Front Cover
 How I saw "old carolus"
 The days of the daisies
 A wee world of my own
 A bit of color
 Mammy's story
 Climbing the pierced rock
 The king's dust
 Teddy and the wolf
 Seaside flowers
 A very conceited little man
 The hemlock-peelers
 The happy clovers
 The awful thing that Tilly Ann...
 Little to-bo
 Fairy mirrors
 Hidden homes
 The goblin storm: A legend...
 Nan's criticism
 Stanley's magic book
 "Bingo was his name"
 Some applications of amateur...
 Bread and jam
 A ripe scholar
 The first rose of summer
 My petrified bird's-nest
 The little young man in gold
 Charlie and the hen
 Good-morning and good-night
 How did they come there?
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00214
 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: VID00214
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: oclc - 01764817
lccn - 04012675
 Related Items
Preceded by: Our young folks
Preceded by: Children's hour (Philadelphia, Penn.)
Preceded by: Little corporal
Preceded by: Schoolday magazine
Preceded by: Wide awake

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
        Front Cover 3
    How I saw "old carolus"
        Page 563
        Page 564
        Page 565
        Page 566
        Page 567
        Page 568
    The days of the daisies
        Page 569
        Page 570
    A wee world of my own
        Page 571
    A bit of color
        Page 572
        Page 573
        Page 574
        Page 575
        Page 576
        Page 577
        Page 578
        Page 579
        Page 580
    Mammy's story
        Page 581
    Climbing the pierced rock
        Page 581
        Page 582
        Page 583
        Page 584
    The king's dust
        Page 585
    Teddy and the wolf
        Page 586
        Page 587
    Seaside flowers
        Page 588
        Page 589
    A very conceited little man
        Page 590
    The hemlock-peelers
        Page 590
        Page 591
        Page 592
    The happy clovers
        Page 593
    The awful thing that Tilly Ann did
        Page 594
        Page 595
        Page 596
        Page 597
        Page 598
        Page 599
        Page 600
        Page 601
    Little to-bo
        Page 602
        Page 603
    Fairy mirrors
        Page 604
    Hidden homes
        Page 605
        Page 606
        Page 607
    The goblin storm: A legend of bigstoria
        Page 608
        Page 609
    Nan's criticism
        Page 610
    Stanley's magic book
        Page 611
        Page 612
    "Bingo was his name"
        Page 613
        Page 614
        Page 615
        Page 616
    Some applications of amateur photography
        Page 617
        Page 618
        Page 619
    Bread and jam
        Page 620
        Page 621
        Page 622
    A ripe scholar
        Page 623
        Page 624
        Page 625
    The first rose of summer
        Page 626
    My petrified bird's-nest
        Page 627
        Page 628
    The little young man in gold
        Page 629
    Charlie and the hen
        Page 630
    Good-morning and good-night
        Page 631
        Page 632
        Page 633
    How did they come there?
        Page 634
        Page 635
    The letter-box
        Page 636
        Page 637
        Page 638
    The riddle-box
        Page 639
        Page 640
        Unnumbered ( 83 )
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text



JUNE, 1889.

No. 8,

"ALLEZ toujours, monsieur! et vous le trou-
verez," said the ancient dame with the snowy lace
cap, who sat at the little door in the tower wall of
Antwerp Cathedral knitting, knitting-always
knitting- the live-long day. "You will find
Annette at the top of the stairs." Merci, mon-
sieiur,"--as I gave her fifty centimes-" Le
voilh! "-opening the door-"mount slowly,
and, above all, take care! "
Then the door closed with a bang, shutting out
the pleasant afternoon, the bright sunlight, the
cries of the venders, and the clattering of wooden
shoes in the Place Verte."
There was a damp, close, unpleasant smell in
the air, a flight of steps rose straight before me,
and I began my climb to the spire, whence the
cross rises at a height of four hundred and three
feet. Up and up, round and round the slender

stone column I climbed, until at last I was forced
to rest, from dizziness and lack of breath. The
winding staircase appeared to have no end, the
tiny slits of windows were so far apart that, in the
scant light which they afforded, the steps seemed
to disappear above and below in a faint, blue mist.
Through the gloom I saw above my head a small
opening-a mere slit in the circular wall, from
Which there came no light. I rose and looked into
it. For a moment I could distinguish nothing,
but gradually a wonderful sight grew as I gazed. I
found that I was on a level with the lofty ceiling
of the cathedral, at a height of over two hundred
feet. Through huge timbers, hewn centuries ago,
inclining toward and joining each other at all
possible angles, I looked down upon a scene which
made me feel almost as if I was in Liliput. Tiny
black specks, which I saw to be people, were mov-

Copyright, 1889, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved.


564 HOW I SAW "(
ing over the floor of the cathedral far below. At
one side there was a small black patch in front of
an altar, and with my glass I discovered that it was
a group of a hundred or more people assisting at a
christening. I saw the clouds of incense rise from
the principal altar, and the candles. were but tiny
points of yellow light in the gloom, like far-off
flickering stars. Then faintly came up to me the
notes of the powerful organ. It was a fascinating
spectacle, and I found it hard to leave it and to
resume my climb.
Up, up, higher and higher I mounted, constantly
finding the stone steps more and more worn and
cracked. It became lighter, and soon a brilliant
shaft of sunlight appeared through a narrow Gothic
window in the tower. I was now considerably
above the roof of the cathedral. Just beneath the
window a huge gargoyle shaped like a dragon
stretched out its length above the roofs far below.
From the square beneath, I doubt if one could have
distinguished its form, but from where I stood
above him, the stone dragon seemed to be at least
twelve feet long. About him, all carved in stone,
were huge roses and leaves,- each rose as large as
a bushel basket. Doves were flying around at that
great height, or, resting upon the grim figures,
cooed softly to one another. As I stood gazing
out at the wonderful carvings for which this cathe-
dral is famous, a massive, flat piece of metal came
jerkily up before the narrow window out of which
I was looking. For a moment I was puzzled, but
then suddenly it dawned upon me that the object
I had seen must be a part of the minute-hand
of the huge clock in the tower. It was quite near
the window, and I put out my hand and touched
it. In three jerks the minute-hand had passed on,
making its mighty round at the rate of a foot a
From the window where I rested, the panorama
was unsurpassed. It is said that one hundred and
twenty steeples may be counted, far and near, upon
a clear day. I did not attempt this, however.
Toward the north, the river Scheldt wound its sil-
very way until it was lost in the mist of the horizon
as it joined the North Sea. Looking east, toward
Holland, I saw dimly the towns shining in the sun-
light. When the atmosphere is clear, the guide-
book says, one can see towns fifty miles away.
Below, the great square seemed to have contracted,
and the few lazily-moving cabs, drays, and people
looked like flies creeping across a piece of coarse
bagging. Soon I realized that it was quite late in
the day and that if I wished to see the famous caril-
lon I should lose no time. The bells in the tower of
Antwerp Cathedral are doubtless quite as interest-
ing to many tourists as are the great pictures by
Peter Paul Rubens in the cathedral itself. These




bells have curious histories, and quaintly worded
inscriptions may be deciphered on many of them.
Besides the forty bells comprising the Carillon,
there are five bells of great interest in the tower.
The most ancient of these is named "Horrida";
and is said to date from 1316. It is a peculiar
pear-shaped bell, and is rarely rung.. Next in im-
portance comes the "Curfew," and it is the sweet
note of this bell that is heard far over the polders
of' Belgium, every day at five, at twelve, and at
eight o'clock. Next in rank is the bell called Ste.
Marie," said to weigh between four and five tons.
Charles the Bold heard its first peal as he entered
the city in 1467. At its side hangs Silent St.
Antoine," so called because its voice has not been
heard for nearly a century; and, finally, we come
upon grand "Old Carolus," the greatest of them
all. It was to examine this famous chime that I was
making the ascent of the tower, an undertaking in
which I knew that I ran the risk of breaking my
neck by a misstep or fall as I clambered about the
gloomy spaces of the tower, which were coated with
the accumulated dust of centuries. A few steps
higher I came upon a little door in the wall, be-
side which hung a long iron handle with a knob
at the end, and on the door was painted the word
" Sonnez Obeying the instruction, I rang the
bell, and at the same instant I sneezed. I shall
never know whether it was the sneeze or the ring
which brought a response. At all events, while
I heard no sound from the bell, the door opened
of itself, seemingly, into a dim passage, and I heard
a thin, reedy voice, like a clarionet out of tune,
"What will you ?"
To see the carillon! I replied.
The reedy voice then called out," Jos6phine,
Jo-s6-phine! A pause; "Fillette "
Then a little voice answered:
Oui, Bonne Maman "
"Venez done! Tenez- take monsieur to see
the carillon."
"Yes, Bonne Maman I" and, with these words,
there appeared in the doorway the quaintest,
brightest little face one could wish to see. She
wore a tight little black cap on her head; and her
dress consisted of a short-waisted black bodice with
brass buttons down the front, and a skirt of some
plain stuff, over which she wore a blue apron. An
orange-colored handkerchief was tied around the
slender neck and on her feet were woolen shoes.
"Entrez, monsieur!" and, takingmebythe hand,
the odd-looking little girl led me'into a narrow pas-
sage dimly lighted by a brass lamp which hung on
the wall. Being without a chimney this lamp filled
the passage with smoke. Holding my hand tight
in hers, little Jos6phine led me along the passage,


and as we passed the door through which she had
appeared, I saw within, in a room paved with red
tiles, a little, humpbacked, faded-looking woman,
sitting at work before a lace-cushion. She spoke,
and I recognized at once the thin, reedy voice
which had greeted me.
Bonjour, monsieur. Prenez garde toujours "
"Tell me, little one," I said, as the door of the
passage closed upon us, "how long have you been
up here in the tower? "

when she makes the lace. Oh, the beautiful lace I
and she gets twenty francs the mitre,--croyez-
vous, monsieur! "
Stand just as you are now, Jos6phine," I said,
and there in the belfry I made a sketch of her,
while she watched me, following with wondering
eyes every motion of the pencil.
When I had finished the sketch, I said quickly,
"Look there, Jos6phine," and as she turned her
head I dropped a franc into the little pocket of her


Moi, monsieur ? Oh! I have always been here.
I was born here."
Was that your mother whom I saw just now,
making lace ? I asked.
"Oh, non! monsieur. I have no father, no
mother. She is Bonne Maman She is really my
aunt, but she is Bonne Maman all the same. My own
Maman died when I was very little, like that,"-
measuring off the supposed size with her hands,
-"and I am nine now, presque."
"But you don't stay up here all the time You
go to school? "
"Oh, non! monsieur. Bonne Maman teaches
me the lessons. I read much to the Bonne Maman

apron. I have often wondered what she said when
she found it.
"And don't you ever go downstairs?" I asked
curiously, as we continued to ascend the steps
Mais oui, monsieur! I was down in the world at
the Kirmess. Oh! the Kirmess, monsieur, it was
grand, and Bonne Maman bought me a real dolly
with a glass head. Tenez! it cost deux francs.
]coutez, monsieur,- with a glass head Look! is
she not beautiful?" and she held up a cheap,
poorly-made doll as she spoke.
Beautiful I said, taking the doll from her
and affecting the greatest surprise at the idea of a


real glass head. Josephine meanwhile critically
stfidied my face, with a delighted expression on her
own, as we went on climbing, hand in hand.
Soon we came to the top of the final stairway, and
after unlocking the door with a huge key that hung

l/J li Ii


from the ring at Jos6phine's waist, we entered a
large space in which, by the aid of a feeble light
from overhead, I saw confusedly piled around and
above us and stretching dimly away in the shadows
a huge framework of timbers that supported the
weight of the bells and machinery of the clock.
The' sound of the organ reached us for a moment
from far off and was suddenly drowned by the noise
of a prodigious rattling and clanking and creaking
among the ropes and chains which almost filled the
space in which we stood. It was the machinery of
the huge clock making ready to strike. For this
it prepares itself by a preliminary winding begin-
ning quite ten minutes before the hour.
I followed my little guide and groped among the
wilderness of massive timbers, stirring up dust
which had been gathering undisturbed through

the long years, and lay thick on everything about
us. At length we reached a rickety staircase which
led into a large room. At first it seemed quite filled
with mighty beams crossing one another in every
direction, but soon I distinguished the dark forms
of the bells which were suspended above our heads.
"Voila, monsieur," said my little guide, pointing
to a line of dark objects hanging from a beam
overhead. Voilh, the evil spirits! "
They are bats I said, as one of them seemed
for a moment to fall, and then spreading its wings
flapped away still higher among the beams.
Yes, monsieur. But never disturb them! Bonne
Maman says that they are the spirits of the bad,
who have come back to be under the cross. Bonne
Maman says it, and she knows everything!"
Now, having grown accustomed to the dim light,
Ii !

I was able to see the bells, which are said to be
forty or more in number, hanging in tiers above us.
Some of them are connected with the machinery



---` ~-

2889.] HOW I SAW "OLD CAROLUS." 567

of the clock and ring of themselves. Others are
rung from below, by hand. To the right, I saw a
little room, between the upright beams, in which
there stood a huge drum or barrel, a repetition,
on an enormous scale, of the ordinary revolving
cylinder one may see in a music-box. This drum
or barrel, which is connected in some ingenious
manner with the bells, plays the melodies one
hears every seven minutes of the day and night.
Here is also the keyboard of the carillon, which
was formerly played by hand. It resembles a com-
mon board with what seem to be a number of base-
ball bats extending from it.
Now, little Jos6phine," I said, show me the
great Carolus "
Oh, monsieur, it is forbidden to go up to that !
And then the stairs are bad, too. Since the Eng-
lish gentleman had a fall there, no one has been
admitted "
But I was determined not to lose this oppor-
tunity of seeing Old Carolus from a near point of
view. So, quieting the fears of my little guide,
I took the key from her ring and, mounting the
rickety stairway, unlocked the door. Little Jos&-
phine sat on the steps and watched me. Soon I
was on a level with the body of the huge bell, the
greatest and best beloved of all the bells of Ant-
werp, and, indeed, of all Belgium.
It is called Carolus, because it was given by the
Emperor Charles V. The popular belief is that ,
gold, silver, and copper enter into its composition,
and it is valued at nearly $ioo,ooo. I saw where
the clapper, from always striking in the same place,
had worn away the metal from the sides. Farbelow
hangs the rope, by which it is rung on rare occa-
sions, with sixteen ends for as many ringers; and
even sixteen strong bell-ringers are none too many.
While standing on a board which ran from one
beam to another, I made several notes in my 1%
pocket sketch-book, and was stooping over to look
at the enormous clapper, when there came a sudden
cry from my little guide, who was standing directly
below: Prenez garde, monsieur! The board is
slipping And before I could take a step to one
of the beams, or catch hold of the huge wheel that
swings Old Carolus," down came my frail support,
dropping meon my back in a cloud of dust. Hap-
pily, the fall was not great, only six feet or so,
and I was congratulating myself that it was no
worse, when I saw that little Jos6phine was lying
on the floor, her eyes closed and with an ugly gash
upon her forehead. I ran to her, caught her up in
my arms, and, covered with dust as I was, I hur-
ried down the shaky stairway, ran along the pas-
sage, and finally reached the little room paved with
red tiles, where the crippled lace-maker was still
busily at work over her cushion and bobbins.


"Quick!" I said, anxiously, forgetting in my
excitement that probably I should not be under-
stood. "Hurry! Somewater! Thelittle onehas
been hurt not badly, I think,- but we must look
to her wound at once "
I remembered afterward that the little lace-
maker did just as I bade her, although I am sure
I did not speak anything but English to her.
Tenderly putting little Jos6phine down, I carefully
washed away the blood and dust from her temple,
the little old lace-maker meanwhile chafing her
hands. I soon found that the hurt was not a serious
one. The edge of the board had merely grazed
along her forehead in coming down. I am not
an adept in surgery, but I flatter myself that on
that day, I made a most artistic effect with stick-
ing plaster. Soon Jos6phine opened her eyes, and
her first words were for the doll, Lisette." Alas !
when I found "Lisette," her beautiful glass head
was broken to splinters; but a whispered promise
of a larger and grander "Lisette" brought back
the smiles to the face of my little friend, and as I


C: ~

left the snug abode high in the tower of Antwerp
Cathedral, late that evening, the old grandam show-
ing me down the steep, dangerous steps, a smok-
ing lamp in her hand, little Jos6phine was sleeping
quietly. I should like to have seen her next morning,
when, upon awaking, she found the shining twenty-
franc goldpiece which, in a very mysterious manner,
had dropped from somewhere, and tucked itself be-
tween the pillowandher cheek, where itlay all night.
And here is a little letter which I received in Paris
not long afterward. I have translated it for you, and
I have been glad to think that perhaps the new doll
is as dear to little Jos6phine as the other Lisette"
once was:
ANVERS, BELGIQUE, 15 June, 18-.
CHER MONSIEUR: I thank you very much. Oh, how
large she is large like a real baby! Yes, I call her
"Lisette," because you asked me to. My head is all
well, only a little mark shows. I thank you very much
for your goodness. With great consideration and assur-
ances of my high esteem [poor little Josephine ], accept,
monsieur, the sincere homage of your devoted,








re, :*


~i~g it



Heigh-ho the daisies !
The saucy frank faces
Laugh up one by one.
Heigh-ho the daisies,
And every one gazes
Straight at the sun.
They leap while we sleep,
In a night, the world's white
With the wind-shaken mazes.
Swinging and swaying,
and linking and locking,
Leaning, careening,
and sinking and rocking,
Heigh-ho! the dance of the daisies!

Heigh-ho the daisies !
The soncy, slim graces!
Jostling the roses
In trim garden closes,
Elbowing clover
All the world over;
Standing by waysides,
All the green May-tides,
Ragged and dusty,
Like blithe beggar lusty,
Lusty and lazy,
Heigh-ho! the vagabond daisy !

Heigh-ho the tipsy
Jolly-faced gypsy!
Wayside soothsayer,-



Whom shall I marry ?
How long will he tarry?
Soothsayer, truth-sayer,
)Shall it be Rick, Rob, Harry or Larry ?
Say marry, say tarry,
Say ever, say never,
Or say what you may
Of a late-lagging lover,
But give me a breezy life,
Give me an easy life,
Give me a lazy life,
Give me a daisy life,
Heigh-ho the daisy, all the world over !

Heigh-ho! the days of the daisies !
The sheens and the shades and the hazes !
A dream o' the noon,
A gleam o' the Moon,
Three weeks o' May and two weeks o' June,
Heigh-ho the days of the daisies !

They sprang tall
By the wall;
They shone still
In the rill;
They stood pale
In the vale;
They possessed
SThe hill-crest;
They were white
In a night;
In a day they lay low,
All the host,
Like the ghost
Of the last Winter's
They sank
Rank by rank,
They bowed lithe
To the scythe,
By the rill, by the wall
Did they nod to their fall,
With the plume,
And the bloom,
Of the grass
and the clover.
Heigh-ho for a merry life,
over !



There once used to be
At the foot of a tree,
Where moss grew across and the violets were blue,
A wee world of my own,
Where I played all alone,
My small, naked fingers all dabbled with dew,-
A green little world,
Where the tansy uncurled,
Small weeds dropped their seeds in the palm of my hand,
And the snail in his castle
Was my humble vassal,
And crickets in caves I was heir to the land !

I would creep
Soft asleep
To,that wee world of mine,
Subduing myself to the stillness of flowers,
Breathing low,
Hoping so,
I might grow fairy-fine,
And steal my long days out of other folks' hours.
I hoped to grow smaller
As others grow taller,
To brew draughts of dew in a brown acorn-cup,
And sit in the shade
That the white pebble made,
But I never grew down, and I always grew up.

The weeds have outgrown me,
The crickets disown me,
The snail moved away, I never knew where to -
And it falls out to-day,
In my big stupid way,
I 'm so blind I can't find that Wee World I am heir to.




AFTER the great excitement was over, Betty felt
very tired and unhappy. That night she could be
comforted only by Aunt Barbara's taking her into
he; own bed, and being more affectionate and sym-
pathetic than ever before, even talking late, like a
girl, about the Out-of-door Club plans. In spite
.of this attempt to return to every-day thoughts,
Betty waked next morning to much annoyance and
trouble. She had felt as if the sad affairs of yesterday
related only to the poor Fosters and herself, but as
she went down the street, early, she was stopped
and questioned by eager groups of people who
were trying to find out something more about the
discovery of Mr. Foster in the old house. It
proved that he had leaped from a high window,
hurting himself badly by the fall, when he made his
escape from prison, and that he had been wander-
ing in the woods for days. The officers had come
at once, and there was a group of men outside the
Fosters' house. This had a terrible look to Betty.
Everybody said that the doctor believed there was
but a slight chance for Mr. Foster's life, and that
they were not going to try to take him back to
jail. He had been delirious all night. One or two
kindly disposed persons said that they pitied his
poor family mbre than ever, but most of the neigh-
bors insisted that "it served Foster just right."
Betty did her errand as quickly as possible, and
hastily brushed by some curious friends who tried
to detain her. She felt as if it were unkind and dis-
loyal to speak of her playmate's trouble to every-
body, and the excitement and public concern of
the little village astonished her very much. She
did not know, until then, how the joy or trouble
of one home could affect the town as if it were
one household. Everybody spoke very kindly to
her, and most people called her Betty," whether
they had ever spoken to her before or not. The
women were standing at their front doors or their
gates, to hear whatever could be told, and our
friend looked down the long street and felt that
it was like running the gauntlet, to get home
again. Just then she met the doctor, looking
gray and troubled, as if he had been awake all
night, but when he saw Betty his face brightened.
Well done, my little lady," he said, in a cheer-

ful voice, which made her feel steady again, and
then he put his hand on Betty's shoulder and
looked at her very kindly.
"Oh, Doctor! may I walk along with you a
little way?" she faltered. "Everybody asks me
to tell "
Yes, yes, I know all about it," said the doctor
and he turned and took Betty's hand as if she.
were a child, and.they walked away together. It
was well known in Tideshead that Dr. Prince did
not like to be questioned about his patients.
I was wondering whether I ought to go to see
Nelly," said Betty, as they came near the house.
"I have n't seen her since I came home with
her yesterday. I--did n't quite dare to go in as I
came by."
Wait until to-morrow, perhaps," said the doc-
tor. The poor man will be gone then, and you
will be a greater comfort. Go over through the
garden. You can climb the fences, I dare say,"
and he looked at Betty with a queer little smile.
Perhaps he had seen her sometimes crossing the
fields with Mary Beck.
Do you mean that he is going to die to-day?"
asked Betty, with great awe. "Ought I to go
Love may go where common kindness is shut
out," said Dr. Prince. "You have done a great
deal to make those poor children happy, this sum-
mer. They had been treated in a very narrow-
minded way. It was not like Tideshead, I must
say," he. added, "but people are shy sometimes,
and Mrs. Foster herself could not bear to see the
.pity in her neighbors' faces. It will be easier for
her now."
I keep thinking, what if it were my own papa ? "
said Betty softly. He could n't be so wicked, but
he might be ill, and I not there."
"Dear me, no! said the doctor heartily, and
giving Betty's hand a tight grasp, and a little
swing to and fro. I suppose he 'shaving a capi-
tal good time up among his glaciers ? I wish that
I were with him for a month's holiday," and at this
Betty was quite cheerful agaii.
Now they stopped at Betty's own gate. You
must take your Aunt Mary in hand a little, before
you go away. There's nothing serious the mat-
ter now, only lack of exercise."


She did come to my tea-party in the garden,"
responded Betty, with a faint smile, and I think
sometimes she almost gets enough courage to go
to walk. She did n't sleep at all last night, Serena
said this morning."
"You see, she does n't need sleep," explained
Dr. Prince, quite professionally. "We are all made
to run about the world and to work. Your aunt is
always making blood and muscle with such a good
appetite, and then she never uses them, and nature
is clever at revenges. Let her hunt the fields, as you
do, and she would sleep like a top. I call it a
disease of too-wellness, and I only know how to
doctor sick people. Now there 's a lesson for you
to reflect upon," and the busy doctor went hurrying
back to where he had left his horse standing, when
he first caught sight of Betty's white and anxious
As she entered the house,- Aunt Barbara was just
coming out. "I am going to see poor Mrs. Foster,
my dear, or to asklfor her at the door," she said, and
Serena and Letty and Jonathan all came forward to
ask whether Betty knew any later news. Seth had
been loitering up the street most of the morning,
with feelings of great excitement, but he presently
came back with instructions from Aunt Barbara
to weed the long box-borders behind the house,
which he somewhat unwillingly obeyed.
A few days later the excitement was at an end,
the sad funeral was over, and on Sunday the Fosters
were at church in their appealing black clothes.
Everybody had been as kind as they knew how to
be, but there were no faces so welcome to the sad
family as our little Betty's and the doctor's.
"It comes of simply following her instinct to be
kind and do right," said the doctor to Aunt Barbara,
one day. "The child does n't think twice about it,
as most of us do. We Tideshead people are ter-
ribly afraid of one another, and have to go through
just so much, before we can take the next step.
There 's no way to get right things done but to
simply do them. But it is n't so much what your
Betty does, as what she is."
She has grown into my old heart," said Aunt
Barbara. I can not bear to think of her going away
and taking the sunshine with her -and yet she has
her faults of course," added the sensible old lady.


THE Leicester household had been so long drift-
ing into a staid and ceremonious fashion of life, that
this visit of Betty's threatened at times to be dis-
turbing. If Aunt Barbara's heart had not been
kept young, under all her austere look and manners,
Betty might have felt constrained more than once,
but there always was an excuse to give Aunt Mary,

when she complained of too much chattering on
the front door steps, or too much scurrying up and
down stairs from Betty's room. It was impossible
to count the number of times that important secrets
had to be considered, in the course of a week, or to
understand why there were so many flurries of ex-
citement among the girls of Betty's set, while the
general course of events in Tideshead flowed so
smoothly. Miss Barbara Leicester was always a
frank and outspoken person, and the young people
were sure to hear her opinion whenever they asked
for it; but she herself seemed to grow younger, in
these days, and Betty pleased her immensely one
day, when it was mentioned that a certain person
who wore caps, and was what Betty called "poky,"
was about Miss Barbara's age: "Aunt Barbara,
you are always the same age as anybody except a
I must acknowledge that I feel younger than
my grand-niece, sometimes," said Aunt Barbara,
with a funny little laugh; but Betty was puzzled to
know exactly what she meant..

IN one corner of the upper story of the large old
house there was a delightful little place by one of
the dormer-windows. It lighted the crooked stair-
way, which came up to the open garret-floor, and
some bedrooms which were finished off in a row.
Betty remembered playing with her dolls in this
pleasant little corner on rainy days, years before,
and revived its old name of the "cubby-house."
Her father had kept his guns and a collection of
minerals there, in his boyhood. It was over Betty's
own room, and noises made there did not affect Aunt
Mary's nerves, while it was a great relief from the
dignity of the best bedroom, or, still more, the lower
rooms of the house, to betake one's self with one's
friend to this queer-shaped, brown-raftered little
corner of the world. There was a great sea-chest
under the eaves, and an astounding fireboard, with
a picture of Apollo in his chariot. There was a
shelf with some old brown books that everybody
had forgotten, a broken guitar and a comfortable
wooden rocking-chair beside Betty's favorite perch
in the broad window-seat that looked out into the
tops of the trees. Her father's boyish trophies of
rose-quartz and beryl crystals and mica, were still
scattered along on the narrow ledges of the old
beams, and hanging to a nail overhead were two
dusty bunches of pennyroyal, which had left a
mild fragrance behind them as they withered.
Betty had added to this array a toppling light
stand from another part of the garret and a china
mugwhich she kept full of fresh wild flowers. She
pinned London Graphic pictures here and there, to
make a little brightness, and there were some of her
favorite artist's (Caldecott's) sketches of country


squires and dames, reproduced in faint brightcolors,
which looked delightfully in keeping with their sur-
roundings. As midsummer came on, the cubby-
house grew too hot for comfort, but one afternoon,
when rain hadbeen falling all the morningto cool the
high roof, Mary Beck and Betty sat there together
in great comfort and peace. See for yourself, Mary
in the rocking-chair and Betty in the window-seat;
they were deep in thought of girlish problems, and,
as usual, taking nearly opposite sides. They had
been discussing their plans for the future. Mary
Beck had confessed that she wished to learn to be
a splendid singer and sing in a great church or even
in public concerts. She knew she could, if she were
only well taught; but there was nobody to give her
lessons in Tideshead, and her mother would not
hear of her going to Riverport twice a week.
She says that I can keep up with my singing
at home, and she wants me to go into the choir,
and I can't bear it. I hate to hear 'we can't afford
it,' and I am sure to, if I set my heart on anything.
Mother says that it will be time enough to learn to
sing when I am through school. Oh, dear me "
and poor Mary looked disappointed and fretful.
A disheartening picture of the present Becky on
the concert-stage flashed through Betty's usually
hopeful mind. She felt a heartache, as she thought
of her friend's unfitness and inevitable disappoint-
ment. Becky-plain, ungainly, honestBecky-felt
it in her to do great things, yet she hardly knew what
great things were. Persons of Betty's age never
count upon having years of time in which to make
themselves better. Everything must be finally de-
cided by the state of things at the moment. Years
of patient study were sure to develop the wonderful
gift of Becky's strong, sweet voice.
"Why don't you sing in the choir, Becky?"
asked Betty suddenly. It would make the singing
so much better. I should love to do it, if I could,
and it would help to make Sunday so pleasant for
everybody, to hear you sing. Poor Miss Fedge's
voice sounds funny, does n't it? Sing me some-
thing now, Becky dear; sing 'Bonny Doon'! "
But Becky took no notice of the request.
"What do you mean to be, yourself?" she asked
her companion, with great interest.
You know that I can't sing nor paint nor do
any of those things," answered Betty, humbly. I
used to wish that I could write books when I grew
up, or at any rate help Papa to write his. I am
almost discouraged, though Papa says I must keep
on trying to do the things I really wish to do."
And a bright flush covered Betty's eager face.
Oh, Becky dear!" she said suddenly. "You
have something that I envy you more than your
singing even: just living at home in one place and
having your mother and the boys. I am always

wishing and wishing, and telling myself stories
about living somewhere in the same house all the
time, with Papa, and having a real'home and taking
care of him. You don't know how good it would
feel! Papa says the best we can do now, is to make
a home wherever we are, for ourselves and others -
but we think it is pretty hard, sometimes."
Well, I think the nicest thing would be to see
the world, as you do," insisted Mary Beck. Ijust
hate dusting and keeping things to rights, and
I never shall learn to cook! I like to do fancy
work pretty well. You would think Tideshead was
perfectly awful, in winter "
Why should it be ?" asked Betty innocently.
"Winter is house-time. I save things to do in
winter, and-"
Oh, you are so preachy, you are so good-natured,.
you believe all the prim things that grown people
say exclaimed Becky. What would you say if
you never went to Boston but once, and then had
a toothache all the time? You'have been every-
where, and you think it great fun to stay a little
while in poky old Tideshead, this one summer "
"Perhaps it is because I have seen so many other
places that I know just how pleasant Tideshead is."
Well, I want to see other places, too," main-
tained the dissatisfied Becky.
Papa says that we ourselves are the places we
live in," said Betty, as if it took a great deal of
courage to tell Mary Beck so unwelcome a truth.
" I like to remember just what he says, for some-
times, when I have n't understood at first, some-
thing will happen, maybe a year after, to make it
flash right into my mind. Once I heard a girl say
London was stupid; just think London "
Mary Beck was rocking steadily, but Betty sat
still with her feet on the window-seat and her hands
clasped about 'her knees. She could look down
into the green yard below, and watch some birds
that were fluttering near by in the wet trees. The
wind blew in very soft and sweet after the rain.
"I used to think, when I was a little bit of a girl,
that I would be a missionary, but I should per-
fectly hate it now said Mary, with great vehe-
Smence; I just hate to go to Sunday-schooland be
asked the questions; it makes me prickle all over.
I always feel sorry when I wake up and find it is
Sunday morning. I suppose you think that 's
heathen and horrid."
"I have always had my Sunday lessons with
Papa; he reads to me, and gives me some-
thing to learn by heart-a hymn or some very,
very lovely verses of poetry. 'I suppose that his
telling me what things in the Bible really mean
keeps me from being 'prickly' when other people
talk about it. What made you wish to be a mis-
sionary? Betty inquired, with interest.




Oh. other. used to be some who came here and
talked in the vestry Sunday evenings about riding
on donkeys and camels. Sometimes they would
dress up in Syrian costumes, and I used to look
Grandpa's Missionary Herald all through, to find
their names afterward. It was so nice to hear
about their travels and the natives, but that was a
long while'ago," and Becky rocked angrily, so that-
the boards creaked underneath.
Last summer I used to go to such a dear old
church, in the Isle of Wight," said Betty. You
could look out of the open door by our pew and see
the old churchyard and look away over the green.
downs and the blue sea. You could see the poppies
in the fields and hearthe larks, too."
What kind of a church was it? -ked. Mary,
with suspicion. "'Epi"copal?"
Yes," answered Betty, "Church of England,
people say there."
"I heard somebody say once that yourfatherwas
very lax in religious matters," said Becky seriously.
I 'd rather be very lax and love my Sundays,"
said Betty severely. ".I don't think it makes any
difference, really, about what one does in church.
I want to be good, and it helps me to be in church
and think and&hear about it. Oh dear.! my foot's
getting asleep," said Betty,.beginning to pound it
up and down; The two girls did not like to look
at each other; they were considering questions that
were very hard to talk about.
I suppose it 's being good that made you run
after Nelly Foster. I wished that I had gone to see
her more, when you went; but she used to act hate-
fully sometimes before you came. She used to cry
in school, though," confessed Becky.
"I did n't 'run after' her. You do call things
such dreadful names, Mary Beck! There, I 'm
getting cross, my foot is all stinging."
Turn it just the other way," advised Mary
eagerly. Let me pound it for you," and she
briskly went to the rescue. Betty wondered
afresh why she liked this friend herself, so much,
and yet disliked so many things that she said and
Serena always said that Betty had a won't-you-
please-like-me sort of way with her, and Mary Beck
felt it more than ever as she returned to her rocking-
chair and jogged on again, but she could not bend
from her high sense of disapproval immediately.
"What do you think the unjust steward parable
means, then ? she asked, not exactly returning to
the fray, but with an injured manner. It is in the
Sunday-school lesson to-morrow, and I can't under-
stand it a bit,- I never could."
"Nor I," said Betty, in a most cheerful tone.
See here, Becky, it does n't rain, and we can go
and ask Mr. Grant to tell us about it."

Go ask the minister exclaimed Mary Beck,
much shocked. Why, o would )ou dare to? "
That 's what ministers are for," answered Betty
simply. "We can stay a little while and see the .
girls, if.he is busy. Come now, Becky," and Becky
reluctantly came. She was to think a great many
times afterward of that talk in the garret. She
was beginning to doubt whether she had really
succeeded in settling all the questions of life, at the
age of fifteen.
The two friends went along arm-in-arm under the
still dripping trees; the parsonage was some distance
up the long Tideshead street, and the sun was com-
ing out a- the y stood on the doorsteps. The min-
ister was amazed when he found that these parish-
ioners had come to have a talk with him in the
study, and to ask something directly at his willing
hands. He preached the better for it, next day,
and the two girls listened the better. As for Mary
Beck, the revelation to her honest heart of having a
right in the minister, and the welcome convenience
of his fund of knowledge and his desire to be of use
to her personally, was an immense surprise; kind
Mr. Grant hadbeenapart of the dreaded Sundays,-
a fixture of the day and the church and the pulpit,
before that; he was, indirectly, a reproach, and,
until this day, had never seemed like other people
exactly, or an every-day friend. Perhaps the good
man wondered if it were not his own fault, a little,-
he tried to be very gay and friendly with his own
girls at supper-time, and said afterward that they
must have Mary Beck and Betty Leicester to take
tea with them some time during the next week.
"But there are others in the parish who will
feel hurt," urged Mrs. Grant anxiously, and Mr.
Grant only answered that there must be a dozen
tea-parties, then, as if there were no such things as
sponge-cake and ceremony, in the world!


THE Out-of-door Club in Tideshead was slow
in getting under way, but it was a great success at
last. Its first expedition was to the Picknell farm
to see the place where there had been a great bat-
tle with the French and Indians, in old times, and
the relics of a beaver-dam were to be inspected
besides. Mr. Picknell came to talk about the plan
with Miss Barbara Leicester, who was going to
drive out to the farm in the afternoon, and then
walk back with the Club, as besought by Betty.
She was highly pleased with the eagerness of her
young neighbors, who had discovered in her an
unsuspected sympathy and good-fellowship at
the time of Betty's June tea-party. It had been
a pity to make-believe be old in all these late
years, and grow more and more a stranger to the




young people. Perhaps, if the Club proved a suc-
cess, it would be a good thing to have winter
meetings too, and read together. Somehow Miss
Barbara had never before known exactly what to
do for the young folks. She could have a little
entertainment for them in the evening. Miss
Mary Leicester was taken up with the important
business of her own fancied invalidism, but it
might be a very good thing for her to take some
part in such pleasant plans. Under all Aunt Bar-
bara's shyness and habit of formality, Betty had
discovered her warm and generous heart. They
had become fast friends, and, to tell the truth, Aunt
Mary was beginning to have an uneasy and wist-
ful consciousness that she was causing herself to be
left out of many pleasures.
The gloom and general concern at the time of
the Fosters' sorrow had caused the first Club meet-
ing to be postponed until early in August, and
then, though August weather would not seem so
good for out-of-door expeditions, this one Wednes-
day dawned like a cool, clear June day; and at three

o'clock the fresh easterly wind had not ceased
to blow and yet had not brought in any seaward
clouds. There were eleven boys and girls, and Miss
Barbara Leicester made twelve, while with the two
Picknells the Club counted fourteen. The Fosters
promised to come, later in the summer, but they
did not feel in the least hurt because some of their
friends urged them to join the cheerful company
this very day. It seemed to Betty as if Nelly looked
brighter and somehow unafraid, now that the first
miserable weeks had gone. It may have been that
poor Nelly was lighter-hearted already than she
often had been in her father's lifetime.
Betty and Mary Beck walked together, at first,
but George Max asked Mary to walk with him, so
they parted. Betty liked Harry Foster better
than any other of the boys and really missed him
to-day. She was brimful ,of plans about per-
suading her father to help Harry to study natural
history. While the Club was getting ready to walk
two by two, Betty suddenly remembered she was an
odd one, and hastily took her place between the




Grants, insisting that they three must lead the
procession. The timid Gr init re full of fun that
day, for a wonder, and a merry head to the proces-
sion they were with Betty, walking fast and walking
slowly, and leading, the way by short cuts cross-
country with great spirit. They called a halt to
pick huckleberries, and 'they dared the Club to
cross a wide .brook on insecure stepping-stones.
Everybody made fun for everybody else whenever
they saw-an opportunity, and when they reached
the Picknellfarm, quite warm ard excited, they were
announced politely by George Max as "the Out-of
breath Club." The shy Picknells wore their best
Sunday white dresses, and the long white farm-
house with its gambrel roof seemed a delightfully
shady place as the Club sat still awhile' to cool
and rest itself and drink some lemonade. Mrs.
Picknell was a thin, bright-eyed little woman, who
had the reputaiti.nr of being the best housekeeper
in town.: She was particularly kind to Betty Leices-
ter, who was after all no more a stranger to her than
were some of the others who came. It was lovely
to see how Mrs. Picknell and Julia were so proud
of Mary's gift for drawing, and evidently managed
so that she should have time for it. Mary had
begun to go to Riverport every week for a lesson.
She heard that Mr. Clinturn, the famous artist,
was spending the summer there, and started out
by herself one day to ask him to give her lessons,"
Mrs. Picknell told Betty proudly. "He said, at
first, that he could n't spare the time; but I had
asked Mary to take two or three of her sketches
with her, and when he saw them' he said that it
would be a pleasure to help her all that he could."
I do think this picture of the old packet-boat
coming up the river is the prettiest of all. Oh,
here's Aunt Barbara: do come and see this,
Aunty !" said Betty, with great enthusiasm. It
makes me think of the afternoon I came to you."
Miss Leicester took out her eyeglasses and looked
as she was bidden. It is a charming little water-
color," she said, with delighted surprise. "Did
you really teach yourself until this summer?"
I only hadmy play paint-box, until lastwinter,"
said Mary Picknell. "I am so glad you like it,
Miss Leicester." For Miss Leicester had many
really beautiful pictures of her own, and her praise
was worth having.
Then Mr. Picknell took his stick from behind
the door, and led the company of guests out across
the fields to a sloping rough piece of pasture land,
with a noisy brook at the bottom, where a terrible
battle had been fought in the old French and
Indian war. He read them an account of it from
Mr. Parkman's history, and told all the neighbor-
hood traditions of the frightened settlers, and burnt
houses, and murdered children and very old people,
VOL. XVI.-37.

and the terrible march of a few captives, through
the winter woods to Canada. How his own great-
great-grandfather and grandmother were driven
away from-home, and each believed the other dead,
for three years, until the man escaped and then
went, hearing that his wife was alive, to buy her
freedom. They came to the farm again and were
buried in the old burying-lot, side by side.
Therewas apart of the story which you left out,"
Mrs. Picknell, said. When they killed the.little
baby :the Indians told its poor mother not to cry
about it or they would kill her too; and'when her
tears would fall, a kind-hearted squaw was clever
enough to throw some water in the poor woman's
face, so that the men only laughed and thought.it
was a taunt and not done to hide tears, at all.''" -
I have not heard such stories for years. We
ought to thank you heartily,"' said Miss'Barbara,
when the battle-ground had been shown and the
Club had heard all the interesting things that were
known about the great fight. Then they came
back by way of the old family burying-place and
read the quaint epitaphs which Mr. Picknell himself
had cut deeper and kept from wearing away. It
seemed that they never could forget the old farm's
I maintain that every old place in town ought
to have itshistory kept," said Mr. Picknell. "Now,
you boys and girls, what do you know about the
places where youlive? Why don't you make town-
clerks of yourselves? Take the edges of almanacs
if you can't afford a blank-book and make notes of
things, so that dates willbe kept for those who come
after you. Most of you live where your great-grand-
fathers did, and you ought to know about the old
folks. Most of what I 've kept alive about this old
farm, I learned from my great-grandmother, who
lived to be a very old woman, and liked to tell me
stories in the long winter evenings when I was a boy.
Now we '11 go and see where the beavers used to
build, down here where the salt water makes up into
the outlet of. the brook. Plenty of their logs lay
there moss-covered, when I was a grown man."'
Somehow the getting acquainted with each other
in a new way, was the best part of the Club, after
all. It was quite another thing from even sitting
side-by-side in school, to walk these two or three
miles together. Betty Leicester had taught her
Tideshead cronies something of her own lucky
secret of taking and making the pleasures that were
close at hand. It was great good fortune to get
hold of a common wealth of interest and association
by meansof the Club; and as Mr. Picknell and Miss
Leicester talked about the founders and pioneers
of the earliest Tideshead farms, there was not a boy
nor girl who did not have a sense of pride in belong-
ing to so valiant an old town. They could plan



a dozen expeditions to places of historic interest.
There had been even witches in Tideshead, and sol-
diers and scholars to find out about and remember.
There was no better way of learning American his-
tory (as Miss Leicester said) than to study thoroughly
the history of a single New England village. As
for newer towns in the West, they were all children
of some earlier settlements, and nobody could tell
how far back a little careful study would lead.
There was time for a good game of tennis after
the stories were told, and the play was watched
with great excitement, but some of the Club girls
strayed about the old house, part of which had been
a garrison-house. The doors stood open and the
sunshine fell pleasantly across the floors of the old
rooms. Usually, they meant to go picknicking, but
to-day the Picknells had asked their friends to tea,
.and a delicious country supper it was. Then they
all sang, and Mary Beck's clear voice, as usual, led
all the rest. It was seven o'clock before the party
was over.. The evening was cooler than August
evenings usually are, and after many leave-takings
the Club set off afoot toward the town.
"What a good time !" said Betty to the Grants
and Aunt Barbara, for she had claimed one Grant
and let Aunt Barbara walk with the other, and
everybody said "what a good time," at least twice,
as they walked down the lane to the road. There
they stopped for a minute to sing another verse of
"Good-night, Ladies," and indeed went away sing-
ing along the road, until at last the steepness of the
hill made them quiet. The Picknells in their door-
way listened as long as they could.
At the top of the long hill the Club stopped for
a minute, and kept very still to hear the hermit-
thrushes singing, and did not notice at first that
three persons were coming toward them, a tall man
and a boy and girl. Suddenly Betty's heart gave
a great beat. The.taller figure was swinging a stick
to and fro, in a way that she knew well, the boy was
Harry Foster and the girl was Nelly. Surely,- but
the other? Oh, yes, it was Papa! "Oh, Papa," and
Betty gave a strange little laugh and flew before the
rest of the Club, who were still walking slowly and
sedately, and threw herself into her father's arms.
.Then Miss Leicester hurried, too, and the rest of the
Club broke ranks and felt for a minute as if their
peace of mind was troubled.
But Betty's Papa was equal to this emergency.
" This must be Becky, but how grown he said
to Mary Beck, holding out his hand cordially,
"And George Max? and the Grants, and-Frank
Crane, is it ? I used to play with your father,"
and so Mr. Leicester, pioneered by Betty, shook
hands with everybody and was made most welcome.
You see that I know you all very well through
Betty So nobody believed that I could come on

the next train after my letter, and get here almost
as soon ?" he said, holding Betty's hand tighter than
ever and looking at her as if he wished to kiss her
again. He did kiss her again, it being his own
Betty. They were very fond of each other, these
two; but some of their friends agreed with Aunt
Barbara, who always stid that her nephew was
much too young to have the responsibility of so
tall a girl as Betty Leicester.
Nobody noticed that Harry and Nelly Foster
were there too, in the first moment of excitement,
and so the first awkwardness of taking up every-day
life again with their friends was passed over easily.
Nobody ever thought to ask how Mr. Leicester had
happened to give Harry and Nelly a share in the
surprise of his coming but everybody was glad to
know that Harry's collection of insects and his
scientific tastes had won great approval from a man
of Mr. Leicester's fame, and that the boy was to be
forwarded in his studies as fast as possible.
Who shall tell the wonder of the Club over a
phonograph which Mr. Leicester brought with
him ? and how can one short story tell the delight
of the two weeks that he stayed in Tideshead? It
was altogether the pleasantest summer that had
ever been, and Papa and Betty had a rare
holiday together. Aunt Mary and Aunt Barbara,
Serena and Letty, and Seth and Jonathan, were
all in a whirl from morning until night. Serena
thought that the phonograph was an invention of
the devil, and after hearing the uncanny little
machine repeat that very uncomplimentary remark
which she had just made about it, she was surer
than before. Serena did not relish being called
an invention of the evil one, herself, but it does
not do to call names at a phonograph.

IT was lonely when I first came," said Betty,
the evening before she was to go away, as she
walked to and fro between the box-borders with her
father, but I like everybody better and better-
even poor Aunt Mary," she added in a whisper. "It
is lovely to live in Tideshead. Sometimes one
gets cross though, and it is so provoking about
the left-out ones and the won't-play ones, and the
ones that want everything done some other way,
and then let you do it after all. But I thought at
first it was going to be so stupid, and that nobody
would like any of the things I did, and here is Mary
Picknell who can paint beautifully, and Harry Foster
knows so many of the things you do, and George
Max is a splendid scholar, and so is Jim Beck, and
poor dear Becky can sing like a bird, when she feels
good-natured. Why, Papa dear, I do believe that
there is one person in Tideshead of. every kind in
the world. And Aunt Barbara is a duchess "
I never saw so grand a duchess as your Aunt




Barbara in her very best gown," said Betty's papa,
"but I have n't seen all the duchesses there are in
Oh, Papa, dolet us come and live here together,"
pleaded the girl, with shining eyes. Must you
go back to England for very long? After I see
Mrs. Duncan and the rest of the people in London,
I am so afraid I shall be
homesick. You can keep
on having the cubby-house
for a very private study,
and I know you could
write beautifully on the
rainy days, when the elm
branches make such a nice
noise on the roof. Oh,
Papa, do let us come some-
time "
"Sometime," repeated
Mr. Leicester, with great
assurance. "How would
next summer do, for in-
stance ? I have been talk-
ing with Aunt Barbara
about it, and we have a
grand plan for the writing
of a new book, and having
some friends of mine come
here too, and the doing of
great works. I shall need '
a stenographer and we
are -"
"Those other people
could live at the Fosters,"
Betty interrupted him,
delightedly entering into -
the plans. She was used
to the busy little colonies
of students who gathered t
round her father.
"Here comes Mr.
Marsh, the teacher of the
Academy, to see you," and
she danced away on the
tips of her toes.
Serena and Letty I T
am coming back to stay
all next summer, and Papa too," she said, when she
reached the middle of the kitchen.
Thank the goodness !" said Serena. Only
don't let your pa bring his talking-machine to
save up everybody's foolish speeches. Your aunt
said this morning that what I ought to ha' said
into it was Miss Leicester, we're all out o' sugar.'
But the sugar 's goin' to last longer when you 're
gone. I expect we shall miss you," said the good
woman, with great feeling.

Now, everything was to be done next summer:
all the things that Betty had forgotten and all that
she had planned and could not carry out. It was
very sad to go away, when the time came. Poor
Aunt Mary fairly cried, and said that she was going
to try hard to be better in health, so that she could
do more for Betty when she came next year, and

she should miss their reading together, sadly; and
Aunt Barbara held Betty very close for a minute
and said, God bless you, my darling," though she
had never called her my darling before.
And Captain Beck came over to say good-bye,
and wished that they could have gone down by the
packet-boat, as Betty came, and gave our friend a-
little brass pocket-compass, which he had carried
to sea many years. The minister came to call in
the evening, with his girls, and the dear old doctor



came in next morning, though he was always in a
hurry, and kissed Betty most kindly, and held her
hand in both his, while he said that he had lost a
good deal of practice, lately, because she kept the
young folks out of doors, ard he did not know
about letting her come back another summer.
But when poor Mrs. Foster came, with Nelly,
and thanked Betty for bringing a ray of sunshine
into her sad home, it was almost too much to bear;
and good-bye must be said to Becky, and that
was as hard as anything, until they tried to talk
about what they would do next summer, and how
often they must write to each other in the winter
months between.
"Why, sometimes I have been afraid that you
did n't like me," said Betty, as her friend's tears
again began to fall..
It was only because I did n't like myself," said
Becky, forlornly. It was a most sad leave-taking,
but there were many recollections that Becky would
like to think over when her new-old friend had
fairly gone.
I never felt as if I really belonged to any place,
until now. You must always say that I am.Betty
Leicester of Tideshead," said Betty to her father,
after she had looked back in silence from the car-
window for a long time. Aunt Barbara had come
to the station with them and was taking the long

drive home alone, with only Jonathan and the slow
horses-Betty's thoughts followed her all along
the familiar road. Last night she had put the little
red silk shawlback into her trunk with a sorry sigh.
Everybody had been so good to her, while she had
done so little for any one! .
But Aunt Barbara was really dreading to go back
to the old house, she knew that she should miss
Betty so much !
Papa was reading already; he always read in the
cars himself, but he never liked to have Betty do so.
He looked up now, and something in his daughter's
face made him put down his book. She was no
longer only a playmate, her face was very grave
and sweet. I must try not to scurry about the
world as I have done," he thought, as he glanced
at Betty again and again. "We ought to have a
home, both of us; her mother would have known;
- a girl should grow up in a home and get a girl's
best life out of the cares and pleasures of it."
I am afraid you won't wish to come down to
doing the hospitalities of lodgings this winter,"
said Mr. Leicester. Perhaps we had better look
for a house of our own near the Duncans ? "
Oh, we 're sure to have the best of good times!"
said Betty cheerfully, as if there were danger of his
being low-spirited. We must wait about all that,
Papa dear, until we are in London."




,-.sc=-;_. -

i --C--
c~~ .
-C*'- -

(With a Moral.)


AH well do I recall how, in the happy olden
I sat beside the nursery fire and saw the hickory
While I.heard the wind without, and the splash-
ing of the rain,
And the broad magnolias tapping at the drip-
ping window-pane,
When Mammy, rocking slowly, with the baby
on her knee,
Told many a wondrous story- "jus' ez true ez
true.could be ,"

"Well-once dar wuz two leetle boys, name' Jeems
and Johnny Wood;
An' Jeems wuz bad ez bad could be -an' Johnny,
he wuz good.
Deir Ma, she had a bag o' gol' hid in de cubby-
An' Jeems he foun' it out, an' all dat heap o'
money stole -
An' den he run away, so fas' he los' a rubber
An' lef'his'Ma an' br'er so poo', dey dunno
what to do!

"Well- Johnny for his poo' Mamma he wucked
de bes' he could,
Tel once she sent him to de swamp to chop some
An' dar a lot o' 'gators come- er free, erFO', er
An' de biggest gobbled Johnny up, an swollered.
him alive I
An' dar, inside. de critter's maw, why, what did'
he behol'
But de oder Injy-rubber shoe, an' his mudder's
bag o' gol'!!!

"Well--den he tuck his leetle axe, an' right
away he hack
Tel he chop a mons'ous hole right rough de
'gator's ugly back!
Den out he pop, an' nebber stop tel he reech his
mudder's doo'
An' poured de shinin' money dar, right on de
parlor floor' !
Now, honey! min' an' 'member dis, from de tale
you jes.been tol',-
De bad, dey allus comes to bad- an' de good,
dey gits de gol' / "



THE fishermen, in the little French-Canadia
village of Perc6, thought Moriarty had lost hi
senses when he-declared that he wojld climb th
Pierced Rock. There was no cliff like it on th
coast of the Pr.:. rice of QIuebe.:. One huge mas
of mottled red-and-yellow limestone rose there
hundred feet above the sea, with nearly perpen
dicular walls. It was a great ledge a quarter of
mile long, endingin a sharp point like the prow c
a ship on the landward side, a pistol-shot from th
shore. At low tide on the southern side one couli
walk along a sand-bar to the base of the rock

n 'although on the farther side the water was deep
s enough tofloataship. The wavesthunderedagainst
e the northern side of the rock and made rounded
e places and slippery slopes, and, on the other side,
;s layers of stone peeled off and came crashing down.
e The sea had gnawed away at the rock so long
t- that two great openings were eaten through the
a base of the rock, toward the seaward end. The
f smaller opening, a perfect arch, was large enough
e for a fishing-boat to pass through. A coasting-
I schooner could have sailed through the larger arch.
:, From this came the name of the Pierced Rock,

(With a Moral.)


AH well do I recall how, in the happy olden
I sat beside the nursery fire and saw the hickory
While I.heard the wind without, and the splash-
ing of the rain,
And the broad magnolias tapping at the drip-
ping window-pane,
When Mammy, rocking slowly, with the baby
on her knee,
Told many a wondrous story- "jus' ez true ez
true.could be ,"

"Well-once dar wuz two leetle boys, name' Jeems
and Johnny Wood;
An' Jeems wuz bad ez bad could be -an' Johnny,
he wuz good.
Deir Ma, she had a bag o' gol' hid in de cubby-
An' Jeems he foun' it out, an' all dat heap o'
money stole -
An' den he run away, so fas' he los' a rubber
An' lef'his'Ma an' br'er so poo', dey dunno
what to do!

"Well- Johnny for his poo' Mamma he wucked
de bes' he could,
Tel once she sent him to de swamp to chop some
An' dar a lot o' 'gators come- er free, erFO', er
An' de biggest gobbled Johnny up, an swollered.
him alive I
An' dar, inside. de critter's maw, why, what did'
he behol'
But de oder Injy-rubber shoe, an' his mudder's
bag o' gol'!!!

"Well--den he tuck his leetle axe, an' right
away he hack
Tel he chop a mons'ous hole right rough de
'gator's ugly back!
Den out he pop, an' nebber stop tel he reech his
mudder's doo'
An' poured de shinin' money dar, right on de
parlor floor' !
Now, honey! min' an' 'member dis, from de tale
you jes.been tol',-
De bad, dey allus comes to bad- an' de good,
dey gits de gol' / "



THE fishermen, in the little French-Canadia
village of Perc6, thought Moriarty had lost hi
senses when he-declared that he wojld climb th
Pierced Rock. There was no cliff like it on th
coast of the Pr.:. rice of QIuebe.:. One huge mas
of mottled red-and-yellow limestone rose there
hundred feet above the sea, with nearly perpen
dicular walls. It was a great ledge a quarter of
mile long, endingin a sharp point like the prow c
a ship on the landward side, a pistol-shot from th
shore. At low tide on the southern side one couli
walk along a sand-bar to the base of the rock

n 'although on the farther side the water was deep
s enough tofloataship. The wavesthunderedagainst
e the northern side of the rock and made rounded
e places and slippery slopes, and, on the other side,
;s layers of stone peeled off and came crashing down.
e The sea had gnawed away at the rock so long
t- that two great openings were eaten through the
a base of the rock, toward the seaward end. The
f smaller opening, a perfect arch, was large enough
e for a fishing-boat to pass through. A coasting-
I schooner could have sailed through the larger arch.
:, From this came the name of the Pierced Rock,


Rocher Perc6, and the name of the village, but the
large arch has now fallen in, leaving a tall stone
needle beyond the outer end of the large rock.
No living creature, except gulls and cormorants,
had ever reached the top of the Pierced Rock, and
-on that day, in the summer of 1818, when Moriarty
said that he would climb the rock, his brother
fishermen laughed at him. They thought it was
boasting. Some whispered that he must be mad.
But Moriarty had sailed around the rock and stud-
ied its lofty sides until he felt sure that he could
see his way clear. His boat lay on the beach, near
the rough tables where men in blue jerseys were
-cleaning codfish, while others were passing to and
fro with willow creels filled with glistening herring
and iridescent mackerel. From one of the little
houses, near a yard where salted fish were scattered
over the ground, or heaped in rounded piles like
laycocks, Moriarty brought out a huge coil of rope,
another of stout line, and an old oar. These he threw
into his boat. And then they all saw that he really
meant to try the rock. All the men left their work
and came down the beach, crushing the whitened
codfish bones under their heavy boots. In French
and in English, with touches of Scotch and Irish
brogue, they begged Moriarty not to throw away

his life, or told him that he was a fool to think of
such a venture. But Moriarty was not alone, for
his friend Dugai stood ready to go with him, and
neither would be persuaded to give up the attempt.
Some of the men turned their backs and said,
" Let them go to their death." Others made their
boats ready, meaning to see whatever might happen.
Two or three offered to row Moriarty's boat out to
the rock, and so at last they started.
It was a clear, bright day, and there was very
little wind. If a gale had blown it would have
been impossible to approach the rock, for Moriarty
steered for its northern side, where, in rough
weather, the waves dashed their spray almost
mast-head high. When the boat had gone two-
thirds of the way along the rock, Moriarty told the
oarsmen to stop not far from the smaller arch.
Just in front of them were hollows eaten by the
waves, as mice nibble into cheese. Looking up,
the rock seemed hanging over their very heads.
Irregular ledges showed themselves beyond, al-
most red in the sunlight, with veins of quartz
glistening here and there like diamonds. Now,
it was along these ledges that Moriarty had marked
out his path.
The boat touched a little rocky platform, and he

trA g.lj~.




stepped out. One end of the line was fastened
around his waist. Taking the stout oar, he rested
it securely against a projecting mass of rock above
and drew himself up, clinging partly to the oar
and partly to the rock. This was his plan then,
but some of the anxious men in the boats shook
their heads. Suppose that he
should come to a perfectly
smooth place, or the oar should
slip, or he should grow dizzy -
what then? He reached the
first ledge, planted his feet
firmly, and turning drew the
oar up after him. Setting it
on a little crevice, he let it lean
against a spur which jutted out
ten feet above. It was a hand
over hand pull this time, al-
though his feet had some
support upon the oar and rock.
Now he worked this way and that, clinging to
points of rock, and digging his fingers into
crevices, and again another ledge helped him
directly upward. At first, the men below called to
him occasionally to tell him of a friendly ledge on
this side or that, although Moriarty knew the face
of the rock better than they. But now they only
spoke in whispers for fear that a cry might startle
him, for at the height where he clung any false
movement meant death. When he looked down
it was only for a secure foothold; he did not look
beyond, to the waves lapping the foot of the rock,
and the boat which seemed to grow smaller beneath
him, for he could run-no risk of giddiness at that
height. Cautiously he crept and climbed upward,
using c. cry ':rr, i,_-.i an-id i.dge within'his reach, now
resting an instant and then crawling on, almost, it
seemed, as a fly crawls up the surface of a wall.
All was going well. He was nearing the summit.
A moment more and the bold crag-climber would
be safe; but just then there came a scream and a
rush of wings. The cormorants and gulls had dis-
covered their enemy close at hand.
Luckily they were too late. Moriarty beat back
the first birds that swooped down upon him, then
lowering his head, dragged himself with a last effort
up to the edge, scrambled forward and threw him-
self on his face, safe!- the first man who had ever
reached the summit of the great Pierced Rock!
From below they saw the swoop of the birds, and
Moriarty raising himself over the edge of the rock,
with the cormorants gathering about him like a
swarm of bees. They knew that he was on the
rock, and a faint cheer floated upward, but they
knew, too, that angry sea-birds were foes not to
be despised. Over on a Buonaventure cliff the cor-
morants once picked out a man's eyes, and Moriarty

was now the center of a cloud of cormorants and
gulls. But he knew his danger and lay where he
had thrown himself, face downward, his arms
guarding his head. There was almost a roar from
the wings all about him. The screaming birds tore
at his clothing with beaks and claws.


He must have repented his rash invasion of their
homes. But as he continued to lie motionless the
sea-birds finally grew tired of attacking him, and
most of them sailed away over the water or back to
their nests. When he ventured to rise some of
them dashed at him again, but he struck right and
left with the oar and presently he was left, by right
of conquest, monarch of the Pierced Rock, a king-
dom more difficult to conquer than Robinson Cru-
soe's island, but not a very satisfactory place to live
on. For, suppose that he had found himself unable
to get down again; he might have lived for a time
on gulls' eggs and rain water and finally have per-
ished in plain sight of his home. But, like a wise
,general, Moriarty had provided a means of retreat.
The handle of the oar had been sharpened and
this he drove into a crack in the rock, clearing
away the dirt and making all secure by piling large
stones around the oar. Then, after a hard pull, he
hauled up the rope to which the line he had
brought up was fastened. Making the rope fast to
the oar, ascent and descent of the rock became
comparatively easy. Moriarty was followed by
Dugai, and others clambered up by the help of the
rope, until the cormorants and gulls hovering over
their nests saw that their lofty home was given over
to their natural enemies. Their nests had never
before been disturbed, but now the poor birds were
to be mercilessly plundered.
It was rather Moriarty's daring courage, an
ambition to "achieve the impossible" than any
hope of gain, that led him to climb the rock, but
the others were more practical. Theywere wretch-
edly poor, these fishermen, living on little beside
fish and coarse bread, and even the eggs of the
sea-fowl were valuable to them. So, after the rude
rope-ladder made the rock accessible for sure-footed



men, some of them visited it often, fought the birds
away from their nests, and gathered eggs in baskets,
which were carefully lowered. But the summit of
the rock was made useful in a stranger way. It be-

to the sandy beach that there was very little chance
for grass to grow. On the part of the rock where
therewereno nests, there was soil enough to support
a fine growth of grass; and if this was not needed for


- -

U ;

came a hay-field Think of hay-making on a rock bedding it could be sold for the horses owned by offi-
three hundred feet above the sea cers of the great fishing company who ruled the
On the shore the pine forests came so close down coast. After all, it was not so difficult as cutting



-~-- -=- ~=-----~--~-C--=f_~--, ~=3~


grass with sickles from the ledges of Swiss preci-
pices, while suspended by a rope. So, when the
grass was fully grown, there was the first hay-making
ever seen on the summit of the Pierced Rock. The
grass was tied up in bundles, or packed into baskets,
and lowered by ropes. And this curious hay-field
yielded over three tons, so that Moriarty's bold feat
was far from profitless.
But while Moriarty himself suffered no harm, his
example cost a life. For some time the fishermen
climbed the rock to cut grass or gather eggs, and
some of them forgot how dangerous 'it really was to
clamber three hundred feet up that steep side,
helped only by a rope. Many protested against

the risk and said that it ought not to be permitted,
but the rock-climbing went on until one day a
young fisherman lost his hold and fell. The plun-
dered sea-birds were at last avenged. Over his
body the assembled fishermen solemnly resolved
that the Pierced Rock should never be climbed
again, and from that day to this it has never been
This is the story that Moriarty's daughter, now
over eighty years of age, told me as I sat in her
quaint old house at Perc6, looking through tiny win-
dow panes at the Pierced Rock, where the cormo-
rants and gulls now make their nests undisturbed
by man.



" THOU shalt die," the priest said to the king.
" Thou shalt vanish like the leaves of spring.
Like the dust of any common thing
One day thou upon the winds shalt blow !"
" Nay, not so," the king said. I shall stay
While the great sun in the sky makes day;
Heaven and earth, when I do, pass away.
In my tomb I wait till all things go "

Then the king died. And with myrrh and nard,
Washed with palm-wine, swathed in linen hard,
Rolled in naphtha-gum, and under guard
Of his steadfast tomb, they laid the king.
Century fled to century; still he lay
Whole as when they hid him first away,-
Sooth, the priest had nothing more to say,
He, it seemed, the king, knew everything.

One day armies, with the tramp of doom,
Overthrew the huge blocks of the tomb;
Arrowy sunbeams searched its chambered gloom,
Bedouins camped about the sand-blown spot.
Little Arabs, answering to their name,
With a broken mummy fed the flame,
Then a wind among the ashes came,
Blew them lightly,-and the king was not!





THE Doctor had said, "Now, Mr. Rowland, I
will be frank with you. Unless you get away from
the city, and stay away, I will not answer for the
,consequences "
Of course there could be no hesitation after
that, and Mr. Rowland, Mrs. Rowland, and Teddy
packed up their little keepsakes, sold everything
-else, and transferred themselves to Bartonville.
Here the breadwinner of the family bought a
slender stock of goods and opened a small store.
You will see how I shall prosper," he said to
his wife. My city experience will give me a great
advantage over the other tradesmen. I shall be
more business-like, and if you and little Teddy
will only thrive as well as I shall make my trade
thrive, we will not regret the stifling city!"
So far as Mrs. Rowland was concerned, there
was nothing to complain about. After two months
in the new home, she had grown rosy and bright;
as rosy and pretty as Teddy himself; and he was
by far "the finest five-year-old in town,"-even
his father admitted it.
But, alas for the thriving trade. Mr. Rowland
had put all his money into the hoes and rakes,
axes and brooms, which stood looking so clean
and trim before the door. They stood bravely to
their posts, and equally faithful were.the rolls of
cloth and barrels and boxes on duty indoors. But
hardly a strange foot crossed the threshold to mar
the freshly sanded floor; only a few villagers from
curiosity strayed aimlessly in and out again, to
make their purchases elsewhere. Many, in wel-
coming the new-comer, had reminded him that
" competition was the life of trade," but he was
beginning to think, sadly enough, that it was also
the death of trade, in some cases at least. The
rent, the butcher, the baker, and candlestick-
maker, had taken the few dollars saved "to get a
good start." Mrs. Rowland had darned and criss-
crossed Teddy's red stockings into ridges and
lumps; she had turned and "fixed" her few
dresses until she felt that her worried little brain
needed turning and darning, too. But their money
was gone, and the thriving trade had not begun.
Mr. Rowland tried to be hopeful, but his set lips
grew into a grim hardness; and he talked less and
less of his prospects as the future became more

Teddy found no fault. He admired his well-
mended stockings, and pitied those who lacked
the picturesque variety of contrasted patches.
Soon after the sun was well above the hills,
Teddy's bread and milk made its daily visit to his
bowl, and Teddy never thought of asking awkward
questions in the case of either mystery.
One morning the discouraged store-keeper went
to the bank to draw out his last small balance.
"Going to close your account?" asked Mr.
Prentice, the president, who always was particular
to speak to his customers.
"For a time, only, I hope replied Mr. Row-
land bravely, counting the few small bits of paper
with thoughts far away from any consideration of
You must not withdraw your patronage," said
the smiling president, as he turned and walked
back into his cosy office.
Mr. Rowland was unusually silent during the
evening, and even forgot to tell Teddy his regular
story before putting him to bed. The little boy
noticed his father's depression, and kept very quiet.
When his mother began to look meaningly at the
clock, Teddy came and said good-night, and went
to bed without a word of objection.
"Poor boy He must be tired out," said Mrs.
Rowland, when she returned to the room. Then
she sat down to her stocking-basket.
But Teddy was not tired; he was thinking. He
was wondering what troubled his father. Teddy
did not mean to lie awake, much less to listen to the
conversation between his father and mother. The
aoor was ajar, and he could not help noticing that
the usual reading aloud was omitted; nor could he
fail to hear a word or two, now and then. What
.he heard convinced him that he was right in think-
ing his father out of sorts and worried, and also
made him sure that he knew what was the trouble.
He heard his father saying:
So you see, Anna, there 's no need for me to
go to the store. I might just as well be here with
you; at least I could be at work in the garden,
and then there would be something done toward
keeping the wolf from the door! "
Teddy heard no more, for he fell fast asleep.
But when he awoke next morning his mind was
made up, and soon after his plans were matured.


"Are you going to the store?" he asked his
father with some surprise, when the good-bye kiss
was given.
"Yes, Teddy; somebody may come in, and I
must be there," replied the father, as he trudged
slowly down the gravel walk.
Teddy watched him anxiously, and then turned
briskly toward the house. The first thing to do
was to get his bow-gun. He did not remember
where he had put it, but that did not disquiet
him -he would ask his mother.
Mamma, where is my gun ? asked Teddy in
perfect confidence.
Where did you leave it ? asked his mother,
a little absent-mindedly. Teddy leaned up against
the kitchen-table with one small finger in his
mouth and tried to think. But he had n't an idea.
At length Mrs. Rowland said:
"You were playing African hunter yesterday,
and borrowed your father's big boots. Go and
find the boots, and perhaps you may find the
gun, too."
Teddy climbed the attic stairs, two steps to each
stair, found the gun stowed away in one of the
boots, and was so impressed by his mother's sug-
gestion, that he almost resolved to consult so clever
a mother about the terrible wolf.
But Teddy was accustomed to rely upon him-
self, and had been so often told to try his own
powers before seeking help, that he concluded to
keep his own counsel. Now that he had the gun,
he sought the next thing needed for his plan.
This was something which had not occurred to
him until just as he was parting his hair that
morning, on the third trial, for Teddy liked "the
little paf to the top of the head" very straight
Mamma, can I go and get something from
Papa's workshop ?" he asked, when he came back
to the kitchen. I won't hurt myself a bit; and
I don't want to tell you what it is! "
"Yes, Teddy," said Mrs. Rowland, hardly no-
ticing the strange request,-she was thinking of
the wolf, too !
Away went the sturdy, small cross-bowman
through the thick grass, taking the shortest cut.
Presently he returned carrying with him a steel-
trap. After scouting a little, Teddy satisfied hini-
self that the coast was clear, and dragged the trap
around to the front door. He felt sure that this
must be the door his father meant, for it was
almost always closed and bolted. He placed the
trap cleverly enough before the door, but by a
trifling oversight forgot, or else did not know
enough, to set it. Then Teddy retired to an
arhbush behind a thick evergreen, strung his
cross-bow with a care which would not have been

discreditable to Denys himself, and awaited all
About half an hour afterward Mr. Prentice,
walking leisurely down to the bank, like a man
who could afford to take his time, caught sight of
a curly, golden head in Mr. Rowland's front-yard.
He stopped, for he was fond of Teddy and often
paused to say aword to him. Teddy thoughtMr.
Prentice the greatest man in the world next to
his own father. So, when the banker rubbed the
little curls with his gold-headed stick and said,
" Hullo, Curly-head Are you too proud to pass
the time of day with a friend this morning ? "
Teddy rose from behind the tree, tip-toed close to
the fence, and replied almost in a whisper,
" Dood-morning, Mr. Prentice. Please teep twiet,
and go 'way, please, as twick as you can "
Somewhat surprised and alarmed, the banker
asked, "Is your mother sick, Teddy ?"
No, sir. She 's well; but she 's afraid "
"Afraid? Afraid of what? Where is your
father? Anything wrong? Mr. Prentice was seri-
ously troubled. He had little children of his own,
and wild visions of contagious diseases, accidents,
and disasters were jumbled in his brain.
Papa's gone to the store. I dess he was afraid,
too," said Teddy, sagaciously.
What is it, Teddy ? said the banker, sternly.
It's a wolf," replied Teddy in a mere whisper,
looking uneasily around and wishing, for the first
time, that Mr. Prentice would stop talking to him
and not interfere with his plans.
"A wolf! said Mr. Prentice, first looking blank
and then laughing heartily. "Why, Teddy, you 're
a goose!' There are no wolves for hundreds of
miles around. Somebody has been making fun
of you."
"Yes, there are! There 's one wolf, anyway,"
said the boy, with a nod of wisdom.
"What makes you think so ? asked Mr. Pren-
tice, for he was one of those who think it not an
unwise precaution to find out what children mean
before laughing at them.
Teddy was pleased by the respectful tone, and
felt a wish to be polite in return. So, trusting that
the enemy would be kind enough to defer the
attack for a few moments, he told his grown-up
friend how he had heard "Papa tell Mamma that
he did n't know how he was going to teep that
wolf from coming in that door! "
And," continued Teddy, I got the wolf out of
my Noahs's Ark, so that I could tell him when he
came, and I got the twap out for him, and my gun.
Papa 's got to be down at the store, so 's if any-
body skouldcome there. And Mamma can't fight,
'cause she 's a girl, and there 's nobody home but
me- unless you '11 stay ?" Teddy glanced at the



kindly face above him, as if even his brave heart
would not disdain a companion in arms.
"My gun hurts, too he resumed, with pride
(for the banker had not said a word in reply).
" Want to see ? and he offered to demonstrate its
effectiveness against his friend's leg.
Mr. Prentice looked toward the door of the
house. There lay the trap half hidden under a
spray of evergreen. Then he picked up the brave
little huntsman and gave him a kiss, put him down
softly, and walked away without a word. His
hands were clasped behind him and he was think-
ing something about "-and thy neighbor as
Teddy went back to his post, but he was puzzled,
and his singleness of purpose was gone.

During the day, Mr. Prentice spoke to Mr. Dus-
tan, one of the directors of the bank.
"Seen what a nice new store it is,'that Mr.
Rowland has? He 's a new-comer. You ought
to give him a little of your custom now and then;
he's one of our depositors, you know, and one
good turn deserves another! Really, Dustan,
he 's got a nice family, and you 'd oblige me if
you could favor him with an order now and then."
Mr. Dustan said he would of course, he would.

Time he changed, anyway; the other tradesmen
were becoming careless, competition was a good
thing Then they talked of banking matters.
Mr. Prentice managed to say another word to
another friend that same afternoon; and to yet
another the next morning, and he did not forget
to take care that his suggestions should bear fruit.
The result was very bad for the wolf. Teddy
did n't see him. In fact, after dinner, Teddy for-
got all about the animal, for one of the older boys
came along and took the hunter out fishing.
Mr. Rowland was at first much surprised at the
sudden tide of custom and prosperity. Many
came, and finding the new man civil and oblig-
ing, accurate and punctual, they came again.
Some weeks later Mr. Rowland said to his wife,
with an air of some profundity:
"Anna, my dear, patience is sure to tell in the
long run I came very near to giving up in de-
spair; but, you see, the darkest hour was just be-
fore the dawn. There is nothing like a bold front,
to scare the wolf from the door "
Mrs. Rowland looked lovingly at her husband
and thought him a very clever man.
But Teddy was sleeping the sleep of the just,
and as for Mr. Prentice, he never told the story
of their little wolf-hunt.



Sk LONG the edge of the curving cove the small, blue skull-cap sits,
Where the gray beach-bird with happy cry in safety feeds and flits,
There spreads or shuts the pimpernel its drowsy buds to tell
When rain will come, or skies will clear, the pretty pimpernel!
The pink herb-robert all the day holds up its rosy flowers,
While high above with a purple plume the lofty thistle towers,
The golden potentilla blows, and the crowfoot laughs in the sun,
While over rock and bush and turf wild morning-glories run.
They look down o'er the tiny cove, out to the blue, blue sea,
Neighbors and friends, all beautifirl, a joyful company;
When the full tide comes brimming in, with soft and gentle rush,
It is as if the murmuring sound said to the silence, Hush "
All down the narrow beach the lilac mussel-shells are strown
Among the scattered pebbles and by the polished stone
Where the sea's hands have worn the ledge till smooth as ivory,-'
Oh, such a place on summer days to put your cheek, and lie
Listening to all the whispering waves that round the point go by !
For the sun has warmed the hard cold rock till it almost human seems,
And such a pillow as it makes for childhood's blissful dreams !



The little, glad, caressing waves They bring their treasures gay
To deck the lonely, quiet beach, nor fail day after day
To strew the slope with crimson dulse and olive sea-weed sprays,
And lace-like, empty urchin-shells, rough with their dull green rays;
The limpet's hollow, mottled house, small amber snail-shells bright,.
Broad brown and shining ruffled kelps, and cockles snowy white.
Oh, such a happy, happy nook! Were I to talk all day
Not half the joy of that sweet spot could I begin to say !
There 's such a spell of pure content about the peaceful place -
As if the old earth wore a smile upon her rugged face.
And all the charming band of flowers that watch the sea and sky,
They seem to know and love the -winds that gently pass them by,
They seem to feel the freshness of the waves at every tide
That sparkles in,- a gladsome flood,-from the wide waste outside.
The white sails go and come at will, the white gulls float in air,
The song-sparrow and sandpiper are flitting everywhere.
But the dark blue skull-cap never sighs to leave its pleasant home
With butterfly or thistledown or sandpiper to roam;
The pink herb-robert nestles close, content in sun or rain,
Nor envies the far sails that glide across the ocean plain;
The golden potentilla sees the dazzling gull on high,
Yet never does she wish for wings to join him in the sky.
For all these wise and lowly lives accord with God's intent,
Each takes its lot and bears its bloom as kindly Nature meant.
Whatever weather Fortune sends, they meet it patiently,
Each only striving its own way a perfect thing to be.
Oh, tell me, little children, have you on summer days
Heard what the winds are whispering and what the water says ?
The small birds' chirp, the cry of gulls, the crickets' quiet creak?
And have you seen the charming flowers that have no power to speak,-
The dear, sweet, humble little flowers that ever silently
Teach.such a lovely lesson, o'er and o'er, to you and me?
Go, seek them, if you know them not, when summer comes once more,
You '11 find in them a pleasure you never knew before.


V Co cetea

Dy Malcoln? pouIas,
A little rman's chief pleasure w.as m in going out to walK.
And to himself while on his way for hours he would talk
"T'or there's nothing I enjoy so r.uch,' h; friends he oft Would tell,
'As to li5Cen to a perSon. who convers5eS very well .
I.t5 perfectly altonjishing to 5ee the .won.drots. ease
Vji.th which I canr diS-courje or. arxy Subject that i please;
.And my views uponx all qu.e5tion5 are jo sensible indeed
That I never in the SHKhtest witk myself 'have diair-eecl.,
'There are' many who would lKe to hear me very much,I know',
And. Im Selfish to nonopoli3e ny. converfatiorx 0 ,
bu.t I grow So interested when. Ive anything to Say ,
That from myself I really can't tear myself awvay



ONE day I went up to see our neighbors the roar of which was always 4in 'our ears, forming an
bark-peelers. Our own camp was upon a flat, rocky undertone to all the notes of the birds, humming
place beside the most marvelously beautiful' of of insects, and whispering of the breezes among the
trout-brooks and in the heart of the Catskill Moun- forest branches. Across the fall lay two immense
tains. Just at camp there was a cataract, the musical bare trunks, forming a bridge, upon which, if we


V Co cetea

Dy Malcoln? pouIas,
A little rman's chief pleasure w.as m in going out to walK.
And to himself while on his way for hours he would talk
"T'or there's nothing I enjoy so r.uch,' h; friends he oft Would tell,
'As to li5Cen to a perSon. who convers5eS very well .
I.t5 perfectly altonjishing to 5ee the .won.drots. ease
Vji.th which I canr diS-courje or. arxy Subject that i please;
.And my views uponx all qu.e5tion5 are jo sensible indeed
That I never in the SHKhtest witk myself 'have diair-eecl.,
'There are' many who would lKe to hear me very much,I know',
And. Im Selfish to nonopoli3e ny. converfatiorx 0 ,
bu.t I grow So interested when. Ive anything to Say ,
That from myself I really can't tear myself awvay



ONE day I went up to see our neighbors the roar of which was always 4in 'our ears, forming an
bark-peelers. Our own camp was upon a flat, rocky undertone to all the notes of the birds, humming
place beside the most marvelously beautiful' of of insects, and whispering of the breezes among the
trout-brooks and in the heart of the Catskill Moun- forest branches. Across the fall lay two immense
tains. Just at camp there was a cataract, the musical bare trunks, forming a bridge, upon which, if we


used great care not to slip, we might cross to the
other side. We did so, however, very rarely, for
there was nothing there but a steep hillside densely
clothed with underbrush and a perfect tangle of
prostrate logs, among which stood a few tall hard-
wood trees and many saplings of second growth.
This state of things showed that ruthless axes had
been through those woods -for the same was true
all about the head-waters of the Rondout and
Esopus and Neversink; but it was noticeable that
those who swung the axe had cut only hemlocks,
and that all the fallen trunks were bare. This
stamped the ruin of the ancient, beautiful forest as
the work of the bark-peelers.
The use made of hemlock bark is to tan hides
into leather; hence it is known as tan-bark, and
when it has gone through the processes at the fac-
tory and has been deprived of its useful property
for that purpose, it is spread upon garden walks,
race-tracks, and the like, wherever a soft sur-
face is wanted. In this shape everyone is familiar
with it.
The hemlock is a tree which grows in damp and
rocky places at a little elevation above the sea. It
is an evergreen, as everybody knows, and has its
twigs and foliage arranged horizontally upon the
branches, so that the whole upper and under sur-
face of each branch is flat. Its longest limbs are
lowest down and there is a gradual decrease in
length toward the top, while all droop instead of
pointing upward, as in most trees. This gives a
conical and somewhat dark and sorrowful aspect
to the hemlock, very different, from the cheerful
appearance of the brighter-barked and more airy
On some mountains the hemlocks grow in groves
or copses by themselves, sometimes covering large
areas, with hardly any other varieties. These are
very somber woods, I assure you, but the most valu-
able. They are the ones beloved by animals in
winter, for underneath the drooping, sheltering
eaves of the great, low-limbed trees the wood-dwel-
lers find spaces into which the snow can hardly
penetrate, and so secure good housing from the
My way up to where the bark-peelers were at
work, however, lay through no such solid forest,
but by a rough old road along the tumbling
brook and upon the steep mountain side, through
green groves and thickets that kept out the sun and
kept in moisture for the nourishment of innumer-
able weeds, aromatic herbs, ferns, and late June
flowers. These old roads are only lanes, cleared
out enough to make a passable way down to civiliza-
tion. They go nowhere in particular, are only used
by the bark-cutters, by the lumbermen who drag
logs down to the mill, and by occasional picnickers,

like ourselves. So small is the amount of travel,
it does not pay to keep them in good order;
hence they are full of holes, big rocks, and bridges
to cross which would frighten any but a mount-
aineer, while it frequently happens that the first
party to pass in the spring has to chop through a.
dozen or so of trees that have fallen across the track.
But this loneliness makes these old secluded
wood-roads all the pleasanter as lounging places
in mid-summer. Along their edges grow many
more flowers than you can find in the'shady re-
cesses of the woods, and under your feet a firm turf
takes the place of sodden leaves. Overhead stands
a tall Gothic arch, where the tips of the branches
meet from both sides, yet no array of trunks ob-
structs the eye as you look ahead down a sun-
streaked path. Here the hemlocks had long ago
been culled out, and there remained chiefly the
strong beeches (which seem the most dignified
and substantial of forest trees), black, shining wild-
cherry trees, broad-reaching maples, lindens, and
various inconspicuous kinds, while,- wherever the
ground was low,-
Like beggared princes of the wood
In silver rags the birches stood."
These green aisles are a fine thing for the animals
of every sort which make these lofty mountains
their pleasant home. Here you may see the track
of the fox, and find the run-way of the wild mouse
or the minute footprint of the tiny shrew, and dis-
cover the porcupine searching by moonlight for his
supper of beetles or the juicy young of grasshoppers
and other insects. Butterflies are beguiled hither,
far from the hot outside clearings where they love
to play, and you will see more birds of every sort
in half an hour here, than half a day in the forest
could show you. The birds love these sunny open-
ings, both because they are warm and pleasant and
because here they find many times more small
insects and weed-seeds, upon which to feed, than
ever exist in the deep woods.
After tramping slowly a mile or so, along such
an old road, I came upon a little clearing and saw
a log house, with signs of inhabitants about it. I
went up to it and learned that it was where the
bark-peelers stayed at night. One of them had
brought his wife and children here, and the family
kept house for the rest, sixteen in all.
This log house was an old affair and a large one.
It was about six logs high, above which was a roof
of slabs, very good in dry weather, but not of.much
account on a wet night. There was a low door and
only one window, so that at first the inside seemed
to me as dark as a cave. There was no floor but
hard-tramped earth, and benches were used to sit
on. Upon the first floor were the primitive accom-



modations for the family that kept house for the
lumbermen. The man, his wife, and their four
children occupied all this part of the house at
night. Overhead was a loft, covering the most of
the room below, and reached by a ladder. Here
the men slept upon pallets of straw spread on the
slab floor.
This was the way the party lived, and as they
were not soft-handed nor afraid to rough it, it was
a sufficiently comfortable way during the summer
days that they worked in the woods. The woman,
however, thought she should be glad when she
could go back to her pleasant home in the valley,
and cook for a less numerous family.
The men were at work some distance up the side
of the mountain, which was a spur of great Peaka-
moose, and I was guided up by a man who was tak-
ing them some addition to their dinners. The road
ceased altogether, soon after we left the shanty, and
it was not long before even the path disappeared,
so that we had to force our way through the thick
woods up the steep slope, guided only by the
sounds of chopping and the crash of falling trees
which came to our ears.
Most of the men were young fellows, with tall,
strong, active frames and frank, honest faces. One
or two of them wore red flannel shirts which looked
very picturesque among the green trees, and all
of them made so merry over their hard work
that the felling of huge trees and lopping of stout
branches seemed rather play than labor.
When bark-peelers go into the woods, they di-
vide themselves into parties of four or five who
work together. Each one of these parties con-
tains choppers, fixers, and shudders.
The beginning of operations belongs to the
first class. The chopper chooses the first good-
sized hemlock that is seen, and it is attacked near
the root with sharp and skillful axe until it tum-
bles headlong in just the desired direction. The
fall of one of these trees, especially if it be a large
one, is an impressive sight. The chopper cuts a
broad opening on one side fully half through
the great trunk, yet the tree stands firm and pays
no attention to the blows, nor to the heavy chips
that continually fly away from its dark, red heart-
wood. Then the chopper goes around on the
other side, and cuts a new gash, a little lower than
the first one, since he intends the tree to fall to that
side. Here, too, he cuts deep in before there are
any signs of conquest. As the axe begins to touch
the center, however, the topmost limbs are seen
to tremble, then to sway, and a cracking sound
follows the repeated blows which.warn the poor tree
that its time has come. Then there is a tottering,
a little leaning toward the weaker side, which has
the lower cut, and the woodman, keeping his eye

upward and his feet ready to jump, hurls one last
powerful stroke into the overstrained fibers. They
fly apart with a loud noise, the great crown bows
toward the earth, gains swifter motion as it de-
scends, and comes crashing down upon the weak
and resistless brushwood with a noise like the
muffled roar of a whole battery and a force which
shakes the earth.
Now comes the work of the "fixers." They
leap upon the butt of the fallen giant, and, striking
at the lowest limbs, first cut off every branch until
all are lopped away to where the trunk grows
too narrow to.be worth trimming. As fast as a
little space of the trunk is cleared, one of the men
cuts a notch through the bark and around the
trunk-" rings it, as he would say. Four feet
further on he cuts another ring, and then slits the
bark lengthwise from one ring to the other, on
three or four sides of the tree. This goes on every
four feet, as fast as the tree is trimmed, until the
whole length has been thus "fixed."
Last of all comes the "spudder," whose duty it
is to pry off the great flakes of bark which have
been notched and split for him. He takes his
name from the tool he uses, which is a sort of small,
heavy, sharp-edged spade, with a short handle;
perhaps to call it a round-bladed chisel would de-
scribe it more nearly. To pry off the bark in this
way seems very easy, but they told me it was the
hardest work of all, and that it required considera-
ble skill to do it properly.
When the bark has been removed it must be made
up into regular piles so as to be measured, for it is
estimated and sold by the cord. This is hard work,
for the green and juicy bark is very heavy and.
rough to handle. Sometimes a tree will be found
so large as to furnish a cord, or even more, alone;
but the average rate of yield is much less, so that
experts calculate that four trees must be cut down
to obtain a cord of bark.
It is only when the new wood is forming just
underneath, and the cells are soft and full of sap,
that the bark can be stripped from the log in large
pieces. Peeling, therefore, can be carried on only
during May and June. The cords of bark piled
then are left to dry all the summer and fall, and
are hauled out in winter by ox-teams with sleds,
when the deep snow makes a smooth track over
even so terribly rough a road as the one I have
The bark-peelers were a very jolly lot of fellows,
singing and joking as they worked, and at dinner
there was one incessant rattle of stories and fun.
They work hard, eat heartily, go to bed as soon as
it is dark, and rise at dawn. -
It is interesting work-but it leaves a ruined
forest behind !



IN June, when skies are soft and blue,
I And, somehow, seem to smile like Mother,
In morning fields that flash with dew
The clovers laugh to one another.

The rosy faces dip and rise,
As if the breeze said something funny;
Or maybe 't was'the bee, that flies
From head to head, to gather honey.

Or, if he has n't time to joke,
Perhaps it was the cat-bird's chatter,-
That noisy rogue in sober cloak.
You merry Clovers, what's the matter?

You shake and shake about my feet,
And still on every side I meet you.
What makes you laugh ? You know you're sweet-
You 'd better tell, or else I'11 eat you!

The open secret 's this: (the breeze,
The bird, the bee, that surly hummer,
All know it, dear !) we 're laughing, please,
To think it's really, really summer "
VOL. XVI.-38. 593


Se OF all the things
which made her poor
S little life miserable,
and there were plenty
of them, Tilly Ann
disliked worst --ex-
cepting Miss Pin-
s chimp, of course; always
I excepting Miss Pinchimp--
S the india-rubber tree. The india-rub-
ber tree was Miss Pinchimp's dearest treasure,
which perhaps was reason enough why Tilly Ann
should not be fond of it; and so great was Miss
Pinchimp's pride in the plant that she was con-
stantly having its leaves washed. Whenever Tilly
Ann was not washing dishes, or picking up chips
in the back yard, or weeding in the garden, or sew-
ing together the edges of an old sheet that had
been ripped down the middle to bring the worn
part to the edges, or doing some other chore of a
like nature, she was set to wash the leaves of the
india-rubber tree.
The india-rubber tree was five feet tall, to begin
with, aside from the tub in which it grew, and to
give it a more imposing appearance this tub was
mounted upon a stool, so that when the plant was
to have its bath Tilly Ann was obliged to begin
operations by bringing in a wooden chair from the
kitchen, on which to stand while she cleaned the
great shiny leaves. Then she would wash away with
patient care every stray speck of dust, for well did
she know how narrowly Miss Pinchimp would exam-
ine to see whether the work were done thoroughly.
And Tilly Ann's chief treasure was a large clasp-
pin. It was a little bent, and the silver wash was
almost entirely worn away, but it was absolutely
necessary for the kilting up of the childish petti-
coats of Tilly Ann when she indulged in those
gymnastics which were her only recreation, and
which commanded the wondering admiration of all
the village children, on those rare occasions when
the strange little maid could escape from the eyes

of her mistress and give an impromptu exhibition
of her talents.
For Tilly Ann was, by birth, a little acrobat. Her
parents had been professionals who had come to
Topton with a circus, and been unable to go on
because the mother was ill unto death. The father
and little Tilly Ann, a thin, half-starved morsel of
five, had watched beside the death-bed, and then,
just as they turned from the grave of the wife and
mother to go forward to the town where the
circus was exhibiting, the father fell down in a
fit, and in two days more Tilly Ann was doubly
The poor little mite was prematurely old, and
of a certain uncanny wisdom in many matters.
She had lived all her life in the atmosphere of the
circus, and in many of the acrobatic tricks which
her father and mother performed she had learned
to take a part. It was often little more than being
thrown from one to the other in a way which really
was not at all dangerous, but which looked so; or
than standing on the head of one or the other of
them. But already Tilly Ann had figured in the
bills as Mlle. Petite; and she was not without a
pretty clear idea of what that meant, too. After
her father's death, she had but one thought, and
that was to get back to the circus again. There
people had been kind to her, her father and
mother had praised her, and the applause of the
public had already touched her little head with its
dangerous delight.
When she was sent first to the poor-farm, and
then to the far less kindly dwelling of Miss Pin-
chimp, Tilly Ann's stout little heart was very
nearly broken; and when, after three separate
attempts to run away, she had been captured and
brought back, the child must have fallen into utter
despair had it not been for the secretly cherished
hope that some day the same old circus would
appear in Topton and take her away from all this
hateful life. To this hope she clung, and mean-
while she improved every possible opportunity to


practice the gymnastics she had been taught, or
which she remembered having seen her father and
others do. The fence of the back yard was high,
and a convenient row of tall lilacs cut off the view
from the back windows, and on the turf of the back
yard did Tilly Ann, her scant petticoats kilted up
with the invaluable safety-pin, turn and tumble in
a way that would have made Miss Pinchimp rigid
with horror had she witnessed the spectacle.
For Miss Eliza Pinchimp was nothing if not
proper. She was a large body, and might there-
from have been expected to be good natured,
whereas the truth seemed to be that there was only
so much the more of her to be disagreeable. A big
bowl of milk makes much more bonny-clabber than
a wee pitcher full, and it may have been on this
principle that Miss Pinchimp was the most com-
pletely cross and unpleasant person in the whole
One July morning Tilly Ann was, as usual, wash-
ing the india-rubber tree, but anybody who looked
at her could see that her whole small person was
fairly quivering with excitement. She craned her
neck toward the window through which from afar
came the sound of a band and a confused buzz as
of the distant voices of small boys, all of which an-
nounced that the circus was coming to Topton.
At any time this would have filled the soul of Tilly
Ann with wildest emotion, but to-day she had
especial cause for excitement. On one of the big,
flaming posters with which the whole neighborhood
had been decorated for a fortnight, Tilly Ann had
seen a name she knew. It was Signor Bernassio,
advertised as the world renowned and unparalleled
juggler and knife-thrower," and Tilly Ann remem-
bered Signor Bernassio perfectly. His real name
was Tim Bernaise, and he had been a warm friend
of the father and mother of the poor little waif
stranded in unfriendly Topton, and doomed to the
continual washing of the leaves of Miss Pinchimp's
india-rubber tree.
From the moment she saw this name, the mind
of Tilly'Ann had been in a ferment. She felt, with
a quivering excitement, that the time for escape
had come at last. How she was to get away she
had no idea, but get away she must; and this
morning, while she scrubbed away at the big leaves
with unconscious vigor, her shrewd little head was
full of wild plans that became more and more im-
possible as the sound of the far-off band increased
her excitement. How the old days came back to
Tilly Ann as she stood there, and how delightful
did the past seem in contrast with the present.
She leaned so far forward in her excitement, that at
last the wooden chair on which she stood gave a
sudden lurch, and Tilly Ann saved herself.from a
bad tumble only by jumping nimbly to the floor.

She saved herself and she even kept almost all
the water in the basin from spilling; but, alas and
alack! one of the stiff, shiny leaves of the india-
rubber tree was broken short off in the middle.
Tilly Ann stared at the broken leaf, with her mouth
6pen and a dreadful feeling that the only hope for
her must now be that the earth would open and
swallow her. She knew Miss Pinchimp's affection
for the plant, and she knew but too well Miss Pin-
chimp's temper and the weight of Miss Pinchimp's
hand. Necessity and abuse had sharpened her
shrewd little wits, and with the awful vision of one
of her mistress's floggings before her eyes, Tilly
Ann's small but keen brain was not long in devising
a means of escaping at least present detection.
With a long pin stuck through the rib of the leaf,
she very cleverly fastened the broken piece in its
place, and then turned the tub around so that the
mended part of the plant came against the folds
of the lace window-curtain.
Tilly Ann had scarcely accomplished this in-
genious deception when she heard the approach-
ing steps of Miss Pinchimp, and while her guilty
little heart trembled with fear, that lady's big per-
son appeared in the doorway.
"Well," Miss Pinchimp said, in a voice that
showed that her temper, never very sweet, was
unusually acid that morning, "I hope you have
been long enough about washing the india-rubber
"It is all done now, ma'am," Tilly Ann answered
Miss Pinchimp sailed across the room and ex-
amined the plant critically.
"You've made all the leaves streaked," she
said. "What have you turned it round for?
You "
The words died on her lip. Her mistress had
moved the india-rubber tree half-way about, when
the mended leaf caught in the lace curtain and the
broken portion turned, as on a pivot, on the pin
with which it was fastened. Tilly Ann waited to
see no more. She dashed out of the room and
fled to her usual refuge, the roof of the shed,
while Miss Pinchimp, fat and scant of breath,
vainly tried to catch her before she could attain
to that safe, but rather dangerous, elevation.
The roof of the shed was Tilly Ann's City of
Refuge. Here she could look down in scornful
triumph upon her enemy, who sometimes skir-
mished about with a long bean-pole, vainly en-
deavoring, as Tilly Ann expressed it, to whack
the legs off of me," but who had learned from
experience that, on the whole, the wisest plan was
to wait until the fugitive came down, and then to
pounce upon her.
For the unfortunate part of it was, that Tilly


Ann had to come.down. She often wished, with
all the passionate despair of eight years, that she
were a bird, that she might take flight from the roof
into the homeless freedom of the air, and she
even had seasons of thinking that she would find
consolation in being one of the cats who went so
lightly from roof to roof and defied all attempts at
capture. The race of Miss Pinchimp and Tilly
Ann was not a dignified one, but it was funny,
had there been anybody to see the droll side of it.
Miss Pinchimp, however, was too angry and Tilly

was perched, and then she turned toward Miss
Eliza, who, seated on an inverted tub in the yard
below, was recovering her breath.
And enough sight better off would I 'a' been
in the poor-house," said Tilly Ann, boldly, "than
I've ever been with you! You've beat me and
starved me, and never done nothing' decent for me;
and now I 've stood it just as long as I could, and
I'm goin' off."
"Going off!" echoed Miss Pinchimp, com-
pletely taken aback by the boldness of this address



Ann too frightened to look upon it lightly. The
child scrambled up over the hen-house like a squir-
rel and gained the temporary safety of the wood-
shed roof, while her mistress, hot and breathless,
stood below and shook her fist wrathfully.
I'11 settle with you, when you come down from
there," panted Miss Pinchimp. "This is what I
get for saving you from the poor-house and being
kind to you, you lazy circus imp "
Now, in all the unhappy years poor Tilly Ann
had lived with Miss Pinchimp she had never been
impudent; she had received in silence whatever
her mistress had chosen to say; but this taunt at
her origin was too much even for her patience.
She looked over to the gay flags fluttering from
the tents, in full sight from the roof where she

" Oh, you think you're going back to the circus,
do you? I knew you'd be up to that sooner or
later. You just try it, and I 'll send Cy Cates after
you; and he 's a constable, I'd have you to know."
Secretly, Tilly Ann was decidedly impressed by
this threat, but the safety of the shed roof and the
absence of any sign of the appearance of Cy Cates
gave her courage to hide her fear.
"Oh, I ain't scared," she called down.
Then, from sheer recklessness and the excitement
of having at last defied her mistress, she began to
sing shrilly a saucy rhyme thht the village children,
who bore Miss Pinchimp no good will, were in the
habit of singing for the benefit of Tilly Ann.
It would be hard to find any excuse for poor
Tilly Ann, as she sat on the roof of the shed fling-



ing this wretched doggerel .down at Miss Pin-
chimp, except that she had had little opportunity
to learn any better. By a strange chance, the
one person in all Topton who had tried to teach
the child what was right and who had been kind
to her, appeared on the scene at this moment. It
was Miss Rose May, Tilly Ann's Sunday-school
teacher, who, finding the house door open and
nobody in sight, had walked in after the friendly
fashion of country folk, and who had been led by
the sound of Tilly Ann's shrill singing to the back
door, which opened into the yard where sat Miss
Pinchimp on the inverted tub, red with wrath and
her exertions in the race.
Tilly Ann almost fdll off the roof when she saw
Miss Rose, but her attention was quickly diverted.
Miss Pinchimp attempted to start up from her
seat, when suddenly the bottom of the tub on
which she was sitting gave way, and with a crash
and a scream she fell back into the middle of the
hoops and staves, where she was imprisoned help-
lessly. The child on the roof sent up a shriek of
laughter, while Miss Rose ran forward to help the
struggling prisoner.
"Tilly Ann," Miss Rose said, "stop laughing -
and come and help me."
"I darsn't," Tilly Ann answered. "She'll
beat me if she catches hold o' me."
"No, she won't," Miss Rose returned. "I '11
see to that. Come here quickly."
Tilly Ann scrambled down from her lofty perch,
and came to the assistance of her teacher; but so
firmly was Miss Pinchimp imprisoned in the tub
that they had to break the hoops before she could
be released. She glared at Tilly Ann with a look
that meant, Wait till I get you alone but she
said not a word, marching in silence into the
Rose lingered a moment.
Oh, Tilly Ann she said sorrowfully, how
could you do so ? "
She was going to lick me," Tilly Ann answered,
defensively. She 's always beating' me and I
ain't goin' to stand it no longer."
Rose sighed, but she evidently thought that it
was of no use to say more at this moment; so she
turned and followed Miss Pinchimp into the house,
there to be entertained with a lively account of the
child's wickedness and unmanageableness.
Left to herself, Tilly Ann's first feeling was one
of sorrow and shame that her teacher had seen
her naughtiness; then she burst into a laugh at
the remembrance of Miss Pinchimp's struggle in
the tub; then, with a sudden light, it flashed upon
her that here was her chance of escape. Her mis-
tress was engaged with Miss May, and here was
the tent of Signor Bernassio hardly a stone's throw

away. She struck her worn little hands together,
and then ran swiftly up to the attic where she slept.
She had a few relics of her father and mother,
which she had kept hidden ever since she came
into Miss Pinchimp's power, and with these done
up in a small bundle,.she was soon speeding over
the fields to the circus tents. Signor Bernassio
was just finishing the unpacking of his belongings
and getting them ready for the afternoon's per-
formance when the canvas of his tent was lifted,
and a child's head appeared between the ground
and the cloth. The shoulders followed, and then
the hands and arms. Having wriggled herself
in thus far, Tilly Ann paused and looked at him.
Hullo !" said the sword-thrower, "who are
you ?"
"I 'm Tilly Ann, 'Nimble Dick's' little girl-
'Mlle. Petite.'"
The sword-thrower stared at her in amazement.
Then he took her by the shoulders and dragged
her into the tent.
"Where in the world did you come from?
Where is your father ? "he asked.
Dead," Tilly Ann answered, tears of grief and
excitement springing to her eyes, and Mother's
dead, and I wish I was dead, too."
Signor Bernassio examined her with curious
Well," he said at length, you don't look as
if you'd been where they lived very high. Sit
down here and tell me about things."
And so Tilly Ann told him her whole story from
beginning to end. He laughed boisterously at her
account of the events of the morning, but he said
some extremely sharp words under his breath at
other parts of the story. In his way the knife-
thrower hadbeen very fond of Nimble Dick, and he
was ready enough to do a good turn to Nimble
Dick's daughter, especially as it happened to suit
his own convenience just then.
Well, Tilly Ann," he said, when her story was
told, "you're all right now. I'll take care of
you! "
Oh, thank you," she cried joyfully. I '11 do
anything you want, and work for you all the time,
if I need n't go back."
"Now, look here, little one," the knife-thrower
went on, after a little more talk in which Tilly Ann
had declared her intention of joining the circus once
more, and taking up again her old life in the saw-
dust ring, "if you've got the pluck there's no
reason why you should n't begin to-day. The girl
that performs with me is sick, and I must have
somebody to take her place. Do you think you'd
have the grit to stand still and let me throw knives
at you?"
"Oh, yes !" Tilly Ann cried, joyfully. "I've


seen you do it lots of times, and I know that you
would n't hurt anybody for the world."
"That's so," the Signor returned, approvingly.
" You 're your father's own girl; and I would n't
hurt Nimble Dick's girl, least of all."
"Oh, I'11 do it," Tilly Ann went on, clasping
her hands in delight. Shall I have a velvet
dress with spangles on it? "
You shall that," was the hearty response; "but
mind, you need n't do it if you don't want to,
and it's no use trying it if you'd be scared and
can't keep as still as a graven image."

softly as he placed her with her -back against the
board into which the knives were to be thrown.
"Now hold hard. I know my business, and you
are as safe as if you were in your own bed."
Tilly Ann answered him with a happy and fear-
less smile. The excitement of it all, the joy of hav-
ing escaped from Miss Pinchimp, and the gladness
at getting back to the life of which she had dreamed
and of which she had never seen the hard and cruel
side, filled her with delight too great for words.
Swish! went the first knife from the careful
and skillful hands of Signor Bernassio. It stuck

_. *~r til!P


But Tilly Ann was not frightened and she was
sure she could keep still. The dress of the sick
girl was tried, and with a very little changing fitted
Tilly Ann as if it had been made for her. They
had a little rehearsal beforehand, at which Signor
Bernassio assured Tilly Ann she behaved like a
real trump; and that very afternoon, before the
eyes of all Topton, Tilly Ann danced into the ring
in all the glory of a pink dress, a jacket of cheap
red velvet, much bespangled, and a proud con-
sciousness of her position in which the greatest
actress had never excelled her.
At first she had only to hand Signor Bernassio
the things he needed, and with the help of careful
instructions beforehand, a hint now and then from
the juggler, and her natural quickness she went
-through without a single mistake.
Well done, little chicken," the Signor said

quivering into the board just at the end of one of
Tilly Ann's fingers. She smiled at the thrower to
show him that she did not mind, and stood as
motionless asif she hadbeen carved in wood. Swish!
Swish! went two more in quick succession, and
the thrower nodded to show that he felt sure she
would do her part perfectly. Swish! Swish!
Swish the knives flashed toward her in a perfect
shower, until they stood between her fingers,
marked the width of her little thin body, and
hedged her all about with their bright blades.
Swish Swish! until only her head and neck were
free, and still Tilly Ann's eyes were as bright and
fearless as ever, and not a nerve 'of her plucky lit-
tle self knew a single quiver of fear.
Steady "'she heard the Signor say under his
breath, and then with a Swish! that seemed a
hundred times louder than all the rest, a knife



landed so near her ear that, as it quivered, she felt
the touch of its cold steel. She pressed her lips
together, but she did not waver, and before she
had time to think she felt the jar of the knife which
struck the board beside her other ear.
Thus far she had kept her eyes fixed on Signor
Bernassio, but now by some unaccountable and
unhappy impulse she was moved to glance,away
from him. Perhaps it was that the knives in
their flight toward her head now seemed as if they
were coming straight into her face. Just across the
ring, not sitting in the seats like the others, but
standing by the rope, she saw the town constable,
Cy Cates. The threat of Miss Pinchimp, to send
the constable after her if she ran away, rushed upon
poor Tilly Ann. She forgot the knives, forgot
everything but a desire to hide, and she turned
her head.
Swish! She heard the knife coming as shestarted,
and with a horrible shock of despair she realized
all. But she shut her eyes quickly and with an
effort of the will, wonderful in a mere child, she
held herself still. She felt a stinging scratch on,
her forehead and the spurt of warm blood. A cry
went up from the people, and Signor Bernassio
sprang forward.
He has killed her somebody shouted; and
the men started up from their seats.
Then it was that the real greatness of the forlorn
little waif showed itself, and that for a moment Tilly
Ann was heroic. She forgot herself, forgot her
fright, her wound, and thought only that Signor
Bernassio would be blamed for her fault. Like a
flash, a sense of having brought harm to her father's
old friend who was kind to her came into her mind.
I 'm not hurt," she cried out at the top of her
voice. "It was my own fault. Throw the rest,
please. I won't go back to Miss Pinchimp's."
The shrill tones, heightened by her anxiety to
make everybody hear, rang through the tent above
the growing noise. There was a hushed instant
in which people took in the meaning of what she
said, and then a roar of applause went up such as
never before nor since shook a circus-tent in Top-
ton. Signor Bernassio, with tears in his eyes, was
hastily pulling out the knives that surrounded her,
and then and there, before them all, he bent over
and kissed her.
You are a trump," he said, in a voice somehow
strange and hoarse. "You are your father's own
And once more the applause was so deafening
that for the first time in her life Tilly Ann blushed
hotly, although she could n't for her life have told
why she did so.
Of course there was no more knife-throwing
that afternoon; but before nightfall everybody in


Topton, even to Miss Pinchimp herself, had heard
the whole story. Tilly Ann became a heroine in
an hour, and before it was time for the evening
performance to begin, a pretty little basket-phaeton
came driving down into the field where the circus-
tents were pitched, and there was Rose May to see
Tilly Ann. -
Tilly Ann came across the dimly-lighted tent to
meet her with the feeling that it was a great while
since she had seen Rose that morning. She was
silent while Rose took her by the hands and kissed
her, and then, as Miss May softly laid the tip of her
gloved finger on the strip of plaster that covered
the hurt on her forehead, Tilly Ann, overcome
by the excitement of the day and by this tender-
ness, broke into a sob which, with a strong effort,
she strangled in its birth.
I won't go back to Miss Pinchimp," she said.
"No," Rose said. "But will you go back to me ?"
For Rose had had a conversation with her father,
and then she had stopped on her way to the circus
to speak a moment with Miss Pinchimp, whom
she had found fairly quivering with rage and excite-
Think what an awful thing for a child to do,"
Miss Pinchimp had said, "to stand there, in that
shameless way, to have knives thrown at her And
to call out my name in a circus tent, after all I have
done for her. She shall never darken my doors
again "
"Very well, then, Miss Pinchimp," Miss May
had answered, of course you have no objection
to my taking her home."
"Goodness, no the other had retorted. If
you will have the abandoned little wretch you
are welcome to her."
At first, even the prospect of livingwith Miss Rose
was hardly sufficient to make Tilly Ann willing to
give up her cherished plan of going with the circus;
but when Signor Bernassio added his voice, she was
in the end persuaded.
It 's much the best, little one," he said,
"though it ain't often I see a girl so plucky as
you, and you 'd make your way; but with all I've
seen of the life, it would n't be doing the square
thing by Nimble Dick, if I was to tell his girl any-
thing but to keep out of it. You ain't seen the
rough side of it, but you would soon enough; and
I tell you to stay with the lady, much as I hate to
give you up."
And so at last Tilly Ann yielded, and from
that day she began a new life, happy and well
cared for;- although to the end of her life Miss
Pinchimp, whenever she tan find anybody to
listen, will delight in painting in blackest colors
what she always speaks of as "the awful thing
that Tilly Ann did."

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No, not Chinese -not Japanese not Burmese,
nor Fiji, nor Crim-Tartar, nor Malagasy. Just
plain American. Of course that was not her bap-
tismal na.mq. She came by it in a very odd way.
When her attention was first called to the art of
rhyming, she was deeply interested in it, and, like
everybody else, thought she would like to do it her-
self. After thinking about it for a while, she said:
"Papa, is to-bo a rhyme ? Being answered that
it was, and assured that it was a perfect one in
every respect, she seemed satisfied that she had
now provided herself with every requisite for
poetry. Thereafter she would tell a long story,
all in plain prose, and suddenly end it by saying,
"To-bo She thought that this conclusion, by
some mysterious reflex influence, cast a glamour of
poesy and the music of rhyme over the entire pro-
duction. Fairy story, wild-beast story, domestic
story no matter what To-bo for an ending
turned it all into rhyme.
However, she had a good ear for rhythm, as
was manifested very early. She was scarcely three
years old when, being pleased- as children are
wont to be with the squeak of her new shoes as
she walked on the tiling of the front hall, she ex-
pressed her delight to her mother in these words,
" My feet made music in the marble hall," which
is a rhythmically perfect heroic line.
After she had learned to write, being no longer
dependent on a private secretary, her muse became
more prolific. Here is a moral reflection that she
scrawled on the back of a manuscript. I give it
Lifes everlastin trubbels lead to though that
takes hour atenshon to its self."
I suppose when she uttered that note she had
about as much of the solid specie of thought be-
hind it as proverbial philosophers usually have.
Here is a complete poem, on the birds in spring:

"Now it is spring!
Do you hear the birds sing,
And see them fly
Up in the sky ?

"Now it is spring!
The birds on the wing
From the south take their flight.
Ah, beautiful sight I

"Now it is spring!
To think they should know
Just when they should go,
Live happy and sing! "
Her early poems, like those of some famous
writers, .include many that have simply a girl's
name for title. One of these, which describes a
character called Madie, has a refrain, "Ever she."
Here is a single'stanza:
"Madie always thought life lovely,
For she lived in tranquil trouble -
Ever she."

She had a passion for accuracy, and when she
could not command the expression for an idea,
would quickly make one. Thus she was overheard
one day saying to a little playmate who had put
a sand-pie into the oven and instantly-taken it out
again, declaring it was done, "You can't do it so.
It could n't bake in just a now." And once when
she was out riding with her parents, and for the
first time saw a beautiful green hedge, she pointed
toward it with her chubby finger and inquired,
"Papa, in place of a fence, what? "
She spent a summer in the country with a family
that had three dogs in which she was very much
interested. One daywhen one of the dogswas amus--.
ing itself by turning over and tossing up a box-tur-
tle, she ran around to the kitchen and got a bone.
This-she threw to the dog, and -as soon as he was
engaged with that, she snatched up the turtle and
ran into the house. She explained that she knew
the dog could not injure the turtle, but she should
think it would hurt the turtle's feelings to be
tossed around in that way."
Her-father used to say to her, as an inducement
to good behavior, "If you are a good girl all this
month, I will let you be so many years old on your
next birthday." This was a very solemn consid-
eration, and always had an immediate effect, till
one day she answered, as a light suddenly burst
upon her, Why, Papa, you can't stop me from
being four years old in January You can't make
me four years old, and you cant stop me She
used to imagine not only that she must grow-older,
but that her mother must grow younger, and
would say confidentially, Mamma, when I grow
big and you grow little, we '11 do thus and so.


Like all children, she was fond of drawing pic-
tures, and she seldom made one without some sort
of story attached to it. Here is one:

a -


This is her explanation of it (I put on the let-
ters to make it intelligible) : This a door. This,
[a] is a pretend keyhole; and this, [b] is the truly
keyhole. When the burglars come, they are fool-
ing around the pretend keyhole, -and can't get in,
and allthe while the people inside are lying awake
and laughing at them. These [c] are the airs
those people put on because they had that kind
of door."
Here is a picture that tells its own story:


She had a penchant for definitions, and occa-
sionally made a good one. Being asked what she
understood by politeness," she answered, I
suppose it means to be good and graceful." After-
ward, when the family removed to a house that
stood at the top of a hill on a great turnpike, where
there was much heavy teaming, she said, I do
like to live here; everybody is so polite. Even
the horses bow to me as they come up the hill."
This idea of politeness appeared to be coupled

with a natural sense of hospitality. Once when
preparing for Santa Claus, she said,, I should
think he must be tired, going so far and climbing
up and down so many chimneys. I will set a chair
for him by the stockings, so that he can rest." On
further reflection, she said he might be hungry
also. That day some crackers in the form of let-
.ters had been given her, and selecting those that
would spell SANTA CLAUS, she placed them
where he could see they were intended for him.
Great was the delight of little To-bo in the morn-
ing on finding that about half of them were miss-
ing. Of course Santa Claus had eaten them; the
crumbs on the carpet proved it. That Christmas
Eve she was asked, Suppose that Santa Claus
should forget to come here, and you should not
get any of the things that you have been wishing
for, what would you do?" Why, then," said
she, I 'll just settle down and be happy with
what I have." One other instance of her sense of
politeness is amusing. Her parents were about to
embark for Europe, and her aunt, in closing the
last letter they would receive before sailing, asked
what she should tell them for To-bo. Tell them,
my love. And tell them, when they bring the
Paris dolly I shall thank them very much. And
tell them: my dear friends, good-bye!" A year
later she was not so complacent about ventures
on the water, for she had begun to listen to the
reading of newspapers,.and was interested in tales
of shipwrecks. Going on board a steamer for a
short trip, she was anxious to know what were the
relative chances of sinking and of being carried in
safety, and asked, "Papa, which is the most, the
times that we stay up, or the times we go down?"
She soon got the better of her fears, however, and
on being taken to the engine-room became very
much interested in the machinery. Said she, "It
is like the roaring of many bears."
She was not always fortunate in her use of large
words. One day, discussing names, she said: I
think it is too bad that little children have to have
names they don't like, and can't ever get rid of
them. If I had a little girl, I 'd just give her some
name like Permanent Sarah, till she was old
enough to choose her own name." She meant,
Temporary Sarah.
Her first dim conception of the possibility of a
pun showed itself one day when she heard the
cook ordered to prepare some cocoa for breakfast.
"The c-o-o-k will make the c-o-k-o-those are
the same word." After the nature of a pun had
been explained to her, she used to give out words
for punning, as they are given out for spelling.
"Papa, make a pun on a hotel" which word she
always pronounced hotelel" "Mamma, make a
pun on a thunder-storm," and so on. She was not



wanting, however, in ideas more essentially witty.
Once when she sat in the barber's chair, he kept
saying, while he was cutting her bang, "Now
keep your eyes shut, Miss." "Be sure to keep
your eyes shut." After a time, the scissors were
at work on the hair at the side, when she remarked
with much gravity, "Now, I suppose, I ought to
keep my ear shut."
After listening to a famous story, little To-bo
took a pen and made a graphic representation of
her idea of the hero as he must have appeared in
the last year of his exile. Here it is:

One night, after she had been in bed for some
time, she sent for her mother. "Mamma," said

she, I wish you would stay with me, because I
am so wakerous, and the shadows on the wall are
so scaresome."
One Sunday evening, when the cook had gone
away, she asked and received permission to try her
hand at getting the supper all alone. After a pro-
longed struggle in the kitchen and dining-rootn,
she appeared in the library, wrote a line, placed
something under a box on the table, and went back
again. Going to the table, her parents found on
the box a scrap of paper inscribed thus, "Warent
aptite and take tickets." Under the box were two
tickets like this:

Armed with these ingenious cards of admission
they presented themselves with promptness at the
door of the dining-room, where the tickets were
duly demanded. When they were seated at the
table, the explanation was given, to this effect:
Everything in the kitchen had gone wrong.. The
toast was burned, and somehow had managed to
get cold, besides; the tea did n't taste like tea; and
there was a general air of failure over the whole
supper. Little To-bo felt like sitting down and
crying, and probably would have done so, but sud-
denly she remembered she had heard it said that
a person with an appetite could eat anything. So
she devised the plan of having the appetites war-
ranted. Dear little To-bo when the whole world
turns sour and the feast of life threatens to be a
dismal failure, you and such as you are the "aptite
tickets" that give a zest and a charm beyond the
power of any caterer. It is because you are on
board that "the times we stay up" are more than
"the times we go down."



EACH dewdrop hanging on the grass
Must be a fairy looking-glass,
Wherein the proud, delighted elves
See clear reflections of themselves,
And from rude mortal eyes withdrawn,
Make their gay toilets on the lawn.




r _fj .A BRANCH
of sumac with
its drum-major
plumes, abough
of elder bend-
of its dark-hued
berries, a rasp-
berry bramble,
low trailing and
graceful; these were my trophies.from Woodland,
one sunny October afternoon; and to the uninitiated
they doubtless would seem but random and com-
monplace mementos of an autumnal ramble. But
listen, and I will tell you how such branches,
seemingly uninteresting and aimlessly gathered,
have been the scenes of great toil, brave deeds,
faithful, loving devotion, and also, alas! of treach-
ery and tragedy. I will relate to you the history
revealed by these broken boughs; a history to
discover which has required many patient hours
and much close watching by eyes that loved the
One sunshiny morning last May, had you been
watching, you might have seen a gay little insect,

not more than one-fourth of an inch long,
flitting about among these branches, her
body metallic blue, and with four gauzy wings
flashing in the sunlight. Had you noted
her then, you would'have thought her created
only for the enjoyment of a bright spring
day. Little would you have dreamed of the
strength of purpose and the power of endur-
ance bound up in that wee body. You per-
haps would have scarcely detected that she
belonged to a family noted for their per-
severance and industry. Yet, in spite of
her diminutive size and metallic -color, she
is as truly a bee as the clumsiest bumble-
bee that ever hummed in the clover. She
- belongs especially, however, to the group
of carpenter-bees; and she has a pretty
scientific name, Ceratina dufla, that seems
quite in keeping with her dainty appearance.
However, very little cares she by what
Latin name mortal man has chosen to call
her, for weightier responsibilities rest upon
her active mind this bright May morning,
and so she hunts about until she finds some
broken twig of elder or of sumac which permits
her to come into direct contact with the pith of
the plant. Then our little heroine, with the aid
of her mandibles, or jaws, goes to work to ex-
cavate a tunnel in the branch by removing the
pith mouthful by mouthful. Very carefully is the
work done, the pith being neatly cut so that the
walls of the tunnel are left straight and smooth.
To bring her undertaking within our comprehen-
sion we might compare her to a man who should
attempt to dig a well three or four feet wide and
two hundred feet deep, with no tools but his hands
with which to remove the earth.
The tunnel of the Ceratina is about one-eighth
of an inch in diameter, and often as much as eight
or ten inches in depth. But when our little bee is
through excavating her tunnel, and has finished it
with all the nicety of her own fine sense of the fit-
ness of things, she has really but begun her sum-
mer's work. However, her next task combines
pleasure with duty, for it takes her into the fields
to gather pollen from the flowers. This she carries
by loading it upon her hind legs, which are fur-
nished with long hairs for holding it in place. But


it requires a great many trips back and forth befi
she has packed the bottom of the nest with poll
to the depth of a quarter of an inch. This doi
she deposits upon it a tiny white egg, and abc
builds a partition by gluing together bits of p
and other suitable material with a glue which s
always keeps on hand (or rather in mouth) for t
purpose. This partition is firmly fastened to i
sides of the tunnel and is about one-tenth of
inch in thickness; it serves as a roof for the fi
cell, and as a floor for the next. Then the proc
is repeated;, she gathers more pollen, lays anotl
egg, builds another partition, and so on, until I
tunnel is filled to within an inch or two of 1
opening; the last egg is thus necessarily deposit
many days after the first one.
So you see this matron has her family in a sort
apartment-house, each in-
dividual occupying one
entire flat. Then there
comes a rest for the indus-
trious little mother; for
her next duty is to remain
quiet and await future de-
velopments. But her fi-
delity is unfailing; the
inch or two of space left
at the top of the tunnel
serves as a vestibule to her
dwelling, and there she
waits and watches over her
While she is guarding
the door let us take a peep
into the first cell and see
what is taking place there;
for what we find true of one
cell will prove equally true
of all the others. The egg
soon hatches out a minute,
white, footless worm or
larva which falls to work
immediately, eating with
all its might the pollen
provided by its careful
mamma. On this food it
thrives and grows, until it
is a quarter of an inch long; THE TUNNEL
by this time, usually, it
has consumed all the pollen in the cell; howev
the mother-bee's instinct does not seem to be inf
lible in this particular, for sometimes she provic
more food than her child needs. After the lai
has thus reached its full growth, it becomes ri4
and turns darker in color, and queer-looking seal
and excrescences appear upon it; these are t
cases in which its legs and wings are developing

In short, it becomes a fupa. After remaining thus
for some time the pupa-skin bursts open, and a full-
fledged bee appears, in size, color, and in every
respect resembling its mother; for, you know, bees
never grow after they have their legs and wings.
Meanwhile, the patient mother, who has not
shared our privilege of peeping into the cells,
knows nothing of what has happened, unless per-
chance sheremembers her own "larvahood." 'Her
experience is a novel one; her first-born is the
last one of the brood that she beholds. You see,
patience is taught to these creatures, as an early
lesson; for, of course, the egg first laid is the ear-
liest to hatch and soonest reaches maturity. So
the first experience of the eldest of a Ceratina
brood is to wait until its youngest brothers and
sisters have reached their adult form. We may

er, imagine that this idle waiting is rather hard work
al- for a little creature with brand-new wings which
les it is longing to spread in the sunshine.
va The next lesson that our Ceratina must learn is
gid industry. For when the youngest of the brood
ms has reached maturity, each one in the nest begins
he to work its way up and outward by tearing down
g. the partition above it and pushing the particles of




waste material down toward the bottom of the
nest. This arrangement is a comfortable one for
the youngest, who has only one partition between
it and its mother, but is not nearly so nice for the
eldest, who has had not only the longest time to
wait, but has now the most work to do: for he must
push his way up through the debris of all the par-
titions above him. It reveals a funny sight to open
a Ceratina nest after the material of the partitions
has been stowed away in the bottom of the tunnel.
There are all the bees,-sometimes as many as
fourteen,- packed in as close as possible, each
with its head toward the opening, and braced
against the "heels," so to speak, of his next
youngest brother; for nature teaches them to face
toward the door that leads out into the world.
Finally, the sentinel mother, having become
satisfied that all are ready, leads the way and
chaperons her children in their first flight out into
the sunshine.
. Later, the remains of the partitions are removed
from the nest, which is thus made ready for an-
other brood. Sometimes the whole grown-up
family are found in nests thus cleaned, which would
indicate that the young bees dutifully lend their
mother a helping mandible in house-cleaning and
making the home attractive. And they doubtless
find it pleasant to linger about the old homestead
and make it their abiding place until they feel
capable of setting up establishments of their own.
This is certainly true of the fall brood ; these chil-
dren of the autumn, when the days become cool,
crawl into the clean nest, head downward, one
after another, and tuck themselves in, we might
say, as cosy as cosy can be, and just go to sleep,
and stay asleep, until the bright May sunshine
calls to them through the open door and tells them
to wake up and go to work. We found one family
of eight thus housed for the winter; and the bee
next the door was the faithful mother,- we recog-
nized er because her wings were frayed andworn
by her many flights and severe toil. I have often
wondered if this long winter's sleep were not bright-
ened by dreams of sun and flowers. How do we
know that this is not a bee's way of spending the
winter in Florida?
Thus we have learned the main facts in the life
of our little Ceratina supposing that her life is a
fortunate one from egg-hood to motherhood. But
in our studies of these hidden homes we find rec-
ords of wars and tragedies, and thus learn that our
tiny friend has many enemies always watching for
an opportunity to injure her. Among these foes
are some of her own lazy relatives, first and second
cousins, who certainly ought to have better man-
ners and morals. Other species of bees, and some

wasps which build their nests in the hollow stalks
of plants, take advantage of the tunnel excavated
by the Ceratina, drive her away before her nest is
finished, and take possession of her home. We
may safely believe that the plucky little bee would
not submit to such an outrage.without vigorous re-
monstrance; and doubtless there are-duels fought
which equal in bravery and'fierceness any that we
read about in stories of the Middle Ages. ,
There are still other enemies of the Ceratina, too
cowardly to achiCee their objects by a fair fight.
One of these, a light and airy insect, with a scimi-
tar-shaped body, belongs to the Ichneumonidce, a
family noted for deceitfulness and immoral con-
duct, to say nothing of bloodthirstiness. This de-
signing creature loiters about and watches the
Ceratina building her nest. When the ne- t builder
has filled a cell with pollen and deposited an
egg, and has departed to seek material for a par-
tition, the ichneumon sneaks slyly in and lays one
of its eggs ir the cell, too; so, when the bee comes
back, she unconsciously walls in with her child its
deadliest foe. When the young bee has nearly
attained full size, the ichneumon egg hatches into
a voracious little grub, which evidently looks upon
the fat bee-larva as a hungry child might 16ok upon
a choice beefsteak. It at once falls to eating the
helpless creature, which con.ernilntly proves to be
sufficient food to nourish the litile interloper until
the latter has completed US growh. When suf-
ficiently grown, the young ichneumon spins a beau-
tiful silken cocoon about itself,.in the most innocent
manner, and changes to a pupa. In this state it
waits until the bees in the tunnel above it have
matured and departed, and then issues forth a
fully developed ichneumon, and flies into the world
to play its hereditary tricks upon any unwary insect
it may chance to meet. We found one of these
ichneumon cocoons in the middle cell.of a Cera-
tina nest. Only one of the mature bees was found
in the tunnel below the cocoon, and it had its head
pointed downward; thus telling, as plainly as words
could have told, that, disgusted with the creature
it found obstructing its upward pathway, it had
turned about with a firm intention to dig out by way
of China, or die in the attempt! And, undoubt-
edly, many which escape being eaten by the para-
site, die thus from imprisonment.
This completes the record of what I know of the
life-history of this little carpenter-bee. I hope,
however, that the boy and girl naturalists who read
this history will gather the dry twigs of elder and
of sumac at different seasons of the year, and then,
by patiently studying them, they may be able to
supply for themselves many interesting particulars
which I have yet to learn.




THE Sergeant was home
from Tonquin so said all the
village-and was staying at
the Inn, too proud to speak
to any one "-so added those
who envied him the attention
excited by his gorgeous uni-
But Jules and Gaston, Jean
and Emil, said bluntly that
they knew better, and to show
their faith in their old comrade
invited him to take soup with
them as he used to do before
he went into the army.
Behold, then, the five friends
around the table. What have
they to talk of after their long
separation? We will listen.
The Sergeant is speaking:
Indeed, I hardly know
how one lives at all in those
tropics. Without boasting, I
myself bear things as well as
most of my neighbors, but-
I confess it, my friends, I have
been frightened by the tropics.
Think of it, my boys, a French
officer afraid of the weather !"
"Of the weather?" asked
I can not see that!" said
"It is no more than the
truth," resumed the Sergeant.
" In Tonquin we have thunder
and lightning-for I can not
otherwise name them- but
not such as come to these vil-
lages: little groans of thunder
here, and sparks of lightning
there but thunderstorms to
terrify a bishop "
How so?" asked Gaston,
The Sergeant had enjoyed
his soup and truly his tongue
talked of itself.

In Tonquin," said he, rising to his feet-for so
one gestures. more easily, "the lightest of our
thunder cracks cannon-balls in two; and one peal
follows another so fast that there is never but one
-which, however, lasts as long as the storm."
Strange enough," said Jules, with his mouth
Open, his spoon in the air.
"And the lightning? asked Jean, quickly.
"The lightning ?" repeated the Sergeant,
"much the same sort. It is never seen. All the
world stays indoors and puts on green spectacles
-one or two pairs! "
"A curious custom!" remarked Emil, looking
sidewise at the veteran.
"As you say-curious indeed," replied the Ser-
geant, smiling. "You would enjoy the oddity
of it, I have little doubt. But there is something
more worthy of notice. There is the rain. In
Tonquin the rain falls so fast that it does n't reach
the ground "
"But, Sergeant," cried Gaston, rising to protest,
"your last statement is hardly credible !"
"Oh, you demand an explanation," said the
Sergeant with some warmth, and pounding the
table with his stiff fingers, "it is because the rain-
drops fall so fast they are dried up by the friction
of the air--that is, of course, all but a little. I do
not mean to say that none of the water falls to the
ground- that would be unreasonable."
So I thought," said Gaston, nodding his head
"You were right, Gaston," said the Sergeant,
grandly. "Always tell me if you find my stories
incredible. I am a little irritable, but not proud.
And I know (since I, too, lived in this little village
once -so long ago !) how seldom you -hear such
My word, but I have heard things as strange!"
said Gaston, dryly.
"Then my stories do not surprise you ?" asked
the soldier, with some disappointment.
"Why should they?" replied Gaston. "I have
never been in Tonquin.. I have heard of queerer
things, however; yes, and in this very town "
Such as ? said the Sergeant, looking hard .
at the other and twisting his moustache ends into
two needle-points.
Some people would say your Tonquin storms


were not large," Gaston said, frankly. "But I am
not so foolish. Freely I admit that such storms
are rare in this village. But I do contend that we
have here the smallest storms that can well be."
The Sergeant moved uneasily on his four-legged
stool, and gazed at
Gaston with his eye-
lids half closed.
"Did you never
hear of them said
Gaston, seeming to
be much surprised.
Never," said
the Sergeant, in a
peculiar voice.
It is said that
once at the Inn,
where you are stay-
ing, a man who had
been a sailor,-I
think it was a sailor,
-came home from
Algeria, and told of
many wonderful ex-
periences. Sea-ser-
pents, land-slides,
unicorns, rocs' eggs,
and mermaids,--
JULES BRINGS A LANTERN. such was his stock
such was his stock
in trade. Well, one morning that soldier--"
Sailor said the Sergeant, frowning.
Sailor, of course,-that sailor came to break-
-fast telling of a terrible storm, a thunderstorm--a
true Tonquin storm, if you will permit me, Ser-
geant." The Sergeant bowed, still frowning.
"But, strangely enough," Gaston went on, "no
-one else had seen any signs of a storm, whatever.
It had seemed to every one else a bright moon-
light night Now I call that worthy of remark "
"Truly so," said the Sergeant, uneasily.
And, strangely enough," went on the villager,
there is a legend that such storms are the work
of goblins, who thus punish tellers of big stories,
as, it seems, this sailor must have been !"
The Sergeant made no comment, but drummed
:a quickstep upon the table, whistling a noiseless
fife accompaniment.
Emil, Jules, and Jean had been listening open-
mouthed and ransacking their brains to find some
trace of thiswonderful legend. But no one of them
could recall it, and, while they were collecting
their wits to question Gaston, the Sergeant asked:
Where was it you said this sailor lodged? "
"At your Inn, in the front room on the left--
your room, by the way, Sergeant, is it not ?"
That is where they have put me," replied the
veteran. Then rising, he shook hands all round,
VOL. XVI.-39.

saying, "Good-night, my lads, good-night. Re-
markable place, the tropics."
Remarkable, indeed !" they answered.
No sooner was their guest out of sight than the
others turned to Gaston, who was laughing to him-
self at their wondering faces.
After a short explanation, during which the four
heads were very close together, Jules went in one
direction for a dark-lantern, Gaston set forth in an-
other to borrow a drum, Jean went in a third for the
big watering-pot, while Emil was to fill a basket with
sand and gravel. When they came back, later in
the evening, each had succeeded in his errand.
"We will give the Sergeant a Goblin Thunder-
storm," Gaston said, with a smile. Then all four
laughed aloud. They were sharp fellows, and
they comprehended his plan.
Although the moon shone brightly that night,
the conspirators set forth for the Inn, walking in a
single file, and grinning with anticipation.
About midnight they were in front of the window
of the "front room on the left." Emil threw the
sand against the panes, Gaston beat a terrible roll
upon the drum, and Jules flashed the light of his
lantern through the window, while Jean spattered
water upon the glass.
The Sergeant arose, came to the window and
gazed curiously out. Apparently there was bright
moonlight and a
cloudless sky; but
he had seen the
lightning, heard
the thunder, and
surely those were
drops of rain upon
the panes of the
The four mis-
chief-makers had .
crouched closely ,
against the wall,
and with diffi- 4
culty restrained
themselves from
noisy mirth.
The steps re-
treated from the
After waiting a
moment, another
Goblin Storm"
was created, and
brought the puzzled man again to the window; but
so closely flattened against the Inn were the four
friends that there was no clue to the mystery, and
the Sergeant once more retired, too sleepy to make
any further investigation that night.



A third repetition of their trick brought their
victim running to the door-as they had expected.
Being ready for him, Jean deluged the poor
Sergeant with
water, Gaston
deafened him
with the drum,
Jules blinded
his eyes with the
lantern, while
Emil pelted him
with the gravel,
and he stagger-
ed back indoors
with his hands
over his eyes
and his breath
almost gone.
Next day the
Sergeant asked
the landlord at
breakfast time
whether the ter-
rible storm had
not kept him
stared at him in silence for a moment, and then said:
Sergeant, are you crazy?"
"Landlord, what do you mean?" replied the
soldier with much dignity, rising. to his feet.

"It was a calm, bright moonlight -iight, as
any one will tell you. Why do you ask such a
foolish question?- To make me ridiculous?"
"It was but a poor
joke, was n't it, mine
host?" said the Ser-
geant, with a twist
at his big mustaches
while his cheeks grew
very red. Pray say
nothing about it, and
I will promise not to
repeat so ill-timed
a pleasantry," and
away he marched,
very erect and very
proud indeed.

Strangely enough,
not only did the Ser-
geant seek no explana-
tion of his remarkable
experience at the Inn,
but even his won-
derful adventures in
more recalled. GRAVEL.
As for Gaston, Jules, Emil, and Jean, they never
met together without chuckling and poking one
another, and this they continued to do until next



I WROTE some bedtime verses once,
To send to Baby Nan,
When she was West and I was East.
This is the way they ran:

" Good-night, dear eyes that close to-night
A thousand miles away ;
My kisses lie upon your lids
To guard them till the day.

"How did they get there ? Oh, I threw
A score or so in air,
And some were caught as they flew by
Your tangled, silky hair!

" Good-night to two round rosy cheeks,
To dimples, curls, and chin,
I send a kiss for every one
A kiss can nestle in."

What do you think that baby said? -
A captious critic, she,-
" Mamma, I fink she 's said good-night
To ev'ryfin' but me."




QN the bank of an African river, upon a tiny
clearing which-scooped out of the vast black
forest that bristled along both shores as far as the
eye can reach betokened the neighborhood of a
native village, a man was standing alone, taking
rapid notes in a small book, while behind him lay
moored along the water's edge a fleet of canoes,
crowded with the dark-brown or black faces of
Arabs and negroes, whose crooked swords and
long ivory-stocked guns glittered in the morning
The solitary figure on the bank seemed to be
the only white man of the whole party, and even
he, lean and ragged as he was, with his face
burned almost black by the sun, and a matted
mane of grayish-black hair and beard hanging
loosely around it, seemed quite as savage as any
of his followers. But, small and thin though he
was, with plain, almost coarse, features, and a dress
of which any respectable scarecrow would have been
ashamed, he had in his sunken eyes that look of
power and command which stamps the born leader
of men. And such, indeed, he was, for this man
was no other than Henry Morton Stanley.
So engrossed was Stanley with the notes which
he was making, that he never saw the black
scowling face and fierce eyes which peered out at
him suddenly from the encircling thicket. Pres-
ently another head appeared, and another, and
another still; and then the matted boughs shook.
and parted, and several men stole forth, with long
spears in their hands.
But Stanley's quick ear had caught the rustle
of the leaves, and, taking several strings of beads
from his pouch, he advanced to meet them, utter-
ing the long, shrill, bleat-like salutation of the
country, "Sen-nen-neh !" (peace.)
But there was little sign of peace among the
advancing savages, who darted threatening looks
at him, and kept muttering angrily among them-
selves. Then a huge scarred warrior, who seemed
to be their chief, said, with a flourish of his spear:
If the white man wishes peace, why does he
try to bewitch us?"
"How have I tried to bewitch you?". asked
Stanley in amazement. I come as your guest,
not as your enemy. You all see that my men
have laid down their guns and swords, and are
waiting to be friends with you."

The stranger's words are riot straight 1" an-
swered the savage, fiercely. Did we not see. him
making spells of witchcraft against us, and draw-
ing them on the magic charm that he carries with
him?" A sudden light flashed upon Stanley -
it was his note-book that had offended them! "If
the white chief means fairly by us, let him throw
his magic work into yonder fire, and then he shall
be our brother, and shall eat with us; but if not,
our spears shall reach his heart! "
A ferocious growl from the rest, and a significant
brandishing of spears and bows, added fresh point
to this last remark.
For one moment the bold traveler stood aghast.
To destroy his valuable notes, gathered with so
much toil and suffering, would be to fling away
the whole fruit of his weary and perilous journey !
Yet, to refuse might cost his life and the lives of all
his men, for the savages were evidently in earnest,
and all the thickets around him were already
swarming with fierce faces and leveled weapons.
What was to be done?
All at once a bright idea came to him. In his
pouch lay a small pocket Shakspere (the companion
of all his wanderings), which was sufficiently like
the objectionable note-book to have deceived a
keener observer than an African savage. Quick
as thought he drew it forth, and held it up so that
every one could see it.
Is this the charm that my brothers wish me to
burn?" he asked, loud enough to be heard by all
It is it is! roared a hundred voices at once,
while half a dozen bony, black hands were out-
stretched from the front rank of the crowd as if to
clutch the formidable "witch-book."
And if I burn it," said Stanley, will you be
friends with me, and give food to my men? "
"We will," chorused the black spearmen.
"Behold, then!" cried the great leader, and
with one jerk of his hand he flung the Shakspere
into the fire beside him. In a moment it flamed
up, shriveled away, and was gone !
Then broke forth a yell of delight from the
superstitious savages, as they saw the dreaded
"magic" vanish into smoke. A score of 'big,
bare-limbed warriors, all smeared with paint and
grease, rushed forward to overwhelm their "white
brother with sticky embraces, while others brought

* This story is perfectly true, and is here given almost as Stanley himself told it.- D. K.


forward armfuls of fruit, fish, and potato-like cas- explorer missed the book that had been his com-
sava bread. Stanley's hungry men ate their fill, panion in so many perils and sufferings. But the
and all went as merrily as a picnic, precious notes were saved, and the narrative which
Many a night after, while struggling wearily they formed has since been read and applauded
along the windings of the unknown river, the great from one side of the world to the other.

WTi Merchant'S Little,

Ltl-Boy. .n*~( r1 in

T Artist' Little Boy.

27 ~ rA
1* 0

TIM Ship-Builder' Little

Tn Clown's OJXBoy Tif Tr-aveler's ittle Boy.

IV` Farmevss Little .Boy.

TTh Tailor~s Little Boy. TR 'edrn-smitls Littlet oy.
__ Thj WheelrlW LilleI

r~it F.

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

?rW nnventoi`s Little 3B



I HAVE been thinking," said Grandpapa, as he
slowly clicked together the bows of the spectacles
which he held in his hand, "that a dog would
be a great entertainment to the children, and a
protection as well. I don't think they would ever
get lost again if they had a good, trusty dog to
follow them about."
Oh, there is no doubt that a dog would be a
perfect joy to them," replied Mamma, at whom he
had looked. But would n't a dog be a great
trouble to you ?"
No,- no very great trouble, and besides, even
if he were, I want the children to enjoy their visit
to fullness. I '11 speak to Randolph and have
him hunt up a dog for me."
Why no, Father, don't do that; there is Joey
Vale, if any one in Virginia can find you just what
you want, Joey can. Randolph would be sure to
bring some starved hound (what Sister calls a scanty
dog), with a view to borrowing it to hunt ol' har''
with," said Aunt Sie.
"Joey Vale's collie has had pups lately, we might
get one and train it," remarked Aunt Lisha. She
hated dogs, but loved her small relatives to that
degree that she was ready to love their dog, if so
doing would add to their happiness.
Yes, I suppose Joey would be the right man
to call upon,- can you girls manage to see him ? "
I might take the children and go over to-mor-
row," assented Aunt Sie, who never found herself
at a loss to manage to give others pleasure.
So it was settled.
The children," who were asleep up stairs, were
two little people who had come from their Northern
home to spend several months with their grand-
father on a lovely old farm in Virginia. In the few
weeks which had already passed theyhad succeeded
in getting themselves lost for a whole day, with a
pet calf, named Juno, as their companion. This ad-
venture had thrown the household into a state of
alarm which gave symptoms of becoming chronic,
and which made a sense of security unknown.
A happier little couple it would have been hard
to find anywhere full of imaginings and theories
concerning the wonders of country life, and always
ready to leap from small facts to broad conclusions.
They had names, but little use was made of these,
as their circle usually adopted those they found for
each other, and they were still generally spoken of

as Sister and Brother. Sister had enjoyed the good
things of this life a year and a half longer than
Brother, and was, in consequence; unquestioningly
accepted by him as an authority on most subjects,
though she kindly allowed him to know the most
about blacksmithing, coopering, and similar indus-
tries which they had investigated in the neigh-
Each morning was a joyful awakening to them,
but the morning which followed the foregoing
conversation was happy beyond any that had ever
dawned. At an early hour, Aunt Sie-dear Aunt
Sie, who made even a dull day bright-came into
their room just as they were waking. But she
affected to think them still asleep, and began at
once talking to Mamma:
I 'd like to go over to Mrs. Vale's this morn-
ing, if I had some one to drive Charley for me.
But the boys are busy in the corn-fields, and really
I don't feel like going alone with that frisky steed.
I wonder if I could persuade one of the children-
or both- to go with me. I 'd feel perfectly safe
if I had Sister to drive, and Brother to look after
the buggy in case any of the bolts came loose or
some strap should unbuckle."
"Sister d' you hear that? Wake up--wake
up," whispered Brother.
Mamma answered, doubtingly, Possibly you
might persuade them to go."
Of course we '11 go! came in a chorus, as the
two scrambled out of bed.
Why, are you awake? And how good of you
to be willing to go I was afraid you might want
to stay at home and study, perhaps," cried Aunt
Sie, in great surprise, catching them both in her
"And what are we to go to Joey Vale's for? "
Grandpapa wants me tosee Joey on business.
You can ask him when you go down stairs."
It did not take long for them to dress and get
downstairs, where they called loudly in search of
Grandpapa. At last they spied him coming from
an early visit to the fields, and running to meet
him, each secured a hand, and dancing along be-
side him, begged to know why they were to go to
see Joey Vale.
"I want you to go and get me a dog."
"A what unable to believe their ears.
Yes, a dog. I hear that he has some for sale,


and I thought if you two would go over and have
a look at them, it would save me a trip."
They looked at Grandpapa; then dropping his
hand, they seized each other's, and began what
they called a "joyful dance," which consisted of-
lilting up and down and squealing. To have had
the bare privilege of paying a visit to Joey Vale
would have seemed to them the acme of happi-
ness, for the admiration which they felt for him
was unbounded. He was thirteen years old-" a
perfectly e-normous boy, half as tall as Papa,"
according to their description as given to their
mother after their first sight of him. And besides
his weight of years, his acquirements were such as
to command an awed' respect. He had found
Mistress Judy and her little pigs after all the men
and boys on the place had hunted for her in vain,
and they had heard Grandpapa say that he had
more sense than all the crew put together. And
long ago Aunt Sie had told them that a guinea-
hen that could hide her nest so that Joey could
not find it, would be sharp even for a guinea-hen.
And then the flutter-wheels and weather-cocks
that he could make They felt much better ac-
quainted with him when he was n't around than
when he was, and they spoke familiarly of him in
his absence, as Joey," while in his presence they
usually just coughed instead of addressing him
directly; and they secretly marveled at the ease
with which their grandfather and aunts carried
themselves toward him.
And to buy a dog from a boy like that!
Just as they finished breakfast, Charley was
driven up to the door. Brother made a careful
examination of all the bolts and running-gear and
put a stout rope into the buggy; for he and Sister
had decided to tie the dog behind the vehicle,
and let him trot home.
To the casual observer Charley was not a beast
to inspire fear in the most timid breast. But the
feat of driving him was greatly heightened by a
current belief of the small people, that it was only
superior horsemanship which kept him from gallop-
ing off at break-neck speed. He was twenty-four
years old, but as his grassy, pathway through life
had been plentifully strewn with oats and corn, he
was still sleek and fat, and shone like a ripe chest-
nut. He knew his own mind about the amount
of labor that should be required of a horse of his
age, and it mattered little to him what others
thought. Nothing but a fly could cause him to
alter the pace which he usually adopted as in keep-
ing with a dignified demeanor.
After much talk the expedition set forth. Sis-
ter held the reins, Brother the whip, and Aunt
Sie sat between the two, and received into either
ear a steady flow of conversation.

"Now," said Brother, "I think as Sister gets
to drive, I ought to be the one to pick out the
I think that would be only a fair division," an-
swered Aunt Sie, if you can find the way."
To be sure I can find it," and Brother stood
up and pointed with the whip. "After you get
through the woods you turn into another road,
and that takes you to the road that runs along the
top of the world over there. D' ye see it ?"
Sister nudged Aunt Sie with her sharp little el-
bow and whispered, The top of the world as if
all roads were n't on top of the world! Then aloud
she asked, Brother, what shape is the world? '
"I know; it's round."
But does it seem round? It did n't use to; to
me, when I was your age." Sister always kept
Brother a good year and a half behind her in wis-
"How did it use to seem to you, Sister?"
Brother asked meekly, not wishing to commit
"It seemed like a high, level bluff, that you could
have jumped off of, into the ocean."
Yes, that's the way it used to seem to me,-
only I used to think you could jump off into a
river. Idid n't used to know about oceans."
Brother," said Sister, with a sternness she was
occasionally obliged to employ toward him, "you
have always known about oceans."
"I mean I did n't use to know when I was a
young chap, and wore long dresses, and stayed in
my crib."
"Now, Aunt Sie, I don't like that habit Brother
has of getting out of things, and I wish you 'd for-
bid it. As if any one expected him to know about
the world when he was a goo-goo and stayed in his
crib "
"Oh! but Brother knew a great many things,
even when he was only a goo-goo."
A fruitful theme was thus started, and poor
Aunt Sie was kept busy with stories of their infancy
until they reached the Vale farm. The fierce
barking of a collie brought Mrs. Vale to the door,
and Joey came from behind the house, where he
was chopping wood.
SAunt Sie made their errand known, after a little
chat with Mrs. Vale, and Joey was at once dis-
patched to the kennel and speedily returned with
three squirming, big-headed pups in his arms, and
jealously followed by their mother.
How small they are exclaimed Aunt Sie.
"They '11 grow fast, and they 're just about
weaned, now," Joey assured her.
Oh! I dare say they '11 grow. They are not
just what I wanted,- still What do you think
of them, children ?"




They 're just lovely answered Sister, strok-
ing them.
Will they always stand thatway,-like stools? "
asked Brother uneasily, as Joey put one down upon
its widely spreading legs.
He felt thoroughly ashamed when Joey laughed
and explained that the legs would soon stiffen into
good shape. That wise young man.also called
their attention to the twa een on each side of the
head," which showed them to be high-bred collies;
and told of so many accomplishments possessed by
their mother, that Aunt Sie closed the bargain, and
received a promise that the pup should arrive at the
farm that evening.
As they turned homeward Brother cast a regret-
ful glance at. the stout rope which lay useless in
the buggy. He had.pictured to himself the ioble
animal- very like those he had seen in pictures
of Alpine snow-storms which was to have trotted
home at the end of it. He had intended to hold
the rope kindly but firmly-in a manner to let the
dog know that, while a master's kindness might
always be depended upon, a boy's auchthort is
something to be recognized, too. Still, Brother
had the happy faculty of coming upon blessings,
no.matter how events turned, and finally said with
a faint sigh:
"It's much better for Joey to bringhim- he can
explain to the pup's mother, and besides, if we had
tied him to the buggy,"- a pause in order to have
some good reason present itself,-"Juno might
have chased after us, and hooked him."
I think we won't let him associate much with
Juno, she 's so bad," replied Sister. In her heart
she dearly loved Juno; still, since the day they were
lost, she had assumed rather a condemning tone in
speaking of her.
Certainly, the less he has to do with Juno the
better dog he will be," Aunt Sie concurred.
"Yes, but poor Juno is very young, you know,
for a .cow,- of course, she is a rather old calf,- I
don't think she really meant to be bad that day,"
faithful Brother could not help saying.

The afternoon was employed in fitting up, for the
use of the new dog, sumptuous apartments in a
large box.
The windows of the dining-room commanded a
view of the road, and during the evening meal two
pairs of eyes scanned it constantly. At last a glad
shout of "There he comes rose from Brother, and
a hasty adjournment was made to the porch by all.
He has n't got it!" wailed Sister.
"He has n't-got it !" echoed Brother.
"Where is the pup, Joey ?" called Grandpapa,
as the boy came within speaking distance.
He 's here, sir," was the cheery answer..

"He 's there, Sister. Oh, goody "
But I don't see him."
Joey patted an oblong bulge which showed itself
on one side of his jacket. As he halted, the bulge
was seen to ascend, and a moment later a silky head
thrust itself out at the collar.
It 's a good way to carry a pup, and besides I
had to slip away from the mother," said Joey, as he
unbuttoned his jacket.
Grandpapa took the pup and held him up for
inspection. "There is n't much of him !-is there,
"Not yet, sir. But he 's healthy and strong,"
and Joey enumerated the various marks of canine
aristocracy which the small beast bore.
Well, well, you know more about that than I
do, and I'll take your word for it all. Here, chil-
dren, get Joey to show you how to feed him and
put him to bed. He 's your dog, and you '11 have
to. see that he 's properly brought up. -Come,
Brother, take hold of him." Brother took him
by the nape of the neck, which caused Sister to
dance frantically from one foot to the other.
"Don't carry him in that way-oh, you cruel
boy See how meek it makes him look, with his
little paws curled down and his tail curled up oh,
oh, put him.into my apron "
Here the late owner interfered, declaring that
dogs preferred to be carried in that way, and the
procession disappeared around the house.

Six weeks passed, and six weeks make a great
difference in the size of a pup, and in his character
too. During that time he had been named and
"Bingo was his name." His legs had stiffened
up; and now, instead of hanging on to a step by
his chin, and whining when he wished to reach
a higher altitude, or rolling over and over with a
series of protesting yelps when he tried to reach a
lower plane, he could thump up and down stairs at
a fine rate. He had tried various means by which
to ingratiate himself into an intimate friendship
with Aunt Lisha, the least successful of which was
to rouse her suddenly from her morning dreams by
leaping upon her bed and frolicking over it until its
snowy whiteness was starred with tracks of red clay.
He had chased every turkey, chicken, and duck on
the place; and he had insulted Pooley, the cat, over
and over again by barking at her and trying to drive
her out of the library. At first she had not thought
it worth while to notice him, she despised him so,
but one day he went a little too far he pawed her
tail, and squeaked around her, until she, who-had
been a respected member of the household for years,
felt that he might be mistaking her contempt for
fear. On that day she laid her ears back until her
head looked quite round, made a straight line of



her mouth, and stared unblinkingly at him for sev-
eral seconds; then with lightning swiftness dealt
him a stinging blow on one ear first, and then on the
other, and forever settled the question of suprem-
acy. Bingo retreated with loud howls, and never
halted until safely hidden under the sofa, from
which refuge he complained loudly to his sym-
pathizing young friends; and he allowed himself
invalid manners for some time afterward.
But, while he was growing, his education was
not neglected. He was taught to carry Grand-
papa's cane, and although it usually took the
whole family to recover it again, so thoroughly did
he enter into the duty, still it was thought to look
well to see a little dog so willing to make himself
useful. Then he could play hide-and-seek prob-
ably more beautifully than any dog of his age
ever played it before. All that was necessary was
for Aunt Sie to sit down upon the grass, and cause
him to hide his eyes by holding him with all her
strength, until the children, snugly hidden behind
the great rose-bushes, would shout, Re-ad-y "-
when, with the warning,
Ready or not,
You must be caught,"
she would release him, and he would tear madly
off in search of them. The sight would prove
too much for the small hiders, and they would
betray themselves by suppressed giggles, whereat
Bingo would pounce upon them and chew them
joyously, until, panting and breathless, they would
reach the safe goal of dear Aunt Sie's arms.
In spite of intending so differently, Sister and
Brother had not been able to resist introducing
Bingo to Juno, and many a gay frolic the four
friends had together. There were, it is true, sham
battles, in which Juno seemed on the point of hook-
ing Bingo, and Bingo seemed on the point of bit-
ing Juno's legs; but these exciting little maneuvers
only served to raise the spirits of the four, and put
them into the humor for a dash down the long
sloping pasture, at the lower end of which they
usually landed in something of a heap.
But it was after a trip to Richmond, where they
saw a goat-cart drawn by two goats, that the crown-
ing accomplishment of Bingo's life was attempted.
"We '11 train Bingo to draw the Express," said
Brother that night, as he and Sister were recall-
ing the glories of the day.
"Do you think he is strong enough?"
"Dogs are very strong."
If only Pooley was n't so crabbed with him,
we might have a span," said Sister, regretfully.
Or if Joey would lend us one of the pups !"
O-h! "
"We '11 ask Grandpapa to lend us Charley, to
morrow, and we '11 drive over and hire one of

Joey's pups, and we '11 train them to trot together.
Won't we zip "
And the little heads settled, down upon their
pillows, full of beautiful plans, wlhch, it is to be
hoped, were realized in dreamland, for the next day
dawned in a downpour of rain which put a trip
to Joey Vale's beyond the limit of possibilities.
But about ten o'clock, they disappeared in the di-
rection of the big barn, under a capacious umbrella,
with Bingo demurely trotting at their bare little
heels. After much consultation they had decided
to take advantage of their enforced leisure to make
a harness for Bingo. A rainy morning, and a big
clean barn, are not a bad combination, and the
little brother and sister were soon cosily ensconced
in the back seat of the family carriage, while Bingo
lay sleeping in the front. They were very busy
with their harness making, and their fingers and
tongues kept time. Now and then Bingo was
disturbed while measurements were taken, but
the steady rain on the roof speedily lulled him to
sleep again.
At the further end of the barn, and connected with
it, was an open shed under which the fowls. could
gather, out of the rain, and through the open door
the little workers could hear the subdued remarks
that the poultry seemed to be making about the
weather. Prominent in the group was the stately
turkey-gobbler, "Mr. Cornelius," who, as usual,
was striving to impress his audience with his im-
portance, and was strutting and swelling to the
point of bursting.
"He 's a fine fellow," remarked Brother, after
watching him in silent admiration.
He 'd be much nicer, if only he were a swan,"
said Sister; "then we could harness him to a small
boat and have him take us around the carp pond.
What a lovely swan he 'd make; only his neck
ought to be longer and he ought to be snow-white."
Sister "exclaimed Brother, standingup," Sis-
ter, I've got it. I 've thought of something It 's
much better that he 's a turkey."

At noon, the clouds broke away and the sun shone
out. Grandpapa, who had been having a long quiet
morning in the library, looked up as the warm ray
fell across his book.
"Where are those blessed children keeping
themselves all this time?" he asked of his
daughters, who sat near the porch door enjoying
one of their never-ending talks.
Oh they and the faithful Bingo are down at
the barn. They have-" ,'
"Excuse me, Miss Sie, fur coming' in -with my
muddy feet, but I jes' want to ask de boss if he
'lows de chillun to'buse Mr. Co'nelius! interrupted
Randolph, appearing excitedly at the door.




"Abuse Mr. Cornelius! Of course I don't.
What in the world are they doing to him? de-
manded Grandpapa, rising hastily to his feet.
Dey 's dun gone an' hitched him to de spress-
wagon, 'long with Bingo," and Randolph's severity
melted into a broad grin, which showed that deep
down in his heart there lurked some faint enjoy-
ment of the situation.
Cornelius and Bingo hitched into the express
wagon! The boy must be crazy," and Grandpapa
strode across the porch. His daughters followed
and beheld a procession making its way toward the
Surrounded by ducks, geese, and chickens, each
loudly adding to the confusion, came the express-
wagon the triumphal car. Beside it, with stately
demeanor, walked Sister, with flower-bedecked
head and wand. Behind, giving a helping hand
to the wagon and holding the reins of his unruly
steeds,, puffed Brother; while harnessed to the
car, came Dignity and Impudence Mr. Cornelius
and Bingo. Poor Mr. Cornelius! Pegasus chained
to a plow must have been frivolous and jocular
compared to him. His legs were hobbled, the
better to regulate his speed, and his rotund body
was encased in an ingeniously-contrived harness.
That he felt the degradation of his position was
apparent in every feather. His breast bulged,
his wings strove to drag upon the ground, his
" night-cap hung far over his beak, and his wat-
tles shaded from a bluish white to a wrathful red.
From time to time he uttered ejaculations which
must have been something terrible in turkey lan-
guage, and made sidewise leaps at the joyous
pup, who flopped and capered, and gave vent to

*his pleasure by pawing him affectionately with
his great muddy feet.
Brother was quite flushed with the combined
exertion of pushing and urging, when he looked
up and saw his family coming to meet them.
"They '11-go -better after- while- Grand-
papa. I have to boost Mr. Cor-nelius a good
deal;-he doesn't under--stand yet. Sister's
the Fairy -Queen and-this is her Chariot," he
explained between puffs.
Sister waved her wand majestically.
Grandpapa had come out determined to scold
them soundly, if he found them in mischief, and
Mamma had intended to help him. But the ab-
sence of guile- their perfect good faith--com-
pletely disarmed both. They felt helpless under
the circumstances, and looked about for something-
to blame. Bingo, with his open countenance, at
once suggested himself as a suitable scape-goat.
I had hoped that Bingo would keep them out
of mischief," sighed Mamma, forlornly.
Aunt Sie began in this same desolate manner:
I thought he would be a protection to them -"
"And a comfort to father, in his old age, as
well," added Aunt Lisha.
Grandpapa began in a rather high key through
suppressed laughter: Children, I am more
pained than I can say to see you ill-treat a poor
Sister's wand dropped in perfect amazement.
Have we been bad, Grandpapa? and Brother
stood up very straight, while his eyes and mouth
shaped themselves into a very large and solemn
"O," before he said, contritely, "We did not
know it was bad, Grandpapa "



ALTHOUGH photography has now been under- apparatus has done much to hasten this extension
stood for many years, it has only fairly entered upon of photographic possibilities.
its term of service. Perhaps its chief importance may All boys and girls can now take their own pic-
continue to lie in the reproduction of the faces of tures, and each finds some new object on which to
our friends, but it is rapidly coming to much wider try the powers of the lens.
fields of usefulness. The manufacture of cheap Jack must have photographs of his pony, at



rest, and also at full gallop so he can see how the-
horse moves its legs. Jill must have her favorite
kitten pictured in all its graceful attitudes. Then

the father of Jack and Jill, who loves all animals,
wild and tame, does not see why he should not
borrow the camera and try a flying shot at a rising

heron or a startled deer; and their mother, whose
tastes seek gratification in her garden, finds that
she can preserve the graceful forms of roses and
lilies in unwilting freshness by the same magician's
One great advantage of the camera for the lover
of nature is that the youthful and untrained student
of nature is enabled by its aid to secure an exact
reproduction of whatever interesting plant, or in-
sect, or crystal he may discover -a representation
more exact than the most skillful artist could pro-
duce without such help.
Suppose that you were visiting the sea-shore,
and should find an exquisite shell or branch of
coral. Would it not afford you unusual pleasure
to be able to preserve in light and shade each
graceful curve and delicate tone of the one, and
the intricate structure,- nay, the very texture and
roughness of the other? See how the camera,

in the hands of a young friend of mine, has brought
one or two such specimens before us So perfect
is the reproduction that it almost seems that we
can handle them!
The young astronomer may attach the camera
to his telescope and make the moon herself draw
her own picture for him. The young microscopist
can so combine microscope and camera as to pro-
duce clear photographs of objects too small to be
seen by the unaided eye. More wonderful still,
the plate is so sensitive that it catches and pre-
serves impressions too faint for the unaided eye.
The astronomer finds more stars on his negative
than were visible in the sky; the physician per-
ceives symptoms in the photograph which he
failed to discern from the skin of his patient; and




the lens arrests and pictures the whirring wing of clock. An apparatus constructed on this princi-
the insect, the flying bullet, the very flash of light- ple could be used in many ways; only a few need
ning, showing, in the latter, thousands of delicate be mentioned. Let the instrument be set in front
forkings of light, which escape the sight blinded of a rose-bush, and carefully focused upon a rose.
Set the clock-
work in motion
and leave the
camera to itself
z ,during a long
period. Upon
examining the
paper, by and
j'" in" by, we should
find a series of
taken at ihter-
vals of ten min-
utes, showing
whatever insect
visitors may
have been at-
tracted to the
Al flower.
Set the cam-
era in range for
a wild bird's

by the excessive light. A writer in the West
American Scientist says:
A striking illustration of the value of the camera to
astronomy is furnished by the recent discovery of a new
nebula near the star Maia' in the Pleiades. Until
photographed at the Paris Observatory, this nebula had
never been seen by the best glasses, although it has
since been detected with the great telescope of the Pul-
kova Observatory. The Emperor of Brazil now an-
nounces his determination to cooperate, at the Rio de
Janeiro Observatory, in the general project of photo-
graphing the entire heavens, already begun at Paris with
such unexpected success."
Before closing this paper, I wish to suggest to
the ingenious young men who read ST. NICHOLAS,
and who are amateur photographers, a new device,
which they can easily make and apply; it will, I
think, furnish many interesting results. It may
be called an "automatic shutter." Let a disk
with regular openings be caused to revolve by
clock-work in such a way as, at stated intervals
(say, often minutes), to expose the sensitive paper
for a fraction of a second. The sensitive paper
should be on rollers, as it is now in some cameras,
and these rollers also should be operated by the

nest, and you
should secure a
series of pic-
tures of bird-
life, as it flows
on undisturbed by the presence of man. Who
knows what pretty domestic scenes of motherly
care and fatherly providence might be revealed?
Many woodland and meadow creatures are so
shy as to be observed with difficulty. Would
not this detective-camera give us the grace-
ful attitudes of the squirrel, the rabbit, and the
woodchuck in their free gambolings or daily labors ?
Set the clock to strike off pictures at longer
intervals, and you will secure a record of the
sprouting of seeds, the growth of plants, possibly
even the development of embryonic life.
While our young inventors are considering the
practicability of making an instrument that will
" wink us pictures of its own accord, let me hint to
such owners of the lens as may be by the sea-side,
that a little care and patience will enable them to
secure what, so far as I know, has never yet been
seen -a photograph of a tide-pool, wherein may
be seen the waving tentacles of the sea-anemone,
the curling arms of the starfish, the plumes of the
barnacle, and the flash of the minnow, together
with the exquisite forms of sea-weed and sunken
rock; all in their natural condition, bathed by
crystal water, and alive under the golden sun.




IT happened in France.
Two little girls were on their way to school one
morning' in the summer-time. These little girls
lived with their mother on the boundary of the
village, and their school was inthe village, so they
had a long walk along a solitary road between their
home and the Sister's" school, as it was called,
for the teacher was a Sister of Charity.
Each of these little girls had a basket on her
arm, and in each basket were large slices of white
bread, stuck together with plum-jam.
They were very fond of white bread made of
wheat flour, for the principal food at their home was
black-bread, which was made of buckwheat; and
they considered white.bread a luxury.
Later in the year, each would have had a big
rosy apple to eat with the bread, instead of jam,
but the apples were not ripe -as yet they were
hardly larger than cherries. These little children
were not sorry, howec er, for they liked plum-jam
much better than an apple, even the ripest, rosiest
apple. There was no danger the jam would soil
their school-books, for they had none,- their les-
sons were written by the Sister with chalk on a
blackboard, and they had no need of books.
Hand in hand, these little girls were' trudging
along the solitary road, when, turning a corner,
they saw before them a man sitting on a log, with
his head buried in his hands. The children were
not much frightened; why should they be, by a
man resting upon the side of the road? No one
had ever harmed them. They could not see the
man's face, but, thinking he must be some one they
knew, they went on fearlessly, stopping when they
were opposite the stranger.
The man did not stir, and they looked at him in
silence for some seconds.
"What is the matter ?" asked Marie, the elder.
The man raised his head slightly, and looked al
the children. They could see his eyes shining
through the long hair that hung about his face.
Hungry," he answered in a voice between s
whine and a growl.
Louise, the little sister, was frightened; the
man's eyes reminded her of the wolf,- the wolf
that she had heard about, that met Little Red
Ridinghood on the road as she was going to sec
her grandmother,-and so she was frightened.
Away she ran, scampering down the road toward

the village as fast as she could. Marie also was
frightened: not so much as her little sister, but
she did not like being left alone with the stranger,
and so she followed the younger sister, not looking
behind her until they were again hand in hand.
Then both looked back; the man had not stirred
from his seat on the log.
"He is hungry," said Marie.
"Yes, he is hungry," repeated Louise.
He must be very hungry," said Marie.
"Yes, he must be very hungry," repeated little
"It must be terrible to be so hungry," said
Marie, standing motionless in the road, and still
looking back.
"Yes, it must be terrible," Louise repeated
Again, pulling hard at her sister to prevent her
standing still.
"' Suppose we give him some of our luncheon,"
said Marie.
'" And whatwouldwe do at noon ?" asked Louise,
opening her basket and looking in, to assure her-
self that her bread and jam were safe.
Don't you remember, the Sister told us if we
helped others, we would be provided for ? Let us
give the man some of our bread."
"But the plum-jam? questioned Louise.
"Perhaps he likes jam," said her sister.
So do I," half whimpered Louise.
And then, the good Sister told us, the other
day, about Saint Elizabeth. Don't you remember
how, when she gave her best cloak to a beggar,
she found another-a better one-hanging up
in her room ? "
"But the beggar did not eat up her cloak; it
L was not like bread and jam."
No, but if we give our luncheon to the beggar,
perhaps,-perhaps at noon we shall find a better
Luncheon in our basket, just as Saint Elizabeth
found a better cloak when her husband sent for her
Sto come down and see the kings who had come to
Make them a visit."
"Are you sure, Marie ? "
No, not sure, but perhaps. Let us try."
I wish you would say sure."
Sure said Marie.
Say it again exclaimed Louise.
Sure I" repeated her sister.
S"He shall have my luncheon, then; but must


we go back ? Let us put it down here, and then
run. He will find it, like the birds."
Marie was not willing to leave the luncheon on
the ground and then run, as her sister wished.
She had listened to many wonderful stories, and
wished that something wonderful might happen
through her. Then, she thought, perhaps there
might some day be another Saint Marie, and other
little children would be told the story of this saint,
and of her charities when a child. But it was not all
vanity with this peasant child, for Marie's nature

intohismouth, Louise held out her portion: "Now,
The man, whose hunger was somewhat appeased,
and whose mouth was too full to speak, shook
his head.
"Now, mine," insisted Louise, looking disap-
pointed at the refusal.
No," said the man, as soon as he could, still
refusing, for now he was no longer terribly hungry,
he was somewhat ashamed of having taken the
child's luncheon.


was kind and charitable. So, clinging to one an-
other, back they went to feed the hungry.
Did you say you were hungry? asked Marie,
when they had come nearer, but were still at a safe
distance from the stranger.
He is asleep," whispered Louise, for the man
took no notice of the question.
Here is something to eat," persisted Marie,
thrusting her lunch almost into the man's face.
The man suddenly startled the children. With
a low cry, he snatched the food, which he instantly
began to devour like a wild animal. The chil-
dren stood watching the hungry man, and as he
stuffed the last morsel of Marie's bread and jam

Now, mine," insisted Louise, thrusting her
offering into the man's hands, and, as one child's
luncheon was not much for a hungry tramp, and
she would not be denied, he took a large bite
through both slices of the bread and jam. It al-
most brought the tears to the eyes of Louise as she
saw them going,- still, Marie had said "Sure!"
But suppose Marie should be mistaken?
When recess came, the Sister told her pupils
they could get their baskets and eat their luncheon
in the school-yard, under the trees. Standing at
the school-room door, the teacher watched over
the children. Soon she noticed Marie and Louise
sitting at the foot of one of the trees, their heads



close together, Marie looking very sad, and Louise
crying. They had made themselves comfortable
on the ground before opening their baskets, confi-
dent they should find a good luncheon and both
baskets were empty !
Saint Elizabeth has forgotten us! exclaimed
But you said 'sure,' twice," whimpered Louise,
and began to cry and say she was hungry.
"Why do you not eat your luncheon:?" asked
the Sister.
Saint Elizabeth has forgotten us," answered
And Marie said sure,' twice "
It was with much difficulty that the Sister led
the children to give an intelligible account of their
attempt at charity. When at last she understood,
she said:
"Wait; I will see. Perhaps you are not for-
gotten, after all," and she went into the house,
leaving the chlld-en wondering.
Soon, the teacher returned, holding in her hand
a large piece of bread which she broke into halves,
giving a piece to each of the sisters.
"There, children, you see you have been re-
membered," and so saying, she left them to enjoy
their lunch.
But Saint Elizabeth has forgotten the jam! "
exclaimed Louise, after taking a bite and finding
it was only dry bread.
"Perhaps she did not know there was jam on
our bread."
The good Sister ought to have told her."

She could not," explained Marie, adding, "I
never tasted such nice bread before."
But little Louise did not echo as usual, for, to
her, dry bread without jam was simply dry bread,
and it may have been Marie's imagination that
helped her to enjoy her crust.
The adventure was told dbver again to the mother
when the children went home from school.
"Was it not kind of Saint Elizabeth to have
remembered us, after all, Mother ?" asked Marie,
when she had finished.
She forgot the plum-jam," said Louise.
"But suppose Saint Elizabeth was obliged to go
hungry exclaimed the practical peasant mother.
Surely not Saint Elizabethmother ?"
Some one must have gone hungry; probably
the Sister gave you what she had intended to eat
And was it not Saint Elizabeth ?i' asked Marie.
"I was so sure it came from her."
"Not unless the good Sister is so named. No,
my dear, when the Sister saw you were hungry,
she gave to you out of her frugal store. My dears,
it was very sweet of you, to wish to feed the hun-
gry man. But remember, when you give, that you
must not do so in the hope of being rewarded.
That is not charity. Neither is it charity to give
bread to one and take from the mouth of another.
Probably the good :Sister went hungry."
I am so sorry," Marie said, disappointed and
repentant, bursting into tears.
Louise only pouted and muttered to herself:
"But she forgot the jam! "




AUNT CLEMMY was working away at her knit-
ting. For several months she had been working
and nodding over the same stocking.
"'T ain't wuth while to hurry over de heel,
chile, 'cause you might spile it; and den dah !"
she would say to Elsie, who made inquiries from
time to time as to the progress of old Aunty's
Elsie was curled up in the old-fashioned sofa
that afternoon.. Her chin was sunk deep into the
frilled yoke of her apron, and her hair hung in
bronze-colored tresses about her cheeks as she bent
over the book in her lap. The light was begin-
ning to fade, and the brown shadows to lurk in the
corners of the old wainscoted room.
Aunt Clemmy, just awake from a refreshing
nap, was quite ready for conversation. She had
made to her companion several remarks that
remained unnoticed; so, in a louder tone, she tried
a general observation:
"I always he-ared dat 't was perlite'to answer
folks's perlite questions."
Elsie had ceased reading at that moment, as the
words were becoming illegible in the waning light,
and she heard Aunty Clemmy's voice, but did not
distinguish the words.
What did you say, Aunty ?" she asked as she
regretfully laid her book aside. Aunt Clemmy
repeated her remark.
"But, Aunty," apologized Elsie, "I was so in-
terested that I did n't understand you."
Dat's what I say. I ain' so suttin 'bout all dis
reading ef it's goin' to draw folkses off from dere
mahners an' ev'thing."
Elsie saw that there was danger of exciting a
discussion, so she observed that:she would go and
find Mamma. The discussion which seemed likely
to arise--at least Aunty's tone of voice was that
which generally preceded debate was an old one
between Elsie and herself. As Aunt Clemmy stated
it, it was: Whether folkses was better wid book-
larnin', or 'dout none," Elsie, of course, always
stoutly maintaining the affirmative. Aunty was
not alone in doubting .the advantages of learning.
Many of her race who had been slaves and never
learned to read, were nevertheless prospering, so
far as mere necessaries were concerned, and conse-
quently considered education superfluous. Several

days elapsed, and although Elsie: spent a part
of every afternoon in the old sitting-room with
Aunt Clemmy, the favorite topic was not started
by the old woman.
SOne afternoon, however, Elsie got up to draw
her chair closer to a small fire which Aunty had
lighted because it was growing chilly, Her stir-
ring waked Aunt Clemmy, who immediately fell
to knitting as fast as she.could for a few moments.
(The older servants used to say that Aunt
-Clemmy, when a "li'l' gal," used to knit by the
side of her old mistress, who would give her a tap
oi the head with her thimbled finger whenever she
fell asleep, so that "the gal," on waking, would
begin knitting as fast as she could, to pretend that
she had not been napping,-and that Aunt Clemmy
had retained this habit in her old age.)
"Honey," said Aunt Clemmy, after a vigorous
spell of a few seconds at her stocking, to Elsie,
who was blinking at the fire.
Elsie looked up, smiling, for the long delayed
struggle "'bout dat 'vantages of education."
"Honey," repeated Aunt Clemmy, we's been
'scussin' an' 'sputii in' mightily 'bout l'arnin'-but
I 's done change my min'."
"Why, Aunty I" exclaimed Elsie, startled into
rapt attention by Aunty's unhoped-for surrender.
"Yes, honey. Yo' knows dat raskil grandson
of mine, Beyouregard, who 's done got a prize at
school. Well, las' night when I wuz 'bukin' him
'bout de 'lasses-which it wuz mos' all gone outen
the jug, an' dey wa' n't nobody to eat it but him,
'cause de cat don' like it-and which I'buked him
outen de word o' Scripter, he ups an' sez, sez he,
'Folkses better know how to archkde Scripter, 'fo'
dey always' bringing' of it up against dere neighbors.'
'Fo' I could git the broom, dat boy got outen de
door; but he shut it to so quick, it done mash his
fingers,-'i yi! Dat settle me I gwine l'arn
how to read; dat what I gwine do."
"Why, of course, Aunty; and I 'm so glad
of it. But how are you going to learn? Will
Beauregard ?"
Him! No, marm; not efI never l'arn. Who
but you, honey? You 's de very one. Ain't I
been 'sputin' g'inst you all de time 'bout de 'van-
tages, an' you been talking' so beautiful 'bout 'ein,
dat I hated to wi'.stan' yo' ? But I did n' mean nut'n';

yo' ole Aunty did n' mean nut'n', crowdin' uv yo' I done'scuss with you ? An' don' I kno' how smart
so clus in de argument, sometimes." yo' is, teaching' me uv multrication table -an' five
She drew the shapely head of her little girl an' fo' meks nine an' all dem 'rethmetics ? "
against her knee and stroked the heavy tresses. So it was agreed that Elsie should begin as soon
She could not see the laughing eyes-laughing as as the old primer could be found.


-well at the cause of Aunty's sudden conversion as Aunty Clemmy knew her letters, but not in the
at her ingenious plea for forgiveness, order which is generally observed. Her favorite
Well, Aunty, I will try. I 'm only a scholar, form was a, b, c, d, q, r, s, t, v." She never would
myself, you know." admit that there was any use in knowing the suc-
"'Tain'wuth while fo' yo' to talk dat way. Ain' cession of the letters. I knows'em by sight, chile,




an' I knows 'em by name, so it don' mek no differ-
ence how dey comes arter one 'n'er."
The primer was duly found, and Elsie one after-
noon sacrificed her play to the cause of education.
Aunty was shown the mysteries of a-b, ab, and
b-a, ba, etc. She was to learn the list for two days,
and then to say it without the book.
Elsie sat up straight on the old hair-cloth Chip-
pendale sofa and began.'
A, b, Aunty; what does that spell ? "
A, b, aby."
"Oh! Aunty-ab. Nowb,a." She could not
help making the little word on her lips, but Aunty
answered confidently, "Beeyea." In like manner
c, a, became Seeyea." Elsie felt like both laugh-
ing and crying. The result was very mortifying to
her as a teacher; but it was difficult to keep from
laughing at Aunty's serene confidence in herself.
Several trials developed no symptoms of further
advance, and Elsie began to lose hope of success.
She prevailed upon her brother Tom, who gen-
erally came in from play every evening too sleepy
to study his own lessons, to try his hand at hearing
Aunty. Aunty gave very nearly the same answers
to Tom, but when she answered that a, g, spelt
"Agy," Tom rolled over on the floor and roared
with laughter, until Aunty threatened to report
him to "he paw soon's he come fum de Co't House."
Elsie took the book from his hand and went crying
to her mother.
But Elsie had much determination in her char-
acter, and would not abandon Aunty as a hope-
less scholar. She consulted Mamma about the
matter. Mamma proposed to her to try the old
rhyming method, and gave her several rhymes con-
nected with the spelling of words of one syllable.
Elsie's hopes revived, and she renewed her lessons
to Aunt Clemmy. The jingles amused the old
woman prodigiously, and frequently during the
day Elsie's Mamma would hear the old scholar
running over,
"A-b, ab, I cotch a crab,
N-o, no, I let him go,
I-n, in, I cotch him ag'in."
The whole family became interested, and, as the
old rhymes did not hold out very long, they began
to devise new ones for Aunty's education. Every

advantage, too, was taken of the association of ideas
in aiding the memory, as rat and cat, house and
mouse, etc.
One jingle ran in this way:
"C and a and t, spell cat.
Rand a and t, spell rat."
Aunty would frequently say make instead of
spell, from the 'rethmetics coming into her
head. Sometimes she twisted the first line into
"C and a and cat, make tea," and when her
attention was called to the change she never failed
to laugh until the tears rolled over her "specs."
Unfortunately, the arrangement of the rhymes
in couplets, being once fixed in Aunty's mind,
became unchangeable. Consequently, in spelling
a sentence the outcome was rather bewildering.
In reading a little sentence like this one (she knew
is and in and the, by sight), The rat is in the pig-
pen," the effect of the mixture of rhymed syllables
in her mind would appear thus: The r-a-t rat,
and the c-a-t cat, is in the p-i-g pig, and j-i-g jig,
p-e-n pen, and h-e-n hen." When Aunt Clemmy
finished reading this, or some similar sentence,
and Elsie would ask what it all spelled, she would
get this for an answer:
Hi! ain' I jes' done read it all over to you,
lovely? an' you wan' me say it all over again?-
Yo' ain' got no memory !"
After some weeks' trial the lessons became fewer
and fewer. Elsie saw that they were fruitless,
though she never hinted as much to Aunty;
and Aunty was so satisfied that her education
was completed at two syllables, that she did not
complain when the lessons stopped there. But
the younger servants who could read were disposed
to amuse themselves over Aunty's pretensions to
educationn." "It 's hard to teach ole dog hew
tricks," some would say. And Beauregard, in spite
of his relation to the old woman, was as bad as
any of them, and so aggravated Aunt Clemmy that
one morning she said to Elsie: "Honey, I been
s'archin' de Scripters an' done see heap o' words
I knows; 'speciallin' a's and the's, but I 's getting'
'long slow, and would be glad if you could fin' me
some good tex' fur bad boys, ez dat Beyouregard
's gittin' wuss an wuss I ain' got no time to l'arn
no mo' o' dish yer reading. "

VOL. XVI.-40.




" X


" Oh, dear'! is summer over?"
I heard a rosebud moan,
When first her eyes she opened,
And found she was alone.

: Oh, why did summer leave me,
Little me, belated ?
Where are the other roses?
I think they might have waited "

Soon the little rosebud
Saw to her surprise
Other roses opening,
So she dried her eyes.


Then I heard her laughing
Gayly in the sun,
" I thought the summer over;
Why, it 's only just begun "





SOME months ago, a man who was working for
a lady in one of the larger towns of Pennsylvania
brought her a very beautiful nest, containing three
small white eggs.
"Why, Hans," she exclaimed, "where in the
world did you find it?"
Hans replied that while he had been removing
some stones from a ledge of lime-rock by the banks
of the creek that flowed near the town he had dis-
covered the nest on a projecting ledge, "unt I
nodiced, lady, dot dere vas a schmall zdream of
vasser drigglin' down ofer dot nezd. Mebbe it vos
lime-vasser dot made id zo hart like a sdone."
The recipient of this unusual gift had not before
noticed that it was, indeed, hard and heavy, and to
all appearances completely petrified, or, at least,
incrusted with a white calcareous deposit. The
three eggs in it were, like the nest itself, entirely
covered with the limy incrustation. "Dere vas
anudder," Hans remarked, with a tone of regret
and mortification; and, as if impelled to the con-
fession by the power of a strong conscience, "bud
I brogue id als I vas geddin' down from d' gliff.
I vos fery zorry." With these words Hans with-
drew, almost overcome by the gracious words of
gratitude which followed him to the door.
After he had gone there was an opportunity for
a close examination of the wonderful specimen.
All the family were called in, and all agreed in
declaring it the most beautiful natural curiosity
they had ever seen.
"See, Mamma," cried little Mary, "it looks
exactly as if it were made of moss."
"Undoubtedly it was," replied her mother; "do
you not remember that piece of petrified moss
Uncle Professor used to show you ? "
Yes, indeed, -Mamma; and this is precisely
like it, only made into this lovely nest. I wonder
what kind of bird made it! Oh, here comes Will!
he 'll know; he knows everything about birds.
Will, come here, and see this beautiful petrified
bird's-nest! Hans found it on a ledge over by the
"Petrified grandmother!" said Will, irrever-
ently; but as his eyes fell on the graceful lines of
the nest, in which each little curving twig and
twining hair was perfectly outlined, he whistled,
and exclaimed in an entirely different tone, "By

gracious, where in time did you get that ? It's
- a- dandy !"
Will now proceeded to give the nest an exam-
ination in what he was pleased to consider a
thoroughly scientific manner. Each tiny root and
blade of incrusted grass was scrutinized in turn.
It was wonderful to see his boyish hands, some-
times so carelessly used upon fragile household
articles as to be declared "clumsy," touching this
delicate fabric as daintily as an artist. A boy may
break your china vase, but never the infinitely
more fragile porcelain of the eggs in his "collec-
"Well, sir, what is it?" said Mamma, after a
few minutes had passed.
It 's a petrified phebe's nest," said the young
ornithologist. Phebes make their nests of green
moss, and line them with rootlets and little twigs
and grass just like this, and they lay little white
eggs just this shape, and they always build on a
beam or ledge of rock, and nearly always very near
a creek. See there," he added, pointing to the end
of one tiny stem inside the nest, which had been
broken off, "that piece is hollow; it must have
been a bit of grass."
Is n't it rather contrary to our usual notions
of bird intelligence that a phebe should place her
nest where it should be in danger of so disastrous a
flood as this little stream of lime-water has proved ?"
suggested Mamma.
Birds often do that sort of thing," said Will;
I 've known wrens to build in the sleeve of a coat
hanging in the shed, and they have been known
to build even in the mouth of a cannon."
When Will's father came home to dinner the
nest was shown to him, and he was as much
delighted as were the rest of the family. He took
it down to his office and placed it in the win-
dow, where for many weeks it attracted the atten-
tion and aroused the admiration of all who passed
that way.
Such was substantially the history of my petri-
fied bird's-nest, prior to last January. At that time
a friend of mine in passing the window where it
lay, was arrested by its beauty, and, knowing that
I was interested in all such things, kindly tried to
buy it for me. His proposition was rejected, for
no price would be set upon the unique curiosity.


He wrote me a description of it, however, and upon
my expressing a strong desire to see it, succeeded
in inducing its owners to lend it to him in order
that my wish might be gratified.
Rarely have I experienced greater pleasure than
when I carefully opened the box in which it had

safely traveled from Pennsylvania to Massachusetts,
and with nervous fingers removed the cotton which
protected the delicate treasure. I have had a
photograph made of the nest as I then saw it,
looking down upon it from above, showing the
eggs. It corresponded perfectly with the descrip-
tion I had received, but was tenfold more beautiful
than I had imagined. I wrote little notices of it
for our local papers, and invited all interested in
the wonderful works of nature to visit our Athe-
naeum, where it was on exhibition, and inspect it.
For a week it was the great attraction. Collectors
came and saw and-envied; teachers brought
their pupils, and mothers and fathers brought
their children to see the wonderful petrified bird's-
nest. All were equally enthusiastic. I began to
wonder whether the specimen were not really
unique. Encyclopedias were consulted. No men-

tion of petrified birds'-nests was found save in
Rees's old volumes, where I found fossils divided,
according to the Linnaean system, into eight Genera,
of which the third, Ornitholithus, includes "the
body or parts of a bird changing into a fossil sub-
stance." Under this head is the remark: "The

fossil remains of birds are very rarely met with,
although, as Mr. Parkinson, says, they are fre-
quently mentioned, and even described, by differ-
ent authors. Several of those specimens which
have been spoken of as petrifactions of whole birds,
and of their nests, have been merely calcareous
incrustations of very modern date."
But even these were only nests, nests without an
egg. At this juncture I wrote to my friend in
Pennsylvania to try to secure the nest for me.
"Offer ten dollars," I wrote; "if that will not buy
it, try fifteen; if that is refused, try twenty-five;
and if that does n't secure it, write me, and I may
be willing to go higher still."
About this time I was pleased to see in one of
the leading ornithological magazines that -the dis-
covery in one of the Southern States of a fossil
bird's-egg was made the subject of a communica-




tion before one of our learned societies. What was
one egg to a nest with three ?
I rather wish that my story could end right here,
but truth compels me reluctantly to continue.
Among those who came to see the nest while it was
on exhibition was one lady, whose manner of look-
ing at it caused me a little annoyance. She did
not appear to feel that restraint in its presence
which I had remarked in others. She tookitinher
hands, and turned it upside down to see the bottom
of it. I was afraid she would break an egg, and
ventured to caution her as to the fragile nature of
birds'-eggs in general and petrified birds'-eggs in
particular. She smiled and returned the nest to
me with the remark that she-had one at home
of which this one reminded her. The next day
she sent hers for my inspection. Judge of my
surprise when I found it to be identical in form,
structure, material, size, and number of eggs. It
differed only in color, and she informed me that
she had had hers washed before bringing it over!
She further informed me that she had procured.
it'some years before from a traveling peddler,,and
had always supposed it to be the product of art,
and man's device. The same day a small boy on
seeing my'nest remarked, It 's very pretty. My
aunt in Saratoga has one just like it."

This was enough. Whether the same "bird"
had made all three or not, one thing was evident -
the specimen was not unique.
Within five minutes a telegram was journeying
westward to this effect: "Withdraw all offers for
the nest."
Fortunately the message reached its destination
in time to prevent the joke on me from becoming
too painful. The advantage of a little experience
was illustrated by the remark of a distinguished
Professor of Natural History when the specimen
was mentioned to him. "It. is a fraud," said he.,
" There is a place in Italy where -they make these
things. They put the nests in water impregnated
with mineral salts, and leave them there until they
become incrusted, and then sell them to travelers
and- fools!"
The most puzzling thing about the nest is, what
induced that workman to palm off his nest as he
did with no attempt to profit by it? Until this
problem is solved there remains a bare possibility
that nature has done unaided in America what she
frequently does in Italy under the direction of dis-
ingenuous peasants.
But, after all, is not a real "live" bird's-nest more
beautiful and wonderful than any mere dead pet-
rifaction ever could be ?


OUTSIDE the nursery window,
Before the spring was old,
I found one morn, as I chanced to pass,
Standing straight and tall in the dewy grass,
A little young man in gold.

He was a saucy fellow,
His look was bright and bold;
Yet his nod was so blithe when he caught my eye,
That I nodded again as I bade good-bye
To the little young man in gold.

L Next time I crossed the terrace, '
I turned me from my way,
S To visit the sprite; but a marvelous change .
SSome fairy had wrought, and there stood,- oh strange! I
A little old man in gray !







h. \' .

t ~5- -

CHARLIE was twelve years
old; his brother Johnny was two
years younger. Johnny was a sturdy
little fellow, and Charlie was not always
mindful of the two years' difference in their ages.
One morning in the early fall, the little boys
were warming their hands over the stove, when
their mother said: "Johnnr, I wish you would go
to the barn and see if 'old Speckle' is on her nest
again. I do not wish her to set this fall, for the
little chickens would freeze to death. If she is on
her nest, I wish you would lift her off, and drive
her out into the barn-yard."
Johnny went to the barn and found old Speckle
on her nest in the hay-mow. He climbed up the
ladder and put out his hand to take her from
her nest. Old Speckle did not like this. She said,
" Cluck cluck! and ruffled up her feathers and
tried to peck Johnny's hands.
Then Johnny took off his hat and waved it at
her, and said, Shoo! shoo shoo !" but old
Speckle would not leave her warm nest for Johnny;
so Johnny went into the house and told his mother
he could not drive old Speckle off, and he was
afraid to take her up in his hands.
"Oho said his brother Charlie, laughing at
him. "Before I 'd be afraid of a hen!"
"Well," said Johnny, "I don't deny it, and

if you are not afraid of old Speckle, I should
like to see you take her off yourself."
"You will see old Speckle in the barn-
yard in less than five minutes,"
said Charlie, as he took his
hat and went out.
Before long, the people
in the house heard a
loud cackling like
that of a very an-
gry hen.
That must be
S. Speckle,"said


" I suppose Charlie has taken her off the nest.
He is a brave boy. Old Speckle is a fierce hen."
Then Charlie came in.
"Do you hear that hen?" said Charlie. "I
told you I could take her off from her nest. I 'm
not afraid of a hen."
Then Johnny, who had been out, too, spoke up
and said:
"'Most anybody could rake a hen off a nest."
"Rake a hen off a nest?" repeated Charlie,
laughing, but looking sheepish. "How do you
know I did?"
Then Johnny told how he knew.
The barn had both a back door and front
door. The back door was kept open, and the
front door was kept closed. As soon as Charlie
had left the house, Johnny slipped out of the
house door and in at the back door of the barn.
He hid in the hay before Charlie had opened the
front door of the barn. He saw Charlie climb the

,-s. *




ladder, and saw him wave his hat at old Speckle,
and say, Shoo, Speckle, shoo He saw Charlie
try to take old Speckle off, but she pecked at him
so defiantly that Charlie was afraid to touch her.
So he took a long-handled rake, and reached over
to old:Speckle and raked her away from her nest,
as if she had been a bundle of hay. Old Speckle
still fought pluckily for the possession of the nest,
.and thrust her head between the prongs of the
rake in her efforts to reach the eggs. It seemed
almost cruel in Charlie to drag her farther away
from- them, but as he only pulled steadily it did
not. hurt her in the.least. But.she was soon con-

vinced that it was useless to struggle, and so she flew
down on the barn floor, and ran out at the door,
cackling an indignant Cut! Cut! Curdar-cut I"
as loudly as she could. Charlie went out after her,
and, while he stopped to fasten the door, Johnny
ran out at the back door and into the house.
After .this, when Charlie would accuse Johnny
of being afraid of anything, Johnny would answer,
"Let me see: I believe I remember you. Are n't
you the boy who raked the hen off her nest ?" But
when Johnny's .mother heard this taunt, she quietly
remarked, It is not every boy who would think
of as good a plan as Charlie's."



GOOD-MORNING peeped over her eastern gate,
* To see if the children were up;
And laughed at a bumblebee coming home late,
Who was caught in a hollyhock cup.
GoodA-Morning has eyes like the glint of the skies
When they're bright as the sun and the stars
mixed together,
And her lips are so sweet, and her steps are so
She can dance like a thistledown, fly like a
You never have seen her ?" Oh, me Oh, me!
What a dull little sleepy-head you must be !

Good-Morning can sing like a brook or a bird;
She knows where the fairies all hide;
Some folk, hard of hearing, say they never have
Her sing, though they often have tried.
Good-Morning has hair made of sunshine so rare,
The elves tried to steal it to weaie in the
Which made her afraid, the bonny wee maid,
To swing on the gate many minutes together.
You "never have seen her?" Ah, me! Ah, me!
What a cross, lazy lie-a-bed you must be !

Good-Night is her neighbor, a dear little soul,
Who swings in a hammock, and not on a gate.
She half shuts her eyes with a great yawn, so
It would make an owl laugh, I will venture to
Good-Night always brings the most wonderful
To hide in the children's beds, glittering and
Such tales she can tell, and she tells them so well,
You could listen all night, and believe you
were dreaming!
You "never have heard her?" Oh, me! Oh, me!
What a small naughty wideawake you must be!

Good-Night has a house full of beautiful toys,
That she keeps for the children,- no grown-
folks are there;
And she carries them off, the wee girlies and
To her magical palace, and, oh, how they stare!
Good-Night never frowns when she sees the
S white gowns
Come trooping to beg for more stories,-the

But with kisses and smiles, the time she beguiles,
And bids them to come again soon,-do you
You "never have been there?" Ah, me! Ah, me!
What a very sad, grown-up young chick you
must be!



GOOD-MORROW, my young Summerers, and a
fair June to you! Soon my young country-folk
will be having the rosiest kind of a time, and thou-
sands upon thousands of young citizens will be
scampering through fields, rolling down hillsides,
or splashing into the "shining tumult" of the
Now, suppose we take up the subject of


WHAT is this I hear? Are the dolls of this
nineteenth century now to talk in earnest, laugh
in earnest, cry in earnest, and, for aught I know,
cough and sneeze in earnest when they catch cold ?
And they are not to do all this with little squeak-
ing sounds, such as have disgraced intelligent dolls
up to the present date, but with real, human child
voices, every shade of sound complete?
This is wonderful, and very hard to believe;
yet it is true, I am told. Now, who can explain
this matter ?

IT appears, my hearers, that the "learned and
sprightly correspondent," whom I quoted for you
in December last, made a generous error in regard
to the Russian alphabet. He gave it forty-one
letters, when in truth it has but thirty-four, after
This I give you on the excellent authority of
Nathan Haskell Dole, known to my dear Little
School-ma'am and the rest of the world as the
translator of Count Tolstoi's works. Tolstoi, the
little lady says, is a great Russian novelist. Mr.
Dole writes to this Pulpit: The Ecclesiastical
Slavonic, from which the Russian alphabet was
derived, had forty-two letters, and literary Russian
has thirty-four, strictly speaking, though it is com-

only enough represented as having thirty-six,
one letter being a form of i (ee) used only in a
few church words, and the other still another
form of the ninth letter, which is also i (called Is
Besides Mr. Dole's message from Boston, the
Little School-ma'am has received this from a mili-
tary friend stationed somewhere on the outskirts
of civilization:
"You might tell your friends (and mine), Jack-
in-the-Pulpit," he says, that there is a little boy
here, only forty-two years old, who takes exception
to a statement in the December number of ST.
NICHOLAS about the number of letters in the
Russian alphabet. My recollection of the same,
re-enforced by a sly glance at my Russian Lexicon,
is that thirty-six letters only are found in that
alphabet. This includes all double letters, and the
three forms of the letter 'i.' Possibly the alpha-
bet may have grown since I studied the language.
That was in 1867, and twenty years may have made
changes in alphabets as well as in those who make
use of them, but an addition of five letters is a large
Now, my chicks, you who are big may take in
these facts with the dignity that so well becomes the
new generation; but you who are little need not
alter your daily life one jot, unless it be to sigh now
and then for the poor little Russians who have had
to learn eight or ten more letters than you did.
DEAR JACK: Although the open-air roses are again
ready to bloom, which proves that this year is nearly half
gone, it is not too late to mention the fact that the figure
nine is again on top of the calendar. It has not been
there for ten years, but now it has come to stay. We, or
our children, or their children's children, shall see it every
year until its grand disappearance for nine years at the
close of the Christmas holidays in 1999. Nine is the
queerest figure in numbers, anyway, and it is calling
especial attention to itself nowadays in every letter that
is written in all parts of the Christian world.
Yours, respectfully, A SCHOOLBOY.


HERE is Prof. Starr's reply to Ruth Hartzell's
inquiry, which your Jack read to you last month:
I have been asked why the metal tanks in the ice-fac-
tory (see "A Rose in a Queer Place," February ST.
NICHoLAS) do not burst from the expansion of the freezing
water within. The tanks are of galvanized iron usually,
and though strong would yield somewhat to the pressure
from within. 'More than this, the covers are loosely
laid on, and the tanks may not be absolutely filled with
water. This would allow of expansion upward. Of
course, the ice expands only while freezing, and, when it
is cooled much below freezing point, shrinks. So that
the shrunken block would have no difficulty in slipping
out of the tank, even if it had formed with the sides of
the tank bulged out by pressure. To make the removal
of these cakes still easier, the tank is usually a little
larger at the top than at the bottom, and the sides gently
slant downward.
I hope that this answer may be satisfactory to my
questioner. FREDERICK STARR.



DEAR JACK:, I am a little girl ten years old. I am in
the Third Reader in school. In my reader there is a piece
of poetry. I will tell you some of it:
Preaches to-day,
Under the green trees,
Just over the way.
Squirrel and song-sparrow,
High on their perch,
Hear the sweet lily-bells
Ringing to church.
How do you like that, Jack ? It is all about you.
Your friend, PANSY COOPER.
I like it very much, little Pansy. It is an old
song, but, like the lily-bells, always new. It came
straight from the heart of a true poet. Whenever
you see anything in your Third Reader. or any-
where else as pretty as this poem about Jack-in-
the-Pulpit, just you read it, Pansy. It will make
you grow.
WHAT keen eyes they have! these busy little
workers, flying hither and thither, over hill and val-
ley, in the early spring days. House-hunting, that
is what they are doing. In at your window, under
the eaves of the barn, getting in the most in-
conceivable and, sometimes, unwelcome places.
Nothing is beneath their notice; no, not even an
old, discarded curtain-tassel, as a friend tells me
who has seen the tassel.
Perhaps it was once one of the much-prized
treasures of some small girl, rambling through the

loose hay, with her arms so full of toys that the
treasure dropped, and was lost forever to the fond
eyes of its owner. There it lay, unseen and use-
less, until, one day, a busy wasp came buzzing
around the barn-yard, and, being a wasp of high
aesthetic taste, this odd-looking, pretty-colored
object in the long grass attracted its attention and
gave it a most brilliant idea.
First taking a peep in at the top, it disappeared
from view, only to reappear at the other end; then,
the inspection revealing all that its cultivated taste
demanded, flying off, with a satisfied buzz, to return
with a whole colony of its fellow-workers, ready to
begin on the new home.
So the wasp and its family worked day after day,
from early morn until dusk, flying back and forth
to their tasseled home, first making the cells for
their eggs and food, then, all being snug and tight,
hurrying off again to have the store-rooms well
filled with provisions for the few who would live
until another spring.
All through the summer months sounded their
energetic, busy hum, telling a tale of lots of work
to be done and six short months to do it in! iBuzz,
buzz, buzz!/
Long since the little occupants deserted their
esthetic home, while the tassel, with the house still
complete, reposes in the South Kensington Mu-
seum of Natural History, a lasting relic of the
industry of those aesthetic wasps.

All this true and pretty story has been written
out for you by M. B. Dickman, and your Jack has
simply repeated it so that all the congregation may
have it at the same time.


,- i.

-- --

,- ,...r

7' 2

.lVill. I' 1,111J,



THE Maudy family always keep a box full of caterpillars and worms.

Is n't that funny ? But, you know, these creatures turn into queer things


called cocoons, like the one in the picture. In this form they live' for many
days until their little houses open and they come out butterflies or moths.
This year the Maudy family expected moths of the kind called Polyphe-
mus. One morning Peter and Phoebe Maudy went out to the box, which
they kept in the garden, and in it they found four of the beautiful brownish
moths just out of their cocoons. There they were, fluttering their wings for
joy because they felt the warm sunshine for the first time, and troubled only
because the thin muslin over the top of the box kept them from flying out to
the flowers near by.
The children stood looking at their new pets, and suddenly they noticed
a very strange thing a number of moths' wings, like the wings of the new-
comers in the box, lay scattered
about. They counted six on the
bench and ten on the ground.
How did the wings come there ?-
The new moths were quite per-
fect, every one having its two
pairs of wings.
Outside there were no bodies -
to be seen, only wings, wings,
What had happened?
Chirrup! chirrup !" said a saucy-looking robin on a neighboring tree.
Another of the brown moths flew past, almost brushing Peter's nose. The
new-comer flew to the box, settled on the muslin, and seemed to be saying
good-morning to the prisoners.





Peter and Phoebe stood still, watching. Whir-r-r-r! Down came Mr.
Robin. In a second he had snatched up the kind moth in the middle of the
call, gobbled up his body, and left one more pair of brown wings to explain
how all the other brown wings came there.
Peter and Phoebe told the robin how naughty he was, but he only looked
saucier than ever. The children let the new moths fly away, and tucked in
around their looking-glass the wings of the loving and unfortunate callers.

(By permission, from Flint's edition of Harris on Insects Injurious to Vegetation.")


CONTRIBUTORS are respectfully informed that, between the Ist of June and the x5th of September, manuscripts can not conveniently be
examined at the office of ST. NICHOLAS. Consequently, those who desire to favor the magazine with contributions
will please postpone sending their MSS. until after the last-named date.

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little boy nine years
old, living in the Himalaya mountains. My father is a
missionary. I like your stories very much, especially
"Juan and Juanita," Sarah Crewe," "Two Little Con-
federates," and Little Lord Fauntleroy." We always
read'" The Brownies," and like them very much. "We"
means my sister Nora, eleven years old, and myself.
We go to the high-schools here in Naini Tal. It is a
beautiful town up in the mountains. We go down to
the plains near the river Ganges, in the winter, as it is
much warmer down there; and then we come up here
when it gets very hot below. Our Christmas holidays
are now nearly over.
When most of the English people and many natives
went down, last winter, a lot of bears came through the

station; they were seen around everywhere, in people's
gardens, and near their houses; a number of them were
shot, though some were only wounded. One big black
fellow swam right across the lake, nearly half a mile
wide. Sometimes leopards come about our houses and
take away our dogs; two of our dogs were taken away
by them. They are very fond of dogs One of these
leopards gobbled up our little dog "Pudge one night
last summer. My mamma just heard one little yelp,
Pudge stopped barking, and she never barked any more!
The leopard got her. Her father was a water-spaniel,
and her mother was a poodle; shq had long hair, and we
miss her very much. We have two white mice, which
run about the house and live in holes in the stone wall.
This is my first letter to ST. NICHOLAS.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have lived at this post for
more than six months, but not until the other day did I
have an opportunity to go to the Uintah Indian agency,
although it is only thirteen miles north from this place.
I am sure a great many readers of ST. NICHOLAS never
saw a real Indian, and for that reason I will try and tell
them what I saw at the agency.
Uintah is the name of one of the three tribes of Ute
Indians that live about us. I have not heard what Ute
means, but suppose it to be the Indian name for some
This is the time of year for the Bear dance, which is
quite an important event among the Utes, I think, as
the dance lasts from seven to eight days, and is held
every year. The Indians reckon time by the moon.
The Bear dance is the only dance in which the squaws
are allowed to take part. The Indians were very oddly
dressed; some wore buckskin suits, which were very
handsomely embroidered with beads, others wore cloth
of all colors.
The chief had his face painted with red and blue, and
his hair was braided and tied at the end with a long fox
tail. He had a long switch with which he switched the
Indians if they did not dance.
The music was made by a lot of bucks (warriors)
seated on the ground by a sort of wooden table. Each
buck had. a stick which was notched an inch or so
apart. They were all cut differently so as to make dif-
ferent sounds; they had a piece of wood made round
which they kept rubbing up and down over the other
piece of wood which rested on the table. They kept
singing, a low, monotonous chant without any music.
The Indians had their faces painted. I noticed one
especially; his face was painted bright yellow, and he had
a wreath of fox fur around his.head.
The chief's son has been at an academy for six years,
I was told; but he now refuses to speak a word of
English, which makes one wonder if Indians ever will be
civilized. Hoping this is not too long to be printed,
I remain your loving reader, KATE G. C-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken you for nearly
five years, and have gained much amusement and in-
struction from your pages.
I live on the banks of a river, and in the summer we
have great fun swimming, boating, and fishing.
In our front yard is a large maple-tree, and one night
last fall we had a very heavy shower. In the morning
forty-one dead sparrows were picked up under the tree.
Under a cluster of trees across the river one hundred
and seventy-five were found. That storm created great
havoc among the birds.
Hoping to see this in the Letter-box," I am still
Your loving reader, FRANK D. C-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live in a little frontier town
in Montana, where I was born eight years ago. My
papa has a ranch and lots of sheep, horses, and cattle.
I like best to live at the ranch and go fishing and play
at hunting. Sometimes we see deer and antelope there,
and often prairie-wolves (coyotes) come around and kill
sheep and lambs. Once my papa shot a bear there. In
the summer the ground-squirrels are running in and out
of their burrows nearly all of the time, and they eat
everything green in the garden. So, when I go there, I
trap as many as I can with a small steel trap.
It is great fun to watch the little lambs in the spring;
sometimes there are two thousand in one flock, and they

run around in a circle and jump up and roll over in the
jolliest way.
There were twin calves at the ranch last summer, and
I tried to lasso them and ride on their backs, but did not
succeed very well, though it was fun for me and seemed
to be, for them.
Some Indians came into town, a few weeks ago, to sell
skins of beavers and wolves that they had killed. They
wore bright-colored blankets and rode Indian ponies.
A gentleman here bought the beaver skins and had an
overcoat made. It took twenty to make one coat.
Your loving reader, MORRILL.

WE take pleasure in showing the following delightful
letter from two little French friends. We print the letter
just as we received it:
ST. LouIS, Mo.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS-We are two little girls who
have thirteen years. We are come from France the
seventeen septembre, and visit our aunt, who teaches
English to us. We like it much in America. When
we are at home we live just outside of Nice and have
very many of pets. We have fawns who run in the
park around our house and 3 ponies, who have for
names, Bayard, Emperor, R6nde, we have also one large
dog of St. Bernard named' Fid&le, we liked very much
the story of Aimee as we have been often to Nice.
We were charmed with Little Lord Fauntleroy; which
our English governess aided us in reading. We fear
this letter is too long, so bid you good-bye; and hope to
see our letter in print, as it is the first we have ever
written to you. Your admiring friends,
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I expect you will be surprised
to get a letter from far-away Arizona"; butmy cousin
has been sending you to me as a present for the last two
years, and, for about five years before that, my aunt had
been sending you to me. So I thought it was about
time to be writing you a letter and telling you how much
I like you.
I suppose that you think it must be very hot here, but
it is not so hot as it is represented to be. We never
have snow at Phoenix, but the mountains east and north
are covered with snow. All around the vicinity of
Phoenix the earth is spotted with mounds varying in
height and size. Excavations have been made near
Tempe (nine miles from Phoenix) by Lieutenant Cush-
ing of the Smithsonian Institution, and human skeletons
and many other interesting relics were unearthed. I
visited the place, and it was very interesting. They
were almost all lying with their heads toward the east,
and near their hands was a little olla of corn and another
olla supposed to have contained water. These were the
provisions (I suspect) that they were going to eat when
they were on their way to the Spirit Land.
All the skeletons were laid in a mold of hard substance
like brick, and some of them had their mouths open.
There was also an altar with a skeleton of a little child
on it. Where all these were unearthed is supposed to
have been a burial ground.
There were many more interesting relics, etc., but it
takes too much space to tell about them.
It is supposed that this race existed before the Aztecs,
and it is not known where they went, came from, or
anything else about them. I could write lots more
about them, but I know your space is precious.
I hope I have not already made my letter too long. 0
But I thought you might be interested to hear something
about the mound-builders near Phcenix. Your true
friend and admirer, FANNIE H. B- .




DEAR ST*. NIcHOLS : Sivas is a city of fifty thousand
inhiabLiantts, composed of Turks, Greeks, and Armenians.
There are only iwo Amiencar families and one English.
I is ne-rly fi\e thouurnd fetr above the sea. There are
some ruined giter as and towers over five hundred years
old. The old houses all have flat roofs,, and they are
made of dirt and stones. The government now forbids
citizens to build flat roofs, because sometimes the roofs.
cave in and bury the people inside, so now they must
build their roofs of tiles. Very many of the customs
of the people here are just contrary to the customs of
America. They leave their shoes at the door and keep
their fezes on in the house. In church or in school they
sit on the carpets on the floor. When you meet a person
in the street you turn to the left. When they shoe an ox
or a donkey, they tie up his feet and make him lie on his
back. A bride is the servant of the family, and she can
not talk until her mother-in-law gives her permission. I
have three bound volumes of the ST. NICHOLAS, and I
like the stories very much. I am a boy, eleven years
old. Your loving reader, LUKE CRESCENS H- .

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have taken your maga-
zine ever since it was published, and we are very fond
of it.
St. Mary's Hall is a large boarding-school for girls;
-there are sixty pupils, counting the day-scholars.
Every afternoon the girls walk out in twos, and one
day when we were walking through the country, a bull,
which was feeding in a field near by, tore after the girls,
who ran screaming in every direction.
The school is situated on the banks of the Delaware,
and on summer evenings each girl is allowed to walk
out with her favorite mate. There is a beautiful chapel
joining the school, and on Sundays the service sung by
the girls is largely attended.
We hope you will print this letter as we have never
seen any letters from girls at a boarding-school.
We are very busy here and do not have much time for
reading, but the ST. NICHOLAS is always welcome.
Your loving friends,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have taken you since
1880, through the kindness of our uncle.
We live in the coal regions, and I do not like it very
I have been down in the mines several times, and it
is very interesting.
If I had space I would tell you about the stable in the
mines. However, I will just give you a short descrip-
tion of it.
Imagine going down into the earth about half a mile,
with your hair standing on end from fright, and at last
coming to a level tunnel which is called the gangway.
About a hundred yards in, you come to the stable, which
is just a large opening at one side, cut out of the solid
earth. It is full of mules at night, and also rats,-hun-
dreds of them. Sometimes the poor mules stay all their
life in the mines and become perfectly blind to light.
I remain your loving reader, RoY B- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS.: I am .ten years old, and have
taken you for six years. I like all your stories, the
Indian ones' especially, because my grandfather, has
lived for a number of years in the Black Hills of Dakota,
near an Indian Reservation, and has seen several of the
chiefs mentioned in ST. NICHOLAS,--Red Cloud, Spotted
Tail, Man-Afraid-of-his-H.: ..e. and ar. n, others.
. I have a real Indian blanket in which an Indian was
killed; also a red pipe-stone battle-ax. My grandfather
lives very near the place where General Custer was
killed. I have just been reading Boots and Saddles,"
an interesting book by Mrs. Custer.
Affectionately yours, PLINY S. H--

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am eight and a half years
old. I like you very much, and especially the "Bunny
Stories and the children's letters/ I send this poetry,
which I wrote myself.
Your little friend, GRANT K-
The rain was on the window pane,
The sun was in a fright
Because he could not find his house,
That rainy, rainy night.
The moon was just about to rise,
But the stars put down their heads
In their little beds,
Until the moon said, Stars, get up,
The sun is in a fright
Because he can not find his house,
This rainy, rainy night." GRANT K-

SWE thank the young friends whose names here follow
for pleasant letters received from them: Nina T. Smith,
Lotta B. Smith, Nathalie C. Wilson, Hattie Spencer,
Chester, Fannie H. K., Lulu A. L., L. B., M. L. and
E. B., Mattie W. N., Willis J. Hoyt, May E., S. Isabel
Stahl, Florence Osborn, Emily Clary, Dora S., Jessie G.
and Lizzie S., Belle Cady, S. W. F., C. R. H., J. W. L.,
Florence Thayer, Edith N. Jones, Elizabeth V. F. V.,
Grace Oakes, A. M. G., Harriet B. MacF., Kathleen
H. Lovett, Percival Delafield, Ida C. J., Sam Chapin,
Julia Jackson Chapin, A. E. J., Terecita and Juanita, Nan-
nie-W. Cotten, Lillian A. Sturtevant, Bessie Smith, M.
Crane, G. K. P., Helen Porter, Mabel E. Dibble; Mabel
and Jessie Henderson, Laura May Hadley, Daisy L.
Brown, Lulu P. Manning, Mary C., Beatrice, Grace
Elser, Fay Turner, Herbert G., Helen C. Ward, E. W. C.,
B. B. W., Robert Bond, Edith Whitmore, Enid W. D.,
Floyd R. Macy, Ellen G. Barbour, Cleveland Smith,
Kate Alexander, Emma L. Campbell, John D. G. O.,
Edith Leslie, Gertrude Allen, A. T. Prouty, Clifford M.
Balkam, Orville A.Howard, GG. Dyer, Marie R. K., Ellen
George, Elsie Bleecker, Florence B., Judith C. Verplanck
and Marie B., E. Downs, Olive M., Frances H., May
S. D., E. Holmes, Wm. MacKenzie, Eddie A. B.,
Beatrix D., Maude J. and Alice S., Paul Waller, Alice
H. and Amanda G., Bertha Chase, Emily Wolff, Mary
E. Hale, H. R. Edgar, Alfred A. Bell, Kate Gordon,
Lloyd R. Coleman, Jr., Bessie M. Cooper, Dorothy F.,
Edith Edwards, L. Thorn, Jennie Boies, Kate Peet,
Eula Lee Davidson, Nell M. T., Hattie A. J., Edward
F. Johnson, and Luther J. Hamilton.

I I9




ANAGRAMS i. Oranges. 2. Watermelon. 3. Nectarine. 4. Pome- DOUBLE DIAGONALS. Diagonals, from left to right, Memorial
granate. 5. Apricots. 6. Pineapple. 7. Cherries. 8. Peaches. Day; from right to left, Emancipated. CROSS-WORDS: I. Mis-
9. Strawberries. so. Cranberries. construe. 2. Meerschaums. 3. Remonstrate. 4. Disorganize.
WORD-SQUARES I. x. Dinah. 2. Irene. 3. Nerve. 4. Anvil. 5. Superscribe. 6. Constituted. 7. Reappearing. 8. Disannulled.
5. Heels. II. I. Hagar. 2. Agile. 3. Gibes. 4. Alert. 5. Rests. 9. Intermeddle. to Dendritical. xi. Deuterogamy.
III. i. Ethel. 2. Tiara. 3. Hates. 4. Erect. 5. Lasts. IV. A PENTAGON. I. L. 2. Tar. 3. Tacit. 4. Laconic. 5. Rin-
i. Jesse. 2. Ellen. 3. Slant. 4. Sense. 5. Enter. V. L. Comus. die. 6. Tiled. 7. Cede.
2. Ozone. 3. Mopsa. 4. Unset. 5. Seats. SINGLE ACROSTIC. Primals, Hans Christian Andersen. CRoss-
A BOOK PUZZLE. WORDS: i. Handy. 2. Andre. 3. Natal. 4. Sugar. 5. Clime.
6. Humor. 7. Rumor. 8. Idler. 9. Sagas. io. Titus. x". Irene.
12. Alter. 13. Novel. 14. Adams. 15. Nicot. x6. Demon. 17. Ember.
g "^ EBO 18. Ruble. i9. Scope. 2o. Epoch. 21. Noose.
Do o CHARADE. Dynamite.
LITTLE WOMEN NUMERICAL ENIGMA. "Pride only helps us to be generous; it
(THE OCTORS DA TER v never makes us so, any more than vanity will help us to be witty."
STO BROWN AT RU BY PI. Thou pulse of joy, whose throb beats time
(LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY For daisied field, for blossoming spray!
( ALTI LL o oYS To dance of leaf and song-bird's chime
T HE" Y n SUVEO" Set all the prose of life to rhyme.
N5 KseINi ER Rgin the May!
DIAMOND. x. M. 2. Rot. 3. Redan. 4. Modicum. 5. Tacit.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Primals, Decoration Day; finals, Decora- 6. Nut. 7. M.
tion Ode. CROSS-WORDS: i. DeplumeD. 2. EscaladE. 3. Chol- EASY GREEK CROSS. I. I. Crab. 2. Roll. 3. Aloe. 4. Blew.
eriC. 4. OristanO. 5. RebutteR. 6. AnaphorA. 7. ThickseT. 8. Illi- II. I. Barb. 2. Anil. 3. Rile. 4. Blew. III. i. Blew. 2. Love.
manI. 9. OratoriO. so. NatatioN. it. DolorosO. 12. AsteroiD. 3. Ever. 4. Were. IV. x. Wire. 2. Ebon. 3. Road. 4. Ends.
13. YokematE. V. z. Were. 2. Even. 3. Rend. 4. Ends.
WORDS WITHIN WORDS. x. S-hake-r. 2. P-rover-b. 3. P-ledge-s. SYNCOPATIONS. Inauguration. I. pla-l-nt. 2. po-N-e. 3. m-A-ud.
4. P-aster-n. 5. S-tag-e. 6. M-iser-y. 7. F-oregon-e. 8. N-odd-y. 4. d-U-o. 5. lod-G-e. 6. la-U-d. 7. p-R-ig. 8. p-A-in. 9. s-T-olid.
9. G-rue-I. 0. P-rice-s. i. L-otter-y. X2. B-ours-e. so. la-I-rd. is. m-O-use. 12. la-N-ce.
To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and
should be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY CO., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE MARCH NUMBER were received, before March 15th, from Maud E. Palmer-Paul Reese-
Russell Davis- MaryL. Gerrish -" Infantry "- K. G. S.- M. D. M.- Aunt Kate, Jamie and Mamma Pearl F. Stevens -" Mamma,
Aunt Martha and Sharley "- Willoughby Jo and I Emily and Annie Dembitz J. L. C. and L. H. M.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE MARCH NUMBER were received, before March r5th, from Margaret Lachenour, 2 Ethelind, 4 -
A. Ashhurst, C. Densmore Curtis, i--Annie R. F., I -May Martin, I -Dolly Chandler, x--Henry Guilford, 8- Clara 0., 7 -
Maxie and Jackspar, to- Emma V. Fish, i Edith Watt, 5- Ida C. Thallon, o May Hebbard, I- A. L. Babbitt, Paul P.
Lyon, --" Nig and Mig," io- J. R. Sharp, 2-Jennie, Mina and Isabel, 5-" R. M. A.," 4 Ray Swain and Wildrick Lentz, 3-
Effie K. Talboys, 7 Arthur B. Lawrence, 5 Edward Hitch, i E. de F. and M. E. Heald, I Anna G. Gilpin, 2 W. N. S., 5 -
Clara and Emma, 2 Horace H. Francine, a Lester and Gertie, x Edith J. Sanford, 8 Eva Kennahan, 2-"Nodge," 8- Angle
C. Lyon, 4-" May and 79," 5 -Charles C. Norris, 3- Edwin W. Fullam, 3 -" A. Fiske and Co.," io- Joslyn Z. and Julian C.
Smith, 4 Nellie L. Howes, 6 L. H. F. and "Mistie," 7- Mathilde, Ida and Alice, 8 -Mabel C. Bird, I -" Tom, Dick and Harrie,"
9-M. B., 6-P. F., 6.

CHARADE. verse; from 7 to 15, the title of a poem by Keats; from 8 to 16,
OVER myfirst the school-boy moaning toils, From x to 8, a poet who died on June i5th, x844; from 9 to x6,
Puzzling in vain his weary aching head; the name of one of the apostles whose festival occurs on June irth.
My secondhid the feared Armada's spoils II. From i to 9, a large bird; from 2 to ro, a musical drama;
(But 't is in French its name must now be said). from 3 to xi, pulverized sugar candy; from 4 to 12, an insect; from
When comes my whole, radiant with sun and shower, 5 to 13, an animal valued for its fur; from 6 to 14, common; from 7
The boy forgets my first in happy play; to 15, to prohibit; from 8 to x6, to call out.
My second, all unconscious of its power, From x to 8, an American battle fought on June 28th, 1778; from
But gleams and sparkles through the sluggish day. 9 to 16, a European battle fought on June x8th, 1815.
I. x. A vehicle. 2. Governed. 3. One who has the superintend-
8 ence of a museum. 4 One of the United States. 5. Recaptured.
6. Cupolas. 7. Moved swiftly
II. i. A vulgar fellow. 2. A name by which a pagoda is some-
times called. 3. A piece of furniture. 4. To excite. 5. Presented.
9 6. To prevent by fear. 7. To spread, as new-mown hay.
16 10 F. S. F.
14 12 I. ACROSS: I. A sprite. 2. A river. 3. An insect. Downward:
x3 A feminine name. 2. Mankind. 3. To caress.
II. ACRoss: x. An animal. 2. To look. 3. Appropriate. Down-
ward: i. A serpent. 2. A body of water. 3. Precise.
III. ACRoss: i. The name of a tragedy. 2. A portion of time.
6 4 3. A verb. Downward: x. A feminine name. 2. An implement
5 useful to sailors. 3. An English theological writer.
IV. ACROSS: i. Devoured. 2. Gained. 3.. Enticed. Down-
I. FROM I to 9, a small, spicy berry; from 2 to so, a great artery ward: i. An implement. 2. Part of the body. 3. Finis.
proceeding from the heart; from 3 to ii, having power to grind; When the four first words described in each of the four word-
from 4 to r2, a city of Prussia; from 5 to x3, a kind of tea; from 6 squares are read in connection, they will form a single word of twelve
to 14, a name found in the first chapter of Numbers, the ninth letters which means "strongly affected." CYRIL DEANE.


IN the accompanying illustration each of the
ten small pictures suggests the name of a rose.
What are the ten names ?

A YOGLR pareslpa het nocr;
Het wedmoa karl locras eth norm;,
Eth wed tnselisg rove
Het sagsr dan teh rolvec
Sit eujn-nad het rumsem si nobr !
Het taindar sohur nodar
Tihw ginluscret wesrlof het hotrn ;
Eth tosf zesrebe vohre
Het sagrs dan teh vecrol;

A species of spider. 6. A period of a hundred years. 7. The
Scottish name for a young ox. 8. Cunning. 9. In pattern.
ACROSS: I. A certain order of architecture. 2. Surfeited. 3.
Pertaining to a foot. 4. A firm, hard substance. 5. A portable
DOWNWARD. r. A letter from Russia. 2. A bone. 3. To doze.
4. A short notice, 5. Resigns. 6. Epoch. 7. A small boy. 8.
A note in music. 9. A letter from India.
F. S. F.

MRS. H. C. S.
THE central letters, reading downward, will
spell the name of a famous general.
CROSS-WORDS: I. Complaining. 2. Continuing i. To incite. 2. Languished. 3. Idle. 4. Remnant. 5. To
for a long time. 3. One of the planets. 4. A short infer. 6. Pertaining to a duke. 7. Fishes of a certain kind.
sleep. 5. rn apple. 6. A vehicle. 7. A weapon. F. S. F.
S 8. A large shallow dish. 9. A walk for amusement. FLORAL PUZZLE.
"DAB KINZER. IN each of the nine following sentences there is concealed the
name of a flower; the meaning, or sentiment, of the flower is given
RHY D B Rin italics in the same sentence. When the nine flowers are rightly
RHYMED DOUBLE ACIROSTIC. selected, and placed one below the other, in the order here given,
m we a s the initial letters will spell a title often bestowed upon June.
Mirst, a blossom white as snow Did you hear us humbly beseech the governor to pardon the
With pistil all of gold; prisoner; and did he not listen to us with great docility ?
M next an overcoat will show, 2. In the play of Hamlet" I assume the title rble; and Erminie
or keeping out the cold; will perform Ophelia." We shall endeavor to beware of over-
My third, if you are in a fright, acting.
Thill oersprekadps my in sight 3. Charles was affronted when I begged him not to drink; but I
The laundress keeps myfourth in sight said, "excess is dangerous."
The first of every week; 4. When I have heard Caleb, on yearly missions, preach on the
My last a bird you surely know,- beauty of charity, and then know how often he refuses to aid the
A near relation to the crow. poor, I think there is much hypocrisy in him.
5. I told William other worthy persons had had their secret love
My initials, unless I 'm mistaken, discovered.
Will show you a tricky wight 6. Do not ever use deception, Carlos. I, ere this, have discovered
Who always is plotting some mischief; thatfrankness is always best.
Mynas, his weapon of might. 7. Some of the knights had endeavored to discover the bitter
"z. Y. x. truth concerning some rumors.
DIAMOND. 8. I hate a selfish person, and do not like to see one give way to
x. IN pattern. 2. A word used in old records meaning a kind of 9. I strive to share Belle's burdens and to assuage her grief
customary payment by a tenant. 3. Sherry. 4. Occupants. 5. F. S. F.



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