Front Cover
 Title Page
 A night with Russian wolves
 Oats and barley, o
 The wolves of St. Gervas
 How my little grandpa found his...
 The junior boys in Sitka
 A race for life
 Old Sandy's launch
 The adventures of Fido
 The little lazy lady
 How the Cossacks play polo
 Elsie in the stable
 A Vermont boy's trip to Boston...
 The Bronson Company (Limited)
 Jessie's chickens
 The bride's bouquet
 The ways of luck
 Jock's journey
 The thrilling story of Capt....
 French leave
 Hong Wing's sea voyage
 The rogue's path
 A question of etiquette
 A little nobody who became a great...
 The Puritan mouse
 Uncle Sam's two stories
 Two fisherman
 A family party
 The legend of the Rhode Island...
 Dandelion's time
 Mistress Esteem Elliott's molasses...
 The sovereign of '45
 Daddles: His pranks
 How not to get lost
 Theory and practice
 Back Cover

Title: Boys' book of adventures by sea and land
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00086494/00001
 Material Information
Title: Boys' book of adventures by sea and land
Physical Description: 1 v. (unpaged) : ill. (some col.) ; 26 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Lothrop Publishing Company ( Publisher )
Publisher: Lothrop Publishing Company
Place of Publication: Boston
Publication Date: c1897
Subject: Adventure and adventurers -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Voyages and travels -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1897   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1897   ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1897
Genre: Children's stories
Children's poetry
Spatial Coverage: United States -- Massachusetts -- Boston
Statement of Responsibility: illustrated.
General Note: Frontispiece printed in colors.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00086494
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002222858
notis - ALG3104
oclc - 244482801

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Page 1
        Page 2
        Page 3
    Title Page
        Page 4
        Page 5
    A night with Russian wolves
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
    Oats and barley, o
        Page 13
        Page 14
    The wolves of St. Gervas
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
    How my little grandpa found his grandmamma
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
    The junior boys in Sitka
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
    A race for life
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
    Old Sandy's launch
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
    The adventures of Fido
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
    The little lazy lady
        Page 61
        Page 62
    How the Cossacks play polo
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
    Elsie in the stable
        Page 68
    A Vermont boy's trip to Boston in 1825
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
    The Bronson Company (Limited)
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
    Jessie's chickens
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
    The bride's bouquet
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
    The ways of luck
        Page 98
    Jock's journey
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
    The thrilling story of Capt. Noman
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
    French leave
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
    Hong Wing's sea voyage
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
    The rogue's path
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
    A question of etiquette
        Page 139
        Page 140
    A little nobody who became a great somebody
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
    The Puritan mouse
        Page 149
    Uncle Sam's two stories
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
        Page 162
    Two fisherman
        Page 163
        Page 164
        Page 165
        Page 166
        Page 167
    A family party
        Page 168
        Page 169
        Page 170
        Page 171
    The legend of the Rhode Island Greening
        Page 172
        Page 173
        Page 174
    Dandelion's time
        Page 175
        Page 176
        Page 177
        Page 178
    Mistress Esteem Elliott's molasses cake
        Page 179
        Page 180
        Page 181
        Page 182
        Page 183
        Page 184
    The sovereign of '45
        Page 185
        Page 186
        Page 187
        Page 188
        Page 189
        Page 190
    Daddles: His pranks
        Page 191
        Page 192
        Page 193
    How not to get lost
        Page 194
    Theory and practice
        Page 195
    Back Cover
        Page 196
        Page 197
Full Text



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The Baldwin Library
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Boys' BOOK






.onlonial sreos:
C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, Mass., U.S.A.


IT was the very worst weather imaginable when I found myself in Moscow,
closely followed by a Russian spy. It is no degradation, but rather an
honor, in Russia, to be a suspect, followed by a Government spy; but, under
the circumstances, it was inconvenient, to say the least.
I did not care for the spy, or for the Government, either, as for that. I had
proof enough that my business was legitimate. It was important, however,
and haste was required. I did not care to spend a month or more in a Russian
prison while I proved my innocence, so I quietly gave him the slip and went to
Mohilev. To-day there is a railway from Mohilev to Warsaw, but nothing but
carriage-roads existed then.
The snow was still deep on the roads in some places, and the mud as deep
in other places. Rain, hail and snow fell incessantly from the time I reached
Mohilev, and when my business there was accomplished I determined to take
a roundabout way by rail to Warsaw.
I had been upon very friendly terms with the proprietor of the hotel; for,
in spite of the danger of casual acquaintances in strange countries, I have reaped
many a benefit, while traveling alone, by making to myself friends of the mam-
mon of unrighteousness.
I was to leave in the morning. Shortly after midnight, the proprietor came
to my room with the news that Government officials had arrived and set a watch


at the railway stations. In the morning they were to search the town for a
man whose description very much resembled me.
He had learned the news from his brother, who was a local officer, and, like
most of the Government officers upon the borderland between Russia and Poland,
was more ready to let a victim escape, if it could be done quietly, than to send
him to St. Petersburg or Siberia.
Just one hour later, bag and baggage, I was out upon the horrible road that
led toward Warsaw.
Yes, the weather was as bad as bad could be. It snowed all night and the
post-troika wallowed about on its clumsy wheels and heavy springs.
The next day it snowed and rained and hailed by turns, with now and then a
sarcastic bit of sunshine, as though afraid that we should become so accustomed
to the bad weather as to forget how bad it was.
More and more was said about wolves, as we stopped to change horses again
and again. They were at their very worst of the winter, and the oldest peasant
did not remember a winter when they had been so bad.
I was sorry for the wolves, but could not help it. I knew that that infernal
spy would be upon my track before long, and day and night I made the best
time possible for Warsaw, through those eternal forests, still two or three feet
deep with snow.
Night travel was not so bad, in contrast, where there were only Polish isbas
and village post-stations for inns. They have a way in Russia, and especially
in Poland, among the peasant classes, of sleeping with their clothes and even
their boots on. The inn-keepers expect it, and make their beds accordingly.
The result is that by spring one would quite as soon sleep in a rumbling troika,
plowing its way through the forest, as to force himself between those foul
blankets, even when protected by his clothes and overcoat.
The difficulty lay in securing horses and a -driver for my troika at night.
The farther we went and the more they said about wolves the less inclined they
were to help me on.
I reached the village of Orantha after dark, and there the keeper of the
post-station absolutely refused. You might be safe inside," he said, but the
driver and the horses would be eaten as surely as they made the trip."
I had no idea of being taken back over that road, chained to two Russian
soldiers, so I bought outright two of the station-keeper's best horses. They were
not very expensive. Then I offered them, as a gift, to a sullen-looking Pole,
if he would drive me through the night and have them alive in the morning,
and promised to ride with him on the box. The station-keeper translated it to
the Pole he was more like a log of wood. He made no reply, but threw an
axe and heavy chopping-knife he carried, into the troika box and clambered up,
sitting carefully to one side to make room for me, as he evidently had no idea
of leaving out that part of my promise.


He acted like a coward. He looked like a coward. 1 made up my mind
that he was a coward, and, laughing, took my heavy shot-gun from inside, and
sat beside him. In my hip pocket I carried a forbidden revolver.
The station-keeper drew down the heavy leather curtains which closed my
troika almost hermetically, making it the next thing to bullet-proof even,
remarking, You will need this for a hiding-place before morning."
Thus we started out for the night. It was an uncomfortable seat. The
driver was a stupid, thick-headed fellow. He could not speak a word of
French or English or German, nor could I manage the first syllable of his Polish
dialect except the one fatal word, "wolves," which I had so often heard. He

1h 74;


sat like a log of wood. I was tired and sleepy, and balancing myself as best
I could, began watching the deep sled ruts in the half-frozen snow, winding and
twisting away through the deep shadows of the forest. It was a bright, clear
night, for a wonder, and I could trace the wheels, as they made a path for
Then I fell asleep. At first I was roused very easily by the uneven motion
of the troika, but I must have slept soundly enough at last, for I wakened with
a start, when almost thrown from my seat, to find the horses rushing on at a
terrific rate, their necks and foreharnesses white with foam. At first I thought
that the driver was drunk or asleep, but though he sat as before, precisely like
a log of wood, I could see under their shaggy brows two bright eyes wide open.


The whip lay idly in the rest. It suddenly occurred to me that the horses were
terribly frightened. The next moment I realized that above their snorting and
the crunching of their hoofs, and the noise of the rumbling troika, there sounded
from behind a series of short, sharp yelps.
For a moment I think that my heart tried to stand still. Then I muttered
my one word in the Polish dialect.
"Wolves ? I asked the driver.
"Wolves," replied the log of wood.
I caught my gun and, kneeling on the box, looked back over the top of the
By the faint light I could see a narrow line of dark against the snow, sway-
ing this way and that; now confused, now defined, as a pack of hungry wolves
bore down upon us.
While I was looking, a gaunt, savage creature sprang out of the forest upon
my right and made for the horses. Fortunately I was ready and one shot left
him dead, for he was closely followed by another. Instantly I brought the
other barrel to bear, fired, and he fell with a savage howl, so near that the
wheels of the troika passed over his writhing body.
Close behind him came another. This was more than I had bargained for.
I drew my pistol, but he was too quick for me. He leaped upon the nearest
horse. Fortunately he only caught a piece of the harness in his jaws, and while
he hung there, I bent forward and shot him in the head. The terrified horse,
in leaping to one side, broke the shaft of the troika, and at the same instant a
howl from the horde behind clearly indicated that they were rapidly gaining
on us.
Quick as thought that log of wood beside me became the most lively thing
imaginable. Like a flash of lightning, he caught a long knife from somewhere,
cut the traces, and the horses dashed away and were almost out of sight before
I fairly realized what had been done. In the meantime the driver had caught
up the axe and chopping-knife. With the latter he split open the head of a wolf
as it sprang upon him, literally pulled me from the box, opened the troika door,
pushed me in, followed me and closed the door, though to do it he had to hew
off the leg of a savage monster that was hard after him.
Heaven bless that log of wood! I never saw so much done in so short a
There was a moment of comparative silence. Then the whole pack was
upon us. Oh! the snarling and the snapping and the yelping and scratch-
ing all over our disabled cage. The hard leather and harder wood withstood
them, and the driver sat silently upon the seat, looking very much as though
he were going to sleep. The troika lamp was so arranged that one side of it
opened inside, and the Polish candle behind the ground glass gave a very com-
fortable light to sleep by.


I wondered if it was possible that we were really perfectly safe there, or if
he had only given himself up to the inevitable.
Suddenly a rent was made in the heavy curtain. A paw appeared and a
wild howl arose outside, showing that the whole pack were informed of the
Quick as thought that blessed log of wood became a streak of lightning.
Before the paw could be withdrawn the chopping-knife had made one sweep
and lopped it off.
A nose, and glistening row of teeth, shone in the aperture. One quick blow
and they fell inside the troika while a savage yell mingled with the other noises
Again and again the blows were struck while I stood silently watching.
The driver gave me a nudge with his knee, as both hands were busy, and
bobbed his bushy head toward the opposite door. To my horror I saw another
aperture appearing and caught the axe, but trusting better to my pistol, sent a.
ball into a nose that was fiercely sniffing there.
In turning to secure a better position, I struck the door. It was not securely
fastened and slipped open an inch or two before I caught it. With a yelp, like
an Indian war cry, four gaunt paws were in the opening before I could draw the
door together.
Tug as I would at the handle they were too strong for me. They were
slowly opening the door in spite of me when my silent man turned to my aid.
With one slash of his great chopping-knife he cleared the way, banged the door,
locked it, shattered a lower jaw that was crowded into the rent I had been
defending and turned to his old post. In the moment of respite the fierce
creatures had made that rent larger, and, as we looked back, a great shaggy
head was thrust through, beyond the ears. Two glaring eyes were fixed upon
us, a long, red tongue, dripping and covered with foam, hung from the open
mouth, over the white, glistening teeth that flashed as the jaw trembled and
jerked in the creature's eagerness to get at us. Out of the blood-red gullet,
came a short, wheezing bark and for an instant all was still.
That one sight was enough to satisfy any random ambition I had ever enter-
tained to make the acquaintance of a Russian wolf.
The driver looked at him in silence for an instant, then he actually spoke
one word and down came his chopping-knife with a fearful crash, splitting the
head in halves to the eyes. It was wedged so tight into the opening that it
hung there, with the dead body outside.
At that momerit I had an opportunity to fire another shot, after which there
was a little lull. The sounds without changed to deeper growls and fiercer,
sharper barks.
Instantly my silent friend turned, laid down his chopping-knife, settled him-
self upon the leather seat of the troika, pulled from his belt a peculiar little


pipe, lighted it, and began to puff away like the laziest, dullest, slowest mortal
in all the world.
What it all meant I could not imagine, nor had I any way to find out. Not
to be outdone, however, I took a cigar and sat down beside him.
The wolves were still all about us, growling and savage. How in the world
did he know, so quickly and surely, that they had given up the attack ?
While I smoked I tried to solve the problem, but gave it up. Then I quietly
reviewed the situation. It was anything but one to give a sportsman pride, and
I came to the positive conclusion that nothing short of dire necessity would ever
tempt me to repeat that trip. What if my loving spy should come dashing down
the road and find me sitting in that cage, guarded by a pack of wolves, smoking,
with my precious log of wood ?
Then I began to recount the blows and shots that must have killed. Surely
a dozen wolves, at least, must be lying about there dead, and twice that number
were somewhere very badly hurt. I would take the skins home with me as a
trophy. Should I arrange them about the house, or have a great overcoat made
of them ?
The log of wood gave a grunt, turned the knob and sent the door flying open
with a sturdy kick.
To my surprise I found that it was broad daylight. I had fallen asleep
while arranging my wolf-skins. Where were they? The snow was every-
where trampled and bloody, with tufts of hair here and there ; but, aside from
these remnants, the only fragment of a wolf was the dead body hanging by the
head to the troika.
I looked in wonder at the driver. He recognized my question, and, grin-
ning, opened his own cadaverous mouth and pointed down his throat.
I learned, afterward, as a fact, that often those famished creatures turned,
when the battle proved too long for them, and satisfied their hunger upon the
bodies of those who had fallen in the fight.
A half-hour later a peasant came down the road bringing the horses which
had taken refuge in the nearest isba. Silently the two men repaired the
damaged troika to the best of their ability. They took their seats upon the
box, and I inside, and we rode away.
My last night ride through the forests of Poland was ended (unless that
precious spy should overtake me and carry me back again) and my first and I
surely hope my last encounter with Russian wolves was ended, too. Alas! I had
only one lonely wolf-skin to carry home with me as a trophy of the struggle,
but I was thankful enough that I also had my own.
Lieut.-Col. Tborndike.

----- I---



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WE sometimes laugh at the looks and ways
Of the folk who lived in our grandfathers' days--
The pompous wigs which the old men wore,
And the shirts that were ruffled down before,
The breeches that were too short by half,
And the long-tailed coats that touched the calf;
But did ever you hear or see or know
That they ate crushed oats and barley, 0 ?

We have all been told at our mother's knee
Of the great brick ovens that used to be,
Of the brown bread baked in generous loaves,
And better done than in modern stoves,
Of the Indian puddings and pumpkin pies,
And the cake that had yeast to make it rise;
But did ever you hear or see or know
That they ate crushed oats and barley, 0 ?

There is always something new and queer
In scanning a long-forgotten year,
But the old brick oven's generous fare
Need not be laughed at anywhere
The children raised on such wholesome store
Reached the eighties, and some of them more:
Did you ever hear or see or know
That they ate crushed oats and barley, 0 '

It is twenty years since some one said
That the Yankee diet of meat and bread,
With roots from the garden now and then,
Couldn't be trusted to raise strong men;
The grandfathers got along, perhaps,
But they were a robust set of chaps -
They were near the heart of the wild new land,
And gathered her bounding life first hand.

We were a set of pampered kings,
With our hot-house homes, and our foreign things,


And something new must be eaten, quick,
To keep the old folk from getting sick,
And the younger ones and the children save
From that terrible thing, an early grave;
And then we began to hear and know
Of crushed oat pudding and barley, 0.

It was like a new fashion just come over;
The people tried it, as bees try clover;
They sipped and tasted and called it sweet,"
And were glad they had something new to eat,
And soon the Yankee from East to West
Was eating oats with a pony's zest,
And it was the fashion with high and low
To eat crushed oats and barley, 0.

A new industry the oat-mills made,
And the oat-meal steamer another trade;
With the happy miller the minister vied
In keeping the fashion at flood of tide -
He told how Daniel, the captive, fared,
When meat of the king he might have shared,
And the pulse which made him so ruddy grow
Was our own crushed oats and barley, 0.

The people listened and rushed ahead,
Where the oat-meal craze and the parson led;
And oft as they stood by the looking-glass,
They wondered when it would come to pass
That they should the beauty and color don
Of the captive Jew in Babylon,
Who nothing ate, as you surely know,
But our own crushed oats and barley, 0.

Twenty years have come and gone,
And the crushing-mills keep grinding on;
And all the cereals that grow
Under the heavy mill-stones go.
But whether the race is gaining fast
In the charms of a beauty that will last-
Do you ever hear or see or know
Who eat crushed oats and barley, 0 ? Jane L. Paltersn.


THERE never seemed a place more in need of something to make it merry
J than was the little Swiss hamlet of St. Gervas toward the end of March
some years since.
The winter had been the hardest ever known in the Bernese Oberland. Ever
since November the snow had fallen steadily with few intermissions, and the
fierce winds from the Breithorn and St. Theodule had blown day and night, and
the drifts deepened in the valleys and the icicles on the eaves of the chalets
grown thicker and longer. The old wives had quoted comforting saws about a
"white Michaelmas making a brown Easter," but Easter was at hand now and
there were no signs of relenting yet.
Week after week the strong men had sallied forth with shovels and pickaxes
to dig out the half-buried dwellings, and to open the paths between them, which
had grown so deep that they seemed more like trenches than footways.
Month after month the intercourse between neighbors had become more diffi-
cult and meetings less frequent. People looked over the white wastes at each
other; the children ran to the doors and shouted messages across the snow, but
no one was brave enough to face the cold and the drifts.
Even the village inn was deserted. Occasionally.some hardy wayfarer came
by and stopped for a mug of beer and to tell Dame Ursel, the landlady, how
deep the snows were, how black clouds lay to the north, betokening another fall,
and that the shoulders and flanks of the Matterhorn were whiter than man had
ever seen them before. Then he would struggle on his way, and perhaps two
or three days would pass before another guest crossed the threshold.


It was a sad change for the "Krine," whose big sanded kitchen was usually
crowded with jolly peasants, and full of laughter and jest, the clinking of glasses
and the smoke from long pipes. Dame Ursel felt it keenly.
But such jolly meetings were clearly impossible now. The weather was too
hard. Women could not easily make their way through the snow, and they
dared not let the children play even close to the doors, for, as the wind blew
strongly down from the sheltering forest on the hill above, which was the pro-
tection of St. Gervas from landslides and avalanches, shrill yelping cries would
ever and anon be heard, which sounded very near. The mothers listened with
a shudder, for it was known that the wolves, driven by hunger, had ventured
nearer to the hamlet than they had ever before done, and were then just above
on the hillside, waiting to make a prey of anything not strong enough to protect
itself against them.
"Three pigs have they carried off since Christmas," said MBre Kronk, "and
one of those the pig of a widow! Two sheep and a calf have they also taken,
and only night before last they all but got at the Alleene's cow. Matters have
come to a pass indeed in St. Gervas, if cows are to be devoured in our very
midst! Toinette and Pertal, come in at once! Thou must not venture even so
far as the doorstep unless thy father be along, and he with his rifle over his
shoulder, if he wants me to sleep of nights."
0, dear!" sighed little Toinette for the hundredth time. How I wish the
dear summer would come! Then the wolves would go away and we could run
about as we used, and Gretchen Slant and I go to the Alp for berries. It seems
as if it had been winter forever and ever. I haven't seen Gretchen or little
Marie for two whole weeks. Their mother, too, is fearful of the wolves."
All the mothers in St. Gervas were fearful of the wolves.
The little hamlet was, as it were, in a state of siege. Winter, the fierce foe,
was the besieger. Month by month he had drawn his lines nearer and made
them stronger; the only hope was in the rescue which spring might bring.
Like a beleaguered garrison, whose hopes and provisions are running low, the
villagers looked out with eager eyes for the signs of coming help, and still the
snows fell and the help did not come.
How fared it meanwhile in the forest slopes above ?
It is not a sin for a wolf to be hungry any more than it is for a man; and
the wolves of St. Gervas were ravenous indeed. All their customary supplies
were cut off. The leverets and marmots and other small animals on which they
were accustomed to prey, had been driven by the cold into the recesses of their
hidden holes, from which they did not venture out. There was no herbage to
tempt the rabbits forth, no tender birch growths for the strong gray hares.
No doubt the wolves talked the situation over in their wolfish language,
realized that it was a desperate one, and planned the daring forays which re-
sulted in the disappearance of the pigs and sheep and the attack on the Alleene's


cow. The animals killed all belonged to outlying houses a little further from
the village than the rest, but the wolves had grown bold with impunity, and as
Mere Kronk said, there was no knowing at what moment they might make a
dash at the center of the hamlet.
I fear they would have enjoyed a fat little boy or girl if they could have
come across one astray on the hillside, near their haunts. But no such luck
befell them. The mothers of St. Gervas were too wary for that, and no child
went out after dark, or ventured more than a few yards from the open house
door even at high noon.
"Something must be done," declared Johann Vecht, the bailiff. "We are
growing sickly and timorous. My wife hasn't smiled for a month. She talks of
nothing but snow and wolves, and it is making the children fearful. My Annerle
cried out in her sleep last night that she was being devoured, and little Kasper
woke up and cried too. Something must be done."
"Something must indeed be done," repeated Solomon, the forester. "We
are letting the winter get the better of us, and losing heart and courage. We
must make an effort to get together in the old neighborly way; that's what we
This conversation took place at the "Krone," and here the landlady, who
was tired of empty kitchen and scant custom, put in her word:
"You are right, neighbors. What we need is to get together, and feast and
make merry, forgetting the hard times. Make your plans and trust me to carry
them out to the letter. Is it a feast that you decide upon ? I will cook it. Is
it a musiker fest ? My Carl there can play the zither with any other, no matter
whom it be, and can sing. Himmel! how he can sing Command me I will
work my fingers to the bone rather than you shall not be satisfied."
"Aha! the sun," cried Solomon; for as the landlady spoke, a pale yellow
ray shot through the pane and streamed over the floor. That is a good omen.
Dame Ursel, thou art right. A jolly merrymaking is what we all want. We
will have one, and thou shalt cook the supper according to thy promise."
Several neighbors had entered the inn kitchen since the talk began, so that
quite a company had collected; more than had got together since the mass on
Christmas Day. All were feeling cheered by the sight of the sunshine; it
seemed a happy moment to propose the merrymaking.
So it was decided then and there that a supper should be held that day week
at the "Krine," men and women both to be invited, all, in fact, who could pay
and wished to come. It seemed likely that most of the inhabitants of St. Gervas
would be present, such enthusiasm did the plan awake in young and old. The
week's delay would allow time to send to the villagers lower down in the valley
for a reinforcement of tobacco, for the supply of that essential article was run-
ning low, and what was a feast without tobacco ?
We shall have a quarter of mutton," declared the landlady. Neils Auster-


man is to kill next Monday, and I will send at once to bespeak the hind-quarter.
That will ensure a magnificent roast. Three fat geese have I also, fit for the
spit, and four hens. Oh! I assure you, my masters, that there shall be no lack
on my part. My Fritz shall get a large mess of eels from the Lake. He fishes
through the ice, as thou knowest, and is lucky; the creatures always take his
hook. Fried eels are excellent eating! You will want a plenty of them.
Three months maigre is good preparation for a feast. Wine and beer we have
in plenty in the cellar, and the cheese I shall cut is as a cartwheel for bigness.
Bring you the appetites, my masters, and I will engage that the supply is
The landlady rubbed her hands as she spoke, with an air of joyful anticipa-
"My mouth waters already with thy list," declared Kronk. I must hasten
home and tell my dame of the plan. It will raise her spirits, poor soul, and she
is sadly in need of cheering."
The next week seemed shorter than any week had seemed since Michaelmas.
True the weather was no better. The brief sunshine had been followed by a
wild snowstorm, and the wind was still blowing furiously.
But now there was something to talk and think about beside weather. Every-
body was full of the forthcoming feast. Morning after morning Fritz of the
"Krone could be seen sitting beside his fishing holes on the frozen lake patiently
letting down his lines, and later, climbing the hill, his basket laden with brown
and wriggling eels. Everybody crowded to the windows to watch him--the
catch was a matter of public interest.
Three hardy men on snowshoes with guns over their shoulders had ventured
down to St. Nicklaus and returned, bringing the wished-for tobacco and word
that the lower valleys were no better off than the upper, that everything was
buried in snow, and no one had got in from the Rhone valley for three weeks or
Anxiously was the weather watched as the day of the feast drew near, and
when the morning dawned, every one gave a sigh of relief that it did not snow.
It was gray and threatening, but the wind had veered and blew from the south-
west. It was not nearly so cold, and a change seemed at hand.
The wolves of St. Gervas were quite as well aware as the inhabitants that
something unusual was going forward.
From their covert in the sheltering wood they watched the stir and excite-
ment, the running to and fro, the columns of smoke which streamed upward
from the chimneys of the inn. As the afternoon drew on strange savory smells
were wafted upward by the strong-blowing wind, smells of frying and roasting
and hissing fat.
Oh, how it smells -how good it does smell! said one wolf. He snuffed
the wind greedily, then threw back his head and gave vent to a long O-w!"


The other wolves joined in the howl.
What can it be ? Oh, how hungry it makes me cried one of the younger
ones. O-w-w-w! "
"What a dreadful noise those creatures are making up there," remarked Frau
Kronk as, under the protection of her stalwart husband, she hurried her children
along the snow path toward the "Krine." "They sound so hungry. I shall
not feel really safe till we are all at home again with the door fast barred."
But she forgot her fears when the door of the inn was thrown hospitably
open as they drew near, and the merry scene inside revealed itself.
The big sanded kitchen had been dressed with fir boughs, and was brightly
lighted with many candles. At the great table in the midst sat rows of men and
women clad in their Sunday best. The men were smoking.long pipes, tall mugs
of beer stood before everybody, and a buzz of talk and laughter filled the place.
Beyond in the wide chimney blazed a glorious fire, and about and over it the
supper could be seen cooking. The quarter of mutton, done to a turn, hung on
its spit, and on either side of it sputtered the geese and the fat hens, brown and
savory and smelling delicious. Over the fire on iron hooks hung a great kettle
of potatoes and another of cabbage.
On one side of the hearth knelt Gretel, the landlord's daughter, grinding
coffee, while on the other her brother Fritz brandished an immense frying-pan
heaped with sizzling eels which sent out the loudest smells of all.
The air of the room was thick with the steam of the fry mingled with the
smoke of the pipes. A fastidious person might have objected to it as hard to
breathe, but the natives of St. Gervas were not fastidious, and found no fault
whatever with the smells and the smoke which to them represented conviviality
and good cheer. Even the dogs under the table were rejoicing in it, and sending
looks of expectation toward the fireplace.
"Welcome, welcome!" cried the jolly company as the Kronks appeared.
"Last to come is as well off as first if a seat remains, and the supper is still
uneaten. Sit thee down, Dame, while the young ones join the other children in
the little kitchen. Supper is all but ready, and a good one too, as all noses tes-
tify. Those eels smell rarely. It is but to fetch the wine now and then fall to,
eh, Landlady?"
Nor shall the wine be long lacking," cried Dame Ursel, snatching up a big
brown pitcher. "Sit thee down, Frau Kronk. That place beside thy gossip
Barbc was saved for thee. 'Tis but to go to the cellar and return, and all will
be ready. Stir the eels once more, Fritz, and thou, Gretchen, set the coffee-pot
on the coals. I shall be back in the twinkling of an eye."
There was a little hungry pause. From the smaller kitchen behind the
children's laughter could be heard.
It is good to be in company again," said Frau Kronk, sinking into her seat
with a sigh of pleasure.


"Yes, so we thought, we who got up the feast," responded Solomon the for-
ester. "'Neighbors,' says I, 'we are all getting out of spirits with so much cold
and snow, and we must rouse ourselves and do something.' Yes,' says they,
' but what ?' Nothing can be plainer,' says I, we must' Himmel! what is
that ?"
What was it indeed ?
For even as Solomon spoke, the heavy door of the kitchen burst open, letting
in a whirl of cold wind and sleet, and letting in something else as well.


For out of the darkness, as if blown by the wind, a troop of dark swift shapes
darted in.
They were the wolves of St. Gervas, who, made bold by hunger and attracted
and led on by the strong fragrance of the feast, had forgotten their usual cow-
ardice, and stealing from the mountain-side and through the deserted streets of
the hamlet, had made a dash at the inn.
There were not less than twenty of them; there seemed to be a hundred.
As if acting by a preconcerted plan they made a rush at the fireplace. The
guests sat petrified round the table with their dogs cowering at their feet, and
no one stirred or moved, while the biggest wolf, who seemed the leader of the
band, tore the mutton from the spit, while the next in size made a grab at


the fat geese and the fowls, and the rest seized upon the eels, hissing hot as
they were in the pan. Gretchen and Fritz sat on their respective corners of the
hearth, paralyzed with fright at the near, snapping jaws and the fierce red eyes
which glared at them.
Then, overturning the cabbage-pot as they went, the whole pack whirled and
sped out again into the night, which seemed to swallow them up all in a moment.
And still the guests sat as if turned to stone, their eyes fixed upon the door,
through which the flakes of the snow-squall were rapidly drifting, and no one
had recovered voice to utter a word, when Dame Ursel, rosy and beaming, came
up from the cellar with her brimming pitcher.
"Why is the door open ?" she demanded. Then her eyes went over to the
fireplace where but a moment before the supper had been. Had been; for not
an eatable article remained except the potatoes and the cabbages and cabbage
water on the hearth. From far without rang back a long howl which had in it
a note of triumph.
This was the end of the merrymaking. The guests were too startled and
terrified to remain for another supper, even had there been time to cook one.
Potatoes, black bread and beer remained, and with these the braver of the guests
consoled themselves, while the more timorous hurried home well protected with
guns, to barricade their doors, and rejoice that it was their intended feast and
not themselves which was being discussed at that moment by the hungry
denizens of the forest above.
There was a great furbishing up of bolts and locks next day, and a fitting of
stout bars to doors which had hitherto done very well without such safeguards;
but it was a long time before any inhabitant of St. Gervas felt it safe to go from
home alone, or without a rifle over his shoulder.
So the wolves had the best of the merrymaking, and the villagers decidedly
the worst. Still the wolves were not altogether to be congratulated, for stung
by their disappointment and by the unmerciful laughter and ridicule of the other
villages, the men of St. Gervas organized a great wolf hunt later in the spring,
and killed such a number that to hear a wolf howl has become a rare thing in
that part of the Oberland.
"Ha! ha! my fine fellow, you are the one that made off with our mutton
so fast," said the stout forester, as he stripped the skin from the largest of the
slain. "Your days for mutton are over, my friend. It will be one while before
you and your thievish pack come down again to interrupt Christian folk at their
But in spite of Solomon's boast, the tale of the frustrated feast has passed
into a proverb, and to-day in the neighboring chalets and hamlets you may hear
people say: "Don't count on your mutton till it's in your mouth, or it may fare
with you as with the merrymakers at St. Gervas."
Susan Coolidge.



ST was when he was ten years old and a cabin boy on the privateer Yankee.
And it may seem queer that a boy should go to sea to find his grand-
S mother, but so he did.
He was young to go to sea, but his Uncle John was the captain, and Teddy
--for that was his name had begged hard to be allowed to go with him.
Uncle John was only an old boy himself-just twenty years old. But in our
War of 1812 these big boys of nineteen and twenty commanded many of our
S privateers. Perhaps I ought not to call him a cabin boy, for he did pretty much
as he wanted to, worked or played as he pleased, but that was what Uncle John
called him, and that was what he said he was himself.
The Yankee was a small vessel of fifty tons, small but spunky, and Uncle
John took her straight down into the neighborhood of Newfoundland, where he
cruised day and night on the lookout for an English merchantman. At last one
day about noon, he saw afar off on the horizon a fleet of white sails.
," Teddy," he said, run down into the cabin and get my glass," and then
with Teddy at his elbow -for he stuck to Uncle John like a burr on a Scotch
terrier he looked at them long and carefully.
"Is it a Britisher ?" asked Teddy at last.
"A Britisher!" said Uncle John, whose eyes were sparkling and whose
mouth was smiling, "I should think so. There's a dozen of 'em. Good fat
prizes, every one, and three men-o'-war as convoy. But the Yankee's good for
one," and Uncle John gave a little skip, for as I have said, he was only a big boy
himself. And then, remembering that that was not exactly the way a com-
mander of a privateer should behave, he put on a sober face, and called his offi-
cers together, and told them his plan for the taking of one of the merchantmen,
to which Teddy listened with wide-open ears, like any other "little pitcher."
As soon as night comes," said Uncle John, the men-o'-war will shorten
sail so that the slower merchantmen shall not be left behind in the dark. But
we must crowd on sail, and single out one and run her down and board her with-
out firing a shot. Remember, without a shot," said Commander John emphati-
cally, or we shall have the war ships upon us like a nest of hornets, and smart
as the Yankee is, she can't take care of three British men-o'-war at once. You,"
he said ') one officer, must see that the signal-book is promptly secured. And
you," to -mother, that the light on the captured vessel is put out and a similar
light run up on the Yankee to keep the number good."
(Is it ilot droll that a man-of-war should be spoken of as she or her" ?)


The men-of-war carried two lights and the merchantmen one each. The
signal-book, it seems, was kept, in time of war, in a leaden case ready to be
thrown overboard when the vessel was in danger of falling into the hands of the
So, then, everybody was on the qui vive, and there was a furbishing up of
the guns, which were in just as good order as they could be before, and a great
bustle and stir, and Teddy was in the thick of it; and two hours after sundown,
the night having come on beautifully dark, the Yankee crowded on sail and
pounced as a hawk does upon a chicken, upon a big merchantman that was
straggling along far behind the others. Uncle John had ordered Teddy down
into the cabin, so as to have him out of the way of the guns if it came to the
worst. But Teddy could not resist the temptation to peep, and so saw it all-
saw the crew of the Yankee throw their grappling irons and seize the helpless
vessel; saw them swarm up her sides and upon her deck; saw the crew of the
merchantman put in irons and brought on board the Yankee, and the light of
the captured vessel extinguished. It was all over in almost as brief a time
as it takes to tell it, for the very heart and soul of privateering, that which
makes its success, is prompt action.
A prize master and crew were put on board the captured vessel at once, and
ordered to take her to New London, Ct. And then it was that Teddy asked to
be sent home, for New London was his home. For, to tell the truth, though he
had had a capital time with Uncle John, he had been homesick at times, espe-
cially at night, after he was snugly tucked into his bunk Uncle John used to
tuck him up, or rather in. It was then that he would think of his mother, and
he could not help a big tear or two wetting the pillow, though he had bravely
kept it all to himself. But now he said, looking wistfully at the vessel that lay
alongside, "I should like to go home in her, Uncle John."
"Would you, my boy?" said Uncle John. "Well, you shall. For I
shouldn't wonder if we had some rough fighting yet, and I've been sorry ever
since we sailed that I took you." And he patted Teddy's head and kissed him,
and said, with a little choke in his voice, for he was only a boy himself, you
know, and knew what it was to be homesick, "give my love to Sallie "-
Teddy's mother and Uncle John's sister -" and tell her you've been a first-rate
boy." And then the captured vessel with Teddy on board, sailed off in a south-
westerly direction, and the Yankee staid by the English fleet, so that when the
war ships counted the lights, as they did at intervals, none should be missing.
The prize master's name was Smith, and he, too, was a native of New London,
Ct., and a near neighbor of Teddy's mother. The first thing Captain Smith did
after he got well under way, was to examine the papers of the captured vessel.
He learned that her name was Juno. The names of her crew were in the books,
too, and each one of the prize crew was ordered to answer to the name of some
one of the Juno's crew, if she should be overhauled by an English cruiser, which


was likely to happen. But Teddy was ordered to keep out of the way if that
"I can turn my men into Britishers easy enough," said Captain Smith,
"but I can't turn a live Yankee boy into an English one; they'd be sure to find
you out."
The Juno sailed for three days, however, without meeting or even seeing an
English cruiser, though they met the Fame, another New England privateer
from Salem, whose men cheered them lustily as she passed.
The morning of the fourth day was foggy, so foggy that they took in sail
and moved cautiously, lest they should run into a rock or upon a shoal. Teddy


was on the quarter-deck, talking to the helmsman, and peering ahead through
the thick fog, when it lifted suddenly, as fog will, and there, not a cable's length
away, lay an English eighteen-gun brig!
Teddy was so taken by surprise that at first he could only stare. Then, re-
membering Captain Smith's orders, he plunged down the gangway, and hid in
his bunk which opened out of the cabin. And, as he lay there, listening to what
was going on, he heartily wished himself back in the Yankee with Uncle John
and under the protection of his three guns.
For the brig at once fired a gun, the signal for the Juno to lay to. She did
so, and at the same time ran up the British ensign to her spanker peak. An
officer came on board from the brig, whom Captain Smith received with courtesy,


inviting him into the cabin and placing before him such delicacies in the way of
food as the cargo afforded. After eating, the officer called for the ship's papers.
He examined them and pronounced them all right. He was affable and inclined
to talk.
"It is a long time since we heard from home," he said, meaning England,
and Captain Smith hastened to present him with late English newspapers found
on the Juno. And when the officer farther said that owing to their long absence
from England, they were short of officers' stores, Captain Smith replied most
graciously: "I shall be only too happy to supply the wants of His Majesty's
officers." And forthwith ordered hams, whisky, ale, sugar, etc., to be placed in
the brig's boat. In short, there was nothing that he was not ready to do to
propitiate and get rid of this most unwelcome visitor.
"A pleasant voyage to the Juno," said the officer as he prepared to leave,
tossing off his final glass of whisky.
"Success to His Majesty's brig Cygnet," responded Captain Smith, tossing
off his glass. And then he reminded the officer that he had not entered his visit
on the log-book. So the following entry was made:
"Oct. 16th-Lat. 46.25; Long. 42, W. Boarded British Ship Juno and
on examination found ship's papers correct. James A. Dillon 2d Lieutenant.
H. B. M. Brig Cygnet."
Then he departed with his newspapers and after the Juno was well under
way Teddy came out from his bunk. He looked pale from the fright and ex-
citement, and Captain Smith chaffed him a little, and pretended to examine him
to see if his hair had turned white.
"I guess you wouldn't like it yourself, Captain Smith, to be took by the
British," said Teddy.
"That I shouldn't," replied the captain heartily. For if they do catch us
they'll clap us into one o' their infernal prisons, an' keep us there till they get
licked, I s'pose."
During the five days that followed, the wind was light and the progress of the
Juno was slow. Each day the captain anxiously scanned the horizon fearing to
catch sight of another British cruiser. For, although, after his experience with
Lieutenant Dillon, he felt pretty sure he should get off well, if he did meet with
another, yet he could not help feeling a bit nervouss" about it, as he himself
On the morning of the sixth day, at dawn, the lookout espied, about two
miles away, an English forty-gun ship. At the same instant the forty-gun ship
espied the Juno, and immediately hoisted her ensign. The Juno hoisted hers.
"What name and where from? signaled the war ship.
Juno from Belfast, Ireland, for Demarara," replied the Juno.
She was then proceeding on her way, when the light breeze died away, her
sails flapped idly and she lay motionless in a dead calm. Two boats were seen


to put off from the frigate. They pulled alongside the Juno and a British officer
again stepped upon her deck. He was received with the same courtesies that
had been shown to Lieutenant Dillon, and after he had eaten and drank he, too,
examined the ship's papers.
"They seem to be correct," he remarked as he finished the examination,
"with the exception of the custom house clearance. That is missing."
A search was made for the missing paper, but in vain.
"It's very strange," said Captain Smith. It was certainly here when Lieu-
tenant Dillon made his examination. He must have accidentally mixed it up
with the newspapers I gave him."
Very probable," was the officer's reply. "But I am obliged to report any
deficiency to my superior," and he returned to the frigate, leaving Captain Smith
in great perplexity in regard to the missing clearance, and indulging in well-
grounded fears as to the result. In a short time the order came for him to re-
pair to the frigate with his papers. There they were re-examined, but no custom
house clearance was found. The majority of the officers were in favor of allow-
ing the Juno to go on her way, and the Commander regretted" the necessity
for detaining her; "yet," he said, my orders are imperative. If the slightest
irregularity is found in a ship's papers, I am to take possession of her." He did
so. A crew was transferred from the frigate to the Juno, an English officer put
in command of her, and her destination changed from New London, Ct., to
Portsmouth, England.
Who shall paint Teddy's dismay when this information was conveyed to him
by Captain Smith ? Teddy had fled to the hold on the approach of the frigate's
boats, and there Captain Smith found him as soon as he got a chance to go and
look for him.
"Are they gone?" asked Teddy.
"The frigate's gone," said Captain Smith, and then he told him.
"But cheer up, my lad," he continued. "Perhaps we shall find a way yet
to get her out of the British lion's grip. The Yankee herself may happen along,
But the Yankee did not happen along, neither did the Fame, nor the America,
nor the Avenger, nor the John Adams, nor any other of the couple of hundred
American privateers that were afloat in Atlantic waters. And the Juno sailed
on with favorable breezes, carrying Teddy straight to England.
He staid in the hold as the safest place, and out of sight of the English crew.
Rats as big as cats kept him company, together with innumerable cockroaches
that swarmed day and night. There was little difference between day and night
in that dark place. Captain Smith contrived to see him every day and supplied
him with ship's bread and sugar, which provisions Teddy eked out with raw ham,
plenty of which was in the hold. And often he thought of what was going to be
come of him when he should reach the shores of England.


And Captain Smith was still more troubled. He knew, although he did not
tell Teddy, that himself and all his crew would probably be put in prison. And
then how would Teddy fare ? He would most likely be put on board some vessel
before the mast, and hard as it is to go before the mast now, it was a hundred-
fold harder then. And to think of ten-year-old Teddy going before the mast!
Captain Smith felt that it were better for him to die.
But one day Teddy remembered something. It came like a flash of bright
sunny daylight into that dark place. Something so delightful that he came very
near shouting "Hurrah! just as he did when at home in New London, Ct.
But he stopped himself in time.
What a fool I am," he reflected. The Britishers would have heard me,
and then the fat would have all been in the fire," remembering that that was
what his mother used to say. Teddy thought much and often about his mother
while living in the dark hold of the Juno.
He felt he could hardly wait to see Captain Smith and tell him. But he had
to. Teddy was naturally a very impatient boy; but there's nothing like being
shut up in a ship's hold for a couple of weeks or so, for teaching such a boy self-
"O, Captain Smith, CaptaiiSmith! he exclaimed when that personage did
appear, and under his breath of course, "0, Captain Smith, I've got a grand-
mother in Portsmouth, England.
"A grandmother! a grandmother! ejaculated the good captain. "Is the
boy gone clean daft?" for his first thought was that the confinement, and
the anxiety and the want of proper food, had taken away Teddy's wits. But
Teddy quickly reassured him.
Yes, I have, Captain Smith, a real grandmother father's mother, Grandma
Wyllys. She lives in Portsmouth. It's funny I didn't think of it before."
Sho now-so she does," rejoined the captain. "Come t' think on't I've
heard th' Squire" Teddy's father-" speak on't myself. Well, well, now!
you're all right. A grandmother at Portsmouth! wish I had one there myself,"
and the good captain heaved a sigh.
"I s'pose you know what street she lives on ?" he added.
No, I don't," said Teddy cheerfully. But I can find her, you bet."
"That's so," rejoined the Captain. "I'd trust a boy f'r finding his grand-
mother any day; an' you've got an English tongue in your head if you are a
And the Jzno sailed on with favorable winds, each day drawing nearer her
destined port, and the officer in charge never dreamed for a moment that he was
on an English vessel recaptured from the Yankees. He and Captain Smith grew
to be the best of friends. He continually complained to the captain of his hard.
luck in being sent back to England before the forty-gun frigate had taken any
prizes, or he had had a chance to secure prize money.


As to Captain Smith, he had determined not to speak so long as it was pos-
sible to keep back the truth. Like Mr. Micawber, he waited for something "to
turn up;" something that even at the last moment might rescue the Juno and
save him from an English prison. But nothing turned up. They reached the
port of Portsmouth. And as the Juno sailed past the fort that guarded its entrance
he felt the time had come. He went up to the English officer who was standing
on the quarter-deck.
"Lieutenant," he said, lifting his cap, this ship was a prize to the privateer
Yankee taken off Newfoundland two weeks before we met with you. I am the
prize master and here is my warrant."
The Lieutenant was so overcome at this announcement, that he turned first
pale, then red, then pale again. He stared helplessly at Captain Smith. But
as the fact dawned upon him that, if this was so, half the value of the Juno and
her cargo would be his as prize money, he turned a final red and shook hands
heartily with Captain Smith. He could not apparently have been more grateful
if the captain had voluntarily surrendered the Juno, instead of doing so because
he could not help himself. He called him "my good fellow." He declared he
would stand by him; that he would do everything in his power to keep him out
of prison. He did so. He paroled him and entertained him for six weeks. But
at the end of that time he was ordered off to another ship and Captain Smith
was thrown into Dartmoor Prison.
And did Teddy find his grandmother? Certainly. Does not the title of this
story say so? With Captain Smith's help he got safely off from the Juno. In
fact, Captain Smith hinted to his friend, the Lieutenant, that there was a small
boy on board who wanted to find his grandmother. And the Lieutenant, who.
had a grandmother himself, put Teddy on shore in a ship's boat.
If you could have peeped into a house in Portsmouth town, one evening
about that time, this is what you would have seen: you would have seen a cosey
parlor warmed by a fire of blazing cannel-coal before which a dear old lady sat
knitting. A King Charles spaniel lay in one corner of the hearth and a tortoise-
shell cat in the other, both fast asleep. On the walls hung many portraits and
among them one over the mantel-piece of a boy who looked uncommonly like
our Teddy. The brass candlesticks shone in the firelight and the candles were
plenty. A teakettle sung cheerily upon the hob. Upon a small round table at
the little old lady's elbow were a cup and saucer, and a plate of thin bread and
butter. The door opened and a servant entered, a stout little old body, almost
as broad as she was long.
"Please, mem," she said, "'ere be a boy as says 'ee be your grandson," and
Teddy emerged from behind her.
The little old lady dropped her knitting and raised her hands in astonishment.
She looked as much surprised as Aunt Betsy Trotwood did when David Copper-
field claimed her for an aunt.


"My grandson! she exclaimed.
"Yes; my name is Teddy," he spoke up, an' I've been carried off by the
British, an' they brought me here, an' I thought you'd be glad to see me an' "-
but farther speech was smothered in a grandmotherly hug comforting beyond
You're the very picture' of your father at your age," said grandma, holding
him off at arm's length and looking alternately at him and the portrait over the
"That 'ee be," said the old servant, who was as old as grandma and so knew
all about Teddy's father.
Then grandma gave him another hug and sat him down in a chair between
the King Charles spaniel and the tortoise-shell cat, both of whom had waked up.
"Now tell me all about it," she said. And then Teddy told her what I have told
you. But when he got as far as the thin slices of raw ham, grandma turned to
the old servant who had been listening with a corner of her apron in her eye.
"Betty," she said, "bring in a round of beef, a mince pie, and some preserved
apricots," and then they sat down to a tea that was half a dinner and such a
dinner as only an English grandmother could give a fellow in those days, though
now, it is said, the quality of our beef quite equals that of our British cousins.
And Teddy staid on till the war ended and--but that is another story, and I
only promised to tell you "how my little grandpa found his grandmamma."
Frances A. Humphrey.

*R (I-Y- __~~~rL






W E had looked forward to our trip all summer. In fact, a visit to Sitka
had long been a cherished scheme of ours. When Lieutenant Schwatka
used to tell us about his experiences in Alaska, we boys always liked best to ask
questions about Sitka. At last father was going to take us there. It seemed
almost too good to be true. The night before we started, Alva kept tossing
about, too excited to sleep, and of course I could not sleep, either, for I am
Alva's twin, and we always do exactly the same things. Next morning we were
up bright and early packing our steamer trunks, and we sent them to the wharf
many hours before the vessel could possibly arrive.
A couple of hours before the vessel was due, father got a telegram saying
that he must come to San Francisco immediately. I think nobody can imagine
our disappointment; but at the last moment, when we had given up the trip in
despair, mother came to the rescue, and.got father's consent to let us go alone.
We boys were always glad we were a relation of mother's. Of course she felt
very sorry and lonely to have us go all that long journey alone, but she could
bear to worry about us better than she could bear to see us so disappointed, so
father was persuaded to put us in care of the captain, and let us go to Sitka and
remain there until he came for us. Although mother tried to smile bravely, I
saw tears in her dear blue eyes when she bade us good-by. She called me into
her room, and took me close up in her arms, and looked away down into my eyes
as if she could not bear, after all, to let me go; then she kissed me, and said:
" Will, Jr." I am Will, Jr., because my father is also named Will Will, Jr.,


you are the older, and must always look after your brother." I promised
her I would, and then we both laughed a little, for I am only an hour older
than Alva. Father's face was very sad, but all he said was, "Boys, your
mother trusts you to go alone; don't forget that it is your duty to justify
that trust."
So we sailed away to Alaska, Alva and I, alone. The first few days Alva
was very homesick. He could not eat or sleep, and I was afraid he would be
ill. I was homesick, too, but I had promised mother to look after Alva, and
of course I would not let him see that I was lonesome.
One morning when I was sitting by our room door, the nicest man, who
was also going to Sitka, brought his mandolin and sat with me, and played, and
told such jolly stories that Alva forgot to be homesick, and he got up and un-
packed his violin, and he and the mandolin man played such beautiful selec-
tions that they soon had all the ship's company around them.
The people began to ask us the most annoying questions after that: what
was our father's business; and how did it happen we were allowed to travel
alone; and where did we live; and where were we going, and dozens of such
questions. I suppose it was just their way of showing an interest in us, but I
never did like to be questioned, so I answered everybody in the same manner:
" Thank you; we live at Port Townsend; we are going to Sitka; my name is
Will, Jr., and my brother's name is Alva." That is the way we came to be called
the Junior boys, although you understand that is not our last name; but we
did not mind, and asked the captain not to explain; we thought it quite
funny, and so did the captain. We did not find many companions on board.
There were no boys of our own age, but the mandolin man was always very
kind to us, and he and the captain and Alva often gave very nice little con-
certs with two violins and the mandolin. We had our cameras, and found so
many interesting subjects for snap-shooting that almost before we were ready
for it we had reached Sitka.
We were indeed very sorry to let the ship go sailing away and leave us, and
we parted from the mandolin man with sadness. But Sitka was so interesting,
and we had so long dreamed about it, that now we were here we were bent upon
making the most of our time till father should come for us. It is not a very
large town; not more than two thousand inhabitants, counting the natives and
the white people who live there. It nestles at the foot of grand mountains, and
is built on the most beautiful bay in the world. I think we enjoyed more than
anything to row around the bay and watch the clouds lift from Mt. Edgecombe
and Mt. Veretora. The Indians have a strange legend about Mt. Edgecombe.
There is a crater in the top of it, and the mists and clouds lie in it in the most
wonderful way, and the Indians say the reason of the hole being there is that
the mountain once opened to let The-woman-who-supports-the-earth go down
through it to the bosom of the earth. I will tell the story; it is very curious.

*1'.*'. .. 4


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L. ^.T"'^-


a. a




__._. ~_____ _


They say that the white crow created the first man and first woman out of
flowers buttercup blossoms and that the crow gave them for a present a
box which held the sun, moon and stars, but told them they must never open
the box. One day the woman gave the box to the baby to play with, and it let
it fall, and out tumbled the sun, moon and stars. The man was very angry, and
he beat his wife, and ran away and left her. She climbed up to the top of Mt.
Edgecombe and it opened and let her go through, and ever since she is com-
pelled to keep the earth up out of the water. The earth rests on a pillar and
Ah-gish-ahu-akhow that is the woman's name holds up the pillar on her
shoulders. Whenever it thundered I saw Indians pick up stones, and pound
the earth. I asked an interpreter what made them do that, and he told me
the story of Mt. Edgecombe, and said when an Indian heard it thunder he
thought that the man went down to quarrel with the woman, and to try to
throw the earth over, and by pounding on the ground they could help Ah-gish-
ahu-akhow hold the earth steady.
The Indian town lies along the bay, and has about a thousand inhabi-
tants. Some of the houses are very good two-story frame ones, and some have
bay windows; some are tumbling down, and all are very dirty. Still we often
went there, and the Indians treated us very well. They never failed to express
their pleasure and surprise at our resemblance to each other, and once an old
squaw worked a piece of grass into my buttonhole so that she could tell me
from Alva; she never seemed to suspect that we could exchange jackets. Alva
used to play his violin to them, and we were always treated kindly by them, and
became very good friends with some of them. They sing in a very strange
chanting way, especially before they set out on any expedition. Alva knows
the English words of one of their songs which they sing before going to fish for
salmon. I asked him to copy them. I don't know who translated the song or
where he learned the words.

Why is the young man sorrowful?
Oh! why is the young man sad?
Ah-Ka, his maiden, has left him.
The long suns have come,
The ice now is melting;
Now comes the salmon;
He leaps in the river;
In the moon's gentle twilight
He throws up a bow -
A bow of bright silver.
Lusty and strong he darts through the water;
He sports with his mate;
He springs from the water.
All the dark season he has lain hidden,
Now he comes rushing,
And ripples the river.
Purple and gold, and red and bright silver
Shine on his sides and flash in his sporting.


How he thrashes the net!
How he wrenches the spear !
But the red of his sides
Is stained with a redder;
The maid of the young man leans over the salmon;
White laugh her teeth,
Clear rings her laughter,
Which passes canoes all busy and happy,
Which outstrips the noise of many mixed voices,
And pierces the heart of her sorrowful lover.
She has forgot him; she joys with another;
All for another she chases the salmon.
Ah-Ka, your sweetheart, has left you,
So do they jeer him:
Ah-Ka, your sweetheart, is here at the fishing.
Ah-Ka, how like you this gay salmon season? "

We liked the Indian women better than the men; they could talk better
English, and they are nicer looking. Some of them have very beautiful faces,
and the little babies are too cunning for anything. Here at Sitka the Indians
do not have totem poles in front of their houses, and the women do not wear
the horrible lip plugs, like some we saw. But they have very strange ways,
even if they do not do some of
the things we saw at other places.
The old woman who worked the
grass into my buttonhole could
speak very good English, and she
said that her people, the Thlingets
-pronounced Klinkit--took
Some animal or bird for their fam-
ily totem; that if several families
belonging to different tribes se-
lected the bear for their totem,
_-'- _:they could not marry each other,
-. ", UitI for all members of the bear family
were considered brothers and sis-
ters, but that a bear and a whale
could marry, even if they were
quite close blood relations. I
THE QUAINT OLD GREEK CHURCH. asked many people about that, and
they all said that it was true. If
a man who belongs to the bear family marries a woman who belongs to the
whale family, he becomes a whale, and if any trouble comes up he must fight
his own people in defense of his wife's family. The men give the women all
the money, and if a man sells anything without consulting his wife, and she is
not willing to have the article sold, he is compelled to take back the money and


get the article, and sometimes this makes tourists very angry; but the Indians
do not care about that.
When an Indian dies, his wife and children and all his property fall to his
younger brother or else his sister's son. Sometimes the woman is very old and
ugly, and the heir does not want to have her and her children, so he gets his
friends to agree upon a sum with her friends, and he pays it sooner than marry
her. One day while Alva and I were snap-shooting along the Indian River, we
met a hideous old squaw with her
face painted black; when we got
back to town we asked about her,
and were told that she was in I .
mourning for her husband. Some
of them mix the ashes of their hus-
bands, whose bodies are cremated
after death, with pitch, and then
paint a broad band all round their
faces close up to the roots of their
hair with this mixture. But the
one we saw was just painted with
a mixture of lampblack. She
looked horrible, and we found out
afterward that her husband's neph-
ew would not marry her, and I u
did not blame him. I thought it
would be pretty hard lines for a
young man to have to live with
her. Sometimes they have a fight
between the families on account
of the heir not wanting to take his
inheritance, and I am sure the squaws are ugly enough to be a just cause of war.
On rainy days we would go to the public museum where there is a fine line
of Indian curios from all parts of Alaska. We were interested in the Pres-
byterian mission, too. Dr. Sheldon Jackson founded the mission school, and
nearly all of the curios in the museum are of his collection. We did not see
him, for he was away in the interior when we were in Sitka, but everybody
says that he is a wonderful worker among the Indians. The boys and girls at
the school are able to read and write, and they speak excellent English. They
sing part songs very finely, and they have a brass band composed entirely of
native boys; one of the assistants at the school is their leader, and they play
" Home, Sweet Home," The Sweet By and By," Annie Laurie," and such
selections, with a great deal of skill.
Out near the school buildings is the house of the Russian priest, who


conducts the services in the quaint old Greek church. This priest has a large
yard full of the loveliest flowers. Whenever I got awfully homesick I went to
this yard; somehow the flowers comforted me.
One morning we went to service in the church. Outsme, the church is a
very commonplace-looking building, and if it were not for its funny bulging
dome and belfry spire and its green roof, it would not attract much attention;
but inside, it is like going into another world. There are rare gold and silver
altar ornaments and fine paintings; there is also a representation of the Last
Supper," all made out of gold and silver and ivory and gems. And the robes of
the priest are rich, and have such heavy fringe and embroidery on them that
they look too heavy for the slight figure of the Russian priest who holds the
service in this church. The best thing to me about the church is its chime of
six bells; the tones are the most musical I ever heard in bells. The whole chime
was brought from Moscow, and is a very, very old one, although so sweet.
Between the Greek church and the wharf lies all the business portion of the
town; the trade is chiefly in furs and curios. The stores are tolerably good,
but not as modern looking as the Juneau stores. But Sitki is the hub "; all
the society of Alaska lives there,
Sand the soldiers and the Govern-
ment officers live there with their
families, and the war vessels and
other Government vessels put into
Sitka Bay for the winter. I fancy
they have great fun, dancing and
going to parties and spending the
long winter nights.
Although the days are very
short, it never gets very cold at
Sitka, hardly ever down to zero;
and in the summer it is not oppres-
sively warm about 80 degrees
on an average. All kinds of vege-
tables and flowers can be raised
THE OLD CASTLE OVERLOOKS THE TOWN AND THE BAY. there, and the woods are full of
beautiful wild flowers and all kinds
of berries -blackberries, red and black raspberries, salmon berries, huckle-
berries all of the largest size, larger than any cultivated ones, and of an
excellent flavor and very juicy.
With all the fish in the sea, the deer and small game on the islands, the fruit
:.n the woods, one might be as happy as Robinson Crusoe if he hI-ppened to be
cast away in this region; at least he could not possibly starve. The days flew
by very swiftly, although they were very long days; that is, we could read out


of doors at eleven o'clock at night almost as well as at noon. Toward one
o'clock in the morning it would grow very dusky, and a little after two it
would be to-morrow; day would begin to break; but after all it was a long
time coming. The sky was nearly always clear and deeply blue, and the
sun shone brightly during most of our visit; yet it does often rain for days to-
gether, and tourists are then much disappointed in Sitka.
Almost every day, at some time, Alva and I went out in search of snap-shots.
There were so many interesting subjects that we found it difficult to make a
choice, especially if our film or our plates happened to be nearly exhausted.
The old block houses we found very picturesque. When the Russians owned
Sitka, they had a stockade between the Indian and Russian town, and these old
block houses were built in the angles of the stockade. Only a very little of
the stockade remains, but there are two of these quaint block houses, and ko-
dak fiends ought to be very glad of them. The Government buildings are also
the same which the Russians used. They are built of logs, but are very sub-
stantial and comfortable.
Near the old Greek church there is an immense rock, called the kissing
stone," from which one gets a fine view of the many interesting objects on
every side. They have a legend about this rock, that if any one will come and
kiss it all alone at midnight, he will be able to plead his love suit in such beau-
tiful language that no woman can resist it, and he can marry whomsoever he
wishes. They say, also, that old Baron Baranoff used to have this rock for his
favorite resting-place, and that he would sit here in the hot sun, drinking still
hotter brandy, until his servants would have to carry him home to the castle and
put him to bed.
Yet the most interesting of all is, perhaps, the old castle itself. It is built on
a high rock foundation and overlooks the town and the bay. It is now almost
falling to decay, but every room is filled with voices which tell of times long
passed away. The voices in the dining-hall tell the saddest stories. This hall
was once the gayest spot in America, and the dinners that were served here
were as brilliant as those of the Czar's own court, whose pomp and ceremony
were repeated in Baranoff Castle at Sitka. Now there is nothing left but crumb-
ling walls and broken window-panes. When the beautiful young niece of old
Baron Romanoff was brought from St. Petersburg to Sitka, to remove her from
a lover of low birth, it was in this banquet hall that the tragedy of her death
occurred. They forced her to wed a Russian nobleman whom she detested, and
in the midst of the wedding celebration she was found in the deserted banquet
hall with a dagger thrust through her heart. It was never known whether she
took her own life in a fit of despair, or whether her bridegroom murdered her
because he was jealous, or whether her former lover secretly followed and killed
her sooner than to give her up to any one else; but here she was found, cold and
dead in her fine bridal garments. The Sitka people say that her ghost still walks


in the castle, and that any one who lingers alone after midnight in these deserted
rooms can hear the rustle of her ghostly robes, and inhale the faint perfume of
her wreath of orange blossoms.
Those sad, sweet voices of the past also tell how in one of these deserted
rooms, poor Lady Franklin sat and watched and wept in vain for the return of
her husband.' They cry out in anger that this castle has been pillaged of all
its treasures; its fine tapestry hangings, and carvings, and furnishings which
the Russians left in it at the time of the transfer, and they plead strongly against
the injustice of our Government in allowing it to go to ruin and decay.
More of romance and legend clings around Sitka than around any other spot
in the possession of the United States, and our Government cannot afford to let
all these points of interest and tradition fall into hopeless ruin, as will soon
happen if some means are not adopted for their preservation.
The evening before we left Sitka we climbed to the roof of the castle for a
last sight of the sunset over the bay. Alva took his violin and played that
series of tone portraits on the ladies of the Russian court, by Rubenstein. While
he played it seemed to me I could see those handsome ladies moving about
through the halls of the old deserted castle. The witty and brilliant Baroness
Wrangell, the stately Baroness Kupreanoff, and the sad and lovely young prin-
cess Romanoff were all there, gracefully stepping the measures of the minuet.
The sunset flushed everything with lights of rose and purple and gold. The
green islands that dot the bay glowed like emeralds. Mt. Edgecombe stood all
rose-colored, with misty, fleecy cloud wreaths lying in its crater where Ah-gish-
ahu-akhow went through into the bosom of the earth.
The twilight faded to amethyst, and deepened to the still darker shades
of night. Then Alva played the Evening Hymn to the Virgin," and after that
we silently groped our way down the rickety stairway of the gloomy castle,
with tears in our eyes. Such was our farewell of beautiful Sitka, for another
hour found us on board our vessel. With much groaning and creaking, as if it
shared our reluctance to leave such a charming spot, the anchor was slowly
raised, and soon we were sailing toward the dawn.
Will, Jr.

(The Last Encounter with Red Skins in North Carolina.)

IN a certain beautiful valley that nestles among the great mountains of North
Carolina is found one of the few Indian settlements that yet remain east of
the Mississippi. So quiet and inoffensive are these people that few realize how,
within the memory of those yet living, they were upon the warpath in Carolina,
and hunted by the regular troops as are the wild Apaches in the West. Here
and there among the hills may yet be found old hunters who fondle the rifles
that fifty years ago they loaded for red skins; and more than one old Indian
there is lazily carving pipes and relics with hands that have known bloodier
In the gorge where the Hiwassee River breaks through the Chilhowee
Mountains, a rocky breastwork marks the spot where these Cherokee Indians
made the last bold stand for their hills and fertile valleys. The white man had
said they must move; the troops were among them in threatening numbers,
and listening to reason, when resistance was in vain, they consented to go West-
ward. With what emotions they turned their backs upon the hill country and
marched out into the level valley, only they who dwell among the hills can
know. At night they camped by the banks of the Tennessee River. On the
morrow they would cross, then passing beyond the low, rolling hills of the Cum-
berland, their blue mountains would be lost to them forever. They had no
harps to hang on trees, and Indians never weep, but they who sat down by the
waters of Babylon did not love home better than these.
When morning came some hundreds of them had broken the guard, and fled
back to the hills. The troops followed with all speed, and here, in this narrow
defile among the Chilhowee Mountains, they were overtaken. Hastily building
a breastwork of rock between the high cliff and the river, they waited till the
troops should approach. But their fortification did not avail them, for the wary
general had sent a body of militia over the mountains, and they were attacked
at the same time in front and rear. Abandoning their useless works, they broke
precipitately for the river, and swimming the stream sought refuge in the fast-
nesses of the great mountains beyond. Here for weeks they were hunted like
wild animals till the Government, in despair of capturing them, agreed that they
should remain upon good behavior.
It was during these weeks of trouble that occurred the last of the many
thousand personal encounters which white men have had with Indians since the
first settlement of the country. The hunter who participated yet lives in one
of the mountain coves of Carolina, and his strength and endurance in old -age
attest the vigor of his early manhood. From his lips I heard the story.


At the time the Cherokees were moved out," he said, "I was living in a
cabin high up on the side of the great mountains. Several years before I had
married, and clearing a corn patch there on the hillside, moved up where I could
have elbow room, and be nearer my hunting ground. That was in '35, and in
those days the white settlers were few and far between in here. Out in the
valley country roads had been built, and farms cleared off, but in the mountains
it was as wild as if no white man had ever set foot upon it. Cherokee settle-
ments were scattered along the streams, but the Indians were very jealous of
'white men, and more than one had been made to leave after he had broken
ground in the cove and pitched his cabin. Had I built my house down there
they would have made trouble for me, but being so high on the hill and far
away from their lands, I was not molested. Still they did not regard my settle-
ment with favor, for they knew how the white people had spread around them,
and that their lines were drawing closer year by year.
At last the trouble they had feared so long came upon them. Men, women
and children were driven from the mountains in a body to be taken West.
There was a rush of settlers to take up the new land that was opened, but before
their claims could be marked, news came that the Cherokees had broken away
in the night-time and come back to the mountains. Then followed dangerous
weeks, when there was hiding and hunting and fighting in the hills. It was like
the old days that my father used to tell of, when he and Dan Boone hunted,
and fought Indians together.
I had taken no part in the trouble; the Indians had let me alone, and now
I was not going to hunt them; bearing in mind, too, that my cabin was up there
on the hillside where they were hiding, and that it held my wife and baby.
But for some cause they laid all their trouble at the door of those men who had
lived among them, and who, they thought, wanted their lands. Rumor came
that they planned evil against me, and that I had best be on my guard. It was
late in the autumn, and I did not wish to leave my corn crop to be gathered by
the savages, and at the same time I felt uneasy about my wife and little boy.
But my wife refused to take the child down and leave me alone -for in those
days women handled rifles like men.
"As the Indians were pressed harder in the mountains they grew more
revengeful and savage. Several of their number were captured and shot, and
when shortly after they took a soldier, he was hacked to pieces with their toma-
hawks. I learned, too, that they thought me playing the spy, and that their
comrades had been captured by my aid. Some of them wanted to burn me in
revenge. Dangers were thickening about us, and as my wife still refused to
leave with the child, I sent her one morning into the valley for re-enforcements
while I remained by the boy to guard my cabin and corn. She would be gone
all day, and so I amused myself the while with the lad. He had just begun to
toddle about the place, and could talk more than any four-year-old I ever saw.


All through the morning he was laughing and chattering, now crowing like the
cock, now calling to the dogs that were away with his mammy, now clambering
over chairs; then bumping his head as he tumbled upon the floor. But toward
evening he grew tired and fretful, and taking him in my arms I went out into
the corn. For awhile I strolled about, looking at the ripe grain and planning
to gather it on the morrow. The boy had been comforted with an ear of scarlet
corn, and chattered gayly as he watched the thieving squirrels skip away from
their feast. It was scarcely time for my wife to return, but shading my eyes
from the light I stood looking into the valley for a figure that might be seen
approaching through the open land, when zip a bullet whistled past my head,
and the crack of a rifle sounded behind me. Needless to look back; I knew all
that had happened. In front of my door stood the Indian who had fired the
shot, and hurrying across the clearing from the opposite side were a dozen
others. Without pausing a moment I sprang away through the corn with the
child in my arms. A single leap took me over the brush pile that lay about my
clearing, and then I bounded along through the open forest like a deer.
"From a lad I excelled in strength and agility. No man had ever put my
back to the ground, and when once I went to the Indian ball-play" in Nacoo-
chee Valley, there was but one among their men whom I could not toss over
my shoulders. Half the morning we wrestled, and neither of us touched more
ground than we stood upon. But when they raced afoot I left him far behind,
and Indian-like he hated me ever after; for among all his fellows not a man
could catch him. The one glance that I threw back to my cabin had shown me
this fellow. It was he who had fired the shot, and looking back now as I ran, I
saw him coming like the lead hound on a trail, followed as closely by the others
as their heavy feet would bring them. Instinctively I had dashed into the
woods for shelter, without thinking where I would go or what I would do. I
was unarmed; not even a knife was in my belt. Had I been alone I might
have laughed at the whole tribe for following me; but my child was in my
arms. Could I outrun them with such a load ? It was a race for my baby's
life and mine, and no panther ever sprang faster to defend its young than I did
down that long rolling spur.
In a short time the yellow pack had been left behind, but the leader was
gaining upon me, and I discovered that he had thrown aside his empty rifle as
he ran. The weight I carried was telling on my strength and speed. I should
be overtaken. Had he been without aid I would have turned and fought him
as readily as I would a bear-cub, but well I knew his friends would be about us
before the struggle was ended, and then not I alone might suffer the fire they
had promised.
Turning from the crest of the ridge I struck down toward the mouth of a
cavern that runs back into the limestone rock. There more than once I had
camped in stormy weather. Could I get within now and hide the boy in one of


its deep recesses, I might fight the savage hand to hand, if he should follow, or
else lie hidden in there till the night came, and then slip away in the darkness.
It was some distance down to the cavern, and the Cherokee was gaining
upon me rapidly. He had drawn a steel tomahawk from his belt, and carried
it now in his hand as he ran. Over rocks I bounded, dashing through brush
and undergrowth, leaping fallen
trees, slipping now upon moss-
covered stones, and sliding on
loosened schist. The Indian fol-
lowed, springing as lightly along
as a deer but just started from
cover. He was playing with
me, waiting until I should ex-
haust myself with running that
he might close in and capture
me the more easily. Perhaps
he did not know of the cave, or
else he was sure of catching me
before reaching it. Meanwhile
I pressed on, for, wearied as I
was, the darkness of the cavern
was my only hope. For some
distance he followed me at his
leisure, keeping only a score
of yards behind, but presently,
when the opening appeared in
the rocks, he seemed to realize
whither I was bound, and ut-
tering his peculiar yip! yip!
sprang quickly along. The
sheltering darkness was only a ",OoIOING BACK SAW HIM COMING TA,,E THE LEAD FOUND
few yards ahead. Once within ~N A TRAIL."
they might seek me in vain
among those winding passages. My child and my life would be lost with the
race, and with nerves tense I was making a final effort. I amazed myself with
my speed. I should win and new vigor came with hope. Hardly a dozen
yards away was the mouth of the tunnel, and not half so far the Indian, when
glancing over my shoulder I saw the hatchet gleam as he raised it. Before it
descended I had caught his arm, and the weapon was hurled into the shrubbery.
"' Run to the cave!' I called to the child, as he slid from my arms; and I
had time for nothing more, for the Cherokee and I had grappled, man to.man,
and both were unarmed.


"Well, you have seen men fight with the weapons Nature gives, though
perhaps you never saw them fighting for their lives, and so I need not tell how
we clenched and rolled about those rocks, now one on top and now the other,
writhing, pitching, squirming. No strength was spent in blows; we gripped
for each other's throat. He was fresher from his race than I, but he had no
wife and child at stake. He fought for hate, I for love, and it was this that
made me strong. You have watched a wild-cat seize a rabbit ? Just so I caught
him and held him, held him by the throat till his copper face turned black.
Then slipping off my belt I strapped his hands behind him, and bound his feet
Already I had heard the voices of his tardy fellows as they followed slowly
upon our trail. But now that the struggle had ended I was thoroughly ex-
hausted, and lay panting upon the rocks, like a tired dog.
But I did not wish to lose my captive, and summoning strength dragged
hin into one of the dark recesses of the cavern. Now that all was safe 1 called
to my little boy. Once, twice I called, but heard not a sound, save the echoes
thrown back by the walls. Had he not done as he was told ? I hurried down
toward the entrance again, but hardly had I gained the light when the savages
without caught sight of me, and came running and whooping forward. Their
shots rattled harmlessly against the walls as they were fired into the darkness.
A moment I paused and listened. Would they enter ? Their voices came along
the tunnel way while they noted the traces of the struggle, and marked how the
body had been dragged into the cavern. But how I, unarmed, had overcome
their comrade, with his rifle and hatchet, they could not comprehend, for none
had seen the gun thrown aside in the race. I had met aid, they thought, and
armed now with the captured rifle, two of us, or more, for aught they knew,
would be dangerous foes to meet in the darkness of the cavern. They did not
dare show themselves before the entrance.
Finding they would not enter I began to search for the child. Surely he
came in, and perhaps becoming lost in the darkness had wandered off into some
of the long chambers. Often had I peered into the deep chasms back there -
bottomless some say they are; what if he should crawl there in the darkness!
Even now he might be upon the brink. Hastily lighting the fagots that some
explorer had left upon the ground, I started back into the chambers, waving the
light and calling the boy's name.
"But the ghostly stalagmites threw back the sound. Far down the cham-
bers they whispered his name one to another, till back in the chasm their voices
were changed to a moan.
In another moment I was upon the brink of the gulf, and holding the torch
high overhead looked eagerly about the chamber. The light fell upon the
great columns that rose from the shadows around, and showed the long white
arms reaching down toward the darkness of the pit; but where was the boy?


I peered over the edge of the rocks. For a little way the white stones gleamed
in the firelight, and then below them was blackness. Again I called and set the
echoes to laughing, but the only voice that answered came from the chasm.
The bats, startled by the sound, fluttered from their hole and dived around the
chamber. The place seemed unearthly, and there was an odor of smoke that
did not come from my torch. Was it true, I wondered, that the hole reached
down, as 'twas said, to the fires in the middle of the earth ? While I paused
and looked about me a current of air bore a wreath of smoke curling past. Ah!
the cowardly fellows, afraid to follow me within, thought to smoke me out, like
a squirrel from a hole. As rapidly as possible I ran along the passageway, call-
ing to the child. Could I but find the boy I would retreat back into some
cavern where the smoke would not reach us. For an hour I searched without
success, and by this time the entire cave was filled with a stifling fog. So dense
was the smoke I could hardly draw a breath, and already the torch had been ex-
tinguished in the foul air. Going back to the farthest chamber I lay down with
my face to the ground. There was no hope for the child now. Better that he
had fallen over the cliffs than to stifle in such a smoke. My whole life seemed
all for nothing, now that my child was gone, and well I knew the Cherokees
would wreak vengeance on my wife for their hatred of me. But the smoke
was growing so dense I could endure it no longer.
"Moistening the sleeve of my garment in the water that trickled along the
floor, I pressed it against my month, and hurried toward the entrance, deter-
mined to dash past the besiegers and into the woods. It was even better to be
shot than to die there in a hole, like a rabbit. But I found the opening filled
with a mass of burning brush, and the flames were roaring into the cavern as if
it were a smokestack. There was no escape through the entrance, and I turned
back. If it was possible I would climb down into the pit; perhaps the smoke
would not reach me there. But my torch was out, and the light from the big
fire did not reach into the winding galleries. Could the chasm be found, and
when there could I descend in the darkness ?
"I was groping along the way when my hand touched the savage, bound
and lying upon the rocks. I could hear his labored breathing as he struggled
for air in the fog. He was the cause of all my trouble; it was fit that he should
die just such a death, and I passed on by. But then I thought how awful it
was to lie bound there in the dark, and suffocate with smoke. After all, he was
a man. And such a fight he had given me Not another man in Carolina could
have matched me, as he had done that day. I would give him a chance. Step-
ping back, the leather belt was quickly loosened. 'Follow me,' I said to him,
turning toward the deep hole; but he touched me. Go out, come after,' said
he in Cherokee. Then I knew that he was familiar with the place. Following
him closely in the darkness he led through one of the long passages till the
opening grew so small that with difficulty I crawled along. There was a strong


draught through the way, and the smoke was yet dense. Presently the hole
widened and grew higher, till we could walk upright, and soon the echoes told
of a spacious cavity. A moment more the light was streaming down upon us
from an opening in the roof. Through the hole the smoke poured in volumes,
but I could see the foliage above and the blue sky.
"Now that exit was found and pure air, I wished to go back again for the
boy. Child outside; run off in woods,' said the Indian, when he knew my pur-
pose. For a moment I was glad, then I feared lest the red skins might have
found the little thing and made him suffer for the man they had lost. Could I
get out of the cavern, and my child be yet alive, I would take him from them
had I to meet the whole pack empty-handed.
The opening was high overhead, and the walls were steep. I looked about
for means of climbing. But the Indian had regained his breath, and turning to
one side began to descend the chasm in the rocks. The cliffs showed indis-
tinctly in the faint light, and below was blackness. I hesitated to follow, but
while I paused the sound of running water came up from the darkness, and
drawing nearer I caught a gleam of light upon the ripples at the base of the
cliff. Down over the crag the Indian swung himself, I following as warily as
possible in the uncertain shadows. Now we were crawling along some narrow
ledge, now dropping upon rocks we could not reach, turning back from bowlders
or peering ahead for a way. But the light came nearer, and lower down the
path grew easier of descent, till presently a leap from an overhanging rock
took us into deep water.
For a little way the stream creeps under low walls that press it so closely
there is hardly room for a swimmer's head above water, then breaking loose
from the rocks, it bounds away down the valley. Out through the black frame
I saw the world like a picture, and side by side with the Indian swam down
toward the sunlight. A moment more and we were under the sky. Springing
upon the bank, the fellow shook himself like a dog, and then disappeared in
the foliage.
The last few hours had nearly worn me out, but till I knew where my wife
and baby were I could not rest. The sun had dropped over the ridge to the
west, and already the shadows were creeping up the hillsides from the cove.
Should I go first to look for the child ? No ; night would be upon the mount-
ain soon; better return to the cabin, arm myself, and join my wife if she were
there. Together in the darkness we might rescue the boy.
"I dragged myself slowly along, clambering the hills toward my cabin,
pausing to listen now and then, lest I should walk unwarily upon the camp of
the savages. The sun had set when I reached the crest of the ridge, and the
shadows had swallowed the world. Yonder, above my cabin, a white cloud
rested on the peak, like a crown, and far away in the valley could be seen the
twinkling fires. I paused a moment on the ridge, for I was tired and faint, and


the world looked so quiet and peaceful it seemed to bring rest, telling me they
were safe.
"But what a strange light glowed on the cliffs beyond my clearing, and
there was a blush on the clouds that were draping the peak. The rumble of
thunder came down from the mountain, but the glow I saw was not lightning.
Were the villains firing my cabin? Had they captured my wife?
But the flames did not grow as I hurried nearer; only the tint on the
cloud was deepening into red as the mist settled lower, and the lightning glowed
more brightly within it. Presently I broke through the brush, and where my
home had stood was a heap of glowing embers. No wife was there; no child;
not a sound but the owls in the tree hooting at the firelight, and the thunder
rumbling now and then from the cliffs overhead.
"And I had set him free who had caused it all. Now I could have strangled
myself that I had not wrung his neck, and left his carcass for the wolves to
feed on.
Which way should I go ? There was no neighbor for miles. My wife had
come back and was captured, and the chances were they had not taken her alive.
"While I looked at the ruins the cloud rolled down upon the clearing, and
the big raindrops fell hissing among the embers. The fog drifted into the
deadened trees and reached down below me, and the lightning followed, playing
through the woods and around the great bowlders. The rain poured down till
the last spark faded from the smoking embers, and all were black and dead.
But I did not think of rain or storm.
Could they have killed my boy? I turned back toward the cavern where
I had left him. It had grown so dark with the storm and the night, that not a
line of tree or hill could be discerned, except when now and then there was
a flash of light. But I knew the way well, and hurried along the spur. Very
carefully I approached the entrance of the cavern, but no one was there, and
the fire was dead. The lightning had ceased, and all was black again, while the
rain poured down destroying every trace the savages had left of their departure.
That was the darkest moment of my life.
While I stood there in the rain, uncertain which way to turn, I fancied a
sound came to me from the cavern. Approaching the -entrance I discovered
figures moving about a fire some distance within. The light was uncertain, but
there seemed to be several of them. Either the Indians had gone in after me,
or else were seeking shelter from the storm. Keeping well in the shadows, I
began to crawl toward them upon the ground. I would know if they had cap-
tured my wife and child, and what fate the two had met. Without attracting
their notice, I shortened the distance between us by half, and raised my head
from behind a sheltering bowlder to observe them more closely. But before the
light now could be seen only a single figure. The fire had burned to a bed of
embers, and showed but the dark outline of a man. Had his comrades gone


deeper back into the cavern ? While I watched him, the light flickered again,
and threw dark shadows dancing against the walls. These had deceived me, and
I. had seen but a single man. But another figure was lying near, upon the
ground, wrapped in a blanket. The firelight fell upon its face, and it was white,
and looking closely I saw it had curly hair. It was my baby! I could scarcely
restrain myself from springing forward and seizing it in my arms. But the
Indian that sat guarding, held a rifle in his hands, and I was unarmed. My only
chance was to crawl up behind and spring upon him before being discovered.
Lying down in the little stream, I crept like a snake over the slimy rocks. Not
once had the Indian moved, but huddled in his blanket, sat bowed over the fire
as if he had fallen asleep. The embers burned low, and only the shadow of a
form could be seen. I was near upon him now. Another moment and I had
sprung forward, when he raised his head and leaning across the fire, drew the
blanket tenderly about the boy. It was not an Indian at all, it was my wife !
"Well, how we met is not a part of my story. Enough that they were
there, alive and well. My wife had returned to the cabin from the valley
that evening to find her home a smoking ruin; but catching the trail with
her quick eye, had followed, rifle in hand, to where the savages were gathered
about the cave. Creeping around them, she had come presently upon the baby
playing contentedly with the sticky laurel blossoms that lay about the ground.
Awhile she watched the besiegers about the cave, but dared attempt no aid till
darkness came.
"But as my wife waited, the Indian I had released approached his comrades,
and they thinking him dead and this his spirit returning, fled precipitately.
She had pulled away the fire from the entrance and searched for me within, but
finding no one, knew I had escaped. Then fancying the cavern a place of
safety, they waited there till I found them.
"A few days after this an agreement was made with the Cherokees, and
hostilities ceased. Then moving down here I entered the finest tract of Indian
land in the valley, and here we have lived ever since, my wife, the baby and I."
John Willis Hays.

~sY~ "s~~j~j~ ~~s~

S. (A Prince Edward's Island Ship-yard Sketch.)

"-...JUNE day with the sky so blue and fair above and the earth
so fresh and green below that you might think the world
.'- was altogether new; not until you saw the people, the
S familiar-faced people, come forth and move about, were
i"-"^ you sure it was the same old world just rolled into a
new day.
: With the high noon tide of that bright new day there
.: .. was to be a launch in the little village of L- A launch
was nothing new in a ship-building village where half a
dozen ship-yards flourished on the banks of the deep river
Which brought to it its life and work.
It was not altogether that the ship to be launched was
a well-built and handsome one, or that she was full-rigged
.. and had more flags than was usual, that every one seemed
interested. I think it was more because she was white.
That innate love of purity, the gift of every human breast,
reveals itself in the wondrous charm there is for us in
something new and white.
'Amphitrite was her name, and she was fair to look upon, with her bright
flags scarcely lifted by the soft wind. No one passed that way but cast a glance
of admiration at the white ship. You had a fancy that the workmen looked
upon her as some beautiful object altogether new a fairy ship which the mists
of the night had left behind, and not one which they themselves had slowly
builded, day by day.
It was often the case that the village school, a half-mile away, was "let
out," as the boys said, on launching days. When it was not most of them get
permission to be absent; the unfortunate exceptions who were driven to the


seat of learning by their unrelenting home governments, were apt to be taken
with violent pains as launching time approached. At such times those ailments
were not too closely inquired into by a pitiful master who had himself once been
a boy, and they were allowed to go home. Soon after he would dismiss the one
remaining conscientious boy who had no pain, together with the six large girls
who did not care a pin to see a launch, but who, nevertheless, as soon as they
were well out of the door, would run the whole way to the village, and secure
prominent positions for themselves on piles of timber-not disdaining to climb
to the top of an old shed, and often pushing very small boys out of their way.
This day the master himself could be seen a full hour before high water
walking about among the logs and chips, apparently doing sums in his head.
He kept well away from the boys, however; perhaps he thought the shadow df
to-morrow's lessons might fall upon them were he to venture nearer.
Old Sandy could not see the launch. The boys had talked about that among
themselves, and were very sorry. Poor old Sandy was sick sicker than any
one supposed. Many a year had he gone back and forth among logs and chips,
a little old man with a round sunny face, kind of speech and deft of hand. He
was beloved of all the children, and held in high esteem of their parents.
Many a stray baby had he restored to anxious seekers from some hiding-place
behind a log or shed. He was even intrusted with messages between sweet-
hearts, to which he was always faithful. With the boys, of whom there was a
plentiful crop in this village, he was most popular of all.
Their fears, their joys and sorrows were all known to him. Sandy could tell
by the expression of a boy where the maternal slaps fell thickest, and always
had a word of comfort and of counsel. Scores of miniature ships had he helped
to build, and many a fierce mutiny had he quelled with his gentle voice and
kindly ways.
He lay sick in one of the little ship-yard houses upon the bank of the river
not far from the launching place; but the only window in his room did not look
that way, but rather out on the river. The head of the bed was toward the
river too, just pushed aside from the window, and he used to watch the sunlight
climb the opposite wall at his feet in the evenings, and fade, and fade, until it
was all away. One time he said, "Yes, yes," to himself, as if one had said,
That's the way you will go sometime, Sandy."
Now the morning sunlight came in through the open door across the floor of
the outer room, making a shining pathway to his bedside. Along this sunlight
way came youthful feet, stepping gently, and the old man smiled upon his
friends who held the morning light in their faces. His heart and his house had
always been free to the children, and when Mrs. Chippins who had charge of
him during his sickness protested against such a raft of boys tramping in and
out over the floor," he looked so grieved that she made no more remonstrance.
Fred and Jim, two young friends of Sandy's, "rigged a plan," as they


expressed it, by which he was to see the launch, or at least the ship after she
was in the water. Jim's mother, a little woman who was thought none too wise
by some, was quite interested in the boys' plan, and had given them a large look-
ing-glass, some extra cord and a little advice, also a gift of jelly for Mrs. Chip-
pins. She remarked pleasantly that Sandy would be quite a "lady of Shalott."
Poor fellows, it's too much bother you are taking with me," said the old
man, when they had explained to him what they were going to do. Poor
fellows," he would repeat, with a strange pathos, every now and then as they
went on with their arrangements.
At last they succeeded in hanging the glass on the wall at the foot of Sandy's
bed in a very scientific manner. The window sash was thought to be an obsta-
cle. "Take it out altogether, boys," he said; the summer wind is warm and
sweet." A gentle, far-away smile came over his face, as if he were a child again
playing in the fields, with the summer wind in his yellow hair.
"Now it's all rigged," said Jim. "If she was only on the other side of the
river we could fix it so you could see her when she starts; but as it is you can
have a fair sight of her without moving your head off the pillow. When you
hear the cheering just keep your eye on the glass, and when she swings round
you will see her slide into that glass like a picture! Perhaps Fred and me'll be
on board and you'll see us too! "
You'd better be away, boys," said Sandy, as they lingered after everything
was arranged. She might get the start on you."
After the boys were gone Mrs. Chippins came in and was told by the sick
man that he felt very well, and would not want anything for a long time,
and she had better go out with the rest, which she did, closing the door
behind her.
After a while a little mite of a girl, with a very shabby but much-loved doll
in her hand, came to the outer door, reached up on her bare toes and opened it.
Coming in, she closed it again after her, thinking it quite a clever operation.
She played about the rooms in and out from one to the other for a time, and
then climbed into bed, settling herself snugly where she could see her own
reflection, and the doll's, in the glass.
"Mustn't make no noise," she remarked to the battered object of her affec-
tion, "'cause San'y's sick."
A white butterfly came in and fluttered about the sick man's head, and away
out again in the bright day towards the sky. The little one saw it and laid her
doll aside to watch its movements. When it was gone she said, "I specs him
lives way up in 'at 'ovley ky when him's to his own home."

Various were the groups scattered about here and there to see the launch,
each choosing a place of observation agreeable to itself. The village doctor,
with a few friends, formed one of these. This was supposed to be a somewhat


aesthetic group, and chose a rather distant view from the bridge which spanned
the river, and where the harmony of the whole movement might be observed.
There was Mrs. D- in another place with her two daughters, and a very
clean-looking young clergyman. They formed a rather solemn group by them-
selves. Mrs. C- whose grand-aunt lived away somewhere in England and,
had Lions on her old stone gates," just like Lady Clara Vere de Vere's, sat
high and apart on a private log, and her maid sat on another farther down.
Mrs. T- who did bead-work, and constructed surprising antimacassars every
few days, entertained a company of friends on a pile of boards. Mrs. Chopper,
who lived in a little house in one of the yards, informed her daughter Kitty, a
maiden of thirteen springs, that she had to go across the bridge to see a woman
about some yarn," and expected her dutiful daughter to "git father's dinner and
mind the child."
I knows where yez is going to," said Kitty, after her mother had left the
house, and she herself had climbed into the loft and pulled the pillow out of
the broken end window to get correct observations; "'tis very well I knows."
Kitty attended that launch. The maternal parent discovered her at a very
advanced stage of the proceedings with several bareheaded young lsdies of her
set, occupying reserved seats on a pile of slabs. They were uniting their efforts
to get the fat baby to look at the ship, while he, wih his earnest blue eyes,
looked from one to the other of them.
Several dinners were spoiled that day in the neighborhood of the launch.
One woman put some slices of salt pork in a pan on the stove to fry, and then
ran out for a moment to see if she was off yet;" outside she met a friend
and they both became deeply interested. When at length memory smote her
she fled back to her deserted hearthstone to find clouds of murky smoke, and a
few black scraps careering in a sea of angry grease.
Another woman went out to look and stood at the corner of the house witk
a fork and spoon in her hand. Having the fork and spoon gave her confidence,
and the inward feeling that she was not neglecting her duty. When she went
into her house the water had boiled off the potatoes and the pot was cracked.
A young dressmaker who was working for Mrs. H-- by the day ventured
to the end of the garden fence with a long basting thread in her hand, which
she kept running through her fingers and knotting and knotting at the end, evi-
dently entertaining the delusion that she was quite busy. A stranger riding
through the village stopped his horse on the bridge and took a leisurely view.
A tall Indian with a bundle of baskets on his back paused and turned his sleepy
face to the white ship.
Amphitrite, eh ?" said a young farmer who was not entirely indebted to
the running brooks for his reading; "that is something like. She is a pretty
craft, too," he continued, addressing himself to the post-office clerk. "The last
one I saw consigned to the 'bridegroom old and gray,' was called the John


Higgins, painted black with a red streak, and the figure-head something very
imposing, I can tell you; so well-dressed and respectable-looking, with the ship
fastened to his back, that I was quite interested in thinking of his making polite
bows to the mermaidens in a rough sea and without as much as blinking his
very black eyelashes; and I quite laughed to myself when I thought how dis-
gusted they would be when they found he was not a real flesh and blood man
fresh from the hands of the tailor, and liable to be led into danger and perhaps
eaten. I felt quite merry thinking of their discomfiture, and of the safe arrival


of the John Higgins in port with his starched collar and bosom stiff as on his
launching day, and his necktie and side-whiskers quite undisturbed. Now that
young woman," he continued, as he moved so as to get a better view of the
classic figurehead, "is something like. I am not so sure but when she gets
away out among those sea nymphs but you might see her some moonlight night
slip down from her place and join some graceful dance upon the wave-caps,
or plunge down to visit some enchanted palace of the sea."
Yes, I dare say," said the young man addressed in an absent way, as he
twisted his neck to look at the pretty dressmaker with the basting thread.


But none so happy in all the place as the boys. They swarmed over
everything; balanced themselves on the edges of things, and clung to the slip-
pery logs moved by the rising tide, and stuck themselves in the bows of the
little boats tied to the river bank; some one of the men would say, "Get off'n
there, boys," or Come down out that now, you fellows, an' git away from here
with you." Sometimes they did as they were told for a few moments at a time.
They were very full of criticisms and remarks. Her shear was too little or too
much, she was too broad in thebeam or too narrow. They had views about the
masts and rigging, the length of the chain cable and the size of the anchor.
One bet she would be a "bully sailor," another bet anything you like she would
not go quarter as fast as the schooner his father had launched two weeks before.
A little fellow in a faded Glengarry and holes in both his trouser legs bet a
thousand million dollars she would go full split across the river and smash the
wharf on the other side into splinters."
Yes," said old Mrs. Tobins, who stood by with her sleeves rolled above her
elbows; "it's the mischief to stop them onst they gits under way."
One small exception to the happy boys was little Danny Chips, who had been
sent by his father to one of the ship-yard houses for that worthy man's pipe.
The poor fellow looked back four times in the course of a few yards for fear
"she'd go off unknownst." When he had by the aid of a chair reached the
parental coat pocket and secured the pipe down he fell, and he went creeping
back to his father with the broken pieces in his hand, to receive a slap and a
cent, and be told to run away across the bridge to the shop for a new one;
Danny's misery was great, as he was sure she would go off soon as he was out
of sight of her. "Come along of me, Lit," said he to a little girl of his own
age with a ragged dress and bare head and feet, to whom he had told his sorrow.
"Yes, I'll go along of you, poor Danny," said Lit, with compassion; and she
took hold of his hand and they fairly flew across the bridge, casting furtive
glances backward until out of sight of the ship. The storekeeper was in a lofty
mood that day and could not condescend to wait upon the children for some
time -it seemed weeks to them. When at last on their homeward flight with
the new pipe they came in sight of the white ship she was down in the water.
She had cheated them, and they sat down and wept together.
Danny and Lit were not the only disappointed ones. At least a dozen peo-
ple who had neglected their work the greater part of the forenoon had but just
turned their backs to attend to some duty, when away she went; and although
some of them saw her before she was fairly in the water, it was as nothing to
them when they had not seen the whole movement.
It was quite tantalizing the way the Amphitrite acted. She hesitated on the
ways after the last shore was knocked away. Fluttering a flag a little she would
seem to say, "Now I am away ; look at me another flutter: "No, I won't go
at all; please to wait for the midnight tide." Then, Perhaps I'll go presently."


But just as the general attention was turned to some movement among the men
intended to give her a start," off she went, as if by some caprice of her own
will, and slid into the water like a graceful white bird. Away across the river
she started as if to reach the far horizon; but a chain rattled; down plunged an
anchor, and the white ship swung about and faced the delighted party on the
bridge, one of whose number was just then reciting:

She starts-she moves-she seems to feel
The thrill of life along her keel."

For some reason no one had been allowed on board during the launch but
those required; Jim and Fred had however plead so hard that an exception was
made in their favor, with stern orders to keep out of the way of things.
When the Amphitrite had run the length of her chain and rested quietly,
she was just opposite Sandy's window. The boys had almost forgotten him
during the excitement of the launch, but were now quite eager again.
"He can see her now," said Fred. "Yes," said Jim with a calculating look
in his bright gray eyes, "she's just slid into the glass like a picture; he can see
us too looking over the side." "Let's wave our hats to him," said Fred. They
both waved their hats and shouted, Hulloo, Sandy! hurrah, Sandy three cheers,
Sandy!" and some little barelegged children on the shore, without knowing why,
echoed "Hulloo, Sandy! hurrah, Sandy! three cheers, Sandy!"
"Put us ashore," called Jim to a man who was rowing about to secure the
drifting timber.
0 just stop where you are, my hearties. Nothing would do ye but ye must
git there;" and away he went after another log. Before long, however, they
prevailed upon another man to land them. They were now quite anxious to see
the result of their experiment, and hurried up the bank. Not waiting to go
round the house to the door, they went in at the window.
There she was the beautiful white ship just as they had expected to see
her; but there was no word from Sandy.
Sanny's s'eepin' now, mustn't make noise," said the child, who had herself
ben asleep, but had waked again.
Yes, Sandy was asleep, but his was the long sleep. He was launched away
upon a silent tide; but he had seen the white ship just as it glided into the
mirror and he left a smile behind him for the boys.
J. S. Brennan.



IDO (pronounced not Fydo l'anglaise, but Feedo' a la francaise) was a
dog of unknown nationality. We live in a French seaport town and
Desire found him upon one of the quais. Seeing him a handsome dog and
homeless, he brought him to us one day as we sat at dejeuner.
We received him with warm welcome, for we were also impressed by his
shaggy black beauty, and began to talk to him with all our might and main.
He was an intelligent dog; that any one could see by his full eyes and the large
tranquil stare with which he watched every movement of the strange household
in which he found himself. He was intelligent and not deaf, for his interested
face turned rapidly from one to another as different voices called to him. But
it was soon evident that he could not understand one single word we said to him
and that enticing mange donc," except for the tone in which it was spoken,
was quite the same to him as vas-t'en or allez vous coucher."
Then we tried English, and cried cordially as to one who had even greater
claim upon our sympathy because he
knew our mother-tongue:
"Nice dog! Pretty dog! Come -
here. Fine fellow!''
But the large tranquil stare did not i
change. No quickened expression came i
into the full eyes, and a few more
attempts convinced us that our own -- .
mother-tongue was as meaningless to -- t(l f
him as the mother-tongue of the family
with which we lived.
What manner of dog was he then ? .2r
And how came he in a land evidently
completely foreign to him, and of whose ''-: '
language he did not know one single' ---
word ?
That very same afternoon by the
merest chance we discovered our Fido's --
nationality and how he came to be home- AONG THE DOCKS.
less and masterless in a foreign land.
Victoire had gone out upon some errand and taken Fido with her. She had
occasion to pass along the edge of the Bassin" or docks, where is a row of
ship-chandler's offices. In these offices almost all the languages of Europe are
spoken, their business being with the foreign ships which come into port. One


of the largest of these offices is the Swedish and Norwegian one, for more ships
come from those northern countries to Normandie where we live than from any

other. France is almost destitute of

_.-. -- __

,4, I



- ~


never seen Fido before, that he had not

ber, so nearly all the wood comes down
in vessels from Norway and Sweden in'
the form of rough timber sawed after-
wards into boards by the numerous
scieries or saw-mills with which our
town abounds.
As Victoire passed before these
offices she saw Fido give a sudden
bound and disappear as entirely as if
the earth had swallowed him up. She
looked into the Swedish office and there
saw Fido wagging himself nearly off
his hind legs and bow-wowing in a deep
delighted bass in answer to the chir-
rupy words a blonde sailor was saying
to him.
Victoire and the sailor could not
speak to each other, for neither under-
stood the other's language. But the
master of the ship-chandlery came for-
ward and explained that the sailor had
been thinking of him but merely chat-

ting with another Swede out upon the sidewalk when Fido heard the words and
came rushing so delightedly in, and that the dog evidently had been abandoned
upon our quais by some vessel returning home to Sweden.
When Victoire came home with her story, we all realized that we had a
novel task before us- not the impossible one of teaching an old dog new tricks,
but the difficult one of teaching a middle-aged one a new language !
And what language should it be ? The fact is our household is tri-lingual.
We Americans of course speak English by nature although by habit we speak
the language of the family with which we live.
Among ourselves, however, neither by habit nor by nature,we usually speak
an extraordinary lingo, neither French nor English, but a medley of the two
mixed up with Italian words and dignified by Latin terminations. There is no
grammatical rule to this language and each individual sentence as we speak it is
a lawless inspiration. Nevertheless, we all understand one another perfectly
and not only that, but we have succeeded so well in teaching our language to
" Pepino," our bird, that his canaryship has almost entirely forgotten the pure
French to which he was born and which all his ancestors understood if they did
not speak before him.



We concluded that it would not be well to teach Fido our home made-lan-
guage, our Franco-Americano-Italiano, for that would limit his conversation
entirely to ourselves, and a dog of Fido's social inclinations has need of wider
command of expression. Should it be French then, or should it be English ?
The Pros and Cons were flying animatedly about and the English Pros were
apparently getting the better of the French Cons when a new party came to the
argument. This was no other than Miss."
Now Miss" is dignified, portly and of mature age, although bearing
maidenly title. The fact is that half the dogs and cats in France are called
Meess and our matronly pussy was no exception.
But Meess' speaks English cried one of our French friends. "She
never understands us! It's hardly fair to teach the dog also a language that we
do not understand."
Thus it came that our Swedish Fido learned French instead of English in
which we always spoke to Miss" and the little Misses, her kittens.
We had not had Fido two days before his adventures began. I was sitting
upstairs in my room when I heard an alarming confusion of sounds in the rooms
below. Screams were mingled with the noise of terrific thumps as of a thick
stick or club, the sound of many rushing feet, and the slamming of doors. Then
after a moment to all this uproar was
added the persistent and violent ringing ,
of a large bell.
How that bell did ring! Jingle-jangle- I
jungle-bingle- bangle-bongle- hulla-balloo-
bang-bong-whooooop-La HOOP! Not
the very noisiest and most irrepressible of
Poe's Bells was more boisterous or per-
sistent. It rang, rang, rang without one
single gasp of silence, long after I flew in
mingled astonishment and fright to the
top of the stairs whence I could see the .
cause of all this commotion.
It was Fido, of course, and poor Miss."
The mischievous Swede had discoveredR BO.
the dreaming Franpaise in her snug corner,
had chased her in and out of the lower rooms and out upon the stairs. There in
her desperation poor Miss had climbed the thick worsted rope with' heavy
tassel, by means of which the large brass door-bells are rung in France. She
had clambered up this rope and mounted the bell, where with exaggerated tail,
fiery eyes and arched back she swayed to and fro to the most hideous brazen
clamor a cat ever heard in her life.


Fido's adventures with "Miss" were numerous. Once as he was serenely
marching into the room with quiet gaze fixed upon nothing in particular and
thoughts perhaps far away in his native Northland, there came a sudden whiz-
whoo-bang! which for a moment took his breath away. The next instant
"Miss dashed across the dinner-table, knocking over bottles and glasses in her
wild rush, and even dotting one foot into the hot gravy just brought in by Elise,
then out of the open window among the plants of the balcony.
Poor Fido, who was quite as much astonished as any of us at this unpremedi-
tated sensation, took only an instant to comprehend the situation. The next
instant he sprang after "Miss," out upon
the balcony. "Miss" was spitting like a
steam engine upon the narrow railing.
Fido made a blind leap and the next instant
we saw both Su dois and Franiaise fly
through the air and fall in a promiscuous
although only instantaneous heap in the
.. street, twenty feet below!
-,, -- ,-- -
'- Another of Fido's adventures took place
"--- -i--- "_ iin the salon or parlor. A lady called to
see me, and being an intimate friend was
FROM BAD TO WORSE. invited to my room. As she followed Elise,
the bonne, out of the room she threw off
her sealskin jacket and left it hanging over one arm of the sofa. While we
were chatting together upstairs we heard a continuous sound in the salon, a low
muffled and steady sound which reminded me more of somebody snoring, than
of anything else, interrupted by short, sharp barks.
It is Fido," said Madame Risos. I left him sleeping on the mat; he must
be growling in his sleep."
Growling indeed, but not in sleep! What a sight met our eyes when we
went below!
Our Swede was crouching in the middle of the salon with red excited eyes
and tail sweeping the floor like a rotary broom. Before him, beside him, in his
crimson mouth, were ragged bits of what ?
Of my friend's hundred-dollar sealskin jacket which Fido had worried into
hairless, unrecognizable fragments!
Certain unspeakable consequences made this a not very pleasant adventure
to our Swede. He continued to chase Miss to the end of the chapter, and
fire-crackers and pop-guns were not a circumstance in her estimation compared
with him, but since that memorable day he has never worried a single sealskin
Another adventure was perhaps less painful to Fido, but not less exciting.
We had taken the Hirondelle early one morning to cross over a ten-mile strip of


sea to H- We had, as we thought, securely shut our Swede up before
starting and never gave him a thought till our boat's paddles had made many a
revolution and quaint Gothic S with its picturesque boatmen and fishers; all
the picturable throng that saw the boats daily starting was beginning to move
like a panorama past our sides.
Then crouchingly, sneakingly, meanly, Fido crawled out from among a group
of chattering fishwives where he had cunningly hidden himself till the boat
should be in motion!
How sheepishly he looked up at us! What craven droop there was to his
ears, what pusillanimous wag to his tail! I never would have believed that our
handsome Fido could look such a cringing, abject cur!
Mademoiselle Stephanie uttered an excited exclamation and forcibly grabbed
our Swede by ears and tail. Quick as thought he struggled from her and ran to
hide himself among the wondering passengers. Stephanie ran after him, hither
and yon, upstairs, downstairs, over deck and through cabin, now scattering a
group of passengers, now almost upsetting a grinning sailor, in among baskets
of shining fish and even almost into panniers of many-hued fruit till she drove
him into a corner. Already we had left the town behind us and were passing
the furthermost point of the white jetty.
Without hesitation Stephanie seized Swedish ears and tail. There was a
lunge, a burst of laughter from the excited, watching passengers. The next in-
stant Fido's astonished, reproachful face
rose sputteringly up out of deep water.
At first he did not know what to do -:-- -
under such unlooked-for circumstances.
He swam a few lengths after our boat -
and 1 certainly thought we had given him -_
to a watery grave as he could not possi- -
bly escape if he attempted to follow us
to H- But Fido was wiser, and ----
soon turned himself about towards the
town. We saw him swim ashore, clam-
ber up the wet mossy stairs to the top of FIDO HEADS FOR HOME.
the quai, then shake himself as if figura-
tively he washed, not his hands, but his back, ears, tail and sides of us and all
belonging to us.
When we reached home at night, Fido was quietly asleep upon the balcony.
He blinked sulkily at us but did not allude to the occurrence of the morning, and
has never alluded to it to this day !
Perhaps Fido's most exciting adventures, exciting at least to us, were in the
foraging line. We found it necessary finally never to take him out with us
without securely tying him by a rope under the tough little wooden donkey cart


in which we made most of our excursions, but at first, before we learned his
most vital instincts, we allowed him to follow us without let or hinderance.
One day, driving out to a certain ruined Grange, we missed Fido, who had
started with us.
He has probably grown tired and gone home," said Stephanie, who ever
since the Hirondelle experience had had large ideas of our Swede's sagacity.
We visited the old Grange, drank milk at the farm, and started for home.
Half-way there a fierce figure barred our progress, a weather-beaten old peasant
woman in wooden shoes, with petticoats
..-' only just below her knees and a tall
--- white cap with tassel at the top nearly
.-a foot above her bronzed face. She
.was swinging an object in each hand
and crying robustly:
? :- r," My pretty white hens! The pret-
S_, test and best in the whole commune.
iMy pretty little white hens which kept
S' i the whole family in eggs and for which
'i I have refused five francs apiece, Mon
Dieu !"
When we ate those pretty white
-- hens, the next day, we found them
'. _-: skinny and tough, evidently the great-
S- grandmothers of the basse-cour.
"MY PRETTY WHITE HENS ," Fido! exclaimed Victoire, the
next time you attack a poultry yard
if you don't choose your game better than this I will take the value of the five
francs we had to pay for those fossils dear at two in gymnastic exercise
upon your skin! Victoire said all this in French, therefore Fido must have
understood her, though we had never imagined him so advanced in that foreign
language. For the very next day as we drove homeward from another excur-
sion, another enraged figure stopped our way.
"Ah! you gens de la ville (city folks), "coming out here to rob us poor
farmers!" shrieked the angry woman. "Pay me the eight francs you owe for
my pretty little black cocks of the spring; my brave little cocks that would
have gone to the Comte's table on Sunday Pay me eight francs! "
There was no help for it. We paid eight francs and had chicken the next.
day for dinner.
Mon Dieu!" sputtered Stephanie, "Fido must have taken you at your
word, Victoire. These miserable little objects have the egg shells still upon
them. They cannot have been hatched more than three weeks. The Comte
would have paid them dear at two francs."


We found this always the case and finding our Swede's services as forager
quite too expensive for our means, we were finally forced to tie. him up when-
ever we went abroad.
Fido lived with us two years.
But the time came that we missed him from his accustomed haunts.
Days and days went by. "Miss" laughed and grew fat on the sunny balcony
where she had never dared show herself for two years, and the places that once
knew Fido, knew him no more.
We mourned him, for we loved him.
Yet we dared not make too searching inquiries lest with our restored Sweae
come bills for devastated poultry-yards and a succession of poultry-dinners to
make our very souls sick at every cackle and crow.
One day Victoire was passing beside the Bassin.
"Have you lost your dog, Mademoiselle ?" asked the ship-chandler, standing
at his door; "I saw one very like him sailing away last week on the Eric for
We have never seen Fido since. Somewhere afar off in the cold Northland
where the stars are large and the chickens are small, a handsome black dog
wags his tail in two languages. One of those languages he owes to us, and we
shall ever feel that he paid us but meanly in fleeing away to his own country
without so much as an adieu in any language.
Mary Wetherbee.


A LITTLE lazy lady wished
That sky's gold could be minted,
And gauze gowns cut from morning clouds
Just where the sunrise glinted.

My little lady learned to rise
Betimes and do her task;
And gold she gained, and gauzy gowns,
And all that heart could ask.
Mary Felicia Butts.

1% I

H ~
7 >


'- -C : .-
** ," ^ -? p ..



IT was a lovely July afternoon, and the racing grounds of Peterhoff were
thronged with beautiful equipages, and bright with the toilets of the occu-
pants thereof. The programme for that day was an unusually attractive one, for
it had been announced that, before the racing commenced, the Cossack officers
would play a game of Polo.



Never shall I forget what a tremendously earnest game it was tragically
earnest it proved, alas! to be in the end giving one a curious impression of
unreality; just as though some of those superb old Russian bronzes had suddenly
sprung to life, and were moving about; now rushing forward, now back; now
standing motionless in some breathless, eager pose; every nerve, every muscle
strained, ready for action.
As we usually see Polo played in America the men are in as light an attire
as the conventions of society will permit, in order to allow the limbs full play;
and even under such conditions the game is serious work.
Imagine now, however, six men, all immense fellows, with magnificent Cos-
sack uniforms reaching nearly to their feet; their breasts covered with massive
silver trimmings, and on their heads the high black fur papaxas.* Three be-
longing to the Red Cossacks with tight-fitting scarlet uniforms beneath their
long tcherkeskas; t and the others, belonging to the Regiment of Blue Cossacks,
having, of course, inner uniforms of blue.
Their horses were Caucasian ponies, not unlike our own little Texan steeds;
small, excitable, and as agile as so many cats.
But any old Polo player would have foreseen a fine chance for accidents in
the high bow-shaped Cossack saddles, which were no more fitted than were the
long heavy coats for such a game. Still the effect was fine, and even imposing,
as the officers rode together into the grounds, and a low murmur of approval
greeted their appearance, while on every side could be heard bets being given
and taken on the Reds" or the Blues." The combatants, however, appeared
to us to be so evenly matched, that we decided to remain impartial and come
in with the winners.
Now the men divided; the Reds going to the right while the "Blues"
took the left; and the game began.
After all, there was a difference in the playing on the two sides; for, while
the Blues played each one of them well, two of the Reds were rather in-
different players. Their lack of skill was, however, amply compensated for by
the wonderful quickness and splendid playing of the third member of their side.
He appeared to be in every spot at once, and his little pony wheeled, dashed for-
ward, then back, and struck at the ball with his heels and his nose in a manner
that showed he understood perfectly what was going on. Indeed there is not
the slightest doubt but that he was as much interested in the success of their
side as his master himself could have been.
But despite the valiant efforts of both horse and rider the "Blues were too
strong for them; and, as the ball was sent flying into the Red Cossacks' goal,
the first inning was scored by their adversaries.
That settled all hesitation; and from that moment so far at least as our
party was concerned all interest in the game centered in this bronzed and

* Caps worn by the Cossacks.

t Close-fitting, black coats.


bearded Colossus, who was literally playing alone against his three skillful antag-
onists. And certainly we were not the only ones whose pulses thrilled at the
brave efforts of that sturdy little pony, and the undaunted demeanor of his
Now the playing recommended, and every moment the excitement waxed
higher and higher; until almost a general groan arose as the ball flew for the
second time toward the Red Cossacks' goal on the right.
But now, like a flash, a figure dashed from the far end of the plain ; and be-
fore any of the others could reach, or intercept the ball, one stroke of that
powerful arm had sent it-straight as an arrow-the length of the grounds and
right into the goal of the Blues." The latter had not even attempted to inter-
fere, so certain had they been that their blow had decided the game; and their
faces-- as the ball flew back seemingly by magic, to their own side expressed
perfect stupor.
The clapping of hands and laughter amongst the spectators at their evident
discomfiture soon made them realize what had happened, but they accepted the
inevitable with very good grace, and taking the ball, went back to their places
for the third and last set."
During this time a rapid glance at the scene about showed me that tlhe
grand stand was one fluttering mass of color; the ladies' toilets there being
rivaled by the splendid uniforms of the officers; but here, where the carriages
stood, the amount of animation was much greater; those at a distance, not be-
ing able to follow the game so closely as we were doing, taking naturally-ex-
cept amongst the personal friends of the players -less interest in it.
Now a sudden hush of the gay babble about us told that the game had been
called, and immediately all eyes were once again directed toward the players.
They seemed to commence more quietly this time, and there were fewer of
those terrible rushes and scrambles. The leader of the Reds appeared to be
holding himself a little aloof, though one could see that no movement of any
one of his adversaries escaped his eye. Now I noticed that the leader of the
" Blues was also working less than he had been doing heretofore, and instantly
the thought that each one was waiting for some grande coup by which he could
either save or win the game, flashed across my mind.
With the others the play was momentarily becoming more and more excited
until they were all four huddled together a living mass of men and horses -
in a far corner of the grounds. Evidently no one could get at the ball which
must have been directly underneath one of the ponies, whose master, while un-
able to strike it himself owing to the manner in which he was pressed on all
sides by this wildly excited throng, yet succeeded in preventing its being hit by
any of the others.
So, for the space of probably two minutes, though to the beholders it ap-
peared a full quarter of an hour, horses and riders surged now this way, now


that, in utter silence, save for the stamping of hoofs and rattling of heavily
silvered bridles. Not even a glimpse of the mallets could be caught, so closely
were the men crushed and crowded together.
All this time the two leaders sat upon their tightly-curbed, impatient little
steeds; and backing slowly, slowly apart, reached finally the extreme limits of
the grounds at diagonally opposite corners; each one being to the right of his
own party's goal. Yet, as they did this, their eyes never left that heaving,
struggling mass; and each one was ready to dash forward to intercept the ball
should it be sent toward the side he was defending.
Amongst the spectators there was breathless silence; and either with or
without opera glasses, all eyes were fixed upon that pushing, agitated heap of
living beings.
That could not last long! The ball must be found! Though who finally
succeeded in giving it the stroke that sent it flying to the exact center of the
grounds it was impossible to tell.
The scene which followed passed with such whirlwind rapidity that no words
could give an idea of it. The ball was still in the air, when both men who
had, up to this time, been standing in such statue-like immobility dashed for-
ward, directly for the spot where it must fall.
No one could help foreseeing what must follow. Indeed, before one could
realize that they had left their posts, with one mighty spring, they met, and
both horses and riders lay upon the plain. The shock was tremendous; the
ground seeming actually to tremble as they touched it. With amazing rapidity
the Blue Cossack's pony was on his feet again, and though his being there.
appeared incredible-his rider was on the animal's back.
Then, with a sigh of relief, each person looked to see the Red Cossack rise.
But what had happened ? Horse and rider still lay motionless. Was it possible
that the shock could have killed them both? The man lay, just as he had been
sitting, turned to one side in readiness to strike the ball; so that, while his feet
were still in the stirrups, his head and shoulders had fallen backward on the
At this deathlike stillness a shudder passed through all that vast assembly;.
and in the carriage next to us a lady fell suddenly back against the cushions
fainting. Then two or three officers sprang forward to see what had happened,
while the players leaped from their horses to assist their fallen comrade.
Never have I seen a sign of higher intelligence in a brute than was then ex-
hibited by that little Cossack pony.
As two or three of the officers, stooping, took him by the head to raise him,
he looked up at them with pleading, pathetic eyes, as though entreating them to
be very careful. Then slowly, cautiously, he allowed himself to be drawn away
from that prostrate figure; raising himself as much as possible that he might
not crush or injure his beloved master.


No -sooner was this weight removed than the officer's body turned with a
quick, convulsive movement, and the next moment stiffened as though suddenly
changed to stone. It made every one shiver to see that ominous, ghastly
The horse was no sooner on his feet than, shaking his head free from the
hand that held his bridle, and stepping, oh so carefully, he passed around to
where his master's head lay. The great fur cap had fallen backwards leaving
the bronzed forehead bared.
Then- the bystanders all the while looking on in pitying silence -the poor
beast came close up, and, putting out his tongue, touched the officer's face lov-'
ingly, licking the temples and brow, and running his nose caressingly under the
chin, as though he would force his master to raise his head and speak to him.
Finding this to be of no avail, he lifted his own head sorrowfully, and looking
around at the mute observers of this touching scene, gave a low, pitiful whinny,
which said as plainly as any words could have done:
Can no one here help him ? "
A choking sensation came into my throat, and in the carriages close around
there were scarcely any eyes into which the tears were not fast welling.
But there was no help for the poor fellow. .He had injured his spinal column
in falling, and snapped some ligament connecting with the brain, so that al-
though he was taken to the hospital and did not cease to breathe until several
days had passed he was virtually a dead man from that hour.
As may be readily understood, Polo playing was put an end to-for that
summer at least in Peterhoff.
Sophie Radford de Meissner.


..< -- '! i -- "- -

'_ .'.4 .^ .




C OME, Prince, just bend down your head, dear!
I've something important to say,
And then I must run off to bed, dear,
I've only a minute to stay !

I've something important to say,
And I've stolen out now to confide it;
I've only a minute to stay,
But to-morrow will surely decide it!

And I've stolen out now to confide it:
Fred thinks the cars frighten you, dear;
And to-morrow will surely decide it,
Whether you will be sold or stay here.


Fred thinks the cars frighten you, dear-
He will try you to-morrow at Burridge;
Whether you will be sold or stay here
Will depend on your keeping up courage I

He will try you to-morrow at Burridge,
And your coming back home to me
Will depend on your keeping up courage
When the train at the crossing you see.

And your coming back home to me
Will be sure if you look at the track, sir;
When the train at the crossing you see,
Don't trouble yourself to back, sir !

But be sure when you look at the track, sir-
The train can't run off those two rails
So, don't trouble yourself to back, sir;
Just see if my secret fails !

The train can't run off those two rails!
Come, Prince- yes, bend down your head, dear-
Just see if my secret fails!
But I must run off to bed, dear !
Jessie M. Anderson.


STNDEED, I think I can go, mother."
JL_ But Boston is a long way off, my son. It will take a month to go and
come, or longer if the snow thaws. Your oxen will fall sick, you will have your
money stolen or cheated away from you, and when you get to Boston you'll find
that a green Vermonter only fifteen years old is no match for the traders."
Well, ma, I think even a boy might do as well as Uncle Silas, when he
swapped Aunt Prue's bees-wax and yarn mittens for a keg of rum and drank it
all on the way home."
"Hush, Ephraim!" said a man's voice from an easy chair by the fireside.
"Run away now and mother and I will talk it over."
Ephraim Robinson left the great farm kitchen rather anxious about the result



of the domestic conference. He climbed the stairs to the shed loft and busied
himself scraping and smoothing a nearly finished axe helve with a piece of glass.
He heard below the hum of voices and caught the stir in the group caused by a
new comer's entrance. Climbing up to the one pane of glass high in the peak
of the gable, and clearing away the cobwebs from it, he could see Parson Stow-
ell's oxen patiently waiting at the gate. He felt greatly encouraged. Mr. Stow-
ell believed in boys, so he was not much surprised when he was called down into
the kitchen. As he stood looking from one to the other his father said, You
tell him, Parson."
I think," said Mr. Stowell in his brisk, incisive voice, that a good boy can
be trusted away from home as well as a good many of the men. You get your
load ready and don't make it too heavy nor yet too light. Feed your steers
well before and when the rest of us get ready you shall go along. Your father


won't get over that splintered leg before spring, and there's no one to go but
you. So it's all settled. Well, good-by, Sister Robinson, good-by, Brother. May
the Lord send you patience to wait upon his will !"
"Amen, Brother Stowell!" said Mr. Robinson briskly enough; but there
was a wistful look upon his pale face as he gazed at the sparkling winter land-
scape outside the window.
Such a bustle of preparation as followed the decision that Eph Robinson was
to drive his father's sled upon the yearly market trip to Boston The boys of
his age, whose envy was too keen to be kept secret, tried to "whiten his back "
upon the snow to "keep Eph from feeling too big about it" as they would
But Ephraim had little time for wrestling matches. He had his axe helves
to finish, though his father laughed at him for carrying such wares so far.
There was the pork to pack, the chickens to kill, pluck and hang up to freeze,
the cheeses to stow away in long sloping casks, the smallest at the bottom and
the largest at the top; the pearl ash made by leaching wood ashes and boiling
the lye and the maple sugar kept over from last spring's make as good as new,


had to be put in boxes. There were dozens of pairs of yarn mittens and stock-
ings and woollen yarn in the skein, and a few small tubs of butter carefully cov-
ered with salt, and with all these must be put on the great sled a number of
bags of corn to feed the oxen during the first stages of the journey.
Amid all these labors, which occupied the end of December and the first of
January, Ephraim kept a sharp lookout for settled weather." When the Janu-
ary thaw came, he buried his frozen chickens in the oat bin so that they might
keep frozen.
But by and by there came a succession of cold days and afterward a heavy
fall of snow. The time had come, and one Sunday the word was passed along
that all must be ready for a start next morning.
Ephraim was out of his bed long before daybreak caring for Buck and Bright.
Their sleek and well-rubbed sides shone in proof of his attention and they
seemed on the best of terms with their young master.
Then there was a hurried breakfast to be eaten while his mother constantly
repeated words of advice and caution. Perhaps he was at first inclined to be
heedless of her words, but when she rose and went to the little cupboard by the
great fireplace, unfastened the thong which bound its mouth and silently held
out to him almost the entire hoard of money, a few bills on the Bank of the
United States, New England silver, York shillings from the autumn wheat
market in Troy, and even a few Canadian coins, he noted the sober anxious look
upon her face and resolved that, come what might, he would do his best to de-
serve her confidence. So kissing her good-by, he stood for a moment by his
father's chair.
Well, Eph," said Mr. Robinson, nursing his broken leg as he spoke, your
mother has said it all, I guess. Forget for a month that you are a boy and be a
man. Remember it was a Robinson,* and kin of yours, who bore a free people's
protest to a king and died on duty. Keep your head and your temper. Insist
on all your rights, and don't let any one flatter you into a foolish act."
By this time could be seen up the road the slow approach of a procession of
about fifteen ox-teams, all dragging ponderous heavy-laden sledges. One of
these was of gigantic size and six oxen tugged at the yoke to drag it, all directed
by the long lash and lusty lungs of jolly, red-faced Pastor Stowell. It was one of
the peculiarities of this good man that he would take no pay for preaching the
gospel, but worked his own farm and drove his own oxen to market every year.
When the teams came up, the creaking of the timbers, the crunching of the
wooden runners on the snow and the cheery shouts of the drivers making merry
music in the frosty air, Ephraim had yoked his.own oxen to his sled and fell in at
the rear of the procession, with a good-by wave of the hand to his mother stand-
ing in the door, and to the white face at the window.
Samuel Robinson, died Oct. 27, 1767, of small-pox, in London, whither he had gone to present to the English court the protest of
the people of the New Hampshire grants, as Vermont was then called, against the aggressions of New York.


There was the sense of adventure in every minute of this first day's drive,
but the actual facts were prosaic enough. The drivers, who went in company
for sociability's sake and to render mutual help in emergencies, beguiled the
time by singing and shouting and by boyish pranks in which Ephraim's new
dignity would not let him join until he saw Parson Stowell engaged in a good-
natured wrestle with a deacon of his church, while the oxen rested half-way up
a long hill.
At noon they baited" their animals with corn and at night stopped at a
small town already farther from home than Ephraim had ever been before.
They ranged their sleds in the inn yard and quartered their cattle, some in the


inn barn and some in the sheds of good-natured neighbors. After caring for
their oxen the drivers sat around an open fire in the bar-room, and all but three
or four made merry with the landlord's liquor -for the temperance reform had
hardly as yet been thought of.
You and I will do well to let this stuff alone," said Parson Stowell to Eph-
raim as the mug went round.
Yes, sir; our scores will be lighter in the morning and our oxen can have
the difference in corn farther along."
That's a wise answer for a boy. Come, men," added the parson, raising hi,
voice till the rafters rung, "it's bed-time and good Christians need not be
ashamed to praise God before committing themselves to his nightly watch."


There was a seemly hush while he read a portion of the fifteenth chapter of
Luke, beginning, "And he said, a certain man had two sons," and offered a short
prayer and then all climbed to their beds in the chambers above.
Next day they pressed along briskly on a hard, well-trodden road, passing
Woodstock before noon and put up for the night at Windsor on the bank of the
On the third day, traveling on the firm ice of the river for a few miles south-
ward, they turned to the right through Claremont, N. H., along the Concord
road. The weather had grown rapidly warmer since the start and the road was
bare in spots, making hard work for the oxen. That night one of Simeon Cobb's
beasts was taken with a distemper. Ephraim thought the ox would have done
very well if he had better care and feeding, but he wisely kept his peace.
"Why don't you bleed him, Sim ? said Parson Stowell, as he felt of the
animal's throat, peered into his glazed eyes and punched his skinny ribs.
Guess I will," replied Cobb. Two or three of the drivers passed a logging
chain round the ox's neck, thrust a sled stake through it and turned it round
and round till the rude tourniquet thus formed, caused the veins on the animal's
neck to bulge out stiff and swollen. Cobb held the sharp blade of a lancet
against the bulging veins and with a mallet drove it far in, again and again.
The blood spurted out in torrents. The chain was then removed and the ox
driven to a warm corner of the barn. It was thus that they doctored" sick
cattle in the good old days, erring not through cruelty but ignorance. They
treated their own illnesses in much the same heroic manner and occasionally sur-
vived the treatment.
But Cobb's ox did not recover. In the morning he was dead. Simeon had
to swap his remaining ox for a pair. He did not have ready money enough to
pay the heavy boot required, and the others lent what was lacking. Ephraim
thought with pride, as he put his share into Simeon's hand, of his own oxen's
sleek fat sides and healthy eyes.
On the fourth day the weather changed again, and a furious storm set in, which
made their progress slow. The oxen hauling the leading sled would soon tire of
breasting the powdery snow and then the next team took its turn, the tired ones
going to the rear to enjoy the track beaten by all the rest. Ephraim felt all a
man when his turn came to guide his oxen by whip and voice at the head of the
little caravan.
Thus delayed by the heavy snow, it was Saturday noon before they passed
Concord, and that night they put up at Hookset for a welcome restful Sunday.
Mr. Stowell, who was well known all along the route, preached in the little
church, and the drivers, dressed in their homespun, their coonskin caps, and
buckskin gloves and moccasins, formed a picturesque addition to the little
On Monday morning, just one week from home, they set out down the Merri-


mac, again on the ice. It was during this day's journey that Ephraim nearly
came to grief, when Buck, his nigh" ox, fell through an air hole into the chilly
water and hung by his neck in the yoke, his body swept under the ice by the
current. His struggles were soon quieted and he lay still with closed eyes and
protruding tongue, apparently breathing his last, while Ephraim stood by help-
less and not knowing what to do. But when he thought all was over with poor
Buck, Deacon Sewall came running up with a stout plank which he had pulled
out of his sled bottom, and with this as a lever, the strong men soon pried poor
Buck out and set him shivering upon his feet.
"Now, then, Youngster," said Mr. Stowell, "you gallop them steers for the
nearest barn as fast as you can, and don't worry about this. The Devil himself
might have dug that pitfall,
for a good Christian couldn't
have seen it if he had had
four times your years."
It was early on the sec-
ond Friday when, the spires
of the distant city having
since dawn been before their
eyes, they passed Charles-
e town Neck and entered the
great city.
The east wind was blow-
S ing and it seemed to Eph-
raim terribly cold, colder
than he had ever known
c s weather to be in the Green
Mountains. When the Bos-
ton school boys came out
sport in snowballing the
Vermonters and passing uncomplimentary remarks upon their uncouth garb.
Ephraim hardly noticed this, however, there was so much to fill his attention.
The streets, the stores, the fine houses, the churches, the men in their beaver
hats and long red or blue mandarin coats, the women in quilted hoods and volu-
minous cloaks, formed the figures in an ever new panorama from the delights of
which he was recalled by the query, "Well, Bub, what have you to sell ?"
Then he realized that he had reached the market at last.
Bartering proved a work of time and patience. Ready money was scarce in
those days, and the seller wished to get as much of it as possible, while the mer-
chant sought to pay for as much as possible "in trade." It was a constant
struggle of wits in which the sharpest were not always those of the city man.


It was all new to Ephraim and he exchanged pork for tea, maple sugar for
gunpowder and homespun yarn for cotton thread and buttons with a keen zest,
He was pleased when the hardware man praised the "hang of his axe helves,
and remembered afterward with dismay his father's caution against flattery when
he remembered what a tiny keg of nails he had accepted for the whole lot. Al-
together, however, he could not feel that he had done ill when he went at night
to the hotel where the party were to stay while in Boston.
On Saturday the bartering was continued. No merchant wished to take all
of any one's miscellaneous load, and Ephraim had some trouble in disposing of
all his wares. After all else had gone, he found still on his hands a piece of
homespun with which his mother had entrusted him. There was no sale for it
at the stores, they told him, but he would not carry it home again, and so he
offered it from house to house until after many refusals a sweet old lady with
clustering white curls and a lace cap took the whole piece and paid a good price
for it too.
With a part of the money Ephraim bought for his mother's summer wear an
enormous calash" or bonnet, the size and shape of a coal scuttle.
On Sunday Ephraim went to the Federal Street church and heard Dr. Chan-
ning preach a sermon full of fire and force. He was entranced by the charm of
the speaker.
On Monday he waited till near nightfall for his companions to finish their
business. While waiting he visited Bunker Hill and the Old South Church,
that he might have something to tell his playmates when he reached home.
Toward night the teams set out on their return. The journey home was
much like a repetition of the downward one. The sleds were lighter laden, but
the roads were deeper drifted with snow and they were constantly meeting other
caravans of Vermonters, and the turnouts" were not managed without an
occasional overturn. The men had more money in their pockets and some took
frequent occasion to get riotously drunk. Before the evening prayer which was
his unvarying custom, Mr. Stowell once had to quell a disorderly listener by
pitching him head foremost out of the door into a snow bank. The oxen, too,
began to feel the strain of the long journey, and much as he enjoyed the trip,
Ephraim was not sorry to see once more the familiar hills rise above him.
"And, mother," he was saying a few hours later as, with radiant face he sat
over the best supper he had eaten in a month, I have brought home more
money than any one else except Mr. Stowell, and he had a six-ox load."
"You have done nobly, my son," said Mrs. Robinson, "and father's leg is
much better than when you went away. He'll be out of doors again in a few
weeks. And the calash is very fine indeed. I had no idea you would bring one."
Ephraim was a hero to his young companions for many days as the boy who
had been to Boston.
John L. Heaton.

(A True California Adventure.)

THERE were four of us: Sam Nelson, my long-legged, raw-boned, red-headed,
I good-natured chum, his sister Dora tall and ladylike, my sister Annie
short, plump, venturesome as a madcap gypsy, and myself.
The trout season was open, and we arranged a trip which included fishing in
the forenoon, lunch at mid-day, a ride through the mountains to Uncle Joe's
ranch, all night there, and home again whenever so inclined. We live near the
foot-hills, and it is only a ten-mile drive or so up into the Coast Range. Bright
and early we started, with Sam's big buckskin horse hitched to our double-seated
wagon. Mother had filled the lunch-basket as only she knew how to fill it, the
sun was just rising in a cloudless sky, the air was crystal-clear, and we as gay
as the larks on the fences.
Old Buck soon carried us past the hay-fields, vineyards and orchards of the
valley up to the narrow mountain road. Here our way twisted and turned
through the hills, diving into wild gulches, crossing shallow creeks hugging
smooth cliffs high above gloomy canons, running softly over little grass-green
valleys, and seeming to lead everywhere in general and nowhere in particular.
Occasionally we heard the warning tinkle of a mule-team ahead of us, and then
we had to turn out on a siding and wait, like an express train getting out of the
way of a long, lumbering line of freight. But without any serious delays, still
hilarious in anticipations of the day's fun before us, we reached our first stopping-
place a big oak at the head of a tiny meadow hidden from the road and nest-
ling at the base of a rugged mountain.
Meantime, what are we girls going to do with ourselves?" inquired Annie,
looking about the sunny nook.
"Do ?" said I, busy getting out the fishing tackle, nothing at all, or what
you like. Here is the spot for either; make yourself at home while Sam and
I fish up the creek. It's too rough for you to go with us."
"Thank you, we don't want to go with you. Let them have their wriggling
fish," said Dora.
"Well, beware the bear!" I laughed, but as I saw a nervous look go over
Dora's face, I added hastily, "That's joking of course. Uucle Joe shot the last
of the grizzlies five years ago."
"Well," said Dora, reassured, we have the lunch and the horse, and if you
don't come back by noon-time you won't find it, him nor us."
"' It' is what will fetch me back in time," laughed Sam; "'him' nor 'us'
wouldn't matter so much, but it' settles it."
I took from under the.wagon-seat the fry-pan and a bundle of pitch knots,


showed Annie where to kindle a fire ready for cooking the fish when we re-
turned, and then Sam and I were off up the creek.
We enjoyed the sport keenly at first, but three hours of crawling through
bushes, climbing and slipping over boulders and scrambling up steep banks in-
numerable, "took off the edge," as Sam expressed it. About noon, resting on a
cool flat rock by the creek, we counted up the catch eighty-six trout.
"Enough for one day," said Sam decidedly. "It's a good two miles back
to camp and I'm hungry as a wolf now."
It was after one o'clock, by my Waterbury, when hot, hungry and tired, we
sighted the little meadow and the wagon beneath the oak.
"Halloo ?" cried Sam, as we came out into the clearing; "they've got the
fire ready for the fish."
There was a little fire down beside the creek, but the girls were nowhere to
be seen. We threw off our loads and sat down in the shade of the oak.
We lay listlessly waiting for some time, but the girls failed to appear. The
fire showed that they had not been gone long still where were they ?
"Call to 'em, Walt," suggested Sam, and I did so, again and again, and the
silence following my yells made us more uneasy. Feeling like investigating we
walked down to the fire by the creek. There were good stepping-stones across
and on the other side I noticed the bushes were bent and broken.
"They've climbed the mountain! I exclaimed disgustedly. Shall we go
Oh I suppose we've got to," groaned Sam.
Grumbling and laughing, we crossed the creek. Five minutes of easy climb-
ing, and then we came to an abrupt halt before a large hole in the side of the
mountain. Bushes and vines screening it in front showed plainly where feet of
some sort had recently trampled. And there the trail ended.
I turned in amazement to Sam. "What on earth! "
"In earth, you mean," he said slowly, sharing my astonishment; they must
be in there, but how did Dora ever get up spunk enough to go into such a den ?"
"It's Annie," I returned glumly. You never saw such a girl. She would
make nothing of crawling into a volcano."
Sam, who had been studying geology, examined the rocky entrance. "Lime-
stone," he observed, with a wise nod. "Just the formation for caverns. May
be it's a discovery, Walt, a cave like the one your Uncle Joe told us about going
into up in El Dorado County. Big thing Halloo You in there Will you
let any one in without a ticket ?"
I thought I heard a faint, whirring reply from within, sounding like, "Who,
who, ar-r-re you? "
It had a queer sort of ghostly echo to it, notwithstanding the bright-daylight.
Sam turned his flushed freckled face to me, and grinned at my awe-stricken look.
"Let's go in, any way!" he'said, and plunged into the dusky opening. I


followed him, and saw him disappear around a sharp turn in the tunnel as
quickly as if a door had closed behind him.
"Halloo, Walt! I heard him cry, and then, as I too rounded the turn, I
echoed his shout. For the low, narrow passage had at a step expanded into a
wide and lofty cavern, chilly and gloomy. As we stood staring, we could see
here and there in the rocky walls black holes like the galleries in a mine, seem-
ing to lead away into the heart of the mountain. I half-expected to see some
sort of a hobgoblin spring out from one of the dark mouths.
"Say, Sam," I whispered, we are on the wrong track, sure. The girls can't
possibly be in here."
Hardly had I spoken when we were startled by a peal of silvery laughter,
seeming to come from the rocky ceiling overhead. It echoed and re-echoed and
died away in a faint, quavering moan that was blood-curdling. Of course neither
Sam nor I was scared, but as the impish laughter was almost instantly followed
by a mocking little shriek that was positively fiendish I am afraid we came very
near turning on our tracks. However, Sam had good lungs of his own, and he
managed to bellow:
"What's the matter with you in there ?"
It was something like shouting into an empty hogshead, and made our ears
ring. But a voice replied, and in spite of the echoes I recognized it as that of
Come on in and see."
"I know! cried Sam, springing forward; "there's another room like this in
beyond one of those tunnels. They're in there."
He darted boldly into one of the passages, and keeping his red head in sight
I ran after him. For a few rods it was dusky, then black as night, and then we
groped our way around another sharp corner, and stopped, bewildered, blinded
by dazzling splendor.
Imagine a great chamber, nearly square in shape, say forty feet each way,
and varying from ten to twenty feet in height; the ceiling one large sheet of
mother-of-pearl, like the inside of a huge sea-shell; hanging from the gleaming,
rainbow-tinted ceiling, dozens of sparkling crystal trees and shrubs encrusted
with diamonds; the walls a soft, lustrous blue, like a new-laid robin's egg, veined
with glittering lines of silver and gold; the floor like spotless milk-white glass,
and, in the center, a sort of throne about half as high as an ordinary table, and
exactly resembling polished white marble.
As near as I can describe it that was what we saw, and perhaps our eyes,
more especially mine, did not bulge, but perhaps, too, they did!
Upon the throne, like a pair of princesses, between them a handful of blazing
pitch knots, stood Annie and Dora, laughing at us. We could hear the ghostly
echoes of their merriment resounding in the outer passages.
Sam was the first to recover his wits. I could hardly help thinking that the


gorgeous room was a veritable treasure-house, the silver and gold and jewels all
real. But Sam dispelled the illusion by tossing his hat to the luminous ceiling
with a wild shout.
Hurrah! Isn't this a beauty? And to think it's all nothing but limestone
drippings, stalactites, stalagmites, beautiful humbugs. But, Dora Nelson, how
did you ever get in here ?"
"Walked," responded Dora, with laconic dignity.
"Yes," explained my venturesome little sister, "we found the cave early
this morning, and after we made the fire for you we took some of the pitch
knots and came up here again to explore. Isn't it lovely ? "
0, yes! I admitted, somewhat disappointed to know that it was only lime-
stone drippings; "but Sam and I prefer roast trout, don't we, Sam?"
"We do that," cried Sam, smacking his lips. "This is handsome, but it's
wet and cold, not to be compared to crisp roast trout, ham sandwiches, cheese,
cake, pie oh lead me to them ere I perish."
"Pshaw !" exclaimed Annie, in rapturous scorn. "Compare a lunch basket
to this!"
"But it really is damp," said Dora, with a shiver.
"Say good-by to it till after dinner, any way," urged Sam, with a hollow
groan, and as the fire died down, the cavern lost its brilliancy, and Annie con-
sented to leave the enchanting place.
We passed out, Sam leading and I bringing up the rear. It was black as
charcoal in the tunnel-like passage, but Sam kept lighting matches and we all
knew it was but a few steps to the outside. But Sam's supply of matches gave
out and, though we walked quickly, the outer cave failed to appear.
"Say, isn't it about time we got out of this pocket ?" said Sam, at length,
stopping and bringing us all to a halt.
What if we didn't go the right way !" exclaimed Dora faintly.
"Was there any way but the right way?" demanded Sam anxiously.
"There were four tunnels, for I counted them, but I thought you knew the
right one or, rather, I didn't think at all," said Annie, with a nervous little laugh,
intended to be fearless.
"Let's go back," I said decidedly, "and try it over again."
"All right, turn about," said Sam. "We will bring a light next time. Such
darkness I never got into--I can see better with my eyes shut than I can with
them open."
So we turned around and went back, I leading. Soon we reached the fairy
chamber, but its splendor was dimmed and the fire but a handful of dull coals.
There was something there worth looking at, however. It was a long, huge-
limbed shape, near the throne, and when I saw it looming through the dusk I
instantly stopped the procession behind me.
"What is it, Walt? whispered Annie, clutching my arm.


j 'i'

::. ." r
b "

'' 1I1,

r. :t.



I was too paralyzed to reply, but I knew what it was well enough. There
was no mistaking the hulking figure, the long, peaked face, and the keen little
eyes which seemed to survey us curiously as if trying to make out what manner
of underground prowlers we might be.
"A grizzly! gasped Sam, as if his heart were in his throat, which probably
was the case. I know I was so horribly scared that I could not breathe, much
less speak. If either of the girls had been of the fainting sort and gone down,
I am not at all sure that we should not have all fallen together, a terrified heap.
But all we did was to huddle in a bunch till there came a deep, rumbling growl
that made my hair rise.
Instantly, like a flock of frightened sheep, pell-mell we went back into the tun-
nel. I crowded the others onward, keenly alive to the fact that if the peaked-
face monster pursued us I should be his first victim. The sides of the tunnel
were rough, often jutting rock against which we dashed as if blindfolded. The
roof also was irregular and admirably adapted to cracking our skulls, while the
floor was frequently covered by pools of water into which we blindly splashed.
Wet, bruised and breathless, at last we stopped and listened for sounds of pur-
suit. But all we heard was our own excited breathing and the drip of water
from the walls.
"0, yes! there's lots of fun exploring caves !" murmured Sam.
A muffled sob from Dora was his only answer. The horrible inky darkness
unnerved us all. It is one thing to be brave in the daylight. It is an altogether
different and greater test of one's grit to coolly face danger in the dark.
"Keep on!" urged Sam hoarsely. "We can't go back nor stay here." And
on we went.
The tunnel soon seemed to be rapidly enlarging. We could no longer touch
both sides of it. Evidently it was expanding into another cavern. In vain I
strained my eyes to catch a gleam of light ahead showing an outlet. I could not
even see the new dangers close at hand. Like stony stumps, stalagmites rose
up before us, while stalactites made our already aching heads sorer by many a
cruel bump. It was painfully exasperating, and further progress meant almost
unbearable torture. Moreover, the thick black air seemed to be growing
warmer. A stifling stench met us.
"Something wrong ahead here," Sam called out huskily; "smells like a soap
Hardly had he spoken when I heard a heavy splash, a smothered yell, and
then a long, shuddering moan.
"Sam!" I shouted in dismay, springing toward the sound and driving my
forehead, with crushing force, full against a big stalactite. Showers of sparks,
and I fell back completely stunned.
How long I lay there I don't know, but I finally heard some one near me
sobbing, and a weak voice saying


"Don't cry so, Annie; I'm all right now."
What's the matter ?" I wildly inquired.
"Halloo!" Sam's voice replied. "Where've you been lately? Dora has
smashed her skull, and I tumbled into a hot sewer. Oh! I just love to explore
Annie laughed woefully, and notwithstanding the lump as big as a hen's egg
rising on my forehead, I could not help laughing, too. But it was short-lived
mirth. The air was hot and sickening. I began to feel drowsy. If we fell into
a stupor I was sure none of us would ever wake.
"We shall die if we stay here; let's go back," I cried, staggering to my feet.
Which way is back ?" said Sam, in a tone of bitter disgust.
"We shall never get out! Never, never!" gasped Dora, while Annie
began laughing and crying as if crazed.
"Shut up! I said, as roughly as I could. "We shall get out. You're not
dying. It's this foul air. Follow me "
They meekly obeyed, and very shortly the cool atmosphere of the tunnel
met and revived us greatly.
Dora, however, was really fast becoming helpless. I tried-to encourage her
by saying we could go back to the big cave again all right now.
But the bear she replied hopelessly.
"Is gone," mumbled Sam. "He isn't fool enough to stay in this dirty trap
when he knows how to get out."
"Father will find us, any way," I declared confidently.
When?" groaned Annie. "He will think us safe at Uncle Joe's for three
or four days, and by the end of that time I'm sure I for one shall be dead !"
In gloomy silence we plodded on, after this, for it seemed miles, until I
became dully aware that the walls were again widening and the old sickening
vapor enveloping us. The miserable truth flashed over me. We had coine
back to the same deathly hole that we left hours ago! The mountain was
honeycombed, and we lost in a black labyrinth miles underground.
Turning about I feebly explained that we had again gone wrong. The girls
exclaimed in dismay that we might as well give up here as anywhere. They
sank down, and Sam and I were obliged to literally drag them out of the poison-
ous den.
We coaxed and begged them to make at least one more determined effort
to escape. Poor Sam even tried to make them laugh by declaring that no self-
respecting grizzly would touch such a walking glue-pot as he was. But he had
scarcely begun to laugh at his own misery when we came abruptly into another
cavern, and also it seemed into a very demon's den.
Wh-r-rr-eet-r-r Cac-rr-cac-cac-r-r W-hr-oo-t-Hoo "
A bedlam of harsh sounds, flapping of wings, dashing of invisible soft forms.
in our faces, claws and beaks scratching and pulling about our bared heads,


nothing to be seen but scores of round, glaring eyes! Even the girls had life
enough left to scream in terror. But Sam and I quickly divined the nature of
the new tormentors.
"Bats and owls! Next!" shouted Sam. "If an owl strikes me he will
stick. I'm a tar-barrel from Tar City."
Follow them, Sam," I shouted. "They know how to get out. Watch
which way they go."
As we tried to run after them they seemed to vanish magically, through the
solid rock, and leave us chasing only darkness in the endless galleries.
As we splashed and stumbled along, bedraggled, giddy and exhausted, I don't
think any of us cared what might happen next. We were all light-headed, due
probably to the noxious gases. I imagined that the murky air was full of grin-
ning bats, and owls with goggle eyes as big as milk-pans. Sam muttered and
laughed about snakes and lizards, while the girls kept up a ceaseless moaning.
What with the excitement, bruises, weariness and hunger, we could hardly drag
one foot before the other as we came out into another cavern.
"Here's a good place to rest in," said Sam; "here's a stalagmite as big as a
barrel, sit down here."
He threw himself on the rocky floor, and we were only too glad to do like-
wise. Rest was the only thing thought of, and with our backs against the big
stalagmite we all, worn out and stupefied, fell fast asleep.
It may have been hours, or only a few minutes afterwards, that I became
dully conscious of something hot and wet moving over my outstretched hand.
The sensation was not at all unpleasant. I sleepily wondered what dog it was
lapping me, and forced open my eyes. I could see nothing but a pair of small,
flaming points close to me in the darkness, but, instinctively, I knew they were
the eyes of the grizzly standing over me, his warm breath in my face. I knew,
also, that his great jaws could crush my head as a boy might eat a plum, that one
stroke of his huge paw would kill me as quickly as if I were but an insect. Yet,
somehow, I was not exceedingly frightened; not nearly so scared as when I saw
the huge beast by the throne. Since then I have read that in such perilous
moments, when one's next breath may be his last one, the sensation of fear is
almost entirely extinguished. Not only is that true, but frequently an absurd
feeling of curiosity takes the place of fright. I know that, in my case, I was
mildly concerned only as to what the bear would do next.
What he did was to sniff around us, and, apparently satisfied with his inspec-
tion, he turned and shambled off. I could hear his enormous toe-nails rattle as
he walked across the rocky floor. Suddenly an electric thrill ran over me, as I
thought of following him. Instantly I was wide awake. Unwittingly we had
wandered back into the gorgeous chamber again, and gone to sleep by the side
of the marble throne. To make sure of it I got up and groped over the top of
the stalagmite. My hands encountered a little soft heap ashes from the fire.


The grizzly knew the way out; he was going; I would follow him. I darted in
the direction he had taken, and though I came bump up against the wall, it was
by the mouth of a passage-way in which I could still hear Bruin's retreating
What should I do? Go on and perhaps get lost all alone unable to find my
way back ? Then something seemed to tell me just what to do.
In my jacket pocket were a half-dozen fish-lines. Tying one end of a line
securely around a projecting rock, I went into the tunnel. If it was the right
way I should soon be out of the trap. If it was the wrong one the line would
guide me safely back again to my sleeping companions. As fast as I could
stagger along, I paid out the line behind me. One went; then another--
three! four! five! and still no outlet! Tying on the sixth line, I plunged
desperately ahead, so desperately that my toe hit a rock and, my tired legs
giving way, down I tumbled and rolling over, flat on my back, I saw-what
do you suppose ?
Why, merely the blessed bright stars shining overhead!
It was a dark, moonless night, and, in my blind eagerness, I had actually
pitched headlong out from the mouth of the cave!
Perhaps I did not feel happy and thankful, as I lay there laughing and cry-
ing like a baby, with the fish-line still gripped tightly in one fist! It was quick
work getting the others out of the horrible hole. Tying the line to a bush and
taking it for a guide, to go in and out of the cave was child's play.
It was nearly morning, and with the first rays of light we hurried down the
mountain, crossed the creek, found old Buck standing patiently under the oak,
the lunch all right, and the trout just where we had left them. Like hungry
wolves we fell upon the sandwiches, cake, pie, etc., each laughing at the other's
extraordinary appearance. The girls were wrecks of their yesterday's gay
selves, and defy description. I was a scarecrow, bare-headed, dirty and forlorn,
with a big purple lump adorning my forehead. But Sam was the monumental
ruin of us all! He, too, had lost his hat, his red hair was plastered with the
tarry mud-bath, his freckled face splattered with it, and his clothes sticky with it.
It is needless to say the trip to Uncle Joe's was abandoned. We could get
home none too soon.
Since then the grizzly (which was probably like ourselves, merely on an ex-
ploring tour) has been driven farther up the range by hunters, and perhaps
slain, as he has not been heard of for a long time. I trust, however, he is still
alive, for I remember him only as a kindly old deliverer from a dungeon.
As for the cave, it has become locally famous, and is often visited by picnic
parties. As its discoverers, we take a certain pride in it, but somehow never
care to see it again. For you may be sure that we four, Dora, Annie, Sam and
I, have not yet forgotten our wretched adventures in the darkness, underground.
Charles Robert Harker.


THE somber pine is a Norseman grave
Brooding some saga old,
Calmly chanting a solemn stave,
Scorning the winter's cold.
There's a Norland soul in this ancient tree,
And it ne'er forgets its ancestry.
Richard Burton.

(A True Story.)

THE Reverend John Bronson preaches every Sunday in the little unsteepled
meeting-house of the Cumberland Presbyterians at Cenatilla, Mo.
By the crooked river it is about forty-two miles from his home to St. Louis.
Cenatilla is prosperous enough of itself and for ordinary purposes there is no
need of going to St. Louis. Everything that Mr. Bronson could afford to eat
or wear, or to buy for the feeding and clothing of his family could be had at fair
prices in his own town, which had seven general stores from which the farmers
of Cenatilla County were supplied.
Nevertheless Mr. Bronson had a great desire to go to St. Louis. The Gen-
eral Assembly or Quadrennial Convention or Synod or Conference or whatever
it was called of his denomination was to be held there in May. It was a gather-
ing of the famous men of his own religious kind, and he wanted to see them and
hear them. As the time drew near he felt that it was clearly his duty to attend
the great meeting. So there was a family council one morning at the Bronson
breakfast table.
The table was spread in the kitchen, for the parsonage was rather small and
considerably crowded with five active individuals to shelter. At the head sat
Mr. Bronson, short, thick-set, and sandy-bearded, looking seriously out of his
kind blue eyes at Mrs. Bronson, whose sweet, motherly face showed marks of
anxiety and care. On the sides were Margaret Bronson, aged thirteen, Charles
Bronson, aged eleven, and John Bronson, Jr., aged nine three of the happiest
and handsomest children that ever laughed.
"I'm glad you think so, Elizabeth," the father was saying. "I think, too,


that Madge can keep house for the boys for ten days while we are in the city.
Money is scarce; but by hiring a room and doing our own cooking I think, as
you do, that we can manage to live comfortably for two weeks in St. Louis, and I
must attend those meetings."
"That seemed to me the best way," said Mrs. Bronson. Madge is a
careful little housekeeper and we can spare two dollars for her. They will be
able to scrape along on that, together with what we leave in the house. And
we'll be back in a fortnight."
The children were delighted to be left alone. It was better than a picnic -
almost as good as camping out.
The anxious look was a little deeper on the mother's face, but the little
Bronsons were in high spirits when their parents kissed them good-by one
morning a few days later and went on board the down-river packet bound for
St. Louis.
The minister and his wife found a low-priced room, bought a few provisions,
and set up their housekeeping. The husband went to every session of the
Assembly and enjoyed them all. But having been caught out in a shower one
evening, he awakened next morning with an ache in every bone and pains in a
good many of his joints. He was hot and feverish. Mrs. Bronson looked more
anxious, but tried to soothe him, and cool his fever. But she couldn't help him,
poor man. "The grip had its claws on him and that was all there was about
it. There was only a very little money left, and a doctor would cost so much,
but Mr. Bronson was too sick to be moved. He grew worse. The doctor was
evidently worried about the case and came often.
One night he said to Mrs. Bronson, "It is pneumonia, but we'll do our best
for him."
Pneumonia! That meant that her husband might die. At best it meant
that their two weeks in the city, which was already quite expired, would be
three, four, five weeks before they could see the children again. And what
would become of Madge and her housekeeping?
Madge had written already that the money was almost gone. Charles had
caught the panic and had written begging his parents to come home or to send
some more money.
But Master John Bronson, Jr., aged nine, had talked against these letters.
"Don't send it, Maggie," he pleaded. "It'll only worry mamma. They
won't send us anything 'cause they haven't got anything to send. I know we
can get along. I can, any way, and I'm going to write and tell them so."
And this plucky young American did write to his mother in her troubles,
telling her not to worry about the children -they would take good care of
themselves but to nurse papa till he got well and bring him back home again.
John's letter came that very night when the doctor said, "It is pneumonia,"
and I believe it was what gave her courage to stand that shock.


John Bronson, Jr., was a man of action as well as of words. He was so sure
everything was all right that he made his brother and sister see it that way too.
Then they sat down soberly to see what they could do. First they opened their
penny banks and put their savings together. These were too small to be of
much use. Then they called in Jack Brown, a neighbor's boy, and laid their
plans before him. He had half a dollar, and they promised him a share in the
profits if he would add his capital to theirs in a business venture. Jack heard
the scheme, found fault with it, suggested improvements, but finally said it
would do, and he would go in with them.
The rest of the day was spent in preparation, and the next morning the
people going down to the post-office and coming up from the boat-landing saw
something new in the yard of the Presbyterian parsonage. Over a rude box-
table was nailed the sign:


"You buy the lemons and we do the rest."


The day was hot, many people passed that way and found the lemonade cold
and well-flavored. It was cheaper than beer and better. The story of the chil-
dren's difficulty and their purpose to help themselves got abroad and helped
their custom. At the close of the first day's business the company had actually
made a little money, besides having sugar and lemons left over.
The second day was market day and their sales were larger still. And so
they worked on, doing poorly on cold days and rainy days, but in five weeks
making the comfortable sum of seventeen dollars clear of all debts.
They repaid to Jack Brown, the silent partner, his half-dollar in a crisp, two-
dollar bill which made him as happy and nearly as rich as a lord.
The news from St. Louis was bad for a while, but at last it improved. The
doctor and the minister's wife beat the pneumonia and brought Mr. Bronson
back- to health. You ought to have been at the landing the day the minister
and his wife came home to Cenatilla. The rosy Bronson children almost fell
into the river in their eagerness to get at their parents, and the parents were so
impatient for the boat to tie up that they came near jumping overboard, and
when the boat did land the Bronson Lemonade Company just hugged its father
and mother until they could scarcely stand up.


The lemonade company dissolved partnership three years ago. But the
other day the little preacher was in St. Louis again-the first time since 1888.
He was looking for cheap lodgings and something to do. Those plucky children
have been walking four miles each way every day to school to fit for college,
and now that they are ready the father and mother are trying to make a home
for them in the city so that they may attend the university. The junior
Bronson, the organizer of that successful corporation, is only fourteen years old.
But if he doesn't lead his class in mathematics, classics and athletics it will be
a surprise and a disappointment to those who know him.
T. K. Jamieson.


IT was spring at the Joslyn farm. The snow was gone except patches under
some north fences, little rivulets of water trickling down from every slope
- the roads a sea of mud, deep, black, miry, the sun staying a little longer every
day, doing his duty by the patient waiting earth.
The Joslyn fowls were out in the barnyard sunning themselves with great
enjoyment, making known their joy over all the farm by continual cackling and
by much flapping of wings. The Joslyn cows came out too, smelling about for
fresh grass, putting their noses to the ground in an inquiring manner, as if to ask
how much longer they must wait.
The Joslyn boys were at work at the wood, piling it up for summer. It had
been a long job this of the wood for the boys had first of all to go to the
wood lot and cut it down; great noble hickory-trees, tall, lithe, and solid to the
core- no small job to cut one of them down, I can tell you, and poplars, which
make that lovely whitewood the Joslyn children so admired, and which the
boys find it much easier to handle; oak, too. Then there were many days' work
hauling it in. You must wait for snow to do that and the Joslyn boys waited a
long time this year ; then the long winter days of sawing and splitting, hard
work, but enlivened by fun in this family; and now they were piling it up
where it would be handiest for mother, after having put what they could in
the shed; for by and by when harvest comes, and the round shed is empty, the
women folk will have to get their own wood; boys and men will all be in de-
mand in those days.
Jessie came out in the yard the oldest girl in the family, fourteen last fall
- and the boys greeted her with remarks; they were always glad to see Jessie.


She was the boon companion of every boy in the place. "Pussy wilows are out
down on the creek," cried Ben.
"Truly? why didn't you bring me some ?"
"We'll go down with you by and by, when this wood is piled."
"The speckled hen has
made a nest in the straw
stack. Ham and eggs next
wweek," cried Billy.
S "eOh! some of the hens
have been laying a long
time," said Jessie. "I'm
going to set one just as soon
as it dries off a little."
"You going to run the
hens this year ?" cried Ben.
Yes; mother says I may
have all the chickens I can
raise, and all the eggs I want
to set the hens with. I mean
&-i to have a hundred."
You'll get sick enough
S of it--it's a heap of bother,"
said Billy.
"But I shall have it to
do, any how," said Jessie
shrewdly; "youknowmother
can't tend to it, and I may
DAY DREAMS. as well make something out
of it."
"Yes, Jess, that's so; and we'll help you what we can. I ploughed out a
hen's nest for you last year down by the ravine remember ? "
Yes, and broke up the hen who had been sitting a fortnight. Look out
you don't help me any in that way this year."
All this time Jessie had been piling wood with the rest, and soon the whole
troop were off, and a gay time they had by the creek that March afternoon.
Jessie Joslyn was a genuine daughter of the country, and delighting in out-
of-door sights and sounds; and from this first expedition after pussy willows, all
the way on through the early violet season, through the dear delirium of the
days when the woods were white with trilliums, on to the time of winter-
greens and wild strawberries, and then on until hazel nuts hung by all the
fences, and golden-rod and asters flamed amid the gorgeous sumach bushes, she
had her fill of hunting excursions for all these treasures. In all these she was


loyally attended by the boys, who knew where all the kinds of birds built their
nests, where was the partridge's cover, where the woodchuck's cell, where the
big hornet's nest and the bee-tree, where to throw the line for the biggest
pickerel, where the water lilies were in blossom, and the very best time to dig
sassafras root and sweet flag.
Jessie learned a great deal from the boys, and I must say that she also taught
them a great deal. To be gentle to the girls, to be tender to the birds and to
the young calves and lambs, to manage the young colts by caresses, and to get
more milk from the cows by gentle milking these were some of the things
the Joslyn boys learned from their sister.
Such a trial as I have with those hens," Jessie exclaimed about a week

after the wood-pile talk. "Every one of them are bound to set all at once, and
not one willing to lay more than two eggs to start with. It's preposterous."
It was not long before Jessie had the yard swarming with chickens. One lit-
tle yellow brood after another came out, and were imprisoned in the coops the
boys had made for her out of laths, where they were well fed with warm meal
until old enough to be allowed to brave the dangers of the wet grass and other



snares which are spread for the feet of unwary young chickens. Then they were
allowed to run at their own sweet wills, and a new brood occupied lodgings in
" the Bastile," as it was designated.
Jessie had famous luck that year, and scarcely lost a chicken, owing to con-
stant watchfulness, and a great deal of hard running after the feeble-minded
mothers who were constantly leading the young ones astray. What a fool a
hen is!" became one of Jessie's favorite observations during this time of her
trial, and the boys had no end of jokes at her expense.
But after a while the chickens grew up, black and white, ring-stroked and
speckled, and a promising flock it was-more than a hundred in number, as
Jessie had determined.
Jessie thought they would bring twenty-five cents apiece and she had long
known what she was going to do with the money.
She was going into the village to school in the fall it had been the great
desire of her heart to do so; and she wanted to buy herself a full suit, exactly what
she pleased, and have it made exactly as she wished; this, she thought, would
make her completely happy. She saw the village girls when she went to town
and some of them visited her on the farm, and she knew they were better
dressed than she, and it often made her a little awkward and constrained. Her
own clothing was good, and she had plenty of it; but it did not have just the
air and style she admired; she pronounced her attire countrified," and felt far
more comfortable in it when there were none but her country friends with her.
Jessie was a very pretty girl, and who will criticise her because she wished
to look and appear as well as the best ?
So she had set her heart upon this one suit; and she sometimes even dreamed
of it at night, when she always saw herself in it, looking exactly as she desired.
At last haying and harvest was over, and very hard work there had been for
Jessie and her mother, as well as for the men and boys; the thrashing too was
done, and the fall ploughing had even been begun before there was any talk of
selling off the poultry. It was to be done earlier than usual this year, however,
so that Jessie might have the money to get ready for school.
At last the market day dawned. Jessie drove into town with the boys, the
chickens were sold, and twenty-five dollars were handed to Jessie with very
great pleasure by her brothers; none knew better than they how well she had
earned it.
Jessie put the roll of bills into her pocket with a great feeling of triumph
and elation. Never before had she had so much money. And it was her own;
she had earned it, she could spend it as she pleased. The boys enjoyed it almost
as much as she did. But she was not going to spend it that day. New goods
were expected in a few days, and her friend Susan Mills had advised her to wait.
So they drove home at night, and Jessie retired to dream of her coming
splendor, through a rather wakeful night.


When morning came and she went to get her money to display it to the
family and put it in a safer place than her pocket, great was her consternation
at finding it gone.
She stood still a moment, silent and without breathing, then burst into a
passion of tears and rushed into the boys' room to beg them not to play any
tricks upon her about the money, for she could not bear it.
The boys assured her that they knew nothing about it, and everybody was
confident it was somewhere around and would soon be found. But Jessie
knew she had not taken it out of her pocket since her return, and nobody had
been in the room where the dress hung but herself.
At last everybody was very excited a thousand wild conjectures were made,
and the final solution seemed to be the most probable one -that Jessie had
pulled it out of her pocket with her handkerchief on the road home, or in the
street of the village.
Jessie threw herself on the bed and cried, the boys harnessed up the horses
to drive into town and inquire, and the whole family was in distress. Every-
body was so sorry for Jessie. Nobody said anything about carelessness; all
knew she would blame herself more than she ought; everybody tried to console
But Jessie could not be comforted. It meant a great deal more to her than
any of them knew. She wanted to go to school very much indeed, but she did
not want to go unless she could look nice like the rest of the girls." What
her father and mother would call looking nice," and what even the boys would
think quite elegant, she knew she should not be satisfied with. This money was
her only reliance, and now she had lost it by her own carelessness.
The boys returned without hearing anything of the money. "But look
here, Jessie," said Ben, you're not going to lose the money, you understand.
Billy and I have decided that we are to blame in the matter; we ought not to
have trusted you to take care of it, without a purse too, and we're going to make
it up to you."
"Yes," said Billy, "there's my yearling, and Ben's sheep we can spare
them just as well as not, and we'll sell them and give you the money."
No, indeed you will not," said Jessie, with much spirit; "do you think I
would be mean enough to take them ? "
"Nothing mean about that, Jessie. We rather you would have them. We
shall do it, anyhow, so you may wash your eyes out, and to-morrow morning, if
you like, we'll take you in to buy the fixin's."
You are just as good as you can be, boys, but I wouldn't do it not for all
the world."
Oh! I guess father'll manage some way for Jessie," said the gentle mother,
who felt Jessie's trouble as only a fond mother can.
Nobody will manage for me," said Jessie decidedly; "I won't spend any-

body's money but my own. I shall not go to school in town this winter. I shall
stay at home, and study evenings too."
It was no use to argue. .Jessie would not hear of any other plan, and she
seemed so cheerful about it that they all grew quite delighted with the idea it
would be so cosy to have Jessie at home.
So the thing was decided, and two or three weeks went by.
Then it happened, one afternoon as Jessie was ripping up the dress she had
worn to town that day, in order to turn it, dye it, and make it just as good as
new then it happened, I say, that between the lining and outside of the kilted
skirt she found her money. She had thrust it down there, instead of into the
pocket as she supposed, there being a rip there which I am sorry to say Jessie
had never discovered.
Well, Jessie just danced, and ran to tell the news; she shouted and laughed
and she cried all at the same -time. It was very fine to see her, and the whole
family just delighted with her. They hardly knew how sorry they had been
until now they had been so bent upon putting a cheerful face on the matter.
You should have seen Jessie that winter in her new suit. I assure you she
looked like a perfect picture," and as nice as any one of her mates.
I know the girls will wish to know what it was she bought the boys can
skip this part of the story. She bought a dark-green ladies' cloth dress and
jacket, and had it made at the best shop in town. There was a band of dark fur
around the skirt, and one about the bottom of the jacket, and she had a dark-
green hat to match, with a long plume and some nodding tips.
And a very happy girl she was when she first wore the suit; and very proud
of her indeed were Ben and Billy the best brothers in the world.
Hattie Tyng Griswold.

-S' ,. .

.. ,- '. _-._ .-- ,. '

-:._--. _-. _-- -- .,.=:. ... ----


T HERE was a movement of excitement in the reception rooms, as the whisper,
The bride has gone upstairs," stirred the various groups. Some of the
younger guests pushed through the crowd into the hall and looked eagerly up
the stairway to see the flight of the bride, but they were too late and caught a
glimpse only of the colored ribbons of the two bridesmaids, Rita and Margo,
fluttering hastily around the first landing.
It seemed like a signal of the end of the wedding which had been such a
pretty one All of the bride's young cousins said that they had never seen any-
thing so perfectly lovely," and this was quite true, for most of them had never
been to a wedding of any kind. It was a solemn scene, when Mary met Frank
at the altar and the old minister had said the service, losing his place only once;
but when the organ began a lively march and the bridal party came down the
aisle, first Mary on Frank's arm, and the maid of honor with the best man, fol-
lowed by a flock of bridesmaids in cream silk and lace with big bouquets, then
the friends began to realize that it was a merry time.
At last the bride had gone upstairs. Some one said that it was time to find
the rice and the old shoes, so that they might be thrown after the departing
couple. The bridegroom's brother declared that the box of rice was hidden,
because the bridegroom did not believe in the old superstition that rice would
bring good luck; it was sweet temper and forbearance that brought good luck.
He knew a bridegroom whose wedding journey had been made ridiculous, because


some one had filled his umbrella full of rice and when it was opened on the first
rainy day, down had come a shower of rice upon the heads of the unfortunate
couple. "I shall not have my brother drowned in rice," said the best man.
The guests left the fascinating occupation of examining the presents and even
stopped eating ice-cream, to see the bride come downstairs and go out with the
bridegroom towards the carriage. There was silence when she was first seen
tripping downstairs in a new cloth suit with a big bouquet of white roses in her
hand; but when she reached the hall and met the bridegroom, a chorus of good-
bys began.
Good-by Good-by! Good luck! they said, crowding around her. And
then, down came a shower of rice on the happy pair! A young cousin had
found the rice box. One more ceremony remained to be fulfilled before the
happy festival was ended. When the bride reached the carriage, she paused,
turned, and with much force threw her bouquet of white roses high in the air.
" For the luckiest man she said, and drove away.
There was a rush forward, with a scramble for the flowers; but the big bunch
seemed to have a twisted course and instead of falling into the hands of the best
man or any of the gay cousins, it struck five-year-old Tommy's nose and bounded
off into his sister Rita's lap.
There was a murmur of disappointment at first, but in a moment a laugh
arose and the good-natured guests cried out:
The bouquet belongs to Rita! She is the luckiest man!"
Overcome with surprise, Rita blushed and laughed a little nervously. Her
mother whispered in her ear: "Say that you will try to make the flowers the
luckiest bouquet in the world," and Rita obeyed willingly, with this promise end-
ing the wedding.
The next morning, Tommy came to Rita and insisted upon having the flow-
ers. Didn't they come to him first? They were his, for they struck his nose.
Rita brought out the bouquet from a cool corner by the window. How fresh
and sweet the white roses looked in the sunlight! The buds were half-blown,
but even the widest opened rose had not begun to turn brown nor the green
leaves to shrivel on the long stem.
"O, Tommy! said Rita reproachfully.
Mine !" repeated Tommy with firmer decision.
"What do you want to do with them, dear ?"
"Teacher," replied Tommy, as if that one word contained a sufficient reason
for wanting all the flowers in the world.
Rita's face brightened and she separated from the bouquet half a dozen roses,
saying, "Your teacher shall have some roses, little brother. Run away to
school before they fade."
What do you intend to do with the bouquet ?" asked her mother, as she
saw Rita carefully put the flowers back in a cool place.


"I thought," Rita replied hesitatingly, that I would take them to Philip's
birthday party to-morrow."
"Would the bouquet then be the luckiest in the world?" said her mother in
a musing tone, as if she were putting the question to the great bronze stork in
the window.
Rita did not answer, but following her mother's glance towards the window,
looked beyond the bronze stork and saw her cousin Mollie coming towards the
house with a large flat basket.
"Rita dear," she called out, put on your hat as soon as you can, and come


to the city with me. I want you to help distribute flowers upon our hospital
"But I haven't any flowers to give away," said Rita impulsively.
Her mother looked up quickly from her sewing and addressed a remark to
the Chinese stork. How one should pity the sick in hospitals Even one rose
might take away the sense of pain for a moment."
"Well ?" asked her cousin, as if impatient for an answer.

(Q .*c.'..
Ar .i L-? % .. /...i'' ^ -



Oh! wait one moment," said Rita, "I must see papa before he goes to his
office," and Rita ran out of the room with a small white bud in her hand. "I
gave papa a rose for his buttonhole," she explained upon her return, adding, I
will go, Mollie." She took the roses from the vase and carefully placed them
in a basket. There were at least five dozen half-opened roses in the great bridal
bouquet, a rich and rare contribution for any flower mission.
Soon Mollie and Rita met three members of the Mission at the foot of the
great steps of the City Hospital. A physician welcomed the party cordially.
Quickly and silently they passed through the halls to the wards where those who
had been injured by accident, those who were ill with fever or stricken with
disease, lay on small white cots. The long rooms were pure with fresh air that
came from wide-open doors and ventilators and bright with all the sunshine that
could be received through the windows; but the pallid faces of the patients and
their unconscious or pained expressions showed that sorrow and distress were
found there instead of happiness.
Rita felt solemn and a little afraid. She stood still and hesitated, until a
young nurse in white cap and apron came up to her and urged confidence.
I would like to give my roses to those who need them most," she said, and
then was led to the lower end of the ward, where a white screen about the bed
showed that the patient was considered a dangerous case. A young man with
pale face looked at the visitors without any interest. When the flames had
poured forth from the windows of a burning house, he had dared to rush in to
save a fainting man.
Here are some roses, John," said the nurse.
Rita took the most beautiful and laid them upon the dying man's bosom,
where they looked so cool that they might have taken away the pain from the
burns, if that were possible.
The flower mission passed through different wards, leaving on each cot a
small bunch of flowers; pansies, roses, apple-blossoms, buttercups and many
others. The most fragrant flowers gave the greatest pleasure. Some of the
patients were too ill to notice the gayest blossoms, but many thanks came from
those who were conscious of receiving the sweet gifts. Rita, with her white
roses, was the object of longing glances, but as her supply was limited, she gave
her choice flowers only to those who were in greatest pain or who needed them
most. Many wards were visited, and when the party passed down the great
white steps, Rita found that she had given away all the bride's bouquet except
one small bud still uncurled.
She sighed a little when she thought of Philip's party, but with the remem-
brance of the unfortunate people in the hospital, her regret passed away ashamed
and a happy peace came to her heart.
With her one small rose at her throat, she yet looked the sweetest girl at
the party. Philip wanted to say so; but when Rita told him about the visit to


the Hospital light compliments seemed without meaning. He only looked at
Rita quietly. It's too bad," he said, to ask for the last rose of that wonderful
bouquet, and I haven't half the excuse to demand flowers as the teacher or the
sick people; I want that rose as much, I am sure." And Rita gave Philip the
last rose of the bride's bouquet.
Grace W. Soper.


IT was certainly strange, and Pamela MacQuills
Found her life interspersed with a great many ills;
Her needles whenever she wanted to sew,
Had a queer way of straying oh, where did they go ?
In vain she would search carpet, table and bed,
And in searching lose scissors and thimble and thread.

When knitting, she dropped almost half of her stitches
(In olden times folks might have blamed it on witches);
Her buttons fell off ; and her clothes worked awry;
And stray motes of dust found their way to her eye;
And not the least one of her many distresses
Was the way it would rain when she wore her best dresses.

When she knew all her lessons, save only some sly
Little fine-printed note that seemed pointless and dry,
The teacher would turn to that note, and our lass
Would be asked to recite it before the whole class;
It was all very strange, and 'twas sometimes provoking -
Was it Fortune ? or Luck ? or Fate's cruel joking ?

But at last, after years of mishaps and unrest,
This maiden resolved to do always her best,
And never trust anything, little or great,
That she should do herself, to tricky old Fate;
And now I've just heard that with genuine fervor
Pamela finds Luck always waiting to serve her.
Jane Ellis Joy.


THIS is the true story of Jock's journey, and how he came to make it.
When the bitter cold of that early winter of 1777 found the New
England troops in huts at Valley Forge, suffering from hunger and in need of
decent clothing, a New Hampshire colonel went frowning about his duties,
studying continually as to means of relief for his faithful comrades. He was
not one to bear discomfort tamely, although he would endure necessary hard-
ship with grim steadfastness until his lively wit discovered a way to improve
The army was allowed to forage within seventy miles of camp, but, so long
as the British would pay gold or silver for produce, farmers gave little heed to
those who could offer in payment for food only depreciated paper money.
Colonel Greenleaf was nearly at his wits' end. He could think of no allowable
device not already used by his fellows and himself; still he felt in a measure re-
sponsible to his men, for warmth, food and clothing. Scurvy was torturing
many poor soldiers; naked feet left scarlet prints on the snow; paler faces ap-
peared with every new morning and vacant places in the ranks had to be filled
continually in that sad fashion meant by Close up."
Everything seemed to go wrong; even Washington had no longer his cheer-
ful air, since the Pennsylvania legislature had censured him for putting his army
into winter quarters, and jealous generals were conspiring against him.
The anxious New Hampshire colonel knew that, in his house on a curve of
northern coast, there was coin that would go far toward the lessening of their
troubles, but he could see no way of getting it at just that time.
A soldier from boyhood, habituated to the hardships of the century, he was
for a moment sick at heart, with a sudden mental vision of the cheer of his
home, while beloved voices seemed sounding around him, and he sighed almost
unconsciously: "Ah! if little Jock knew how his father suffers, he would come
to him."

Save for the ever present anxiety of a soldier's family, comfort was not lack,
ing in the Greenleaf house for any who sought shelter under its wide roof. The
surrounding fields were fertile, and wisely tilled by the mistress and the two
faithful black men, Casar and Pompey.
A plentiful dinner was served and the children stood quiet in their places
while Mrs. Greenleaf said grace. But Jock seemed ill at ease; he ate little,
and kept looking out at the snowy land and the pale gray sky.
"What ails you, my son ?" his mother asked.
"There's little cheer when Jock is still," said his sister Elisabeth.


"I must see my father," the boy burst out with a little sob. I'm fearing he
is cold and hungry, while I have everything. Mother, let me go to him. Let
me have Pompey and the best two of the horses. Pompey knows the way, and
I am not afraid."
Every one was silent; the eyes of the other children opened wide, and turned
alternately toward Jock and their mother, while old Pompey, the trusted com-
panion of their grandfather's exploits in the French and Indian War, stood like a
black statue, with a pudding-dish held fast in his two hands.
The mother's brave eyes were full of tears, but she spoke brightly and gently.
We know he was fairly comfortable when Ebenezer Frye came home for
his wounds to heal; and Ensign Lawrence thought that Congress would surely
attend to the troops at
once, so that they would
be hearty for the spring D 4N-/ Six f 0 O 0.,
campaign. I do not see NIS B m entistes
T 1 Bea. t-receiv e I
what we can do, save to SIX SPANISIH MILRD
wht~do0 OLLARS q oT he
pray for them all," she u wrV of ctGOL t
sad._a-Resolution oF CO
said. GRESS paw.* p i.
But Jock was unlike | M --a, t -
himself throughout the SI DOLARS
day, and his mother felt -.
more worried than she ad- EM |
mitted to even her trusty THE CONTINENTAL MONEY.
helper. Hannah; for this
child had seemed always to have a peculiar affiliation with his father, and Mrs.
Greenleaf had a little Scotch blood in her veins, which forbade the quelling of
a feeling called by Friends "borne in upon."
She grew more sympathetic with Jock, and when he came to her, coaxing
with caresses, yet with an almost solemn seriousness, for instant preparation
lest, he said, "papa may be cold and hungry every minute until I find
him," the mother could no longer deny him, and arose to make ready for the
But O, Jock! she cried, "if harm comes to you, what shall I say to your
father How could I live! "
"Don't worry, mammy," he said, kissing her cheek. I shall come home.
And who would trouble a little boy and an old black man ?"
The next morning a strong yet not too heavy sleigh, wide and deep, with a
high back, awaited its luggage. The fast black colt was between the shafts and
the tough bay's long leading-rein hung from his bridle.
In Pompey's bootleg was a savage-looking knife, of which only his brother
Csesar knew; and in Jock's belt under his surtout were the pistols used by his
grandfather on the border long before.

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