Front Cover
 "Over the roofs of the houses I...
 The people who jumped
 The fortunes of Toby Trafford
 Sewing song
 The land of pluck
 A little visitor (Illustration...
 The boy settlers
 Lady Jane
 A race with Idaho robbers
 Master muffet's mishap
 The little fir trees
 An elephant-hunt in Siam
 The story of golden fleece
 A Christmas cure
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00235
 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: VID00235
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
    "Over the roofs of the houses I hear the barking of Leo"
        Page 91
    The people who jumped
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
    The fortunes of Toby Trafford
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
    Sewing song
        Page 104
        Page 105
    The land of pluck
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
    A little visitor (Illustration)
        Page 120
    The boy settlers
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
    Lady Jane
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
    A race with Idaho robbers
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
    Master muffet's mishap
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
    The little fir trees
        Page 150
    An elephant-hunt in Siam
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
    The story of golden fleece
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
    A Christmas cure
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 163
    The letter-box
        Page 164
        Page 165
        Page 166
    The riddle-box
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Unnumbered ( 83 )
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text




(SEE PAGE 113.)


VOL. XVIII. DECEMBER, 1890. No. 2.

(Copyright, 1890, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved.)



OVER the roofs of the houses I hear the barking of Leo,-
Leo the shaggy, the lustrous, the giant, the gentle Newfoundland.
Dark are his eyes as the night, and black is his hair as the midnight;
Large and slow is his tread till he sees his master returning,
Then how he leaps in the air, with motion ponderous, frightening !
Now as I pass to my work I hear o'er the roar of the city,-
Far over the roofs of the houses, I hear the barking of Leo;
For me he is moaning and crying, for me in measure sonorous
He raises his marvelous voice, for me he is wailing and calling.
None can assuage his grief though but for a day is the parting,
Though morn after morn 't is the same, though home every night comes his master,
Still will he grieve when we sever, and wild will be his rejoicing
When at night his master returns and lays but a hand on his forehead.
No lack will there be in the world, of faith, of love, and devotion,
No lack for me and for mine, while Leo alone is living,-
While over the roofs of the houses I hear the barking of Leo.



T HE Burgomaster
1 of the little vil-
lage of Narrdorf
had the welfare of
his people very
much at heart.
He strove to cor-
rect their vices, to
'lidevelop their vir-
tues, and to en-
courage them in every way to become good
subjects of His Majesty the King. The Narr-
dorfers were a well-meaning folk, but, like others,
they had their failings. One of these, in par-
ticular, gave the worthy Burgomaster deep con-
cern: their habit of jumping at conclusions.
They acted, nearly always, on their first im-
pulses, without stopping to think what the con-
sequences might be. And the consequences
were sometimes unpleasant. How could it be
otherwise ?
For example, the principal Tailor of the town,
who was so timid he never ventured ten steps
from his door after dark without his blunderbuss,
started forth one night to visit his gossip, the Tin-
ker. As he crept onward, making himself as
small as possible, suddenly a huge thing uprose
in his path. It was black, and had horns, and
its eyes seemed to glare fiercely. Thereupon
the little man jumped at the conclusion that he
had met the Evil One. In an instant he raised
his gun and fired. Bang! went the blunderbuss,
and bellow! went the Parson's cow, tearing
madly down the street with several shot in her
flank. Thus, by being too hasty, the Tailor
wounded not only an innocent cow but the feel-
ings of her master; for, as the Parson did not
himself fear the Evil One, he could but ill un-
derstand why another should do so, and he was
slow to forgive the Man of Cloth his inconsider-
ate action. It was just such occurrences as

these--and they were frequent--that made
the Burgomaster uneasy.
"If this sort of thing goes on," said he one
day to his Clerk, "soon the whole village will
be set by the ears."
"Yes, Your Worship," assented the Clerk, a
meek little fellow who thought his master the
greatest man living and who never, in his pres-
ence, so much as dared to call his soul his own.
The state of affairs in Narrdorf has troubled
me for a long time," continued the Burgomaster,
"and I have given much thought to devising a
remedy for it. I have finally hit on a plan which
I am going to try,-"
Yes, Your Worship! ventured the Clerk,
jumping at the conclusion that because his mas-
ter paused for breath he had ended his sen-
"-and which, I hope, will be successful,"


added the Burgomaster, with a frown at the poor
Clerk for his interruption.
Ye-yes, Your Worship," stammered the little
man in great embarrassment.
Let a public meeting be appointed in the
Town House for to-morrow, and cause it to be


known that I expect every man, woman, and
child in the village to attend."
Yes, Your Worship," answered the Clerk, and
hastened away to do his master's bidding.

The next day the Narrdorfers came in a
throng to the Town House, curious to learn why
the meeting had been called. When the great
hall was so full it could hold no more, the
Burgomaster arose and thus began his address:
My friends, I wish every one of you to leave
this hall con- "
But the audience already had started for the
door, and with so much noise that no one heard
the Burgomaster add, "convinced of the folly


of jumping at conclusions." However the Clerk
rushed out to explain matters, and after some
delay the villagers were re-assembled to hear
the Burgomaster's plan.
The worthy functionary was proud of his gift
of oratory, and he made a long-winded speech.
After he had pointed out to them the many
evils they were bringing on themselves by their
reckless way of jumping at conclusions, he went
on to say:
"Thus, my friends, we see the need of acting
cautiously in all things. But that we shall be
unable to do without a deal of practice. There-
fore, I propose that we meet once a week to
argue. It matters little what we argue about,

so long as we acquire the habit of first looking
upon all sides of a question, and then deciding
how it shall be settled. By deliberating in this
manner on affairs of small importance, I hope
we shall learn to proceed more carefully in the
weightier matters of life. My Clerk has brought
with him a book that is said to have been writ-
ten by a wise man. He will now read to us at
random from that book a few words, in which, I
have no doubt, we shall be able to find a sub-
ject for our first debate."
At a nod from his master, the Clerk opened
the volume about in the middle and, starting at
the top of the left-hand page, began hesitatingly
to read as follows:

V -A


Rain will fall from the sky -"
Stop! commanded the Burgomaster, "we
will argue that point."
Your Worship," bluntly interposed the Mil-
ler, who was in the audience, "I see no chance
for argument there. We all know rain will fall
from the sky."
"Ah my good friend," retorted the Burgo-
master, "we are jumping at conclusions again.
Why, if you will only think a moment, you will
see there is every reason for an argument.
I might say, for instance, that rain will not fall
from the sky, but from the clouds,"
"Well, and are not the clouds in the sky,
pray? demanded the Miller.


"That depends upon where you think the
sky begins," answered the Burgomaster; "some
people place it far above the clouds. How-
ever," he added, knowing of old that the Miller
was very stubborn in an argument, "perhaps
it will not be worth our while to discuss that
point now. Let us admit that rain will fall from
the sky, and pass on a little. Clerk, read an-
other of the wise man's utterances."
Yes, Your Worship. Please, Your Worship,
shall I finish the sentence ? "
"Eh ? exclaimed the Burgomaster. "Do
you mean to say you had not finished it ? "
N-no, Your Worship I mean y-yes, Your
Worship," stuttered the Clerk, confusedly.
You are an idiot, sir! cried the Burgomas-

ter, sternly.
"Yes, Your Worship," meekly
returned the little Clerk.
Still, I am not sorry this has hap-
pened," the Burgomaster continued,
" for it shows us once more the im-
prudence of jumping at conclu-
sions. We naturally supposed the
sentence to be complete as read,
but it now appears that we made
a mistake. Read on, sir. What
comes next?"
"--whenever we ask it to do
so," read the Clerk.
"Rain will fall from the sky
whenever we ask it to do so re-
peated the Burgomaster. "Why!
why! why what's all this? Non-
sense, sheer nonsense! Now, my
friends, you cannot fail to see the
importance of avoiding hasty judg-
ments. Before we listened to the
reading of that passage we took it
for granted that the book was writ-
ten by a sage; now we perceive it
must be the work of a simpleton.

his home, shaking his head dolefully as he
walked along and meditated on the. folly-of
jumping at conclusions. As soon as he stepped
into the house he said to his Clerk, who had
silently followed him:
Put that book into the fire. It is trash and
not worthy of our further consideration."
"Yes, Your Worship," dutifully replied the
Clerk, but before he obeyed the order he ven-
tured when his master's back was turned to
peep into the book again. He had an inquir-
ing mind and there was one point on which he
wished to satisfy himself. All Narrdorf had
heard the end of the famous sentence, but no
one had thought to ask for the beginning. That
had been hidden snugly away at the foot of the


I t'


No amount of discussion would convince me previous page on the other side of the leaf. The
that rain will fall from the sky whenever we ask little Clerk opened the book; then he opened
it to do so. Such an idea is preposterous. his eyes. When he came to see the entire sen-
Clerk, shut the book, and let us depart, for it tence this is how it read:
waxes late." We are none of us foolish enough to believe
Whereupon, leaving the villagers to go their thal rain will fall from the sky whenever we ask
several ways, the good Burgomaster returned to it to do so."





,-'HE moment the mer-
chant was out of the
S house, Toby rushed in
I. from the other room,
( with an excited look.
(P" Did you sign that
paper? he asked.
Yes, my son; what
else could I do?" Mrs.
Trafford replied, already repenting the act to
which she had been persuaded. "He had se-
cured several signers already. There was no
use in my standing out."
I would have stood out 1" Toby declared.
"And I would have told him my mind. The
old swindler! "
My dear child, I don't like to see you so
ready to condemn people, and give them hard
names. I don't believe he has meant to be
dishonest; and I am sure he is anxious now
to atone for any wrong to us, into which his
bad management or ill-luck has betrayed him.
Did you hear what he said about your going
into the store ?"
Yes," said the boy, "and I wanted to laugh
in his face."
Much as he had regretted the chance which
he seemed to have missed, it had little attrac-
tion now that it was again within reach.
He had left school before the end of the term,
rather against Mr. Allerton's advice. But the
master did not oppose it, after Toby gave his
"You see," he said, "I 've got to do some-
thing; I must get my own living, even if I
can't do much more to help mother. And I
am so upset by what has happened-my mind
is in such a state -I don't see how the little
schooling I might get in the meantime is going
to do me any good."

"Well, do as you and your mother think
best," said the teacher. I am only sorry that
your education in certain branches has n't fit-
ted you better for a business career."
It would n't be so, if I had had you for a
teacher for a year or two," said Toby, regret-
fully. But I must make the best of what I 've
got. I 've just fooled away my time in school,
and now I must go to work."
But it was not easy for him to find work, even
at that season of the year. He had made his
mother's garden; he could do that pretty well;
but to go to making gardens for other people
hardly suited his ideas of permanent employ-
Nobody in Lakesend needed such a boy; and,
as midsummer drew near, he went to the city of
L-- by the early train, every day for a
week, spent five or six hours in looking for a
situation, and returned home disheartened in
the evening. He might have secured one very
good place, if his handwriting had been better;
he missed another because he was obliged to
own that he had only a confused knowledge of
Yet, this boy had passed through the gram-
mar-school, and had been almost two terms in
the high-school, and was not by any means a
dull pupil. Was it his own fault, or that of the
system of teaching, that, at the age of sixteen,
he had so little practical education that he
could not write well nor spell correctly, nor
trust himself to compose without errors of syn-
tax a simple letter to a relative?
But he was a sturdy lad, and he tried to con-
sole himself by saying, "Well, I 've got bone
and muscle, if nothing else; I can buckle right
down to even the hardest kind of hard work,
if I 'm not fit for anything better."
It was not a source of satisfaction to know
that Tom Tazwell had stolen a march on him by
going into the store. One day he met that
young gentleman on the street.


Tom certainly appeared to be changed. There
was nothing "stuck up about him, that day, at
least. He greeted Toby in the most affable
manner (he could be as affable as his father when
he chose), and asked him if he had put his boat
in the water yet.
No," said Toby, stiffly; I 've something
else to think of this year."
So have I," said Tom. I have n't fired a
shot for a week. But I don't mind. It's just
fun in the store. I like it ever so much. Father
thinks it 's too bad you did n't go in with me;
and I think so, too."
When Toby attempted to answer, his heart
came up in his throat; beside the chance Tom
had, his own luck appeared so utterly hopeless.
Come! said Tom. Why don't ye? As
there was to be a change in the force, two or
three fellows we know have applied for places;
but father says, since I have gone in there is
room for nobody else but you; no beginner, you
know. It '11 be just jolly, Toby, if you will!"
I don't know," murmured Toby, who had
thought of that opening more than once since
he began his vain search for employment. It
might be jolly, and it might not." He could n't
quite forget Tom's old, overbearing ways.
"What pay do you get?"
"I don't get much, for I have my board,"
said Tom. "You '11 get four or five dollars a
week at the start. But you must be ready to do
any sort of work; I am. At the foot of the lad-
der, you know. 'T won't be long before we shall
be at the top. What do you say?"
Tom was delighted. The chance took an
alluring charm again.
I '11 talk with mother; I '11 see what she
says," replied Toby.
On reaching home he met a lady and a young
girl coming away from the front gate. It was
Tom's mother and sister, who had been to call
on Mrs. Trafford and Mildred. He could n't
help scowling a little to see how elegantly
they were dressed. For it seemed to him that
the family of a man who had made such a
failure as Tazwell had, might becomingly leave
off some of their finery; and very naturally he
compared their circumstances with those of his
own mother and sister.
4e shall have to scrimp, to get along at all,"

he thought; "while they- it's just as I ex-
pected! "
But, though so richly attired, Mrs. Tazwell
and Bertha were not carrying their heads high,
in any sense; and a glance of joyous recogni-
tion out of the girl's laughing dark eyes, quite
disarmed his resentment. She was the same
charming little Bertha he had always known,
and always liked.
Then the mother gave him her hand with an
unaffected, kindly greeting.
"Well, Toby, how are you getting on?"
she asked, with a sincere good-heartedness,
which silks and ribbons could not disguise.
"We have thought of you so much lately!"
And talked of you, too," chimed in Bertha,
" since Tom went into the store."
It promises to be the making of Tom; and
I am so glad! said the mother. I would n't
have believed it of him; he has settled down to
business like a man."
I don't believe it of him yet," laughed
Bertha. "It's a new thing; Tom always was
fond of new things."
My child! why do you say that? You
never will believe in your brother!"
Oh, yes, I will, when I see him steady for a
fortnight; it is n't a week yet. I know Tom!"
said Bertha.
I think it would help to keep him steady, if
you should go in with him, Toby; he thinks so
much of you! said Mrs. Tazwell.
He sometimes takes odd ways of showing
it," replied Toby, smiling rather ruefully.
"Yes, Mamma! cried Bertha. "You should
see how mean Tom can be to his best friends.
But you never would believe it, if you did
see it."
"Am I so partial to him as that ?" the
mother replied, not well pleased. I think I
see his faults as well as any one. But I had a
serious talk with him when he went into the
store. And I think he has changed; I am sure
you will find him changed, Toby."
"I hope so, if-," faltered Toby.
If I am to go into the store with him," was
his thought, which however he did not utter.
He was not yet ready to admit the possibility
of such a thing, even to himself.
Did Mrs. Tazwell come over here to talk



about my going in with Tom ? he asked, as
soon as he got into the house.
Do you imagine yourself of such importance
that she could n't come for anything else?"
Mildred answered, from her old habit of teasing
him; but she was sorry for her words the mo-
ment they were spoken.
I don't think she came for that," said Mrs.
Trafford. But she spoke of it; and she was as
kind as she could be. And, my son, I don't see
anything better for you just now. Do you ? "
I wish I knew what to do! he exclaimed,
discouraged and miserable, sinking on a chair.
He remained wretched and irresolute until
bedtime, and long after. But the next morn-
ing he was cheerful; he had made up his



ON the north shore of the lake, less than
half a mile from Mrs. Trafford's house, lived
Mr. Robert Brunswick, commonly spoken of as
"Old Bob," because there was also a Young
Bob," whom we shall know later. He worked
a small farm, and carried on at the same time a
much more important business, which made an
outward show, and a not very attractive one, in
the shape of a great, brown, barn-like, window-
less building, standing close to the water. This
was an ice-house.
Near-by, but a little farther back, was the
farm-house; in the kitchen door of which the
elder Bob stood, filling his pipe, one day after
dinner, when Toby Trafford approached by a
path leading up from the lake.
Good aft'noon," the iceman said, in answer
to the boy's salutation. He was a thickset
man, with square jaws, bristling (it being Satur-
day) with a stubby beard of six days' growth.
"What 's the news with your folks ? "
Nothing special," said Toby. "I have
come to borrow your flat-bottomed boat."
Ye ain't go'n' to practice in her for a boat-
race, be ye ?" Mr. Brunswick inquired, with a
grin at his own wit; the craft in question being
a broad, clumsy scow.
"Not exactly," laughed Toby, in reply. "I
want it to go haying in."

It 's a pooty good idee, to go hayin' in a
boat!" said the farmer, with another good-na-
tured grin. But how is it, Toby ? I thought
you were in Tazwell's store."
"I am."
"And do you do hayin' there ? "
"I do almost everything, in the store or out
of it," said Toby. But I am doing more out
of it than in it, just now; which is n't the best
way to learn the business, I suppose you '11
No doubt it 's a good way for Mr. Tazwell
to save the expense of hiring men to do outside
work," commented the farmer, his grin taking
on a surly expression. But I don't see what
object saving it is to him, if he don't pay his
debts. Are ye go'n' a-hayin' fur him ? "
"Yes; to take the hay from that little strip
of shore on the other side," said Toby, point-
ing. "We might get it with a wagon, but we
could n't drive very near, on account of the
steep bank; we should have to carry the hay up
that, through the belt of woods."
"So exclaimed Mr. Bob Brunswick, with
a sardonic gleam in his deep-set eyes. Mr.
Tazwell sent you to borry a boat of me, did
he ?"
Oh, no! said Toby. He thought we
should take a wagon. But we thought the boat
would be better."
Wal, I 'm glad he didn't send ye !-though
he 's got imperdence enough for anything," re-
plied the farmer. "I would n't lend a boat-I
would n't lend a broken paddle to him. My
dealing's with Thomas Tazwell are done with;
and it would have been better for me if they
had never begun."
"I am sorry -I would n't have come- I
did n't know you were not on good terms with
him," Toby stammered.
On good terms with a man that has run the
rig he has and robbed me of seven hundred
dollars, slick as if he had put his hand in my
pocket? Borried money, the most on't; bor-
ried when he must 'a' known he was goin' to fail.
Course he must 'a' known it, sence his failin'
was all a put-up job, to cheat his creditors "
It dismayed Toby to hear this plain lan-
guage regarding his employer. It was some-
thing like the opinion he himself had held


before he went into the store, and that view
had come home to him more than once since.
Instead of keeping his promise, and teaching the
boy the business, Mr. Tazwell had so far made
a mere drudge of him; and, according to all
appearances, the widow's interests, which he
had undertaken to protect, would come out of
his hands extremely small indeed.
I 've no business to talk !" old Bob Bruns-
wick went on. I was fool enough to sign off

like the rest, and let him go on, so I 'd better
hold my tongue."
Why did you sign off? Toby inquired.
"For two reasons. Because he had got his
plunder put away in such a shape I found
it wa'n't possible to git more. Next--but I
guess I 'd better keep still about that"; and
Brunswick started to walk toward his ice-
"I 'd like to know all you can tell me," said
Toby, following him. It 's a matter we are
deeply interested in, as you know."

"I do know, and that's just it," replied old
Bob. "'And I may as well tell ye. He repre-
sented to us, at the first meeting' of the creditors,
that if we forced him into bankruptcy, your
mother's property would have to go, along with
his 'n; and that 's-what determined me. For
she ha'n't got much and 't would be distressin'
her without doing us any material good."
"You were very considerate, I am sure!"
murmured Toby. "I don't blame you for not
lending the boat, feeling
as you do."
But I be going' to lend
it," said the iceman. "I
am going' to git it for you
now. But, mind ye, I
don't lend it to /im. I
lend it to you."
That's the same thing,
in this case," Toby replied.
"No, it ain't. If you
want a boat, and will re-
turn it in good condition,
you can take it. Trustin'
you is very different from
trusting' him."
So saying, he untied the
painter of the scow, which
lay afloat alongside a plat-
form of the ice-house, and
put the oars into it.
"Who's goin' with ye?"
Old Bob asked.
Only Tom," said Toby,
seating himself on the mid-
dle thwart and adjusting
OAT,' OLD BOB SAID, the oars to the rowlocks.
"Where 's Bob to-day ? "
"I d' n' know; went off with some fellers
after dinner; round the lake somewhere, I
s'pose. Don't think I wa' n't ready to lend you
the boat," old Bob said, pushing it off with his
Oh, no! Ever so much obliged! Toby an-
swered, as he pulled away.
The lake was as smooth as rippling silk, the
flat-bottomed boat sat lightly on the surface,
Toby was a practiced oarsman, and he pulled
with steady strokes.
He was passionately fond of the water; and


he had hardly been on it that summer. The air
was delicious, the sky a deep azure; there was
joy in the very act of plying the long-handled
oars and giving swift motion to the boat. The
gurgle under the bow was music to his ear.
I rather like this way of tending store," he
chuckled to himself.
He saw Tom, with a fork in his hand and
a gun on his shoulder, coming down a lane
to meet him. By his side walked, or rather
skipped, a girl of twelve or thirteen, carrying a
rake, with her head bare in the June sunshine,
and her hat dangling by its ribbons on the
fleece of wavy brown hair that fell upon her
neck. Every movement she made was full of
grace and gaiety; she was tripping to the meas-
ure of a tune, the whistled notes of which came
to Toby over the water.
It 's Bertha! he said, laughing with pleas-
ure. How much better I like her that way,
than when she is so dressed up I wonder if she
is going, too ?"
She was going, too, as she stopped whistling
to inform him, the moment the bow grated on
the beach.
Tom's marvelously shorn dog, Bozer, with the
tuft on his tail that looked like a hat on a short
stick, came capering down the lane with them.
The farming implements were put aboard,
Bertha took a seat at the bow, and Tom went
with his gun to the stern. Toby pulled the
boat around with strong strokes. The dog
dashed into the water and swam after them.
Toby thought Tom might at least pull one
oar, but knew him too well to think of asking
him to do it. Tom liked to give orders and see
others work; he delighted especially in com-
manding Toby. No boy of spirit enjoys being
domineered over, in that way, by another boy;
and Toby was getting tired of it.
Look here! he broke out impatiently,
after Tom had expended considerable breath in
finding fault with his rowing. "I know how
to pull a stroke a great deal better than you
can show me. If my rowing does n't suit you,
take hold yourself. Or, take one oar and see
which will beat."
Tom was wary of accepting the challenge;
he had rowed against Toby too many times. On
reaching the hay-field,-a small strip of natural

meadow along by the lake,-he continued to
give. orders as to making the boat fast and
beginning work; then he stepped leisurely
ashore with his gun.
Tom laid his gun carefully on a log, took the
fork, and at once commenced rolling up the hay
as Toby and Bertha raked it. There was a
rake already on the ground, left there by the
mower, when he spread his swaths; this Bertha
seized upon, and handled with much more good-
will than skill. She was a child whom her mother
was trying to bring up to "ladylike ways, but
whose repressed spirits, at every opportunity,
broke forth in ways not quite so "ladylike."
Hence that perverse habit of whistling, and the
delight she took in going with her brother to
the hay-field.
Tom began carrying the hay to the boat by
the forkful, despite Toby's warning that he
would set it afire with his cigarette, and get a
singeing. Tiring of that, he proposed to lay
the two rakes on the ground, load the hay on
the handles, and transport it in that way.
But after two or three such trips to the boat,
Tom began to loiter and wipe his forehead and
complain of the heat. It seemed a great relief
to him when at length he saw a boat coming
across the lake.
"Hello !" said he, "it's 'Yellow Jacket's'
boat, and there are Yellow Jacket, and Bob
Brunswick, and Lick Stevens in it."


OF Bob Brunswick, mention has already been
made; he was the son of old Bob, the ice-
Lick Stevens was the son of the Rev. Alex-
ander Stevens, a highly respectable clergyman.
But that fact did not prevent Lick- or
"Aleck," as he was sometimes called, or Alex-
ander the Little" (his father was "the Great")-
from being a wild boy and going with bad com-
For Yellow Jacket was decidedly common.
He was one of several children, whose mother,
the widow Patterson, was a poor and industrious
washer and ironer and scrubber for the village
people. She had two girls out at service; and


all three worked hard, while her able-bodied boy
of seventeen lived chiefly'upon their earnings.
Few people ever thought of calling him Pat-
terson, or Josiah (his Christian name); he was
"Yellow Jacket" to half the village. He had
gained the distinction by what seemed to other
boys a miraculous power over the wasp popularly
known by that name. He was always catching
one (he could find one when you could n't),
in order to show you that, however familiarly
he might handle it, it would n't sting him.
There was in the boat a fourth boy,
rc,-0ogruJze, byL Tom as it ciam- nearer.
It 's Butter Ball.' lie *:ad. ... .
Joln Ball In i:inamed Butt.:r
Baill, because he was so I'. r. ,
w a- not -.o :w in the '-cial
scale as Yello .i jacket; but 4..
he \as smaller than an\ ;'l.
of dihe rer (f tl buos.

and the youngest, except perhaps Bob Bruns-
Not one of this crew, with the exception of

the minister's son, would Tom Tazwell even
deign to look at, on ordinary occasions; and
Lick was the only one of them who now had
the audacity to accost him. He stood up in
the bow, showing a rather slim and elegant fig-
ure in a light check suit, and called out:
"Hallo, Tom What you doing there ? "
"Overseeing a little farm-work, that's all,"
said Tom, stiffly.
"What are you up to, Toby ? Lick asked.
Overseeing a little
farm-work," responded
-, .- Toby drily, at the same
time diligently plying
S his rake.
"So am I!" said
-. mBertha, not meaning
to be heard by any
body but Toby and
Tom. We are all
But sound travels
far over the water; and
a shout of laughter
from the boat applaud-
Sed her borrowed wit.
A flush came into
Tom's face.
Lick jumped ashore.
"Got your gun with
ye ? he inquired, com-
ing up to Tom. "Oh,
splendid seeing it on
the log. "Come! I've
got mine; let 's pin a
Sa" piece of paper to that
maple, and take shots
at it. Yellow Jacket 's
droll! You should hear
.-m Oif his fish stories. Come!
\\e 'II nilce Butter Ball put up the
tar.get- for u. N., use going with such chaps,
ilr.ss \:I00 in.,!, 'ern useful."
The s".i.. ou Tom's brow relaxed. He took
ul. ii6 rifle Irom the log.
Work right around the edges; rake toward
the boat," he commanded, turning to Toby.
"I '11 be back here, and see to loading the
It made him good-natured to have Lick and



his companions hear him giving these orders.
All were now ashore, and Yellow Jacket
pulled up his boat among the water weeds.
Young Ball had Lick's gun,
which Lick now took from
him, sending him forw ird
to pin up a white envelope
on the tree.
"Hurry, Butter Ball "
said Lick.
The obedient drudge
set off as fast as he
could trot, while his
companions, behind
his back, laughed at
his short legs and his
All but Bob Bruns-
wick, who lingered to
speak to Toby.
I see you 've got
our old square-toed
packet," said Bob, ob-
serving the boat Toby
was loading.
"Yes, your father
was kind enough to
lend the boat to me.
Though-" and Toby
spoke lower so that
Bertha should n'thear, ..
-"he told me that
he would n't-have lent ii to anri:id bi the
name of Tazwell."
"Tazwellhas cheated ud !" : n.i Bob. b --.ii.
I don't think much of Tom. How can you
stand it to be ordered around by him?"
I can't," replied Toby, good-humoredly.
"I did n't want to come near him; I told
the boys so," Bob grumbled. "They may have
him all to themselves, now they 've got him."
But the sudden crack of a rifle excited his in-
terest; and the laughter that followed a second
shot, proved more than he could resist.
"Come, Bob!" Lick called to him; "it's
your turn "
And Toby was left alone with Bertha. Two
or three times, Lick invited him to take a shot;
but he kept at work at the hay until he had got
it all on board the boat, with Bertha seated on

the top of the load. The bow was filled, the
center heaped high, and only room left in the
stern to manage an oar.

". nre oli : v.'ith us?" ----
SW\\hen I ..t IcI,." ~
Tom answered back. -
"Then we '11 start without "PW"-
him," said Toby, pushing away at
the boat, to get it off, but finding to his vexa-
tion that it was hard aground.
He had foreseen this mischance, and had en-
deavored to avert it by keeping the boat well
loaded by the bow, and occasionally working it
off a little farther from the shore as it settled in
the water.
Will it make any difference if I get down ?
I 'm sitting as light as I can! laughed Bertha,
from her perch.
Get over toward the bow, and sit as heavy
as you can," said Toby, smiling. Then as the

I. 0 r .........



boat did not move, she offered to get out and
help him. But as she would have had to stand
in the water, and could n't have been expected
to help much even then, Toby would not let her.
"We shall have to wait for Tom," he said,
stepping back upon the bank with his bare feet
(he had put his shoes into the boat), and rolling
down his trousers-legs.
Do go and shoot with them! said Bertha.
" I should like to see you beat them all."
It was Toby's pride as much as anything,
which prevented him from going where the in-
dignities he had to bear from Tom might be
witnessed by others. But now Tom could not
order him to keep at work, for the work was
done; and Bertha's words kindled his ambition.
He had confidence in his own skill, and he
judged from what he overheard that the envelop
had not been perforated many times. It had
now been taken down from the tree, and with a
twig thrust through two bullet-holes had been
set up like a sail and sent afloat on a fragment
of bark. A light westerly wind was carrying it
away, and the boys were firing at it.
The skipping of the bullets on the water
showed that nobody was taking very good aim,
when Toby, barefooted, approached the group.
Tom was just having his turn.
Nobody can hit it now," Tom muttered, for
the little sail was not only drifting at a long
distance from the group, but it had turned in
the wind until only the edge of it was visible.
Tom fired, however, and his bullet cut the
surface at least a foot from the mark.
I have n't been practicing, as the rest of you
have," Toby said, taking the rifle; "but I don't
think I can do much worse than that."
Don't brag," muttered Tom.
"That was n't bragging," Toby replied with
a quiet laugh. It was putting it very modestly."
Bertha stopped'whistling to watch him, from
her place on the boat-load of hay. He dropped
on one knee (the others had taken that privi-
lege), rested an elbow on the other knee, raised
the rifle, sighted carefully, and pulled the trigger.
He was as much astonished as anybody at the
result, for he had hardly expected to hit so diffi-
cult a mark.
Shouts of applause broke even from his
competitors (only Tom remaining silent), while

Bertha clapped her hands. When Toby low-
ered the piece, and the smoke cleared from
before his eyes, he saw the envelop fluttering
from the lower part of the twig, which had been
cut by his bullet.
"The merest good luck!" he exclaimed,
laughing excitedly. I could n't do it again,
if I tried ever so hard. But that's a lovely little
breech-loader of yours, Lick !"
Oh, it will do," said Lick, with satisfaction;
"but there 's something in knowing how to use



ToM, who liked neither to be beaten as a
marksman nor to hear the praise of another's gun,
turned abruptly and marched away to the boat.
With the other boys' aid, the boat was soon
floated with Tom and Bertha aboard. Then
Tom took in his dog. The fork and the rakes
were already disposed of; and lastly Toby
climbed in over the stern.
Tom did not offer to help, but throwing him-
self over on the hay in an attitude of lazy
enjoyment, with Bozer's wonderfully tufted tail
waving (you could hardly call it wagging) at
his feet, issued his orders to Toby.
As rowing was out of the question, and scul-
ing difficult, with so deeply laden a craft, Toby
shaped his course along by the shore, where he
could strike bottom with the strong oar-blade
and propel the boat in that way.
He enjoyed greatly the novelty of this mode
of transporting hay. Bertha chatted or whistled;
and Tom grew good-natured again. The light
breeze freshened, and wafted them along. It
blew a little too much off shore; but Toby, with
his oar, was able to keep the scow nearly in its
Now let her drift," said Tom, taking out his
There was a broad cove to pass, and instead
of trying to make the detour of the shore, Toby
trusted to the wind to take them across, and
steered boldly out on the deep water.
Look here, Tom! said he, "if you are go-
ing to smoke, get off that hay "
"Oh, nonsense!" replied Tom. "You 've


tried to interfere with my smoking once before.
You said I would get singed, but I did n't."
I did n't care much if you did, then," said
Toby. "You endangered nobody but yourself.
But now-Tom !" he called out, as Tom was
about to strike a match upon the side of the
boat, "don't you do that!"
Who 's to hinder ?"

the more sturdily-built Toby. But now his
pride was up and would not let him yield.
My business is to take care of this load-
and the boat-and your own sister!" cried
Toby. "Don'tbe afraid, Bertha!" ForTom's
carelessness with his matches terrified her. "He
sha'n't do it! "
Don't you dare touch me again! Tom ex-

Sc- -


"I will! Toby endeavored to get hold of
the match. Tom broke it in his hurry, and
found himself trying to rub the stump of it on
the board.
"I 've got plenty more," said he. "Now
mind your own business."
He was cowed a little, for in good-natured
hand-to-hand conflicts, Tom, though much the
taller of the two, generally found his match in

claimed, preparing to strike a second match, out
of mere bravado. I guess I know what I 'm
"You don't!- you 're crazy!" said Toby,
grasping his hand again. "Now, Tom!"
"Let go!" said Tom, starting up, "or I '11
pitch you overboard!" *
If you do, you '11 keep me company," re-
plied Toby. You sha'n't light that match."

*-'r~ \, i .Uf-
-''~;i:p % ^


"What!" exclaimed Tom, grappling him;
"we '11 see who 's master! "
He forced Toby to the edge of the stern.
There Toby recovered himself, and grappled
"Oh, Tom! Oh, Toby! don't!" said
Tom pretended at first to be bent on striking
his second match, but soon forgot all about that
in his struggle to throw Toby over, and to keep
from going over himself. Both were good swim-
mers, and a ducking was less to be dreaded,
even by Tom with his boots on, than the humil-
iation of being beaten in the tussle.
Tom's hat fell off into the water, and he

managed to knock Toby's after it. This prom-
ised to end the scuffle, which had already gone
quite beyond the bounds of good nature. Toby
believed he had accomplished his object, in
preventing the lighting of the match; and both
were glad of an excuse to give over the contest.
"Wait," said Toby breathlessly, "till I fish out
the hats! "
He released Tom, and looked about blindly,
through his tumbled hair, for a rake. Tom
stood panting, and arranging his necktie with
shaking fingers. In the momentary pause, a
sudden crackling and singeing sound was heard,
accompanied by a shriek from Bertha:
"The hay !-the hay 's afire !"

(To be continued.)


I HAVE a little servant
With a single eye,
She always does my bidding
Very faithfully;
But she eats me no meat,
And she drinks me no drink,
A very clever servant, as you well may think.

Another little servant
On my finger sits,
She the one-eyed little servant
Very neatly fits;
But she eats me no meat,
And she drinks me no drink,
A very clever servant, as you well may think.


b~nr~i~ 2.1

:i i


Now, one more little servant, A needle and a thimble,
Through the single eye, And a spool of thread,
Does both the others' bidding Without the fingers nimble,
Very faithfully; And the knowing head,
But she eats me no meat, They would never make out,
And she drinks me no drink, If they tried the whole day,
A very clever servant, as you well may think. Tosew a squareofpatchwork asyouwellmaysay.

i-.,-;. --~-, WelPP


I' 1 1


AR over the sea is
a famous little
Country generally
known as Holland;
S but that name, even if
it mean Hollow land, or
How land ? does not de-
scribe it half so well as this -The Funny
Land of Pluck.
Verily, a queerer bit of earth was never shone
upon by the sun nor washed by the tide. It is
the oddest, funniest country that ever raised its
head from the waves (and, between ourselves,
it does not quite do that), the most topsy-turvy
landscape, the most amphibious spot in the
universe,- as the Man in the Moon can't
deny,-the chosen butt of the elements, and
good-naturedly the laughing-stock of mankind.
Its people are the queerest and drollest of all
the nations; and yet so plucky, so wise and
resolute and strong, that "beating the Dutch"
has become a by-word for expressing the limits
of mortal performance.
As for the country, for centuries it was not
exactly anywhere; at least it objected to staying
long just the same, in any one place. It may be
said to have lain around loose on the waters of
a certain portion of Europe, playing.peek-a-boo
with its inhabitants; now coming to the surface

here and there to attend to matters, then taking
a dive for change of scene,-and a most disas-
trous dive it often proved.
Rip Van Winkle himself changed less between
his great sleeping and waking than Holland has
altered many a time, between sunset and dawn.
All its permanence and resoluteness seems to
have been soaked out of it, or rather to have fil-
tered from the land into the people. Every field
hesitates whether to turn into a pond or not, and
the ponds are always trying to leave the country
by the shortest cut. One would suppose that
under this condition of things the only untroubled
creatures would be turtles and ducks; but no,
strangest and most mysterious of all, every liv-
ing thing in Holland appears to be thoroughly
placid and content. The Dutch mind, so to
speak, is at once anti-dry and waterproof. Lit-
tle children run about in fields where once their
grandfathers sailed over the billows; and youths
and maidens row their pleasure-boats where
their ancestors played "tag" among the hay-
stacks. When the tide sweeps unceremoniously
over Mynheer's garden, he lights his pipe, takes
his fishing-rod, and sits down on his back porch
to try his luck. If his pet pond breaks loose
and slips away, he whistles, puts up a dam so
that it cannot come. back, and decides what
crop shall be raised in its vacant place. None


but the Dutch could live so tranquilly in Hol-
land; though, for that matter, if it had not been
for the Dutch, we may be sure there would
have been, by this time, no Holland at all.
And yet this very Holland, besides holding
its own place, has managed to gain a foothold
in almost every quarter of the globe. An ac-
count of its colonies is a history in itself. In
the East Indies alone it commands twenty-four
millions of persons.
It is said that the Greenlanders, in spite of

the discomforts of their country, become so very
fond of it that even the extreme cold is con-
sidered a luxury. In some such way, I suppose,
the Hollander becomes infatuated with water.
He deems no landscape, no pleasure-spot com-
plete without it. It is funny to see the artificial
pond that a Dutchman will have beneath his
very window; and funny, also, to see how soon
the pond will try to look like land, by filming
itself over with a coat of green. Many of the
city people have little summer-houses, or pavil-
ions, near the outskirts of the town. They are

built just large enough for the family to sit in.
Each zomerhuis, as it is called, is sure to be
surrounded by a ditch, if indeed it is not built
out over the water. Its chief ornaments are its lit-
tle bridges, its fanciful roof, and its Dutch motto
painted over the entrance. Hither the family
repair on summer afternoons. Mynheer sips his
coffee, smokes his pipe, and gazes at the water.
His vrouw knits or sews; and the children fish
from the windows, or climb the little bridges, or
paddle about in skiffs gathering yellow water-
lilies. Near-by, perhaps, they can hear some
bargeman's wife singing her cheery song while
busy at her housekeeping, or rather home-keep-
ing, for she lives on the canal-boat. That is her
flower garden growing on a corner of the deck,
quite unconscious that it is doing anything.queer
in blooming over the water. In fact, it is in
much less danger of sinking there than it would
be on shore.
Now, these oddities arise mainly from the fact
that though mankind cannot
help admiring this Land of
Pluck, the ocean has always
looked down upon it. A
large portion of Holland lies
below the level of the sea,- in some places as
much as twenty or thirty feet. Besides, the
country abounds with lakes and rivers that per-
sist in swelling and choking and overflowing to
such a degree that, as I said before, none but
the Dutch could do anything with them. All
this disturbs an unpleasant phantom named
Fog, who has a cousin in London. He some-
times rises like a great smoke over the land,
shutting out the sunlight, and wrapping every-
thing and everybody in a veil of mist, so that
it is almost as much as a person's life is worth
to venture out of doors, for fear of tumbling
into a canal. Again, the greater part of Hol-
land is so flat that the wind sweeps across it
in every direction, putting the waters up to any
amount of mischief, and blowing about all the
dry sand it can find, heaping it, scattering it, in
the maddest possible way.
What wonder the Dutch have always been
wise, plucky, and strong ? They have had to
struggle for a very foothold upon the land of
their birth. They have had to push back the
ocean to prevent it from rolling in upon them.


They have had to wall m the rivers and lakes
to keep them within bounds. They have been
forced to decide which should be land and
which should be water,-forever digging, build-
ing, embanking, and pumping for dear existence.
They had no stones, no timber, that they had not
themselves procured from elsewhere. Added
to this, they have had the loose, blowing sand
in their mind's eye for ages; never forgetting it,
governing its drifts, and where its vast, silent
hearings (as in the great Dunes along the coast)
have proved useful as a protection, they have
planted sea-bent and other vegetation to fasten
it in its place. Even the riotous wind has been
made their slave. Caught by thousands of long-
armed windmills, it does their grinding, pump-
ing, draining, sawing. When it ceases to blow,
those great white sleeve-like sails all over the
country hang limp and listless in the misty air, or
are tucked trimly out of sight ; but let the first
breath of a gale be felt, and straightway, with
one flutter of preparation, every arm is turning
slowly, steadily with a peculiar plenty-of-time
air, or is whirling as if the spirit of seventy
Dutchmen had taken possession of it.
You scarcely can stand anywhere in Holland
without seeing from one to twenty windmills.
Many of them are built in the form of a two-
story tower, the second story being smaller than
the first, with a balcony at its base from which
it tapers upward until the cap-like top is reached.
High up, near the roof, the great axis juts from
the wall; and to this are fastened two pro-
digious arms, formed somewhat like ladders,
bearing great sheets of canvas, whose business
it is to catch the mischief-maker and set him
at work. These mills stand like huge giants
guarding the country. Their bodies are gener-
ally of a dark red; and their heads, or roofs, are
made to turn this way and that, according to
the direction of the wind. Their round eye-
window is always staring. Altogether, they
seem to be keeping a vigilant watch in every
direction. Sometimes they stand clustered to-
gether; sometimes alone, like silent sentinels;
sometimes in long rows, like ranks of soldiers.
You see them rising from the midst of factory
buildings, by the cottages, on the polders (the
polders are lakes pumped dry and turned into
farms); on the wharves; by the rivers; along

the canals; on the dykes; in the cities-every-
where! Holland would n't be Holland without
its windmills, any more than it could be Hol-
land without its dykes and its Dutchmen.
A certain zealous dame is said to have once
attempted to sweep the ocean away with a
broom. The Dutch have been wiser than this.
They are a slow and deliberate people. Desper-
ation may use brooms, but deliberation prefers
clay and solid masonry. So, slowly and delib-
erately, the dykes, those great hill-like walls of
cement and stone, have risen to breast the
buffeting waves. And the funny part of it is,
they are so skillfully slanted and paved on the
outside with flat stones that the efforts of the
thumping waves to beat them down only make
them all the firmer !
These Holland dykes are among the wonders
of the world. I cannot say for how many miles
they stretch along the coast, and throughout the
interior; but you may be sure that wherever a
dyke is necessary to keep back the encroaching
waters, there it is. Otherwise, nothing would
be there-at least, nothing in the form of land;
nothing but a fearful illustration of the princi-
pal law of hydrostatics: Water always seeks
its level.
Sometimes the dykes, however carefully built,
will spring a-leak," and if not attended to at
once, terrible results are sure to follow. In
threatened places guards are stationed at inter-
vals, and a steady watch is kept up night and day.
At the first signal of danger, every Dutchman
within hearing of the startling bell is ready to
rush to the rescue. When the weak spot is dis-
covered, what do you think is used to meet the
emergency? What, but straw everywhere
else considered the most helpless of all things
in water Yet straw, in the hands of the Dutch,
has a will of its own. Woven into huge mats
and securely pressed against the embankment,
it defies even a rushing tide, eager to sweep over
the country.
These dykes form almost the only perfectly
dry land to be seen from the ocean-side. They
are high and wide, with fine carriage-roads on
top, sometimes lined with buildings and trees.
Lying on one side of them, and nearly on a level
with the edge, is the sea, lake, canal, or river, as
the case may be; on the other, the flat fields





stretching damply along at their base, so that
cottage roofs sometimes are lower than the shin-
ing line of the water. Frogs squatting on the
shore can take quite a bird's-eye view of the
landscape; and little fish wriggle their tails higher
than the tops of the willows near-by. Horses
look complacently down upon the bell-towers;
and men in skiffs and canal-boats sometimes
know when they are passing their friend Dirk's
cottage only by seeing the smoke from its chim-
ney; or perhaps by the cart-wheel that he has
perched upon the peak of its overhanging
thatched roof, in the hope that some stork will

beneath her, and, after all, mount only to where
a snail is sunning himself on the water's edge;
or a toad may take a reckless leap from the land
side of his eminence, and alighting on a tree-top,
have to reach earth in monkey-fashion, by leap-
ing from branch to branch ]
To the birds skimming high over the country,
it must be a fanciful sight-this Holland.
There are the fertile farms or polders, studded
with cattle and bright red cottages; short-
waisted men, women, and children, moving about
in wide jackets and big wooden shoes; trees
everywhere clipped into fantastical shapes, with


build her nest there, and so bring him good their trunks colored white, yellow, or brick red;
luck. country mansions too, and farm-houses gaudy
A butterfly may take quite an upward flight with roofs of brightly tinted tiles. These tiles are
in Holland, leaving flowers and shrubs and trees made of a kind of glazed earthenware, and make



one feel as if all the pie dishes in the country
were lapped in rows on top of the buildings.
Then the great slanting dykes, with their waters
held up as if to catch the blue of the sky; the
ditches, canals, and rivers trailing their shining
lengths in every direction; shining lines of rail-
way, too, that now connect most of the principal
points of the Netherlands; then, the thousands
of bridges, little and big; the sluice-gates, canal-
locks, and windmills; the silver and golden
weather-cocks perched on one foot, and twitch-
ing right and left to show their contempt for
the wind. All this, as you must know, makes
the sun jeweler-in-chief to the landscape, which
shines and glitters and trembles with motion
and light. Yet that is only one way of looking
at it. A low-spirited bird might still see only
marshes and puddles. Or one of the practical
every-day sort might notice only commonplace
things,-such as the country roads paved with
yellow bricks; cabbage plots scarcely greener
than the ponds nestling everywhere among the
reeds; cottages, with roofs ever so much too big

for them, perched upon wooden legs to keep
them from sinking in the marsh; and horses
wearing wide, stool-like shoes for the .same rea-
son. Or they might watch the wagons bump-

ing along with drivers sitting outside, kicking
the funny little crooked pole; or horses yoked
three abreast, dragging obstinate loads; or
women and boys harnessed to long towing-
ropes meekly drawing their loads of market-
stuff up and down the canal.
Then there are the boats, large and small,
of every possible Dutch style; wonderful ships
made to breast the rough seas of the coast;
fishing-smacks (smakschepen), heavy with fresh
catches; the round-sterned craft by the cities,
with their gilded prows and gaily painted sides;
trekschuiten, or water-omnibuses, plying up and
down the canals for the conveyance of passen-
gers; brown-sailed pakschuiten, or water-carts,
for carrying coal and merchandise upon these
same water-roads; barges loaded with peat;
pleasure-boats with their showy sails; the little
skiffs, the rafts, the chip boats launched by
white-haired urchins kneeling in the mud!
Then, mingling confusedly with masts, and
windmills, and sails are the long rows of willows,
firs, beeches, or elms, planted on the highways
wherever root-hold can be
found or manufactured; the
stiff, symmetrical gardens,
with their nodding tulips
and brilliant shrubs; the
great white storks flying to
and fro with outstretched
necks and legs, busily at-
tending to family needs, or
settling upon the quaint
gabled roofs of some little
town; water-fowl dipping
with soft splashings into the
tide; rabbits scudding here
X and there; water-rats slily
slipping into their crannies,
\ and bright water-insects
S\ rocking at the surface on
SII R THE reed and tangle-weed. See-
CHIMNEYS ing all this, our birds have
TOPS (AMSTERDAM). not seen half; but they have
ample time to look; for
bird-life is not the un-
certain thing in Holland that it is here. They
are citizens loved and respected, and protected
by rigorous laws. Stones are not thrown at their
heads, nor is "salt sprinkled upon their tails."





They are not afraid of guns,
for the law has its eye on
the gunners; and, strangest
of all, they see nothing ter-
rible in small boys! Young
eyes, to be sure, often peep
into their nests; but the
owners have been taught
not to rob nor molest.
Human mothers and bird
mothers are in secret league.
Indeed, the softest, warm-
est nest is not softer nor
warmer than the Dutch
heart has proved itself to
the birds.
When winter comes and
the little songsters- and iS -
their greedy cousins, the
storks- have flown away MYNHEER, ON HIS
in search of warmer quarters, the country is
still in a glitter, for its waters are frozen. Then
all Holland puts on its skates, and gets atop
of its beloved water, in which before it has
only dabbled. Everybody, ybung and old, goes
skimming and sliding along the canals, over the
lakes, and on the rivers.
"And as they sweep,
On sounding skates, a thousand different ways
In circling poise, swift as the winds along,
The then gay land is maddened all to joy."

---- --

------ '

The entire country is one vast
skating-rink. No need of red
balls to tell the people that
everything is ready. They
know winter in their land means
ice,- and good solid ice, too,-
sometimes for three months to-
gether. Then come out the
S ice-boats. and sleds, and slid-
ing-chairs, and ijsbrekers. These
S last, as you may guess, by pro-
I nouncing the word, are pro-
vided with spikes for breaking
Passages through the ice to en-
able barges and other vessels
to pass. They are sometimes
used by hand, and sometimes
are made very large and heavy,
and drawn by as many as twenty
or even thirty horses. There
Sis no little excitement among
=the boys and girls when a big
ice-breaker comes out for the
first time in the season. The
great crashing thing inspires
them with wonder and admira-
tion; yet with all its might it
AY TO TOWN. cuts only a narrow pathway for
the boats. The main face of the country be-
longs to the skaters.
For miles and miles the glassy ice spreads
its mirror under the blinking and dazzled sun.
Everywhere is- one shining network of slippery
highway. Who would walk or tide then ? Not
one. Doctors skate to their patients; clergymen
to their parishioners; market-women to town
with baskets upon their heads. Laborers go
skimming by, with tools on their shoulders, and
tradespeople busily planning the day's affairs;




fat old burgomasters, too, with gold-headed
canes cautiously flourished to keep them in
balance; laughing girls with arms entwined;
long files of young men shouting as they pass;
children with school-satchels slung over their
shoulders,--all whizzing by, this way and that,

until you can see nothing but the flashing of
skates, and a rushing confusion of color.
And while all this is happening in the open
air, the simple indoor life is steadily going
on, in the homes, the shops, the churches, the
schools, the workshops, the picture-galleries.



Ah, the picture-galleries! All Hollanders,
from the very richest and most cultivated to
almost the very humblest, visit and enjoy the
rare collections of paintings that ennoble their
principal towns and cities. And what pictures
those old Dutchmen have painted! The Dutch-
men of to-day well may be proud of them.
There was Rembrandt Van Ryn (of the Rhine),
perhaps the greatest portrait painter- or painter
of men- this world has ever known; and Franz
Hals and Van der Helst and the careful Gerh-
ard Dow, and Mieris and Van Ostade, and
Teniers and many others. You must read
about them, and some day see their pictures, if
indeed you have not already come upon them
either in your reading or on your travels!
But if you visit no other, you surely must
hope some day to go to the Ryks Museum at
Amsterdam, and see its priceless Rembrandts
and other treasures of Dutch art.
If you go to Holland in summer and look at
the people, you will wonder when all the work
was done, and who did it. The country folk
move so slowly and serenely, looking as if to
smoke their pipes were quite as much as they
cared to do,- they have so little to say, and
seem to see you only because their eyes chance
to be open. You feel sure if the lids dropped
by any accident they would not be lifted again
in a hurry. Yet there are the dykes, the water-
roads, the great ship-canals, the fine old towns,
the magnificent cities, the colleges, the galleries,
the charitable institutions, the churches. There
are the public parks, the beautiful country-seats,
the immense factories, the herring-packeries, the
docks, the shipping-yards, the railways, and the
telegraphs. Surely these Hollanders must work
in their sleep !
But though the men outside of Amsterdam
and the large cities may screen themselves with
a mask of dullness, it is not so with the women.
They are as lively as one could wish, taller in
proportion than the men, with fresh, rosy faces,
and hair that matches the sunshine. Many of
them are elegant and graceful. As for work,-
well, if there could be such a thing as a Dutch
Barnum, he would make his fortune by exhibiting
a lazy Dutch woman- if he could find one!
Ah! how they work! brushing, mopping,
scrubbing, and polishing. I do believe the tini-

est Lilliputian that Gulliver ever saw could not
fill his pockets with dust, if he searched through
dozens of Dutch houses.
Broek, a little village near beautiful Amster-
dam, that city of ninety islands, is said to be the
cleanest place in the world. It used to be quite
famous for its North-Holland peculiarities-
and even to-day it has strong characteristics of
its own. It is inhabited mainly by retired Dutch
merchants and their families, who seem deter-
mined to enjoy the world as it appears when
scrubbed to a polish. Every morning the vil-
lage shines forth as fresh as if it had just taken
a bath. The wooden houses are as bright and
gay as paint can make them. Their shining
tiled roofs and polished facings flash up a de-
fiance to the sun to find a speck of dust upon
them. Certain door-yards, curiously paved with
shells and stones, look like enormous mosaic
brooches pinned to the earth; the little canals
and ditches, instead of crawling sluggishly as
many of their kindred do, flow with a limpid
cleanliness; the streets of fine yellow brick are
carefully sanded. Even the children trip along
with a careful tiptoe tread. Horses and wheeled
vehicles of any kind are not allowed within the
borders of the town. The pea-green window-
shutters are usually closed; and the main en-
trances are never opened except on the occasion
of a christening, a wedding, or a funeral, or
when the dazzling brass knobs and knockers are
to be rendered more dazzling still. The gardens
are as prim and complete as the houses; but in
summer the beds, all laid out in little patches,
are bright with audacious flowers nodding sau-
cily to the prim box border that incloses them.
Nearly every garden has its zomerzuis and its
pond. Some of these ponds have queer au-
tomata or self-moving figures upon them:
sometimes a duck that paddles about and flaps
its wooden wings; sometimes a wooden sports-
man standing upon the shore, jerkily taking aim
at the duck, but never quite succeeding in get-
ting his range accurate enough to warrant firing;
and sometimes a dog stands among the shrub-
bery and snaps his jaws quite fiercely when he
is not too damp to work. Queer things, too,
are seen in the growing box, which is trimmed
so as to fail in resembling peacocks and wolves.
Altogether, Broek is a very remarkable place.




The dairy-ly inclined inhabitants consider their
kine as friends and fellow-lodgers, and so the
very cattle there live in fine style. Pet cows,
it is said, often- rejoice in pretty blue ribbons
tied to their tails and in winter they not un-

commonly find themselves daintily housed be-
neath the family roof.
In some Dutch houses the rooms are cov-
ered with two or three carpets, laid one over
the other, and others have no carpets at all,



but the floors are polished, or perhaps made of
tiles laid in regular patterns. Sometimes doors
are curtained like the windows, and the beds
are nearly concealed by heavy draperies. Many


among the poorer classes sleep in rough boxes,
or on shelves fixed in recesses against the wall;
so that sometimes the best bed in the cottage
looks more like a cupboard than anything else.
Whether having so much water about sug-
gested the idea or not, I cannot say, but certain
it is that big blocks of imported cork are quite
in fashion for footstools. They stand one on each
side of the great, open fireplace, as though the
-household intended to have two life-preservers
on hand at any rate in case of a general flood.
The large earthen cup, or fire-pot, that you
may see standing near, filled with burning peat,
and casting a bright glow over the Dutch sen-
tence inscribed on the tiles arching the fire-
place, is very useful for warming the room on
chilly days, when it is not quite cold enough
for a fire. For that matter, it is a general cus-
tom in Holland to use little tin fire-boxes (with
a handle, and holes in the top lid), for warm-
ing the feet. Our Dutch ancestors brought some
of them over to America long ago, and
many grown-up New Yorkers can remember
seeing similar ones in use. In Holland every
lady has her voet stoof, or foot-stoye. Churches
are provided with a large number; and on
Sunday, boys and sometimes old women, bearing
high piles of them, move softly about, distribut-
ing them among the congregation.
From Broek to Amsterdam is scarce an hour's
journey, yet how different everything is! Here,
as in the other large Dutch cities, you see quite

a business look on the men's faces. They are
thinner as a class than the rustic folk; and, not
having such broad backs and short legs, not
wearing leather breeches and wide jackets and
big waist-buckles as the countrymen do, they
quite make you forget they are Dutch. In fact
they look like New Yorkers. Nowadays, the
stiff masculine costume of Paris and London
tends to make citizens nearly all over the world
look alike.
Still, very often you see something distinctive
in Dutch cities,-huge coal-scuttle bonnets on
the women; and wooden shoes, with heels that
clatter-clatter at every step. Some of the women
and girls have their hair cropped short and wear
close-fitting caps; and these caps and head-
dresses are seen in great variety. Some have
plain gold bands over the forehead, others have
gold or silver plates at the back, and some have
deep folds of rich lace hanging from them. The
writer once saw two women walking together in
Rotterdam, one of whom had on quite a fashion-
able French bonnet, and the other a queer
head-gear with rosettes and golden blinders pro-
jecting on each side of her forehead. Little
girls sometimes are very pretty with their sweet,
bright faces, their clean, stiff, simple attire,
and their queer white caps decked with a gold
band over the forehead and little dangling gold
twirls at the side. The little visitor in the picture
on page 120 is one of these, and you see how
carefully she has
slipped off her
wooden shoes so
as not to soil
her hostess's
spotless floors.
Then there are
the boys, cheer-
ful, clean, and
sturdy; some
dressed in mod-
ern-looking hats
Sand "suits"; but
others wearing
such short jackets and loose knee-breeches, you
would declare they had borrowed the former
from their little brothers and the latter from
their .grandfathers.
Now and then, in our own country, we hear



vague rumors of a person having been born with
a silver spoon in his mouth. I scorn to credit
such stories generally, but if I were told that all
Dutchmen were born with pipes in their mouths,
I certainly should n't consider it worth while to
doubt. In making an inventory of a Dutch-
man's face, you would have to mention two
eyes, two ears, one nose, one mouth, and one
pipe. To be sure, there might be but one eye,
or one ear, or no nose; but there certainly would
be a pipe. The pipe-rack on the wall, and a
large box of tobacco attached beneath, so that
any guest or stranger may help himself, may fre-

Dutchman grows sleeker and fatter behind his
pipe; as if the same fairy who gave him the
season-ticket had perched herself invisibly on
the bowl and was continually blowing him out
like a rubber balloon.
All things are reversed in Holland. The
main entrance to the finest public building in
the country, The Palace,* or late town hall, of
Amsterdam, is its back door. Bashful maidens
hire beaux to escort them to the Kermis, or
fair, on festival-days. Timid citizens are scared
in the dead of the night by their own watch-
men, who at every quarter of the hour make


quently be seen in Dutch farm-houses. The
men, and too often the boys, smoke, smoke,
smoke, as if some malicious fairy had given
them a perpetual season-ticket for enjoying the
privilege. Perhaps that is why they seem so
sleepy; and yet, with what a sudden glow both
pipe and Dutchman can brighten at a whiff!
Instead of seeming to shrivel up, inside and
out, as constant smokers are apt to do here, a

such a noise with their wooden clappers, one
would suppose the town to be on fire. You will
see sleds used in summer there. They go
bumping over the bare cobblestones, while the
driver holds a dripping oil-rag in advance of
the runners to lessen the friction. You will see
streets of water; and the country roads paved
as nicely as Broadway. You will see vessels
hitched, like horses, to their owners' door-posts;

*A noble building it is, too, but the poor thing, for dryness' sake, has to stand on more than thirteen
thousand piles driven deep into the spongy soil.



h ii


.. .- o- .. ]t I./

-... r- -- .



and whole rows of square-peaked houses leaning
over the street, as if they were getting ready to
tumble. Instead of solemn striking clocks, you
will hear church chimes playing snatches of
operatic airs every quarter of an hour, by way
of marking the time. You will see looking-
glasses hanging outside of the dwellings; and
pincushions displayed on the street-doors. The
first are called spionnen (or spionnetjen), and are
so arranged outside of the windows, that persons
sitting inside can, without being seen, enjoy a
reflection of all that is going on in the street.
They can learn, too, what visitor may be coming,
and watch him rubbing his soles to a polish before
entering. The pincushion means that a new
baby has appeared in the household. If white
or blue, the new-comer is a girl; if red, it is a
little Dutchman. Some of these signals are very
showy affairs; some are not cushions at all, but
merely shingles trimmed with ribbon or lace;
and, among the poorest class, it is not uncommon
to see merely a white or red string tied to the
door-latch-fit token of the meager life the
poor little stranger is destined to lead.

present condition is described on the placard for
the benefit of inquiring friends; and sometimes,
when such a placard has been taken down, you
may meet a grim-looking man on the street
dressed in black tights, a short cloak, and a high
hat from which a long, black streamer is flying.
This is the Aanspreker, going from house to
house to tell certain persons that their friend is
dead. He attends to funerals, and bears invi-
tations to all friends whose presence may be de-
sired. A strange weird-looking figure he is; and
he wears a peculiar, professional cast of counte-
nance that is anything but comforting.
Ah! here is something to cheer us! And
now a little cart rattles past, drawn by a
span of orderly dogs, and filled with shining
brass kettles that were brimming with milk when
it started on its round. How nimbly the little
animals trot over the stones! How promptly
they heed the voice of their little master stalk-
ing leisurely along the sidew-; no, not on
the sidewalk; -but on the narrow footpath of
yellow brick that stretches along near the houses.
Excepting this, the cobble pavement, if there be



Sometimes, instead of either pincushion or no canal, reaches entirely across the street from
shingle, you will see a large placard hung out- door to door. Occasionally one may see dogs
side of the front door. Then you may know dragging tiny fish-carts. They jog along in such
that somebody in the house is ill, and his or her practiced style, we maybe sure they were taught


at the dog-school in Amsterdam; but oftener, in
Holland, the small milk-cart or water-cart is
drawn by a robust boy, or a pretty rosy-cheeked
girl with eyes brighter than the shining brass
water-jar she may carry. Those canal-boats
around the corner, wending their way among
the houses, are loaded with peat for the people
to burn; coal is a luxury used only by the rich.
That barge by the market-place, drawn up to
the street's edge (for many of the principal
thoroughfares are half water and half street), is
laden with- what do you think ?
What should you suppose these
people would, least of all, need to
buy ? You see these canals, fol-
lowing and crossing the streets in
every direction; you see the mast-
heads and sails standing up every- -'._ -- _"
where, in among the trees and I
steeples, showing that the river .
always is close at hand; you
know that all Holland is a kind
of wet sponge; and the guide- -
books will tell you that every
house is built upon long wooden
piles driven deep into the marsh, ,.. =-
or it could n't stand there at all.
Now, what do you think these .
barges contain ? What but water! .
-water for the people to drink. .
It is brought for the purpose from
Utrecht, or the river Vecht, or
from some favored inland spot. All along the
coast, just where Holland is wettest, our poor
Dutchmen must go dry, for there is no water
fit to drink, unless they buy from the barges,
or swallow the rain before it has a chance to
catch the ways of the country.
Now, is not Holland a funny land ? Where
else do the people pray for fish and not pray for
rain? Where else do they build factories so
enormous for the cutting and polishing of such
little things as diamonds ? Where else do
peasant women wear solid gold and costly old
lace on their heads ? Where else do persons
carry their stoves about in their hands ? Where
else do crowds of folk sit on the sea shore as
at Scheveningen, each in a great high hut-like
wicker chair with a window on each side?
Where else do funny wooden heads or gapers

at the apothecaries' windows make faces" for
all who have to take physic ? Where else is fire
sold by the pailful ?
Is not water often as fertile as land, in Hol-
land? Cannot the frogs there look down upon
chimney-swallows ? Did not the learned Eras-
mus, who knew how the piles were driven in, say
that their city people lived like crows, on the
tops of trees? And does n't everybody know
that Dutch pink" is as yellow as gold?
Verily, as I said at first, Holland is the queerest


country that ever the sun shone upon! But the
queerest thing of all is, when you really know
much about it you feel more like crying than
laughing; for this land that lies so loosely upon
the sea has many a time been forced to be as a
rock against a legion of foes. Its stanch-hearted
people have suffered as never nation had suffered
before. They look sleepy, I know, and have
some very odd ways; but--Motley's history
of the Rise of the Dutch Republic is not a
funny book.
The ocean, too, if it could speak, could tell
tales of Dutch ships bound on great enterprises;
though it has a funny story of the brave Admiral
Van Tiomp, which you must read some day.
Soon, in another paper, I shall try to tell you
how Holland, in its history, has proved itself to
be truly a Land of Pluck.

I ,, I

(SEE PAGE 115.)



(Begun in the November number.)



QUINDARO was a straggling but pretty little
town built among the groves of the west bank of
the Missouri. Here the emigrants found a store
or trading-post, well supplied with the goods
they needed, staple articles of food and the
heavier farming-tools being the first required.
The boys looked curiously at the big breaking-
plow that was to be of so much consequence
to them in their new life and labors. The prai-
ries around their Illinois home had been long
broken up when they were old enough to take
notice of such things; and as they were town
boys, they had never had their attention called
to the implements of a prairie farm.
It looks like a plow that has been sat
down on and flattened out," was Oscar's re-
mark, after they had looked the thing over
very critically. It had a long and massive beam,
or body, and big strong handles, suggestive of
hard work to be done with it. "The nose," as
Sandy called the point of the share, was long,
flat, and as sharp as a knife. It was this thin
and knife-like point that was to cut into the
virgin turf of the prairie, and, as the sod was
cut, the share was to turn it over, bottom side
up, while the great heavy implement was drawn
on by the oxen.
"But the sod is so thick and tough," said
Oscar, "I don't see how the oxen can drag the
thing through. Will our three yoke of cattle
do it?"
The two men looked at each other and
smiled. This had been a subject of much
anxious thought with them. They had been
told that they would have difficulty in breaking
up the prairie with three yoke of oxen; they
should have four yoke, certainly. So when
Mr. Howell explained that they must get an-

other yoke and then rely on their being able
to "change work" with some of their neigh-
bors who might have cattle, the boys laughed
Neighbors! cried Sandy. Why, I did n't
suppose we should have any neighbors within
five or ten miles. Did you, Oscar? I was in
hopes we would n't have neighbors to plague us
with their hens and chickens and their running
in to borrow a cupful of molasses or last week's
newspaper. Neighbors !" and the boy's brown
face wore an expression of disgust.
Don't you worry about neighbors, Sandy,"
said his uncle. Even if we have any within
five miles of us, we shall do well. But if there
is to be any fighting, we shall want neighbors
to join forces with us and we shall find them
handy, anyhow, in case of sickness or trouble.
We can not get along in a new country like this
without neighbors, and you bear that in mind,
Master Sandy."
The two leaders of this little flock had been
asking about the prospects for taking up claims
along the Kansas River, or the Kaw, as that
stream was then generally called. To their
great dismay, they had found that there was
very little vacant land to be had anywhere
near the river. They would have to push on still
further westward if they wished to find good
land ready for the preimptor. Rumors of
fighting and violence came from the new city
of Lawrence, the chief settlement of the Free
State men, on the Kaw; and at Grasshopper
Falls, still further to the west, the most desir-
able land was already taken up, and there were
wild stories of a raid on that locality being
planned by bands of Border Ruffians. They
were in a state of doubt and uncertainty.
"There she is There she is said Charlie,
in a loud whisper, looking in the direction of a
tall, unpainted building that stood among the
trees that embowered the little settlement.
Everyone looked and saw a young lady trip-


ping along through the hazel brush that still
covered the ground. She was rather stylishly
dressed, "citified," Oscar said, and swung a
beaded work-bag as she walked.
"Who is it? Who is it?" asked Oscar,
breathlessly. She was the first well-dressed
young lady he had seen since leaving Iowa.

i~ ~tq

S.; I"

"Sh-h-h-h! whispered Charlie. "That 's
Quindaro. A young fellow pointed her out to
me last night, just after we drove into the settle-
ment. She lives with her folks in that tall, thin
house up there. I have been looking for her to
come out. See, she's just going into the post-
office now."
"Quindaro!" exclaimed Sandy. "Why I
thought Quindaro was a squaw."
She 's a full-blooded Delaware Indian girl,
that's what she is, and she was educated some-

where east in the States; and this town is named
for her. She owns all the land around here, and
is the belle of the place."
"She 's got on hoop-skirts, too," said Oscar.
"Just think of an Indian girl- a squaw, wear-
ing hoops, will you?" For all this happened,
my young reader must remember, when women's
fashions were very differ-
ent from what they now
are. Quindaro, that is
to say, the young Indian
S' lady of that time, was
dressed in the height of
S- fashion but not in any
way obtrusively. Charlie,
following with his eyes
the young girl's figure,
i..'. as she came out of the
post-office and went
across the ravine that
divided the settlement
into two equal parts,
mirthfully said: "And
I' / only think! That is a
full-blooded Delaware
Indian girl! "
But, their curiosity
Satisfied, the boys were
'' evidently disappointed
S:sti' I with their first view
Sof Indian civilization.
There were no blank-
eted Indians loafing
.- : around in the sun and
-- sleeping under the
Shelter of the under-
brush, as they had been
taught to expect to see
them. Outside of the
settlement, men were plowing and planting,
breaking prairie, and building cabins; and,
while our party were looking about them, a party
of Delawares drove into town with several ox-
carts to carry away the purchases that one of
their number had already made. It was be-
wildering to boys who had been brought up on
stories of Black Hawk, the Prophet, and the
Sacs and Foxes of Illinois and Wisconsin. A
Delaware Indian, clad in the ordinary garb of a
Western farmer and driving a yoke of oxen, and


employing the same curious lingo used by the
white farmers, was not a picturesque object.
I allow that sixty dollars is a big price to
pay for a yoke of cattle," said Mr. Howell, anx-
iously. He was greatly concerned about the
new purchase that must be made here, accord-
ing to the latest information. We might have
got them for two-thirds of that money back in
Illinois. And you know that Iowa chap only
reckoned the price of these at forty-five, when
we traded with him at Jonesville."
"It 's no use worrying about that now,
Aleck," said his brother-in-law. I know you
thought then that we should need four yoke for
breaking the prairie; but, then, you were n't
certain about it, and none of the rest of us ever
had any sod-plowing to do."
No, none of us," said Sandy, with delightful
gravity; at which everybody smiled. One would
have thought that Sandy was a veteran in every-
thing but farming.
I met a man this morning, while I was prowl-
ing around the settlement," said Charlie, who
said that there was plenty of vacant land, of first-
rate quality, up around Manhattan. Where 's
that, father do you know ? He did n't, but
some other man, one of the New England So-
ciety fellows, told him so."
But nobody knew where Manhattan was.
This was the first time they had ever heard of
the place. The cattle question was first to be
disposed of, however, and as soon as the party had
finished their breakfast, the two men and Charlie
sallied out through the settlement to look up a
bargain. Oscar and Sandy were left in the
camp to wash the dishes and "clean up," a
duty which both of them despised with a hearty
If there 's anything I just fairly abominate,
it's washing dishes," said Sandy, seating himself
on the wagon-tongue and discontentedly eying
a huge tin pan filled with tin plates and cups,
steaming in the hot water that Oscar had
poured over them from the camp-kettle.
"Well, that 's part of the play," answered
Oscar, pleasantly. It is n't boy's work, let
alone man's work, to be cooking and washing
dishes. I wonder what mother would think to
see us at it ?" and a suspicious moisture gath-
ered in the lad's eyes, as a vision of his mother's

tidy kitchen in far-off Illinois rose before his
mind. Sandy looked very solemn.
"But, as daddy says, it 's no use worrying
about things you can't help," continued the
cheerful Oscar, "so here goes, Sandy. You
wash and I '11 dry 'em." And the two boys went
on with their disagreeable work so heartily
that they soon had it out of the way; Sandy re-
marking as they finished it, that, for his part, he
did not like the business at all, but he did not
think it fair that they two, who could not do
the heavy work, should grumble over that they
could do. The worst of it is," he added,
"we 've got to look forward to months and
months of this sort of thing. Father and Uncle
Charlie say that we cannot have the rest of the
family come out until we have a house to put
them in a log-cabin, they mean, of course;
and Uncle Charlie says that we may not get
them out until another Spring. I don't believe
he will be willing for them to come out until he
knows whether the Territory is to be slave or
free. Do you, Oscar ?"
No, indeed," said Oscar. "Between you
and me, Sandy, I don't want to go back
to Illinois again, for anything; but I guess
father will make up his mind about staying only
when we find out if there is to be a Free State
government or not. Dear me, why can't the
Missourians keep out of here and let us alone ? "
"It 's a free country," answered Sandy, sen-
tentiously. "That 's what Uncle Charlie is
always saying. The Missourians have just as
good a right here as we have."
But they have no right to be bringing in
their slavery with 'em," replied the other.
"That would n't be a free country, would it,
with one man owning another man? Not
That 's beyond me, Oscar. I suppose it's a
free country only for the white man to come to.
But I have n't any politics in me. Hullo !
there comes the rest of us driving a yoke of
oxen. Well, on my word, they have been
quick about it. Uncle Charlie is a master
hand at hurrying things, I will say," added
Sandy, admiringly. "He 's done all the trad-
ing, I '11 be bound! "
Fifty-five dollars," replied Bryant, to the
boys' eager inquiry as to the price paid for the


yoke of oxen. Fifty-five dollars, and not so
very dear after all, considering that there are
more people who want to buy than there are
who want to sell."
"And now we are about ready to start;
only a few more provisions to lay in. Suppose
we get away by to-morrow morning? "
"Oh, that's out of the question, Uncle
Aleck," said Oscar. What makes you in
such a hurry ? Why, you have all along said
we need not get away from here for a week yet,
if we did not want to; the grass has n't fairly
started yet, and we cannot drive far without
feed for the cattle. Four yoke, too," he added,
The fact is, Oscar," said his father, lowering
his voice and looking around as if to see whether
anybody was within hearing distance, we have
heard this morning that there was a raid on this
place threatened from Kansas City, over the
border. This is the Free State headquarters in
this part of the country, and it has got about
that the store here is owned and run by the
New England Emigrant Aid Society. So they
are threatening to raid the place, burn the settle-
ment, run off the stock, and loot the settlers. I
should like to have a company of resolute men
to defend the place," and Mr. Bryant's eyes
flashed; "but this is not our home, nor our
fight, and I 'm willing to light out' right off, or
as soon as we get ready."
"Will they come to-night, do you think?"
asked Sandy, and his big blue eyes looked very
big indeed. Because we can't get off until we
have loaded the wagon and fixed the wheels;
you said they must be greased before we trav-
eled another mile, you know."
It was agreed, however, that there was no im-
mediate danger of the raid-certainly not that
night; but all felt that it was the part of pru-
dence to be ready to start at once; the sooner,
the better. When the boys went to their blank-
ets that night, they whispered to each other
that the camp might be raided and so they
should be ready for any assault that might come.
Sandy put his pepper-box under his pillow
and Charlie had his trusty rifle within reach.
Oscar carried a double-barreled shot-gun of
which he was very proud, and that weapon,
loaded with buckshot, was laid carefully by the

side of his blankets. The two elders of the
party slept with one eye open," as they phrased
it. But there was no alarm through the night,
except once when Mr. Howell got up and went
out to see how the cattle were getting on. He
found that one of the sentinels who had been
set by the Quindaro Company in consequence
of the scare, had dropped asleep on the wagon-
tongue of the Dixon party. Shaking him gently,
he awoke the sleeping sentinel, who at once
bawled Don't shoot! to the great consterna-
tion of the nearest campers, who came flying out
of their blankets to see what was the matter.
When explanations had been made, all laughed,
stretched themselves, and then went to bed
again to dream of Missouri raiders.
The sun was well up in the sky next day,
when the emigrants, having completed their pur-
chases, yoked their oxen and drove up through
the settlement and ascended the rolling swale
of land that lay beyond the groves skirting the
river. Here were camps of other emigrants
who had moved out of Quindaro before them,
or had come down from the point on the Mis-
souri opposite Parkville, in order to get on to
the road that led westward and south of the
Kaw. It was a beautifully wooded country.
When the lads admired the trees, Mr. Howell
somewhat contemptuously said: Not much
good, chiefly black-jacks and scrub-oaks "; but
the woods were pleasant to drive through, and
when they came upon scattered farms and plan-
tations with comfortable log-cabins set in the
midst of cultivated fields, the admiration of the
party was excited.
"Only look, Uncle Charlie," cried Sandy,
" there 's a real flower-garden full of hollyhocks
and marigolds; and there 's a rose-bush climb-
ing over that log-cabin!" It was too early to
distinguish one flower from another by its blooms,
but Sandy's sharp eyes had detected the leaves
of the old-fashioned flowers that he loved so
well, which he knew were only just planted in
the farther northern air of their home in Illi-
nois. It was a pleasant-looking Kansas home,
and Sandy wondered how it happened that
this cozy living-place had grown up so quickly
in this new Territory. It looked as if it were
many years old, he said.
We are still on the Delaware Indian reserva-


tion," replied his uncle. "The Government
has given the tribe a big tract of land here and
away up to the Kaw. They 've been here for
years, and they are good farmers, I should
say, judging from the looks of things here-
Just then, as if to explain matters, a decent-
looking man, dressed in the rude fashion of the
frontier but in civilized clothes, came out of
the cabin, and, pipe in mouth, stared not un-
kindly at the passing wagon and its party.
Howdy," he civilly replied to a friendly
greeting from Mr. Howell. The boys knew
that How was a customary salutation among
Indians, but Howdy" struck them as being
comic; Sandy laughed as he turned away his
face. Mr. Bryant lingered while the slow-mov-
ing oxen plodded their way along the road, and
the boys, too, halted to hear what the dark-
skinned man had to say. But the Indian, for
he was a civilized Delaware, was a man of
very few words. In answer to Mr. Bryant's
questions, he said he was one of the chiefs of the
tribe; he had been to Washington to settle the
terms of an agreement with the Government;
and he had lived in that cabin six years, and on
the present reservation ever since it was estab-
All this information came out reluctantly and
with as little use of vital breath as possible.
When they had moved on out of earshot, Oscar
expressed his decided opinion that that settler
was no more like James Fenimore Cooper's
Indians than the lovely Quindaro appeared to
be. Why, did you notice, father," he con-
tinued, that he actually had on high-heeled
boots? Think of that! An Indian with high-
heeled boots! Why, in Cooper's novels they
wear moccasins, and some of them go barefoot.
These Indians are not worthy of the name."
"You will see more of the same sort before
we get to the river," said his father. "They
have a meeting-house up yonder by the fork
of the road, I am told. And, seeing that this is
our first day out of camp on the last stage of
our journey, suppose we stop for dinner at In-
dian John's, Aleck ? It will be a change from
camp fare, and they say that John keeps a
good table."
To the delight of the lads it was agreed that

they should make the halt as suggested, and
noon found them at a very large and comforta-
ble double cabin," as these peculiar structures
are called. Two log-cabins are built, end to
end, with one roof covering the two. The pas-
sage between them is floored over and affords
an open shelter from rain and sun, and in
hot weather is the pleasantest place about the
establishment. Indian John's cabin was built
of hewn logs, nicely chinked in with slivers and
daubed with clay to keep out the wintry blasts.
As is the manner of the country, one of the cab-
ins was used for the rooms of the family, while
the dining-room and kitchen were in the other
end of the structure. Indian John regularly
furnished dinner to the stage passengers going
westward from Quindaro; for a public convey-
ance, a "mud-wagon," as it was called, had
been put on this part of the road.
What a tuck-out I had! said Sandy, after
a very bountiful and well-cooked dinner had
been disposed of by the party. "And who
would have supposed we should ever sit down
to an Indian's table and eat fried chicken, ham
and eggs, and corn-dodger, from a regular set
of bliue-and-white plates, and drink good coffee
from crockery cups ? It just beats Father Dixon's
Indian stories all to pieces."
Oscar and Charlie, however, were disposed
to think very lightly of this sort of Indian civili-
zation. Oscar said: If these red men were
either one thing or the other, I would n't mind
it. But they have shed the gaudy trappings of
the wild Indian, and their new clothes do not
fit very well. As Grandfather Bryant used to
say, they are neither fish nor flesh, nor good
red herring. They are a mighty uninteresting
"Well, they are on the way to a better state
of things than they have known, anyhow," said
Charlie. The next generation will see them
higher up, I guess. But I must say that these
farms don't look very thrifty, somehow. In-
dians are a lazy lot; they don't like work. Did
you notice how all those big fellows at dinner
sat down with us and the stage passengers, and
the poor women had to wait on everybody?
That 's Indian."
Uncle Charlie laughed and said that the boys
had expected to find civilized Indians waiting


on the table, decked out with paint and feathers
and wearing deerskin leggings and such like.
Wait until we get out on the frontier," said
he, and then you will see wild Indians, perhaps,
or blanket Indians,' anyhow."
"Blanket Indians ? said Sandy, with an
interrogation point in his face.
Yes, that 's what the roving and unsettled
bands are called by white folks. Those that are
on reservations and earning their own living, or
a part of it,- for the Government helps them
out considerably,- are called town Indians;
those that live in wigwams, or tepees, and rove
from place to place, subsisting on what they can
catch, are blanket Indians. They tell me that
there are wild Indians out on the western fron-
tier. But they are not hostile; at least, they
were not, at last accounts. The Cheyennes have
been rather uneasy, they say, since the white
settlers began to pour into the country. Just
now I am more concerned about the white Mis-
sourians than I am about the red aborigines."
They were still on the Delaware reservation
when they camped that evening, and the boys
went into the woods to gather fuel for their fire.
They had not gone far, when Sandy gave a
wild whoop of alarm, jumping about six feet
backward as he yelled, A rattlesnake! Sure
enough, an immense snake was sliding out from
under a mass of brush that the boy had dis-
turbed as he gathered an armful of dry branches
and twigs. Dropping his burden, Sandy shouted,
"Kill him Kill him, quick! "
The reptile was about five feet long, very
thick, and of a dark mottled color. Instantly,
each lad had armed himself with a big stick and
had attacked him. The snake, stopped in his
attempt to get away, turned and opening his
ugly-looking mouth made a curious blowing
noise, half a hiss and half a cough, as Charlie
afterward described it.
"Take care, Sandy! He '11 spring at you
and bite you in the face! See! He 's getting
ready to spring!"
And, indeed, the creature, frightened, and
surrounded by the agile, jumping boys, each
armed with a club, seemed ready to defend his
life with the best weapons at his command.
The boys, excited and alarmed, were afraid
to come near the snake and were dancing

about, waiting for a chance to strike, when they
were startled by a shot from behind them, and
the snake, making one more effort to turn on
himself, shuddered and fell dead.
Mr. Howell, hearing the shouting of the
boys, had run out of the camp and with a
well-directed rifle shot had laid low the reptile.
It 's only a blow-snake," he said, taking the
creature by the tail and holding it up to view.
"He 's harmless. Well! Of course a dead
snake is harmless, but when he was alive he
was not the sort of critter to be afraid of. I
thought you had encountered a bear, at the
very least, by the racket you made."
He 's a big fellow, anyhow," said Oscar,
giving the snake a kick, "and Sandy said he
was a rattlesnake. I saw a rattler once when
we lived in Dixon. Billy Everett and I found
him down on the bluff below the railroad; and
he was spotted all over. Besides, this fellow
has n't any rattles."
The boys have been having a lesson in natu-
ral history, Charlie," said Mr. Howell to his
brother-in-law, as they returned with him to
camp, loaded with firewood; Sandy, boy-like,
dragging the dead blow-snake after him.



SUPPER was over, a camp-fire built (for the
emigrants did their cooking by a small camp-
stove and sat by the light of a fire on the ground),
when out of the darkness came sounds of ad-
vancing teams. Oscar was playing his violin,
trying to pick out a tune for the better singing
of Whittier's song of the Kansas Emigrants.
His father raised his hand to command silence.
"That's a Yankee teamster, I '11 be bound,"
he said, as the Woh-hysh Woh-haw of the
coming party fell on his ear. No Missourian
ever talks to his cattle like that."
As he spoke, a long, low emigrant wagon, or
"prairie schooner," drawn by three yoke of dun-
colored oxen toiled up the road. In the wagon
was a faded-looking woman with two small
children clinging to her. Odds and ends of
household furniture showed themselves over her
head from within the wagon, and strapped on


behind was a coop of fowls from which came a
melancholy cackle, as if the hens and chickens
were weary of their long journey. A man
dressed in butternut-colored homespun drove
the oxen, and a boy about ten years old trudged
behind the driver. In the darkness behind these,
tramped a small herd of cows and oxen driven

assisted the woman and children to get down
from the wagon, and one of the cattle-drivers
coming up, drove the team into the woods a
short distance, and the tired oxen were soon
lying down among the underbrush.
Well, yes, we have had a pretty hard time
getting here. We are the last Free State men


by two other men, and a lad about the age of
Oscar Bryant. The new arrivals paused in the
road, surveyed our friends from Illinois, stopped
the herd of cattle, and then the man who was
driving the wagon said, with an unmistakable
New England twang, Friends ? "
"Friends, most assuredly," said Mr. Bryant,
with a smile. I guess you have been having
hard luck, you appear to be so suspicious."
"Well, we have, and that's a fact. But
we 're main glad to be able to camp among
friends. Jotham, unyoke the cattle after you
have driven them into the timber a piece." He

allowed over the ferry at Parkville. Where
be you from ? "
We are from Lee County, Illinois," replied
Mr. Bryant. We came in by the way of Park-
ville, too, a day or two ago; but we stopped at
Quindaro. Did you come direct from Park-
ville ?"
"Yes," replied the man. We came up the
river in the first place, on the steamboat Black
Eagle,' and when we got to Leavenworth, a
big crowd of Borderers, seeing us and another
lot of Free State men on the boat, refused to let
us land. We had to go down the river again.



The captain of the boat kicked up a great fuss
about it, and wanted to put us ashore on the
other side of the river; but the Missouri men
would n't have it. They put a committee,' as
they called the two men, on board the steam-
boat, and they made the skipper take us down
the river."
How far down did you go ? asked Bryant,
his face reddening with anger.
"Well, we told the committee that we came
through Ioway, and that to loway we must go;
so they rather let up on us, and set us ashore
just opposite Wyandotte. I was mighty afraidd
they 'd make us swear we would n't go back
into Kansas some other way; but they did n't,
and so we stivered along the road eastwards after
they set us ashore, and then we fetched a half-
circle around and got into Parkville."
"I should n't wonder if you bought those
clothes that you have got on at Parkville,"
said Mr. Howell, with a smile.
You guess about right," said the sad-colored
stranger. "A very nice sort of a man we met
at the fork of the road, as you turn off to go to
Parkville from the river road, told me that my
clothes were too Yankee. I wore 'em all the
way from Woburn, Massachusetts, where we
came from, and I hated to give 'em up. But
discretion is better than valor, I have heern
tell; so I made the trade, and here I am."
We had no difficulty getting across at
Parkville," said Mr. Bryant, "except that we
did have to go over in the night in a sneaking
fashion that I did not like."
Well," answered the stranger, as a special
favor, they let us across, seeing that we had had
such hard luck. That's a nice-looking fiddle
you 've got there, sonny," he abruptly inter-
jected, as he took Oscar's violin from his unwill-
ing hand. "I used to play the fiddle once,
myself," he added. Then, drawing the bow
over the strings in a light and artistic manner,
he began to play Bonnie Doon."
Come, John," his wife said, wearily, "it's
time the children were under cover. Let go
the fiddle until we 've had supper."
John reluctantly handed back the violin, and
the new-comers were soon in the midst of their
preparations for the night's rest. Later on in
the evening, John Clark, as the head of the

party introduced himself, came over to the
Dixon camp, and gave them all the news.
Clark was one of those who had been helped
by the New England Emigrant Aid Society, an
organization with headquarters in the Eastern
States, and with agents in the West. He had
been fitted out at Council Bluffs, Iowa, but for
some unexplained reason had wandered down
as far south as Kansas City, and there had
boarded the Black Eagle" with his family
and outfit. One of the two men with him was
his brother, the other was a neighbor who had
cast in his lot with them. The tall lad was
John Clark's nephew.
In one way or another, Clark had managed
to pick up much gossip about the country and
what was going on. At Tecumseh, where they
would be due in a day or two if they continued
on this road, an election for county officers was
to be held soon, and the Missourians were
bound to get in there and carry the election.
Clark thought they had better not go straight-
forward into danger. They could turn off, and
go West by way of Topeka.
Why, that would be worse than going to
Tecumseh," interjected Charlie, who had mod-
estly kept out of the discussion. Topeka is
the Free State capital, and they say that there
is sure to be a big battle there, sooner or later."
But Mr. Bryant resolved that he would go
West by the way of Tecumseh, no matter if
fifty thousand Borderers were encamped there.
He asked the stranger if he had in view any
definite point; to which Clark replied that he had
been thinking of going up the Little Blue; he
had heard that there was plenty of good va-
cant land there, and the land office would open
soon. He had intended, he said, to go to
Manhattan, and start from there; but since
they had been so cowardly as to change the
name of the place, he had "rather soured on
"Manhattan? exclaimed Charlie, eagerly.
"Where is that place? We have asked a
good many people, but nobody can tell us."
"Good reason why; they 've gone and
changed the name. It used to be Boston, but
the settlers around there were largely from Mis-
souri. The company were Eastern men, and
when they settled on the name of Boston, it


got around that they were all abolitionists, and
so they changed it to Manhattan. Why they
did n't call it New York, and be done with
it, is more than I can tell. But it was Boston,
and it is Manhattan; and that 's all I want to
know about that place."
Mr. Bryant was equally sure that he did not
want to have anything to do with a place that
had changed its name through fear of anybody
or anything.
Next day there was a general changing of
minds, however. It was Sunday, and the emi-


grants, a God-fearing and reverent lot of people,
did not move out of camp. Others had come in
during the night, for this was a famous camping-
place, well known throughout all the region.
Here were wood, water, and grass, the three
requisites for campers, as they had already found.
The country was undulating, interlaced with
creeks; and groves of black-jack, oak, and cot-
tonwood were here and there broken by open
glades that would be smiling fields some day,
but were now wild native grasses.

There was a preacher in the camp, a good
man from New England, who preached about
the Pilgrim's Progress through the world, and
the trials he meets by the way. Oscar pulled
his father's sleeve, and asked why he did not
ask the preacher to give out The Kansas Emi-
grant's Song" as a hymn. Mr. Bryant smiled,
and whispered that it was hardly likely that the
lines would be considered just the thing for a
religious service. But after the preaching was
over, and the little company was breaking up,
he told the preacher what Oscar had said. The

- --- ...l :.b


minister's eyes sparkled, and he replied, "What ?
Have you that beautiful hymn ? Let us have
it now and here. Nothing could be better for
this day and this time."
Oscar, blushing with excitement and native
modesty, was put up high on the stump of a
tree, and, violin in hand, raised the tune." It
was grand old Dundee." Almost everybody
seemed to know the words of Whittier's poem,
and beneath the blue Kansas sky, amid the
groves of Kansas trees, the sturdy, hardy men


and the few pale women joyfully, almost tear-
fully, sang:
We crossed the prairie, as of old
The Pilgrims crossed the sea,
To make the West, as they the East,
The homestead of the free !
It was good to be there," said Alexander
Howell, his hand resting lovingly on Oscar's
shoulder, as they went back to camp. But
Oscar's father said never a word. His face
was turned to the westward, where the sunlight
was fading behind the hills of the far-off frontier
of the Promised Land.
The general opinion gathered that day was
that they who wanted to fight for freedom might
better go to Lawrence, or to Topeka. Those
who were bent on finding homes for themselves
and little ones should press on further to the west
where there was land in plenty to be had for
the asking, or rather, for the pre-empting. So,

when Monday morning came, wet, murky, and
depressing, Bryant surrendered to the counsels
of his brother-in-law and the unspoken wish of
the boys, and agreed to go on to the newly sur-
veyed lands on the tributaries of the Kaw.
They had heard good reports of the region ly-
ing westward of Manhattan and Fort Riley.
The town that had changed its name was laid out
at the confluence of the Kaw and the Big Blue.
Fort Riley was some eighteen or twenty miles to
the westward, near the junction of the streams
that form the Kaw, known as Smoky Hill Fork
and the Republican Fork. On one or the other
of these forks, the valleys of which were said to
be fertile and beautiful beyond description, the
emigrants would find a home. So, braced and
inspired by the consciousness of having a defi-
nite and settled plan, the Dixon party set forth
on Monday morning, through the rain and
mist, with faces to the westward.

( To be continued.)

once w&,s a

*- C M r

_J5 ., \ rule




-t I!




IT was Christmas Eve and very nearly dark,
when Mrs. Lanier, riding up St. Charles Avenue
in her comfortable carriage filled with presents
for her children and friends, noticed a forlorn
little figure standing alone at a street corner.
There was something about the sorrowful-look-
ing little creature that moved her strangely,
for she turned and watched it as long as she
could discern the child's face in the gathering
It was a little girl thinly clad in a soiled and
torn white frock; her black stockings were full
of holes, and her shoes so worn that the tiny
white toes were visible through the rents. She
hugged a thin faded shawl around her shoul-
ders, and her yellow hair fell in matted, tan-
gled strands below her waist; her small face
was pale and pinched and had a woe-be-
gone look that would melt the hardest heart.
Although she was soiled and ragged, she did
not look like a common child, and it was
that indefinable something in her appearance
which attracted Mrs. Lanier's attention, for she
thought, as the carriage whirled by and left the
child far behind, Poor little thing! She did n't
look like a street beggar; I wish I had stopped
and spoken to her! "
It was Lady Jane, and her descent in the
scale of misery had been rapid indeed.
Since that night, some four months before,
when Madame Jozain had awakened her rudely
and told her she must come away, she had
lived in a sort of wretched stupor. It was true
she had resisted at first, and had cried desperately
for Pepsie, for Mam'selle Diane, for Gex,--but
all in vain; Madame had scolded and threat-
ened and frightened her into submission.
That terrible midnight ride in the wagon, with
the piled-up furniture and the two black drivers;
Madame's violence when she complained or
cried, and the frightful threats and cruel hints

of a more dreadful fate, had so crushed and
appalled the child that she scarcely dared open
her pale little lips either to protest or to plead.
Then there was the pitiful change in her life,
from loving care and pleasant companionship
to squalid misery and utter neglect. She had
been suddenly taken from comparative comfort
and plunged into the cruelest poverty.
Madame Jozain had caught cold during her
hurried flight, and it had settled in her lame
joint; she was, therefore, obliged to keep in bed
most of the time, and the little money she had
was soon spent. Hunger was staring her in the
face, and the cold autumn winds chilled her to
the marrow. She had been poor and in many
bitter straits, but never before like this. Now,
she dared not let any one know of her where-
abouts, and for that season the few friends
she still had could not help her; she was ill, and
suffering, and alone in her misery. Her son
had robbed and deserted her, and left her to
her punishment; and for all she knew, she must
die of starvation. Through the aid of the negro,
Pete, she had parted with nearly every thing of
value that she had, and to crown her cruelty,
and Lady Jane's misery, one day when the
child was absent on a begging expedition
Madame sold the blue heron, Lady Jane's only
pet, to an Italian for two dollars.
The bird was the last comfort the unhappy
little creature had, the only link between the
past and the miserable present; and when she re-
turned to her squalid home, and found her sin-
gle treasure gone, her grief was so wild and
uncontrollable, that Madame was frightened.
After this, the child spent her days wandering
about, hoping to find Tony.
When Madame first sent her out into the
street to sing and beg, she went without a pro-
test, so perfect was her habit of obedience, and
so great her anxiety to please and conciliate her
cruel tyrant. Since the night when Madame
fled from Good Children Street, she had
thrown off all pretense of affection for the hap-


less little one. She considered Lady Jane the
cause of all her misfortunes.
Before Madame sent her out, she gave Lady
Jane instructions in the most imperative man-
ner. She must never on any account speak
of Good Children Street, of Madelon or Pepsie,
of the d'Hautreves, of Gex, or the Paichoux,
or of any one she had ever known there. She
must not talk with people, and above all, she
must never tell her name, nor where she lived.
She must only sing, and hold out her hand.
Sometimes she might cry if she wanted to, but
she must never laugh."
These instructions the child followed to the
letter, with the exception of one. She never
cried, for although her little heart was breaking,
she was too proud to shed tears.
It was astonishing how many nickels she
picked up. Sometimes she would come home
with her little pocket quite heavy, for her won-
derful voice, so sweet and so pathetic, as well
as her sad face and wistful eyes, touched many
a heart, even among the coarsest and rudest;
and Madame might have reaped quite a har-
vest if she had not been so avaricious as to sell
Tony for a few dollars. When she did that, she
killed her goose that laid golden eggs; for after
the loss of her pet the child could not sing, her
little heart was too heavy, and the unshed tears
choked her and drowned her voice in quiver-
ing sobs.
The moment she was out of Tante Pauline's
sight, instead of gathering nickels she was wan-
dering around aimlessly, searching and asking
for the blue heron; and at night, when she re-
turned with an empty pocket, she shivered and
cowered into a corner, for fear of Madame's
One morning when it was very cold she had
had no breakfast and she felt tired and ill. And
when Madame told her to go out and not
come back without money, she fell to crying
piteously, and for the first time begged and im-
plored to stay where she was, declaring that she
could not sing any more, and that she was afraid
because some rude children had thrown mud at
her the day before, and told her not to come
into the street again.
This first revolt seemed to infuriate Madame,
for, reaching out to where the child stood trem-

bling and sobbing, she clutched her and shook
her violently, and then, slapping her tear-stained
little face until it tingled, she bade her go out
instantly, and not to return unless she brought
some money with her.
This was the first time that little Lady Jane
had suffered the ignominy of a blow. She
stopped sobbing instantly, and wiping the tears
resolutely from her face, shot one glance of
mingled scorn and surprise at her tyrant, and
walked out of the room, with the dignity of a
little princess.
When once outside, she held her hands for
a moment to her burning face, while she tried
to still the tumult of anger and sorrow that was
raging in her little heart; then she gathered
herself together with a courage beyond her
years, and hurried away, without once looking
back at the scene of her torture.
When she was far enough from the wretched
neighborhood to feel safe from observation, she
turned in a direction quite different from any she
had ever taken. The wind was intensely cold,
but the sun shone brightly, and she hugged her
little shawl around her, and ran on and on,
swiftly and hopefully.
If I hurry and walk, and walk, just as fast
as I can, I 'm sure to come to Good Children
Street; and then I '11 ask Pepsie or Mam'selle
Diane to keep me, for I '11 never, never go back
to Tante Pauline again."
By and by, when she was quite tired with
running and walking, she came to a beautiful,
broad avenue that she had never seen before.
There were large, fine houses, and gardens
blooming brightly, even in the chilly December
wind; and lovely children, dressed in warm vel-
vets and furs, walking with their nurses on the
wide, clean sidewalks; and every moment, car-
riages drawn by glossy, prancing horses, whirled
by; and people laughed and talked merrily, and
looked so happy and contented. It was delight-
ful, like a pleasant dream, and even better than
Good Children Street. She thought of Pepsie,
and wished she, too, could see it; and then she
imagined how enchanted her friend would be to
ride in one of those fine carriages, with the sun
shining on her, and the fresh wind blowing in
her face. The wind reminded her that she was
cold. It pierced through her thin frock and



scanty skirts, and the holes in her shoes and
stockings made her ashamed. After a while
she found a sunny corner on the steps of a
church. Here she crouched, and tried to
cover her dilapidated shoes with her short
Presently, a merry group of children passed,
and she heard them talking of Christmas.
"To-morrow is Christmas, this is Christmas
Eve, and we are going to have a Christmas
tree." Her heart gave a great throb of joy.
By to-morrow she was sure to find Pepsie,
and Pepsie had promised her a Christmas tree
long ago, and she would n't forget; Pepsie
was sure to have it ready for her. Oh, if she
only dared ask one of these kind-looking
people to show her the way to Good Chil-
dren Street! But she remembered what Tante
Pauline had told her, and fear kept her silent.
However, she was sure, now that she had got
away from that dreadful place, that someone
would find her. Mr. Gex had found her before
when she was lost; and he might find her now,
and because she did n't have a domino on he
would know her right away, and then she
would get Mr. Gex to hunt for Tony, and
perhaps she would have Tony for Christmas.
In this way she comforted herself until she was
quite happy.
After a while a kind-looking woman came
along with a market-basket on her arm; she was
eating something, and Lady Jane being very
hungry looked at her so wistfully that the
woman stopped and asked her if she would like
a piece of bread. She replied eagerly that she
would. The good woman gave her a roll and
a rosy apple, and Lady Jane went back to her
corner and munched them contentedly. Then a
fine milk-cart rattled up to a neighboring door,
and her heart almost leaped to her throat; but
it was not Tante Modeste. Still, Tante Modeste
might come any moment. She sold milk away
uptown to rich people. Yes, she was sure to
come, so the little girl ate her apple, and waited
with unwavering confidence.
And in this way the day passed pleasantly and
comfortably to Lady Jane. She was not very
cold in her sheltered corner, and the good wom-
an's kindness had satisfied her hunger; but at
last, she saw the sun slipping down into the

cold, gray clouds behind the opposite houses,
and she wondered what she should do and where
she should go when it was quite dark. Then
she began to reproach herself for sitting still.
She never thought of returning to Tante
Pauline; and if she had tried, she could not
have found her way back.
She had wandered too far from her land-

(SEE PAGE 134.)

marks, so the only thing to do was to press on
in her search for Good Children Street. It
was while she was standing at a corner, uncertain
which way to turn, that Mrs. Lanier caught a
glimpse of her.

Poor little soul; she had never been out in
the dark night alone before, and every sound
and motion startled her. Once a dog sprang out
and barked at her, and she ran trembling into a
doorway, only to be ordered away by an unkind


servant. Sometimes she stopped and looked
into the windows of the beautiful houses as she
passed. There were bright fires, lights, pictures,
and flowers, and she heard the merry voices of
children laughing and playing; and soon the
soft notes of a piano with someone singing re-
minded her of Mam'selle Diane. Then a choking
sob would rise in her throat, and she would
cover her face and cry a little, silently.
Presently, she found herself before a large,
handsome house; the blinds were open and the
parlor was brilliantly lighted; a lady- it was
Mrs. Lanier sat at the piano playing a waltz,
and two little girls each in a white frock and
red sash were dancing together. Lady Jane
pressed near the railing, and gazed at the scene
with wide, sparkling eyes. They were the same
steps that Gex had taught her, and it was the
very waltz that he sometimes whistled. Before
she knew it, quite carried away by the music,
and forgetful of everything, she dropped her
shawl, and holding out her soiled, ragged skirt,
was tripping and whirling as merrily as the little
ones within, while opposite to her, her shadow,
thrown by a street lamp over her head, tripped,
and bobbed, and whirled, not unlike Mr. Gex,
the ancient professor of the dance." And a
right merry time she had out there in the biting
December night, pirouetting with her own
Suddenly the music stopped, a nurse came
and took the little girls away, and some one
drew down the shades and shut her out alone in
the cold; there was nothing then for her to do
but to move on. Picking up her shawl, she
crept away a little wearily; for dancing, although
it had lightened her heart, had wasted her
strength; and it seemed to her that the wind
was rising and the cold becoming more intense,
for she shivered from time to time, and her bare
little toes and fingers smarted painfully. Once or
twice, from sheer exhaustion, she dropped down
on a door-step, but when she saw any one
approaching, she sprang up and hurried along,
trying to be brave and patient. Yes, she must
come to Good Children Street very soon, and
she never turned a corner that she did not
expect to see Madelon's little house, wedged in
between the two tall ones, and the light gleam-
ing from Pepsie's small window.

AT last, when she began to feel very tired and
sleepy, she came to a place where two streets
seemed to run together in a long point, and
before her she saw a large building, with lights
in all the windows, and behind it a tall church
spire seemed nearly to touch the stars that hung
above it so soft and bright. Her tearful eyes
singled out two of them very near together
that looked as if they were watching her, and
she held out her arms, and murmured, Papa!
Mamma! Can't I come to you? I'm so cold
and sleepy!" Poor little one! -the stars made
no answer to her piteous appeal, but continued
to twinkle as serenely as they have since time
began, and will until it ends. Then she looked
again toward the brilliantly lighted windows
under the shadow of the church spire. She
could not reach the windows, for in front of the
house there was a railing; but she noticed a
marble slab let into the wall over the porch, on
which was an inscription, and above it a row
of letters was visible in the light from the street
lamps. Lady Jane spelled them out, "' Orphans'
Home.' Orphans,--I wonder what orphans are ?
Oh, how warm and light it is in there! Then
she put the cold little toes between the iron rail-
ings, on the stone coping, and clinging with
her two hands, lifted herself somewhat higher,
and there she saw an enchanting sight. In the
center of the room was a tree, a real tree, growing
nearly to the ceiling, with moss and flowers
on the ground around it. But never did the
spreading branches of any other tree bear such
glorious fruit. There was a great deal of light,
and color; and moving, swaying balls of silver
and gold danced and whirled before her dazzled
eyes. At first she could hardly distinguish the
different objects in the confusion of form and
color; but at last, she saw that there was every-
thing the most exacting child could desire: birds,
rabbits, dogs, kittens, dolls; globes of gold, sil-
ver, scarlet, and blue; tops, pictures, games,
bonbons, sugared fruits, apples, oranges, and
little frosted cakes, in such bewildering profusion
that they were like the patterns in a kaleido-
scope. And there was a merry group of girls
laughing and talking, while they hung, and



pinned, and fastened more and more, until it
seemed as if the branches would break under
the load.
And Lady Jane, clinging to the railing, with
stiff cold hands and aching feet, pressed her
thin white face close to the iron bars, and
looked and looked.
Suddenly the door was opened, and a woman
came out, who, when she saw the child clinging
to the railing, bareheaded and scantily clothed
in spite of the piercing cold, went to her and
spoke kindly and gently.
Her voice brought Lady Jane back from Par-
adise to the bitter reality of her position, and
the dreary December night. For a moment she
could hardly move, and she was so chilled and
cramped that when she unclasped her hold she
almost fell into the motherly arms extended
toward her.
My child, my poor child! What are you
doing here so late, in the cold and with these
thin clothes! Why don't you go home ? "
Then the poor little soul, overcome with a hor-
rible fear, began to shiver and cry. Oh, don't!
Oh, please don't send me back to Tante Pauline;
I 'm afraid of her; she shook me and struck me
this morning, and I 've run away from her."
"Where does your Tante Pauline live?"
asked the woman, studying the tremulous little
face, with a pair of keen, thoughtful eyes.
I don't know. Away over there, some-
Don't you know the name of the street ? "
It is n't a street; it 's a little place all mud
and water, with boards to walk on."
Can't you tell me your aunt's name ?"
"Yes, it's Tante Pauline."
"But her other name ? "
I don't know; I only know Tante Pauline.
Oh, please, please don't send me there; I 'm
afraid to go back, because she said I must sing
and beg money, and I could n't sing, and I
did n't like to ask people for nickels," and the
child's voice broke into a little wail of entreaty
that touched the kind heart of that noble, ten-
der, loving woman, the Margaret whom some
to-day call Saint Margaret. She had heard just
such pitiful stories before from hundreds of
hapless orphans, who never appealed to her in

"Where are your father and mother ? she
asked as she led the child to the porch.
Lady Jane made the same pathetic answer
as usual:
"Papa went to heaven, and Tante Pauline


says that Mamma 's gone away, and I think
she 's gone where Papa is."
Margaret's eyes filled with tears, while the
child shivered and clung closer to her. Would
you like to stay here to-night, my dear ? she
asked as she opened the door; "this is the
home of a great many little girls, and the good
Sisters love and care for them all."
Lady Jane's anxious face brightened instantly.
"Oh, can I -can I stay here where the
Christmas tree is ?"

136 LADY
"Yes, my child, and to-morrow there will be
something on it for you."
And Margaret opened the door and led Lady
Jane into that safe and comfortable haven,
where so many homeless little ones have found
a shelter.

Time went on, and Lady Jane, not being
claimed by any one, was considered as a perma-
nent inmate of the home. She soon became
the idol, not only of the good Margaret, but of
all the Sisters and even of the children, and her
singing was a constant pleasure, for every day
her voice became stronger and richer, and her
thrilling little strains went straight to the hearts
of those who heard them.
"She must be taught music," said Margaret
to Sister Agnes; such a voice must be carefully
cultivated for the church." Therefore the Sis-
ter who took her in charge devoted herself to
the development of the child's wonderful talent,
and in a few months Lady Jane was spoken of
as quite a musical prodigy, and all the wealthy
patronesses of the home singled her out as one
who was rare and beautiful, and showered all
sorts of gifts and attentions upon her. Among
those who treated her with marked favor was
Mrs. Lanier. She never visited the home
without asking for little Jane (Margaret had
thought it best to drop the Lady," and the
child, with an intuition of what was right, com-
plied with the wish), and never went away
without leaving some substantial evidence of
her interest in the little singer.
I believe Mrs. Lanier would like to adopt
little Jane," said Margaret, one day to Sister
Agnes, when that lady had just left. "If she
had n't so many children of her own, I don't
think she would long leave Jane with us."
"It is surprising, the interest she takes in
her," returned Sister Agnes. When the child
sings, she sits as if she was lost to everything
else and listens with all her soul."
"And she asks the strangest questions about
the little thing," continued Margaret reflectively.
" And she is always suggesting some way to find
out to whom the child belonged; but although
I 've tried every way I can think of, I have
never been able to learn anything satisfactory."
And of course Margaret had made every

effort, from the very first, to discover something
of the child's antecedents; but she had been
unsuccessful, owing in a measure to Lady
Jane's reticence. The simple statement she
had made the first night, when the good
woman found her, cold and forlorn, clinging
to the iron railing in front of the Home, con-
tained all that Lady Jane seemed willing to tell
about her past.
But Lady Jane's reticence was not from
choice. It was fear that kept her silent about
her life in Good Children Street. Often she
would be tempted to mention Pepsie, Mam'selle
Diane, or the Paichoux, and the fear of Tante
Pauline would freeze the words on her lips.
But she never ceased to think of Pepsie,
Madelon, and Gex. And when she sang, she
seemed always to be with Mam'selle Diane,
nestled close to her side.
And so the months went on with Lady Jane,
while her friends in Good Children Street never
ceased to talk of her and to lament over
their loss. Poor Mam'selle Diane was in
great trouble. Madame d'Hautreve was very
ill, and there was little hope of her recovery.
And during the last days of the hot month of
August, the poor lady, one of the last of an old
aristocracy, closed her dim eyes on a life that
had been full of strange vicissitudes, and was
laid at rest in the ancient tomb of the d'Hau-
treves, not far from Lady Jane's young mother.
So Mam'selle Diane, the noble, patient, self-
sacrificing daughter, was left alone in the little
house, with her memories, her flowers, and her
birds. And often, during those first bitter
days of bereavement, she would say to herself,
Oh, if I had that sweet child now, what a
comfort she would be to me!"

On the morning of Madame d'Hautreve's
funeral, when Paichoux opened his paper at
the breakfast-table, he uttered such a loud
exclamation of surprise, that Tante Modeste
almost dropped the coffee-pot.
What is it, Papa; what is it ? she cried.
And in reply Paichoux read aloud the notice
of the death of Madame la veuve d'Hautreve,
inee d'Orgenois. And, directly underneath,
" Died at the Charity Hospital, Madame Pau-
line Jozain, nee Bergeron."

(To be continued.)



On Christmas day,when fires were lit,
And all our breakfasts done,
We spread our toys out on the floor
And played there in the sun .

The nursery smelled of Christmas tree,
And under where it stood
The shepherds watched their flocks of sheep
-All made of painted wood.

Outside the house the air was cold
And ouiet all about, A
Till far across the snowy roofs
The Christmas bells rang out.

But soon the sleigh-bells jingled by
Upon the street below,
And people on the way to church,
Went crunching through the snow.

We did not quarrel once all day;
Mamma and Grandma said
They liked to be in where we were,
So pleasantly we played.

I do not see how any child
Is cross onChristmas day,
When all the lovely toys are new,
And everyone can play .

VOL. XVIII.- 15. 137




N OW that the President has
.' signed the bill admitting Idaho
into the Union, the forty-fourth
star in our glorious constellation
S' of States, it may not be out of
S-- place for one who, if he did not
S- really give the name to this
I new State, first put that name
in print, to record a page or two
S'of its early history, and recall an

tingle as he tells it.
Gold was first found, in that
vast and trackless region now
forming the new States ofWash-
/ ington, Idaho, and Montana, in
Sthe spring of 1860, by a small
party of 'prospectors led by
Captain Pierce on the spot where
Pierce City now stands.
The writer, although not then
of age, had read law and been admitted to practice under Judge Geo. H. Williams, afterwards
President Grant's Attorney-General. And when news of the discovery of gold reached Oregon,
I gathered up one law-book and two six-shooters," and set out on a ride of many hundred
miles through the mountains for the new players.
But as gold was not plenty, and there was no use for the law-book, because there was no
law; and as there was an opening for a good and hardy horseman to carry letters and money
to and from the new mines, the writer and a young man by the name of Mossman soon had
nailed up over the door of the only store as yet in all that wild region, a sign which read:
" Mossman and Miller's Express."
It was two hundred miles to the nearest post-office at Walla Walla. The lover of pretty
names will easily trace this Walla Walla back to its French settlers' Voila / Voila "
No man can look down from the environment of mountains on this sweet valley, with its
beautiful city in the center, whose many flashing little rivers run together and make it for-
ever green and glorious to see, without instinctively crying out Voila! Voila/ It is another
Damascus, only it is broader of girth and far, far more beautiful. In this ride of two hundred
miles there was but one town, Lewiston. Get your map now, and as you follow the story of
the ride, fix the geography of this new empire in your minds, for it will be a grand land.
Lewiston, you observe, is at the head of navigation on the "Shoshonee" or Snake River,
by way of the Columbia River. This word Shoshonee means snake. I fancy you can al-
most hear the rattle of the venomous reptile as you speak this Indian word. The accent,
as in nearly all Indian names, such as Dakota, Iowa, and so on, is on the middle syllable.


In reading Longfellow's poems you will find
he has preserved the proper pronunciation
of Omaha by putting the accent where it be-
longs. And more than once this learned man
reminded me that Idaho must be pronounced
in the same soft and liquid fashion: I da ho.
In these long, long rides we changed horses
from five to ten times daily, and we rode at a
desperate speed. We used Indian ponies only,
and usually rode without escort, with pistols
ready at hand. Indians were numerous, but
our fear was not of them, but of white men. In
fact, the Indians were by far the most peace-
able people we had to deal with. They al-
ways kept our "Stations," that is, the places
where we changed horses and drank a cup of
coffee. These Indians were of the Nez Perc6
tribe. It may not be generally known that
these noble Indians were nearly civilized long
before the renowned Chief Joseph (who fought
the whole United States for half a year not
long ago) was ever heard of. These Indians,
under the direction of good old Father Spauld-
ing, published the first newspaper that was
issued west of the Rocky Mountains. They
also printed some portions of the Bible in their
own tongue, including many Psalms. Keep
these facts of history as well as the geography
of this great region in mind; and we will now
get to the robbers.
As before stated, we did not find gold plenty
at first, and the Express did not pay. We
two boys worked hard, took many desperate
risks, and lived almost literally on horseback,
with little food and with less sleep for the first
few months. But suddenly gold was found, as
thick as wheat on a threshing floor, far away to the
east of a big black mountain which the Indians
called I-dal-ho," which literally means," moun-
tain where light comes." I happened to be in
Lewiston, on my way to Pierce City with the
Express, when the ragged and sunburnt leader
of the party that had made the discovery be-
yond the Black Mountain came in. He took
me into his confidence. I sent an Indian on
with my Express; and branching off a hundred
miles to the southeast, reached the new mines,
took up "claims," and opened an Express Office
before a dozen people knew of the discovery
which was to give State after State to the

Union. You will find the place on the old
maps, and some of the new ones, marked
" Millersburgh." But there is no town there
The gold lay almost in the grass-roots, in the
shallow surface, like grains of wheat. It was a
high bleak place, densely wooded and intensely
cold as winter came on. Greater discoveries
lay further on and in kindlier climes, and broad
valleys and rich cities receive you there now.
But our story is of the snow and the stony steeps
of Mount I-dah-ho.
Returning to Lewiston with saddle-bags nearly
full of gold, I wrote the first published account
of the discovery; and the new mines were nat-
urally called in that publication, as they were
called by all that excited mass of people from
Lewiston on their way to the mines beyond the
Black Mountain, the Ida/ho Mines." The
name, however, like that of Omah-ha, soon
lost in the mouths of strangers its soft, sweet
California now emptied her miners, good and
bad, gamblers, robbers, desperados, right in
upon our new mines and the roads thither.
My young partner, a daring and dashing boy,
who, as I write, is visiting me here after thirty
years, had many desperate encounters.
Suddenly, as winter came on, the rivers closed
with ice, and horses could not go and steamers
could not come.
I was lying ice-bound at Lewiston. Men
wanted to send money below to their friends or
families; merchants, anticipating the tremendous
rush, must get letters through the snow to Walla
Walla. Would I go ? Could I go?
The snow was deep. The trails, over open
and monotonous mountains, were drifted full.
Could any living man face the drifting snow
and find his way to Walla Walla? At first the
merchants had tried to hire Indians to under-
take the trip and deliver their letters. Not one
could be found to go. When the storm abated
a little, the men who kept the ferry across the
Shoshonee River scraped off the snow, and cut-
ting down the upheaved blocks of ice made it
possible to cross with a horse.
I picked out a stout little iron-gray steed,
with head in the air, an eye like an eagle, and a
mane that tossed and tumbled like a thunder-


storm. At first I meant to carry only letters.
But having finally consented to take a little
gold for one merchant, I soon found I should
lose friends if I did not take gold for others.
The result was that I had to take gold worth
nearly ten thousand dollars. And ten thousand
dollars of dust you must know means nearly
fifty pounds!
A few muffled-up friends came down to the
river bank to see me off. It was a great event.
For two weeks we had not had a line from the
outer world. And meantime the civil war was
raging in all its terrible fury. As I set out that
bleak and icy morning, after I had mounted my
plunging pony I saw in the crowd several faces
that I did not like. There was Dave English,
who was hung on that spot with several of his
followers, not forty days later; there was Boone
Helm, hung in Montana; Cherokee Bob, killed
in Millersburgh; and also Canada Joe. This
last lived with some low Indians a little way
down the river. So when he rode ahead of me
I was rather glad than otherwise; for I felt that
he would not go far. I kept watch of him, how-
ever. And when I saw that he skulked around
under the hill, as if he were going home, and
then finally got back into the trail, I knew there
was trouble ahead.
But the Rubicon" was now behind. My
impetuous horse was plunging in the snow and
I was soon tearing through the storm up the
hill. Once fairly on my way, I looked back
below. Dave English and Boone Helm were
bidding good-by to two mounted cow-boys at
the ferry-house. Ten minutes later, as I looked
back through the blinding snow, I saw that
these two desperate fellows were following me.
True, there was nothing criminal in that.
The two highwaymen had a right to ride behind
me if they wished. And Canada Joe had just
as good a right to ride ahead of me. But to be
on a horse deep in the blinding snow and loaded
down with gold was bad enough. To have a
desperado blocking the narrow trail before you
with his two friends behind you was fearful!
I had two six-shooters close at hand under the
bearskin flap of my saddle-bag where the gold
was. I kept my left hand in my pocket where
lay a small six-shooter warm and ready. Once,
as the drifting and blinding snow broke away

up the mountain, I saw Canada Joe with his
head bent down in the storm still pushing on
ahead of me at a safe distance. A few mo-
ments after, as I crossed and climbed the far-
ther bank of an ugly canon, the two robbers
came close enough to hail me. One of them
held up a bottle. They evidently intended to
overtake me if they could, and profess to be
friendly. This I must not allow. I urged my
ambitious horse to his best. But, to my dis-
may, as I hastened up a narrow pass I found
that I was not far behind Canada Joe. This
low-browed black fellow was reported to be the
worst man in all that country. And that was
saying he was bad indeed.
I was in a tight place now, and had to think
fast. My first plan was to ride forward and
face this man before the others came up. But
I was really afraid of him. It seemed a much
easier task to turn and kill the two rear men
and get back to town. But, no! No! All this
was abandoned almost as soon as thought of.
In those days, even the most desperate had
certain rights, which their surviving friends
would enforce.
I remember that I fell to wondering what
the murderers would do with my body. I had
a horror of being eaten by wolves. I then
thought of the true and trusting men who had
sent me forth on my responsible task, and I
took heart.
I was now but a few hundred yards behind
Canada Joe. So far as I could find out, the
robbers were closing in on me. But we had
ridden over the roughest part of the road and
were within a few miles of the high plateau, so
that the wind was tearing past in a gale, and
the drifting snow almost blinded me.
Suddenly, I had a new thought. Why not
take to the left, gain the plateau by a new route,
and let these bloodthirsty robbers close their
net without having me inside? I rose in my
saddle with excitement at the idea, and striking
spurs to my brave horse, I was soon climbing
up the gradual slope at a gallop. Ah, but I
was glad Gallop! gallop! gallop! I seemed
to hear many horses! Turning my head sud-
denly over my shoulder, I saw my two pursu-
ers not a hundred yards behind me. They
shouted! I was now on the high plateau and


. . .. .



A' -


the snow was not so deep. Gallop! gallop! gal-
lop! Canada Joe-thank Heaven! -was away
to the right, and fast falling behind. Gallop 1
gallop! gallop! I was gaining on the robbers
and they knew it. Fainter and fainter came
their curses and their shouts I
And then: Whiz! Crack! Thud!

I looked back and saw that they both had
thrown themselves from their saddles and were
taking deliberate aim.
But to no purpose. Not one shot touched
me or my horse, and I reached the first station
and, finally, rode into Walla Walla, with my
precious burden, safe and sound.

(As related on a December evening of z69o, by Thomas Mufet, himself.)


S,9 NEVER have told
that tale afore to
anybody in this
ft l' mortal world. I
'- -f did always keep
9 that to myself.
S;Yet I reck' ye 'd
count it worth the
listening to, for a
F while or so (we being
e. here round the fire to-
gether), for of all the
chances that ever did befall
me in my youngish days, whilst I was liv-
ing in Babbletown, that was the strangest,
curiousest chance. Aye, aye; the fix that
Thomas Muffet was in that time (and it the
dead hour o' the night) was such as no mortal
human, that ever I 've heard tell of, hath ex-
perienced and overlived. I was hanged up by
the heels o' my head, an' 't was even as the
blessed Psalmist saith, all my bones were out
o' joint."
Now, 't was naught to be ashamed on-by
reason I never told it. Ye see't was an accident,
just a-happening that way, an' such as might
befall the best of us poor creatures. Maybe
some would ha' been, contrariwise, too proud
o' the outcome to keep secret, seeing how by
means of it I got the upper hand so finely over
Jerry Todkill an' gave him his lawful deserts.
Nay, I was ne'er ashamed on 't; but they were

such chattering fool-creatures in Babbletown for
ringing the changes on every little matter, an'
't is likely I'd never ha' heard the last concern-
ing it. For my part I see nothing to laugh at
in such mischances, but there be some folks will
laugh at their gran'father's funeral. Let but a
man trip up on the ice an' crack his crown, with
them looking on, sure 't will be te-hee! "
Now, that was always the way on 't with the
Babbletown people, for ye see they were but
rustical; a-giving way to unmannerly nature
an' not sensing the rules of polite breeding.
Well, I was a single man, an' youngish,
then, an' living with my grandfather we two
together -in a snug house as any you '11 find,
situate at one end o' the town. I reckon if all
our neighbors had been peaceable-natured as
we two, 't would ha' been better for us an' them.
We 'd as pretty a dish of bacon an' beans for
our one-o'clock dinner that day as ever ye
tasted, well cooked an' served, for we 'd a handy
black wench in the kitchen, and all orderly car-
ried on. There we sat to table, and I 'd just
beenholpen to second cut o' bacon, when here
cometh "rat-tat-tat" at the door. Well, up I
got and opened it, an' who should I clap eyes
on but Jerry Todkill, a-leading my colt, "Sally,"
by a halter, an' Sam Crook there grinning right
behind 'em.
Now, the minute I saw Jerry Todkill I knew
there 'd be mischief brewing. There was never
a body in Babbletown but some time or other


had had Jerry's meddlesome finger stuck in his
pie; an' the worst on 't was (being what made
folks maddest of any) he 'd always some lawful
handle to catch hold of. Law, law, law, was
evermore his word on tongue's end. You 'd
ha' thought, to hear him (not knowing contra-
riwise), he was gentleman born an' school-bred.
Ye see he had picked up, by hook an' crook,
enough law knowledge to help him with 's
roguery an' this was the sly cunning way he 'd
set about it, mayhap. There he 'd be, year in
and out, a-looking an' listening; a-peeping an'
prying all round the town; an' soon as he 'd
spied a flaw in anybody's matters that the law
might stick tooth in (folks being careless or un-
beknowing, as they often will) here he 'd come
with his warning talk of fine or punishment.
Ye are like to be in for it, neighbor," he 'd
say then, mayhap, if I do inform upon you."
An' then, having got 'em finely scared up,
would that rascal go on to say cunningly how,
if they were for peace an' quiet, for saving their
goods, or maybe saving themselves from stocks
or pillory, whipping or ducking or prisonmentt,
why, just pay him (Jerry Todkill) the half o' the
fine, or whatsoever price he set on his warning,
an' mum was his word.
An' so ye see that was his plan for working;
an' the way poor timorsome fool-bodies fell into
the trap was a mighty curious thing. Now, he
was too keen to mix himself up in any hanging
offence, or the like grave criminality; but all
lesser misbehavior or oversighting would be so
much grist to his mill. If it suited his mind to
stir up a lawsuit betwixt two neighbors, Jerry
Todkill was always the only one left with a full
pocket at the end o' the business. He'd a way
-of talking round your simple ones till (for all
they knew his roguery) they 'd fairly believe
that black was white; and even they that kept
their eyes open did seem too afeard of his spite
to trouble or cross him. He was the stingiest
fellow in our town, an' the most underhanded.
An' so did this villain do as I 've told ye, go to
an' fro on the earth, an' round about Babble-
town, a-seeking what he might devour.
Well, well; when I saw my gray colt, Sally,
there along with such company -when I saw
that blessed little beast, with her pretty head on
one side, a-nibbling at the halter and a-smiling

so innocent-like, yet saucy, out of her pretty,
bright eyes, I was mightily put about, you may
I 'd turned her out for a run on the town
common only that morn, for our paddock
was a little one to keep a lively skittish young
thing evermore penned up in. She was gentle
as a dog, for all her natural liveliness (such as
prancing, kicking up her pretty little heels, an'
so on), an' the pet of every youngster in Babble-
town. Now, even the little toddling children,
they'd be a-stroking an' patting of her; and as
for that sweet maid, Mistress Peggy Joy, she'd
always a lump o' sugar in her frock pocket
ready for Sally. Bless the hearts o' them two !
To see 'em together once more would do my
old eyes good. There would be Mistress Peg-
the takingest little wench in all Virginia-in all
her fal-lals an' ribbands flying, with head on
one side, a-holding up the sugar-lump in her
little lily-white hand; an' there would be Sally,
just as fair-shapen an' comely after her sort as
the maid after hers, with her head on one side,
too, a-taking it daintified as you please.
Knowing well the little creature was so great
a favorite, not like to hurt anybody, nor neither
get hurted herself, I 'd turned her out on the
green that morn, an' there she came, led back
by Jerry Todkill.
Now, I do not bear in mind the words he
spake that time, but the long an' the short on 't
(according to his say-so) was that he 'd catched
her a-barking fruit-trees, contrary to the law.
There was she, with her head over his fence (said
he), nibbling the bark of his young pippin apple-
tree, that was the pride an' joy of his heart, even
as she nibbled that rope afore our eyes whilst he
told it. Sam Crook was his witness (said he),
they two having seen the overt act (as he called
it) with their own mortal eyes. So they could
prove it in law (quoth he), it needing only two
witnesses for that end; an' the fine was ten
shillings. Howsoever (as he went on to say,
a-smiling so deceitfully, as if he would give
'most anything to keep the peace), if I would
pay him five shillings without more ado an' keep
her well in bounds, he 'd say no more concern-
ing it.
Well, I never believed a word on 't; nay, not
even when I went along with 'em later on an'


saw where the bark was scratched. There it
was, a bit scarred, sure enow, but I reckon
Jerry Todkill's finger-nails might ha' done the
business. He 'd a mind to make five shillings
that day, one way or t' other, an' seeing my Sally
go by (as I reckon), he set his plan accordingly.
'T was a mighty strange tale an' naught likely
(as I told 'em) that she should go sticking her
head o'er his fence into mischief she 'd all
chance for any day at home, in the paddock an'
yard, aye, an' garden, too, an' never did the like
of before. Ne'er had I seen her so much as
nibble a rosebud, an' to have such a slander
started on the little creature, it cut me to the
heart. Aye, let alone the vexingness of it, an'
let alone the five shillings but it hurt me unto
the middle heart. Now, we all have our faults,
neighbors we poor humans an' that there's
no denying. Ye have yours and I have mine.
Aye, aye; let one come unto me this day an'
say "Thomas Muffet, thou hast thy faults," I
would make answer," 'T is true enough." To be
sure, I do think nobody can say but Thomas
Muffet is an honest man. Nobody can fairly
call me aught but good neighbor, good hus-
band, an' good father. I pay my debts; I
go to church regularly as parson himself; I
always do the right thing at the right time, by
high an' low; but I '11 ne'er deny that I have
my faults. Now, there 's my wife, Patsey (that's
commonly as good, well-behaved a creature as
any in Virginia), she hath her faults, too; an'
ever since we were wed I 've been a-trying to
correct 'em. You see we be all weak human
creatures; but as for that Sally horse o' mine, I
raised her from a baby colt an' for twenty year
I rode upon her back, an' if ever she 'd flaw in
mind or manners, morals or behavior, I never
found it out. Aye, if so 't were she was not a
perfect moral beast, I misdoubt if ye '11 ever
find one. An' to hear tell of her barking
Well, I was ready to fight it out, with no mind
to give over the five shillings, I promise you.
However, my gran'father was back-set and
timorsome, as your old people will be. Poor
soul, there was he with his dinner clean spoilt that
day. "Thomas," saith he to me when he saw
my choler rising; "Thomas quo' he; no more
nor less; an' he put one bean in's mouth dis-

tressfully, in an unbeknowing way, so that it
came nigh choking him as 't went down. An'
the long and the short on 't was that, content
to ease the old man's mind, I paid the five shil-
lings (which I 'd better ha' thrown i' the dirt) an'
let those two rascally rogues walk off.
Now, for several days after that, I kept the
filly up in paddock, till she was like a hen on a
hot griddle for fidgeting. It went to my heart
to see her looking so wishfully over the fence,
fairly longing to get out once more for all she
was ne'er the sort to jump over, as she might ha'
done easy enough, an' some, of less proper prin-
ciples, would. There 'd be the town children
coming to see her, for (as I said afore) she was
the pet of 'em all; an' when they 'd go away
again 't was pitiful to see her a-gazing after. At
last one day came Mistress Peggy Joy, handing
a lump of sugar over the hedge. Alack-a-day !
poor pretty one! quo' she; an' her voice 't was
like the turtle-dove's a-cooing in springtime o'
the year.
Pr'ythee, Master Muffet" (quo' she), why
not turn her out for a run I 'd risk it if she
were mine, poor dear!--fruit-trees or no fruit-
Bless your heart an' eyes," quoth I, as stout
as any lion in resolve, all on a sudden; Bless
your heart, Mistress Peg" (quoth I), "out she
shall go this day! Let all the rogues in Christen-
dom go hang on their own apple-trees! So with
that I turned her out (she fairly kicking up her
pretty little heels, for joy o' freedom), an' that
very evening Jerry Todkill came a-leading her
back, with the same tale as afore on tongue's
end, about her barking his apple-trees, an'
with Sam Crook for a witness.
Now, 't was a mighty strange come-to-pass
(as everybody said) that she never troubled any
other tree atop of this earth but Jerry Todkill's.
apple-tree, and a stranger still that Sam Crook
was always by, an' nobody else, to see her do
it. We all talked it over a deal amongst us;
an' we all agreed together 't was a mystery in
horse-nature. After that I kept her up pretty
straightly. There were two or three trees
a-growing i' the paddock, and I watched her
close to see if ever she troubled 'em. In sooth
she never did do it, so far as we might tell; but
ye see I was busy with my work (being, as I 've


told you, a leather-breeches maker in those
days), an' gran'father's sight mighty dim for such
outlook. 'T is best to be certain sure of a
thing, neighbors, before accusing or excusing.
The trees i' the paddock were old ones an' hard-
barked, being not such as to tempt her anywise;

to 't presently. As to what I set out to do that
blessed night, 't was to be twixtt myself an' the
filly, thinks I, with nobody else the wiser; so
saving her character an' feelings, if so 't were that
she truly showed naughtiness, as well as satisfy-
ing mine own mind. So I waited till past com-

l^,"'i ;

f4 ,JN


an' so I hit on a little plan o' my own to test
the business properly.
Now, 't was as fine an' pretty a moonlight
night-that night--as ever I did see. Well
I do remember the same. 'T was in mid-April,
with grass fairly started to growing an' greening,
an' apple-buds a-bursting out, an' daffydillies in
full bloom, yellow as any gold. I remember the
smell of 'em in my nostrils whilst there I hanged
in-. Well, never you mind; wait till we come

mon bedtime, an' gran'daddy tucked up a-snoring
like any lamb in 's feather bed; then I went
out and I turned Sally into the orchard.
"Two hours by the town clock I '11 watch
you, my lady," quoth I; "now take your fill o'
grass; an' if you 've a hankering after nibbling
fruit-trees, quince-tree or apple-tree, pearmain
or peach, I 'm likely to see you a-doing it."
Well, she seemed mightily tickled at the
change, as your skittish young creatures will be,


for all (I reck') scarcely knowing at first what
to make on 't. She rubbed her nose againstt my
cheek, so pleasured-like, an' roguishly, a-whin-
nying low and a-smiling till her eyes they shamed
the moonshine. But the grass under the trees
was fine an' tempting an' tender, and pretty soon
she fell to grazing.
Now, I 'd not bethought me to bring out a
chair, an' 't was tiresome business a-standing
there after long day's work. The orchard was
a smallish one back of our house an' garden,
a bit slanting on a hillside. An' some o' the
youngest trees I 'd planted myself, an' some
older ones my gran'father had planted many
years before. The biggest one of all, an' belike
the oldest, too, was a pear-tree i' the very midst
situate. Well, a-leaning againstt this tree, I could
see all o'er the orchard by the moonshine, plain
as day, for not a many leaves were in the way
yet a while; an' there I stood, eying the filly
for some space, till presently (my back an' my
legs 'ginning to ache), what must I do next
but climb up into the crotch o' the tree.
So there I sat awhile, an' there I 'd better ha'
gone on a-sitting. 'T was a comfortable seat
enough, for the crotch was none so high from the
ground, an' free-spreading; but when once you
do adventure aught beyond the common, there's
no telling where 't will stop; an' so I, once
having set out to climb, must needs go a bit
higher. A great one for 't I 'd been, when a
little lad, an' such as would go to the highest
tree-tops, like any monkey. Many 's the time
my gran'f'er would screek at me to come down,
an' stand all of a tremble (bless his good, kind
soul!) till I touched ground again; but I never
had tumble once. So having once begun (as I
spoke afore), 't was like the former feel of it had
got into my legs, with the notion of going higher
swelling uppishly in mind. Truly I felt as light
an' nimble as a cat.
"Thomas, my lad" (saith I to myself),
"you 're getting an oldish lad, but you 've
not outgrown the way on 't."
So up I went (a-laughing to myself), hand
over hand, and as nimble as you please, with one
eye on Sally an' t' other cocked up yonder, choos-
ing my way. There was she hard by, below,
grazing like a lamb, an' here was I presently, at
tip-top o' that tree.

Well, there I sat, 'way up yonder in the top-
most fork o' that tree, a right long while may-
hap a half hour or so. 'Most all the lights were
out in the town houses, only I saw a few twink-
ling, dim-like, thro' the moonshine one way an'
t' other, and I wondered inside my mind what the
folks in those houses, making ready for bed,
belike, would say to see Thomas Muffet so un-
commonly upliften.
Never a sound I heard, but some dog a-bark-
ing now and again off yonder, an' the filly crop-
ping grass down below me. 'T was pretty
coolish up so high, so I buttoned my coat round
me tight; an' then, next thing, my legs both
went to sleep ; whereupon, bethinking me
enough o' that prank was enough, I was just
on the start to go down when I heard all at
once a noise of steps, an' likewise saw some
white thing or other coming down the lane
alongside the orchard.
Now, I know some folks that would ha' took
it for a ghost, an' maybe screeked out for fear or
tumbled head-foremost down the tree; but I was
ne'er that sort, to be sure. 'Most as soon as I
clapt eyes on 't I knew 't was Jerry Todkill's
old white horse, an' then I was n't long finding
out 't was Jerry Todkill driving of her. I 'd on
my tongue's end to call out Hi! Then quick
as a flash it did come in my mind that he was
up to some rascal roguery, for it seemed a queer
time to be driving horses, and I knew the nature
o' Jerry's sly tricks. Mum is the word, thinks
I, an' so I kept still; an' lo! what did he do
but ope the little gate there twixtt orchard an'
lane (being truly scarce wide enough for her to
pass thro'), an' turn the beast into the orchard.
Now, 'pon my soul and body, the effrontery
of that rogue, an' cunning wickedness no less,
it fairly made my blood boil to see. Whether
he 'd ever done 't afore, goodness knoweth! I
promise you 't was the last time, if not the first.
"So this is the sly game you 'd play, Master
Jerry, when honest folks be abed and asleep,"
thinks I to myself; an' this is the way you
steal my grass, who are so monstrous careful of
your apple-tree." 'T was all I could do to stay
up that tree an' keep my two fists off his pate;
but thinks I to myself, I '11 catch slyness with
slyness, an' have my witness ready for the law-
ful proving." Ye will wonder he did not see me,


or Sally; but she was a good bit off 'mongst the
trees (besides being gray-colored), an' beyond
lifting her head once to listen when the gate-
latch clicked, she ne'er took any note. Then
Jerry seemed always a deal more apt to look at
the ground than skyward, an' was short sighted
to boot. He never catched sight of one or
t' other. As for his old mare she fell to eating
like a creature starved afore she fairly got thro'
the gate; an' there stood Jerry Todkill a-look-
ing at her, chuckling for very cunning pleasure.
An' with that he walketh off down the lane,
out o' sight.
An' now I come to the part of this tale to
that turn o' matters (so to speak) which came
nigh putting an end to Thomas Muffet in this
world. Mayhap some of you will be a-laugh-
ing to hear tell on 't, but if ever ye chance to
the like I misdoubt if ye 'd crack a smile. For
my part, I see naught in 't to laugh at. I do
reck' I was too hopping mad, an' too a-tremble
with the same passion, to get me safe down the
tree. One step down I made, bare one, an'
some way a-missing the sound limb I set foot
on one that was rotten. Crack! it went, an'
then broke clean off; an' 'fore I 'd half sensed
the way on 't, there I went down, helter-skelter,
head-foremost. I catched at the little limbs an'
twigs this way, that, an' t' other, an' ne'er laid
holt on one. There was a sharp scrag sticking
out, where a big low limb had been broke off
by the wind nigh a year before, when 't was
heavy with pears, an' that I 'd never trimmed.
How it happed to catch me so, I know not (nor
ever can say), but first thing I knew then, lo
and behold! I was hanging to that scrag by the
tail o' my coat, with my head about four feet or
so from the ground.
Zounds! if I live to a thousand year old
('fore I die) I'll ne'er forget the feeling o' that
upsetment. The like of it I never did know
nor feel, before nor after. My legs they went
nine ways for Sunday on the instant. Now,
they 'd fell to sleep up in the tree an' they 'gan
to wake up on a sudden, a-prickling like ten
million pin-sticks; an' truly (for the matter o'
that) it felt like I was turned into a pin-cushion,
from the crown o' my head to the sole o' my
Whichsoever way I rolled my eyes (yet 't was

not far a body could see, so situate), I saw stars
a-twinkling like mad, an' the man i' the moon
a-laughing fit to kill. The ground did n't seem
so mighty far off but 't was a deal too far to
touch with my hand-- strain hard as I would;
neither could I get my hands up, to save me,
for unbuttoning that coat. 'T is a curious
thing (come to think on) how buttons will fly
off when they ought to stay tight, an' stick on
like grim death, spite o' pulling an' tugging an'
the uncommonest strain upon em', when you
want 'em to come off. As for that same coat,
it was 'most a new one, an' thick an' strong, the
cloth being some of Sukey Steptoe's weaving,
an' it never gave way once.
So there I hanged by the scrag o' that pear-
tree with my head down an' surely, surely I
do think never was there any Christian man i'
this world (and in a Christian country) brought
to such a pass. And for a Christian man (and a
leather-breeches maker, at that), who hath lived
life-long in a country like Virginia,-for such
an one, namely Thomas Muffet, to be so situate
an' hanging, i' the middle o' Babbletown (and
unbeknown to anybody in the dead hour of
night) was a lawful wonder in nature. Aye,
there be many hanged with their heads up, for
this, that, an t' other offence, but never another
(that I heard tell of) hanged with 's head down;
an' for all I did come off better than they, being
still alive in this mortal world,-still, there I
hanged (as I said afore) no one knoweth how
long by the clock! Neither up nor down could
I get; neither could I reach anything with my
hands, save maybe my hair, to be a-tearing it,
like 't is told some people do in extremity.
Then what a buzzing in my ears, too! Zizz-z!
it went, like any whip-saw, yet all the time I
heard thro' it (as 't were) that horse o' Jerry
Todkill's, a-munching my grass. Once the
beast came up an' looked at me, enough to make
one mad; and also there was Sally herself step-
ping round at the far corner of the orchard.
Now, I might ha' screeked out Help! or
Murther! or the like, an' scared my gran'father
out o' his wits (the poor timorsome soul) as well
as waked the town. Most people would ha'
come out with it, I reckon, like house afire, but
I 'd no notion to fright him thus, besides mak-
ing myself a gazing-stock and a laughing-stock,


most likely, to every fool-creature in Babble-
town. Faith! I did know I 'd never hear the
last on 't whilst I lived in that place. If the
worst cometh to the worst" (thinketh I to my-
self), "'t will have to be known. If daylight

while what to do I knew not, till all at once it
came into my head that if I could but coax the
filly near enough to get upon her back, or even
catch hold of her, I might that way save my
life an' my credit too.


cometh, an' Thomas Muffet is still alive, the
cat will be out o' the bag, sure enow but I '11
have the law no less on Jerry Todkill." Truly
the notion of vengeance on that rascal rogue
was one comfort in my misery, till after while I
did bethink me how he 'd spoke of coming 'fore
daybreak for the old horse. The thought of
him a-mocking my plight, an' maybe driving
that beast off afore my eyes (like as not to deny
the whole matter afterward) did fairly set me
afire. But if shouting can rouse the town (quoth
I) he shall ne'er get off that-a-way. An' mean-

Now, she needed no coaxing at all in com-
mon, for she 'd come to my first word, like a
dog; but ye see my voice that time sounded
mighty cracked an' curious-an' no wonder,
neither. I tried to whistle, but hang me if
't would come to more than a kind o' gasp; so
I called, Sally Sally Come lass Come lass !
loud as I might. Then pretty soon I heard her
a-coming, easy an' light-footed, over the grass,
trippity-trip mighty slow an' stopping now
an' then, like she scarcely did know who 't was
or what to make on 't. Sally! Sally! quoth I


again; Come lass! Come lass! An' she by that
while being got up right close (only just out o'
my reach) stopped still an' stood looking hard
at me with her head on one side.
Now surely the knowledgeable sense of that
colt was something to marvel at. There be
people an' people in this world (as the saying
goeth) an' there be horses an' horses. How
was she to know, forsooth, that 't was me up
yonder? Did she ever see me before a-hanging
upside down in a tree, with my head twice as
big as the rest o' my body? Not she. Did she
ever hear my voice before when it sounded like
somewhat twixtt a sick kitten and a screech-owl ?
But that Sally colt, she knew her master, right
enough. Aye, if ever there was a perfect moral
beast, and a knowing, and a tender-true in ser-
vice, 't was she. Some while she stood, a-look-
ing doubtfully, an' then what doth the precious
little jade, a-whinnying low, but step right up
an' rub herself against me! I catched hold of
her quick as I could for being so stiff an' heavy,
and I eased myself down on her back with
one hand whiles with t' other I reached behind
me an' pulled my coat off the scrag. Zounds!
't was a toughish tug. I was mightily 'feared
she would start to run. But there she stood
like an old horse, sirs. An' there, when I 'd
pulled myself loose from that tormenting tree, I
hugged that little creature tight round the neck
with all my might.
Well, well; I promise you I let no grass grow
under my feet in making ready for Jerry Tod-
kill after I 'd got my head a bit cool an' the
cramps out o' me, with blood running natural-
like. I clapt Sally into the stable, safe an' tight
(bless the little innocent heart of her, she 'd
ne'er touched fruit-tree among 'em), an' then I
waked up gran'father. I told him I 'd seen
Jerry turn his horse into the orchard. Mind
you, I never told him or anybody about that
pear-tree business, not till this very present night.
Nay, not I; for 't is no use dwelling on perils
past; but I told 'em enough to make straight my
tale. Now, to make all sure we must have more
witnesses; so long afore daybreak I had Nick
Tucker an' Tommy Grill a-ready an' waiting in
the orchard; an' what do ye reck' we found,
when we went in there, but that roguish horse
of a villainous master chewing one o' the young

peach-trees. With our own mortal eyes we saw
her a-doing it; an' 'fore long with those same
eyes we saw Jerry Todkill come sneaking along
down the lane; and I tell you he met up with
warmer welcome that time than any he 'd looked
Well, 't was tried i' the law-court an' duly
proven. He was ready enough, was Jerry, to buy
himself off, but for once in 's life I made him to
know that justice cometh 'fore money. A hun-
d'ed pound of tobacco he was sentenced to pay,
or stand half a day in pillory. Now, for all he
was a stingy man, he had his pride, an' so he
chose the fine -but it cut him deep, I promise
you, it cut him mighty deep. I truly think no-
body in Babbletown was sorry for this turn.
An' the best on 't was, he got tripped up again
next after that by a law he 'd never heard of.
That was the barratry law, to be sure. Ye see a
barrator, in law, is just such a body as Jerry
himself; namely, one who doth, on divers days
an' times, stir up divers quarrels, suits, slanders,
an' so on, 'mongst peaceful neighboring folks
againstt the peace an' well-doing o' this colony -
for his own naughty dishonest profits. Never
did cap so well befit a meddlesome rascally
head as this law befitted Jerry Todkill. I trow
he 'd his proper fill o' law when he found him-
self catched on 's own ground an' fined another
good hund'ed pound of tobacco an' 't was the
main pleasure of Babbletown a-many a day, an'
set all tongues a-wagging.
We all have our faults, for certain, we human
creatures (even as I spoke afore), but if any
mortal man could ever rightly pick flaw in that
gray mare Sally, why, my name 's not Thomas



/p- ,\

'EY! little evergreens,
Sturdy and strong!
SSummer and autumn-time
Hasten along.
Harvest the sunbeams, then,
Bind them in sheaves,
Range them, and change them
To tufts of green leaves.
Delve in the mellow mold,
Far, far below,
And so,
Little evergreens, grow!
Grow, grow !
Grow, little evergreens, grow!
Up, up, so airily,
To the blue sky,
Lift up your leafy tips
Stately and high;
Clasp tight your tiny cones,
Tawny and brown;
By and by, buffeting
Rains will pelt down;
By and by, bitterly
Chill winds will blow;
And so,
Little evergreens, grow!
Grow, grow!
Grow, little evergreens, grow!

Gather all uttermost
Beauty, because,-
Hark, till I tell it now !
How Santa Claus,
Out of the northern land,
Over the seas,
Soon shall come seeking you,
Evergreen trees !
Seek you with reindeers soon,
Over the snow;
And so,
Little evergreens, grow!
Grow, grow!
Grow, little evergreens, grow!
What if the maples flare
Flaunting and red,
You shall wear waxen white
Tapers instead!
What if now, otherwhere,
Birds are beguiled,
You shall yet nestle
The little Christ-child!
Ah, the strange splendor
The fir-trees shall know!
And so,
Little evergreens, grow!
Grow, grow!
Grow, little evergreens, grow!

Evaleen Stein.



ONE scorching morning in April, 1870, a small
party of Europeans left the city of Bangkok, the
present capital of the Kingdom of Siam, for
Ayuthia, the old seat of government, sixty miles
northward up the river Menam. A hunt had
been appointed by the king, and the elephants
were to be brought in through the country
bordering the ancient ruins.
We traveled leisurely, in house-boats rowed
by native crews, who stood and pushed their
oars. We had with us our camp-beds; and
our Chinese cooks had charge of such foreign
provisions as we should require during a week's
outing, in addition to the rice, fruits, black-
boned fowls, and excellent fish that could be
bought at every landing. Up the broad, swift
stream we made our way; past canoes, with sin-
gle paddlers, that shot like shuttles to and fro;
past dragon-headed barges, gay with gilded
carvings and crimson pennants; past floating,
splint-woven dwellings, built on rafts and moored
to the shore; past hamlets, where women gos-
siped in the shade, and children sported in the
sun; past temples covered with porcelain mo-
saic, and surrounded by porticos where yellow-
robed priests droned their hymns; past slopes
densely wooded with feathery bamboos, half
merged in shrubs and creepers, and flecked by
the brilliant blossoms of a tropical forest.
On the second day we arrived at Ayuthia,
and set up our screens and hung our mos-
quito bars in a sala or rest-house by the river-
The following morning the elephants arrived.
Just outside the city, and overlooking a plain
extending to the horizon, was a high platform,
mounted by stone steps, and covered with a tiled
roof supported by pillars. On this, screened
from the sun, and with a broad outlook over the
rice-fields that had lately been shorn of their
crop, sat a high official, his aids, a few native
nobles, and the foreign guests. Other specta-
tors perched in trees or found standing-room

wherever the view was most attractive. Im-
mediately before the platform, was the stockade,
made by setting deep into the ground teak logs
two yards in girth and twenty feet in length.
These logs were so arranged as to leave inter-
spaces of about one foot in width. They inclosed
a half acre of level ground, and extended out, at
the side opposite the platform, into a funnel-
shaped entrance, only wide enough, where it
joined the stockade, for the passing of a single
Gazing far across the stubbly plain, we saw the
troop of elephants, encompassed by the many
hunters who had been sent months before into
the wilderness, to entice the wild animals toward
a rendezvous. The families, scattered in the
jungles, foraging among the luxuriant herbage,
had been separately entered by tame decoy
elephants, under the direction of wily hunters,
and one had followed another into captivity.
Two hundred and eighty elephants had thus
been brought together. The sound of their
roaring was like that of distant thunder; and,
as they approached, the earth seemed to shake
under their tread.
By a skillful combination of leading and driv-
ing, they were slowly urged along toward the
stockade. "Foremost were the decoyers trained
to their work, which they do with complacent
discretion. They were ridden by experts in
elephant-training, and followed by the wild
herds in which were elephants of all ages. Hem-
ming in the assemblage on the sides and in the
rear, many other tamed elephants, directed by
their riders, urged on the laggards with their
long tusks and shouldered the stragglers into
Occasionally a huge fellow, becoming con-
scious of being directed by a will not his own,
would rear, trumpet a protest, bolt through
the cordon of sentinels, and gallop toward the
distant woods. But these fugitives were quickly
chased by three or four trained beasts, and were


soon brought back to the ranks. Only one, a
majestic creature with enormous, snowy tusks,
distanced his pursuers and regained freedom
in the bush.

The panic became terrific. In the ensuing
crush, the mothers steadfastly guarded their
young. Many a baby elephant stood bleating
beneath its mother's chest, protected by her


When the herd entered the wide mouth of the
funnel that narrowed down to the stockade, it
became frantic with rage and terror. Dozens
at a time stood on their hind legs, waving their
trunks wildly, and bellowing with open mouths.


strong fore legs, her active proboscis, and her
body set as a bulwark for its defense. In many
cases two mothers united in the care of some
little one. Shoulder to shoulder they leaned
over the youngster that was between them, and


shielded it under frightful pressure and peril,
with courage and calmness. So perfect was
the protection of the babies, that more than
a score of these--some of them weaklings,
no larger than sheep survived the crush of
entrance into the stockade, while ten full-
grown elephants were thereby killed,
Once within the stockade, the maddened
herd rushed round and round the arena. As
they passed and repassed the stand, the official, a
connoisseur of elephants, indicated to the hunt-
ers which ones were to be taken. When these
happened to come upon the outside of the

the hunters led out the remainder of the herd
upon the plain, where a few more were lassoed
for sport. One frenzied animal came trumpeting
up the steps of the stand occupied by the officers
and guests. The official shouted commands
to the hunters; men climbed pillars; women
mounted tables, and shrieked; consternation
reigned until the hunters scaled the stand,
and with their sharp goads prodded the in-
truder to a safe distance.
The dismissed elephants gradually made their
way to the jungles, there to feed and grow
until the king should appoint another hunt.

'- K


swirling mass, and near the palisades of the
enclosure, they were lassoed around the ankles
as they raised their feet in walking, and the ca-
bles which formed the nooses were made fast to
the posts of the stockade. Several cables bound
the feet of each captive, and restrained him from
moving about with his companions. Having
secured as many of the elephants as would be
required by the government for several years,

The prisoners were to be tamed and then used
in lifting lumber, in carrying goods and travelers
across the country, and in war.
The trained elephants are manifestly larger,
stronger, healthier, and more sagacious than
their wild fellows. They bathe, eat, exercise,
and sleep more regularly, and apparently gain
much in cunning and intelligence under human




This is the story of the Fleece of Gold, and of the Golden Ram, and what he did, and where he died, and how a
Dragon guarded his Fleece, and who the man was that won it, and of all that befell him on his way
to find the Fleece, and on his way home. Because it is a long story, it is divided into
parts. And the first part is the tale of "The Children of the Cloud."

ONCE upon a time there was a king called
Athamas, who reigned in a country beside the
Grecian sea. Now, Athamas was a young man,
and unmarried, because none of the Princesses
who then lived seemed to him beautiful enough
to be his wife. One day he left his palace,
and climbed high up into a mountain, following
the course of a little river. Now, a great black
rock stood on one side of the river, and made
a corner, round which the water flowed deep
and dark. Yet through the noise of the river,
the king thought he heard laughter and voices
like the voices of girls. So he climbed very
quietly up the rock, and, looking over the edge,
there he saw three beautiful maidens bathing in
a pool, and splashing each other with the water.
Their long yellow hair covered them like cloaks
and floated behind them on the pool. One of

them was even more beautiful than the others,
and as soon as he saw her the king fell in love
with her, and said to himself, This is the wife
for me."
Now, as he thought this, his arm touched a
stone, which slipped from the top of the rock
where he lay, and went leaping, faster and faster
as it fell, till it dropped with a splash into the
pool below. Then the three maidens heard it,
and were frightened, thinking some one was
near. So they rushed out of the pool to the
grassy bank where their clothes lay, lovely soft
clothes, white, and gray, and rosy-colored, all
shining with pearl drops, and diamonds like
dew. In a moment they had dressed, and then
it was as if they had wings, for they rose gently
from the ground, and floated softly up and up
the windings of the brook. Here and there
among the green tops of the mountain-ash trees
the king could just see the white robes shining,
and disappearing, and shining again, till they



rose far off like a mist, and so up, and up into
the sky, and at last he only followed them with
his eyes, as they floated like clouds among the
other clouds across the blue. All day he
watched them, and at sunset he saw them sink,
golden and rose-colored, and purple, and go
down into the dark with the setting sun. Now,
the king went home to his palace, but he was
very unhappy and nothing gave him any pleas-
ure. All day he roamed about among the hills,
and looked for the beautiful girls, but he never
found them. And all night he dreamed about
them, till he grew thin and pale and was like
to die.
Now, the way with sick men then was that
they made a pilgrimage to the temple of a god
(for they were heathen people, worshiping many
gods), and in the temple they offered sacrifices.
Then they hoped that the god would appear to
them in a dream, and tell them how they might
be made well again. So the king drove in his
chariot, a long way, to the town where this
temple was. And when he reached it, it was
a strange place. The priests were dressed in
dogs' skins, with the heads of the dogs drawn
down over their faces, and there were live dogs
running all about the place, for these were the
favorite beasts of the god. And there was an
image of him, with a dog crouched at his feet,
and in his hand he held a serpent, and fed it
from a bowl. So there the king sacrificed before
the god, and, when night fell, he was taken into
the temple, and there were many beds made up
on the floor and many people lying on them,
both rich and poor, hoping that the god would
appear to them in a dream, and tell them how
they might be healed. There the king lay, like
the rest, and for long he could not close his
eyes. At length he slept, and he dreamed a
dream. But it was not the god of the temple
that he saw in his dream; he saw a beautiful
lady, and she seemed to float above him in a
chariot drawn by doves, and all about her was
a crowd of chattering sparrows. She was more
beautiful than any woman in the world, and she
smiled as she looked at the king, and said, "Oh,
King Athamas, you are sick for love !
Now this you must do: go home, and on the
first night of the new moon, climb the hills to
that place where you saw the Three Maidens.

In the dawn they will come again to the river,
and bathe in the pool. Then do you creep out
of the wood, and steal the clothes of her you
love, and she will not be able to fly away with
the rest, and she will be your wife."
Then she smiled again, and her doves bore
her away, and the king woke, and remembered
the dream, and thanked the lady in his heart, for
he knew she was a goddess, the Queen of Love.
Then he drove home, and did all that he had
been told. On the first night of the new moon,
when she shines like a thin gold thread in the
sky, he left his palace, and climbed up through
the hills, and hid in the wood by the edge of
the pool. When the dawn began to shine silvery,
he heard voices, and saw the three girls come
floating through the trees, and alight on the
river bank, and undress, and run into the water.
There they bathed, and splashed each other
with the water, laughing in their play.
Then he stole to the grassy bank, and seized
the clothes of the most beautiful of the three;
and they heard him move, and rushed out
to their clothes. Two of them were clad
in a moment, and floated away through the
glen, but the third crouched sobbing and weep-
ing under the thick cloak of her yellow
hair. Then she prayed the king to give her
back her soft gray and rose-colored raiment,
but he would not, till she had promised to be
his wife. And he told her how long he had
loved her, and how the goddess had sent him
to be her husband, and at last she promised,
and took his hand, and in her shining robes went
down the hill with him to the palace. But he
felt as if he walked on the air, and she scarcely
seemed to touch the ground with her feet. And
she told him that her name was Nephel&, which
meant a cloud," in their language, and that
she was one of the Cloud Fairies that bring the
rain, and live on the hilltops, and in the high
lakes, and water springs, and in the sky.
So they were married, and lived very happily,
and had two children, a boy named Phrixus
and a daughter named Hell&. And the two
children had a beautiful pet, a Ram with a fleece
all of gold, which was given them by a young
god called Hermes, a beautiful god, with wings
on his shoon,-for these were the very Shoon of
Swiftness, that he lent afterwards, as perhaps you


have read or heard, to the boy, Perseus, who
slew the monster, and took the Terrible Head.*
This Ram the children used to play with, and
they would ride on his back, and roll about with
him on the flowery meadows.
Now they would all have been happy, but for
one thing. When there were clouds in the sky,
and when there was rain, then their mother,
Nephele, was always with them; but when the
summer days were hot and cloudless, then she
went away, they did not know where. The
long dry days made her grow pale and thin,

often his wife would be long away. Besides
there was a very beautiful girl called Ino, a dark
girl, who had come in a ship of merchantmen
from a far-off country, and had stayed in the
city of the king when her friends sailed from
Greece. The king saw her, and often she
would be at the palace, playing with the chil-
dren when their mother had disappeared with
the Clouds, her sisters. Now Ino was a witch,
and one day she put some drugs into the king's
wine, and when he had drunk it, he quite forgot
Nephel6, his wife, and fell in love with Ino. And

,2 4'

m Jlil


_4 1.

I ---J
I., '

ii l'-. i '4

-' __


-- -v


and, at last, she would vanish altogether, and at last he married her, and they had two chil-
never come again, till the sky grew soft and dren, a boy and a girl, and Ino wore the crown,
gray with rain. and was queen. And she gave orders that
Now King Athamas grew weary of this, for Nephel& should never be allowed to enter the
See ST. NICHOLAS for July, 1878.


palace any more. So Phrixus and HellM never wicked queen knew, and she, of course, would
saw their mother, and they were dressed in not tell of herself, but if she hated Phrixus an
ragged old skins of deer, and were ill fed, and Hell before, now she hated them a hundre
were set to do hard work in the house, while times worse than ever. But the old nurse wa
the children of Ino wore gold crowns
in their hair, and were dressed in fine
raiment, and had the best of everything.
One day Phrixus and Hell were in 1
the field, herding the sheep, for now they I
were treated like peasant children, and /
had to work for their bread. And there
they met an old woman, all wrinkled, and' -
poorly clothed, and they took pity on her,
and brought her home with them. Now.
Ino saw her, and as she wanted a nurse --. _-- -- .. -
for her children, she took her in to be the---
nurse, and the old woman took care of
the children, and lived in the house. And
she was kind to Phrixus and Helle. But .
neither of them knew that she was their .
own mother, Nephele, who had disguised --
herself as an old woman and a servant,
that she might be with her children. I'RIXUS AND HELL UPON THE GOLDEN RAM. (SEE NEXT PAGE.)
And Phrixus and Hell grew strong, and tall, gone, nobody ever saw her there again, an
and more beautiful than Ino's children, so she everybody but the queen thought that she ha
hated them, and determined, at last, to kill killed the two children. Everywhere the kin
them. They all slept at night in one room, but sought for her, but he never found her, for sh
Ino's children had gold crowns in their hair, and had gone back to her sisters, the Clouds.
beautiful coverlets on their beds. Now, one And the Clouds were gone, too Forsix on
night, Phrixus was half awake, and he heard the months, from winter to harvest time, the rai
old nurse come, in the dark, and put something never fell. The country was burned up, th
on his head, and on his sister's, and change their trees grew black and dry, there was no wate
coverlets. But he was so drowsy that he half in the streams, the corn turned yellow and die
thought it was a dream, and he lay, and fell before it was come into the ear. The people
asleep. But, in the dead of night, the wicked were starving, the cattle and sheep were perisl
stepmother, Ino, crept into the room with a ing, for there was no grass. And every day th
dagger in her hand. And she stole up to the sun rose hot and red, and went blazing through
bed of Phrixus, and felt his hair, and his cover- a sky without a cloud.
let. Then she went softly to the bed of Helle, Then the wicked stepmother, Ino, saw he
and felt her coverlet, and her hair, with the gold chance. The king sent messengers to consult
crown on it. So she supposed these to be her prophetess, and to find out what should be don
own children, and she kissed them in the dark, to bring back the clouds and the rain. The
and went to the beds of the other two chil- Ino took the messengers, and gave them golc
dren. She felt their heads, and they had no and threatened also to kill them, if they did nc
crowns on, so she killed them, thinking they bring the message she wished from the prophet
were Phrixus and Hell. Then she crept down- ess. Now this message was that Phrixus an
stairs, and went back to bed. Hell must be burned as a sacrifice to the god
Now, in the morning, there were the step- So the messengers went, and came bac
mother Ino's children cold and dead, and no- dressed in mourning. And when they wer
body knew who had killed them. Only the brought before the king, at first they woul






tell him nothing. But he commanded them to
speak, and then they told him what Ino had
bidden them to say, that Phrixus and Hell&
must be offered as a sacrifice to appease the
The king was very sorrowful at this news,
but he could not disobey the gods. So poor
Phrixus and Hell were wreathed with flowers,
as sheep used to be when they were led to be
sacrificed, and they were taken to the altar, all
the people following and weeping. And the
Golden Ram went between them, as they
walked to the temple. Then they came within
sight of the sea, which lay beneath the cliff
where the temple stood, all glittering in the
sun, and the happy white sea-birds flying
over it.
Then the Ram stopped, and suddenly he
spoke to Phrixus, and said: "Lay hold of
my horn, and get on my back, and let HellI
climb up behind you, and I will carry you far
away! "
Then Phrixus took hold of the Ram's horn,
and Hells mounted behind him, and grasped
its golden fleece, and suddenly the Ram rose
in the air, and flew above the people's heads,
far away over the sea.
Far away to eastward he flew, and deep

below them they saw the sea, and the islands,
and the white towers and temples, and the
fields, and ships. Eastward always he went,
toward the sun-rising, and Hell& grew dizzy
and weary. And finally a kind of sleep came
over her, and she let go her hold of the Fleece,
and fell from the Ram's back, down and down.
She fell into the narrow seas, at last, that run
between Europe and Asia, and there she was
drowned. And that strait is called Helle's Ford,
or Hellespont, to this day. But Phrixus and
the Ram flew on up the narrow seas, and over
the great sea which the Greeks called the Eux-
ine, till they reached a country called Colchis.
There the Ram alighted, so tired and so weary
that he died, and Phrixus had his beautiful
Golden Fleece stripped off, and hung on an oak
tree in a dark wood. And there it was guarded
by a monstrous Dragon, so that nobody dared
to go near it. And Phrixus married the king's
daughter, and lived long, till he died also, and
a king called NEtes ruled that country. Of
all the things he had, the rarest was the Golden
Fleece, and it became a proverb that nobody
could take that Fleece away, nor deceive the
Dragon who guarded it. The next story will
tell who took the Fleece back to the Grecian
land, and how he achieved this adventure.





the fire in his own
home, looking anxious
and troubled. His
droll little mouth was .
not drawn up like a I'
bow; his eyes had I
not twinkled for ten
minutes; and his dim-
ples, even, would n't
have looked merry if
they could have helped '

Santa Claus sat there ,I
thinking-thinking. It
was just before Christ- J ii
mas. What was the 'I
matter with the good iN
jolly old Saint? Had ',.s" -n
his sleigh broken -'
down? Had any of .' .-
his reindeer run away ?
Had he lost his own, ''-.'
particular, pet, private -
map ?-for body must -
have a wonderful map
to guide him all about
among the chimneys
of the whole world.
But no,-it was none of these
Could n't he find toys enough to go r
Bless your dear little anxious heart, dor
be afraid of that! He had thousands of I
of toys left after planning all the stocki
the children whose names were down
books! Oh! no. Santa Claus had toys e
That was n't the trouble !
I should n't have said, after planni
the stockings." One stocking there wN
which Santa Claus had not yet planned a
thing; and that was why poor dear old


Claus was in such a state of worry and anxiety.
This stocking belonged to a little boy whose
good parents had long before Christmas sent
in his name to Santa Claus. But although
there had been plenty of time, and Santa Claus
had put plenty of thought upon the matter, he
had not yet been able to decide upon even
ONE thing for that little boy's stocking. So
there he sat by the fire, thinking and thinking
and thinking.
Perhaps it seems strange to you that Santa
should be puzzled about such a thing as that,


when filling stockings is his regular profession,
-(a highly honorable one, too, and long may
Santa live' to grace it !),-but the little boy to
whom that stocking belonged was a very
strange and unusual child. If anything was
given to him he would either break it to pieces
very soon or do some naughty mischief with it.
Worst of all, he would even hurt his nurse or
his little brothers and sisters with his beautiful
toys, if he happened to feel like doing so.
Yet kind old Santa could not bear to leave
even this stocking empty. So he had been
puzzling his brains to find something with which
the little boy could not hurt people, and some-
thing he could not break; and although he had
been thinking over all his lists of toys and pres-
ents, nothing had he found yet!
Chirp Chirp! sounded a sharp little
voice. Chirp! chirp! You may as well give
it up. He does n't deserve anything, the little
scamp "
"Oh! Is that you, Cricket ? said Santa.
"Come up here," and as he held out his fat
forefinger a tiny black cricket reached it with
a sudden jump.
"You may as well give it up! creaked the
cricket in a shrill tone. You can 't think of
anything, Iknow."
"It begins to seem as if I could n't," said
Santa Claus dolefully. But I am so sorry for
the boy! I can't bear to think of that stocking,
and of the poor little rascal's disappointment on
Christmas morning. What do you think of
those nice little donkeys, saddled and bridled,
and with cunning little baskets slung at each
side? Little-(ahem! you know who I mean,
and it is best not to mention names)-he
would be delighted with one of them, and they
are really quite strong."
Chirp!" snapped out the cricket, scarcely
waiting for Santa to finish; "quite strong, in-
deed! But you know perfectly well that it
does n't matter much how strong a thing is, any
more than how nice it is. That boy breaks every-
thing! You know yourself he had ten presents
on his birthday, about a month ago, and where
are they now ? All broken but the umbrella his
mamma gave him, and that has been put away."
I know, I know," said Santa. No! I
can't give him the donkey !-nor any other of

those fine little animals that we have this year.
Nor a drum; nor a cart; nor a wheelbarrow;
nor a ship; nor a fire-engine; nor a top; nor
a music-box; nor a clock! Oh! how I did
want to give him one of those fascinating
clocks! and Santa Claus looked very wist-
fully at the cricket, and then sighed heavily.
But I know I could n't. I can't bear to see
the nice presents and interesting toys broken
to pieces. But I 've thought of one thing,
Cricket; and I don't believe he could break it.
And yet he would like it, I am sure." Santa
looked a little more cheerfully at the cricket,
and continued: I thought of a nice little
hammer and box of nails, and some blocks of
wood for him to hammer the nails into That's
the present for him. Hey, now! what do you
think of that ? "
What do I think ? said the cricket. I
think, Santa Claus, that you have forgotten
how the little boy beat his brother with his
drumsticks; how he snipped his sister's fingers
with the scissors; how he threw his harmonica
at the nurse; how he-"
Dear, dear, dear! groaned Santa, so he
did; so he did! "
"And if you keep giving him things when
he uses them so wrongly," continued the
cricket, "how will he ever learn better? To
be sure, his mamma and papa and all his
kind friends are trying to teach him, but it is
necessary that everybody should help to train
such a boy as-"
I know," interrupted Santa, I know.
You 're a wise little counselor, and not as
hard-hearted as you seem. And if you think
it will cure the poor little fellow, I suppose we
must give him the sawdust this year."
"Yes," said the cricket solemnly, sawdust
it must be."

Christmas morning came. The little boy,
whose name Santa Claus did not wish men-
tioned, saw all the other children pull out one
treasure after another from their long, well-
stuffed stockings, while in his own, which he
had hung up with so much hope the night be-
fore, there was nothing but sawdust!
If I should use all the sad words in the Eng-
lish language I never could tell you how sad



that little boy was as he poured the sawdust
out of his stocking, and found that Santa Claus
had really sent him nothing else.
Poor little chap !

71; 7

It was almost a year later, just before Christ-
mas, when Santa Claus again sat by his fire-
But this time he was in no trouble; no,
indeed, not he! He was rounder and rosier
and jollier than ever before; and how he was
smiling and chuckling to himself! His eyes
twinkled so, and were so very bright, that you
could almost have lit a candle at them. He
and the cricket had been planning all sorts of
ecstatic surprises for the stocking of the boy to
whom they had given sawdust the year before;
for, if you can believe it, the little boy had been
trying all the year to be careful and gentle, and
he was really quite changed !
Sawdust is a grand thing," chirped the
cricket, leaping about in delight.
Yes, but I am glad we do not need to use
it this year," replied Santa. Let me see the
list again. Don't you suppose we could cram
in one or two more things? Have you put
down the-"

This is the end of the story; or, at least,
all that could be told before Christmas; for if
I should write more and a certain little boy
should read it, he would know just what would
be in his stocking -and that would never do
in the world!

*, -I

/ V c L:0

p.-.-4 .-


1K 1 N I iIL I LL I' IF

CHRISTMAS is coming, my beloved! and your
Jack wishes every one of you all the brightness,
goodness, and happiness that the Beautiful Day
can give you.
And now will those of you who can in reality help
to make Christmas wreaths, and those who can do
so only in imagination, unite in singing this pretty
ante-Christmas chorus, sent you by Mistress Caro-
line Evans:
Holly red and mistletoe,
Waving Prince's Feather,
Twine we in our Christmas wreaths,
Joys and greens together.
Holly hides a happy wish
'Neath each scarlet berry,
Prince's Feather nods to say:
Let us all be merry "
While upon the mistletoe
Kisses sweet are growing
That may bloom on Christmas day,
In a goodly showing.

Thus, good friends, we weave for you
Garlands of gay greeting;
With each one may blessing bright
Crown a Christmas meeting.

SOME of you, my young folk, halted a little, I
observed, at the use of Prince's Feather in the
Christmas wreath. That is well. Never rush
headlong into what you do not quite understand.
But after you have heard the Little Schoolma'am's
explanation, you will raise your voices cheerily
with the rest whenever this little chorus is proposed.

That dear little woman tells me that this par-
ticular Prince's Feather refers not to the crimson
flower of that name belonging to the Amaranth
family, but to a species of ground pine, used for
Christmas wreaths and decorations, and commonly
called, in the country, "Prince's Feather." It does
not grow very high, and the stalk is pliable and it
has small graceful branches of feathery green, like
a miniature tree.

IT is delightful to see how much interest many
of you young hearers have taken in the difference
between red and white clover, since your attention
was called to the matter. Last month I was glad
to thank hosts of bright young investigators; but
letters still are coming, and right in the face of
approaching winter, too. Here is a careful account
from an honest young fellow living at Rye, in New
York State:
DEAR JACK: There is a great deal more difference
between white and red clover than that one is white and
the other is red.
Some of the differences are these, which I give partly
from my own observation, and partly from "Wood's
Class Book of Botany."
First, the stem. That of the white clover is creeping,
spreading, smooth, and rooting at the joints. The stem
of the red clover is ascending and hairy.
Second, the leaflets. Those of the white clover are
rarely more than three-quarters of an inch long, and are
denticulate and slightly obcordate. In the red clover
they grow to one and a half inches in length, and are
entire, ovate, and higher colored in the center.
Third, the inflorescence. The flowers of the white
clover are in heads, on very long, axillary peduncles,
while the red clover heads are sessile, and often more
than twice the size of those of the white clover.
Yours truly, A YOUNG BOTANIST.
By the way, for the benefit of those among you
who do not speak Botanese, I may as well hand
over these translations that the dear Little School-
ma'am has just given me:
denticulate finely toothed or notched; obcordate -
heart-shaped, with the point toward the stem; entire
without division; ovate egg-shaped; inflorescence
-arrangement of flowers; axillary- growing from the
angle between leaf and branch; peduncles--flower-
stalks ; sessile attached directly without a stalk.

DEAR MR. JACK : Papa read to us one evening out of
the London Garden an account of some mummy peas
hundreds and hundreds of years old. My brothers and
myself were so deeply interested in it that I am going to
copy it out for you and your "chicks." I hope you will
surely show it to all the English and American children.
dear Mr. Jack. This is it:
Perhaps it may interest your readers to know that
many years ago some peas that fell out of the wrapping
of a mummy that was being unrolled were given to my
brother-in-law. They were planted at once, and most of
them germinated. I saw them when in blossom, and a
nice little row they were, about two yards long, and the
seed ripened well. There could be no question as to their
being foreigners; the foliage seemed more succulent and


was larger than the English garden pea. The form of
the flowers also was different. Instead of the standard
being upright it fell forward, surrounding the keel, and
giving the appearance of a bell-shaped blossom doubt-
less a provision against the scorching sun of Egypt during
the infancy of the delicate seed-vessel. We found the
peas excellent for the table; in size they were rather
larger than the marrow pea. After a year or two in
Hampshire they got mildewed, and were lost. I brought
a handful into Devonshire, and we grew them for some
little time; and one of the Exeter nurserymen had them
and sent them out as mummy peas'; but they always
seemed liable to get mildewed, possibly from debility in
consequence of their prolonged sleep."
I have heard about planting mummy wheat, centuries
after the grain had been placed in the burial case holding
some distinguished Egyptian, and of the wheat growing
finely after its long rest; but mummy peas are different.
Now, don't you think this account is very interesting,
dear Mr. Jack? Your little friend, AMY G- .
DEAR JACK: While walk-
ing through the Museum of
Natural History at Central
Park, recently, I saw in one
of the glass cases part of a
cedar telegraph-pole, thickly
perforated with holes. On in-
quiry, I learned that these
holes had been dug in the pole
by the California woodpecker,
for the purpose of storing --
acorns for its winter food.
Some of the acorns may still
be seen in the pole, although
most of them had been ex-
tracted before it was cut down.
It has long been known that
these busy workers store acorns -
in the bark of standing trees,
but choosing a telegraph-pole -'*
for this purpose is an entirely
new selection; and while per-
haps the feathered gentry find
it a very convenient store-
house, their method of taking
possession is decidedly damag-
ing to the telegraph-pole.
There is a cousin of this
same bird in Mexico, who has
discovered that the stalk of the
aloe makes a much better
storehouse than trees or tele- .'
graph poles, besides saving -
him a great deal of labor. The
aloe, after flowering, dies,
but the hollow stalk remains A TELEGRAPH-POLE
standing. The flinty texture
of the stalk is easily pierced through to the cen-
tral cavity by the woodpecker, who then thrusts
in an acorn, then another, and another, until the
hollow space is filled to the level of the hole. He next
makes a second opening higher up, and thrusts in
more acorns until the level of that hole is reached. So
he proceeds all the way up the stalk, until it is com-

pletely filled with acorns. Often aloes thirty miles
distant from the nearest oak tree have been found
stored in this way.
All this good work is turned to use in times of
famine, when not only the woodpeckers, but other
birds, and even animals, live on this preserved
Before I finish I must tell you of a little practical
joke which the woodpecker occasionally indulges
in. Instead of inserting an acorn in the tree
selected he slily puts in a small stone; the wood
grows over this in time, and when the tree is finally
taken to the mill the stones play sad havoc with

Very much obliged to you, brother Nugent, and
the young folk also wish me to thank you. But
some of my birds insinuate that the woodpecker

---I-C _
-" Ia"~ -C

`i- -i


""v d'
,*.t ii',.:


prizes the meat of the stored acorn not so much for
its own sake as for the plump little maggots that
grow and thrive therein. Am I misled, or may
I look kindly upon these insinuations ?
A query: What plant is this, my chicks, grow-
ing beside this slightly damaged, but very interest-
ing telegraph-pole?


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: As I have never seen a letter
from Mare Island, I thought I would write and tell you
all about it. Of course you know it is a navy-yard.
Papa is a civil-engineer, and has built the stone dock,
which is the largest in the world.
We have a little donkey and cart, and we have lots of
fun with him. We have lived here eight years, so, of
course, we know all about the yard.
I am twelve years old, and I have a brother, and he
was sixteen yesterday; he is very large for his age, but
I am small.
We have two horses and seven cows, and a lovely dog
named "Countess." My brother Stanton is a beautiful
rider, and I can ride right well. Our horses' names are
"James" and Toby."
From your little friend, CORA W-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little Hawaiian girl, and
for a few years have been one of your little readers.
Our aunt in New York sends you to us every month;
and as it is now our vacation, and I have not very much
of anything to do, I thought I would write you a few
lines, to tell you how very much we enjoy reading you
(I and my little brother, and sometimes my big brother,
too, and my mamma!). Perhaps you would like to
know how we are passing our vacation. Well, we are
out at Manuia-by-the-Sea (that is the name of my big
brother's cottage, on the sea beach), and we go out sea-
bathing every day when it is high tide, and when it is
low tide we amuse ourselves by running on the sand,
picking up shells and limu, or sea-weeds. In the even-

ing we sit on the Lanai, enjoying the beautiful moon-
light, and listening to the music of the waves till bedtime,
which, I am sorry to say, is now, so I cannot write any
more this time, but will say good-night.
Your little friend,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am another little Hawaiian
girl, born in Honolulu on the island of Oahu. I am
twelve years old.
As I saw my cousin writing to you, I thought I would
write also. It is also my vacation, though we each attend
a different school, and I am spending a few days out here
with her. The first evening I spent here we went out
on the beach to catch little crabs which we call ohiki.
I suppose you know everything about the Sandwich Isl-
ands, so I have no need to tell you about them. We
are having a very nice time. We used to be very much
interested in Little Lord Fauntleroy," and now Lady
Jane has taken its place, and we pass some of our time
in reading it; we like it very much indeed. We have
delightful sea-bathing here, and it is perfectly lovely by
moonlight. We expect to have a crabbing party to-night,
and I think we will have lots of fun.
Your little Hawaiian friend,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I have taken your paper for two
years, and like it very much. My home is on Mission
Ridge, near General Bragg's headquarters. It is a beau-
tiful place to live in; there are not many houses on the


Ridge, but there is a very pretty village at the foot called
Ridgedale, where we get our mail. The great battle of
Missionary Ridge was fought where our house stands.
Three miles south lies the battle-field of Chickamauga,
which was one of the greatest battles of the war. On a
clear day we can see over a hundred miles. We can see
the Smoky Mountains, in North Carolina, over beauti-
ful ridges. On the north and west you can look over
Chattanooga and the Tennessee River, and beyond Wal-
den's Ridge and Lookout Mountain.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live in Trenton, and my aunt
sends you to me, and I enjoy you very much.
I have a little brother who is very fond of your non-
sense rhymes, but he thinks you ought to come oftener
than once a month, for he is very impatient, and to quiet
him I often make up little rhymes myself. The last one
I made up he thought so very funny that I said I would
send it to you, and I would like very much to see it in
your Letter-Box. Now I must say good-bye.
Your loving friend and reader, KATE W. T- .

A LARGE black cat and a small gray rat,
In peace lived together in a fine tall flat,
Both sharing the same nice, large, soft mat.
Said the cat to the rat,
Let 's seek our friend Pat,
And after a chat
We '11 ask him to catch us a nice big bat."
Said the small gray rat,
I agree to that;
We '11 then take supper on our large soft mat."
So together they went and sought Mr. Pat,
Who agreed at once to catch them a bat,
So they might have for supper, both lean and fat,
And eat it with joy on the large soft mat.
They ate and they ate till no mite of the bat
Was left on the plate, not even the fat.
Said Mr. Rat to his friend Mr. Cat,
"I have had quite enough and will now take my hat."
Wait! wait! said the cat,
"Till we have some more chat.
Suppose I eat you, as you ate the bat ? "
Oh, no! said the rat, you would not do that."
But 'Tis done! said the cat,

And he sat all alone on the large soft mat.

G. B. B. and C. P. H.- We thank you for your letter
in regard to the story, My Triple Play," and must admit
the justice of some of your criticisms. The chief fault,
however, is with the picture, which places both the run-
ner and the second-base man entirely too near second
base. The second-base man was probably much farther
away than he appears to be in the picture, and with this
change in his position you will see that the play as
described is quite possible.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live in the capital of this ter-
ritory, and a funny little place it is. There is only one
road, and that is only one mile long. There are but two
horses and a few mules, and these have been here but a
short time. They run loose over the parade ground.
There are about twelve hundred Indians and four
hundred whites, including the Russians. We have about
every nation represented here: Poles, Russians, Span-

iards, Italians, Germans, French, Chinese, Japanese,
Norwegians, English, Negroes, Indians, and Americans.
We had about two or three thousand tourist visitors
here during the summer, having a boat each week. But
now the tourist season is over, and we shall have but two
steamers a month.
So you may imagine how eagerly I look for you each
month. My favorite stories are "Crowded out o' Cro-
field," Six Years in the Wilds of Central Africa," and
"The Great Storm at Samoa." With three cheers for
I am, your faithful reader, EDWIN K-

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have never seen letter from
Erie published in your Letter-Box, and we hope you
will put this one in your paper. We love your paper
very dearly, and we have it read to us when it comes
every month.
We are two little friends, and e are in the Hamot
Hospital. Our names are Fred and Helen, and our
nurse is writing this for us. Fred was run over by the
electric-car and was terribly injured, and Helen is just
getting over a serious illness. Our beds are next each
other, and we can talk to each other about your lovely
Yesterday we had ice-cream for dinner, and we liked it.
We never had it before.
Please put this letter in your paper right away, so that
we can see it together before we leave the hospital. We
are tired now. Good-bye.
Your little friends, HELEN.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl, eight years
old, and sister Maude is eleven years old. Our mamma
is a Little Schoolma'am, and I go to school to her. One
day, at recess, I asked her to tell me something to write
on the board, and she told me these stanzas, and I will
send them to you, as I think the other children in the
"line" will be pleased to read them.
Yours truly, ANNIE B--

SEPTEMBER is a pleasant month,
The air is soft and cool!
Then all the children in the land
Are sent to public school.

Wise and simple, great and small,
We make an army grand!
If all were standing in a line
We 'd reach across the land !

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : My grandma in New Orleans
sent the ST. NICHOLAS to me.
I used to live in New Orleans. It is such a dear, de-
lightful old place, and I think the Mardi Gras is so beau-
tiful; I have seen it so many times. That's why I am so
interested in Lady Jane "; it tells of so many places
and things that are familiar to me. In the summer I went
to the country to visit. I had a delightful time, and my
auntie gave me ST. NICHOLAS for 1882; they seemed so
queer and old-fashioned compared with the ones we
have now.
One day this summer I had a doll's wedding. The
bride had a bridal dress on, and the groom was in even-
ing dress. I had bridesmaids and groomsmen, and


some little girls brought their dolls. They were all pa-
per dolls. But just as we were going to perform the cere-
mony, the groom fell in the washbowl, so we put him out
in the sun to dry, but he just curled up in a little ball, and
we could not have the wedding at all. I think that was
too bad. Your loving friend, DAISY L- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little boy nine years
old. I live at Jacksonville, Fla., in the winter, and at
Pablo-by-the-Sea in the summer. We have a cow and a
calf, and a pair of ponies, and two dogs, and a little kit-
ten. Pablo had the handsomest hotel on the Atlantic
coast, and last week it burned down. It was named
Murray Hall, and it cost over $200,000. I have three
sisters and one brother. We have taken you for several
years and like you very much. Your interested reader,

BY K. S.
(A Young Contributor.)

THE roads outside were muddy,
And the pupils in school with cheeks so ruddy,
Were buried deep in study.

When from the eastern side,
Through the window open wide,
Came a little sparrow.

He flew along the wall,
Right in the sight of all,
And then he stopped.

He saw the window bright,
And he thought it was all right,
And so in he flew.

And he flew and hit his head,
And we thought the bird was dead !
But no-he was n't.

At last out he went,
As if on an errand bent,
And we never saw him more.

THE Editor wishes it to be understood that The Land
of Pluck in the present issue of ST. NICHOLAS, and a
second paper, soon to follow, dealing with the historical
side of the same subject, are in the main reprinted-
but with entirely new illustrations, and sundry revisions
and additions -from The Riverside Magazine (of
April and May, 1867), edited by Horace E. Scudder
and published by Hurd and Houghton. The author

Here is a harrowing little tale that comes to us all the
way from California :
BY M. McP-.
(A Young Contributor.)
ONCE there was a little girl named Bessie Stewart who
wanted to go for a walk in the woods; but her mother
did not like to have her little girl go to the woods as
there were bears and wolves. But she told her mother
she would not go far, so her mother told her to go and
be back in time for supper. Then she told her mother
good-bye and was gone. She was gone an hour and her
mother was getting anxious about her, when she heard
the tea-bell ring. She went in and ate supper and Bessie
had not come yet. She waited and watched for her, but
it was getting dark, and so she got one of her servants and
her husband to go and hunt for Bessie. When they got in
the woods they heard a dog bark, and just then they saw
the large Newfoundland dog that had gone with Bessie
jump out of a thicket in the woods, but Bessie was not
with him. Her father went home and got some of his
neighbors to help him search. They went all through
the woods, but the hunt was in vain.
Four years after, Mr. Stewart was walking along the
streets, and met a gentleman friend whom he had not
seen for years; this friend asked how Bessie was, and
he said, "Poor Bessie was lost in the woods four years
On the other side of the street sat a little girl crying
for her mamma. When she heard her name spoken, she
jumped up to see who it was, and when she saw it was
her father she ran and caught hold of his hand and said,
" Papa, don't you know me ? And when he saw it was
his little girl, he took her in his arms and kissed her
again and again. You do not know how surprised her
mother was to see her long-lost Bessie.

We thank the young friends whose names follow for
pleasant letters received from them: Bertha S. G., Tom
C., Frank W. K.,D. Newhall, W. H. D., Goldy, Marie
and Vesta, Dorothy L. G., Ethel P., Hallie S. H., Vir-
ginia D., Florette M. R., Margaret and Eduard B.-,
Ethel C., Carl C. M., Edith F. C., Daisy S., Idella B.,
Sue W. F., Lucile E. T., Marion H. B., Pearl McD.,
Dan McG., Emma H., S. C., Mabel G., Hattie and Car-
rie, Nina and Florence, Phoebe A. 0., Mabel J., S.
Whateley J., Agnes R., Phyllis S. C., Jessie E. G.,
F. S. B.


would have been quite content to leave the two articles
identified solely with the beautiful periodical in which
they first saw the light but for many recent requests
for "something more about Holland, by the author of
Hans Brinker," and the repeated suggestion, from liter-
ary friends, that she should give "The Land of Pluck"
directly to the new generation of young folk now read-

RHOMBOID. Across: i. Haven. 2. Homes. 3. Night. 4. Troop.
5. Opera.-- CHARADE. Monkshood.
DIAMONDS. Homestead greetings. I. i. H. 2. Bon. 3. Comet.
4. Boneset. 5. Homestead. 6. Nesting. 7. Teens. 8. Tag. 9. D.

NOVEL DOUBLE ACROSTIC. i. Sublime, limb, use. 2. Alarum,
Ural, ma. 3. Metrical, tire, calm. 4. Feathers, hate, serf. 5. Espe-
cial, epic, seal. 6. Patterns, rent, past. First row, Luther; third
row, Martin.

II. i. G. 2. Arm. 3. Glean. 4. Algeria. 5. Greetings. 6. Mari- PI. Has any one seen a lost summer,
ana. 7. Ninny. 8. Aga. 9. S. Strayed, stolen, or otherwise gone,
COMPOUND DOUBLE ACROSTIC. From I to 13, bargain; 2 to 14, First missed when the leaves of September,
emulate; 3 to 15, andante; 4 to 16, mandate. Turned, showed us a frost-graven dawn?
CENTRAL ACROSTIC. Centrals, Cleopatra. Cross-words: i. GraC- And now she has hidden in frolic
chi. 2. WalLace. 3. CathErine. 4. ZenObia. 5. JosePhine. Beneath the low-lying bright leaves.
6. SalAdin. 7. Marie AnToinette. 8. ChaRles. 9. VespAsian. Has any one seen a lost summer
ILLUSTRATED PUZZLE. Sparta, oligarchy, Spartans, perioeci, Afield with the banded cornsheaves?
helots, Lycurgus, Athens, Solon. Cross-words: i. Handcuffs. WORD-SQUARES. I. I. Yapon. 2. Agave. 3. Pales. 4. Overt.
2. Pentagons. 5. Caryatid. 4. Crab-apple. 5. Tricycles. 6. Stand- 5. Nests. II. i. Stupe. 2. Turin. 3. Urged. 4. Piece. 5. Ended.
ards. 7. Gondolier. 8. Hollyhock. 9. Colosseum. III. i. Cares. 2. Alive. 3. Ripen. 4. Evens. 5. Sense.
To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the i5th of each month, and
should be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS "Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY CO., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE SEPTEMBER NUMBER were received, before September i5th, from Maud E. Palmer--E-
M. G.-Paul Reese- Emmy, Jamie and Mamma-"Mamma, Aunt Martha, and Sharley "-Pearl F. Stevens-Sallie W., Astley P. C.,
and Anna W. Ashhurst- Nellie L. Howes -Gertrude L.- Helen C. McCleary- Blanche and Fred-John W. Frothingham, Jr.- Bene-
dick and Beatrice- Uncle Mung-Jo and I-"The Nick McNick"-A Family Affair- Edith Sewall -Adele Walton.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE SEPTEMBER NUMBER were received, before September a5th, from Elaine Shirley, 2- Bertha F. E., 3-
Anna K. Verdery, Grace and Mamma, 2- M. Ella Gordon, i -J. McClees, i -" Queen Bess," i Florence and Mina, i -Grace
and Isabel Livingston, 6--Lucia A. R., 2--Katie Van Zandt, 3-" Tweedledum and Tweedledee," 7- Louise Fast, 2- Arthur and
Harry, i -" Annie R.," Germantown, 2 P. R. W., 3 Clara Dooley, 2-Lottie and Mamma, 2- Josie Brooks, i -" Harriette," I -
F. Hilton, i- Raymond, i A. Steiner, 2 Belle and Griswold, I Tom Rue, 2 -" Papa and Lill," i -" Vags and Stags," i M. J.
Stoll, I -" Pixy and Nixy," 2 Effie K. Talboys, 7- C. S. H. and H. H. H., C. Bell, I Mary and Maud, 2- E. P. and Com-
pany, 2 -Lillie M. Anthony, 3--Margaret Dabney, i--Susie T. S., I- A. M. D. and Jean B. G., 8--A. M. Cooch, 6--Will and
Rex, 6-Clara and Emma, 2- Helen L. Webb and Mabel H. Perkins, 4-Edith G., I-C. L. Hamilton, Jr., Lisa D. Blood-
good, 8 E. P. R. and E. W., 6 -" Infantry," io-" Mrs. Jim," 3 -Edith W. A., 4 -" Squire," 9-Evie B., 2 Robert A. Stewart, 8 -
Sissie Hunter, 2- Dora N. Bertie, 3 H. M. C. and Co., 4- Sadie and Bessie Rhodes, 8 No name, Trenton, i Hilda Gerhard, o--
Annie, Jim, and Helen, 2- Estelle Ions, 3 Lil and Del, 3- Jennie S. Liebmann, 9- Honora Swartz, 2 Paul L. S., Carleton, 9-"The
Bees," 2 H. P. H. S., 6--"Charles Beaufort," 8 -" May and 79," io- Hubert L. Bingay, 9--Ida C. Thallon, o1- Perry Talcott
Risley, 8- A. Humphreys and M. Partridge, -Arthur G. Lewis, 8-Amy and Maida Y., Josephine Sherwood, 9-"Swamp-
scott," 3-" Mamma and Me," -" Waccabuc," 3-" We, Us, and Co.," 7-Edith and Emily, 3--"Paganini and Liszt," 7-Camp,9-
Harry L. and Nellie B., i-Charles L. and Reta Sharp, 3-Nellie and Reggie, 9-Harriet D. Fellows, 3-Lulu Laurent, io--Mre
Magor, 3- Elsie, 8-" Wallingford," 8 E.G. Pelton, i -" Dame Durden, o1- Bessie McCracken, 2--Alice Blanke and Edna Le
Massina, 6.


I. I. A theatrical representation.
| 2. Attired. 3. To stay or continue in a
"I place. 4. An honorable decoration. 5.
S A feminine name.
II. i. A kind of rampart. 2. To get
away from by artifice. 3. Confuses. 4. Completely
versed or acquainted with. 5. Snug residences.


DENS het drudy refi-ghilt ghirhe;
Wrad ruyo ayes haric pu hirneg;
Gothhur het newrit, keabl dna clilh,
Ew yam haev rou semrum lilts.
Heer rea smope ew yma dear,
Netlapsa nifesac ot rou dene:
Ha, learned resumm-emit
Weldsl hiwtin het stope hermy.


I. CROSS-WORDS: I. Neat. 2. One of the queens of
England. 3. Cessation. Primals, a resinous substance;
finals, to procure; primals and finals connected, a small
shield; six middle letters, transposed, an offender.
II. CROSS-WORDS: I. A couple. 2. A river of Italy.

3. A float. Primals, state of equality; finals, to corrupt;
primals and finals connected, a bird; six middle letters,
transposed, the flour of any species of corn.
III. CROSS-WORDS: I. A Latin prefix. 2. To cau-
terize. 3. To accumulate. Primals, a serpent; finals,
wrath; primals and finals connected, to soar; six middle
letters, transposed, to limit in descent. DYCIE.


BEGIN with a single letter, and, by adding one letter
at a time, and perhaps transposing the letters, make a
new word of each move.
I. A vowel. 2. Apreposition. 3. Wickedness. 4. Use-
ful little instruments. 5. A bird highly prized for food.
6. Matures. 7. Pinchers. 8. A member of a royal


I. A group of islands near the western coast of Scot-
land. 2. An old Scottish palace associated with the life
of Mary, Queen of Scots. 3. Wind-instruments, very
popular in the highlands of Scotland. 4. The mountain
home of Queen Victoria. 5. A daughter of James I. of
Scotland. 6. The Christian name and surname of a
great Scottish reformer. 7. A large district in the south
of Scotland, famous for its cattle. 8. The title of a novel
by Scott.
The diagonals, from the upper left-hand letter to the
lower right-hand letter, will spell the name given, in
Scotland, to the last night of the year. DYCIE.


EACH of the eight pictures in the above illustration
may be described by a word of five letters. When these
are rightly guessed and placed one below the other, in
the order here given, the letters from I to 14 (as indi-
cated in the diagram) will spell the name of a very famous
philosopher and mathematician who was born on the day
spelled by the letters from 15 to 26.

A distinguished American:

I. IN paid. 2. A wager. 3. Waits. 4. Those who
pretend to superior knowledge. 5. Pertaining to exten-
sion. 6. Compensation for services. 7. Meager. 8. Suf-

fered. 9. Deduced. o1. Restored to health. II. A
county in England. 12. A cave. 13. In paid.
When rightly guessed, the words should read the same
downward as across. CYRIL DEANE.
I. I. A MEASURE of weight usedin the East. 2. To turn
aside. 3. Infusions made of the dried leaves of plants.
4. An abbreviation of mistress. A preposition. 6. In
II. I. A country of South America. 2. A military engine.
3. To coalesce. 4. A prefix. 5. An animal. 6. A prep-
osition. 7. In plunder.
You will find us in the "chimney" where the yule logs
flame and roar;
And we are in the "children who o'er story-books will
Just look for us in presents when the holidays draw
And in the midst of "visitors we surely will appear;
We are the mates of scholars who go home vacation
And we are in a "pantomime," the jolliest of all plays;
Seek for us in pretty "mottoes that we treasure with
great care;
And we love to be in carols sounded on the midnight
Then of all the dainty suppers we must surely have
a share.
A holy day and holiday you first muslcall to mind,
And then a decorative plant I 'll leave you all to find.
__________ I


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