to ride over
on a lumber-wagon to the nearest place where
these things were given out,-a town ten miles
beyond Pompo,-and there the agent gave him
a couple of shirts, a warm vest, a pair of half-
worn black trousers, and a very good coat of
mixed cloth, that until then had proved too small for
the men who had applied for clothes. But as Jack
was fifteen, and large for his age, it just fitted him,
and once more clothed, neat, and clean, he went
back to Pompo, where he had found a place to
work on a farm, happier than he had been for a
long time.
It was night when he returned to the farm, and
quite bed-time; so he ate some bread and milk
Mrs. Smith had saved for him, and went up
to his garret chamber. As he took off his new coat
to hang it up, with a boy's curiosity he explored
all its pockets. In one he found a half-soiled hand-
kerchief, just as if the owner had taken the
coat down from the closet peg and sent it off
without a thought, for the garment was almost
new. But underneath the handkerchief, lying loose
in the bottom of the pocket, were two twenty-
dollar bills !
Jack's heart gave a great bound; here was a
windfall indeed, and he began to think what he
should do with this small fortune. But perhaps
there was something else in the other pocket-
yes, here was a letter directed, sealed, and stamped,
all ready to mail; and in a small inner breast-
pocket he found three horse-car tickets, a cigar-
ette, and a three-cent piece. In the other
breast-pocket were a gray kid glove, and a card
with the name, "James Agard, Jr." He looked
at the letter again; on one corner was printed:
"Return to James Agard & Co., Deerford, Conn.,

if not delivered in ten days." Jack was not a
dull boy, and it flashed across him at once that this
coat had been put into the box by mistake; it
must have belonged to James Agard, Jr. He
looked again at the handkerchief, and found that
name on the corner.
What should he do ? The coat had been given
to him--why not keep it? He sat down on his
bed to think. His short end of tallow candle had
gone out, but the late-risen moon poured a flood
of mellow light through his window and seemed
to look him in the face. While he thinks the thing
out at the West, let us take up the Eastern end of
the story.

Just three days after the great fires, certain
prompt young people in a New England church
congregation came together in the parlors of that
church to receive and pack clothing for the burnt-
out sufferers; and for a week contributions poured
in upon them, and gave them work for both head
and hands. Into this busy crowd one day
hurried a slight, active young man, dressed in a
gray business suit.
"Hallo !" he called out, cheerily. I 've come
to help the old-do' boxes along. Give me work
at once, Mrs. Brooks- anything but sewing."
Mrs. Brooks laughed.
Can you pack a barrel, Mr. Agard ?"
"Yes, indeed; just pile on the things," and he
went to work with an alacrity that showed he knew
how to do his work. This energetic little man
packed more than one barrel before night, and, in
order to work better, threw his coat aside, as the
rooms were warm. When evening came, he drew
himself up with a laugh, exclaiming:
"There! I can 'go West, young man,' and
earn my living as a pork-packer, if you '11 only
recommend me, Mrs. Brooks."
"That I will," said she, "and others, too. We
have sent off ten barrels since you came in, Mr.
Agard; we had to hurry, for the freight train left
at four o'clock."
Just then he turned to look for his coat. It was
not where he left it. He searched the room in vain,
and at last called out:
Has anybody seen my coat?"
Where did you leave it?" asked George Bruce,
a young man who had also been packing very
On the back of that chair."
"Was it a gray mixed sack?"
Well, sir, it's gone off to the sufferers, then.
I saw it on the chair, thought it was a contribu-
tion, packed it, headed up the barrel, and sent it
to the train."



"What! You 're a nice fellow, Bruce -sent my
coat off! How am I to get home?"
It is too bad," said Mrs. Brooks. "I'll take
you home in the carriage, Mr. Agard."
Thank you, kindly; but that is n't all. I had
forty dollars in one pocket, and a letter to be
mailed with a thousand-dollar check in it. I must
hurry home and have that check stopped; the
bills will go for an involuntary contribution, I sup-
pose. Bruce, I feel like choking you "
"And I'm willing to let you, Jim, if it '11 relieve
your mind. It was outrageously careless of me.
I don't suppose there 's the slightest chance of
tracing it."
No more than a dropped penny in Broadway.
Miss Van Ness wont have her Jacqueminot roses
for the german, though, and I '11 tell her it was
your fault- I can't throw away any more dollars
on nonsense. -But I'm not sure the money is lost
as much as it might have been, old fellow. Mrs.
Brooks, I'm ready."
And so James Agard went home, stopped pay-
ment of the check by a telegram, and sent an
excuse to Miss Van Ness for not attending her
german. The roses were to have been a surprise
to her, so she did not miss them.

We left Jack sitting in the moonlight, doubting
and distressed. But he did not sit there long, for
suddenly there came to him a recollection of what
his father had said concerning his education to
Grandpa Dibble; his mother had repeated it to
him so often that it was fixed in his memory. He
hid his face in his hands, for it grew hot with
shame, to think he had. not seen at once that he
must send the coat back to its owner. Jack did
not hesitate-the right thing must be done quickly.
He folded the coat as well as he knew how, replac-
ing everything in the pockets, except the three-
cent piece, for which he had a use. Then, quite sure
that Mr. Smith, who had hired him, was not the
man to understand or approve his action, he made
up his mind not to wait till the morning, but to
go directly back to Dayton, where he had received
his clothes, and where the nearest express office
was stationed. He could not return the coat to the
agent, for he had distributed all the clothes des-
tined for that point, Jack being one of the last
applicants, and had gone on farther with the rest;
so he rolled it in a newspaper and slipped down-
stairs with his shoes in his hand, putting on over
his vest the old red sack he had worn before, and
set out for Dayton.
He had to beg his breakfast when he reached
the town; then he bought a sheet of brown paper,
a string, and a postal card with the three-cent
piece, and, sitting down on the sunny side of a

lumber pile, made the coat into a neat bundle,
firmly tied.
He asked the use of pen and ink at the express
office, directed his package and wrote his postal as
follows, for he could write well, though a little un-
certain as to his spelling:
"DEAR SIR: I send you by express to Day a coat which i got in
the close sent to burnd out fokes here, i doant believe it ought to
hev come, so i send it to the name onto the letter, all things Within
except 3 sents used for paper, string, and kard.
Jack felt a great weight off his mind when the
bundle was fairly out of his hands. It was hard to
send away help he needed so much-harder for a
homeless, penniless boy than you know, dear Tom
and Harry-you who have never been hungry,
ragged, and orphaned.
And he not only lost his coat, but his place, for
he knew very well, when he left the farm-house,
that Mr. Smith, who was a hard and mean man,
would never take back a boy who ran away the
first night of his service, especially if he knew it
was to return a good coat with money in the
Still he felt that his father and mother would
have thought it was dishonest to keep it, and, with
the courage of a resolute boy, he felt sure he could
find work in Dayton. But he did not. There were
plenty of boys, and men, too, already asking for
work, and nobody knew him, nor had he any
recommendations. For several nights he slept in an
empty freight-car near the railway station, doing a
little porter's work to pay for this shelter; then he
did some things about the tavern stable for his
board, sleeping in the shed, or on the hay-mow;
and once in a while he caught himself wishing he
had that forty dollars to get back to Connecticut,
where he had distant relatives. But the quick
thought What would Mother say? repressed the
wish at once.
At last he found steady work on a farm out of
town, with small wages. But he had a loft and a
bed to himself, and his chief work was to drive
a team into Dayton and back with produce, or
to fetch lumber, coal, and feed for his employer
and the neighbors.
One day, about a month after he went to this
place, as he was driving a load of coal past the
express office, walking his horses, for the load
was heavy and the mud deep, the clerk saw him,
and, running to the door, called out:
Say, young fellow D' you know anybody name
of Jack Parry ? "
"I guess so," said Jack, with a smile; that 's
my name. What 's to pay? "
"Nothin'-it's prepaid. I had a faint rek-
lektion that a fellow about your size left a package



here a while ago directed to James Agard. I
was n't real sure 't was you, for you are n't rigged
out so fancy as you was. What have you done with
that red jacket, sonny ? Haw haw haw "
Jack colored; he had on an old overcoat of
the farmer's, but the red sack was under it, for he
had no other coat.
Well, anyhow, here .'s a bundle for Jack
Parry, and I reckon that 's for you, since nobody
else has called for it; and it's got a kind of a label
on to the tag, same as letters have: Return to
James Agard & Co., Deerford, Conn., if not called
for in one month.' And the month 's a'most up,
too,-it's a nigh thing for you."
Jack did not know what to think or say. He
signed a receipt for the bundle, put it up on the
coal, and hastily went on his way.
He did not get home till after dark, and when
supper was over and all his work done he could
only go to bed and wait for morning, as he never
was allowed a light in his loft, and he did not
want to open the package till he was alone. But

with the first dawning light he sprang up eagerly
and untied the string. There lay the gray coat,
and with it the rest of the suit, a set of warm
underclothing, and, on top of all, a letter running
"JACK PARRY: I am glad there is such an honest boy in
Dayton. I wish there were more here, but we want you for an-
other, anyway. If you are out of work, and I think perhaps
you are, for I know how it is round the burnt districts, you will
find money in the breast-pocket of your coat to buy a ticket for
this place. James Agard & Co. want a boy in their store, and
want an honest one. Come promptly, and bring this letter to
identify yourself. JAMES AGARD, JR."

"Oh, if Mother only knew it was the quick
thought that glistened in Jack's happy eyes, and
choked him for a moment, as he laid down the
Perhaps she did.
He is in Agard & Co.'s great wholesale store on
the Deerford wharves now, and does credit to
James Agard, Jr.'s, recommendation.
And it all came of sending the wrong coat!

A little old man named l Caw,

Hed take down a

And, tuning it leave

pt3'' %.
\2 _____ _

read up in law!

look ,

reat book

57y 1haw!





', ,,- .,: t 1"- r e still,

Ihey all think me safe in the stable, no doubt;
But what are my paws for, if not to get out?
Must I live with the horses and donkeys? Not I!
The world is before me-my luck I will try."

Ben Bruin trudged on till an hour before noon;
Then he said to himself: "I shall starve to death soon !
Not an acorn or nut have I found in this wood;
There is plenty of nothing but snow. If I could,
For a taste of the dinner at home, I 'd run back;
But, somehow or other, I 've lost my own track !
Ho ho there 's a sight I have not seen before-
A little red house, with a half-open door!

I think I '11 step in, for I 'm weary and lame."
Ben Bruin was little, you see, and quite tame;
He feared neither children, nor women, nor men,
Though he did like a free forest-stroll now and then.
Harry Hunter had petted the young orphan bear,
Since his father the old ones had shot in their lair;
And to school he had not been forbidden to go-
That he would not be welcome, pray, how could he know ?

Ben Bruin stepped into the entry, and there
Little cloaks, hoods, and tippets were hung up with care,
And small luncheon-baskets beneath, in a row.
Something good in those baskets, I smell and I know,"
Said little Ben Bruin, and on his hind paws
He balanced himself, while his nose and his jaws
Found business enough. Hark! a step pit-a-pat!
Little Rose White came in, and saw what he was at.

i883.] BEN BRUIN. 329

Pretty Rose of a school-mate so rough had not dreamed;
She turned pale, and then red; then she laughed, then she screamed.
Then the door of the school-room she threw open wide,
And little Ben Bruin walked in at her side,
Straight up to the school-master's desk. What a rush
For the door and the windows! The teacher called, "Hush!"
In vain, through that tempest of terrified squeals;
And he, with the children, soon took to his heels.

Ben Bruin looked blank at the stir he had made;
As a bear-baby might, he felt rather afraid,
Like the rest of the babies, and after them ran.
Then over again the wild hubbub began,
And Ben, seeing now that all this was no play,
From the rout he had raised in disgust turned away,
While he said to himself: If I ever get home,
In another direction hereafter I '11 roam."

Alas! for Ben Bruin's brief morning of fun!
Behind him a click-and the bang of a gun !
And when Harry Hunter went seeking his pet,
The snow by the school-house with red drops was wet;
And pretty Rose White felt so sad that she cried
To see the boy mourn for the bear that had died.
And this is the story of little Ben Bruin,
Who found through' a school-house the door-way to ruin.

....~a -- 11121..
2 0i_




DEAH me Dey's
jes' one moah row ob
taters. I 's hoein' de
Sbes' I know."
S -'' Julius leaned on his
hoe for a moment.
i His bright black face
was turned a little anx-
iously toward the front
... fence. Over in the
road beyond that there
stood a white boy, of about his own size, and he
was calling:
Quib! Ouib! Come here!"
Dar he goes said Julius. "Dey 've got him
agin. He's de bes' dog for woodchucks, he is!
An' I can't go 'long. Tell you wot, dough, if I 'd
ha' thought he 'd run away 'fore I 'd hoed dese
taters, I 'd nebber hab gibben him dat big bone.
De rascal! He's jes' hid it away, somewhar, down
'mong de cabbages."
That was what Quib had done with his precious
bone; but now his little, lean, yellow legs were
carrying him rapidly down the road, with half a
dozen very noisy boys behind him.
"Pete! Pete Corry! Where was it you saw
that woodchuck?"
"Finest woodchuck you ever saw in all your
life!" was Pete's reply.
"He '11 get away from us "
"No, he wont. Abe Selover is watching for
him. That woodchuck is in the stone-heap at the
corner of old Hamburger's pasture-lot."
Quib must have understood what Mart Penni-
man said, for he did not halt for one second till he
reached the bars that led into that very field. It
was more than a quarter of a mile from the potato-
patch, but Quib had barked all the way-probably
out of respect for the size and importance of the
coming woodchuck.
Mart Penniman and Abe Selover had started
their great "game" on the way home from driv-
ing their cows. They had raced him across the
pasture and along the fence, into the stofie-heap,
and then Abe had staid to keep watch while Mart
went after Julius Davis's dog. That meant also,
of course, as large a crowd of boys as he could
pick up in going and coming.
It was a sad thing for Julius that his mother had

set him at the potato-patch, and that Quib had
broken his contract with the bone.
Quib was not usually so treacherous, but he hap-
pened to be on friendly terms with every boy of
that hunting-party.
They had all helped him chase woodchucks at
one time or another, and he had great confidence
in them, but that was nothing at all to their
confidence in him.
The pasture bars did not stop a single one of
the woodchuck-hunters. All the boys went over
while Quib was wriggling under, through a hole
he knew, and there, almost right before them,
was the stone-heap. It was quite a large one,
and it was thickly overgrown with wild raspberry
Abe-is he there ?"
"He did n't get away, did he ?"
"Are you sure he is in there ? "
Quib Quib shouted Abe. "Woodchucks !
Quib, woodchucks Right in here. Find 'e "
Quib was dancing around in a quiver of noisy
excitement, for he had caught a sniff of something
under the first bush he sprang into.
How he did bark and yelp and scratch, for about
a minute !
Poys Poys! Vat is all dis? Vat you vant
vis mein stone-heap, eh ? "
It was old Hamburger himself climbing the
fence, and he looked longer and leaner just then,
and had more pipe in his mouth, than the boys
thought they had ever seen before.
"The finest woodchuck you ever saw, Mr. Ham-
burger," began Cole Thomas, by way of an
Vootshuck Dat 's it! Ant so you puts a
tog into mein stone-heap, and you steps onto
mein grass, ant you knock ober all mein beautiful
mullein-stalks and mein thistles and mein scoke-
veeds! "
Puff! puff! came the great clouds of smoke
from the grim lips of the old German, but it
struck Cole Thomas that Mr. Hamburger himself
was on the watch for that woodchuck.
Bow -wow-yow-yelp! and Mart shouted:
"There he goes "
"Hi! We 'll get him screamed Abe.
Take him, Quib Take him "
Ouib had started the woodchuck.




There was never a stone-heap piled up that had
room in it for both a dog and a woodchuck.
Mr. Hamburger took the pipe out of his mouth,
which was a thing nobody could remember ever
having seen him do.
"Dose poys! Dat vootshuck! De tog is a
goot von. Dey vill preak dare little necks. Joost
see how dey run But de tog is de pest runner of
dem poys, egsept de vootshuck."
Mr. Hamburger did not run. Nobody had ever
seen him do any such thing as that.
But he walked on across the pasture-lot, toward
the deep ravine that cut through the side of the
hill to the valley.
All that time poor Julius had been hoeing away
desperately upon the last row of his mother's
potatoes, and she had been smiling at him from
the window. She was anxious he should get
through, for she meant to send him to the village
for a quarter of a pound of tea.
It was just as Julius reached the last hill that
the baby cried, and when Mrs. Davis returned to
the window to say something about the store
and the kind of tea she wanted, all she could see
of Julius was the hoe lying beside that last hill.
Ef he has n't finished dem taters and run
away! "
She would have been proud of him if she could
have seen how wonderfully fast he did run away,
down the road he had seen Quib and the other
hunters take.
"Dey 's into de lot! he exclaimed, when he
came to the bars. "Dar's Pete Corry's ole straw
hat lyin' by de stone-heap. Mus' hab been some-
fin' wonderful, or he 'd nebber forgot his hat."
That was an old woodchuck, of course, or he
would not have been so large, and it may be he
knew those boys as well as Quib did. If not, it
was his own fault, for every one of them had
chased him before, and so had Quib. He knew
every inch of that pasture-lot, and he knew the
shortest way to the head of the deep ravine.
"Boys!" shouted Abe Selover, with all the
breath he had. "Boys He 's going for the glen!
Now we 've got him!"
The ravine was a rocky and wonderful place,
and all the boys were perfectly familiar with it, and
considered it the grandest play-house in the world,
or, at least, in the vicinity of the village. If Quib
once got the woodchuck penned up among those
rocks, they could play hide-and-seek for him till
they should find him.
Some city people that had a picnic there once
had called it a glen," and the name had stuck
to it, mainly because it was shorter than any other
the boys could think of; and, besides that, the
school-master of the district two years before (who

did n't suit the trustees) had been named Glefin,
and so the word must have been all right.
Some of the boys were near enough to see the
woodchuck make for the two maples at the head
of the ravine, and Bob Hicks tumbled over Andy
Thompson while he was shouting:
"Catch him, Ouib "
After they got past those two maple trees there
was no more fast running to be done.
Down, down, deeper and rockier and rougher
every rod of it, the rugged chasm opened ahead
of them, and it was necessary for the boys to
mind their steps. It was a place where a wood-
chuck or a small dog could get around a good deal
faster than any boy, but they all followed Ouib in
a way that would have scared their mothers if they
had been there.
"It's grand fun !" said Mart Penniman. "Finest
woodchuck you ever saw "
Come on, boys !" shouted Abe Selover, away
ahead. "We '11 get him, this time."
Abe had a way of being just the next boy be-
hind the dog in any kind of chase, and they all
clambered after him, in hot haste.
On went Quib, and even Abe Selover could not
see him more than half the time, for he had an
immense deal of dodging to do, in and out among
the rocks and trees, and it was dreadfully shady
at the bottom of that ravine.
The walls of rock, where Abe was, rose more
than sixty feet high on either side, and the glen
was only a few rods wide at the widest place.
"He's holed him! He's holed him! Come
on we've got him, now !"
Quib was scratching and yelping like an insane
dog at the bottom of what looked like a great
crack between two rocks, in the left-hand side of
the glen as you went down. The crack was only
an inch or so wide at the bottom, and twisted a
good deal as it went up, for the rock was of the
kind known as "pudding-stone." There was a
hole, just there, large enough for a woodchuck,
but too small for a dog.
"Dig, boys! Dig!"
Dig yourself," said Pete Corry. "Who 's
going to dig a rock, I'd like to know ?"
"Let Quib in, anyhow. He'll drive him out."
Abe was prying at that hole with a dead branch
of a tree, and, almost while he was speaking, a
great piece of the loose pudding-stone fell off and
came thumping down at his feet.
"A cave, boys a cave Just look in !"
Ouib did not wait for anybody to look in, but
bounded through the opening with a shrill yelp,
and Abe Selover squeezed after him.
Pete Corry felt a little nervous when he saw how
dark it was, but he followed Abe; and the other



boys came on as fast as the width of the hole
would let them.
That is, they crept through, one boy at a time.
What surprised them was, that the moment they
had crawled through that hole they could stand
up straight.
"Where's the woodchuck ?" asked Bob Hicks.
"Woodchuck? Why, boys this is a regular
cave," replied Abe.
Quib's in there, somewhere," said Mart Pen-
niman. "Just hear him yelp "
"Hold on," said Cole Thomas-" there's more
light coming in. We shall be able to see, in a
The fact was that it took a little time for their
eyes to get accustomed to the small amount of
light there was in that cave.
The cave itself was not very large.
It grew wider for about twenty feet from the
hole they came in by, and the floor, which was
covered with bits of rock, sloped upward like the
roof of a house, only not quite so abruptly.
In the middle it was more than a rod wide.
Then it grew narrower, and steeper, and darker
with every step. But they knew about where the
upper end must be, for they could hear Quib bark-
ing there.
"It's dark enough," said Andy.
"Come on, boys shoutedAbe Selover. "We'll
have that woodchuck this time. He's in this cave,
They were not very much afraid to keep a little
way behind Abe Selover, and in a few minutes they
heard him say:
"Quib! Is he there? Have you got him?"
Quib barked and whined, and the sound seemed
to come from away above them.
Come on, boys! I can see a streak of light.
It 's like climbing up an old chimney. Quib's
almost on him."
All that time, while they were groping through
that cave, Julius Davis was looking around the
pasture-lot after them.
He would have been glad of a small glimpse of
Quib, but all he had found as yet was Mr. Ham-
burger, who was standing under an old butternut-
tree and looking down at a round, hollow place in
the ground.
He was smoking very hard.
"Hab you seen my dog ? asked-Julius.

Hold still, poy! Joost you vait. Hi Dere
goes dose vootshuck "
Dat 's so. He's come right up out ob de hole,
and dar aint no dog to fowler him! "
Away went the woodchuck, and Julius gave him
up for lost; but Mr. Hamburger smoked harder
than ever and looked down at the hole.
"Hark! Hear dem? Itisdetog! Plessmein
eyes, if dey did n't chase dose vootshuck right
oonder mein pasture-lot! "
Julius could hear Quib bark now, away down
there in the ground, and he could npt stand still
on any one side of that hollow. So he danced up
and down on every side of it.
One minute,-two, three minutes,-it was a
dreadfully long time,-and then it was the voice
of Abe Selover, mixed with a long yelp from Quib.
"Come on, boys! I 've shoved him through.
I 'm going right up after him. Nothing to pull
away but some sods."
Dat's de tog exclaimed Mr. Hamburger.
"Keep still, black poy! De rest of dose vootshucks
is coming. Keep stilll"
Nothing but some sods to pull away, to make
that hole large enough, and then Abe Selover's
curly head popped out, and the rest of him fol-
lowed, grimy and dirty, but in a great fever of
excitement and fun.
After him climbed the other boys, one by one.
Mr. Hamburger, did you see where that
woodchuck went to? "
De vootshuck? I don't know him. But de
black poy haf run after de tog, ant he vas run so
fast as nefer you saw. Vare you leetle vootshucks
coom from, eh ?, You climb oonder mein pasture ?"
No use, Abe," said Mart Penniman. We 've
missed that woodchuck this time."
"We've found the cave, though," said Pete
Corry. It 's through that he got away from us
so many times."
"I dell you vat," said Mr. Hamburger; "de
nex' time you leetle vootshucks vant to chase dat
oder vootshuck, you put a pag ofer dese hole
Den you shace him round among de rocks, and
you vill catch de tog ant de vootshuck into de
same pag."
"That 's what we '11 do," said Abe Selover.
"But not to-day, boys. He was the finest wood-
chuck I ever saw, but we 've missed him this



SHE does n't live in Egypt,- Hear the gentle answers,
Not in these later years; Making matters plain;
She sits in a cane-seat rocker, Should she speak in riddles,
And this is what she hears: They will ask again.

"i Mama, where's my pencil?"
MIamma, where 's my hat?"
" Mamma, what does this mean? "
Mzamma, what is that?"
" Who was General Taylor?"
Where 's this horrid town?"
" Have I got to do it?"
Say, is 'rest' a noun?"
" Can I have a cornet?
Don't I wish I had "
" Ma, if got rich some day,
Would n't you be glad? "
" This book says the dew-drops
Climb the morning sky;
O h .. *

~,! _.O -


" Something ails this slipper,-
Does n't it look queer? "
" Must I do it over?
Fi it, Mother dear."
" We must write an essay
On 'a piece of chalk';
Mother, what would you say? "
Ma, why don't you talk ?"

Children, come to Auntie!
Let Mamma alone !
(I sometimes think the patient sphinx
Will really turn to stone.)








EARLY next morning, Rauf, who lodged in the
Sieur de Montmorency's tent, was awakened by a
touch upon his shoulder, and, opening his eyes,
was startled to see the King bending over him.
Arise, Sir Page," said Francis, with a re-assur-
ing smile. "I am mightily vexed with all this
suspicion and ceremony that, it seems, must needs
attend all our interviews with your King, and I am
minded to give our brother of England a surprise
this morning. None save the Count of Saint Pol
and the Sieur de Montmorency accompany me,
and you shall help us force the camp."
Dressing in much wonderment, and snatching a
hasty bite at a cold pasty, Rauf joined the King
and his two companions. With neither guards
nor heralds, they rode across the valley and up the
slopes to Guisnes, through the bright beauty of
that early June morning, and "mightily aston-
ished the English wardens gathered on the castle
Surrender ye, surrender ye, my brothers, to
the might and power of France said the King,
gayly, as he rode among them. Lead us straight
to the chamber of our cousin of England."
Sire, he has not yet awakened," said the bewil-
dered Marlond, the provost "Pray, your maj-
esty, rest awhile, until I summon his grace the
Earl of Essex to conduct you to the King's high-
ness. "
Earl me no earl, and king me no kings," pro-
tested Francis, laughingly. "I seek to awaken, not
a king's highness, but mine own good brother
and comrade, Henry of England; so, then, on to
the chamber, Master Bulney." And following Rauf,
with the bewildered English officials still in the
rear and "sore perplexed," Francis walked rapidly
to the door of the King's chamber, knocked, and,
without further ceremony, walked in.
Never," says the chronicler, "was man more
dumbfounded than King Henry."
"Brother," he said, "you have done me a better
turn than ever man did to another, and you show
me the great trust I ought to have in you. I yield
myself your prisoner from this moment, and I
proffer you my parole. Sir Page, my jeweled
collar! "
Rauf brought from the open casket near the

bed a magnificent collar of gold and jewels, worth,
it is said, some fifteen thousand angels, or nearly
forty thousand dollars of our money.
"Take this, my brother," said the King; take
it and wear it this very day for the love of your
prisoner, Henry of England."
"Honor for honor, ransom for ransom," said
Francis, and detaching from his own dress a brace-
let, said to be worth thirty thousand angels (nearly
eighty thousand dollars)-"wear this," he said,
"for me, and with it wear close to your heart the
dear love of your brother, Francis of France."
Now will I rise and attend you," said Henry;
and to Rauf he said, Sir Page, let our gentlemen
of the chamber be called."
"Not so," said Francis; 't is brother and
brother, and peer to peer. You shall have none
other chamberer than ypur loving Francis, and as
I thus warm your shirt and help you to your dress,
may the warmth of our brotherly love melt down
all the barriers of suspicion and ceremony that our
lords would fain rear between us."
And so, with jovial talk and many a merry jest,
was this memorable and most novel kingly visit
prolonged and enjoyed, to the dismay and bewil-
derment of the ceremonious courtiers of both the
Next day, after the jousts were ended, there was
tried a bout between the English wrestlers, and
then a match between the archers, in which latter
the King of England took a part. For," says the
French chronicler, "he was a marvelous good
archer and a strong, and it was very pleasant to see
him." These sports over, the two Kings entered
the pavilion to rest and refresh themselves. Here
Francis, admiring the splendid physique of King
Henry, said to him:
You are mightily well built, brother. Truth
to say, the Chevalier Giustinian made no unfair
report of you to his master, the Doge of Venice."
"And what said the wordy chevalier?" queried
"He said," replied Francis, "that my lord the
King of England was much handsomer than any
monarch in Christendom; very fair and well-pro-
portioned; a good musician; a capital horseman;
a fine jouster; a hearty hunter; a tireless game-
ster; a mighty archer, and a royal hand at tennis."
"Ay, tennis is a royal game," was Henry's only
The chevalier protested," went on the French




King, "that it was the prettiest thing in the world
to see you at tennis, with your fair skin glowing
through a shirt of the finest texture."
Ha well," said the flattered Henry, "the
Chevalier Giustinian was a courtier-like and wily
embassador, and you, too, my brother, are, I fear
me, a sweet-tongued flatterer."
"Not so, not so," responded Francis. "I am
leal and true comrade to the man, be he king or
courser-man, who is as tightly built and as strong
in heart as is Henry of England."
Then it was that Rauf in astonishment saw his
gracious sovereign seize with a practiced hand the
collar of my lord the King of France.
"Come, my brother," said Henry, "let us try
a fall."
With arms entwined around each other's body
in a grip of iron, with feet planted, and with every
muscle strained, the royal wrestlers swayed now this
way and now that in their trial of strength. There
came one or two well-made feints at throwing, and
then suddenly, so the record says, "the King of
France, who was an expert wrestler, tripped up
the heels of his brother of England and gave him
a marvelous somerset."
"Revenge, revenge! I am not yet beaten!"
cried the fallen prince, springing to his feet, but
then came the summons to supper, and the wrestle
of the Kings was over.
The fortnight of pageantry ended all too quickly
for Rauf and Margery, and for many an older
participant, but the end came at last, as come it
must to all good times. And now it is Saturday,
the 23d of June, the feast of the vigil of St. John
-commemorating that early Pope of Rome, im-
prisoned and martyred by the Arian King of Italy,
Theodoric the Ostragoth. As fitted both a high
feast-day of the Roman Church and the last hours
of an occasion in which that Church had played
so prominent a part, the Lord Cardinal announced
a solemn mass to be sung by both the French and
English priests. So, in the great lists, which for
twelve days had rung with the clash of sword and
lance, the shouts of contestants, and the cheer of
victory, a gorgeous chapel was erected, on a great
platform, hung with cloth of gold and splendid dra-
peries, while altars and reliquaries shone with gold
and gems. The oratories of the Kings and Queens
were royally furnished, and chairs of state, under
canopies of cloth of gold, stood on the platform
for the cardinals, bishops, and prelates of France
and England. Dressed in soft camlet robes, blood-
red, from head to foot, the cardinals and their
trains of priests and dignitaries moved in slow
procession from the chapel to the chairs. Then,
amid a solemn silence, in the presence of a vast
multitude that thronged the galleries and stood

without the lists, the great Cardinal Wolsey,
changing his red robes for his richest vestments
of crimson velvet and cloth of gold, opened the
service, in which the English and French priests
and chanters took alternate parts. The Kings and
Queens knelt at the altars, and all the curious forms
of service that were the usages of that age of form,
in religion as in arms, were carefully observed.
Right in the midst of it all, as the rich strains
of the "Gloria in Excelsis" filled the air, there
rose a great noise of roaring and hissing, and lo !
high above the French camp at Arde, appeared
the figure of "a great salamander or dragon, four
fathoms long and full of fire."
Margery started up in alarm, and clutched the
sleeve of Rauf, himself not all unmoved at the
strange apparition.
Oh, look, look, Rauf! she said, beneath her
breath. "What is it? What is it ?"
But even Rauf's cup of wonders was filled to
overflowing, and he simply gazed, speechless.
"See, see; it comes this way!" he said, involun-
tarily ducking his head, as the fiery monster, cleav-
ing the air, headed toward them and then "passed
over the chapel to Guisnes as fast as a footman
can go, and as high as a bolt shot from a cross-
Surprise, indecision, dismay, and fear were seen
on many faces, and a sigh of relief broke from
countless watchers as the last vestige of the fiery
trail vanished from the sky.
Oh, what a monster !" said Margery. "What
could it have been, Rauf? "
The boy plunged down into the very depths of
his boyish wisdom, but found no fitting explana-
tion, and both the children turned questioning
faces to Sir Rauf Verney, who, with Lady Gray,
was watching their astonishment with evident
Rest easy, my little ones," he said. "'T is no
portent nor omen, but only one of those conceits
in fire, brought from Italy for the French lords,
and can harm no one. Even now it lies all dead
and blackened on our camping-ground at Guisnes."
And so Rauf and Margery saw their first fire-
works, then an almost unheard-of wonder in
Below in the lists, but little disturbed by the
fiery dragon,-of which they had probably had
warning,-the royal worshipers went on with the
service, and a Latin sermon on the blessings of
peace closed the mass. Then came the great
state dinner, served in the lists, the Kings sitting in
one chamber beneath a golden canopy, the Queens
in another, the cardinals and prelates in another,
and the lords and ladies in still other apartments.
Rauf and Margery, with the robust appetites of



healthy children, dipped like young epicures into -with many regrets and courteous phrases; with
all the dainties, and richly enjoyed the feast, pity- flatteries and promises innumerable; with the music
ing, meanwhile, the enforced courtesies of royal
ceren o.*.rr r,1-i,:h .:.ui [,:,l p1 r.ir T. z K ;r.r; ,,r',l
Queetn: t. ll;c I n.r-.uthul ,
but f....:..:l ithrI- [.1. tr ,.
tim e in i- -.:.ii' .:I.. r:-i ..n .-
w h ile 0 i.- i.. ,ii r..' .-./
cam e ,'rl tI u rI --,- *1--_-.

Quee'.' ii rr.li .-c: *..-'i

asked I fii %, r, i I 1 6' :r..

I ,-~

- ---


"Ay, that it is," he answered, glancing toward
the Queens' table, where stately conversation was
the only thing indulged in, "but-," here he
paused with a huge piece of pasty half-way toward
his mouth, think how much more glorious to be
as we are, and-," speaking with his mouth full
of the pasty-, to talk and eat both."
"Heaven protect and keep our fair young
demoiselle!" said King Francis, as he bent over
Margery in farewell, with as courteous a salute even
as he gave to the lady Queen of England.
The closing hours of the great interview had
come. It was the afternoon of Sunday, the 24th
of June, 1520. The final exchange of state visits
and dinners had been made, and now the French
and English retinues, with the sovereigns and
cardinals, met in the lists to say farewell. With
the interchange of many rare and costly gifts,-
horses of blood, litters, and chariots, hounds and
hawks, bracelets and necklaces, chains, and robes
of gold and silver tissue, of velvet and of damask,


of trumpets ard clarions, hautboys and sackbuts
and flutes; with the solemn covenant of the Kings
to build in the golden valley a memorial chapel,
to be called the Chapel of Our Lady of the
Peace"; amid the boom of artillery, the waving
of banners, and the echoing shouts of farewell, the
courts of France and England took leave of each
other, and the "meeting of the Kings" was a
thing of the past.
And so, back to Calais, and, after a week's
delay, over the sea to England, went Rauf and
Margery, full of regret that the splendid life of
pleasure and excitement that they had lived for
two royal weeks had come to an end. The
intimacy between them never weakened, but devel-
oped and strengthened into a lasting friendship.
Visits to Verney Hall and to the manor-house
of Carew were frequent, and whether climbing
the Chiltern hills, or exploring the woods of Ayles-
bury, or scouring with horse and hawk and hound
the verdant vales of Surrey, one topic for conver-



"' "


station never lacked. As they grew older they
learned to see beneath the glitter of pageantry
and the sound of courtly phrases the deeper
designs of policy and statecraft; but still the
memories of that youthful journey to France
remained ever radiant and glorious with the halo
of romance, and to their latest days they could
tell again and again, to open-mouthed audiences
of children and grandchildren, the never-failing
story of the wonders and the glories of the Field
of the Cloth of Gold.

Such, in brief detail, dear reader, is the story of
that royal interview between the Kings of France
and England to which reference is so often made.
which stands n, i-. r... h ...... ..
tuous, m ost 'i.,.;i :, :,I I !...i i-..:. u l-.-i .!1
the cerem on ,i ... 1,:.:.-1i1. 1,,.1 i I" .I .h lii .
m inator and :.' r. i [ .. .- -iir I ,, : ii
have drawn '.ir l.i.... I -l .-. ri. ,.
M any of the-l :: r.p. i.: .i ._ir.:- :, ',- ;
terview, and .. .:-i ti..il '
have been her. rii l. '. ,
both from hi:k :fI _
space and fri..' ,*
indisposition r... .ir ,-. I ..
with too much ;.... --.'

that hung upon the skirts of the pageant, kept
back only by the pikes and bows of the guards;
of the poverty and suffering of the people, who
were squeezed and taxed for the money expended
in this gorgeous show. No; nor, of the utter
fruitlessness of the whole affair as a matter of
statesmanship. For the great King Henry of Eng-
land and his shrewd adviser, the Lord Cardinal,
by an act of double-dealing almost unparalleled in
history, went direct from the treaties, the prom-
ises, the presents, and the pretended affections
of that stately farewell in the golden valley, to
the town of Gravelines, near Dunkirk, where
waited the crafty young
Emperor, Charles the
,'' Fli 'h. With him in three
ii '' Henry arranged a
,Ii" """. i- ty that broke all the
|..r.mises that had been
". .de to Francis, and,
i,, :.;- the record shows,

, ,I
I"1' *I 1'

S i ''


'I I I '


I I I.I i

/ / Yet such dis-
I'NG O' P H OfWA /A'X T E loyal conduct was
:,-7.- _esteemed skillful
macy, in the hands
and glitter. Nor has mention been made of the of men who disregard truth and faith and honor,
other side of the picture-of the motley crowds may be as full of deceit and hypocrisy. But, as
VOL. X.-22.



you read history thoughtfully, you will learn also
that true manliness and true womanliness pay best
in the long run, and that he who tries to walk in
the line of duty or of honest faith, be he prince or
peer, youth oil yeoman, statesman or student, helps
on, in some degree, the progress and betterment
of the world in which he lives.
But it was during the reigns of the three princes
we have here met-Henry, Francis, and Charles

- that the more practical light of modern endeavor
began to change the thought, the customs, and the
manners of Christendom. And as almost the last
flush of that glory of chivalry and ceremonial that
marked the times which we now call the Middle
Ages, there is to be found much of interest, much
of gorgeous coloring, and much of picturesque mag-
nificence in the wonder-filled story of the Field of
the Cloth of Gold.



THERE is not another place in the world just
like it. It has houses and streets and woods and
school-houses and a post-office, and all that, like
many another New England town; but, for all these,
there is a difference. If you take the Old Colony
Railroad from Boston, you soon get away from the
city and the pretty villages round about, and come
to the wild woods. It seems wonderful that there are
so many glorious fishing-places, miles of grand
camping-ground, and great stretches of lovely wil-
derness in such an old State as Massachusetts. The
Duke of Argyle, in traveling from Boston to New-
port,'said the country reminded him of the wild parts
of Scotland. And so it may well have done, as far
as the woods are concerned, but the towns are
very different from Scottish hamlets.
The curious thing about this part of the country
is that, while the land seems so wild and poor, the
villages, half hidden in the forest, are busy enough,
and as the train rushes out of the shady lanes it
stops amid tasteful houses, beautiful public build-
ings, and every convenience of a city. The land is
poor and the climate cold, but the inhabitants -the
boys and girls -do not care for that. They do say
that the land is so stony that the farmers sharpen
the noses of their sheep, to enable the poor things
to get a bite of grass between the stones. Yet
here people live and work, and most of them get
along beautifully. Here, in the village of North
Easton, the men make thirty thousand shovels
every week. They send them all over the world,
and thus it is they earn enough to live upon in
comfort. There was once an old farmer in Massa-
chusetts who was terribly alarmed when his eight
boys grew up, because he feared that, if he cut up
the farm into eight parts, none of them would have
enough to live upon. However, the boys took care
of themselves, and in time went to work in the

factories. So it is here. Every one works in the
shops or on the farms.
The boys and girls go to school in the handsome
school-houses, and coast on the hills or skate on
the great ponds in winter, or go nutting in the
woods in autumn. But this is not the end of their
fun. Here is the best thing of all: Every boy and
girl in the town, rich and poor, young and old,
Once a month it comes in the mail, every
copy carefully addressed, one copy for every family
where there are boys and girls in the entire
town. By recess time on the day of its arrival all
the children in town are usually aware of the fact.
ST. NICHOLAS has come Think of it! One copy
for every family. The joyful news soon spreads,
and the moment school is out there is a grand
rush for the post-office. Three hundred boys and
girls besiege it at once. The postmaster hands the
magazines out as fast as possible, and before night
every one is gone. Not one is left, you may be
sure. That evening, the entire population begins
to read ST. NICHOLAS. Nobody knows when
they get through, for father and mother and big
brother want their turn. He must be a very old
boy who can't read ST. NICHOLAS.
So it goes. Twelve times a year each family
in North Easton has its own magazine. In many
a lonely farm-house it may be almost the only
book, and in every house it is welcome. If all the
children in North Easton read it right through from
the beginning at the same time, they must reach
the same jokes at the same time, and no doubt
the entire town laughs at the same place and
sits up long past bed-time trying to solve the
puzzles. Think of every child in a town being
personally acquainted with Jack-in-the-Pulpit and
the Little School-ma'am! If Mr. Stockton should




go there, he would find every boy and girl
familiar with his wonderful fairies and gnomes.
If the people knew he was there, they would, no
doubt, ring the church-bell and invite him into
the beautiful Memorial Hall, and bid him tell the
town a story.
I 've written one or two things myself for the
pages of ST. NICHOLAS, and when I went there
and found that every boy and girl I met in the
streets read it every month, I felt like boarding the
cars and leaving as fast as possible. I once heard
a little girl read one of my stories, and it made me
feel truly proud; but a town full of readers! I
did n't say a word. It made me feel like the boy

who carried the music-box to church by mistake.
It went off right in sermon time, and he wished he
had n't come.
And this is the way it all happened. Mr. Ames,
who, when he lived, was one of the owners of
the shovel-works located here, made a very wise
will. It provided that a part of the money he
left should- be used every year for the benefit
of all the people in the town. A number of
persons were appointed to take charge of this
money, and with a part of it they give, each year,
a copy of ST. NICHOLAS to every family where
there are children. So it happens that the whole
town full of children read it every month.

I ,:V-,C .-t- A
*'l't "2\' 1 d 1't .!'*:* 1L l -'7 A 1

', *.!!l- : -----

,' !, h I ~ i :- .
I,. AI I '

While wonder speaks through her violet eyes-
My little kitty is saying her prayers !

" Come and look thro' the nursery door!
We wont frighten her where she lies,
In the streak of sunlight on the floor,
Folding her white paws over her eyes.

I wonder,"-treading with light foot-fall,
And daintily lifting the frock she wears,
As she trots before me across the hall,-
"' I wonder if God hears kitty's prayers?"



ONE hundred and twenty-three years ago-in
the year just before the first observed transit of
Venus -there was a looking-glass maker in Yedo,
who was made happy by the information, It's a
boy." Neighbors and friends rushed in to con-
gratulate Mrs. Middle-island, the happy mother
whose son North-house (Hokusai) was to become
the most famous artist in Japan.
As the boy grew up he was fond of drawing,
and always had a pencil or brush-pen in his hand.
He made pictures of babies on their mothers'
backs, of chubby children playing, of the owner-
less wolfish dogs and bob-tailed cats of Yedo.
Nearly all the Japanese artists before North-house
had painted only lords and ladies of the court,

nobles' costumes and gorgeous silk dresses, and
gold-lacquered vases and palanquins belonging to
the Mikado. Many of their subjects were Chinese,
but silken curtains and red temples and pagodas,
with abundance of g61d clouds in the picture to
cover up the plain or common parts, were what
one saw on most famous works of art.
But Hokusai was a man of the people. He
cared next to nothing about Chinese heroes, or
high lords of the court,-except to make fun of
them,-and so he struck out in a new line. He
pictured farmers and mechanics, thatched cottages
and shops and markets, pack-horses and street
dogs, and everything in humble life. He especi-
ally entered into the juvenile world,-which is only
as high as a yard-stick,--and while his brother
artists soared into the mountains and clouds

Hokusai kept on the ground, with the result that
even the babies understood his drawings, and
dyers bought his books for their patterns. To
study some of the dainty pictures dyed into a
daimio* lady's skirt, or to read a Japanese fairy
tale on a bride's robe, is often to recognize Hokusai's
pictures reproduced in color.
Hokusai opened a studio in Yedo in 1810, and
labored steadily with the brush until 1849- about
five years before Commodore Perry entered the
Bay of Yedo. His chief books of pictures are his
mangrna, or albums of sketches. Occasionally he
made journeys, and the fruits of his travel were his
"Hundred Views of Fuji-Yama," besides many
pictures of natural scenery. His drawings are
more simple and less fin-
ished than ours, but are
much clearer than those of
most Japanese draughts-
men, so that, of them all,
S Hokusai is best understood
Sby foreigners.
In one funny sketch he
pictures soldiers feasting in
:':e P time of peace, and getting
so fat as to be unable to
buckle on their armor, like
tortoises that have grown
Bigger than their shells, and
so can not shut up. In still
another picture, he shows
the shady side of a farmer's
life. A hungry man in
AKINC IN PONIES. threadbare coat, prema-
turely gray through hard work, is looking anxiously
at a piece of land which, toil as he may, yields him
scarcely enough to live on. The Japanese sen-
tence of explanation at the side of the picture is
a double-edged pun, reading either "A scant field
gives a short crop," or Human life is but fifty
Hokusai was never weary of studying horses
and their funny ways, and of all creatures
Japanese horses are the most amusing. These
nags, which wear laced-up shoes of straw, drink
out of a dipper, take hip-baths of hot water, and
stand in the stable with their mouths tied up
higher than their ears, are broken in to the pack
or saddle in a very rough way.. In Hokusai's
days, horses were never harnessed to wagons, nor
did they draw anything. The ponies were usually

* A daimid is a Japanese lord.






" broken in" in the large open yards attached to Lake Biwa. In the picture, the steed has broken
temples, and part of the large tori-i, or gate-way, is loose and run away from its master, and is mak-
seen on the right in our illustration, page 340. On ing tracks" in a defiant manner. The lady is out
walking in her storm-clogs,
-- for the ground is muddy.
No sooner does she "put
her foot down," than the
lariat is as fast as if tied
to a rock. The animal is
brought up on a short turn,
and tumbles over. In spite
of his kicking and rearing,
the lady calmly adjusts her
'" comb, and enjoys the scen-
-- cery. When the equine Tar-
-, tar is thoroughly humbled,
he is calmly led home. After
such an experience, he per
haps respects women more
I_722 than before.
Cs ~-c~ In the next two sketches,

the left are the houses of the priests, with two or
three pilgrims in big hats and straw cloaks enjoy-
ing the fun. Fires, also, are usually kindled, and
the colts are driven close to them, so that they
may become accustomed to such a common sight.
The method of breaking them in was as follows:.
The young horse was duly harnessed, and a man
on each side held a bridle to jerk him to the right
or left, while another man in the rear beat him
with a bamboo stick, keeping well away from
his hoofs. Twelve or more men and boys then
took hold of the long ropes or traces, and a lively
shouting began. The horse plunged and galloped
off, expecting to get rid of the noisy crew, but
soon found that this was no easy task. It was a
twelve-man power that made him go here and
there, fast or slow, occasionally stopping him short
and giving him a tumble. When utterly exhausted,
his tormentors led him back to the stable. After
a few such trials, the pony was considered broken.
Such crude training, though fine fun for the men,
ruins the horses, making them hard-mouthed and
vicious with both heels and teeth.
Hokusai has pictured one such impetuous nag
mastered by a woman who was famed alike for
her strength and powers of horse-taming. I once
visited the village in which this female Rarey lived.
Her name was Kaneko, and her home was at
Kaidzu, a little town at the head of the beautiful

s we have the funny side both
of science and of supersti-
tion. Doctor Sawbones has
come to visit Mrs. Sick-a-
bed, who has a bilious at-
tack, and has found the
usual application of paper
dipped in vinegar and laid on the temples to be
insufficient. Like all good married women, her
eyebrows are well shaved off. You see no sofa
or bedstead in the room, for in Japan sick folks
lie on quilts piled up on the floor, which is cov-
ered with thick, soft matting. The patient has
come out from behind the screen, in her checked
wrapper, and with her head tied up. She is show-
ing the doctor pretty much all the tongue she
has. We hope she is not a scold, and that she
does not belong to that class referred to in a pop-
ular Japanese proverb: "The tongue which is


three inches long can kill a man six feet high."
With her double chin, and fat round face, she looks
like a kindly woman, not given to sharp words.


Doctor Sawbones, however, has laid his dress-
sword and his pill-box on the floor (of both, as
well as of his family crest, embroidered on the

back of his toat near the collar, he is very proud).
See how eagerly, yet leisurely, too, the old shaven-
pate gazes .through his horn-rimmed goggles. It
is well they are guyed to his ears with buckskin
straps like chain-cables. How much wisdom lurks
in his wrinkled face The woman is poking her
tongue at him, wondering how long the doctor
wants her to keep it out. He discovers that the
cause of her trouble is too hearty indulgence in
fried eels well dipped in soy. He orders for her
an astonishing dose of pills, and he gets his pay if
she gets well. "No cure, no cash," is the usual
rule in Japan.
Fried eels are a tempting delicacy in Japan, but

broiled eels are fit for the Tycoon. Caught in the
moats of the castles, in canals or rivers, the slip-
pery creatures are skinned so skillfully that an
expert draws out head and skeleton, like a sword
from its scabbard. Spitted on iron or 'bamboo
skewers, they are repeatedly dipped in soy, and
broiled over hot charcoal on the streets, or in
restaurants, which have for their shop-sign a square
lantern, as seen in the picture.
The connection between eels and potatoes is not
very clear to an American, but many a Japanese
housewife or granny is afraid of putting a certain
kind of long potato away in baskets. They have
a queer superstition that the potatoes will change
into eels and crawl away. The picture here given
is Hokusai's illustration of this idea. The three
boys had three potatoes; but the potatoes have
waxed old and turned into eels, and the boys,
grown up, find them tough subjects with which to
wrestle. How the affair will end no one can surely
tell, but it looks bad for the boys. One of them
is being lifted from the ground, and his position
reminds us of the famous feat of climbing a
greased pole," but this pole will probably lie down
and slide off into the mud, and shed the boy quite
easily. The second fellow is nearly off his feet;
and the third, spite of all his clutching and cling-
ing, will lose his prize. If they had only a handful
of grit or ashes they might have a royal dish of
eels, and not grudge the loss of three potatoes.
Hokusai made many other funny pictures of eel-
catchers, well and sick women, wise doctors and
cunning quacks, horses of all sorts, and men innu-
merable. Hokusai is dead, but thousands of Jap-
anese still chuckle over his caricatures; and in
American metal-work, silverware, wall-paper, silk,
embroidery, and a hundred forms of decorative
art, the strokes of his pencil are visible, with a
character all their own.







Lo, the sweet dawn in silence wakes,
And into every casement looks;
Gretchen her little bed forsakes
At once, and hurries to her books.
The rich light glitters on her hair,
And brightens on her cheek the rose;
Her thick locks braiding, unaware
Is she how red the morning glows t

O fair new day, you shall not find,
Look everywhere the wide world through,
A child more thoughtful, dear, and kind,
More pleasant, patient, wise, and true.
Be good to her, O dawning day!
The stones from out her pathway roll;
Shed all your light upon her way-
The humble, gentle little soul!





]:-.. l-oE z I
11-' .!, -- l A !'- Aid. I -1OCSin

-oun. ,- \. rh, ..i -i l, too, of
a letter or a call from Villiers, to
BEFORE I let my little story answer this ques- know when I was setting out; it went without
tion, it is expedient that I explain-who Villiers saying that he and I were to go together. Thus
is. Villiers, then, to begin with, is one of the best it fell out that he came to share most of my
fellows in the world. He is the war artist of the field experiences in the summer and autumn of
London GraJhic; and he has been my stanch 1877, when we were campaigning with the Russian
comrade in several campaigns, and on not a few army that had marched from the Pruth down to
battle-fields. He came to me first in the middle the Danube, and had crossed the king of European
of the Servian war, with a letter of introduction rivers into Bulgaria, to drive the Turk across the
from a very dear friend of both of us. His face Balkans, and finally to follow him up as he step
was so ingenuous, his manner so modest, his by step fell back, fighting hard, till at length the
simplicity so quaint, that I adopted him as "my minarets and domes of Constantinople greeted the
'boy" before our first interview was- over. We eyes of the hardy children of the "great white Czar."



Near the end of July in that year, Villiers and
myself were with the advance posts of that portion
of the Russian army which was commanded by the
Cesarewitz (now the Emperor), and which was
engaged in masking the Turkish fortress of Rust-
chuck, lying, as it did, dangerously on the left flank
of the Russian line of advance. We were happy
enough, but things were too quiet for both of us, by
a great deal. It was lazy, idle work, lying in the
tent all day long, gossiping with Baron Driesen,
while Villiers and dear old General Arnoldi drew
caricatures of each other for lack of any better
occupation: So we determined one morning to
ride back to the Emperor's head-quarters in Biela,
and find out there whether something more stir-
ring elsewhere was not to be heard of. We did
not mean to abandon altogether the army of
the Cesarewitz, but only to quit it for a short
holiday; so we left our servants and wagon
behind us, and started with only our saddle-
horses, carrying each a blanket and a few neces-
saries on the saddle.
At Biela, we found General Ignatieff living in a
mud-hut in the rear of a farm-yard occupied by the
Emperor's field-tents. He advised us to strike
westward across Bulgaria, in the direction of
Plevna. Something worth seeing, he said in
his vague, diplomatic way, was soon to happen
there. Prince Schahovskoy-nobody ever spelt
the name right, and I believe the owner himself
never spells it twice the same way-and old Baron
Krudener, two generals commanding each an
army corps, were massing their forces with intent
to assail Osman Pasha behind those formidable
earth-works that he had been so skillfully and
sedulously constructing around the little Bulgarian
town on the banks of the Osma. If we made
haste, we should reach the vicinity of Plevna in
time for the engagement. Ignatieff was .so cour-
teous as to furnish us with a letter of recommenda-
tion to the prince with the unspellable name; and,
full of eagerness for the excitement, we rode away
on our lone cross-country journey that same after-
noon. It was a journey of about eighty miles,
as far as we were able to reckon, and the country
had been made somewhat desolate by the ravages
of war. We traveled by the map, and without
a guide, asking our way of peasants as we went
along. This method was not an entire success,
and we wandered about deviously. For one thing,
our acquaintance with the Bulgarian language
was strictly limited; for another, peasants were
not always to be found when we wanted them;
and for a third, the Bulgarian peasant has very
vague ideas both as to distances and as to
the points of the compass. He reckons by hours,
and with most irritating looseness; his hour is

as elastic as the Irish mile or the Scotch
"bittock." "How far to Akcair?" I would
ask. "Two hours, gosPodin /"* would be the
reply. What direction? A wave of the hand
to the right, and a wild, indiscriminate, unintelli-
gible howl, would be the lucid response. We
ride on for an hour, and encounter another
peasant. How far to Akcair ?" "Three hours,
gosfodin "What direction ?" A wild, indefi-
nite wave of the hand to the left, and a howl as
indescribable as that emitted by the gentleman
we had previously interrogated, would be the
reply of this second exponent of local geography !
There was a road, indeed, but it had never been
traveled on, having been made as a job and being
overgrown with weeds and grass. Besides, it had
an awkward habit of breaking short off at critical
points, to be found again, at a few miles' distance,
in a wholly unexpected and irrelevant sort of way.
Turkish roads are as aimless and eccentric as are
all other things in that land of polygamy and
shaven heads.
Nevertheless, on the evening of the second day,
tired and hungry, we reached Poradim, where
Prince Schahovskoy had his head-quarters. I knew
him of old to be a grumpy man -he was the only
distinctly discourteous Russian I ever had the
misfortune to meet. We waited on him to ask
for permission to abide for a time with his com-
mand, and I handed him General Ignatieff's
letter. I can not help myself," said he; you
bring me an injunction from head-quarters that I
am to do so." And then, rising, he said: "Gentle-
men, excuse me; I am going to dine."
It was more than we had any chance of doing,
famishing as we were; but I was glad of the
begrudged sanction. I had met an old comrade
of the Servian campaign on Schahovskoy's staff,
who made us welcome to his tent. He had gone
on a reconnaissance, and we lay down to sleep
on empty stomachs; Villiers, who has not the
faculty of long abstinence from food with impunity,
was positively sick from hunger. Early next morn-
ing I went foraging, and succeeded in achieving
some raw fresh eggs, which I placed by his head,
and then awoke him. I give you my word,"
said the lad, I was dreaming about raw eggs"
-and he turned to and sucked them with a skill
that proved he might give his grandmother lessons
in this accomplishment.
There was no forward movement this day, but
a long council of war, from which old Krudener
went away gloomily, predicting defeat; for he had
remonstrated against the attempt which was to
be made, and which was to be carried out only in
obedience to peremptory orders from the head-
quarters of the Grand Duke Nicholas, the com-

*Gospodin-a term of address corresponding with our "sir," or the French "monsieur."



mander-in-chief of the Russian army. Failure
was a foregone conclusion from the outset.
This council of war would have been a very
interesting spectacle to any one unfamiliar with
the personnel of the Russian army. On the windy
plain, outside the tents constituting Schahovskoy's
head-quarters, had gathered representatives of all
the types of Russian officerhood. Here was the
gray-bearded, hard-faced old major who, without
"protection," had fought his sturdy way up
through the grades, with long delays, much hard
service, and many wounds. He had been an
ensign in the Crimea, and afterward was for-
gotten, for nobody knows how many years, in
some odd corner of the Caucasus. He is only a
major, poor old fellow; but he has a half-a-dozen
decorations, and, please God, he will gain another
to-morrow, if he has the luck to stand up. He
is as hard as nails, and would as soon live on
biscuit and salt-horse" as on champagne and
French cookery.-There is little in common
between him and the tall, stately, grizzled general
by his side, who is an aid-de-camp of the
Emperor; a grand seigneur of the court, yet who
has never forsworn the camp; a man who will
discuss with you the relative merits of Patti and
Lucca; who has yachted in the Mediterranean, shot
grouse in the Scottish highlands, and gone after
buffalo on the prairies of America; who wears his
decorations, too, some of them earned in the fore-
front of the battle, others as honorary distinctions,
or marks of imperial favor. He can gallop, can
this young hussar in the blue-and-red; he can
cut the sword exercise; he can sing French songs;
he would give his last cigarette either to a comrade
or to a stranger, like myself; and in his secret heart
he has vowed to earn the Cross of St. George
to-morrow.--Till the very end of the war I never
took quite heartily to Lieutenant Brutokoff-the
very opposite of the swell young hussar I have
described. The first time I met him, I knew that
I disliked him down to the ground. His manners
-well, he had none to speak of-and his voice
was a growl, with a hoarseness in it begotten
of schnapps. He did not look as if he washed
copiously, and he was the sort of man who might
give some color to the notion that the Russian
has not yet quite broken himself of the custom of
breakfasting off tallow candles. But he turned
out not a bad fellow on further acquaintance, and
would share his ration with a stray dog.
Before daybreak on the last day of July the
whole force was on the move to the front. Kru-
dener had the right, Schahovskoy, with whom we
remained, the left attack. There was a long halt
in a hollow, where was the village of Radishovo,
into which Turkish shells, flying over the ridge in-

front, came banging and crashing with unpleasant
vivacity. The Bulgarian inhabitants had staid
at home and were standing mournfully at their
cottage doors, while their children played outside
among the bursting shells. Gradually the Russian
artillery came into action on the ridge in front.
About midday Schahovskoy and his staff, which
we accompanied, rode on to the ridge between the
guns. The Turkish shells marked us at once, and
amidst a fiendish hurtling of projectiles we all
tumbled off our horses, and, running forward, took
cover in the brushwood beyond, the, orderlies
scampering back with the horses to the shelter of
the reverse side of the slope. Then we had leisure
to survey the marvelous view below us--the little
town of Plevna in the center, with the Turkish
earth-works, girdled by cannon smoke, all around it.
After an artillery duel of three hours, the Prince
ordered his infantry on to the attack. The gallant
fellows passed us, full of ardor, with bands play-
ing and colors flying, and went down into the fell
valley below. For three hours the demon of
carnage reigned supreme in that dire cockpit.
The wounded came limping and groaning back,
and threw themselves heavily down on the re-
verse slope in the village of Radishovo, in our
rear. The surgeons already had set up their field
hospitals, and were ready for work.
Never shall I forget the spectacle of that assault
made by Schahovskoy's infantrymen on the Turk-
ish earth-works in the valley below the ridge of
Radishovo, on which we stood. The long ranks on
which I looked down tramped steadily on to the
assault. No skirmishing line was thrown out in
advance. The fighting line remained the forma-
tion, till, what with impatience and what with men
falling, it broke into a ragged spray of humanity,
and surged on swiftly, loosely, and with no close
cohesion. The supports ran up into the fighting
array independently and eagerly. Presently all
along the bristling line burst forth flaming volleys
of musketry fire. The jagged line sprang forward
through the maize-fields, gradually falling into a
concave shape. The crackle of the musketry fire
rose into a sharp, continuous peal. The clamor
of the hurrahs of the fighting men came back to
us on the breeze, making the blood tingle with the
excitement of battle. The wounded began to
trickle back down the gentle slope. We could see
the dead and the more severely wounded lying
where they had fallen, on the stubble and amidst
the maize. The living wave of fighting men was
pouring over them, ever on and on. Suddenly
the disconnected men drew closer together. We
could see the officers signaling for the concentra-
tion by the waving of their swords. The distance
yet to be traversed was but a hundred yards.




There was a wild rush, headed by the colonel of
one of the regiments. The Turks in the work
stood their ground, and fired with terrible effect
into the whirlwind that was rushing upon them.
The colonel's horse went down, but the colonel
was on his feet in a moment, and, waving his sword,
led his men forward on foot. But only for a few
paces. He staggered and fell. We could hear the
tempest-gush of wrath -half howl, half yell- with
which his men, bayonets at the charge, rushed on
to avenge him. They were over the parapet and in
among the Turks like an overwhelming avalanche.
Not many followers of the Prophet got the chance
to run away from the gleaming bayonets wielded
by muscular Russian arms.
But there were not men enough for the enter-
'prise. It was cruel to watch the brave Russian
soldiers standing there leaderless,-for nearly all

ridge on which we stood, that had for a brief space
been comparatively safe, was again swept by heavy
fire. Schahovskoy, who had been silently tramp-
ing up and down, and gloomily showing the bitter-
ness of his disappointment, awoke to the exigencies
of the situation. He bade the bugles sound the
"assembly," to gather a detachment to keep the
fore-post line on the ridge, and so cover the
wounded lying behind it. The buglers blew lustily,
but only a few stragglers could be got together.
" Gentlemen," then said Schahovskoy to his staff,.
"we and the escort must keep the front; these
poor wounded must not be abandoned !" They
were words worthy of a general in the hour of
disaster. We extended along the ridge, each man
moving to and fro, in a little beat of his own, to
keep the Bashi-Bazouks at bay. It was a forlorn
hope-a mere sham of a cover; half a regiment


their officers had fallen,-sternly waiting death
for want of officers either to lead them forward or
to march them back. As the sun set in lurid
crimson, the Russian defeat became assured. The
attacking troops had been driven back or stricken
down. For three hours there had flowed a constant
current of wounded men up from the battle-field
back to the reverse slope of the ridge on which we
stood, with the general, his staff and escort, and
down into the village behind, into what seemed
comparative safety. All around us the air was
heavy with the low moaning of the wounded, who
had cast themselves down to gain some relief from
the agony of motion.
The Turks spread gradually over the battle-field
below us, slaughtering as they advanced; and the

could have brushed us away; but it was the only
thing that could possibly afford a chance for those
poor sufferers, lying moaning there behind us, to be
packed into the ambulances and carried away into
Villiers had been ill and weak all day, and the
terrible strain of the prolonged suspense and dan-
ger had told upon him severely. 1His mother, as
we quitted London, had with her last words con-
fided him to my care. Now, in his work, as in mine,
a man has to take his chance of ordinary casualties.
But the ordeal which was now upon us was no
ordinary risk. It was known that I had been a
soldier in the British army, and I could not go to
the rear while the men with whom the danger
of the previous part of the day had been shared


were now confronting a danger immeasurably
greater. But with Villiers it was different. He
was game; and it was only by pointing out to him
that he could not be of much use up here, while
he could be of important service helping the sur-
geons with the wounded, that I persuaded him to
leave the fire-swept ridge, and go back, down into
the village behind us, where there was less direct
work. At length he went, and the responsibility
for him was off my mind. I promised to join him
.when we should be relieved, or when night, as we
might hope, should bring the dismal business to a
We were up there till ten o'clock, and I do not
care to write more concerning that particular
experience. Some dragoons re-
lieved us, and so, following the
general who had lost an army
going in search of an army which
had lost its general, we turned
our horses, and, picking our way
through the wounded, rode down
the slope.
But where was Villiers ?
I could find him nowhere.
There was no response to my
shouts. I could find no surgeon
who had seen him; every man
was too busy to take much heed
of a casual stranger. "Well,"
thought I, after my vain search,
"Villiers is somewhere, doubt-
less. He may have ridden off
farther to the rear; he can not
surely have taken harm. Any-
how, it seems of no use for me
to linger longer here; I must fol-
low the general and his staff."
We had a bad night of it, dodg-
ing the enemy's marauders; but
of that I need not now tell. At
last came the morning. Ay!
and with the morning came the
horrible tidings that in the dead
of night the Bashi-Bazouks had
worked around the flank of the
thin Russian picket-line we had
left on the ridge, had crept into
the village ofO Radishovo, and
had butchered the wounded lying
helpless there, with most, if not
all, of the surgeons left in charge.
The news thrilled us all with

horror; but for me now the question, "Where
was Villiers?" became agonizing in its intensity.
Away on the Bulgarian plateau there, the mem-
ory came back to me of the pretty house in the

quiet London suburb, where the lad's mother, with
a sob in her voice that belied the brave words,
had told me that she let her boy go with a light
heart, because she knew that he would be with
me. And now there came ruthlessly face to face
with me the terrible duty that seemed inexorably
impending, of having to tell that poor mother
there was but one grievous answer to the question,
" Where was Villiers "
I would not yet abandon hope. I rode back
toward Radishovo till the Turkish sharp-shooters
stopped me with their fire, quartering the ground
like a pointer. Far and near I searched; every-
where I sought tidings, but with no result. Every
one who knew anything had the same fell reply,

-I L --~ --


4 a

" If he was in Radishovo last night he is there now,
but not alive !" It was with a very heavy heart,
then, that, as the sun mounted into the clear sum-
mer sky, I realized that professional duty with me



I '


was paramount, and that I must give up the quest,
and ride off to Bucharest, to reach the telegraph
office, whence to communicate to the world the
news of a disaster of which, among all the journal-
ists who then haunted Bulgaria, the fortune had
been mine to be the sole spectator.
It was a long ride, and I killed my poor, gallant
horse before I had finished it. But next morning
I was in Bucharest, and, heavy as was my heart,
writing as for my life. The day had waned ere
I had finished my work, and then I had a bath
and came out into the trim, dapper civilization of
Bucharest, with some such load on my mind as
one can imagine Cain to have carried when he
fled away with Abel's blood burning itself into'his
heart. There came around me my friends and the
friends of Villiers, for every one who knew my boy
loved him. Kingston, the correspondent of the
Telegrapf, Colonel Wellesley, the British military
attache, Colonel Mansfield, the British minister to
the Roumanian court, and a host of others, were
eager to hear the news I had brought of the dis-
comfiture of Schahovskoy, and not less concerned
when they heard of the dread that lay so cold at
my own heart. We held a consultation-a few
of the friends of Villiers and myself. We settled
that I should give a day to fortune, before I should
adventure the miserable task of telegraphing heart-
breaking tidings to the boy's mother. Most of
that space I slept-for I was dead beaten, and I
think that Marius must have fallen asleep even
amid the ruins of Carthage.
On the evening of the next day, Wellesley,


Kingston, Mansfield, and myself were trying to
dine in the twilight, in the garden of the hotel.
Suddenly I heard a familiar voice call out,
"Waiter, quick-dinner; I 'm beastly hungry!"
It was Villiers !
The question was answered. I sprang to my
feet on the instant-my heart in my mouth. So
angry was I at the boy's callousness in thinking of
his dinner when we were sobbing about him-so
tender was I over him in that thank God he
was safe, that as I clutched him by the shoulder
and, I fear, shook him, I scarcely knew whether to
knock him down for his impertinence or fall on
his bosom and weep for joy at his deliverance. So
quaint was the spectacle,-his surprise at my cu-
rious struggle of emotion, my attitude of wrath
with which a great lump in my throat struggled,
-that the others afterward insisted the situa-
tion should be commemorated by a photograph,
in which we two should re-strike our respective
Villiers had been asleep in an ambulance wagon,
to which his horse had been tied, when the Bashi-
Bazouks had entered the village. A young surgeon
had sprung on the box, in the very nick of time,
and had driven the vehicle out of the village just
as the hot rancor of the fanatics had surged up
close behind it. It was the nearest shave-but
it had sufficed to bring him out safe, and he had
got to Bucharest in time to shout for his dinner,
and to save me the misery of telegraphing to his
mother that I had a sad answer to the question,
"Where was Villiers? "



"WHERE are you going, Dorothy?" asked
little Ben Chilton, as he looked up from the boat
he was whittling, and saw his cousin, with a cookey
in her hand, reaching up to the latch of the stair-
Going up garret to play spinning-wheel," she
said in a mysterious whisper, which was overheard
by Jane, who sat near by painfully sewing patch-
work, and who immediately said:
I'll go, too! "
Ben did not want to be left behind, so it was a
party of three that made their way up the old,
well-worn stairs to the garret, where, past the tall

clock, past the disused loom, past a heap of bags
and bundles, they made their way, under over-
hanging bunches of mint and catnip, to the far
corner, where the little old-fashioned spinning-
wheel stood.
"I must be the one to sit at the wheel," said
Dorothy, imperatively. That's what I came up
And drawing forward a low, three-legged chair
she had found, she seated herself with her foot on
the treadle, and adjusted the broken strap.
I don't care," said little Ben; I'm going to
ride on the loom and make the reel whirl."


"And I'm going to play house," said Jane.
" I keep some real pretty broken dishes up here,'
under the eaves, on purpose."
So she began to set her blue and white frag-
ments in order, while Ben jerked the reins he had
tied to the reel. But little Dorothy sat erect and
dignified at the spinning-wheel, keeping her foot
in constant motion. It was her favorite amuse-
ment, and though she loved the calves and
chickens out-of-doors, and Grandma's garden full
of pinks and poppies, the orchard and the barn,
still it seemed to her that it would be hardest of
all to leave the spinning-wheel, when her visit was
over and she went back to her city home.
"You see," she said to the other children, while
the wheel buzzed around, "I play I'm Grandma
when she was young and used to spin, and I play
I 'm my great-grandmamma sometimes, who was
named Dorothy, like me. Ske could spin flax when
she was twelve, and I 'm almost twelve,-I 'm
eight,-and this is the house she lived in.
"How queer!" said staid little Jane, as she
polished up her crockery. "I never think about
my great-grandmother."
"Oh, I do," exclaimed Dorothy. Sometimes,
when I am up here alone spinning, I get to think-
ing I am really that little Dorothy who lived
almost a hundred years ago; and when anybody
calls quick and sharp, 'Dorothy Dorothy it
makes me start, and think perhaps Indians are
coming! "
Ho ho Indians are coming shouted Ben,
lashing his wooden steed with fury.
But this morning no one came to interrupt the
children's play by calling "Dorothy Dorothy "
or "Jane Jane It was baking-day, and Jane's
mother was very.busy in the kitchen. She had
had to take her hands out of the flour once already,
to answer a knock at the front door, and she did
not want to be disturbed any more.
"I can't leave my bread and pies to wait on
strangers," she said, as she roused dear old Grand-
ma Chilton from her knitting, and coaxed her to
go into the front room to entertain callers.
As the mild old lady, in white 'kerchief and cap,
entered the room, she was greeted by two people
entirely unknown to her.
"I am Mrs. Leroy," said the elder; "this is my
niece, Miss Leroy. We board up on the hill this
summer, and in driving by we have noticed your
house. It interested us because it looks so very
old. It is very old, is it not ?"
The oldest part was built more than a hundred
years ago," said Grandma; "my husband's
gran'ther built it. The rest has been- added on
"Indeed!" exclaimed Mrs. Leroy, raising her

eye-glasses to survey the broad beam that ran
through the middle of the ceiling above her.
"How very interesting And I suppose you have
old silver, and old china tea-pots and cups and
saucers, have n't you ? And she looked again at
Grandma with ill-concealed eagerness.
"We have no silver but our spoons," replied
Grandma simply, "and most of the chiny I had
when I was married has been broke. Janey let the
last platter slip out of her fingers the other day."
Oh, how dreadful cried Mrs. Leroy. But
have n't you a few pieces left? "
There 's the bowl Janey mixes her chicken-
feed in," said Grandma thoughtfully, much won-
dering at her visitor's curiosity.
Oh, do let me see it! said Mrs. Leroy.
You must understand, Mrs. Chilton," said the
younger lady pleasantly, "Auntie has the greatest
admiration for old-fashioned things, and would go
twenty miles to see a warming-pan or a tea-pot."
Grandma was indulgent. She brought out her
quaint, little old tea-spoons and her candlesticks,
and made Janey's blue-pictured bowl clean for in-
spection. Mrs. Leroy professed great delight.
"And now, have n't you a spinning-wheel?"
she asked. "Oh, I know you must have a spin-
ning-wheel! "
Why, yes," admitted Grandma, we have an
old wheel up garret."
Mrs. Leroy's eyes shone. She begged to be
allowed to go and see it, and it ended at last in
Grandma mounting the stairs with her guests and
entering the garret.
The children stopped their play and kept a
demure silence, while Mrs. Leroy vociferated her
delight. She admired the clock, the loom, and
two or three very old bonnets hanging overhead,
and then she examined the wheel.
It 's perfect she said, in a low voice to her
niece, who nodded assent.
"Would you be willing to dispose of this wheel?"
she asked Grandma, smoothly. "I '11 give you two
dollars for it."
Grandma was taken aback. The wheel would
never be used again; it was stowed away with
broken chairs and such rubbish, but-to sell it!
Still, that very morning she had wished for a little
money in her hand. She hesitated.
"I will talk it over with the folks," she said,
"and if you can call again, I will let you know."
"Very well," said Mrs. Leroy, "I will come to-
morrow with the carriage, and take the wheel right
in, if you conclude to let me have it." And then,
with a few more smooth words, she departed.
But Dorothy-poor little Dorothy! She stood
by the wheel in dismay. Could it be possible that
Grandma would sell it?





"Oh, I can't bear to have it go! I can't bear to
have it go !" she said, with tears in her eyes.
"Two dollars is a lot of money," said little Jane.
Meanwhile, old Mrs. Chilton was thinking how
the summer was almost ended, and her little grand-
daughter Dorothy would be going home in a few
days. She wished very much to give the child a
parting present, but she had so little change to get
anything with! Two dollars would buy something
nice. At dinner-time she spoke about the wheel.
"Sell it, if you want to," said her son Benja-
min. It's of no use to anybody."
"Yes, let it go," said his wife. It only clutters
up the garret."
"Well, I believe I will let her have it," said
Grandma, slowly.
Dorothy's heart sank. She could hardly eat her
dinner, and as soon as she left the table she went
up garret and cried over her dear little wheel,
fondly turning it with her hand.
It is too bad it is too bad she said to her-
self. "That lady will carry it off, and her great-
grandmother did n't spin on it, and her little girls
wont love it. Oh, dear oh, dear It must n't go !"
By and by little Ben came up the garret stairs to
condole with her.
"If I had two dollars, I would buy it myself,"
said Dorothy to him. "If Mamma would only
come before it is taken away, maybe she would give
me two dollars."
"Well, let 's hide it somewhere till she comes,
then,", said Ben, who was a practical little fellow.
Dorothy looked at him with beaming eyes.
I '11 do it, Ben Chilton she said, "and don't
you ever, ever tell "
The two children then consulted together.
Janey was not to be told, because she had shown
a mercenary spirit in speaking of the money.
Should they hide the wheel behind the chimney?
Should they conceal it in the barn? Neither place
seemed safe enough.
There 's my bower down by the brook! said
Dorothy, suddenly. "The bushes are very close
and high. We can hide it there."
That very afternoon, while Grandma dozed over
her knitting, and while Janey and her mother
picked over blackberries, slowly and laboriously
down the stairs Ben and Dorothy brought the
wheel. Nobody saw them when they went out at
the door, nobody saw them cross the lot, and when,
after a while, they came quietly home to supper,
nobody dreamed that the spinning-wheel was
down among the elder-bushes, going to stay out
all night for the first time in its life.

The next day Dorothy and Ben were unusually
quiet, but they kept a sharp lookout, and the
moment Mrs. Leroy's carriage was seen in the dis-
tance, they ran out into the orchard and climbed
a tree.
Mrs. Leroy descended from her carriage, and
her eyes sparkled when Grandma said she could
take the wheel. Jane's mother went upstairs to
get it. In a minute her voice was heard calling,
"Where is it, ma? I don't see it anywhere "
I know where it is said little Jane, running
after her mother. "It's in this corner. Why, no,
it is n't! How funny! "
But it was anything but funny when an hour's
patient search failed to discover it, and Mrs. Leroy
at last departed, haughty and irate.
The horn had blown for supper when Dorothy
and Ben came meekly in from the orchard.
"Where have you been, children?" exclaimed
Grandma, "and do you know where the spinning-
wheel is?"
Dorothy was silent.
"I do believe she knows," said little Jane.
" She did n't want it sold."
"Ben, where 's that wheel?" asked his father,
sternly. "None of your tricks, boy; I 've got a
birch-stick here "
Oh do;'t whip him, Uncle cried Dorothy,
springing forward. I 'll tell you truly. We did
hide it, so we could keep it till Mamma comes, and
I 'm going to ask her for two dollars so I can buy
it myself, and have it always in my own room at
home. I love it dearly "
"Do tell!" said Grandma, much moved.
"Why, all I wanted the two dollars for was to buy
a present for you, Dorothy, to remember Grandma
by when you go back home."
"Oh, Grandma!" cried Dorothy. "Then do
give me the wheel instead! I 'd rather have it

than anything else in the world-my own great-
grandmother Dorothy's wheel! Miay I have that
for my present, Grandma? "
"Why, of course you may, child! I only wish
I 'd known how you cared. I am glad you do
prize it. I did n't much like to sell it myself."
"Oh! thank you, thank you !" exclaimed
Dorothy, hugging her tightly. And then off she
ran to the brook, to bring her precious wheel home
before the dew fell on it.
Mrs. Leroy came again next day, but no sum
could buy the Chilton spinning-wheel for her then.
When Dorothy went home, it went with her, and
by it she will remember Grandmother and Great-
grandmother all the days of her life.


* us~~.- c>--~

,fuvl af fvi can. be:

Friends Come in/or tea:
, the kiteben cdean; -





the family had retired, and the lights in the house
were all extinguished, when the three older boys
ensconced themselves in the willow-tree,-not
without bean-poles at hand;-to keep guard over

AT half-past nine o'clock the Tinkham Brothers their property.
were still waiting for the return of the Argonauts They could hear, in the darkness, the gurgle of
down the river, the outgoing tide in the eddies formed by the
It was a mild, starry April night. The rest of ends of the open dam. Frogs piped in a marsh
Copyright, 1882, by J. T. Trowbridge. All rights reserved.




not far off. No other sound on river or lake or
shore. So they waited half an hour longer, under
the calm stars.
Then shouts and laughter were heard in the
direction of the new club-house, and they knew
that the meeting was over. After a while arose
on the night air the Canadian Boatman's Song,"
sung by harmonious male voices, softened by dis-
tance and solitude to an almost spiritual melody.
"That has n't a very w-w-warlike sound," said
"No," replied Mart; "I think the Commo-
dore's advice has prevailed, as I believed it would."
Truly, no night-marauders ever went to their
work of destruction to the sound of such music.
The singing grew loud and strong as the boats
passed fiom under the shelter of the high shore
and approached the outlet of the lake, and came
floating down the dark current of the Tammoset.
The Tinkhams stretched themselves out on the
benches in the tree, so that their silhouettes might
not be seen against the starry sky as the Argo-
nauts glided beneath them. One by one the
boats passed the dam without difficulty or disturb-
ance. Then, again, the voices were mellowed to
an almost spiritual sweetness far down the wind-
ings of the river. Six went up. Only four have
gone back," said Rush.
I suppose the other two ate to be kept in the
new club-house, along with the Tammoset boys'
boats," Mart replied. "Come, to bed now! We
are safe from the depredations of the Argonauts
for to-night, anyway."
They went softly to their rooms, taking care not
to disturb their mother, and slept soundly after
their anxious watch. Then, in the morning, as-
tonishment !
The flash-boards, which had been left lying in-
offensively on the platform, were missing; and the
plank that Buzrow had started with his bar on
Sunday had been wrenched off and taken away.
The damage done was not great, but it was exas-
perating. "It shows what we 've got to expect,
and what we '11 look out for in future, boys !" said
Mart, sternly, as they set about rigging new flash-
boards and repairing the dam.
"Don't tell me again not to strike when I 've a
bean-pole over one of their worthless pates! said
Rush, with choking wrath, and Lute added:
"What do you think now of your C-c-commo-
dore ? And their b-b-beautiful singing ? "
Mart made no reply, but wielded his hammer
as if he had been nailing the Buzrow fist to the
dam, instead of a board.
The affair was all the more trying because of
the delay it involved when the tide was going out,
and they wished to take advantage of the wasting
VOL. X.-23.

water-power. At length, however, all was ready;
Rush returned to his jig-saw and his pin-wheels,
and Lute to his lathe and the hubs of his dolls'
carriages, while Mart opened the sluice-gate.
The machinery started, almost stopped, and then
started again with a jerk. Why don't you let the
w-w-water full on ?" cried Lute.
The water is on; the gate is wide open," Mart
Then what the m-m-mischief is the matter
with the w-w-wheel ? "
"Thunder knows! Mart exclaimed, watching
the unsteady movements with scowling brows.
Rush sprang to a door which opened upon the
water-wheel, and looked it carefully over, while it
continued to revolve in the same jerky manner as
at first. "Shut it off! shut it off!" he shouted,
giving Mart a rapid signal with his hand. Slowly !
There! "-while Mart applied the lever-" I see
what's the matter."
They could all see, after the wheel had stopped.
On one side a section of five or six of the slender
paddle-blades had been broken out. Only notched
splinters remained, showing that the work had
been done by means of blows from some hard and
ponderous implement.
The three, crowding the door-way, gazed for
some moments in silence, only now and then a
strong, deep breath being heard above the sound
of the water dripping from the wheel. Over it and
the band-wheel a shed projected, open on the
lower side, and leaving the paddles exposed for a
distance of four or five feet above the sluice-way.
Evidently, the raiders had stationed themselves
below, in the river, and struck the blows which
broke out the blades.
Mart drew a last long breath and moved away.
"They mean war," he said, "and war they
shall have."
Lute said not a word, but winked his large eyes
rapidly behind his spectacles, as they turned to
the light. It 's a wonder we did n't hear the
noise," said Rush.
"We were tired, and slept like logs," Mart
And their 1-1-lovely singing had thrown us off
our g-g-guard," said Lute.
"There's one comfort, boys," Mart added,
with a peculiarly grim smile. "We have fair
warning now of what they mean to do."
"And we don't get caught n-n-napping again "
rejoined Lute, stammering at a frightful rate.
"W-w-woe to the next m-m-man th-th-that- "
Mart took up, so to speak, the stitches his
brother dropped. "We'll make things lively for
'em next time! Say nothing to anybody. We'll
keep our own counsel, be always prepared, and



trap somebody. Now, let 's see what boards we
can scare up to replace those paddle-blades."
About the middle of the forenoon, the same
elegant top-buggy re-appeared which had driven
into the yard the day before. But it was not the
Commodore's pretty sister who held the reins this
time. It was the Commodore himself.
He, too, had a companion, having brought over
the other Dempford member of the mill-dam com-
mittee chosen by the Argonauts the night before.
Disagreeable as this arrangement was to Lew Bart-
land, he had himself proposed it, offering Mr. Web
Foote a seat in his buggy, for the good effect that
might result from a morning ride and quiet talk
with that bumptious individual before their con-
ference with the mill-owners.
They had arrived at the mill, when a third
young man on foot came panting up behind the
buggy and joined them. This was the Tammoset
member of the committee, Jesse Blump by name;
a pumpkin-faced youth, short of stature, short
of breath, and especially short in that essential
feature called a nose. He was glowing and blow-
ing with the exertion it had cost him to come up
with his colleagues, whom he now greeted with a
profusion of smiles. After a few words together,
the three crossed the level shed-roof to the upper
room of the shop, where they were met,by Rush
Tinkham's flushed face and paper cap.
The youthful Commodore, showing tall and
manly beside his companions,-for Blump stood
not much higher than Web, though twice as
broad,-recognized the hero of the bean-pole with
a nod, and asked: "Where are your brothers ?"
"Down-stairs," Rush answered, coldly.
"We wish to see them," said Mr. Web Foote,
pressing forward with an important strut.
"You can see them," Rush replied, still with
curt civility.
"We have come to confer with them on the
subject of the dam," Jesse Blump added-because,
being a member of so important a committee, he
felt that his position required him to say something.
"You are late for that," said Rush.
"How so ? asked the Commodore, with a look
of concern, made aware that some untoward circum-
stance had intervened to balk his good intentions.
They will tell you," said Rush; "but you can
see for yourselves. The damage is n't all repaired."
"Damage !" Lew Bartland echoed, his face
clouding more and more. "What damage ?"
That done by your rowdies last night."
Upon which Web Foote fluttered up and blus-
tered: Our rowdies ? What do you mean by that?"
"Just what I say," Rush replied, looking the
little fellow steadily in the eye. Only low, miser-
able scamps would try to injure us as they did."

I waive the question of injury, which is some-
thing I know nothing about," Web Foote said,
with swelling dignity. But have the kindness to
explain why you call them our rowdies ? "
"Yes, that 's the question," struck in the Tam-
moset member. "Why our rowdies?"
Because," replied Rush, "I suppose they and
you belong to the same club."
"But what reason have you to charge members
of our club with acting the part of rowdies? Web
Foote demanded.
"That's so!" said Jesse Blump. "What
reason? "
Rush answered, with a contemptuous laugh:
"Because I have seen them act so "
Seen them -when ? cried Web Foote.
"Yes! When?." said Jesse Blump.
Sunday afternoon.' Your Commodore here saw
them, too. He wont deny it."
The Commodore did not deny it. He looked
heartily sick of the whole wretched business. Rush
went on: "They did again last night what they
started to do then. And worse. They broke the
"Did they touch your water-wheel ? exclaimed
the Commodore, with sudden heat. "I can't be-
lieve that "
"You 'd better step down and see, if you
wont take my word for it," said Rush, showing
the stairs, and looking as if he would like to
have them make the descent with alacrity, head
Take us to your brothers, if you please," said
the Commodore. And Rush, somewhat mollified
by his distressed look and disheartened tone, led
the way.



MART was in the gloomy water-shed, removing
the shattered blades from the wheel, with his back
toward the door that opened from the shop, when
Rush came behind him and said:
"Here are some gentlemen who have come to
talk about the dam."
Mart merely glanced over his shoulder, showing
his sweaty and lurid brows, and remarked, as he
continued his work: "There's been some talk
about that already. A little more wont do any
harm. They can turn it on."
Rush stepped back, while Web Foote and Jesse
Blump pressed into the door-way, the Commodore
looking over their hats from behind.
".Can you spare a minute to speak with us ?"
Web asked, pompously.



"Nary minute," Mart said, giving dryness to
his reply by using the old-fashioned vernacular.
"We have come on the part of the Argonaut
Club," said the pumpkin-faced Tammoset member.
"I sha'n't hurt you, if you have," said Mart.
Clip, clip, with his hammer.
"This is no fit place for a conference." Web
Foote drew back with a prodigious frown.
No place at all." And Blump also drew back.
They were both dressed in dapper style; and
the floorless shed over the sluice, the rough boards,
the wet wheel, and the damp odors, not to speak
of the unsociable workman in coarse clothes, giving
them the coldest kind of a cold shoulder, did not
form a very dainty setting for their pictures.
"I 'm sorry you don't like the place," said Mart.
" I don't like it myself. But my business is here
just now; and I've made up my mind to attend
strictly to my business in future, and have as little
to do with boat-clubs as possible. They have
hindered us about two hours this morning, and
we 've no more time to lose."
He was standing on a plank, so placed that he
could get at the wheel; and as he said this, he
turned and looked over the hats of Foote and
Blump, addressing his remarks to the Commodore.
"When was this mischief done ? Lew asked.
"Last night."
Have you any idea who did it ? "
I don't knowthe individuals," said Mart. But
anybody can guess in whose interest it was done."
"I hope," Bartland replied, "you will do us
the justice to believe that no such outrage as this
was ever sanctioned by the club."
It was n't necessary to sanction it. It has
been done, you see."
You can never make me believe," cried Web
Foote, vehemently, that any member of our club
had anything to do with it! "
"Never exclaimed Jesse Blump.
Mart made no reply, but received a new paddle-
blade-a long board-which Lute just then passed
to him over the heads of Web and Jesse. He pro-
ceeded to adjust it to the wheel.
"We are in the way here, boys," said the Com-
modore. They are not'inclined to talk with us,
and no wonder. I did hope to settle our differ-
ences amicably; but, after what has happened, I
don't see how it can be done."
"Thank you for your good-will," said Mart,
turning again, while one hand held the board in
place. "No doubt you have done what you
could. But that does n't seem to be much. You
did n't prevent the dam from being attacked on
Sunday, nor this other damage from being done
last night. We find we have got to depend upon
ourselves; and that 's what we shall do in future."

"You are right; I don't blame you," said the
Commodore. "I 'll only say that if I could have
had my way, things would be different from what
I see they are to-day, and must be, I suppose,
Well," said Web Foote, backing out of the
water-shed as Lew turned to go, "I regret this
piece of work, though, as I said, I don't believe
any Argonaut had a hand in it. But that has
nothing to do with the errand that brings us here."
Nothing whatever," said Blump, also backing
out, while Mart followed them into the shop.
"I think it has a good deal to do with it," said
the Commodore. "We come as a committee, to
make peace, and find that somebody overnight
has been making war. Whether this dastardly
thing was done by members of the club or not,
they will have the credit of it, and not without
"I don't admit the cause," Web Foote pro-
"No, nor I said Jesse Blump.
"And I intend as a member of this committee
to do what we were appointed and sent here for,"
said Foote.
"Precisely," said Jesse Blump. "What we
were chosen and sent here to do."
Lute and Rush now stood with Mart, confront-
ing these two members, while Lew stepped aside.
We have come to ask you what you propose
to do with your dam," said Web Foote.
"Exactly," said Jesse Blump. "What do you
propose to do with your dam? "
The drooping side of Mart's homely mouth
drew down with its drollest expression, as he gave
his brothers. a side glance and drawled out:
They want to know what we propose to do with
our d-a-m What do we propose to do with it? "
"We don't propose to do anything with it,"
cried Rush, hotly.
Y-yes, we do Lute stammered. We pro-
pose to k-k-keep it where it is, if we c-c-can. And
I g-g-guess we can."
That seems to be the general opinion of our
side," said Mart. "We need the dam for our
little water-power. And after we get our wheel
mended, we shall need it more than ever to make
up for lost time."
If it was possible for Web Foote to stand
straighter than before, he did it now, as he said:
"We have come on the part of our club to
inform you that it obstructs the river and is in the
way of our boats."
If it was possible for Jesse Blump to look more
pumpkin-faced than before, he did it when he, too,
blustered up and said: "That 's the point! It
hinders our boats in going up and down the river."



Do you own the r-r-river?" Lute inquired.
No, but we own the boats," said Web Foote.
We own the boats," echoed Jesse Blump.
"And we own the dam," said Mart. "We
did n't build it; but we have bought it, and we
mean to keep it. We have no wish to interfere
with your boats, and you are respectfully requested
not to interfere with our dam."
"We heard that you proposed to make some
arrangements for letting our boats through," said

"Only yesterday," Rush broke in, also address-
ing Bartland, my brother said, if the Argonauts
were all like you, he would accommodate your
boats if he had to stand at the dam and carry
them over on his shoulder."
What I meant by that rather absurd speech,"
said Mart, "was this-that we would put our-
selves to any inconvenience to oblige you. And
so we will do now, to accommodate those who
treat us as civilized beings should treat one an-

r ~ '~' /I' V
r~ : .. ///N

-I ~

Li 0


ready to do anything reasonable for the sake
of keeping on good terms with everybody in these
two towns who would use us well. We are not
brigands and outlaws; though, by their treatment

of us, some of your fellows seem to have thought
so. We are really as kind-hearted as the old lady
C1 LI:.[. : -. '

who warmed the water she drowned her kittens in.
We would n't willingly injure anybody."
:l '.a',,! ltc ittitui ,-a E L h ,t ,. r,[! ,,i li ,'.l. "L i I I-j i,

"We came here as strangers, and were
ready to do anything reasonable for the sake
of keeping on good terms with everybody in these
two towns who would use us well. We are not
brigands and outlaws; though, by their treatment
of us, some of your fellows seem to have thought
so. We are really as kind-hearted as the old lady
who warmed the water she drowned her kittens in.
We would n't willingly injure anybody."

other. But we see by last night's transactions that
we have to deal with savages. And our answer to
all such is, that we propose to keep our dam in
spite of 'em, and stand up for our rights. Is n't
that about the way it hangs, boys ?"
Rush and Lute assented with quiet, determined




"Then all I say is, you 've got a hard row to
hoe said Web Foote.
"An awful hard row to hoe said Jesse Blump.
"We expect it," said Lute. But it's better
to know we have a fight on our hands, and be
p-p-prepared for it, than to be caught as we were
1-1-last night."
"I did n't believe any compromise was possible,
and now I know it," said Web Foote. "But I 've
done my part."
"Yes; we and the club have done our part,"
said Jesse Blump.
You and the club have done your part in a
way that makes a compromise impossible," said
Mart. "The Commodore will admit that."
What the Commodore thought was plain enough,
but he said nothing.
You will have not only the club, but both
towns against you," said Web Foote, with a toss
of the head, probably from the habit of throwing
his hair back in debate, though he now kept his
hat on.
I can speak for Tammoset," said Jesse Blump.
"Both towns will take the matter in hand."
"No doubt you will all be very brave," replied
Mart. "There are five boys of us, big and little ;
and there may be five hundred against us. But
with law and right on our side, we shall take our
Web Foote was strutting toward the outer door,
followed by the Tammoset member. Seeing that
the interview was over, Commodore Lew stepped
impulsively back toward Mart and his brothers.
I don't know whether you care to part as friends
with me," he said, with manly emotion.
Certainly I do! Mart replied, warmly grasp-
ing the proffered hand. "You have acted nobly,
and I thank you."
"I might have helped you; but this whole busi-
ness has been managed as badly as possible. You
are in a hard place. I don't see how you are going
to get out of it. But you may be sure,"Lew
added, shaking hands in turn with the other boys,
"you will never have an enemy in me. I respect
you too much for that."
So they parted.



THE last meeting of the club had adjourned to
Thursday evening, when it was expected that the
mill-dam committee would be able to report.
Again on that evening the Argonauts thronged
the new club-room, and the discussion of the ex-
citing topic was renewed. The Commodore was

present, but, at his request, the Vice-Commodore
occupied the chair.
Mr. Web Foote took the floor, to speak for the
majority of the committee. His manner was airy
and self-satisfied to a degree unusual even for him.
It was evident that the turn affairs had taken had
not cooled his ambition nor tripped the heels of his
He feels he 's the upper dog in the fight, now,"
whispered one of the not over-friendly Tammoset
The room ought to have been built higher, on
his account," remarked another. "He '11 hit a
rafter with his head some time, when he flings his
hair back."
Serenely unconscious of the possibility that his
exalted demeanor could excite any but admiring
comments, the little Dempford youth stood erect
as an exclamation-point, and launched his speech.
He first reminded the Argonauts of the position
which he and a large majority of those present at
the last meeting had taken with regard to the
obstructions in the river.
"Nine out of ten of us, perhaps I might say
thirty-nine out of forty of us,"-Mr. Web Foote
looked as if he had been the whole thirty-nine,-
'"were convinced that these obstructions should
be summarily removed." (Applause.) "But out
of deference to a single member, and because we
wished to act MAGNANIMOUSLY in the matter--
This word, uttered at first in small capitals, and
then repeated with a swelling stress to which only
large capitals can do any sort of justice, was
greeted with loud applause. Commodore Lew,
seated on one of the side benches, was seen to
We agreed to the appointment of a committee,
and a conference with the mill-owners; though
nobody, I am sure, with the exception, perhaps, of
that one member,"-the speaker continued, with
a peculiarly sarcastic smile,-" expected that any
satisfactory arrangement with them could be made.
That was n't possible, in the nature of things.
What we demand is the river, the whole river, and
nothing but the river, open to us,"-he opened
his arms wide, as if he had been the river,-" now,
henceforth, and at all times."
Tremendous cheers. The torrent of eloquence
flowed on.
The conference was decided upon; and I was
chosen one of those to perform that disagreeable
duty. How very disagreeable it was to be, I had
no forewarning, or I should have declined the
honor. Going as gentlemen to call upon these
much-lauded young mill-owners, we had reason
to expect gentlemanly treatment. Invested with


the authority of the club, we supposed we were
entitled to respect. But we received instead"-
spoken with shrill emphasis and a violent gesture
-" boorish insults and insolent defiance /"
Great sensation. Web tossed back his hair,
swung on his heel, and, looking about him, saw
faces flaming up with excitement.
"Yes, gentlemen of the club-fellow-Argo-
nauts These charming strangers; these industri-
ous makers of dolls' carriages for two continents"
(a titter); "these good boys who deserve our
help and sympathy, as we were lately informed "
(this was uttered with thrilling irony); these
honest, well-meaning mill-owners,-received us
with insults, and dismissed us with defiance / "
If Mr. Web Foote expected an uproar of indig-
nation to follow this stroke of oratory, he was not
disappointed. He then proceeded to describe the
" conference from his own point of view, making
out the conduct of the Tinkham boys to have been
as bad as possible, and kindling the wrath of the
"Yes, gentlemen," he said, in his final sum-
ming up of the whole matter; after declining at
first to have anything to say to us, then treating
us with clownish insolence, and insulting in our
persons the whole club,-calling us rowdies arid
savages,-they did finally condescend to inform
us of their sovereign will and pleasure. They
scoffed at the idea of a compromise, and vowed
that they would keep the dam where it is, in spite
of us. Yes, fellow-Argonauts, IN SPITE OF US "
he repeated, in a voice between a hiss and a
shriek. "Their very words, as my colleagues
will bear witness. IN SPITE OF US!"
At this climax, Mr. Web Foote tossed his hair
back from his forehead and himself back upon his
Indescribable clamor ensued. A dozen mem-
bers were on their feet at once, gesticulating and
shouting; among them the burly Buzrow form
and face and fist, and the Buzrow voice bellowing
to be heard.
Some were for rushing forth at once and answer-
ing the mill-owners' defiance by ripping out the
dam." 'Fortunately the state of the tide was not
favorable to the enterprise; and the chairman, by
vigorous rapping on the table, succeeded in restor-
ing something like order.
Mr. Jesse Blump," he said, recognizing one
of them who had been trying to speak.
Mr. Jesse Blump had sat down again in the
back part of the room, but now the face of him,
looking less like a pumpkin in the lamp-light, and
more like a full moon, rose red and round over
the troubled waters, and shed its genial glimmer
on the scene.

"As one of the colleagues appealed to," he said,
" I can bear witness that we--that they--treated
us-with the-the very words you have-have
heard. They would keep the dam in spite of us.
Something like that. I think the other member
of the committee will agree with them-I mean
with us-that these were the very expression."
Thereupon the newly risen moon, redder if not
rounder than before, set again with surprising
"What fools we were," remarked one of the afore-
said Tammoset boys, "to put Jesse Blump on that
committee "
"Don't you see?" said the other. "It was
necessary to take a member from our town; and
the Dempfords chose one who could be led by the
He? He has no nose to be led by was the
contemptuous retort.
Blump's speech did not have the effect of firing
the Argonauts to a still wilder fury. It served, on
the contrary, as a sort of anti-climax to Web's
harangue, and prepared the way for Lew Bartland.
Lew felt that he'had a tremendous current of
opinion against him, but he faced it without
He could not quite keep down his rising heart
as he reviewed what he called the report of the
majority"; which, he declared, entirely misstated
some of the facts and gave quite a false coloring
to others.
I admit," he said, that we were, at the out-
set, treated with scant civility. But there was a
reason for it, which appears very small in the
report you have heard, while the so-called rudeness
appears very large."
He then gave his own version of the interview,
enlarging upon the provocation the mill-owners
had received, which Web had passed over as a
very trifling matter.
"They did not call us rowdies and savages.
They called the persons who had committed the
outrage rowdies and savages. AND I SAY THEY
Lew made this avowal with an emphasis of
suppressed feeling which produced a strong im-
If there 's an Argonaut present who holds that
they were wrong, I 'd like to have him stand up
and say so. If there 's one here who dares main-
tain that the breaking of the water-wheel that
night was an act to be applauded, let 's know who
he is, before going any farther."
Web Foote popped up, flung back his hair, and
"No Argonaut had anything to do with it, and
I told them so."




A dozen voices echoed, "No! no Argonaut!"
and made the room ring with renewed tumult.
"I don't say it was done by Argonauts," Lew
went on, as soon as he could be heard. "I 've
made inquiries, and I can't learn that any mem-
ber of the club knew anything about it. But what
I say is, it was an act of vandalism, which might
well rouse the resentment of the mill-owners.
What I say further is, that they had good reason
to believe it was done by some of us, or at all
events in our interest."
"No no no clamored twenty voices.
"I say they had reason to think so! cried
the young Commodore, with splendid spirit.
" Who are known as the active enemies of the
dam? Who but the Argonauts? Of course, they
suspected us. Right or wrong, they laid the out-
rage to us, and treated your committee accord-
ingly. I could n't blame them. They were mad,
as any of us would have been in their place. But,
even then, they could have been easily pacified
and brought to some agreement, if your committee
had met them as I think they should have been
met, under the circumstances."
"We did n't go down on our knees to them "
cried Web Foote, jumping up.
"We did n't go as far as that; we did n't kneel
to 'em !" cried Jesse Blump, who, having sweated
off the embarrassment of his first attempt at a
speech, felt now that he could make a very good
one, if he only had a chance.
Web was in his seat again, and the full moon,
which had also risen, had set a second time over
the sea of faces. Lew went on:
They declared their readiness to accommodate
every boat that approaches, in a friendly way, to
pass the dam. I believe they will do all in their
power to oblige those who treat them fairly. But
as for going to any great expense to build a lock,
or anything of the sort, until they are sure of satis-
fying us, and feel safe from midnight depredations,
they were not so foolish as to waste words about
that. They know too well that it would n't satisfy
us; and that they have, what they rightly termed,
rowdies to deal with."
I am glad we know what our worthy Commo-
dore thinks of us 1" cried Web Foote, willfully mis-
construing the last remark, and raising another
Misunderstand me if you will !" shouted Lew,
himself in a blaze of excitement by this time. "Be
unjust to me, as you are to the mill-owners. Oh!"
he broke forth, with indignation ringing in his
tones, I am disheartened, I am ashamed, I lose

faith in human nature, when I see young men like
us here unable to take large and liberal and just
views of a subject in which their selfish interests
are involved; unable to see that the other side has
rights they ought to respect; ready to take the
law into their own hands, and be judges and
executioners in a cause that should be tried by
humanity, forbearance, and good sense."
Another fiery speech from the little Dempford
member, followed by two or three others on the
same side-among them one from the son of the
father whose fist had knocked down a cow; then,
after a somewhat feeble and lukewarm support
of the Commodore by a few of his personal friends,
the report of the majority was accepted by an
overwhelming vote.
Commodore Bartland," said the chairman.
Bartland was on his feet again, pale but firm, if
not calm.
"I have foreseen how this thing was likely to
go," he said, and I will now ask the secretary to
read a paper which has been in his hands since
He sat down, but rose again immediately.
"First, however," he said, "I wish to make
one more correction. It has been charged that
the mill-owners vowed they would keep their dam
in spite of us. They did n't say that. What they
did say was something like this: 'We have learned,
by last night's proceedings, that we have to do with
savages, but we propose to keef the dam in spite of
all such.' "
"The same thing the same thing chorused
several voices.
"If we are the savages who broke the water-
wheel, then it is the same thing; otherwise, it is
not the same thing at all. Can't we discriminate?
Are we quite blind with passion?" cried Lew, with
contemptuous impatience. "But I '11 tell you one
thing, gentlemen of the club !"
His energetic face lighted up with a smile, as he
added, lowering his voice:
"Those young men of the mill are not of the
sort it is altogether safe to trifle with. They be-
lieve, as I believe, and as you will find out, that
they have the law with them. They are going to
defend their property; and I advise whoever has a
hand in destroying it- "
"What ?" cried Buzrow, as the speaker paused.
"To wear thick gloves !" said Lew Bartland,
The paper he had called for was then read. In
it he resigned his position as commodore of the

(To be continued.)





Translated from the German of Richard Leander by Anna Eichberg.

THE King of Macaroni, who was just in the
prime of life, got up one morning and sat on the
edge of his bed.
The Lord Chamberlain stood before him, and
handed him his stockings, one of which had a
great hole in the heel.
The stocking was artfully turned so that the
hole should not be visible to his majesty's eyes, and
though the King generally did n't mind a ragged
stocking as long as he had pretty boots, this time,
however, the hole attracted his attention. Horri-
fied, he tore the stocking out of the Lord Cham-
berlain's grasp, and poking his forefinger through
the hole as far down as the knuckle, he remarked,
with a sigh, "What is the use of being a king, if
I have no queen ? What would you say if I should
marry ?"
"The idea is sublime, your majesty," the Lord
Chamberlain said, humbly. "I may say that the
idea would have suggested itself to me, had I not
'been certain that your royal highness would, in the
course of the day, have mentioned it yourself."
That will do," said the King, for he was afraid
of the Lord Chamberlain's speeches; "but do you
think I shall easily find a suitable wife ? "
"Good gracious, yes! ten to one," was the reply.
"Don't forget that I am not easily satisfied. If
I am to like the Princess, she must be very wise
and beautiful. Then there is another and very
important condition. You know how fond I am
of gingerbread! There is n't a person in my king-
dom who understands how to bake it--at least, to
bake it to a turn, so that it is neither too hard nor
too soft, but just crisp enough. The condition is,
the Princess must know how to bake gingerbread."
The Lord Chamberlain was terribly frightened
on hearing this, but he managed to recover suffi-
ciently to say that, without doubt, a princess could
be found who would know how to bake gingerbread.
"Very well," said the King; "suppose we be-
gin the search together." And that afternoon, in
company with the Lord Chamberlain, he visited
all the neighboring sovereigns who were known to
have spare princesses to give away. Among them
all were but three who were both wise and beauti-
ful enough to please the King. And, unhappily,
none of them could bake gingerbread !
I can not bake gingerbread, but I can make
the nicest little almond cakes you ever saw," said

the first Princess, in answer to the King's question.
"Wont that do?"
"No, it must be gingerbread," the King said,
The second Princess, when the King asked her,
made up a dreadful face, and said, angrily, I wish
you 'd leave me alone, stupid!' There is not a
princess in the world who can bake gingerbread -
gingerbread, indeed !"
The King fared worst when he asked the third
Princess, though she was the wisest and fairest of
all. She gave him no chance to ask his question;
even before he had opened his mouth, she
demanded if he could play on the trombone.
When he acknowledged that he could not, she
said that she was really sorry, but that she could
not marry him, as he would n't suit. She liked
him well enough, but she dearly loved to hear
the trombone played, and she had decided never
to marry any man who could n't play it.
The King drove home with the Lord Chamber-
lain, and as he stepped out of the carriage he
said, quite discouraged, So we are about as far
in our plans as we were before."
However, as a king must have a queen, after
a time he sent for the Lord Chamberlain again,
and acknowledged that he had resigned the hope
of marrying a princess who could bake ginger-
bread. I will marry the Princess who can bake
nice little almond cakes," he added. Go, and
ask her if she will be my wife."
When the Lord Chamberlain returned, the next
day, he told his majesty that the Princess was no
more to be had, as she had married the King
of the country where slate-pencils and pickled
limes grow.
So the Chamberlain was sent to the second
Princess, but he came back equally unsuccessful,
for the King, her father, regretted to say that his
daughter was dead; and that was the end of the
second Princess.
After this the King pondered a good deal, but
as he really wished to have a queen, he com-
manded the Lord Chamberlain to go to the third
Princess. "Perhaps she has changed her mind,"
he thought.
The Lord Chamberlain had to obey, much to
his disgust, for even his wife said it was quite
useless; and the King awaited his return with


great anxiety, for he remembered the question
about the trombone, and it was really irritating.
The third Princess received the Lord Chamber-
lain very graciously, and remarked that she had
once decided never to marry a man who could

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not play on the trombone. But tl
-a youthful, idle dream, she sigh
to be realized,- and as she liked 1
of this drawback, why-she woul
The Lord Chamberlain whipped
and tore down the road to the p
King, overjoyed at the good tidin
faithful servant, and gave him as
of toy crosses and stars to wear a

about fifteen yards of ribbon to wind about his
neck and shoulders.
The wedding was splendid. The whole city was
gay with flags and banners, and garlands hung in
huge festoons from house to house; and for two

whole weeks nothing else was thought
Sof and talked about.
The King and Queen lived so hap-
; pily together for a year that the King
had quite forgotten about the ginger-
bread and the Queen about the trom-
bone. Unhappily, one morning, the
S. IKing got out of bed with his left foot
foremost, and that day all things went
S.wrong. It rained from morning till
Night; the royal crown tumbled down
.- ".. and smashed the cross on top; besides,
S- the court painter who brought the new
map of the kingdom had made a mis-
take and colored the country red,
S. instead of blue, as the King had com-
-manded; lastly, the Queen had a head-
i ache. So it happened that the royal
pair quarreled for the first time, though
they could not have told the reason
l', why. In short, the King was cross, and
'f, the Queen was snappish and insisted
on having the last word.
;"It is about time that you ceased
finding fault with everything," the
Queen said at last, with great scorn,
-shrugging her shoulders. Why, you
can't even play on the trombone."
And you can't bake gingerbread,"
,' the King retorted, quick as a flash.
S- For the first time the Queen did not
I know what to say, and so, without
another word, they went to their sepa-
i' rate rooms. The Oueen threw herself
on the sofa and wept bitterly. "What
a little fool you are!" she sobbed.
"Where was your common sense?
-' IYou could n't have been more stupid
if you had tried."
As for the King, he strode up and
..down the room rubbing his hands.
TROMBONE!' 'AND YOU CAN'T "It is fortunate that my wife can't
EAD !bake gingerbread," he thought, glee-
iat was a dream, fully, "for if she could, what should I have
ed, a hope never answered when she said that I could n't play on
the King in spite the trombone? "
d marry him. The more he thought, the more cheerful he be-
ed up his horses came. He whistled a favorite tune, looked at the
alace, where the great picture of his wife over the mantel, and then,
gs, embraced his climbing upon a chair, he brushed away a cobweb
reward all sorts that was dangling over the nose of the Queen.
t his breast, and "How angry she must have been, poor little

woman !" he said at last. "Suppose I see what "What are you in search of, my dear?"
she is doing." "I wanted to beg your pardon-I was very un-
He stepped into the long corridor into which all kind," she sobbed.
the rooms opened, and it being the day when all "Pray don't, my love," the King said, in his
things went wrong, the groom of the chambers had very gentlest tone of voice. It was my fault, but
forgotten to light the entry-lamp, though it was all is forgotten. One thing, let me say, however,
eight o'clock at night and pitch dark. The King my dear: there are two words which must never
went groping forward, with his hands stretched be uttered in our kingdom on pain of death-
out for fear of falling, when suddenly he touched 'trombone' and "
something very soft. 'Gingerbread,' the Queen added, laughing,
"Who is there ? he demanded, though she stealthily brushed away a tear.
"It is I," said the Queen. And so the story ends.

(A True Tale of Parental Devotion.)

I HAVE much time for quiet thought, and it has my dress was of tan-colored stuff, with trimming of
occurred to me that the story of my life might be bright scarlet, made to wear well and for a long
of interest to some young members time. Upon my head I wore a
of the human race. I belong to a neat cap, from the front of which
boy who calls himself my "Little- a becoming fringe of short hair
Papa." When I tell you that this fell over my forehead, which, al-
sketch .is a good likeness of my- though I say it, is a high and
self, you will see why I can not thoughtful one. I have heard it
write my own story, but my kind said that my face, without possess-
"Grandmamma" has promised to ing striking beauty, was yet one
use her pen for me, and write what- wearing such a sweet and sensible
ever I wish to say. expression that it was ever pleas-
An old song which she some- ant to look upon.
times sings comes to my mind just The moment that my Little
here; it begins, "I was young, I Papa" saw me, he received me
was fair, I had once not a care"; into the depths of his tenderest
and this is true of me. am no affection, and my story would
longer fair; but this does not never have been written had he
trouble me. My life is as. sweet i not cherished me ever since with
to, me now as when I boasted of such devotion. Well do I remem-
rosy cheeks, perfect features, and '., ber him as I first saw his tiny fig-
a body. Love can make up to us ure, with its short, loose-flowing
for any trial, and I am happy in white dress. He was not quite three
spite of all my troubles, because my Little Pa- years old. His bright blue eye beamed lovingly on
pa loves me now better than ever. me; his light, soft hair flew carelessly around his
But let me begin my story by telling you that, head, and on his forehead rested a bang" so like
when I was born, my body was made by a kind, my own that our relationship could not be doubted.
sensible old lady, who thought the flimsy bodies I was at once named Emily. in honor of the
bought in shops not fit for any good doll, such as donor, and began my life in a very pleasant play-
she meant that I should be. She made me with a room, where a pretty rocking-chair was given me
shapely figure, and substantial legs and feet, upon for my own use. I was not always gently treated,
which she put good strong shoes and stockings, but.I was beloved, and that made up to me for the
My head was, and is, as you see, of the kind called anguish of many a hard knock. Very soon, in
indestructible. It has borne many hardships, but order to make some experiments (using my head
outlives them all, with a vigor of which I am proud. as a hammer), my "Little Papa" removed my
When ready to sit down beside my "Little cap and hair, and this led to the most mortifying
Papa's well-stuffed stocking, one Christmas Eve, occurrence of my life.




To explain it to you, I must introduce the story
of another doll who for a short time shared my
papa's heart. Her fate was so sad that I bear no
resentment to her for that. She came into our
family the next Christmas after my own arrival. I
must own that she was a pretty creature-a blonde
beauty, light, delicate, and quite different from
the quiet, plain dolly who describes her.
When Santa Claus brought her, I felt quite
heart-broken, for my "Little Papa" took her
joyfully, named her "Lady-love," and I feared
would think no more of me. Her day was short-
lived, however. One day, he came to his Mamma
(my "Grandmamma,") with a hammer in his
hand, the end of which was covered with wax.
"Wax!" exclaimed "Grandmamma," observing
this; "how did it get upon your hammer? I
did not know there was any in the house." My
"Little Papa" hung his head. I shall always
believe that it was an accident, and that he felt
truly sorry for it. He did not speak, and "Grand-
mamma," after a moment's thought, said: "Lady-
love's face is the only wax thing in the house,
Charlie; have you struck your dear Lady-love ?"
. No answer; she hastened to the play-room, and
there the dreadful truth was disclosed. On the
floor was Lady-love, her face cracked and scarred
-her beauty fled forever! She was indeed such
a wreck as to be no longer pleasant to look upon,
and fell into such swift decay that soon nothing
remained of all her charms but her lovely curly wig.
Then occurred the mortification to which I have
alluded, and my
"Grandmamma" -
did me the only -
unkindness I ever
suffered from her. -L -
She said, "Emily's l.. ,, 4., :
cap and bang are '.
gone; let us see
how she will look I ;!, "
in Lady-love's
wig!" Behold, in '
this second pict-
ure, the result t '
I did not know
myself; trans-
formed from my i
own plain self to a A.. .
gay Madge Wild-
fire, you may im-
agine my feelings.
I was very uncom-
fortable until one day, when my "Little Papa"
thought best to pull off the wig which suited me
so ill.
Soon after this, a puppy was brought into our

once quiet play-room. Then what misery I en-
dured Never did I know when his dark, sharp
face would glare upon me, and his dreadful, white
teeth give me a vicious shake. One day, Nurse had
left the play-room,
S and my Little
,-'- Papa" had gone
out for a walk with
S i If I heard a rushing
sound, a savage
.. bark, and the next
t ]-, moment was torn
S.. '-'4 limb from limb!
Only myhead, my
head, was left!
Once in my life,
/. I remember that,
-/i while I lay upon
?- the floor,some wise
people around me
were discussing
where the seat of
life was located. I can tell them now that it is in
the head. My luckless limbs strewed the floor,
but my head-remained despairing, but calm
and collected.
When my Little Papa came in from his walk,
he hugged me to his heart, and, saying that my
poor head must be cold, he begged for some cot-
ton and the mucilage-bottle in order to close my
wounds, and soon had decked me as you see in
the picture above.
I did not like my appearance, but he did, and it
had also made him happy to have the mucilage-
bottle; so I was content.
Bodiless, hairless, with battered cheeks and
forgotten charms, you would hardly suppose that
I could ever be happy again. Yet I am, for I
know myself to be the darling of my "Little
Papa's" heart.
Two days ago he carried me to "Grandmamma,"
and begged her to make "Emily a cap." She did
so, but as she covered my poor bald head, she
said: Charlie, Emily is not very handsome, is
she?" How my heart-I mean my head-swelled
then with joy when he cried out: I love her
better than anything, and I think she 's pretty,
too! "
At that moment I felt that I must tell the tale
of such devoted love, and I hope it has pleased
you to hear it. My Little Papa" is now five
years old, and, while he loves me still so dearly, I
notice that he plays more with tools, carts, and
horses than he does with me. "Grandmamma"
said lately to him, Soon we will put Emily away,




Charlie, in the chest with your baby-clothes"; so which my '. Little Papa will show to his children's
I look forward to a future of peaceful retirement children as having given him so much happiness.
there. Perhaps I may some day make my appear- And 1 know that he will love me even then, for,
ance again in active life, as the dear old dolly like me, his affection is indestructible.


[THIs practical little song

and chorus can be sung by little girls in the "Kitchen-,Garden," with appropriate

FIRST your iron smooth must be,
(CHORUS:) Rub away! Rub away!
Rust and irons disagree,
Rub away! Rub away!

Though your iron must be hot,
Glide away! Slide away!
It must never scorch or spot,
Glide away! Slide away!

Then the cloth, so soft and white,
Press away! Press away!
On the table must be tight,
Press away Press away!

Crease or wrinkle must not be,
Smooth away! Smooth away!
Or the work is spoiled, you see,
Smooth away! Smooth away!

Every piece, when pressed with care,
Work away! Work away!
Must be hung awhile to air,
Work away! Work away!

Then you fold them one by one,
Put away! Put away!
Now the ironing is done,
Happy day! Happy day!

* See ST. NICHOLAS for April, 1879, page 403.




"MEET at the Sphinx!" Yes, these were the
words that the lady from Philadelphia had sent in
answer to the several telegrams that had reached
her from each member of the Peterkin family.
She had received these messages while staying
in a remote country town, but she could communi-
cate with the cable line by means of the telegraph
office at a railway station. The intelligent operator,
seeing the same date affixed at the close of each
message, "took in," as she afterward expressed
it, that it was the date of the day on which the
message was sent, and as this was always pre-
fixed to every dispatch, she did not add it to the
several messages. She afterward expressed herself
as sorry for the mistake, and declared it should
not occur another time.
Elizabeth Eliza was the first at the appointed
spot, as her route had been somewhat shorter
than the one her mother had taken. A wild joy
had seized her when she landed in Egypt, and
saw the frequent and happy use of the donkey
as a beast of travel. She had never ventured to
ride at home, and had always shuddered at the
daring of the women who rode at the circuses,
and closed her eyes at their performances. But as
soon as she saw the little Egyptian donkeys, a ma-
nia for riding possessed her. She was so tall that
she could scarcely, under any circumstances, fall
from them, while she could mount them with
as much ease as she could the arm of the sofa
at home, and most of the animals seemed as
harmless. It is true, the donkey-boys gave her the
wrong word to use when she might wish to check
the pace of her donkey, and mischievously taught
her to avoid the soothing phrase of besc/weasci,"
giving her instead one that should goad the beast
she rode to its highest speed; but Elizabeth Elizawas
so delighted with the quick pace, that she was con-
tinually urging her donkey onward, to the surprise
and delight of each fresh attendant donkey-boy.
He would run at a swift pace after her, stopping
sometimes to pick up a loose slipper, if it were
shuffled off from his foot in his quick run, but
always bringing up even in the end.
Elizabeth Eliza's party had made a quick journey
by the route from Brindisi, and, proceeding directly
to Cairo, had stopped at a small French hotel not
very far from Mrs. Peterkin and her party. Every
morning at an early hour Elizabeth Eliza made
her visit to the Sphinx, arriving there always
the first one of her own party, and spending the

rest of the day in explorations about the neigh-
Mrs. Peterkin, meanwhile, set out each day at
a later hour, arriving in time to take her noon
lunch in front of the Sphinx, after which she
indulged in a comfortable nap, and returned to
the hotel before sunset.
A week -indeed, ten days-passed in this way.
One morning, Mrs. Peterkin and her party had
taken the ferry-boat to cross the Nile. As they
were leaving the boat on the other side, in the
usual crowd, Mrs. Peterkin's attention was arrested
by a familiar voice. She turned, to see a tall young
man who, though he wore a red fes upon his head
and a scarlet wrap around his neck, certainly
resembled Agamemnon. But this Agamemnon
was talking Greek, with gesticulations. She was so
excited that she turned to follow him through the
crowd, thus separating herself from the rest of her
party. At once she found herself surrounded by a
mob of Arabs, in every kind of costume, all scream-
ing and yelling in the manner to which she was
becoming accustomed. Poor Mrs. Peterkin plain-
tively protested in English, but the Arabs could
not understand her strange words. They had,
however, struck the ear of the young man in the
red fez whom she had been following. He turned,
and she gazed at him. It was Agamemnon !
He, meanwhile, was separated from his party,
and hardly knew how to grapple with the urgent
Arabs. His recently acquired Greek did not assist
him, and he was advising his mother to yield and
mount one of the steeds, while he followed on
another, when, happily, the dragoman of her party
appeared. He administered a volley of rebukes to
the persistent Arabs, and bore Mrs. Peterkin to her
donkey. She was thus carried away from Aga-
memnon, who was also mounted upon a donkey
by his companions. But their destination was the
same, and though they could hold no conversation
on the way, Agamemnon could join his mother as
they approached the Sphinx.
But he and his party were to ascend a pyra-
mid before going on to the Sphinx, and he advised
his mother to do the same. He explained that it
was a perfectly easy thing to do. You had only to
lift one of your feet up quite high, as though you
were going to step on the mantel-piece, and an
Arab on each side would lift you to the next step.
Mrs. Peterkin was sure she could not step up on
their mantel-pieces at home. She never had done


it-she never had even tried to. But Agamemnon
reminded her that those in their own house were
very high -"old colonial"; and meanwhile she
found herself carried along with the rest of the party.
At first the ascent was delightful to her. It
seemed as if she were flying. The powerful Nubian
guides, one on each side, lifted her jauntily up,
without her being conscious of motion. Having
seen them daily for some time past, she was now
not much afraid of these handsome athletes, with
their polished black skins, set off by dazzling white
garments. She called out to Agamemnon, who
had preceded her, that it was charming; she was
not at all afraid. Every now and then she stopped
to rest on the broad cornice made by each retreat-
ing step. Suddenly, when she was about half-way
up, as she leaned back against the step above, she
found herself panting and exhausted. A strange
faintness came over her. She was looking off over
a beautiful scene: Through the wide Libyan desert
the' blue Nile wound between borders of green
edging, while the picturesque minarets of Cairo,
on the opposite side of the river, and the sand in
the distance beyond, gleamed with a red-and-yellow
light beneath the rays of the noonday sun.
But the picture danced and wavered before her
dizzy sight. She sat there alone, for Agamemnon and
the rest had passed on, thinking she was stopping
to rest. She seemed deserted, save by the speech-
less black statues, one on either side, who, as she
seemed to be fainting before their eyes; were look-
ing at her in some anxiety. She saw dimly these
wild men gazing at her. She thought of Mungo
Park, dying with the African women singing about
him. How little she had ever dreamed, when she
read that account in her youth, and gazed at the
savage African faces in the picture, that she might
be left to die in the same way alone, in a strange
land-and on the side of a pyramid! Her guides
were kindly. One of them took her shawl to wrap
about her, as she seemed to be shivering, 'and as
a party coming down from the top had a jar of
water, one of her Nubians moistened a handker-
chief with water, and laid it upon her head. Mrs.
Peterkin had closed her eyes, but she opened them
again, to see the black figures in their white
draperies still standing by her. The travelers
coming down paused a few minutes to wonder and
give counsel, then passed on, to make way for
another party following them. Again Mrs. Peter-
kin closed her eyes, but once more opened them
at hearing a well-known shout-such a shout as
only one of the Peterkin family could give--one
of the little boys !
Yes, he stood before her, and Agamemnon was
behind; they had met on top of the pyramid.
The sight was indeed a welcome one to Mrs.

Peterkin, and revived her so that she even began
to ask questions: "Where had he come from ? "
" Where were the other little boys?" "Where
was Mr. Peterkin?" No one could tell where
the other little boys were. And the sloping side
of the pyramid, with a fresh party waiting to pass
up, and the guides eager to go down, was not
just the place to explain the long, confused story.
All that Mrs. Peterkin could understand was
that Mr. Peterkin was now, probably, inside the
pyramid, beneath her very feet! Agamemnon
had found this solitary little boy on top of the
pyramid, accompanied by a guide and one of the
party that he and his father had joined on leaving
Venice. At the foot of the pyramid there had
been some dispute in the party as to whether
they should first go up the paramid, or down
inside, and in the altercation the party was
divided; the little boy had been sure that his
father meant to go up first, and so he had joined
the guide who went up. But where was Mr.
Peterkin? Probably in the innermost depths of
the pyramid below. As soon as Mrs. Peterkin
understood this, she was eager to go down, in spite
of her late faintness; even to tumble down would
help her to meet Mr. Peterkin the sooner. She
was lifted from stone to stone by the careful
Nubians. Agamemnon had already emptied his
pocket of coins, in supplying backsheesh to his
guide, and all were anxious to reach the foot of the
pyramid and find the dragoman, who could answer
the demands of the others.
Breathless as she was, as soon as she had
descended, Mrs. Peterkin was anxious to make
for the entrance to the inside. Before, she had
declared that nothing would induce her to go into
the pyramid. She was afraid of being lost in its
stair-ways, and shut up forever as a mummy. But
now she forgot all her terrors; she must find Mr.
Peterkin at once !
She was the first to plunge down the narrow stair-
way after the guide, and was grateful to find the
steps so easy to descend. But they presently came
out into a large, open room, where no stair-way was
to be seen. On the contrary, she was invited to
mount the shoulders of a burly Nubian, to reach a
large hole half-way up the side-wall (higher than
any mantel-piece), and to crawl through this hole
along the passage till she should reach another
stair-way. Mrs. Peterkin paused. Could she trust
these men? Was not this a snare to entice her
into one of these narrow passages? Agamemnon
was far behind. Could Mr. Peterkin have ventured
into this treacherous place ?
At this moment a head appeared through the
opening above, followed by a body. It was that
of one of the native guides. Voices were heard




coming through the passage; one voice had a
twang to it that surely Mrs. Peterkin had heard
before. Another head appeared now, bound with
a blue veil, while the eyes were hidden by green
goggles. Yet Mrs. Peterkin could not be mistaken
-it was -yes, it was the head of Elizabeth Eliza!
It seemed as though that were all, it was so
difficult to bring forward any more of her. Mrs.
Peterkin was screaming from below, asking if it
were indeed Elizabeth Eliza, while excitement at
recognizing her mother made it more difficult for
Elizabeth Eliza to extricate herself. But travel-
ers below and behind urged her on, and, with the
assistance of the guides, she pushed forward and
almost fell into the arms of her mother. Mrs.
Peterkin was wild with joy as Agamemnon and his
brother joined them.
"But Mr. Peterkin!" at last exclaimed their
mother. "Did you see anything of your father?"
He is behind," said Elizabeth Eliza. I was
looking for the body of Chufu, the founder of the
pyramid,--for I have longed to be the discoverer of
his mummy,- and I found instead-my father "
Mrs. Peterkin looked up, and at that moment
saw Mr. Peterkin emerging from the passage above.
He was carefully planting one foot on the shoulder
of a stalwart Nubian guide. He was very red in
the face, from recent exertion, but he was indeed
Mr. Peterkin. On hearing the cry of Mrs. Peter-
kin, he tottered, and would have fallen but for
the support of the faithful guide.
The narrow place was scarcely large enough to
hold their joy. Mrs. Peterkin was ready to faint
again with her great excitement. She wanted to
know what had become of the other little boys,
and if Mr. -Peterkin had heard from Solomon
John. But the small space was becoming more
and more crowded, the dragomans from the dif-
ferent parties with which the Peterkins were con-
nected came to announce their several luncheons,
and insisted upon their leaving the pyramid.
Mrs. Peterkin's dragoman wanted her to go on
directly to the Sphinx, and she still clung to the
belief that only then would there be a complete
reunion of the family. Yet she could not separate
herself from the rest. They could not let her go,
and they were all hungry, and she herself felt the
need of food.
But with the confusion of so many luncheons,
and so much explanation to be gone through with,
it was difficult to get an answer to her questions.
Elizabeth and her father were involved in a dis-
cussion as to whether they should have met if he
had not gone into the queen's chamber in the pyra-
mid. For if he had not gone to the queen's cham-
ber he would have left the inside of the pyramid
before Mrs. Peterkin reached it, and would have

missed her, as he was too fatigued to make the
ascent. And Elizabeth Eliza, if she had not met
her father, had planned going back to the king's
chamber in another search for the body of Chufu,
in which case she would have been too late to
meet her mother. Mrs. Peterkin was not much
interested in this discussion; it was enough that
they had met. But she could not get answers to
what she considered more important questions;
while Elizabeth Eliza, though delighted to meet
again her father and mother and brothers, and
though interested in the fate of the missing ones,
was absorbed in the Egyptian question; and the
mingling of all their interests made satisfactory
intercourse impracticable.
Where was Solomon John ? What had become
of the body of Chufu ? Had Solomon John been
telegraphed to? When had Elizabeth Eliza seen
him last? Was he Chufu or Shufu, and why
Cheops ? and where were the other little boys ?
Mr. Peterkin attempted to explain that he had
taken a steamer from Messina to the south of Italy,
and a southern route to BriAdisi. By mistake he
had taken the steamer from Alexandria on its way
to Venice, instead of the one that was leaving Brin-
disi for Alexandria at the same hour. Indeed, just
as he had discovered his mistake and had seen the
other boat steaming off by his side, in the other
direction, too late he fancied he saw the form
of Elizabeth Eliza on deck, leaning over the taffrail
(if it was a taffrail). It was a tall lady, with a.
blue veil wound around her hat. Was it possible?
Could he have been in time to reach Elizabeth
Eliza? His explanation only served to increase the
number of questions.
Mrs. Peterkin had many more. How had
Agamemnon reached them? Had he come to
Bordeaux with them? But Agamemnon and Eliza-
beth Eliza were now discussing with others the
number of feet that the Great Pyramid measured.
The remaining members of all the parties, too,
whose hunger and thirst were now fully satisfied,
were ready to proceed to the Sphinx, which only
Mrs. Peterkin and Elizabeth Eliza had visited.
Side by side on their donkeys, Mrs. Peterkin
attempted to learn something from Mr. Peterkin
about the other little boys. But his donkey proved
restive: now it bore him on in swift flight from
Mrs. Peterkin; now it would linger behind. His
words were jerked out only at intervals. All that
could be said was that they were separated; the
little boys wanted to go to Vesuvius, but Mr. Peter-
kin felt they must hurry to Brindisi. At a station
where the two trains parted,- one for Naples, the
other for Brindisi,--he found suddenly, too late,
that they were not with him -they must have
gone on to Naples. But where were they now?





IN best of spirits, blithe and free,-
As brownies always seem to be,-
A jovial band, with hop and leap,
Were passing through a forest deep,
When in an open space they spied
A heavy caldron, deep and wide,
Where woodmen, working at their trade,
A rustic boiling-place had made.
" My friends," said one, "a chance like this
No cunning brownie band should miss;
All unobserved, we may prepare
And boil a pudding nicely there;
Some dying embers smolder still,
Which we may soon revive at will;

And by the roots of yonder tree
A brook goes babbling to the sea.
At Parker's mill, some miles below,
They're grinding flour as white as snow;
An easy task for us to bear
Enough to serve our need from there:
I noticed, as I passed to-night,
A window with a broken light,
And through the opening we '11 pour
Though bolts and bars be on the door."
" And I," another brownie cried,
" Will find the plums and currants dried;
I '11 have some here in half an hour
To sprinkle thickly through the flour;



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So stir yourselves, and bear in mind
That some must spice and sugar find."
" And I," said one, "will do my part
To help the scheme with all my heart;
I know a place where hens have made
Their nest beneath the burdock shade--
I saw them stealing out with care
To lay their eggs in secret there.
The farmer's wife, through sun and rain,
Has sought to find that nest in vain:
They cackle by the wall of stones,
The hollow stump, and pile of bones,
And by the ditch that lies below,
Where yellow weeds and nettles grow;
And draw her after everywhere
Until she quits them in despair.

. I~i -;

For ditches deep and fences high
Between us and the barn-yard lie."

Away, away, on every side,
At once the lively brownies glide-
Some through the swamp and round the hill -
The shortest way to reach the mill;
And more across the country speed
To bring whatever plums they need;
While some on wings and some on legs
Go darting off to find the eggs.

A few remained upon the spot
To build a fire beneath the pot;
Some gathered bark from trunks of trees,
While others, on their hands and knees,

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PA9L'f.C~OK ;s a

The task be mine to thither lead
A band of comrades now with speed,
To help me bear a tender load
Along the rough and rugged road,,
VOL. X.-24.

Around the embers puffed and blew
Until the sparks to blazes grew;
And scarcely was the kindling burned
Before the absent ones returned.


a --. --- I I ~



All loaded down they came, in groups,
In couples, singly, and in troops.
Upon their shoulders, heads, and backs,
They bore along the floury sacks;

With plums and currants others came,
Each bag and basket filled the same;
While those who gave the hens a call
Had taken nest-egg, nest, and all;
And more, a pressing want to meet,
From some one's line had hauled a sheet,
The monstrous pudding to infold
While in the boiling pot it rolled.

The rogues were flour from head to feet
Before the mixture was complete.
Like snow-birds in a drift of snow
They worked and elbowed in the dough,
Till every particle they brought
Was in the mass before them wrought.

To stitch the bag they had no thread,
But moose-wood bark was used instead,
And soon the sheet around the pile
Was wrapped in most artistic style.

Then every plan and scheme was tried
To hoist it o'er the caldron's side.
It took some engineering skill
To guard against impending ill:
At times, it seemed about to fall,
And overwhelm or bury all;
Yet none forsook their post through fear,
But harder worked with danger near.
They pulled and hauled and orders gave,
And pushed and pried with stick and stave,
'Midst blinding smoke and flames that reared
And scorched the clothes and singed the
Until, in spite of height and heat,
They had performed the trying feat.



To take the pudding from the pot
They might have found as hard and hot.
But water on the fire they threw,
And then to work again they flew.
And soon the steaming treasure sat
Upon a stone both broad and flat,
Which answered for a table grand,
When nothing better was at hand.

Some think that brownies never eat,
But live on odors soft and sweet,
That through the verdant woods proceed.
Or steal across the dewy mead;
But those who could have gained a sight
Of them, around their pudding white,
Would have perceived that elves of air
Can relish more substantial fare.
They clustered close, and delved and ate
Without a knife, a spoon, or plate;
Some picking out the plums with care,
And leaving all the pastry there.
While some let plums and currants go,
But paid attention to the dough.

The purpose of each brownie's mind
Was not to leave a crumb behind,
That, when the morning sun should shine
Through leafy tree and clinging vine,
No traces of their sumptuous feast
It might reveal to man or beast;
And well they gauged what all could bear,
When they their pudding did prepare;
For when the rich repast was done,
The rogues could neither fly nor run.

The miller never missed his flour,
For brownies wield a mystic power;
Whate'er they take they can restore
In greater plenty than before.
When morning came, the anxious hen
Found eggs and nest replaced again.
More sweets were in the grocer's store
Than when at dark he locked the door;
While gazed the housewife in surprise,
And thought the sleep was in her eyes,
For lo instead of one, a pair
Of sheets were flapping in the air!




r MusT not be supposed that the
officers of the Inquisition and
the monks of the monastery
which, as has been mentioned
before, stood a few miles from
Viteau, were all this time igno-
rant of the fact that, when the
Countess of Viteau fled from
her home, she took refuge in
the castle of the Count de
It was not many days before this was known at
the monastery. But the officers had returned to
Toulouse to report their failure to secure the per-
son for whom they had been sent; and the monk
who was dispatched with the information that the
Countess had not fled the country, as was at first
supposed, but had taken refuge within a day's ride

of Viteau, had a long journey to make to the south
of France; while the party which was immediately
dispatched by the Inquisition to the castle of Bar-
ran had a long journey to make back to him.
But it finally came, and it was a different party
from that which had been sent before. It was
larger; it contained many more armed men, and it
was under the' control of a leader who would not
give up the pursuit of the Countess simply because
he should fail to find her in the first place in which
he sought her.
About the time that the Count de Lanries and
our young friends entered Paris, the expedition
from the Inquisition at Toulouse reached the
great gate of the castle of Barran.
This visit threw the Count, and those of his
household who understood its import, into a state
of despair almost as great as if it had not been
daily feared and expected ever since the Countess
had come to the castle.

* Copyright, 1882, by F. R. Stockton.



The Count did not know what to do.- He had
thought the matter over and over, but had never
been able to make up his mind as to what his
course would be in case the officers should appear

the lady really under their watch and guard, until
news should arrive from Paris.
But the good squire Bernard acted in a very dif-
ferent way. He did not believe in parleying, nor

" t ..... jT J t t' i .. ...


while the Countess remained in his castle. He
felt that he could not give up this lady, the wife of
his old brother-in-arms, who had come to him for
protection; but he could not fight the company
that was now approaching, for such an act would
have been considered the same thing as fighting
Christianity itself.
He- was in a sad state of anxiety as he went to
the gate to meet, in person,-these most unwelcome
visitors; and he wished many times, as he crossed
the court-yard, that he had yielded to his first im-
pulse and had insisted that the Countess should
fly to England while there was yet time.
All that the Count de Barran could do was to
detain the officers as long as possible at the gate,
and to endeavor to induce them to consent to a
Friendly council before taking any steps to arrest
the Countess. If they would do this, he hoped
to prevail upon them to remain -at the castle, with

in councils. Ever since he had come to the castle
he had expected this visit, and he had always been
ready for it.
In five minutes from the time that he had seen
the officials approaching the castle,-and his sharp
eyes had quickly told him who they were,-the
Countess and her women, the squire himself, and
the men-at-arms who had come with them from
Viteau, were in their saddles; and, leaving the
castle by a lower gate, were galloping along a
forest road as fast as their horses' legs would carry
The leader of the party from the Inquisition
would not parley, and he would listen to no talk
of councils. He showed his credentials, and de-
manded instant entrance; and as soon as he was
inside the court-yard, he posted some of his men
at every gate.
If the men at the lower gate had put their ears


to the ground, they might have heard the thud of
horses' feet as the Countess and her party hurried
away into the depths of the forest.
The main body of the officers then entered the
castle, and the leader demanded to be conducted
to the Countess of Viteau. The Count de Barran
did not accompany him and his men as they
mounted the stairs, but, downcast and wretched,
he shut himself in a lower room.
In a very short time, however, the sound of run-
ning footsteps and a general noise and confusion
brought him quickly into the great hall, and there
he learned that the Countess was not in her apart-
ments, and that the Inquisitors were looking for
her all over the castle. He instantly imagined the
truth, and a little inquiry among his people showed
him that he was right, and that the Countess had
been carried off by Bernard.
"A trusty and noble fellow !" said Barran to
himself, almost laughing with delight at this sud-
de. .:hit'.- ;,, rh,: -rr :i.- Ftt ;1 ,Furr .h ,t ill

th t:_ ,-,t-,* : i-!,- ]:r. :, _- L .,-,; i: r!v-. : '. r d i -it i
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almost from under the very hands of her pursuers,
he sent out parties of his horsemen on every road
leading from the castle, with orders to thoroughly
search the surrounding country, and to make all
possible inquiries of persons by whom the fugitives
might have been seen. The leader himself re-
mained at the castle, to receive reports and to send
out fresh horsemen in any direction which might
seem necessary. It was impossible that a lady like
the Countess could have the strength and endur-
ance to ride so far that his tough and sturdy men-
at-arms could not overtake her. And if she took
refuge in any house, castle, or cottage, he would
be sure to find her.
The party of soldiers which left the lower gate
of the castle and took the road through the forest
were mounted on swift, strong horses, and the
Countess and her company were only a few miles
ahead of.them.
The squire Ber-
I,,1 nu l ;d1 rlid k-. p
iIc up.l th,: rj:,d .i i

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search of the castle, and when the angry leader he had first taken. He knew that the officers
had examined some of the servants and had be- would probably pursue him this time, and he had
come convinced that the Countess had again fled, seen that their body was composed of many well-



mounted men. So he felt that he must bring into
play, not only the fleetness of his horses but his
knowledge of the country if he hoped to escape
the soldiers who would be sent after him.
Bernard did know the country very well. He
had been born in this part of Burgundy, and had,
in youth and manhood, thoroughly explored these
forests, not only after deer and other game, but in
expeditions with his master and Barran against
parties of cotereaux and other thieves who at
various times had been giving trouble in the
About four miles from the castle Bernard turned
sharply to the left, and rode into what, in the
rapidly decreasing daylight, the Countess thought
to be the unbroken forest. But it was in reality
a footway wide enough for a horse and rider, and
along this narrow path, in single file, the party
pursued its way almost as rapidly as on the open
They had been riding northward; now they
turned to the west, and in a half-hour or so they
turned again, and went southward, through a
road which, though overgrown and apparently
disused, was.open and wide enough for most of its
length to allow two persons to ride abreast.
They went more slowly now, for it was quite
dark; but the squire led the way, and they kept
steadily on all night.
At day-break they reached what seemed to be
the edge of the wood, and Bernard ordered a'halt.
Bidding the rest of the company remain con-
cealed among the trees, he dismounted and
cautiously made his way out of the f:r.:at.
Creeping along for a short distance into the
open country, he mounted a little hill and care-
fully surveyed the surrounding fields and plains.
Feeling certain that none of their enemies were
near at hand in the flat country before them,
Bernard went back to the woods, got on his horse,
and, turning to the Countess, he said:
"Now, my lady, we must make a rapid dash,
and in a quarter of an hour we shall be at our
journey's end."
Without a word the Countess-who had put
herself entirely into her faithful squire's care, and
who had found early in the ride that he wished
to avoid answering any questions in regard to
their destination-followed Bernard out of the
forest, and the whole party began a wild gallop
across the fields.
For a few minutes they rode in silence, as they
had been riding for the greater part of the night,
and then the Countess suddenly called out:
"Bernard! Oh, Bernard! Where are we
going? That is Viteau "
"Yes," shouted back the squire. "That is

Viteau, and, by your leave, we are going there.
For you, it is the safest place in France."
"But the cotereaux / The colereaux / cried
the Countess. "It is filled with those wicked
I hope it is yet filled with cotereaux," cried
the squire, still galloping on; "for it is those
fellows who will make it safe for you. Fear them
not, fair lady. They want only your money, and
as long as they have a good hope of that they will
not harm you nor yield you up to any claimant."
The Countess answered not a word; but very
pale and trembling a little she rode on, and in a
very short time the party drew up before the great
gate of Viteau.
Open cried Bernard, open to the Count-
ess of Viteau "
Receiving no immediate answer, Bernard shouted
again :
Open Open quickly It is the lady of this
chAteau who asks admittance. She is pursued!
Open quickly "
There was now heard inside a sound of run-
ning and calling, and in a few minutes the head
of Michol appeared at the window in the gate.
Perceiving that his visitors were but three ladies
and half a dozen men, all looking very tired and
anxious to enter, and recognizing Bernard, whom
he had seen several times and with whose position
in- the household of Viteau he was quite familiar, he
concluded that he could run no risk, and might do
himself much good, by admitting the little party;
and he therefore ordered the gate to be opened
and bade the Countess ride in.
The moment the fugitives had entered the
court, and the gate had been closed behind them,
Bernard sprang from his horse, exclaiming:
"Now, at last, I can breathe at ease."
The Countess, although a good deal frightened
at her peculiar situation, could not help smiling at
this speech, considering that they were surrounded
by a great crowd of armed men, known to have in
their number some of the most notorious robbers
in the country, and who were crowding into the
court to see the visitors, although keeping, by
command of their captain, at a respectful dis-
Bernard now approached Michol, and with the
utmost frankness, concealing nothing, he told him
all about the troubles of the Countess and why
she had fled to his protection.
"As your object," said the squire, "is the pay-
ment of the ransom, for which you have taken
this chAteau as security, you will not wish to
injure that lady by whom you expect the money
to be collected and paid. And, if I mistake not,
until the ransom is paid to you, you will not allow




that lady to be taken out of your possession and
You are a shrewd man, and a knowing one,"
said Michol, with a smile, and have judged my
temper well. And yet," he said, lowering his
voice, "you must have terribly feared those
Inquisitors, to bring that lady here."
"Fear them!" said the squire, in a voice still
lower than the captain's. "Indeed did I fear
them. Do you know that they would begin her
trial with the torture?"
Even the rough bandit gave a little shudder as
he heard these words, and looked at the gentle
lady before him.
Advancing to her, and removing the steel cap
he wore, he said:
Fair lady, you are welcome, as far as I have
power to bid you welcome, to this chateau. Your
apartments have not been molested nor disturbed,
and you can take immediate possession of them,
with your attendants. And you may feel assured
that here you may rest in safety from all attacks
of enemies of any sort, unless they come in num-
bers sufficient to overcome my men and carry
these strong defenses. And I promise you that
when the matters of ransom shall be settled
between us, I and my men will march away
from your estates, leaving no damage nor injury
behind us, excepting your loss of what we have
consumed and used for our support and defense."
Impudent varlet! said Bernard to himself.
"Your hungry rascals have fattened on the pos-
sessions of the Countess, and yet you talk in a
tone as large and generous as if you gave to her
what was your own."
Sir," said the Countess to Michol, "I accept
your offer of protection until I receive tidings of
some sort from my lord the King."
"You shall certainly have it, fair dame," said
Michol. My men and I will never stand and be
robbed, be the robber who he may."
The Countess bowed her head, and, without
having heard all of this remark, rode up to the
chateau and entered with her party.


As soon as possible on the day after the arrival
of his party in Paris, the Count de Lannes made
arrangements for an interview between his young
embassadors and the King.
The seneschal of the palace, to whom Count
Hugo was known, gave permission to Raymond,
Louis, and Agnes, with their proper attendants, to
seek the young King in the woods of Vincennes,
where, on fine days, he generally walked with

some of his courtiers, after the daily religious ser-
vices which he always attended. In after years,
when he managed the affairs of his kingdom
without interference from Queen Blanche, and
managed them, too, in such a way as to win for
himself the reputation of being the most just and
honorable ruler that France or Europe had ever
known, Louis the Ninth used to hold regular au-
diences in these beautiful woods, where those of
his subjects who desired to petition him or speak
with him could do so with very little ceremony.
And even now the young King generally saw the
few persons who asked audience of him in this
place, which was already becoming his favorite
Louis, at the time of our story, was about twenty-
two years old, but he had been married at nineteen,
and was crowned when he was but twelve. His
mother, who had been governing the country so
long, still continued to do so, and also governed
her son and his wife, as if they had been small
children. She did not even allow them to see
each other, excepting at such times as she
thought fit.
This may have been all very well for the nation,
for Queen Blanche was a wise and energetic woman,
although very bigoted in regard to religious affairs,
but it must have greatly fretted the soul of the
young monarch, whose crown was like an expen-
sive toy given to a child, but put up on a high
shelf, where he might look at it and call it his
own, but must not touch it.
The Count de Lannes knew of all this, but he
thought it well that his young people should address
themselves to the King, who, being a young per-
son himself and of a very kind disposition, would
be apt to sympathize with them and to take an
interest in their unusual mission. Not being
much occupied with state or other affairs, it
might happen that he would give his mind to
this matter; and if he could do nothing himself
he might interest his mother, who could do
It was a bright and pleasant day when Ray-
mond, Louis, and Agnes, followed by a lady and
a page, with Jasto a little farther behind, and
Count Hugo and Sir Charles bringing up the
rear at quite a distance, were conducted to the
King, who was seated under a large tree, with
three or four of his noble attendants standing
around him.
When the three children approached him, and
bent down on their knees before him, as they had
been told they must do, the King gave them a
smile of welcome, and bade them stand.
"And now, my little friends," he said, "what
is it you would have of me? "



Raymond was a straightforward, honest boy,
not backward to speak when he should do so, and
it had been arranged that he should be the spokes-
man. But he had never seen a king, even a
young one, and his heart failed him. He looked
at Louis, who, though bold enough, could not
think of anything but the astounding fact, which
had suddenly struck upon his mind, that this
king was not old enough to be of any good to
them. He looked as young, as some of the pages
at the castle. The silence was a little embarrass-
ing, and both boys looked at Agnes. She did
not want to speak..first, although she doubtless
expected: to say something on .the subject, but
she presently saw she would have to begin, and
so,.with a little flush on her face, she addressed
the King:
"May it please you, sire," she said, "we have
come to. speak to you .about the mother of these
two boys, who is the Countess. of Viteau and
isin: great trouble. We came to you because,
as :you are the King of France, you can have
the.wicked business stopped instantly, until some
good persons can look into it; and if we went
to any of the bishops or.the people of the Church,
they would take a long time to think about it,
and the poor lady might suffer dreadfully before
they'would do a thing." .
"I should gladly, help you, my fair: little lady,"
said the young King, ,. ith a -rn,,i ; "but, on my
kingly lionor, I can. not imagine what you.would
have me do. What is the wicked business, and
what:liave .bishops to. do with it? Bishops are
lofty personages for such young people as you to
deal with."
"They are not so'lofty as kings," remarked
Louis, as the thought came into his mind-
although, indeed, he was not impressed with the'
loftiness of any king present.
"You are right," said the King. Some kings
are loftier than bishops. .But come, one of you,
explain your errand, that I may know how a
poor king can be more expeditious than a great
As .the ice was now broken, and as Raymond
knew that he could tell the story better than either
of the others, he began it, and laid the whole
matter, very clearly and fully, before the King,
who listened to the statement and to the petition
for his interference with much attention and
"It is a sad, sad tale," he said, when he had
heard it all; "but I see not what action the King
can take in a matter which belongs entirely to
the Church, and is subject to the ecclesiastical
laws which extend over France and all Christian
countries. In such things, like my lowest subject,'

I am but an humble follower of our holy fathers,
who know what is good for our souls."
"But it is her body, sire," exclaimed Agnes.
"Think how she may suffer before they find out
about her soul We are not afraid for her soul."
The young King smiled again, although he
evidently did not think it proper to smile about
such subjects.
My fair child," said he, putting -his hand on
Agnes's head, "you seem to take this matter as
greatly to heart as if the lady was your own
"My own mother is dead," said Agnes, "and
I fear that I ought to be glad of that, for she, too,
was a pious lady, and knew how to read; and all
these things might have been done to her had she
lived to see this day."
The King's face grew.serious at this, and he was
silent for a fewmoments. But presently, turning
to Raymond, he said:
",Then what you would have me do is to request
these proceedings to be stopped, until some learned
and pious man, with mind not prejudiced in this
affair, shall examine into your mother's belief, and
shall see if there be cause or need that she be tried
by the Inquisition?"
"That is-all, good sire," said Raymond. "That
is all we ask."
I will: lay this matter before my royal mother,
the Queen," said the King, "for she has far more
knowledge of such subjects, and far more influence
with our clergy, than I have, and I fear me not
that what you desire will be readily obtained. It
is a fair and :reasonable request you make, and I
am right well pleased you came to me to make it.
So be comforted, my little friends. I will speak
with the Queen this very day in your behalf."
With this he rose, and with a smile and a little
wave of the hand dismissed his young petitioners.
They were about to step back, when Jasto, who
had been gradually getting nearer and nearer to
the central group, so that he had heard all that
had been said, pulled Louis by the end of his
doublet, and whispered in his ear:
Ask if you shall come again, or if you may go
home with the good news."
Then Louis advanced a little, and spoke up
quickly, asking the question.
"Come to-morrow an hour earlier than this
time," said the King, who evidently was much
interested in the matter,- the more so, perhaps,
because so little kingly business was submitted
to him,-" and you shall hear exactly what will
be done, and who shall be sent to catechise the
Countess." He then walked away, and the chil-
dren rejoined their elder companions.
When Sir Charles heard of the,suggestion made




by Jasto, he slapped him on the shoulder and said
to him:
You were always a good fellow, Jasto, with
ideas suitable to the occasion, both to speak and
to write down with ink. Now I shall be able to
see this great city of Paris, which I have not visited
for ten long years."
And with minds relieved, and with the fresh and
eager curiosity of young people who had never

were many people, some going one way and some
another-some attending to their business, and
some taking their ease, with their families, in front
of their houses; gayly dressed knights were pranc-
ing through the streets on their handsome horses;
ladies were gazing from windows; artisans were at
work in their shops, and, altogether, the sights and
delights of the Paris of 1236 produced upon these
three children very much the same effect that the

- 4 -L- -- V --


seen a city before, our three friends accompanied
Sir Charles on a sight-seeing tour through Paris.
The capital of France was nothing like so large
and wonderful as the Paris of to-day, but it con-
tained, among other public edifices, that great,
building the Louvre, which still stands, and which
was then used, not only as a residence for the King,
but as a prison. There were also beautiful bridges
across the Seine, which runs through the city; the
streets were paved, and there were shops; there

Paris of 1883 would have produced upon them
had they lived in our day.
A little before the appointed time, the next day,
Raymond, Louis, and Agnes, accompanied as at
the previous interview, were in the woods of Vin-
cennes, and advanced to the spot where they were
to meet the King.
In about a quarter of an hour, the young mon-
arch made his appearance, walking quite rapidly,
and followed by several attendants. There was



much less ceremony observed in those days be-
tween royal personages and their subjects than at
present, and the King walked straight up to our
three friends and spoke to them.
"I am sorry," he said, "that I have not per-
formed for you all the good offices which you asked,
and which I should gladly have performed. But
the Queen, who understands these important mat-
ters better than myself, assures me that it would
be an action unbefitting royalty to interfere in this
emergency which you have brought before me.
It is a matter with which the clergy and its
appointed institutions have to do, and with which
the King can not meddle without detriment to
Christianity, and to the proper power and influence
of the Church. Whatever ought to be done, in
order that the Countess of Viteau shall be justly
treated in this matter, will, as I am earnestly
assured, be done. And with this," he continued,
after a moment's hesitation, "we ought all to be
satisfied; ought we not? It was to discover the
truth, and to uphold and support good Christians,
-that the Inquisition was established, and it is
not fitting that the King or the nobility of France
should doubt or fear the justice of its actions and
At these words, Agnes burst into tears; Louis,
too, began to sob, and Raymond stood pale and
trembling. Count Hugo and Sir Charles, perceiv-
ing that something unhappy had occurred, drew
near their young charges, while the courtiers about
the King exchanged looks of compassion, as they
gazed upon the sorrowful children.
"There is but one thing, then, to do," exclaimed
Raymond, half turning away. "We must fly to
"What?" exclaimed the King, "to England!
Fly? What means that?"
"In England," said Louis, his voice half-choked
with tears, "the King does not allow-- "
At this point Raymond gave his brother such a
pull by the arm that he instantly stopped speak-
ing, to turn around and see what was the matter,
and then Raymond spoke:
My Lord King," he said, we must now make
our way with our mother to England, because
there we shall be safe from the power of the
Inquisition. It may be that its trials may be just.
and right, but we have heard something of the
horrible tortures that its prisoners have to bear,
to prove whether they will tell the. truth or not;
and, while I live, my mother, my own dear
mother, shall never be dragged from her home
and be made to go through such a trial. I would
kill her first, myself."
"And so would I," cried Louis, if Raymond
were dead-!"

"Oh, boys!" exclaimed Agnes, imploringly,
"do not say such horrible things! "
The King, apparently, had not heard these
latter remarks. For a moment he seemed in
troubled thought, and then he said, half to himself:
Can it be that a noble lady, and a pious one,
I doubt not, must flee my dominions, to take
refuge with Henry of England, because, as it
appears, she is persecuted by enemies, and threat-
ened with the rigors of the Inquisition, which,
whatever they be, may perhaps well frighten the
souls of a gentle dame and these poor children "
"And they could not certainly save themselves
by flight, sire," said one of the courtiers, for the
Pope could doubtless order them to be appre-
hended and remanded to these shores."
"Is there, then, no place to which we can fly?"
cried little Agnes. For I am. going, too. Father
and I will go."
The young King made no reply. He stood,
silent and pale. Then, stepping forward a little,
his head held very high, and his eyes sparkling,
he said.:
"Do not fly to any land. Leave not France.
You are as safe here as in any spot on earth.
Go back to your mother, my brave youth, and
tell her that her own King will protect her from
needless molestation, and will give that oppor-.
tunity she asks for to show her true faith and
sound belief. I will desire, as a favor to myself,
that the Inquisition shall cease its action against
this lady until some wise and learned members
of our clergy, whom I will send to her to inquire
into this matter, shall give their fair and well-con-
sidered opinion of it. And now," said he, turning
to his courtiers, his face flushed with youthful
pride, "I feel more like a king of France than I
ever felt before."


THE leader of the officers of the Inquisition was
not long in discovering the retreat of the Countess.
He was greatly assisted by the monks of the mon-
astery near Viteau, who suspected, from what had
been said by some of the cotereaux who occasion-
ally found it necessary to go outside of the chateau
court-yard, that something of importance had
occurred at Viteau. By careful inquiries they
soon found out that the Countess was there, and
reported the fact to the chief officer at his head-
quarters at Barran's castle.
The Count, on the contrary, did not know where
the Countess of Viteau had gone. She and Ber-
nard had thought it best not to inform him of her
place of refuge, and Barran had not endeavored
to discover this place, deeming it unsafe for any





one in the castle to know where she was, so long
as her pursuers were with him. He knew by the
actions of his unwelcome visitors that she had not
been captured, but he never imagined that she was
in her own chateau of Viteau.
Early on the morning of the second day after that
on which Count Hugo and his party started on
their return from Paris, bearing the happy news
that the King had consented to interfere in behalf
of the Countess, and that one or two well-qualified
persons were, as soon as possible, to visit her at
the castle of Barran to give her an opportunity
of properly representing her case, the Inquisitors
appeared at Viteau.
Viteau, although not exactly a castle, was, like
all the residences of the upper classes in those days,
a strongly defended place. It had a wall around the
court-yard, and its numerous towers and turrets
and little balconies were constructed to accommo-
date and protect a large number of archers and
cross-bow men.
Therefore it was that Robert de Comines, the
leader of the Inquisitorial party, thought it well to
have a strong body of men with him in,case it be-
came necessary to force his way into the chateau.
First posting soldiers at every entrance to the
grounds, Comines marched to the great gate and
demanded admittance. Michol, who had received
notice that a large body of men was approaching,
and who felt quite sure that he knew who they
were, gave some orders to his under-officers and
hastened to the gate.
"Who may you be?" said Michol from the
window in the gate, "and why come you here?
These gates open, now, to no visitors, friends or
Comines did not see fit to state the object of his
visit, nor to exhibit his authority, and, without an-
swering Michol's questions, he asked another.
"Are you the captain of the robbers who have
seized upon this chateau ? he said.
I am the captain of the good and valiant cote-
reaux who hold this chateau and its belongings
as a warranty for a just and righteous debt," an-
swered Michol. "Have you aught to say to me
concerning the matter?"
"I have something to say to you," replied Com-
ines, "which you will do well to hear, and that
speedily. Open the gate and let me enter."
"If you wish to speak with me," answered
Michol, "I am ready to hear what you have to
say. But you need not enter, fair sir. I will
come out to you."
"No, no!" cried the other. "I must go in.
Open the gate! "
"That will I, gladly," said Michol, "but it
must be for me to go out and not for you to come

in. This is not my dwelling, nor are these my
lands. .I meet my friends and foes in the forest
and on the road."
At these words the gates were thrown open, and
Michol rushed out, followed by nearly all his men,
who had been closely massed behind him while he
spoke. The cotereamu were in such a large and
solid body that they completely filled the gate-way
and forced back Comines and his men, who vainly
endeavored to maintain their ground before the
Comines shouted and threatened, and his fol-
lowers manfully struggled with the robbers, who
surged like a great wave from the gate; but it
was of no use. Out came the cotereaux, and back-
ward were forced Comines's men, until all the
robbers, excepting those who were left to guard the
other gates, and some archers who were posted on
certain of the towers, had rushed into the road,
and the gates had been locked behind them.
The sudden confusion had been so great that, at
first, the two leaders could not find each other.
At length they met in the middle of the road, and
the men of each party disengaged themselves from
one another as rapidly as possible, and gathered
in two confronting bodies, each behind its leader.
"Here am I. What would you have?" said
"Thief and leader of thieves!" cried the en-
raged Comines. "Do you suppose that I want
you You shall feel the power of the Church in
your own person for this violence. Know that I
am an officer of the Holy Inquisition, with all due
authority and warrant to carry out my purpose,
and that I come to apprehend and take before our
high tribunal the person of the Countess of Viteau,
who is behind those walls. Now that you know
my errand, stand back and let me enter."
"That will I not," said Michol, firmly. "What-
ever your errand and your authority, you come too
late. The Countess of Viteau is now my prisoner.
I hold her and this chateau as security for the
payment of ransom-money justly due me; and I
will give her up to no man until that ransom shall
be paid. Whatever warrant you may have, I
know well that you have none to take from me my
"Rascal!" cried Comines, "who would show
a warrant to a thief? Will you open that gate to
"No," said Michol, I will not."
"Then take that for my authority!" said
Comines, drawing his sword as he spoke, and
making a sudden thrust at the robber leader.
Michol had no sword, but in his right hand he
bore a mace or club with a heavy steel or iron
head. This was a weapon generally used by



knights on horseback, but Michol was a tall,
strong fellow, and he carried it with ease. Step-
ping quickly aside as Comines thrust at him, he
swung his mace in the air, and brought it down
upon his adversary's head with such rapidity and
force that it knocked him senseless to the ground.
This blow was followed, almost instantly, by a
general conflict. As none of Comines's men were
mounted, their horses having been left at the
monastery, and as they did not number half as
many as the cotereaux,-who were, indeed, in much
stronger force than Comines and the monks had
imagined,-the fight was not a long one. The
robbers soon overpowered their opponents, killing
some, causing others to make a disorderly flight,
and taking a number of prisoners.
The latter were carefully robbed,-not an article
of value, not a weapon, nor piece of armor being
left on their persons,-and then they were set free
to carry away their wounded and dead comrades.
Michol sent a detachment of his men to attack
the soldiers who had been placed outside of the
other entrances to the chateau; and when these
had been routed and the battle-field in front of the
great gate had been cleared of enemies, dead and

alive, the robber captain entered the court-yard
with his men, and the gates were locked and
barred behind him.
Bernard, the squire, had been watching the
combat from a high tower.
"I knew," he said to himself, when it was over,
"that this was the only place in France where the
Countess would be safe. For none but a pack of
thieves would have dared to fight those who came
to capture her."
The Countess was greatly agitated when she
heard of the affair, for she knew nothing of it
until it was over. She was glad and thankful that
her pursuers had been defeated in their object,
but she thought it was a terrible thing to have had
an actual conflict with them.
Her good squire did his best to' make matters
look as well as possible.
"You must remember, my lady," said he, "that
the fight was. not within our walls, and that none
of us took part in it. And, I trow, we shall not
soon see again those men from Toulouse; for the
leader of them has been grievously disabled, and
it will be many a day before he will again desire to
carry off anybody."

(To be continued.)





THERE was an urchin of the town,
Who, on his way to school,
Whene'er his comrade tumbled down,
Would laugh in ridicule.

But when it was himself who fell,-
As sometimes he did fall,-
He neither bore it very well,
Nor saw the joke at all.



DICK tossed a letter to his sister Abby. From So we 've got to miss the picnic to-morrow,"
Cousin Lydia !" said Zoe-"the first thing there's been this
Read it aloud," said Zoe. She was cousin to season that we could go to."
the others, but an adopted daughter of the house. "Don't worry about that," said Abby. "There
Abby read: are eight Sunday-school picnics to come off. Beside,
"DEAR COUSIN: Some time soon, I am coming to make you a when Cousin Lydia comes, we '11 get up a picnic
long visit, as Mamma wants me away from the city before the hot- of our own."
test weather, and our doctor orders quiet after the winter dissipa-
tions, and says I must have cream to build me up-all that I can "But, how hard we 've worked to get ready for
eat. They wish me to go to you to-morrow, and perhaps I may, it! Think of the ironing and baking we did this
though there is to be an excursion this week that I should dislike to morning."
miss, and a grand wedding next week. However, you may expect
me on any train any day, for I am eager for the cream and the With the ironing and baking out of the way,
country rides. But do not be disappointed if I should not come for we shall have more leisure to enjoy Cousin Lydia's
some days. Though I have half a mind to decide to take the first visit. But we must send word to Mollie Hyde that
train to-morrow, and I do say that you may expect me. Dick may
go to the station. If he should not find me he need not despair, for we can't go to her picnic to-morrow. Dick, you can
I may be on the second, though I think it would suit me better to take word."
take an afternoon train. But that would hurry my dinner. The "I busy," said Dick, studying about the
evening train is rather late, but papa might find a friend to confide
me to. But do not be surprised if I should not come at all to-mor- cream to build up Cousin Lydia. Where 's the
row, or any day this week. But don't leave home, for I may alight cream to come from? "
from any train; and I would n't miss seeing one of you for the I '11 tell you: we '1 have to get in our cow
world! Yours ever,
"LYDIA." that 's been boarding on a farm this winter."



Oh, have we got to have a Cow? Zoe moaned.
" It 's so much trouble to take care of the milk."
"You don't know anything about cow-bother,"
Dick protested. "The milker and the churner is
the one who has the bother. If we 're to have a
cow, I want one thing understood: I '11 do the
feeding and the watering, and the taking to pasture
and the driving home, and the milking and the
straining and the skimming. I '11 even feed the
cream to Cousin Lydia if she 's weakened by dis-
sipation; but I tell you what, I wont churn "
There '11 not be any churning- Cousin Lydia
will eat the cream. Perhaps," continued Abby
turning to Zoe, we may buy cream of some
neighbor. If you '11 set Dick's lunch, I '11 take
a run around the neighborhood. If only Mother
and Father were at home, or if the hired girl
had n't left I "
Abby returned from her "run as Dick and Zoe
were seated at lunch. At the dining-room door
she uttered a shriek. Dick started to his feet,
carving-knife in hand.
"What 's the matter? both he and Zoe cried.
0 Dick, please don't! Abby prayed.
Don't what ? said Dick, bewildered at finding
himself under accusation.
"Don't cut that tongue-we must save it for
Cousin Lydia."
Dick dropped into his chair and jerked the fork
from the succulent tongue, which was lying, a
heavy interrogation point, on the platter. Zoe had
held her hand from slicing it with a vague presenti-
ment of the sacrilege. Dick laid down the carver
and sat still for developments.
"And how could you break into my lovely pan
of biscuits, when we are expecting Cousin Lydia?
She has everything that's nice."
While saying this to the guilty-looking Zoe,
Abby was possessing herself of the biscuits and
tongue. She suddenly set these back on the table
with another cryof dismay. "And if you have n't
cut the chocolate cake !"
Then, cookly curiosity getting the better of her
dismay, she eagerly slipped out the sweet striped
wedge to assure herself concerning the quality of
the cake.
Dick settled back in his chair, and pathetically
remarked that, if there was anything in the house
poor enough for a fellow to eat, he 'd like a piece
of it.
"Please don't be cross, Dick. It was so hard
to get these nice things cooked; we are n't used
to cooking, and we must save them for Cousin
Lydia; she must have our best, and then, it may
be, we '11 not have anything that she can relish.
And, Zoe, you ought to know that we '11 have to
save this butter for her; butter is so scarce here it's

almost impossible to get a pound. And, think of
Cousin Lydia at a butterless breakfast It would
be dreadful. She is used to every luxury."
Well, I am not," said Dick; so let me have
some of your unluxurious victuals, for I must go
to school."
The girls bore off the good things to the pan-
try. They brought back slicings from a soup
bone, bread, and dried-apple sauce. The bread
was dry, the slicings streaked with gristle.
Dick suggested, meekly: Some catsup would
make the gristle tasty."
Abby hated to, but she said it: We have only
one bottle of catsup left, Dicky, and we must save
that for Cousin Lydia. You have no idea, dear
Dick, what a responsibility it will be to get three
meals a day for Cousin Lydia-what thinking, and
planning, and working! I wish I was n't the oldest,
or that Mother was here. If that hateful Hannah
had n't left! You can have some mustard."
Dick said he was obliged.
Abby had failed to arrange for cream, so Dick
would have to go for the cow.
"But it's eight miles," he complained. It
will take me till night to go there and drive the
cow back. I '11 have to miss school and go to the
foot, and I never was so high up in spelling before.
I can't go."
"But Dicky, dear, you must; there is no one
else who can. It will never do for Cousin Lydia
to come expressly to eat cream and not get it.
Her health, not to say her life, may depend upon
your going."
"Well, to save her life, I'll go. I '11 get a
livery horse."
"And while you're at the stable, see about
hiring a horse and buggy by the week, for Cousin
Lydia is coming out here for rides. Country visit-
ing is stupid without riding. That helps to pass
the time. But who '11 have time to drive Cousin
Lydia about? We girls will be busy getting the
meals and keeping the house in order."
"I can't drive for her," said Dick. "I can't afford
to be going to the foot all the time, and missing
the base-ball matches, and everything. I '11 tell
you: perhaps we can get Joe Harney to come
every good day and take her out; then you girls
would be free to do the house-work. Joe is good-
looking, dresses like a fashion dummy, and talks
like an orator."
"First, see if you can hire a buggy," said
Abby. ''And, Zoe, tell the ice-man we '11 begin
to take ice of him in the morning; and order
lemons, and sardines, and canned things--salmon,
and lobster, and fruits. Wait! And chocolate, and
cocoa-nuts, and all sorts of flavoring to make
things good; and gelatine, and corn-starch, and



raisins, and citron, and oranges, and dried beef.
Wait! And see about spring chickens; they 're
expensive, but we can't stop for a little expense."
Then Mollie Hyde came in, much excited. It
was the most dreadful thing she ever heard, that
not one of them was going to her picnic; it was
completely spoiled by their dropping out.
It 's perfectly awful. There '11 be only five of
us left, for I invited only two carriages."
Invite three others in our places," Abby sug-
Who '11 want to be second choice after you? "
Mollie snapped. "Beside, there 's nobody to invite.
I left Ed Asbury out to get you three in, and it
made him so mad that he 's got up a picnic to-
morrow to spite me, and he has invited every one
that 's not in my picnic. And he 's going to have
the band and somebody to make a funny speech,
and everything to triumph over me; and now, to
have you back out is just too mean."
We are very sorry."
If you were very sorry, you 'd go. About your
cousin is no excuse; we expect to get back before
the accommodation is due."
"But she may come on any train."
"If she could n't say what train she 'd be on,
I'd not bother myself about it. I 'd not take my
work and spend the day at the station. Any way,
Zoe is enough to receive her. Abby and Dick can
go to my picnic."
But Cousin Lydia would never forgive us if we
should n't all be here to receive her."
"But I 'm to forgive your breaking your en-
gagement with me," Mollie said, sharply. "I 'm
of no account beside your fine cousin! I 'm
nobody! I 'm Miss Nothing! I tell you, I have
more to do with your happiness than that cousin.
I live next door, and I have a phaeton, and I give
a great many parties. I '11 have chances to pay
you back."
Abby tried to speak, but Mollie sailed away,
slamming the gate as if she meant it should never-
be re-opened between them. The girls looked at
each other in dumb dismay. Then they cried.
About dusk, Dick came home behind a red,
lank cow with a spotted calf. A handkerchief was
tied under his chin, hat and borrowed umbrella
having been lost in fording a creek. But he was
not discouraged. He called for a pail to test the
milking qualities of his cow.
By persistent effort, he obtained about a pint of
milk; and it was rich. They had skimmed milk
for the breakfast coffee the next morning; the
cream was put on ice for Cousin Lydia, who
might be on the first train.
At breakfast, Dick scolded about the soiled cloth
and napkins. Abby said they had to make sure

of plenty of changes while Cousin Lydia was visit-
ing. Zoe said boys did n't know how hard it was
to wash and iron.
As Dick would have only twenty minutes at
school before the first train, he said he 'd just wait
in the parlor till train time.
No, not in the parlor cried Abby. "We've
got it swept and dusted-in perfect order for
Cousin Lydia. You must keep out of the parlor till
she comes. You 'd be sure to get things out of
Dick sighed, but went out and sat on the steps
till train time. Then the girls made haste to
change their working dresses for company frocks.
In half an hour, Dick returned without Cousin
Lydia. He took his seat on the steps to wait.
The girls put on working aprons and began re-
sweeping and redusting.
Dick made four trips in, to consult the clock
before starting to the second train. Then the
girls smoothed their plumage, laid off working
aprons, and waited at the window. From thence, in
due time, they saw Dick returning looking lonely.
The three gathered at the dinner-table. Dick's
glance swept it. It would not have been hard for
anything to sweep it.
"Victuals, victuals everywhere," he cried, think-
ing of the good things saved for Cousin Lydia,
"but not a bite to eat." Then, with a look at the
soiled linen, he added: "A few more coffee-spill-
ings and gravy-drippings, and this table-cloth and
these napkins may afford us subsistence till Cousin
Lydia's arrival."
Then we '11 have fresh napkins at every meal,"
said Abby.
After lunch, Dick waited on the steps ninety
minutes; then spent twenty at the station; went
back home for an hour; then to meet the train;
went home to tea; gave another grumble about the
soiled linen and prison-fare, while the girls told
how often they had changed their dresses. Dick
waited an hour after tea, went to the last train,
came home, hung his hat up, and thanked his
stars that it was the last.
Until nine to-morrow," said Zoe; Lydia said
we might expect her any day, on any train."
The second day of expectation was a repetition
of the first, with the difference that Dick had
sour cream added to his diet. There succeeded
a similar third day, except that the company
viands began to appear on the table, but all were
stale or beginning to sour. On the fourth day, all
three were weary and discouraged from having
tried to "save" the good things. The fifth day
was Sunday.
"She '11 not come to-day," said Dick; "so
please, Abby, let me use the parlor. May n't I



pull down all the books I 've a mind to, and leave
magazines and papers around ? And, please, let
me lie on the lounge after church. I mean to
whittle a little piece of pine, if it is Sunday. I 'm
fairly aching to see some pine-whittlings on the floor.
And, Abby, let me take all the good victuals out to
the pig, and let's have scrambled eggs for dinner."
There was another week of ditto," as Dick
said, during which his books stood solemnly on
the shelf while he went to and from the trains;
during which they lived on prison-fare and threw
spoiled "good things" to the pigs; during which
the house was "fixed up as if to have its picture
taken, etc., etc.
By another Monday, Cousin Lydia's cousins had
abandoned all hope of the visit. But that very
day-while Dick was at school and no welcomer
was at the train, while the girls were-trying to
wash some needed pieces and there was no room
on the stove to cook a dinner, while there was no
cream in the discouraged house-Cousin Lydia
arrived on the noon train, on her way to the sea-
side. And, her father joining her by the evening
train, they departed, in a- sleeper, that night.
When reminded of the promised "long visit,"
Cousin Lydia said:
"Now that you speak of it, I believe I did

promise something of that kind; but did n't I say
you need n't be disappointed if I should n't come
at all? I live in such a whirl, and write so many
letters, that I can't keep things in mind. If my
wedding-day were appointed, I believe I should
forget it."
I 'm glad she did n't make a long visit," said
Zoe, crying, when the visitors were gone. She 's
selfishly thoughtless of everybody's convenience
and comfort but her own."
When the parents returned home they found
many surprising bills to settle.
"They would n't have been so large," said the
poor young housekeepers, worried and apologetic,
"if we had n't been expecting Cousin Lydia on
any train."
The old folks can never let the young off with-
out pointing a lesson. They must learn, in making
appointments, to be definite; and then conscien-
tiously to keep them. He wanted them, their
father said, to set their faces against a display that
strained the purse and energies and good-nature,
and destroyed the pleasure 'of the visitor-and the
"You should so order your affairs," he con-
cluded, "that you would not-be- seriously incon-
venienced at the arrival of a friend by any train."



~~- 'C--

~ V.


7 - -
Ir -t, :-.---










EVER since there have been home walls for sun- sometimes seen the grotesque likeness of a person
light, fire-light, or lamp-light to fall upon, all of us in the shadow which he or she unconsciously casts
children have been interested in shadow-pictures, upon the wall, and have noticed how impossible
and shadow-pictures nearly always have seemed it is to keep the original quiet
glad to oblige us by appearing in all sorts of while the rest are merrily en-
pleasant ways. Sometimes they give us Grand- joying the picture. He or she
ma's head and cap, showing sharp and clear upon is sure to turn to see what it
the wall; sometimes dear little Bobby's curly looks like, and so spoil it all.
pate and rollicking movements; or perhaps a Years ago, some
big shadow-puss, gracefully waving a blurred ingenious person
shadow-tail on the white surface opposite the designed an al-
gloin.. fire-pla.:e or. p:.ibl,. a h .1... 1 ,,-1:- I bum for the pre-
photographs, and
that- i. these ever since
.'' have afforded a
great deal of
amusement to
n thousands. They
contain full in-

j' serving shadow-
pictures, and are
P "'i for sale in many
S( bookstores. But
t mt cif you can not get
one of these, you
t have only to buy
sheets of paper,
black on one side
-- and white on the
other, which may
:,.: .:.iJd at any stationer's.
-i4.. ,1 .,ou wish to obtain a
.t:1.-i, ._rUle, pin one of these
;h:r .: I:.r I upon the wall, oppo-
:, aLnp. r;h I,-e white surface out-
ingwonderfully ward; then, after providing yourself with a
like something well-pointed pencil, place your sitter in such
that is n't in the a position that a clear, strong shadow of the
room at all, just profile is thrown upon the paper. If your
because some- sitter (or standerr) can now remain absolutely
body has flung a coat, or a still, you have only to trace the outline of the
hat, or a bun- dle,orwhat- shadow carefully with your pencil, taking care to
not, on table or arm-chair. No matter what it may work as rapidly as practicable. When the outline
be, one thing is certain: If any substance, living or is all thus traced, you can go back and repair
inanimate, comes between a strong light and a wall, any part that seems incorrect. This done, release
it must cast a shadow, and we can make something your sitter and take the paper from the wall.
out of it or not, just as we please. All of you have Now you have only to cut out the picture close
VOL. X.-25.


to the pencil-mark, and as the other side of the
paper is black, you turn over your picture and
paste it upon a sheet of white paper, and you

leaps upon the wall. In the accompanying pictures
you will find very many designs, some new and
some old, on which to practice your dexterous
ingenuity. The little baby in the silhouette pict-
ure on page 385, you will notice, looks as though
he were trying to throw shadows of crullers upon
the wall; but though he has a fine head of his
own, he perhaps has not sufficient precocity for
that. As many houses nowadays have (fortu-
nately in other respects) no white walls on which
shadows can be distinctly seen, a sheet or a
board with white paper upon it can be used for
producing the silhouette portraits.

can show your silhouette portrait in triumph to .
your obliging sitter, the whole thing having been
accomplished in about five minutes. Grouped -

:', I_24,

/i.i "-"

about the picture on page 385 are reduced copies
of just such pictures as we have been describing.
Many boys and girls become very expert in
making these pictures, and, by seizing every avail-
able opportunity for tracing shadow-pictures of
their friends, in time become possessed of a valu-
able collection of silhouette portraits. The excel- .
lence of the picture must depend very much, of
course, on the skill of the draughtsman who
traces the shadow, on the power of the sitter to
remain quiet, and on the proper position of the I
lamp for throwing a clear shadow.
But long before these shadow-albums were
thought of, people had found out a capital way
of amusing little folks and themselves by making
comical hand-shadows upon the wall. A very e
little practice enabled them to represent the heads ooa
and bodies of various animals, and to set these
one by one to snapping their jaws or taking little
For the shadow-pictures on this and the succeeding pages, we are indebted to the courtesy of Messrs. Griffith & Farran, the London
publishers of a volume entitled, Hand-shadows on the Wall."



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THE boys of the United States and Canada are
indebted to the Indians for a number of their
most interesting games and sports. Lacrosse,
originating with the native tribes, and still much
played by them, has within the last few years
become very popular. Snow-shoes and toboggans,
though formerly serving only as conveniences
in winter travel, are now used by Indians and
whites alike for amusement-the former aiding
greatly in winter walks and rambles, the latter
transformed into a coasting-sled, and possessing
great advantages. But while many of their games
are well known, the Indians still have others
peculiar to themselves, and with which even their
near neighbors are but slightly acquainted.
Throwing the snow-snake is one of the latter;
and, although it may not be properly classed as a
game, it might, perhaps, if introduced among us,
become a great favorite like skating and coasting.
A short description of it may be of interest.
The "snow-snake," or ka-whant, as it is called
in the Onondaga dialect, is made on the principle
of the sleigh-runner, and consists of a long hickory
pole or stick, with a slight upward curve and
point at one end, while the other is provided
with a small notch. The under side is made

flat and smooth, so as to slip easily over the snow
or ice, upon which, when skillfully thrown, it will
slide for a long distance. To make it glide still
more easily, the under surface is waxed and rubbed
with a piece of cloth until beautifully smooth and
polished. The pointed end is furnished with a tip
of lead or solder, sometimes of a very fancy design.
The length and weight of the snow-snake varies
in proportion to the strength of the person for
whose use it is intended. Those made for young
boys are not more than four or five feet long,
while for larger boys and young men they range
from six to eight feet in length. They are made
somewhat tapering, being largest near the curved
end, where they are usually about an inch or an
inch and a quarter in width; while they diminish
gradually until, at the notched end,, the width is
not more than five-eighths or three-quarters of an
In throwing, the ka-whant is held at the smaller
end by the thumb and first and second fingers, as
shown in-the diagram on the next page.
The Indians take great pride in the neatness,
accuracy, and fine finish of their snow-snakes,
making them only of the strongest and straightest-
grained wood, always carefully seasoned.







At the Indian Reservation in Onondaga County,
New York, where the winters are long and usually
severe, the snow-snake is a great favorite, and
a continuous source of amusement. As soon as
the jingle of the bells is heard along the frozen
highway, and the runners of the heavy "bobs"
and wood-sleighs have furrowed the roads with
deep, polished grooves, the Indian boys are out,
following the sleigh-tracks in small parties, throw-
ing the ka-whant in the deep ruts, which it follows
through every curve, skipping over the lumps of
ice and other inequalities, more like a living
creature than a plain hickory stick, and suggesting
at once the very appropriate name of the snow-
snake." Although the beaten road-way is usually
preferred, the snow-snake may be thrown in
almost any situation where the snow is sufficiently
firm. On a smooth, level crust, it glides with
such rapidity and force that it is said to have been
used, when such game was plentiful, in hunting
deer and moose. These animals are so nearly
helpless in deep snows, that a well-directed snow-
snake must have been a very effective weapon.
The game, as generally played, is merely a
trial of skill between the players, the object
being to throw the ka-wkant as great a distance
as possible. Sides are sometimes chosen, but
usually each individual plays for himself. A
line being drawn to mark the starting-point, the
players step back a few paces. Each grasps
his snow-snake, runs forward in his turn to the
mark, and, with a vigorous sweep of his arm,
sends it sliding and dancing over the snow with
the swiftness of an arrow. Each snow-snake bears
its owner's mark (an arrow, cross, or star), so that

he readily recognizes it, and he whose missile is
farthest in advance is declared the winner. In
this way a regular champion is chosen. The
distance that these contrivances are thrown is
almost incredible, skillful players
sometimes mak- -- ing casts of
nearlyaquarter of a mile.
Simple as this game is,
the Indians take a wonder-
ful interest in it, and there is
scarcely a boy to be found
among them who has not
one, two, or even three nicely
Finished snow-snakes, each
with his mark carved upon it.
Should any of the readers
= tempt this game,



they must not be surprised or discouraged if,
at the first few trials, their snow-snakes stick
their heads through the crust and disappear in
the powdery snow beneath, instead of sliding
along the surface in the proper way. By digging
along for a distance of from twenty to fifty feet,
the sticks may usually be recovered, while the
slight difficulties of the art can soon be overcome
by a little practice and experience.


BY T. D.

LIT-TLE Tom-my Bax-ter was one day go-ing home from school when
he saw some boys who were wor-ry-ing a poor dog. They had tied his
hind legs to-geth-er, and were throw-ing stones at him, and strik-ing him
with sticks, so as to make him run. They thought it was ver-y fun-ny
to see him try to run with his hind legs tied to-geth-er. The poor dog
,was in great dis-tress, and howled and yelped when-ev-er he was struck
by a stone or stick.
Tom-my went up to the boys and told them that they should not do


such a cru-el thing to a poor, help-less dog. But the boys only laughed
at him, and went on with their fun,
Then Tom-my put his hand in-to his pock-et and said: "I will give
you ten cents, if you will let me have that dog."
There were five boys, and the big-gest of them said: "All right.!
Give us the mon-ey, and you can have the dog."
Tom-my- gave the-mon-ey to the boys, and then they laughed at him
and went'a-way to spend their mon-ey for can-dy.
Tom-my then went up to the poor dog, who was try-ing to gnaw the
string from his legs, and pat-ted him on the head. The dog seemed to
know that Tom-my was not one of the bad boys, and did not mean to hurt
him, for he did not try to get a-way as he had: done when-ev-er any of the
oth-er boys came near him. Tom-my took out his knife and cut the string
from the dog's legs. Then the poor creat-ure sprang up, and be-gan to
jump a-round as if he were. the hap-pi-est dog a-live. He licked Tom-my's
hand, and wagged his tail, as if he were.try-ing to say how much o-bliged
he was to the lit-tle boy for what he had done.
Tom-my now start-ed for his home, and the dog fol-lowed him for a
short time, -still jump-ing a-bout and wag-ging his tail. Then he left
Tom-my, and ran down the road as fast as he could go.
Three or four months after this, Tom-my was go-ing, one morn-ing,
to meet some boys and girls who were to have a pic-nic in the woods.
He had his lunch-eon tied up in a nap-kin which he car-ried in his hand.
As he was walk-ing a-long, a dog ran up, and be-gan to wag his tail,
as if he were ver-y glad to see Tom-my. This was the same dog which
Tom-my had saved from the cru-el boys; but he was a young dog then, and
had now grown so much that Tom-my did not know him. But the dog
re-mem-bered Tom-my ver-y well, jumped up on him, and put his feet
a-gainst his breast. "O-ho!" cried Tom-my, "you smell my lunch-eon
and want to get it, but you shall not have a bit of it, sir. Go a-way!"
Just then the dog looked up in Tom-my's face, and the boy re-mem-
bered that the dog which he had saved from the cru-el boys had looked at
him in the same way. He al-so saw that the dog had black ears, al-though
his bod-y was near-ly all white, and he had no-ticed that the dog whose legs
had been tied had a white bod-y and black ears.
Tom-my was ver-y glad to know that this was the same dog he had
saved, and he knew now that the rea-son the dog jumped on him, and
seemed so glad to see him, was not be-cause he want-ed some of his lunch-
eon, but be-cause he re-mem-bered him, and was grate-ful for what he
had done. The dog kept on jump-ing a-round Tom-my and wag-ging



his tail un-til a la-dy who was walk-ing down the road called him. Then
he left Tom-my and fol-lowed her.
When Tom-my went home that night, he told his fa-ther all a-bout this
dog. Tom-my's fa-ther was much pleased to hear his son's sto-ry, and he

la-dy who owned him, Iand gave him to his lit-tle boy. And there ne-er
4 .-- M- _


j I I

.- y_ - --
--- 4- 2

___ ___ ___ ___- ..... E,.AY.-_O__...

told Tom-my he was glad he had made a friend who re-mem-bered him so
well, and who was so grate-ful for his kind-ness to him.
It was not long aft-er this that Tom-my's fa-ther bought the dog of the
la-dy who owned him, and gave him to his lit-tie boy. And there nev-er
were two bet-ter friends than Tom-my and his dog.

1883- 1



THE wind tore through the village, raved in the
branches, shrieked through the garrets, whistled
past the chimneys, banged the shutters, howled
around the corners, blinded people's eyes, and
almost swept the children off their feet."'
From all of which, as I heard the dear Little
School-ma'am read it, I concluded that Mr. Wind
must be a very rude and excitable fellow. But the
next day, while she was reading from the very
same book, I heard with astonishment sentences
like these: "The wind crooned a lullaby in the
branches ";-and "the wind murmured softly in
the shrubbery ";-and "the wind sighed tenderly
above them";-and "a faint wind cooled her
heated brow."
And, as I 'm an honest Jack, neither the little
lady nor any of her hearers noticed the contra-
diction of what she had read the day before, nor
seemed to think strange of the two accounts of
Mr. Wind's doings.
My birds tell me, however, that both statements
are true--that he is a terrible fellow when he is
angry, but that he is often very kind and gentle.
" Why," say they, the flowers are never so happy
as when he frolics with them on sunny days."
I slyly asked a daisy if this were true, one day
when the wind was present, and the flower nodded
-which, I suppose, settles the fact beyond dis-
AN ingenious man in Brussels has made a clock
that, without having been touched by any one
since it started, has run steadily for a whole year.
The works of this clock do not differ from those in
common use, save that a fan is so attached as to
keep the weights continually wound. This fan is
placed in a chimney, and, revolving in the draught,
raises the clock-weights until they reach the upper

limit, when a brake stops the fan. No fire is
necessary, the natural draught being sufficient for
the work.
When the Deacon heard of this, he scratched
his kindly old chin in a reflective manner, and
presently remarked that he had never considered
it so much trouble to wind a clock as to make it
worth his while to invent some way of obliging the
air to do it for him. If he had- Well, who
can say what the.Deacon could not invent if he
were really to turn his attention to it ?

A TRAVELING friend of mine has clipped from a
French newspaper, and sent to me over seas, this
interesting story of a hare that greatly astonished
a sportsman of that country:
"An enthusiastic sportsman went to a breakfast given at the
commencement of the shooting season. The talk was of game,
when suddenly in rushed a servant, exclaiming to the host that
a hare had been seen moving about on the lawn. Out went the
enthusiastic sportsman, gun in hand, fired at the hare, and missed
it. The hare, scratching its nose, stood up on its hind legs, pre-
sented a horse-pistol at the sportsman and fired in return. No one
was hurt; but the sportsman was naturally astounded, until at last
it was explained to him that the hare was a performing animal
which had been hired from a neighboring show. The sportsman's
charge had, of course, been taken from his gun by the confidential
servant, and the whole affair was an amusing and successful prac-
tical joke."
DEAR, deir What a dreadful thing it must be
to be a Jack-in-the-Pulpit in Australia, where even
the trees are wicked! Now, here is a letter which
tells of serious mischief caused by a shrub of that
DEAR JACK: Did you ever hear of the "stinging-tree" of Aus-
tralia?. It is described as a shrub very dangerous to the touch,
which grows from two or three inches to ten or fifteen feet in height,
and emits a disagreeable odor. One traveler describes it as follows:
"Sometimes, while shooting turkeys in the scrubs, I have entirely
forgotten the stinging-tree till I was warned of its close proximity by
its smell, and have often found myself in a little forest of them. I
was only once stung, and that very lightly. Its effects are curious:
it leaves no mark, but the pain is maddening; and for months after-
ward the part when touched is tender in rainy weather, or when it
-t---t in --r,- etc. I have seen a man who was indifferent to
-1'.-, r. ,.-.. r.II ; the ground in agony after being stung, and I
I. i i... : .. to be so completely maddened by the same cause
that he rushed open-mouthed at every one who approached him,
and had to be shot. Dogs, whenstung, will rush about, whining
piteously, and they, too, often have to be killed after coming in con-
tact with this terrible stinging-tree."
THAT'S an old saying, my chicks, and more
true than grammatical. There's the sunflower,
for instance, which lately has been held up aloft
by folks who thin or fatten, as the case may be,
on what is known as "the beautiful."
Now, pretty as the sunflower certainly is, its
works outshine it, though they may be neither
"aesthetic "nor "poetic." I'm told that this flower's
nut-like seeds are not only extremely valuable as
food for poultry, but they also afford an excellent
oil, especially useful for lubricating machinery.
The residue of the seeds, after the oil has been
taken out, makes a sort of cake said to be excellent
food for cattle. And finally, the stalks furnish a
serviceable fiber, largely used by the Chinese, while
the blossoms yield a lasting and brilliant yellow



1883.] JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT. 395



TALKING of mixed-up things, is not this a very
funny story ? It is a tiger-tale sent by a little tot
five years old,- or rather five years young,- and
the Little School-ma'am, while she says I 'may
show you an exact copy of his story just as he
wrote it, has taken his name off because she thinks
it right to keep that a secret. It 's a fearful recital
if read carefully, and, bad as things were for the
tiger, they seem to have been even worse for the
boy, when you come to think of that rug.

AeAO.O L OT I p1 SR i5 L-F

BO>,AH t T \o bo / A
O F-TrOY o -r \AV- D.

r1-TI/vs T[E ', Lijr L-.,

l/[ T HAG UMA M k -.\D Wt\
A L D.To k0 i/ fJtof A iA .

AA P e-. A $SVQ. OU'o,7

Then here 's another composition which the
Little School-ma'am asks me to show you while I
am about it, as it is written to one of the subjects

given in the December number, and, as she says,
"because it is so frank and honest":

As I am such a little boy, if I had $1oo0 I think I would put it
in the saving bank till I became of age. Then I would go and visit
some of the most important parts of our country, U. States.
I would not go to Europe just then, because I would rather go
to see my own country. Some people think if they have been
to Europe they have seen enough of the world. But I think
different. I have heard of people who have been to Europe and
never been to Niagara, or even to Washington yet I think, if you
share your $xooo with some one, you will enjoy it a great deal
better than being mean and stingy.
In the first place, I would give $1oo to the poor, and $o00 to the
hospitals, and give my friends $5.00 or $6.00 each. Some boys or
girls will think I am bragging, but I am not, I mean what I say;
then with the sum I had left I would make up a party and go to
Washington, then from there I would go to Niagara Falls, then from
there I would go to Watkins Glen, then from there to Canada, then
I would return home, by that time I would have a very little money
left. But I am sure when I was taking these little trips I would be
getting some curious things for the Agassiz Association. And then
I would think what a nice time I had with my $1ooo.
Yours truly, WILLIE S- ten years old.

DEAR JACK: The Welsh have been in the habit, from time
immemorial, of wearing a leek in the cap on the first of March.
This custom is said to have originated in the circumstance of some
Welsh troops, followers of the Black Prince, wearing leeks at the
battle of Crecy, in order to distinguish themselves from their ene-
mies. In a very old book, called "The Famous History of the Seven
Champions of Christendom," a certain Welshman, Sir David, is
made to say to his men, on the eve of battle: "For my colors or
ensign do I wear upon my bayonet, you see, a green leek set in
gold, which shall, if we win the victory, hereafter be an honor to
Wales; and on this day, being the first of March, be it forever worn
by Welshmen in remembrance thereof! Sir David's command,
however, is at the present day but little regarded; but on the
national holiday a gilt leek is still carried in processions, and a
silver one is presented to the head-master at Eton by the Welsh
boy of highest rank in the school.
Yours truly, M. W.

"7 -;


:;%~ -"
I- _:


L--- III1I1~ cV




THERE are very few among the older boy-readers of ST. NICHOLAS
who are not familiar with some of the adventures and achievements
of Mr. Archibald Forbes, the gallant war-correspondent of the
London Daily News. And we take pleasure, therefore, in present-
ing, along with his thrilling narrative, "Where was Villiers?"
a pen-portrait of Mr. Forbes himself. For this portrait-sketch
we are indebted to the courtesy of the well-known English artist,
Mr. Hubert Herkomer,-it being a small pen-and-ink outline of Mr.
Herkomer's fine portrait of Mr. Forbes, which has attracted so much
attention and praise wherever exhibited. The tireless energy and
determination which Mr. Forbes has so often manifested in his
work are strongly marked in his features, and are plainly expressed
in the rough sketch here shown. As Mr. Herkomer has said of
him: "He has probably done his hazardous and arduous work
better than any other man could have done it There are many who
can write; many who have the gift of observation; many who have
physical endurance and pluck; but rarely are all these qualities
combined in one individual as they are in Archibald Forbes. And
he is as true as steel to those to whom he extends his friendship."
His devotion to his friends is amply illustrated by the story of
Villiers. And, aside from the personal interest of the narrative, the
account which the intrepid correspondent has here given of a most
important and hard-fought battle has all the fire and vividness of his
dispatches from the field. We are especially fortunate, moreover, in
having secured illustrations from Mr. W. H. Overend, one of the
war-artists of the London Illustrated News, and himself a personal
friend of Villiers.

HERE is a charming long letter, which we print in full because it
describes a most interesting event-the first snow-fall, for many
years, in the. city of San Francisco. Fancy never having seen a
snow-storm until you were twelve years old, dear Eastern boys and
girls, and you will understand the delight of our far-away friends
when the white drifts came down on that last day of the year.

December 31, 1882.
DEAR SANTA CL--I mean ST. NICHOLAS: If I had written
exactly one week ago, I would have told you of blue skies, a
bright sun, green lawns, budding roses, blooming geraniums,
fuchsias, and heliotropes, nodding pansies, blossoming violets, and
staring chrysanthemums.
And then the very next day was your dear day. Oh, it was just
perfect too perfectto stay at home after the Christmas presents and
greetings had been offered; so our good parents took us children-
three happy ones--out to the ocean's side, where we saw many
white-wvinged ships .me m r.i .: -..-.,:- he Golden Gate, and
where weran'on the tc r-.. r. ,.-.. i:-J h1; bigwaves down, and

then they chased us up, and we were without anything on our heads
all the time, and barefoot part of the time.
And now, to-day, everything is changed and strange to our eyes.
Just at breakfast, my little sister Alma cried out: Oh, look at the
pieces of white cotton out of the window! Mamma said: It must
be cotton-wood." But my big brother Tom shouted: "It's snow!
Can't you see ? Real snow! "
Now, this means very little to you, dear ST. NICHOLAS; but please
remember this is the first snow out here for twenty years and more,
and very, very many had never seen snow at all, and some were
Pretty soon there was a face pressed against every window up and
down our street. Breakfasts were forgotten. Down came the flakes,
fast and faster, thick and thicker. Soon one of the neighbor-
boys came out, and, gathering sofie snow, made a snow-ball. That
started all hands. In five minutes everybody (except my big
brother Tom, who shot himself in the hand the day before-and
oh, was n't he mad!) was out in the street gathenng snow and
pelting each other, and washing faces with snow ; and oh, we have
had such heaps of jolly fun !
Some of the boys commenced talking about sleds, but none knew
how to go about making them, until Addie Kelley (she is n't a boy,
though) remembered that ST. NICHOLAS told once how to make
real nice ones; and then the magazines were hunted over, and pretty
soon saws and hammers, and boys and pieces of wood and nails and
ropes, were badly mixed up for a while, and then out came sleds.
Some were odd-looking and some were rickety, but all helped to
make the fun more furious, and a curious sight it was for us to see
them skurrying up and down the street. And oh, oh, what a won-
derful jolly day it has been! Nobody went to Sunday-school; and
even our pastor threw two snow-balls at my papa, who is a deacon,
and Papa got him down on the ground and crammed snow down his
back till he just howled, and then Papa let him up. Then they went
into our house and had some hot ginger-tea with sugar, to keep from
catching cold. They both liked it very much-the tussle in the
snow, I mean.
But it's a very different day from one little week ago, dear ST. NICK.
The skies are dead-gray; the sun is somewhere else; the grass is
covered with white; the rose-leaves are scattered; the boughs of the
geraniums, fuchsias, and heliotropes trail to the ground; the pansies
are sleeping beneath pure white sheets; the violets (dead, perhaps)
are buried from sight; while the chrysanthemums still stand erect
and stare, but with a frightened look.
And now it's beginning to grow dark, and the night of the year's
last day is coming. People are saying, Wish you a Happy New-
Year," and I send the same wish over thousands of miles till it
reaches your ears; and not only one do I wish you, but many,
many, and MANY more, in which to make us children happier and
wiser and better. Yours with love,
P. S.- Please give my love, also, to Jack-in-the-Pulpit.

As the four subjects for composition,* we give this month the

BERTHA L. W. copies and sends to the Letter-box the following
curious enigma:
Twice ten are six of us,
Six are but three;
Nine are but four of us;
What can it be?
Would you know more of us?
I' 11 tell you more:
Seven are but five of us,
Five are but four.
Answer: The number of letters contained in each of the numer-
als mentioned.

THE following is one of many pleasant letters we have received
concerning performances of The False Sir Santa Claus ":
LOUISVILLE, KY., Jan. 6, 1883.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have been taking you for several years,
and feel that we can not part with you. We thought that you would
1-.[.: -' .. 1 tL know- that Mamma had '" The False Sir Santa Claus"
iit.li.:h.. ,t the November number) for our Christmas-tree enter-

* See ST. NICHOLAS for December, page 156.




tainment. There were about ninety persons present, and they all
thought it was so good that she was induced to give it at the Sun-
day-school entertainment. There were several hundred persons
present that night, and it was enjoyed very much. Mamma said she
felt more than paid for her trouble to hear how heartily the children
laughed. I hope you will always go on, and make us as happy as
ever. Your constant reader, CARRIE E. S.

A SAD interest is attached to the little poem, Kitty's Prayer,"
published in this number, because it was written by a girl, one of
four sisters -Bessie, aged 21; Corinne, aged 19; Mildred, aged
9; and Pauline, aged 7-who were drowned July 4, 1879. It was
little Pauline who made the remark concerning her kitty which
suggested the poem, and Corinne put the incident into verse.

"UTICA" sends $4.00 for The Children's Garfield Fund.

NEW CANAAN, Dec. I2, 1882.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am sure that the boys and girls of New
Canaan ought to feel as if they knew you a little bit better than
some of your other readers. I will tell you why. In your Novem-
ber number Deacon Green speaks of shooting at a grebe in Justus
Hoyt's mill-pond here. Tell the Deacon that the pond and mill are
still here, but I don't believe there is a grebe within a great many
miles of it. I think, too, that Miss Eva Ogden must have played by
the pond a great many times; she lived here for many years.
I guess she must have been thinking of the mill when she wrote
"The Miller of Dee." Here is something which I composed for
The miller of Dee
Planted a pea;
The pea did grow,
The miller did hoe.
At last the miller got a rake,
And raked away till his back did ache.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAs: We have all been trying our hands at
making as many words as possible from your name, and the result
is inclosed. We have made many more than George W. Barnes,
and perhaps our success is due to our familiarity with the Letter
Game, or "Logomachy," as it is called. The game, which we
found a pleasant one during the long winter evenings, is played as
follows: Each player, in succession, draws a letter from a pile of
letters, all lying with their faces downward, till some words are
formed. The words thus made are left in plain sight, to be length-
ened, altered, or added to, or, as is often the case, to be captured
bodily by an opponent. For instance, Papa had the words, "met,"
"horse," "abbot," "lace," and "salt"; I drew the letter "b" and
with it took Papa's word "lace," which I transposed to "cable."
I remember once I made the word "garnet," which I felt pretty sure
of keeping; but Papa drew an "a," and made tanager," so of
course I lost it. The one who has the most words, when all the let-
ters are drawn, wins the game. It is against the rules to change a
word to another tense or number by adding "d" or "s."
Yours truly, M. W.
George W. Barnes has been quite outdone. The list of boys and
girls who have made more than 72 words out of the letters of
St. Nicholas is too long for us to print here.

WHEN, two years ago, we began to extend our Society by means
of the ST. NICHOLAS, we dia not have an entirely definite plan,
because we could not foresee how many members we should gain.
So the first few Chapters found us comparatively unprepared for
their reception. We had to send circulars to many, instead of cor-
dial personal letters, such as our heart prompted, and we were fain
to leave them thereafter pretty much to their own devices. Even
now, the pressure of our correspondence is so great, that many a
letter which should have a prompt and hearty answer if it were one
of twenty, has to be put off with a scant acknowledgment because
it is one of a thousand. Still, we are gaining in system, and are able
better than heretofore to direct and encourage the delightful enthu-
siasm of our members. Much excellent and valuable work is being
done in every direction, but we are by no means satisfied. There
are much wider possibilities before us. Each Chapter must come to
be a power in its own community, a center of scientific intelligence.
To it should come the farmer and the laborer, to learn about each

curious or destructive insect. It should have a library open for
public use. All our members must be missionaries, spreading abroad
the sweet truths of Nature. But, to accomplish all this, we must first
gain definite knowledge ourselves--the younger, as we have always
insisted, by actual observation only; the elder by that, too, but also
from the printed record of the observations of others. As we grow
out of childhood, we must grow less desultory in our work-more
scientific. We have been much gratified to find that our members
invariably do this very thing. Accurate observation creates a desire
for accurate words in which to record nice distinctions; and every
growing boy and girl presently writes to learn how to analyze
flowers and determine minerals. Now, no one man can be a
specialist in more than one or two departments; and a bright boy
who devotes himself to coleoftera, for instance, soon knows more
about beetles than any of his teachers. He soon gets beyond the
help of Harris, or any general entomologist, and then he writes to
us for aid. Of course, the same is true of mollusks, ferns, grasses,
birds, and all the rest.
Our plan has been to receive all such questions, and refer
them to such gentlemen of our acquaintance as could most likely
answer them. But the range of our scientific acquaintance has
limits, although the patience of our friends has as yet proved
exhaustless; and we now wish to ask for the names of specialists in
every branch of science to whom we may refer questions in, their
several departments. Therefore, if any coleopterist, algologist,
archeologist, mineralogist, filicist (if that will do for a fern-man),
or any other large-hearted specialist who may chance to read
this paper, will send us his name as one who is willing to answer
questions in his line, until further notice, we are sure that nothing
could possibly occur to add greater value to the work of our Agassiz
Association, and make it of more scientific consequence. We have
an army of five thousand willing soldiers. We need a larger num-
ber of generous aids-de-camf.

No. Name. Members. Secretary's Address.
392. Barton, Ala. (A)....... 6..Charles Nelson.
393. S. Evanston, Ill. (A).. ... 5 Cornelia B. Adams.
394. Philadelphia, Pa. (M).... 4..Isaac Ford, 1823 Vine St.
395. Montreal, Canada. (A)...12..W. D. Shaw, 34 St. Peter St.
396. Springville, N. Y. (A) .... o.. E. Everett Stanbro.


We had an interesting meeting last week. Five specimens to
show, and all different. One green worm formed its cocoon
in less than a day from the time it was caught, and a large one it
is, brown and fibrous. Another lovely brown one spent two days
in frisking around its prison before it submitted and rolled
itself up. Another old fellow I found quite accidentally. I
was out walking, and seeing some down clinging to a dry stick,
tried to pick it off, when I found a bright black head at the end
of it. It has white spines sticking all over its body. I am going
to keep it, and see if it will amount to anything. My most inter-
esting one is coiled around a mass of white web, in which is
a little opening. Out of this occasionally walks a little fly. One
day, I watched the little flies come out of those small cocoons which
sometimes cover the tomato-worm. A little round place was cut
out of the end as smoothly as though done by a very sharp knife,
all except a tiny place, left as a hinge. M. INA PROHL.
One of our members has a tarantula. The body is an inch in
length. It has ten long legs, covered entirely with brown hair.
The Doctor feeds it little pieces of liver or beef, the juice of
which the spider sucks out. It is pretty lively.
WM. R. NICHOL, Albany, N. Y.

During two months I collected ninety-five specimens of wild
flowers. There is a flower here-- Caloclzortus vejasts, I think-
which can be safely handled unless it is picked to pieces. In that
case it is terribly poisonous.
H. W. CARDWELL, Portland, Oregon.

Geo. Powell, Secretary of Chapter 266, St. Clair, Pa., sends the
following: "Number of members at last report, 30; at present,
33. Specimens collected since last report, r16; total number, 6oo;
for exchange, 21."

Ottawa, Illinois (Sec. Edgar Eldredge), tells of "numerous
little tunnels discovered in a sand rock. "In the bottom of each
was a little soft-bodied insect which proved to be the larva of the
ant-lion. They are still alive in a box of sand in the window,
where they dig their tunnels, and stay in them all covered but their


heads, and in some way attract the. flies." The Chapter will
exchange gypsum and fresh-water clam-shells.
Freeland, Pa. (Sec. G. Belles), is working for new books and
a microscope. Nashua, N. H., commenced its third year Novem-
ber Igth, with Fred. W. Greeley, Box 757, retained as Secretary.
They have introduced a new feature--standing -committees on
different branches. They report on some subject at each meeting,
and have charge of a department in the museum.
In the August report, Harrie Hancock speaks of a stone that will
bend. A sandstone is found in North Carolina that has the same
property. It is called itacohimite, and the bending is supposed to
be caused by each grain fitting into a socket.
During the past summer, most of us made collections. We have
pickled small snakes and frogs. We saw a snake eat a frog. We
collected sea-weeds. Several are rearing caterpillars. One presses
flowers. One saw a sea-serpent in Penobscot Bay. It was about
thirty feet long. We knew it was a sea-serpent, because the
captain of the boat said it was. [!] We saw some things that
had been dredged from the bottom of the sea. One was a long tube
that a worm had lived in. Some of us have been keeping a hermit
crab. We put it in salt water and it came out of its shell. One was
walking in the woods and started up five or six partridges. [Part-
ridges in Conn.? Are you certain they were not ruffed grouse?]
One saw sandpipers with their long legs and beaks, and another
found a sandpiper's nest. We kept little blank-books, and every
day wrote down what we had seen. One of us kept a horseshoe
crab and fed it clams. This winter we are all studying birds and
[A most excellent record, and yet only one out of a thousand
equally interesting. ]
We visited the Petrified Forest" in the Coast Range. It con-
tains trunks and fragments of about three hundred trees. The
largest is sixty-eight feet long and eleven feet in diameter, and
through a fracture grows a live oak, ten inches in diameter. The
petrifaction appears to be calcareous, but many specimens have
tiny quartz crystals on them, and we secured one, evidently the end
of a log, which has a coating of chalcedony.
We have learned that Epigea repens can be transplanted in Sep-
tember. We read the report of the Forestry Congress held in
Cincinnati, got very much into the.notion of tree-planting, and did
set out some, but it was almost too late in the fall. 'We intend to
set out a grove and call it Agassiz Grove. We think the A. A. could
do something toward keeping up the forests. The smallest child
can drop nuts along the lines of permanent fences. We are going
to plant thickets of flowering shrubs. in all waste places about here,
to induce the small birds to build near us. We have already pre-
pared a great many cuttings of honeysuckle and tree-box.
I wish you would give a large space to explaining the proper
motive for collecting. Many seem to collect for the sake of collect-
ing. I judge from letters I receive- that some care more for the
specimens than for the knowledge to be gained from them. I know
an old man who has a remarkably fine collection, and he cares as
much for two old grape-shot that he bought, as he does for his finest
fossil; and though he has so many, he can't tell the fossils of one
age from those of another. We are getting up a wild garden, and
are anxious to get a specimen of Hepatica from some of our North-
ern friends. LILLIE M. BEDINGER.
I have been noticing the direction in which plants twine. The
bean, Madeira vine, and morning glory twine in the same direction,
but the hop vine in the opposite direction. My smilax I am not
quite sure about. We had a live homed toad loaned to us a few
days ago, which was sent here from California.- It is really a
lizard. It is five inches long, with a wide, flat body. It is pict-
ured in "Tenney's Manual." It is now very sluggish and stupid,
moving only when disturbed, and eating nothing.
One of the boys brought in a curious insect a few days ago-a
white, fuzzy-looking thing with only rudiments of wings. I found,
on examining Hams, that it was the female Orgyia (moth), which
never leaves its cocoon after its transformation, but lays its eggs and
then dies. The male is winged. E. S. FIELD.
We have- found on what bush the walking-stick feeds. [Is it a
secret? We wish to know, too.] I have found Ai acus Poly-
phemus feeding on beech trees. This was a surprise to me, for I
had thought they fed only on the oak. GAYLORD .MILES.
I am sixteen years old and an entomologist. I have 1700 speci-
mens, which I keep in boxes made by Burr, of Camden, N. J. I
have had very little trouble with the museum pest.
When I began to study, I was taught from Morse's first book of
Zo6logy, and have since branched out on my own responsibility,
and learned more by my observation than I ever did from books.
I write my notes in a blank-book, and make figures to illustrate
them. I have learned to date everything, and intend to make a

local calendar. I wish to .correspond and exchange with members
of the A. A. I have the advantage of knowing an experienced pro-
fessor of coleoptera. EDWARD G. McDOWELL,
264 West Baltimore st., Baltimore, Md.
I have experimented with kittens, and have found that if two
ribbons, one of a bright scarlet, and the other black, be placed before
them, they will play with the former in preference to the latter.
We have twenty members. We hold our meetings in the High
School, under the direction of Prof. G. E. Culver. The boys have
commenced a collection of the several kinds of wood that grow here.
The Board of Education have been kind enough to furnish us with
a microscope which magnifies 500 diameters. I hope that all other
Chapters will meet with like good fortune. ADA E. GRUDY, Sec.
Chapter B has thirteen members. The Secretary preserves all
essays. The cabinet contains local ores, petrifactions, and shells.
We have had labels printed for our botanical specimens. At the
mouth of the Columbia River is a mound composed almost entirely
of concretions, which, when broken, contain most beautiful shells.
They are ofvarious sizes, from an inch to ten feet in diameter.
Many of the pollen-grains I have examined are prickly, as in-
dicated bp A, in the accompanying illustration, while others are
smooth, as in B. I have accordingly divided into two groups the
flowers I have examined, one list having smooth and one prickly
pollen. The result is:

Smooth. Prickly.
Nasturtium, Chrysanthemum,
Buttercup, Dandelion,
Carnation, Ageratum,
Rose, Golden-rod.
A B. Corn.

I examined this list carefully, hoping to find some order in it, and
at last it struck me that the only two endogenous plants in the col-
lection were on the smooth side. I procured two more endogenous
plants, and to my great delight found their pollen-grains smooth
also. This suggests a possible rule: "Endogenous flowers have
smooth pollen"; but it would be absurd to consider this as more
than suggested by four instances.
I shall try to add to the list next time, and I hope others will do
the same. A lens of very moderate power shows the outline of the
grain, if a strong light be thrown from below. I earnestly hope
that some endogenous plant will not dash my hopes by being found
prickly before next month. A WORKER.
[It will be a helpful thought to this energetic worker to remember
that it will be as important to disprove her supposed rule as to prove.
it. The point is, to learn what is true, and in that there can be no
hope-dashing. Our little friend is doing exactly the right sort of
work, and others should follow directly in her footsteps.]
Too late for extract come good arguments on the geode question
from Howard Williams, Mary E. Cooke, Mattie Packard, Minnie
M..Dyke, and several others, the best of all being a beautifully exe-
cuted MS. from the C Chapter of Washington, D. C.


Correspondence in West and South.-William Carter, Waterbury,
Cocoons of Luna, etc., and butterflies and moths for others.-W.
D. K.: -. .. Wilmington, Del.
I i .. : sets and single.--Chas. E. Doe, 28 Wood st., Provi-
dence, R. 1.
Correspondence on ornithology and oblogy.-Charles D. Gibson,
Dover, Del.
Our duplicates are exhausted, and we can not make any more
exchanges.-E. L. Roberts, Denver, Col.
Pressed autumn leaves, for edelweiss.- Alice M. Guernsey,
Wareham, Mass.
Dendrites.-Josie M. Hopkins, Sec., Newton Upper Falls, Mass.
Soil of Illinois.- C. F. Gettimy, Box 298, Galesburg, Ill.
Correspondence, with view'to exchange.-Robt Leavitt, Sec.,
Webster, Mass.
Silver ore, for a Death's-head moth.-P. S. Clarkson, Beverly, N.J.
Birds' eggs, fossils, shells, and insects.-Edward C. Fallick,
Sydney, New South Wales.
Cocoons, red coral, lava from Sandwich Islands, etc.-Arthur H.
Bowditch, Box 5xo, Brookline, Mass.
All communications concerning the "Agassiz Association" should
be addressed to HARLAN H. BALLARD, Principal of Lenox Academy,
Lenox, Mass.






I IlIi| I W1;11 111 11|



THE foregoing illustration contains a couplet describing the fate of chose who "borrow trouble."

THE initials spell the name of a well-known poet, born in 1759;
the finals, one of his poems.
Cross-words: I. Uproar. 2. A lengthy musical composition. 3.
Flower. 4. To resound. 5. Heedless. 6. Worthless matter. 7.
A tropical fruit. 8. A fabulous animal, often represented in her-
aldry. 9. A rebellion. o1. A beginner. I. To cleanse.
EXAMPLE: Take a marsh from a yellowish paint, and leave a
sport. ANSWER: Gam-bog-e.
i. Take a long bone from a Roman magistrate, and leave a
melody. 2. Take level from an income, and leave to regret. 3.
Take a small boy from an illness, and leave a month of blossoms.
4. Take untamed from to confuse, and leave a beverage.
I AM composed of seventy-two letters, and am a famous poet's
definition ofwit, embodied in a couplet.
My 25-52-11-28-19 is to protect. My 15-65-50-32-10-44 is size.
My 8-39 is said by Touchstone to be "your only peacemaker."
My 66-14-46-20-61 is to verify. My 23-42-70-53-64 is to partake
of. My 21-33-59 is tumult. My 72-47-9-40 is dry particles of
earth. My 37-17-54-48-13-71 is a language. My 6-22 is a prep-
osition. My 41-18-69-35 is to cleanse. My 67-3-i6 is a track
made by a wheel. My 43-12-68-56-27 is a horse. My 58-1-38-5
is to pack closely. -My 24-51-36-31-45 is to disconcert. My 34-57-
55-30-7-63-29-2 is a professional athlete. My 60-49-26-4-62 is a
circular frame turning on an axis. A. E. S. N.


I. UPPER LEFT-HAND SQUARE: I. In doctor. 2. An exclama-
tion. 3. A guide to mariners. 4. Skill. 5. In doctor.
III. UPPER RIGHT-HAND SQUARE: i. In doctor. 2. An epoch.
3. To tend. 4. An industrious insect. 5. In doctor.
III. CENTRAL DIAMOND: I. In doctor. 2. A beverage. 3.
Lukewarm. 4. Succor. 5. In doctor.
IV. LOWER LEFT-HAND DIAMOND: I. In doctor. 2. By the
way of 3. Timorous. 4. Melody. 5. In doctor.
V. LOWER RIGHT-HAND DIAMOND: I. In doctor, 2. Con-
densed vapor. 3. A railway station. 4. Achieved. 5. In doctor.

WITHOUT my second, myfirst were naught;
My second from distant lands is brought;
And if my whole you happen to be,
A whipping good were the thing for thee. w. H. A.




ACROSS: I. Sluggish. 2. Open
to view. 3. A famous epic poem.
4. Narratives. 5. Marks made by
DOWNWARD: I. In assistance.
2. A word of denial. 3. A biblical
character. 4. To be leased. 5.
'To set the foot. 6. A plate of
baked clay. 7. A haunt. 8. A
familiar abbreviation. 9. In assist-
ance. H. H. D.

1. SYNCOPATE listened to, and
leave a number of cattle. 2. Syn-
copate severe, and leave to mince
and mix. 3. Syncopate a common
French word meaning ingenuous,
and leave part of a church. 4.
Syncopate a substance which ex-
udes from certain trees, and leave
to restrain. 5. Syncopate an ore,
and leave a repast. 6. Syncopate
to bend forward, and leave to halt.
7. Syncopate a man's name, and
leave an equal. 8. Syncopate to
divide evenly, and leave to possess.
9. Syncopate a knot of silk or
yam, and leave cuticle.
The syncopated letters, placed
in the order here given, spell the
name of a famous philosopher who
was the instructor of Alexander
the Great. R. H. LOW.

I. 1. SLUGGISH, 2. Not at any
time. 3. To elude. 4. A kind of
rampart. 5. A river of England.
II. To detest. 2. Valorous,
3. A place of safety. 4. Open to
view. 5. Leases. III. To rub
so as to produce a harsh sound.
2. A bird of a black color. 3. To
turn aside. 4. Concise. 5. To go



THE accompanying illustration should first be read as a rebus.
The answer will be a charade consisting of four lines. This should,
in turn, be solved as if it were printed like similar charades. The
answer is a compound word which is very familiar to all the readers

I. MY first is in Cupid, but not in love;
My second is in Aaron, but not in rod;
My third is in Venus, but not in dove:
And my whole is the name of a sylvan god.

II. My first is in valiant, but not in strong;
My second is in squadron, but not in fleet;
My third is in carol, but not in song;
My whole is the name of a mountain in Crete.


3 4

5 6

7 8
FROM I to 2, nautical; 2 to 6, to anger; 5 to 6, peaceful; i to g,
principles; 3 to 4, to keep; 4 to 8, pertaining to Normandy; 7 to 8,
the flag which distinguishes a company of soldiers; 3 to 7, a city in
Wisconsin; I to 3, to secure by anchors; 2 to 4, to merit by labor;
5 to 7, part of a shoe; 6 to 8, smooth. "NOVICE."

a. IN gales. 2. The juri *V':. .. bishop. 3. Coast. 4. A
wild animal found in India a... ..i.-... To rub out. 6. Before.
7. In wind. ALMA.


ANAGRAMS. I. Porcelain. 2. German silver. 3. Maple wood.
DIAMOND; I.. T 2. Tin. 3. Times. 4. Timbrel. 5. Nerve.
6. See. 7. L.
Eroded. 3. Voted. 4. Eden. 5. Red. 6. (R)Ed. 7. D.
NOVEL ACROSTIC. Second line, Washington. Fourth line (be-
fore erroneously printed fifth line), Longfellow. CRoss-wORDS: 1.
TWiLl. 2. LAbOr. 3. USiNg. 4. SHaGs. 5. TIfFs. 6.
ANgEr. 7. AGiLe. 8. STiLl. 9. COlOn. x0. GNaWs.
PROVERB REBUS. One swallow does not, make a summer.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Primals, Transit; finals, Of Venus. Cross-
words: i. TyrO. 2. ReeF. 3. AzoV.' 4 NonsensE. 5. Samp-
soN. 6. IguacU. 7. TuskS.
FEBRUARY PUZZLE. Valentine. Cross-words:" i. Con-vent-s.
2. Pal-aver-er. 3. P-laud-its. 4. L-ever-et. 5. Ho-nest-y. 6.
S-tem-ly. 7. F-inch-ed. 8. Re-name-d. 9. S-even-ty.

COMBINATION PUZZLE. DIAGONALS, front left to right, Ireland;
from right to left, England. CROSS-WORDS: .. IrksomE. 2.
PRayiNg. 3. SlEdGes. 4. ZeaLous. 5. BlAtAnt. -6.-INstaNt.
7. DisbanD.
I. CROSS-WORDS: z. I-rate. 2. R-over. 3. E-bony. 4. L-earn.
5. A-part. 6. N-once. 7. D-ream. BEHEADED LETTERS: Ireland;
letters represented by heavier dots, when,transposed, Poor .
II. CROSS-WORDS: r. Plum-E. 2. Hero-N. 3. Swan-G. 4.
Pane-L. 5. Faun-A. 6. Sire-N. 7. Free-D. CURTAILED LET-
TERS: England; letters represented by heavier dots, when trans-
posed, Powerful.
WORD SQUARES. I. i. Omaha. 2. Medal.' 3. Adage. 4.
Hagar. 5. Alert. II.' Chasm. 2. Haste. 3. Aspen.- 4: Steed.
5. Mends. III. a. Sugar. 2. Usage. 3. Gales. 4. Agent. 5.
PREFIX PUZZLE. I. Y. 2. Ay. 3.'Ray. 4. Pray. 5. Spray.

THE names of those who send solutions are printed in the second number after that in which the puzzles appear. Answers should be
addressed to ST. NICHOLAS "Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY Co., 33 East Seventeenth street, New York City.
ANSWERS TO DECEMBER PUZZLES were received, too late for acknowledgment in the February number, from Francis W. Islip,
Leicester, England, 9--Jessie Hope, London, England, 2- A. Robinson, C. and L. E. Yelkcnih, 9- W. Kinsey, M. A.
Cramer, i Salope, i C. Knack, I Inez K. Knowlton, I Edith McKeever and her cousin, Heidelberg, Germany, 9.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JANUARY NUMBER were received, before January 20, from Fannie M. Brown, i-Frank
Goertner, ir-T. C. Marshall, x-Livingston Ham, 4-T. W. C., 9--L. P. G., r--Eisseb Sregor, 8--Mathilde, 2--Alice Read, -
George T. Parker, z-Ella Shaw, 2-Adele Ronyon, 3-FannyW. Belding, 4-Sadie L. Rhodes, 7-Nicholas Nilsson, -"Stars
and Stripes," 6- Robert R. LaMonte, 6- Gretchen," 3 -Minnie B. Murray, 9- Olive M. Allen, 7- C. Yelkcnih, 8- Grace L.
Dickie, 2-Mary and Nathalie, 6-Millie R. and H. L., I -Christopher Noss, 5-" Cold Moon," 8- George Mather, 5-H. A. Davis,
- Emma C. Wirth, 3 -Samuel H. Camp, 3 Nellie Caldwell, 2- Professor and Co., To- Helen A. Comly, I- Vesta and Hattie, -
Helen F. Turner, 9- "A. P. Owder, Jr.," 8- Sam Pell, 8--Carrie O. Kochtitzky, 5--Gertie Gordan, 2-F. Benedict, i-Effie K.
Talboys, 6--"Alcibiades," 7-Etta M. Taylor, 2-R. T. Losee, o--Agnes Alma Spear and her Papa, 9-Amateur, 9-Minnie
Woodbury, 3- Geraldine, 6- T. S. Palmer, 7- Howard S., 5- Hessie D. Boylston, 5 Constance Robinson, o Charles, 7-Daisy
Vail, 4-H. K. Reynolds, 2-Immo, zo-John K. Miles, 3-"The Hbughton Family,".9-Julia F. Pember, 7-Bessie H. Smith, 8
- Chas. A. Walton, 5- Daisy V. R., 5- Harry L. Reed, o Annie S. Davis, --Maggie M. Perkins, Maggie Tolderlund, i -
' Fairview Nursery," 5- Florence Galbraith Lane, 8--Clara and her Aunt, 9-John C. and Wm. V. Moses, so--Benjamin Woodward,
3 -George V. Curtis, 5- Vin and Henry, 6- Percival Phelan, r Sallie Viles, 8- Elizabeth, 6- Vee Cornwell, 7-Harry Wicks, 2-
Anna and Alice, xo- Paul Reese, 8 Thomas J. Turner, 6 Lucy Schroeder, i- Fannie Louise Woodford, i Lillie C. Lippert, 0o-
"Jumbo, Jr.," r- Bertha Guthman, 3-Appleton H., 9-D. B. Shumway, 6-Gertrude Lansing and Julia Wallace, 8-A. D. Close,
S--Clara J. Child, xo-Queen Bess, 8-J. C. Winne, I. Numerals denote the number of puzzles solved.




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